‘Because of the love and understanding you have had over the years for our people we pledge ourselves to help you in every way possible to reach your own countrymen at Batavia. This will mean smuggling you through Dutch and British territory, but we will see that you are delivered safely to the American consul. Then you can be evacuated to your own country where you will have the proper medicine and food, and peace away from the strife in Java.’

Pito halted and looked at me for my reaction. My face must have shown how deeply touched I was. I knew that any effort to get me through the British lines would require these young men to risk their lives.

‘Go on, Pito dear,’ I whispered. ‘What is the second proposal?’

Pito tightened his lips and cleared his throat.

‘It is our hope that K’tut Tantri, health permitting, will not desert us in this great hour of Indonesia’s destiny. It is our hope that K’tut will find it in her heart to stay in Indonesia and help to bring our beloved country to the same state of freedom that her own people enjoy.

‘But before any decision is made we should like to point out that the road to freedom will be fraught with danger. We have nothing to offer K’tut Tantri in return for such a sacrifice, except the love and esteem of seventy million Indonesians.’

If I remained in Java I definitely could not have the care, the medicines, the good food I required to build up my health again. My thoughts turned to the American Revolution, and to the men of other lands – Poles, Frenchmen, Germans and Englishmen – who had played important parts in shaping the destiny of that great democracy. I thought of Thomas Paine, who wrote in his book The Rights of Man: ‘There can be no freedom for one unless there is freedom for all.’

My decision was made.

To the lovable golden people standing before me I said, ‘Come what may, I shall throw in my lot with the Indonesian people.’ To Pito, quoting his child’s words to me so many years ago, I mischievously added, ‘Take me with you, gentle Pito, for now I shall be your eyes and your tongue. I shall help you get the right change, and I’ll show you the road. Or I will die in the attempt.’

Pito fell to his knees, hid his face in the bedclothes and wept.

Just before he was leaving, Pito asked me what had become of the charm he had given to me when we first met, knowing that I had worn it constantly around my waist on a silver chain.

I told him that the Japanese had ripped it off when they questioned me at Kediri and that I had never seen it again.