All possessed with rage
The Queen replied: "I do not pity thee.
I hate thee, when I see thee. Open not
Thy mouth again." The wicked Queen then seized
The lovely tresses of the beauteous maid,
And took a piece of wood with which to strike;
But Bidasari wept and swooned away.
The King's voice sounded through the corridor,
As he returned. The Queen then hastened forth
And left a mandar there to close and guard
Fair Bidasari's room, that nothing should
Be seen. Then asked the King of her, "Whom hast
Thou beaten now?" The hypocrite replied,
"It was a child that disobeyed my will."
"Are there not others for that discipline?
Is it for thee to strike?" His siri then
He took, and kissed the Queen with fondest love.
All the dyangs fair Bidasari's plight
Observed, and kindly pity filled their breasts.
"How cruel is the conduct of the Queen!"
They said. "She made us bring her to her side
But to maltreat the child the livelong day.
It seems as if she wished to slay her quite."
Then secretly they went, with some to watch,
And sprinkled Bidasari's brow. To life
She came, and opened those dear wistful eyes.
"My friends," she said, "I pray ye, let me go
Back home again unto my father's house."
"Oh, trust in God, my child," said one in tears.
"My lot is written from eternity.
Oh, pray the princess great to take my life,"
The poor child cried; "I can no longer stand;
My bones are feeble. Oh, she has no heart!"
But the dyangs, for fear the Queen might see,
All fled.
Meanwhile the merchant and his wife
Wept all the day, and sighed for their dear child,
Sweet Bidasari. Nor did gentle sleep
Caress their eyes at night. Each day they sent
Rich presents of all kinds, and half of them
Were for the child. But naught the wicked Queen
To Bidasari gave. So five days passed
And then Dyang Menzara forth they sent.
The merchant said: "Oh, tell the mighty Queen
That I must Bidasari see. I'll bring
Her back in three days' time." The good
Dyang went to the queen and bowing low:
"The merchant fain would see his child," she said.
At this the features of the Queen grew hard.
"Did they not give their child to me? Now scarce
A day has passed, and they must see her face.
Is it thine own wish or the merchant's? I
Have said the girl could go where'er she would.
Can I not have her taken back myself?"
Then the dyang bowed, beat her breast, and went,
Sad that she could not Bidasari see,
And quaking at the anger of the Queen.
Of the dyang, fair Bidasari heard
The voice, and felt her heart break that she could
Not speak to her and send a message home.
Upon the morrow, when the King had gone
Among his ministers and men of state,
The Queen again to Bidasari's room
Repaired, to beat her more. As soon as she
Beheld the Queen, poor Bidasari prayed
To her, "O sovereign lady great, permit
That I may go unto my father's house."
The princess shook with rage, her face on fire.
"If thou but sayest a word, I'll slay thee here."
To whom could Bidasari turn? She bent
Before the will of God, and in a sweet
Voice said: "O Lord, my God, have pity now
Upon me, for the cruel world has none.
Grant now the Queen's desire and let me die,
For she reproacheth me, though naught I've done.
My parents have forgotten me, nor send
A word." The angry princess struck again
Her piteous face, and as she swooned away
A napkin took to twist into a cord
And strangle her. She summoned to her aid
Dang Ratna Wali. "Help me pluck this weed;
I wish to kill her." But the woman fled,
As base as cruel. Bidasari's ghost
Arose before her. Yet the child came back
To consciousness, and thought amid her tears:
"I'll tell the story of the golden fish
Unto the Queen, that she may know it all;
For I can but a little while endure
These pains." She spoke then to the Queen and said:
"O Queen, thou dost desire that I shall die.
Seek out a little casket that doth lie
All hidden in the fish-pond at our house.
Within it is a fish. Have it brought here
And I will tell thee what it signifies."
The princess called Dyang Sendari: "Go
And bring here the dyangs, with no delay
From out the merchant's house." When they arrived:
"Go, now, dyangs, for Bidasari saith
There is a little casket in the pond
Where she is wont to bathe. Go bring it me,
In silence, letting no one see ye come."
Then the dyangs replied: "Oh, hear our prayer
For Bidasari. How her parents grieve!
Oh, pardon, princess, let her go with us."
The Queen with smiles responded: "The young girl
Is very happy here, and full of joy.
Her parents must not grieve, for in two days
If Bidasari doth desire to go
I'll send her freely. She is vexed that ye
Come here so often." The dyangs bowed low,
And smiled, and called enticingly: "Come forth,
O charming child, pure soul; it is not right
To treat us so, for we have come to see
Thy lovely face, and in its beauty bask."
Sweet Bidasari heard, and could not speak,
But answered with her tears. The cruel Queen
Said to them: "Speak no more. But if ye bring
The little casket, ye will fill the heart
Of Bidasari with great joy." Forth fared
Then the dyangs, and found the casket small,
And brought it to the palace of the Queen.
Again to Bidasari called the good
Dyangs: "Oh, come, dear heart, and take it from
Our hands yourself." "She sleeps," the princess said.
"Come back to-morrow." So they bowed and went.
The princess hastened with the casket rich
To Bidasari's room, and opened it
Before her eyes. Within it was a box
Of agate, beautiful to see, and filled
With water wherein swam a little fish
Of form most ravishing. The princess stood
Amazed to see with eyes of fire a fish
That swam. Then was she glad, and spoke with joy
To Bidasari: "Say what signifies
The fish to thee? What shall I do with it?"
Then Bidasari bowed and said: "My soul
Is in that fish. At dawn must thou remove
It from the water, and at night replace.
"Leave it not here and there, but hang it from
Thy neck. If this thou dost, I soon shall die.
My words are true. Neglect no single day
To do as I have said, and in three days
Thou'lt see me dead."
The Queen felt in her heart
A joy unspeakable. She took the fish
And wore it on a ribbon round her neck.
Unto the Queen then Bidasari spoke,
"Oh, give my body to my parents dear
When I am dead." Again the young maid swooned.
The Queen believed her dead, and ceased to beat
Her more. But she yet lived, though seeming dead.
The joyful Queen a white cloth over her
Then spread, and called aloud to the dyangs,
"Take Bidasari to her father's house."
They groaned and trembled when they saw that she
Was dead, and said with many tears: "Alas!
O dearest one, O gold all virginal!
What shall we say when we thy parents see?
They'll beat their breasts and die of grief. They gave
Thee to the King because they trusted us."
But the proud Queen, her face all red with hate:
"Why stay ye? Take the wretched girl away."
They saw the Queen's great rage, and bore the maid
Upon their shoulders forth, and carried her
Unto her father's house at dead of night.
Fear seized the merchant. "Say what bring ye here?
Tell me, dyangs." They placed her on the ground.
The merchant and his wife, beside themselves,
With tears embraced her form. "I trusted in
The Queen, and so I sent my child to her.
O daughter dear, so young, so pure, so sweet,
What hast thou done that could the Queen displease,
That she should send thee home like this to me?
How could the Queen treat Bidasari so?
For seven days she imprisoned her and sent
Her home in death. Ah, noble child! alas!
Thy father's heart will break, no more to hear
Thy voice. Speak to thy father, O my child,
My pearl, my gem of women, purest gold,
Branch of my heart; canst thou not quiet me?
O Bidasari, why art thou so still?
Arise, my pretty child, arise and play
With all thy maids. Here is thy mother, come
To greet thee. Bid her welcome. Why art thou
So motionless? Hast thou no pity, dear,
To see thy father overwhelmed with woe?
My heart is bursting with despair because
Thou'rt lost to me."
Long time the merchant thus
Lamented. "What have I to live for now?
Since thou art dead, thy father too shall die.
It is his lot both night and day to sigh
For thee. My God, I cannot understand
Why this dear child should thus a victim be!
'Tis the dyangs who have this evil wrought."
Then, through the whole campong, the merchants all
Made lamentations, rolling on the ground,
With noise of thunder, and their hearts on fire.
They sought to speak and could not. Then began
Again the merchant, and unto his friends
Told his misfortune, asking back his child.
The Queen's dyangs shed tears, and gently said:
"Speak not so loudly. Thou dost know that we
Are but poor servants, and we tremble lest
The Queen should hear. If any one of us
Had done this wrong, we'd tell it to the King.
Fate only is at fault. Oh, be not wroth
With us. Our will was good. We had no end
Except to see thy lovely daughter great
And powerful. Naught the King hath known of this.
It was the Queen's mad jealousy and hate."
The merchant and his wife accepted these,
The dyangs' words. "It is as they declare.
The Queen was jealous and embittered thus
Against our Bidasari. To your home
Return, dyangs. I fear me that the Queen
May learn of your delay and punish ye."
They bowed and went, with hearts of burning grief.
The merchant and his wife then lifted up
Poor Bidasari. They were all but dead
With sorrow. On his knees the father took
The body wrapped in crimson silk. He felt
A warmth. Then he remembered that within
The water was her vital spirit still,
And, placing her upon a mat, sent Dang
Poulam, the casket from the pond to bring.
But 'twas not there. Then all the household searched,
But found it not. The merchant beat his breast.
"Branch of my heart," he said, "we all had thought
Thou wouldst become a princess. I have lost
My reason. I hoped now to summon back
Thy spirit vital, but the casket's lost.
My hope is gone. It may be the dyangs
Have stolen it. They're faithful to the Queen.
We may not trust in them. They're filled with hate
And trickery." Unconscious all the time
Lay Bidasari; but at midnight's hour
She for the first time moved. They torches brought
And there behind Egyptian curtains, right
And left, ignited them, with many lamps'
Soft flames. The servants watched and waited there.
The father, always at his daughter's side,
With fixed glance looked for life to come once more
Back to his darling one. She moved again.
With opening eyes she saw and recognized
Her own soft couch, her parents, and her maids.
She tried but could not speak. Her hot tears fell,
She slowly turned and looked with fondest love
Upon her parents.
When the merchant saw
That Bidasari's spirit had returned,
He took her on his knees and gave her rice.
She could not walk because such pain she felt.
She thought upon the Queen and wept afresh.
They dried her tears, and placed within her mouth
What food she liked. The merchant tenderly
Said, "Bidasari, dear, what has thou wrought
To cause the Queen against thee thus to act?"
Young Bidasari, with a flood of tears, replied:
"No wrong at all I wrought the cruel Queen.
All suddenly her insults she began,
And beatings." They were stupefied to hear
Such tales. "Light of my eyes," the father said,
"We do not doubt thine innocence. Her deeds
Were those of madness. For her haughty birth
I care no whit. Wisdom and virtue bind
True hearts alone. As friends we ne'er must name
Those false dyangs. Not plants medicinal,
But poison foul, are they. These days are bad.
Injustice reigns. Believe me, friends, it is
A sign the last great day shall soon appear.
Those false dyangs are but a race of slaves,
Insensible to all that's good. The hour
The princess knoweth Bidasari lives,
We all shall die, the princess is so wroth.
Illustrious Queen they call her—but her words
Are hard and cruel. May the curse of God
O'erwhelm her and annihilate! From thee,
O God, she shall receive the punishment
Deserved. She who pursueth thus a soul
Shall know remorse and pain. So God hath willed.
So God hath willed. Who doth another harm
Shall suffer in his turn. It shall be done
To him as he hath done to others. So,
My child, my crown, have no more fear at all.
Intrust thyself to God. The cruel Queen
Shall yet be treated as she treated thee."
The merchant thus lamented till the night
Was half departed, shedding sapphire tears.
The innocent young girl, like marble there,
Slept till the evening twilight came. Toward dawn
She swooned anew.