Lawang Sigotaka

Chapter 11

The museum was eerily silent, the usual hum of activity absent in the early hours of the morning. Dimas walked through the dimly lit corridors of the Karmawibhangga Museum, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished marble floors. The air was cool, almost cold, with a faint scent of aged wood and ancient stone. The exhibits, normally a source of fascination and intellectual curiosity for him, now seemed to loom with a hidden menace, as if they were more than mere artifacts guardians of a truth that had eluded him until now.

He wasn't sure what had drawn him here. After the intensity of the last few days his encounters at the temple, the vision at the bodhi tree, and the momentous decision to push forward into the darkness of Borobudur he should have been seeking rest. But something had tugged at the edges of his consciousness, an insistent pull that he couldn't ignore. It was as if an invisible thread had connected him to this place, leading him to the museum as surely as if he had been summoned.

The museum was a place he had visited countless times before, a sanctuary for scholars and historians. But today, it felt different. The air was thick with anticipation, as though the very walls were whispering secrets he was only now ready to hear. He felt a strange sense of dislocation, as if he were moving through a dream a dream that was slowly merging with reality.

Dimas turned a corner and found himself in front of the room that housed the Karmawibhangga relief panels. The panels, carved into the stone of Borobudur's hidden base, depicted scenes of karma and rebirth grim reminders of the consequences of earthly actions. This particular section of the museum had always fascinated him, but today, the carved stones seemed to pulse with an energy he had never noticed before.

He stepped into the room, his gaze sweeping over the familiar panels. The soft lighting cast long shadows across the ancient carvings, giving them an almost lifelike quality. Dimas moved slowly, his eyes scanning each panel as if searching for something he hadn't seen before something he knew, deep down, was waiting for him.

And then he saw it.

The panel was tucked away in a corner, partially obscured by the shadows. It was one of the lesser-known reliefs, often overlooked by visitors in favor of the more prominent and dramatic scenes. But as Dimas approached, his heart began to race. There was something about this panel, something that sent a shiver down his spine a sense of eerie familiarity that he couldn't shake.

He stepped closer, the details of the carving coming into focus. The relief depicted a massive gate, its archway intricately carved with symbols that seemed to shimmer in the dim light. Surrounding the gate were celestial beings, their expressions serene yet enigmatic, as if they were guarding something of immense importance. Their hands were raised in gestures of blessing or warning while their eyes seemed to follow Dimas as he moved.

Dimas's breath caught in his throat as he recognized the gate. It was the same gate from his dreams, from his visions the Sigotaka. The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow, a shock that reverberated through his entire being. He reached out a trembling hand to touch the relief, his fingers brushing against the cold stone as if to confirm that it was real, that he wasn't imagining things.

But it was real. The relief was here, solid and tangible beneath his fingertips. And it depicted the very gate that had haunted his dreams, the gateway he had seen in his vision at Borobudur. The connection between his dreams and the reality before him was undeniable, and it sent a chill through his body.

"How is this possible?" Dimas whispered to himself, his voice barely audible in the silence of the room. His mind raced with questions, with doubts and fears that threatened to overwhelm him. He had always prided himself on his rationality, on his ability to separate fact from fiction, reality from fantasy. But this this was something else entirely. The line between his internal visions and external reality was blurring, and Dimas wasn't sure if he was ready for what that meant.