The Tale of the Ahool

In Java’s depths, where rivers weave,
A sound will rise at twilight’s eve—
A cry that splits the humid air,
A beast unknown, beyond compare.
The hunters tell of what they’ve seen,
A shadow vast, both fierce and keen.

The jungle whispers in the breeze,
Of ancient myths beneath the trees,
The Ahool, lord of night and sky,
Whose wings, once spread, block stars on high.
Its call, a shriek, both sharp and cruel,
That chills the heart, the dreaded "Ahool!"

By day, the forest’s full of light,
But terror wakes with fall of night.
The village children speak in fear,
Of how the monster lingers near.
With every dusk, they run to hide,
As shadows in the trees collide.

A fisherman along the stream
Once heard the cry that haunts his dream.
He cast his nets, the moon was bright,
And all was calm beneath the light.
But from the skies, a form did dive,
He barely fled, barely alive.

He told the tale with widened eyes,
Of leathern wings that blackened skies,
Of talons sharp and wide-spread jaws,
And with each word, there came a pause—
For how to tell of such a sight,
A creature born from deepest night?

The elders nod, for they have known,
That in the wild, the beast has grown.
It feeds on fish, or so they claim,
Though none have lived to see the same.
Its wingspan rivals trees that climb,
A creature older than all time.

But one brave soul, young Anwar stood,
Determined to protect his wood.
“I’ll face this beast,” he firmly said,
“And end the cries that fill with dread.”
With spear in hand and heart of fire,
He set out toward the jungle’s mire.

Through tangled vines, the young man crept,
While in the trees, the wild things slept.
The wind was still, the air was thick,
Each step he took, the shadows slick.
Yet nothing stirred, no sound was heard,
No cry from beast, no wing, no bird.

At last he reached a clearing wide,
Where moonlight bathed the river’s side.
The water gleamed, so calm, so pure,
But then—a cry, both sharp and sure!
The Ahool swooped, its claws agape,
Too fast to flee, too late to escape.

Its wings engulfed the very sky,
And Anwar fell beneath its eye.
But as the beast prepared to dive,
A sudden thought kept him alive.
For in its gaze, he saw no hate,
No hunger there, no savage fate.

With courage born from fear and awe,
He dropped his spear, obeying law.
The Ahool paused, then turned away,
Back to the sky before the day.
Its cry, once fierce, now seemed to wane,
As if it, too, had felt the pain.

Now Anwar tells a different tale,
Of jungle beasts both fierce and frail.
The Ahool, guardian of the wild,
Not demon-born, but nature’s child.
Its call, no longer source of fear,
But sign that ancient life is near.