Amretasari was fifteen when she was wed to Sumatrabhumi. The day she sailed for Palembang was not the happiest moment in her life; her father was killed, her brother was taken hostage, her mother was exiled.
The moment Samudra Raksa was docking at the Singhasarian port, it was a completely different feeling she felt: both relieved and excited. The relief was due to an obvious reason, she had successfully led her people to safety—while the excitement was because she could not wait to set her foot in Bhumi Java's soil again. To meet her brother, her friends. People who truly loved and cared for her.
A moment before they got off the sambau, the Rajaputra asked her mother: “My uncle, Raden Wijaya. What is he like?”
Amretasari could sense the feeling of unease in his words. And that was for a valid reason: he never met him in person; and in Palembang, Raden Wijaya had always been depicted as a rebellious madman who was against Indrapura’s father.
She answered jokingly: “He’s tall and good with sword”, she then paused, “and he really looks like you when he was young.”
“I mean, are you sure he will welcome us?”
She answered: “Look—you, me, and Anes are of the same blood with him. We are part of the Singhasarian royal family. Of course, we are welcomed.”