Jenggala readily called himself the villain of the story, not because he was blaming himself, nor was he ashamed of his desire. It was because even in his first memory of reading that old tale, he could never relate himself to the hero.
The hero, the noble prince, the rightful king. The man who did everything correctly, who followed the rules, who honored his father's words even when those words meant exile.
He, who let his wife and brother follow him into a life of banishment, into years of modest suffering deep in the woods, because his father's honor demanded it.
Fine. He was tricked. The golden deer, the distraction and the moment of weakness that allowed Rahwana to slip in and take what wasn't his. Fine.
But how could he let her leave his sight after he let them follow him into years of what, exactly? What was he offering her? A hut in the wilderness… a life of deprivation…? A husband so bound by duty that he couldn't even see the treasure he was dragging through the mud?
