Sarkawi or known as Nek Eurih (Reed Grandmother) was the last elder of the Kulawu sect that worshipped the spirits of the woods. Villagers would often see her in the outskirts, carrying bundles of reed with her wooden staff from the wilderness.
She would still often appear many years after she died, hobbling around with her large, twisted feet, appearing down a dirt path by the reed patches of the swamp, or from the depths of the oldest trees of leuweung geledegan (the oldest areas of the forest protected by the village elders).
She had passed on her knowledge of the dark arts to someone else knowing that her sect was to face imminent persecution under the Dutch government in the early 20th century. She lived out the rest of her years in the woods, gathering reeds and communing with the spirits until she became one herself
Seeing her is a bad omen. She's always walking towards you, never the other way around. She represents fate, as was destined for you. Whatever path you choose, she will still go your way, and you have no choice but to face her.
"Eeh, budak bageur..."
'Hello, good child' she would say, nodding and grinning as she sees you down the path. It would be so easy to mistake her for any other old lady.
"Wilujeng patepang deui..."
'Good to see you again' she would say, as you pass her by. You've never met her before, and you'll probably never see her again.
Sarwani was something of a bogeyman to the children of Paterosari for many generations. It was said that he was a man driven mad from delving deeply into the dark arts, said to be taught by his wicked grandmother.
On the full moon, he would howl at the sky and yell "Ratu urang, Ratu Wilhelmina!" A monarchist praise to the bygone era of the Dutch colonialism that showed how he was from another era.
But indeed, he was quite real. He was the last living member of the Kulawu sect that worshipped the spirits of the woods, and up until the 1960s when he was last seen, he was known as a rambling vagrant who would trade firewood with cigarettes from the villagers. Give him money and he would spit at you.
Many have heard of him, some have actually heard him, but few people today remembered seeing him when he was alive. The elders would recall the old man with his cart of branches, sitting on a stump in front of a small fire with his axe resting beside him, smoking a cigarette. You would walk past him as he looked deep into the dancing fire.
These days, you could sometimes still see him if you've wandered too far. Seeing him is a good omen, though unfortunately, he does not appear very often.
He often appears to those who are lost or those whose lives are important enough to be reminded: