8, December 1941 Some Village in Kedah
"Ahhhhh!" The voices from the radio crackled through the wooden speaker boxes in homes across the village. People sat quietly, huddled in tense silence.
It wasn't good news.
"...Today, units of the Imperial Japanese Army have crossed the northern border and landed in Kota Bharu. They have already begun their advance down the eastern and western fronts. Our forces stationed at Alor Setar and Jitra are preparing a line of defense. Do not panic. Her Majesty's Government has dispatched reinforcements from India and Australia. The Federated Malay States Volunteer Forces are mobilizing. We, the Colonial Administration Office, vow to protect Malaya and her people to the very end."
The broadcast ended with the national anthem of Britannia, but the music couldn't mask the unease settling over the village.
In this part of Kedah, close to the Siamese border, the invasion was not a distant rumor—it had begun.
Still, there was no outbreak of panic. After all, for the common people, one invader was the same as another. Living under colonial rule, what difference did it make? "We're already being ruled by foreigners," they thought. "Now it's just someone else."
"So… what do we do now?" asked one old man to another.
"We wait. Tell the villagers to store food and medicine. This won't be over quickly. And don't expect the British to protect us—they're just fighting for their empire. Last hundred years ago it was the same thing. Two white powers fighting while we pay the price." The villager was mentioned Portuguese, Dutch and now British didn't mention 1914 also German blow up port in Penang.
"Mom!"
A teenager—Aman, age 14—heard the warning and dropped his bicycle outside his wooden house, rushing inside.
"Mom! Where are you?! The elders said we need to store food fast—there's war now!"
From the kitchen, his mother stepped out, wiping her hands. Her younger twins, Nana and Nini, just six years old, peeked out from behind her.
"War? Are we going to die?" one of the twins asked innocently.
Their mother sighed, kneeling down to comfort them.
"No, sweethearts. Everything will be okay. Your father's probably at the town hall now. He'll figure something out. If it gets worse, we'll go to Temasek. That place is protected."
Aman frowned.
"But should we be worried now, Mom?"
She forced a smile.
"No. Don't worry, Aman. We'll be okay."
Later that night, the radio returned with a grim update:
"To all listeners: Japanese forces have overwhelmed the Kota Bharu defenses and are moving swiftly south. Our second and fourth divisions are suffering heavy losses. All civilians are advised to prepare for relocation. Contact your local authorities. Stay with this broadcast for further updates. May God be with us all."
The village fell into chaos in less than 24 hours. Refugee trucks arrived, overloaded with frightened civilians.
"Please take my children!" cried a mother, thrusting her twins toward the soldiers.
Aman's own family was split. The military had orders to evacuate children and high-priority personnel first.
"Ma'am, we'll take the twins to Temasek. It's safer there. We promise."
The truck drove off with Nana and Nini onboard. Aman, still too old to count as a child, was left behind with his mother.
"Where's Dad?" Aman asked, shaken.
"They took him… to help with the field hospitals," she whispered. "He's a nurse. They needed him at Alor Setar. He didn't even get to say goodbye…"
They walked home together through quiet, smoke-scented streets.
But when they reached their house, four unfamiliar soldiers were already inside.
These were not British soldiers.
They were Japanese. Infantrymen in khaki uniforms and steel helmets. Their insignia bore the red Rising Sun.
One looked up, barked an order in Japanese, and Aman and his mother were shoved inside.
They weren't looking for them—they were looting supplies. But that didn't make things better.
Aman protested. One of the soldiers punched him in the gut so hard he vomited on the spot.
"Don't hurt him!" his mother cried, but it only drew attention.
Another soldier grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into a room. Aman tried to fight but was held down, beaten again.
He was too weak. Too small.
The soldiers laughed.
One soldier muttered into a radio:
"Unit 3, this is Unit 1. Batu Village secured. No need for shelling. Requesting additional units for full occupation."
He turned and looked at Aman.
"Hey, Tanaka's taking too long in there," he said to his comrade.
They chuckled grimly.
Aman's heart pounded. He couldn't move.
When they finally pulled his mother out, she was bruised, barely conscious. One soldier unzipped his pants as Aman watched in silent horror.
Then—the sound of engines.
Planes overhead. Trucks. Boots.
A larger Japanese detachment was arriving.
In a desperate moment of clarity, Aman's mother bit one soldier's hand and screamed:
"Aman, RUN!"
"You bitch!" the soldier shouted—and fired his rifle.
She fell instantly.
The soldiers quickly gathered their gear and moved out.
They didn't bother finishing Aman off. He wasn't a threat. Just a boy.
Outside, panicked villagers ran—only to be gunned down by machine guns set up at the edge of the rice fields.
Aman stood, trembling.
His mother lay still on the ground.
He couldn't cry. Couldn't scream.
Just… stared.
"Nana… Nini… are they okay?" he whispered.
His legs moved on instinct.
Temasek. That's where his siblings were. That's where he had to go.
He didn't bury her. Didn't say goodbye.
He just ran.