Night brought a fine mist to the courtyard of Ki Ageng Pemanahan's small hermitage. The sound of crickets chirped, mingling with the rustling of the wind shaking the leaves in Alas Mentaok. Ardhan sat cross-legged in front of the hall, staring at the oil lamp that flickered in the breeze. Ever since the battle against Ki Tunggul Wulung's followers at the Thousand Hand Shadow, his chest felt heavy. It was not because of injury, but because of an indescribable anxiety.
In his heart, he could still see the blood, hear the screams of people, and remember the silhouettes of evil hands that filled that night. He had defeated them, but there was a strange emptiness—like a victory that did not shine. His technique was deadly, but his heart was filled with darkness.
"Is this the meaning of power?" he thought slowly. "Or am I just part of the same darkness?"
From behind the bamboo wall, he heard light footsteps. Raden Bagus Wiratmaja came carrying a jug of water and a small book. "You're not asleep yet, Ardhan?" he asked, placing the jug next to the lamp.
Ardhan sighed. "My body is tired, but my eyes won't close. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is blood and those dark shadows."
Raden Bagus Wiratmaja smiled gently. "That is the challenge for those who have seen two worlds—the real world and the inner world. If the light has not illuminated your heart, every victory will feel like a sin." He opened the small book, showing the neatly written Arabic letters. "This is the book Nurul Iman, a legacy from my teacher at the Giri Islamic boarding school. Would you like to hear it?"
Ardhan nodded slowly. Then Raden Bagus Wiratmaja recited the verse:
'Allāhu nūrus-samāwāti wal-arḍ...'
"Allah is the light of the heavens and the earth."
The statement seemed to pierce Ardhan's heart. He closed his eyes, repeating each syllable slowly, trying to feel the meaning, not just read it.
"Light..." he said softly. "In my future, we often discussed technology and knowledge as light. But now I realize there is another, higher light."
"That light does not come from outside," Raden Bagus Wiratmaja replied softly, "but from within the hearts of sincere people. Your martial arts skills, the techniques you have mastered, are all just a means to an end. Without faith, they are like a sword without a handle—easy to hurt yourself with."
Ardhan was silent for a long time. The night grew late. From a distance, the soft call to prayer could be heard from a small mosque on the edge of the village. He didn't know who was calling, but the voice seemed to come from both the past and the future. Ardhan stood up and bowed his head deeply.
"Bagus... teach me to understand that sentence. I want to know my God, not just fight for the world."
The next day, the two of them sat under a large sapodilla tree in the courtyard of the hermitage. Raden Bagus Wiratmaja drew several letters on the ground with a dry twig.
"All knowledge in this world comes back to two things: remembrance and reflection," he said. "Remembrance guides you to know the Creator, reflection directs you to understand His creation."
He drew two circles that met each other. "When the two unite, the light of nur will be born in a person's heart."
Ardhan stared at the drawing. He remembered all the experiences he had had since he was first thrown back to 1582—from the library in modern Yogyakarta to the battle against the Pajang soldiers and the black shaman. It all felt like a long journey to find that circle.
"Ki Ageng once said," continued Wiratmaja, "that Sastra Jendra is not just hidden knowledge. It is an awareness of the origins and purpose of human life. You are trying to find the manuscript, but in fact, it is the manuscript that is looking for your soul."
These words evoked a strange feeling in Ardhan's mind. He remembered the ancient manuscript he had found in the modern era. There, he read the opening sentence:
'Sastra Jendra Hayuningrat Pangruwating Diyu' — knowledge that guides humans to the truth and eliminates bad traits within themselves.
"Is it possible," Ardhan said softly, "that I was sent to this time to complete the missing part of the manuscript?"
Raden Bagus Wiratmaja stared at him for a long time. "There is no such thing as coincidence in destiny. If you come from the future, then your future is also part of the divine plan. But remember, Ardhan, that secret can only be revealed by a sincere heart, not by an arrogant mind."
Towards evening, Ki Ageng Pemanahan summoned them to the hall. The wind blew, carrying the scent of incense and dry leaves. "Young man," said Ki Ageng, "I see a faint light on your back, but also a dark shadow that follows you incessantly. It signifies that your knowledge and faith are at war within you."
Ardhan bowed respectfully. "Your Excellency, I feel confused. Every time I pray, my heart feels calm. But when I fight, I feel as if I am being pulled by a force that is not my own."
Ki Ageng Pemanahan nodded slowly. "That is because you do not yet know the source of that force. True knowledge is not for showing off, but for upholding the truth."
Then he invited Ardhan to walk to the edge of a small river behind the hermitage. The water was clear, reflecting the evening light. "Look at the water," said Ki Ageng, "it is clear, but it can cut through stone if it keeps flowing. That is knowledge imbued with sincerity. It does not challenge, but it cannot be stopped."
That night, Ardhan had a dream. He was walking across a vast field, where the sky sparkled like glass. In the middle of the field stood an old man dressed in white, his face shining like the full moon.
"Ardhan Wicaksana," the voice said softly. "You are searching for Sastra Jendra, but are you ready to bear the responsibility?"
Ardhan knelt down. "I don't know, Cleric. I just want to understand why I was sent to this time."
The man smiled. "Because the future has lost its light. Your knowledge is great, but my faith is weak. So you were sent to a time when knowledge and faith were still united."
Suddenly, the man patted Ardhan's chest, and a white light emanated from his body. Ardhan woke up drenched in sweat. Outside, a rooster crowed, signaling the arrival of morning. He saw a soft light seeping through the cracks in the bamboo wall—not ordinary light, but a warm glow that made his chest feel relieved.
He performed wudhu and then prayed the dawn prayer on the terrace. His voice was soft, but his every movement was filled with respect. Raden Bagus Wiratmaja stood behind him, and after finishing the prayer, they sat together to recite zikr.
Raden Bagus Wiratmaja sat beside him with a calm face like the surface of a lake. He waited for Ardhan to finish his morning reading. In this small village, morning prayers were not just a routine activity: they were a bond that held the community together, as well as a protection from unseen forces. Ardhan gently closed the book, placed his finger on the page he had read, then gazed at the sky that was beginning to brighten.
"Good," said Wiratmaja after a moment of silence. "Today, we begin to explore not only words, but also their meaning. The Qur'an speaks to the soul. If your soul is empty, your knowledge is like a boat without oars."
Ardhan nodded. Since he first met Raden Bagus Wiratmaja, he had sensed something different: not just a teacher who taught, not a mentor who sought popularity, but a fellow believer who guided. "My grandfather... Ki Wicaksana, also said something similar. Knowledge without faith will only be a disaster for its owner."
Wiratmaja smiled slightly. "Your grandfather is very wise. Here, we will combine the two. Your martial arts skills will remain, but you must obey your heart. We will learn to interpret the verses you often read, to understand the wisdom behind each letter."
After some time, Raden Bagus Wiratmaja said softly, "Right now, I can see that light on your face, Ardhan."
Ardhan smiled. "I can't explain what I saw in my dream, but I can feel it. Something has changed. Every sentence of the Qur'an that I recite now seems to come alive in my heart."
Raden Bagus Wiratmaja nodded in understanding. "So, you have passed through the first gate of Sastra Jendra—the gate filled with light. From now on, your path will become more challenging, because darkness cannot remain when light appears."
A few days later, news came from the representative of Mataram: Ki Surya Kala was seen at the border of Pajang, along with his mysterious army. Ki Ageng Pemanahan called all his students and soldiers to prepare.
But before departure, Ki Ageng looked at Ardhan with a deep gaze. "You will face darkness again, son. But remember, your enemies are not only those who appear frightening, but also the shadows within your heart."
Ardhan held his keris and placed it in his belt. "Your Excellency, I am not fighting for victory, but for the light that I have now found."
Ki Ageng smiled. "Then go in His name. Because in truth, true victory is when your heart no longer fears the darkness."
The morning breeze blew, carrying the scent of incense and dew. Ardhan stepped out of the hermitage, followed by Raden Bagus Wiratmaja. In the distance, the sun began to rise slowly, piercing through the mist like rays splitting the darkness. And there, the journey toward the true meaning of Sastra Jendra began anew—not merely to seek out ancient manuscripts, but to discover the eternal light within the human soul.
To be continued...