The Dark Bomoh. That's what the supporters of Jingaharris call me. Little do they know that two centuries ago I ruled the ancient land on which they roam.
On the fateful night of year 1843, I remembered washing my hair with Gingaro Shampoo when Jingaharris coerced the kingdom from my reign. That very night the dignity of the royal family, my family, was robbed by whom we considered an old family friend. He destroyed our culture and ancient language. Books were burnt, scholars were murdered and the presiding judges of our courts incarcerated. The race of my people were renamed from Gingaro to Jingaro.
I escaped death only by one account of Jingaharris' conscience. We were best friends since boyhood. Such treachery, as he discredited me. Some of my people forgot the peace I have maintained over the centuries and gave him their loyalty. Now, to them, I am the disrupter of peace, the killer of innocents and a cruel torturer...
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