Late at night, Pak Utam was heaping the fishes he caught onto the corner of his floating kampong house. He lit a lamp and hung it by the entrance, as he was resting his elbows on the railings, he saw sails on the horizon of the Barunah Bay. He smoked his tembakau cigarette and laid on his rocking chair as the sails grew larger. It’s just some merchant ships. But why are they here late at night? Pak Utam told himself. When he finished the last tembakau, he squinted his eyes at the shadows and he jumped back on his feet.

The White Men! Pak Utam raced to his house and called Mak Husnita to evacuate. He then drummed the gong which woke up the villagers and they all grabbed their torches to watch the ships crease through the waters. The villagers then panicked and began to scramble out the villages, leaving all their valuable possessions.

“You go, I’ll stay here.” Reminded Pak Utam.

“No, you’re too old to fight them.” Said Mak Husnita worried.

“I may be too old to fight them, but I will not die old.” Replied Pak Utam bravely.

“No, I am not leaving you!” sobbed Mak Husnita.

“Hafiz,… Izhar please bring Mak Husnita to safety!” demanded Pak Utam. He trailed around the village as he gathered young men to take up their weapons to prepare for battle. There were ones who picked their archers, keris daggers and spears. Fortifying the village, the brave people of Barunah will not surrender. The bows are raised high and as they let the string off, arrows of flames and poison hailed over the Spanish fleet.

The caravels caught on fire, the enemies wailed off into the bay of crocodiles. The men cheered wildly for their victory. Though, the celebration for victory was only short-lived. The caravels rotated their rears toward the village. With their cannons packed with cannonballs and gunpowder, the shots ruffled out and razed each kampong houses into mere pile of shrapnels. Casualties grew and Pak Utam had a long sharp wood struck into his ribs.

As the fleet drew closer, Francisco De Sande in his full conquistador armor embarked and landed on the docks. Both Seri Lela and Ratna were devastated to see the kampong village they used to grow up in was destroyed. Helpless on the floor was Pak Utam as he swallowed much air before dying. Francisco towered upon him with a devilish smile.

Pak Utam strived up and jostled Francisco with his keris. Francisco was able to deflect the attack and he hammered Pak Utam to the floor with his elbow. He kicked him in the stomache where he rolled and rolled terribly. Then, he choked Pak Utam and held him against a ruined wall.

“Ah, aren’t you the old man who tried to stop me the other day?” mocked Francisco. “Pity you. An old senile man about to face his most shameful death without proper honor and respect.”

“You dirty White Men!” Pak Utam hissed back.

“This kampong village will vanish forever and nobody in the future will know that this place ever existed!” Francisco challenged as he pulled out his pistol. He aimed it right between Pak Utam’s forehead and with a trigger, Pak Utam paralyzed. Ratna was horrified by the incident. The man who had taught him silat and religious classes died in a shameful way.

“Vamanos! The palace is our prime target. Our journey has not ended yet!” hollered Francisco at his troops of 1300 Tagalogs, 400 Spaniards and 300 Barunah traitors. They meandered back to their caravels and sailed for the main city of Kota Batu.