A long time ago, in the heart of East Kalimantan, there stood a mighty and prosperous kingdom known as Kutai Kertanegara. This land, rich with rivers, rainforests, and golden legends, was ruled by King Aji Maharaja, the third monarch in the royal lineage. His reign was marked by peace and abundance, and his palace stood tall at the edge of the Mahakam River, surrounded by towering trees and sacred stones that whispered of the ancestors.
Despite having a grand palace with wide courtyards, majestic wooden carvings, and towering pillars, King Aji Maharaja felt something was missing. The palace, though vast and mighty, did not yet reflect the full glory he imagined. Its walls held silence rather than song, and its halls, though filled with treasures, lacked the enchantment of a living legacy.
Burdened by a quiet longing, the king summoned his royal advisor—a wise elder with a beard as white as clouds and eyes sharp as a hawk’s. “Tell me,” said the king, gazing out from his balcony, “what must I do to make my palace truly beautiful? Not just in the eyes of men, but in the eyes of the heavens and the spirits of the land?”
The royal advisor bowed respectfully, his voice calm and full of reverence.
"Your Majesty," he said, "I have heard tales from travelers and merchants—there are master sculptors in the island of Java, artisans whose carvings breathe life into stone and wood. Their work is said to be so exquisite that even the gods pause to admire it. Why not send a royal envoy to the King of Java and request that he send his finest sculptors to help beautify your palace?"
King Aji Maharaja stroked his beard, his eyes lighting up with interest. The thought stirred his imagination—a palace adorned with mythical carvings, majestic reliefs of gods and nature, reflecting not just royalty but divinity.
"A splendid idea!" he declared. Without delay, he dispatched a group of trusted soldiers and messengers, bearing gifts of gold, woven silks, and rare spices as a symbol of goodwill. Their mission: to travel across the seas and deliver the request with honor and humility.
When the envoys arrived in the Javanese court, the King of Java received them with grace. Upon hearing the request, he nodded with understanding and pride. “Indeed,” he said, “we do have sculptors who carry not only skill in their hands but ancient power in their spirits. I shall send two of my finest—they are brothers, bound by blood and artistry, and their names are whispered with awe across the land.”
And so, the two sculptors departed. Their arrival in Kutai Kertanegara caused a stir. Clad in simple robes but with an aura that seemed to shimmer under the sun, the brothers bowed before King Aji Maharaja. Their eyes gleamed with purpose and quiet mystery, as if they had already seen the palace in their dreams. The king welcomed them with open arms, unaware that their presence would not only change the palace—but shape the future of the kingdom itself.
The sculptors stood humbly before the throne, their hands still dusted with wood shavings and stone powder. One of them stepped forward, bowing respectfully.
"Your Majesty," he said, "what kind of sculptures would you like us to create?"
King Aji Maharaja leaned forward on his ornate throne, his voice ringing with grandeur.
"I want the most beautiful sculptures in the world," he declared. "Figures that reflect the glory of my kingdom, the wisdom of the gods, and the beauty of heaven itself."
The sculptors exchanged a glance—serious, yet inspired. Without wasting another moment, they set to work. Day and night, the palace echoed with the soft rhythm of chisels meeting stone, and the scent of sandalwood filled the air. They carved majestic creatures, divine guardians, flowing vines, and celestial maidens that seemed to come alive under the sunlight.
In just one moon cycle, the transformation was complete. The once plain palace now gleamed like a heavenly shrine. The king wandered through the halls in awe, his mouth open, his heart swelling with pride.
"You have exceeded my dreams," he said. "This is not just art—it is magic."
Overwhelmed with gratitude, King Aji Maharaja invited the sculptors to stay as honored guests within the palace. He gifted them robes of silk, trays of gold coins, and even lands near the river. The people praised the sculptors, calling them “the brothers who shaped paradise.”
But not everyone was pleased.
The royal advisor, who once stood closest to the king, watched with darkened eyes. His heart burned with envy—he had never received such honors, despite years of loyal service. In secret, he devised a cruel lie.
One quiet evening, he whispered to the king, “Your Majesty… I must report a matter of grave concern. The two sculptors… they have been seen behaving inappropriately toward the ladies-in-waiting.”
The king’s expression changed instantly. His joy turned to fury. Without seeking the truth, without even summoning the sculptors to speak, he raised his hand and shouted,
“Expel them at once! They have insulted my honor!”
And so, the sculptors—once hailed as heroes—were driven out from the palace gates under the veil of night, their hearts heavy with sorrow, their names stained by falsehood.
However, the royal advisor’s jealousy had turned into something darker—hatred. Seeing the sculptors merely exiled was not enough for him. His ambition demanded their complete destruction.
“Your Majesty,” he whispered venomously, “if you let them go, they will serve other kings. Imagine other palaces becoming even more glorious than yours. Why not end the threat completely? Hang them. Let no one outshine your kingdom.”
The king, already blinded by rage and shame, slammed his fist on the throne.
“You are right!” he bellowed. “Guards! Take them—hang them both now!”
The royal guards seized the sculptors without mercy. The news spread quickly, and a large crowd gathered in the open field where two tall poles stood with ropes swaying in the wind. The people watched in silence, their hearts heavy. Many wept. They admired the sculptors not only for their artistry but for their kindness and humility. And deep down, they knew—the advisor’s words were lies, yet fear silenced them all.
As the nooses were tightened, one of the sculptors managed to slip free in a moment of chaos. He ran into the forest, vanishing into the trees like a shadow. But the other sculptor was not so lucky. Bound and powerless, he met his end that day.
But before the rope ended his breath, he raised his voice one final time. His words rang like thunder across the sky.
“Ten will be destroyed, and eleven shall turn to jungle!”
The onlookers shuddered. His eyes blazed, not with fear—but with a solemn power, as if channeling something ancient. His final words echoed like a spell. And then… silence.
Time passed, and the prophecy unfolded with eerie precision. The tenth king of Kutai Kertanegara faced a great war—a battle that shattered the kingdom’s strength. His reign crumbled, and the once-glorious land weakened. When the eleventh king came to the throne, the kingdom was no more. The grand palaces were abandoned, swallowed by vines and trees. Birds sang where once soldiers marched. The entire kingdom had turned into a wild, whispering jungle.
King Aji Maharaja, disturbed by the sculptor’s final words, gave one last order—
“Throw his body into the Cow River. Let the waters carry him away.”
Yet something strange happened.
Days passed. Weeks. But the body did not rot. It floated peacefully, as if sleeping, untouched by time or decay. People came from villages to see it. Whispers spread: “This man… is sacred.”
And so, with reverence, they buried him near the river’s edge. Over time, a small shrine was built there. His tomb became a place of prayer, and the Cow River—once ordinary—was now believed to hold spiritual power. It flowed not only with water, but with memory, justice, and the spirit of a man wronged.
🧭 Moral Message
This story teaches us about the dangers of jealousy, the importance of discernment in leadership, and the tragic cost of betrayal. It reminds us that true talent should be honored, and that unjust decisions can destroy even the most glorious of kingdoms.
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| The Golden Crown of the Sultan of Kutai Kartanegara |
📌 Author’s Note
Is it Kutai Kertanegara or Kutai Kartanegara?
In many sources, the names "Kutai Kertanegara" and "Kutai Kartanegara" are used interchangeably. Historically, Kutai Kertanegara refers to the ancient Hindu kingdom that later transformed into an Islamic sultanate. Today, the name Kutai Kartanegara is commonly used for the modern administrative region in East Kalimantan. In this story, we refer to the kingdom using both names, acknowledging their shared heritage.
✨ Reflection:
The story of the Kutai Kartanegara Kingdom and its eventual “disappearance” into a jungle can be seen as a metaphorical reminder that all things, including kingdoms, civilizations, and powers, are transient. While the tale suggests that the kingdom was lost to time, it is important to recognize that legends often carry deeper meanings. They aren’t always meant to be taken literally but rather as symbolic narratives that explore themes like the impermanence of power, the consequences of broken promises, and the wisdom of understanding the natural balance.
Despite the legend's description of the kingdom fading away, we find concrete evidence in the form of historical artifacts, such as the Golden Crown of the Sultan, which still exists as a reminder of the kingdom's once-great influence. The crown, along with other remnants of Kutai Kartanegara, shows that while the political structures may have shifted or disappeared, the cultural and historical essence of the kingdom remains. These physical markers tell us that the kingdom didn’t entirely vanish, but rather evolved, leaving behind legacies that continue to be part of the region’s identity.
This reflection invites us to reconsider how we approach legends. Instead of viewing them as fixed accounts of the past, we can appreciate them as symbolic reflections of the human experience—where loss, transformation, and endurance are central themes. The story reminds us that history is often layered and complex, with echoes of the past still resonating through the present.
This kind of interpretation can be empowering for people today, encouraging them to recognize the lasting impact of a civilization even when its visible power has waned. It also serves as a gentle reminder that while kingdoms may fall, the heart of their culture and wisdom can endure in surprising ways.
