Saturday, 19 June 2010

exhaustively devoted to you

many decades ago, there was an era of fancifulness, where eastern mysticism met western mythology for the first time. unaware of the future encroachment of science and unable to unify these seemingly-juxtaposing creeds, the greatest minds all over the world devoted lifetimes and fortunes to find a common ground. fueled by personal gain, glory, fame and fortune, little was it expected that unity would be found in one of the greatest conflicts between the schools.

however, behind this story is a greater impetus. one that deals in life, love, lore and satirical criticisms of sarcasm itself. and, of course, one that deals with beauty unmatched.

beyond the forests, and across the seas, atop the mountains high, lay a little seclude, in which the progeny of beauty and handsomeness had come into being, only to lay in pining. for, you see, the parents of tragedy were once wrought with seething hate and blissful ignorance. in a place known as gunung ledang, throned the heart of distraught, and to gain such heart, the sultan of malacca was found wanting, lacking, insufficient. and for such shortcomings, a prize for the sultanate - a fall from grace that was five hundred years in making, and a whitewash of culture, race, language and religion, all set upon the pedestal by the greed and lust of a single man.

but, let us not dwell on such trivialities of parents, but look forward to the future, in which we seed the promise of redemption, and the hope of love anew. and to this being, the namesake of fermastika. it is the curse of lineage, and the boon of godly humor, that all children inherit traits of their parents. and although nakhoda ragam had only praise to his name, the same could not be said of fermastika's mother-princess. and so, shielded from the world after her father's untimely death, fermastika aged with each century, only a passing year, and one hundred and eighty summers-worth has come to pass, when this legend meets with our timeline; where our medieval sorcery will come colliding with chakraic flows; when the princess-mother will die of an incurable disease, an ailment of the soul and a malignancy of the heart: the sore wanting of lost love.

now left to fend for herself, fermastika grows ripe with mental agility, and sage with divine intellect. however, as much as is curse of the flesh, so is our aforementioned one of lineage, and fermastika wanes in the moonlight, with every passing day, longing for what her mother never could have before meeting the helmsman-and-father. nay, 'tis not love, though we speak of now, but instead, adoration. for which woman could resist, and would not want devotion of unquestioned faith, of unrelenting subservience, of unlimited puja?

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