Malayan Literature: Comprising Romantic Tales, Epic Poetry and Royal Chronicles

by Unknown

The merchant and his wife
Were much disturbed to see at night she came
To life, but when the daylight shone again
They lost her, and her spirit fled away.
This so distressed the merchant's heart, a lone
Retreat he sought to find. The parents cried:
"O dearest child, there's treason in the air.
Hatred and anger the companions are
Of lamentations and of curses dire.
Foul lies for gold are uttered. Men disdain
The promises of God, the faith they owe.
Oh, pardon, God! I ne'er thought the dyangs
Would thus conspire. But since they are so bad
And treated Bidasari thus, we'll go
And in the desert find a resting-place.
And may it be a refuge for us all,
Hidden and unapproachable."

His goods
He gathered then, and all his servants paid,
And built a home far in the desert land,
A spot agreeable. A cabin there
He raised, with ramparts hemmed about, and strong
Sasaks, and seven rows of palisades.
They placed there many vases full of flowers,
And every sort of tree for fruit and shade,
And cool pavilions. This plaisance so fair
They called Pengtipourlara. It was like
The garden of Batara Indra. All
About, the merchant set pomegranate-trees
And vines of grape. No other garden was
So beautiful. 'Twas like the garden fair
Of great Batara Brahma, filled with fruits.
When all was ready, forth they went, toward night,
And took young Bidasari, and much food.
They fared two days and came unto the spot,
A garden in the desert. Softest rugs
From China there were spread and of bright hue
The decorations were, in every tint.
The house was hung with tapestries, and ceiled
To represent the heavens flecked with clouds.
And all about were lanterns hung and lamps.
Soft curtains and a couch completed this
Enchanted resting-place. Always the light
Was uniform, and brilliant as the day.
'Twas like a palace of a mighty king,
Magnificent and grand beyond compare.
There was a table on a damp rug set,
With drinks for Bidasari, and with bowls
Of gold, and vases of souasa, filled
With water. All of this beside the couch
Was placed, with yellow siri, and with pure
Pinang, all odorous, to please the child.
And all was covered with a silken web.
Young Bidasari bracelets wore, and rings,
And ear-rings diamond studded. Garments four
All gem-bedecked upon a cushion lay,
For Bidasari's wear. When night had come
Young Bidasari waked. Her parents dear
Then bathed her, and her tender body rubbed
With musk and aloes. Then she straight was clad
In garments of her choosing. Her dear face
Was beautiful, almost divine. She had
Regained the loveliness she erst possessed.
The merchant was astonished, seeing her.
He told her then that they would leave her there,
"Branch of my heart and apple of my eye,
My dearest child, be not disturbed at this.
I do not mean to work thee any harm,
Nor to disown thee, but to rescue thee
From death." But as she listened to these words
Young Bidasari wept. She thought upon
Her fate. Into her father's arms she threw
Herself, and cried: "Why wilt thou leave me here,
O father dearest, in this desert lone?
I'll have no one to call in case of need.
I fear to stay alone. No one there'll be
To talk to me. I only count those hours
As happy when I have my parents near."
The merchant heard fair Bidasari's words
And wept with his dear wife. With bitter grief
Their hearts were shattered. Counsels wise they gave
To Bidasari. "Dearest daughter mine,"
The father said, "gem of my head, my crown,
Branch of my heart, light of my eyes, oh, hear
Thy father's words, and be thou not afraid.
We brought thee hither, to this fair retreat,
Far from the town, for, if the Queen should know
Thou liv'st at night, the false dyangs would come,
And who against the princess can contend?
They'd take thee back, and thus exonerate
Themselves. I'd let myself be chopped in bits
Before thou shouldst unto the Queen return.
Thy father cannot leave companions here,
But after three days he will come to thee.
Thy parents both will soon come back again."
Then Bidasari thought: "My parent's words
Are truth, and if the Queen should find I live
She would abuse me as before. Give me
One maid-companion here to be with me,"
She asked. "My child, trust not," he said, "in slaves,
Nor servants, for they only follow pay."
Then Bidasari silence kept, and they,
The father all distraught and mother fond,
Wept bitterly at thought of leaving her.
Fair Bidasari bade them eat, before
They started. But because of heavy hearts
They but a morsel tasted. At the dawn
Young Bidasari swooned again. They made
All ready to return to town. With tears
The father said: "O apple of my eye,
Pearl of all women, branch of my own heart,
Pure gold, thy parents leave thee with distress.
No more they'll have a daughter in the house.
But, dear, take courage, we shall soon come back."
They left here with a talking bird to cheer
Her loneliness, close shutting all the gates
Of all the seven ramparts. Through a wood
Bushy and thick they took a narrow path,
In sorrow, but with confidence in God.
"O sovereign God, protect our child," they said.
When they had fared unto their house, they prayed
And gave much alms.

When evening shadows came
Young Bidasari waked, and found herself
Alone, and was afraid. With bitter tears
Her eyes were filled. What could she say? She gave
Herself to God. Alas, our destiny
Is like a rock. Twas hers to be alone.
It is in no man's power to turn aside
Or change whatever is by fate decreed.
All desolate sat Bidasari. Sleep
Wooed not her eyes. Now when he heard the cry
Of "Peladou," the owl lamented loud.
Upon her parents coming, loaded down
With dainties for the child, she for a while
Her woe forgot, and ate and drank with joy.
The little bird with which she talked upheld
Her courage with its soothing voice. So ran
The days away. Upon pretext he gave
Of hunting deer, the merchant daily came.

SONG III

Hear now a song about the King Djouhan.
The wise and powerful prince e'er followed free
His fancy, and the Princess Lila Sari
Was very happy in her vanity.
Since she had killed (for so she thought) the maid,
Young Bidasari, tainted was her joy.
"The King will never take a second wife,"
She mused, "since Bidasari is now dead."
The King loved Princess Lila Sari well.
He gratified her every wish, and gave
Her all she asked, so fond was he of her.
Whene'er the princess was annoyed, the King,
With kisses and soft words would quiet her,
And sing to her sweet songs till she became
Herself again. "Poor, little, pretty wife,"
He'd say, and laugh her fretful mood away.
One night as he lay sleeping on his bed,
A dream tormented him. "What may it mean?"
He thought. "Ah, well, to-morrow morn I'll seek
An explanation." At the dawn he sat
Upon a rug Egyptian, breaking fast,
And with him was the princess. When she had
The dainties tasted, the dyangs arrived
With leaves of perfume. Then the King went forth
Into the garden. All the officers
Were there assembled. When they saw the King
They all were silent. To a mantri spoke
The King: "My uncle, come and sit thee here.
I fain would question thee." The King had scarce
These words pronounced, when, bowing very low,
The mantri in respectful tones replied,
"My greetings to thee, O most merciful
Of kings." He sat him near the throne. "I dreamed
Last night," the King continued, "that the moon
In her full glory fell to earth. What means
This vision?" Then the mantri with a smile
Replied: "It means that thou shalt find a mate,
A dear companion, like in birth to thee,
Wise and accomplished, well brought up and good,
The one most lovable in all the land."
The King's eyes took new fire at this. He said
With smiles: "I gave the Queen my promise true
That never I would take a second wife
Until a fairer I could find than she.
And still she is so lovely in my eyes,
Her equal cannot anywhere be found.
You'd take her for a flow'r. Yet when arise
Her storms of anger, long it takes to calm
Her mind, so waspish is her character.
The thought of this doth sadden me. Should one
Not satisfy her heart's desire, she flies
Into a passion and attempts to kill
Herself. But 'tis my destiny—'tis writ.
The Queen is like a gem with glint as bright
As lightning's flash. No one can ever be,
I tell thee now, so beautiful to me."
The mantri smiled. "What thou dost say is just,
O King, but still if thou shouldst someone find
More beautiful, thou yet couldst keep thy word.
The beauty of the Queen may fade away.
The princess thou shalt wed, O King, hath four
High qualities. She must, to be thy queen,
Be nobly born, and rich, and fair, and good."
The prince replied: "O uncle mine, thy words
Are true. Full many princesses there live,
But hard it is to find these qualities.
The Queen is good and wise and lovable.
I do not wish another wife to wed,
And wound the Queen with whom three years I've lived
In love and harmony. Yet if I saw
A quite celestial maid, perhaps I might
Forget, and marry her, and give the Queen
A gay companion." "O accomplished prince,
Thou sayest truly. Stay long years with her
Thy Queen, thy first beloved, for she hath all—
Great beauty and intelligence." They bowed
As forth from them the King went palaceward.
He sat beside the Queen, and kissed her cheeks,
And said: "Thy features shine with loveliness,
Like to a jewel in a glass. When I
Must leave thy side, I have no other wish
But to return. Like Mount Maha Mirou
Thou art." The princess said: "Wherefore art thou
So spirited to-day? Thou'rt like a boy."
"Branch of my heart, my dearest love," he said,
"Vex not thyself. Thou know'st the adage old:
First one is taken with a pretty face,
Then wisdom comes and prudence, and, with these,
One loves his wife until the day of death.
If thus thou dost deport thyself, my dear,
My heart between two wives shall never be
Divided; thou alone shalt own it all."
The Queen was charmed to hear his loving words.
At night the Queen slept, but King remained
Awake, and watched the moon, and called to mind
His dream. As dawn approached he slept, and seemed
To hear an owl's shrill voice, like Pedalou's.
When it was fully day, the royal pair
Together broke their fast. The King went forth
And orders gave, in two days to prepare
A mighty hunt, to chase the dappled deer,
With men and dogs and all apparel fit.
Then back into the palace went the King,
And told the Queen, who straightway gave commands
For food to be made ready. At midnight
Behind Egyptian curtains went to rest
The King and Queen, but slept not. Still the dream
Was ever in his thoughts and worried him.
At dawn he said farewell unto the Queen.
She was all radiant, and smiling, said:
"Bring me a fawn. I'll tell the servants all
To take good care of it, so it may grow
Quite tame." "What we can do, my dear, we shall,
So all of thy desires may come to pass."
And so the King took leave, with kisses fond,
And, mounted on a hunter brown, set forth,
With velvet saddle decked with fringe of pearls.
Lances and shields and arrows and blow-guns
They bore. The wood they entered, and the beasts
All fled before their steps at dawn's first ray.
And when the sun was up, they loosed the hounds
With savage cries. Toward noon an animal
In flight they saw, and would have followed it,
But then up spake the King and said, "We are
So hot and weary, let us linger here
For rest." One-half the company astray
Had gone, each striving to be first of all.
The King, attended by a faithful three,
Reclined upon the ground, and sent them forth
For water. So the mantris went to find
A river or a pond, and faring far
To Bidasari's plaisance came at last.
They stopped astounded, then approached the place.
When they were near the lovely garden close,
They said: "There was no garden here before.
To whom does this belong? Perchance it is
A spirit's bower. No human voice is heard
But just the cry of 'minahs' and 'bajans.'
Whom shall we call, lest spectres should appear?"
They wandered round the ramparts, and a gate
Discovered, shut with heavy iron bar,
And vainly tried to open it. Then one
Of them went back, and found the King, and said:
"Hail, sovereign lord, we have no water found,
But a campong here in the desert lone,
As splendid as a sultan's, with all sorts
Of trees and flow'rs, and not a mortal there.
'Tis girt about with double ramparts strong.
No name is seen, and all the gates are shut,
So that we could not enter."

Scarce the King
Had heard the mantri's word when off he rushed
To see the fair domain. Before the gate
He stood astonished. "Truly, mantris mine,
It is as you have said. I once was here
And then the wood was filled with thorns and briers."
"'Tis not a nobleman's campong. It must
Have recently been made. Now summon all
The mantris here and see what they will say."
They called aloud, "Oh, hasten, friends, and bring
The water here." Seven times they called, but none
Responded. Said the King, "It is enough.
'Tis like as if one called unto the dead."

"We'd best not enter," said the mantris then,
"It may be the abode of demons fell.
We are afraid. Why should we linger here?
Return, O King, for should the spirits come
It might to us bring evil. Thou shouldst not
Expose thyself to danger." But the King
Upon the mantris smiled. "Ye are afraid
Of demons, spectres, spirits? I've no fear.
Break down the barriers. I'll go alone
Within the precincts." When the gates were forced,
He entered all alone. The mantris all
Were terrified lest harm should come to him.
They sought with him to go. He lightly said:
"No, mantris mine, whatever God hath willed,
Must happen. If in flames I were to burn,
In God I still should trust. 'Tis only He
That evil can avert. We mortal men
No power possess. With my own eyes I wish
To see this apparition. Should it be
The will of God, I'll come forth safe and sound.
Be not disturbed. In case of urgent need
I'll call upon ye. All await me here."
The mantris made obeisance and replied,
"Go, then, alone, since thou hast willed it so."
Into the plaisance strode the King. He saw
That all was like a temple richly decked,
With rugs of silk and colored tapestries
Of pictured clouds and wheels all radiant,
And lamps and candelabra hung about,
And lanterns bright. 'Twas like a palace rich.
The eyes were dazzled with magnificence.
And seats there were, and dainty tables rare.
As through the palace went the King, the more
Astonished he became at all he saw,
But nowhere found a trace of human soul.
Then spake the little bird: "Illustrious King,
What seek'st thou here? This mansion is the house
Of ghosts and demons who will injure thee."
The King was filled with wonder thus to hear
A bird address him. But it flew away,
And hid behind a couch. "The bird I'll find,"
He said, and ope'd the curtains soft. He saw
Full stretched, upon a bed in dragon's shape,
A human form, in heavy-lidded sleep
That seemed like death, and covered with a cloth
Of blue, whose face betokened deepest grief.
"Is it a child celestial?" thought the King,
"Or doth she feign to sleep? Awake, my sweet,
And let us be good friends and lovers true."
So spake the King, but still no motion saw.
He sat upon the couch, and to himself
He said: "If it a phantom be, why are
The eyes so firmly shut? Perhaps she's dead.
She truly is of origin divine,
Though born a princess." Then he lifted high
The covering delicate that hid the form
Of Bidasari sweet, and stood amazed
At all the magic beauty of her face.
Beside himself, he cried, "Awake, my love."
He lifted her and said, with kisses warm,
"Oh, have no fear of me, dear heart. Thy voice
Oh, let me hear, my gold, my ruby pure,
My jewel virginal. Thy soul is mine.
Again he pressed her in his arms, and gave
Her many kisses, chanting love-songs low.
"Thou dost not wake, O dearest one, but thou
Art yet alive, because I see thee breathe.
Sleep not too long, my love. Awake to me,
For thou hast conquered with thy loveliness
My heart and soul." So fell the King in love
With Bidasari. "Ah, my sweet," he said,
"In all the world of love thou'rt worthiest."
The mantris grew uneasy at his stay.
They rose and said: "What doth the King so long?
If harm befell him, what would be our fate?
Oh, let us call him back at once, my lords."
So one approached the palace, and cried out:
"Return, O prince accomplished, to us now.
Already night is near. Back thou may'st come
To-morrow ere the dawn. We are afraid
Lest spirits harm thee. Come, O King, for we
A-hungered are, and wait for thy return."
But the illustrious prince was mad with love
Of Bidasari. Pensively he cried:
"Branch of my heart, light of mine eyes, my love,
Pure gold, thou'rt like angel. Now must I
Depart. To-morrow I will come again."
With no more words he left her, but returned.
"My heart would tell me, wert thou really dead.
Some trouble hast thou, dearest one?" he cried.
"What bitter grief hath caused thee thus to sleep?"
He found the nobles murmuring and vexed.
"O King," they said, "our hearts were filled with fear
Lest evil had befallen thee. What sight
So strange hath kept thee all these hours?" The King
Replied with laughter, "There was naught to see."
But they remarked his brow o'ercast with thought,
And said, "O King, thy heart is sorely vexed."
"Nay, nay," the King replied, "I fell asleep.
Naught did I hear except the mantri's* voice.
It surely is the home of demons dread
And spirits. Let us go, lest they surprise
Us here." He seemed much moved. "We naught have gained
But weariness. So let us all go home
To-night, and hither come again at dawn.
For I a promise gave the Queen to bring
A fawn and a kidjang." The mantris said:
"None have we taken yet. But game we'll find
To-morrow, and will save a pretty fawn."
The King, when they returned, went straight within
The palace. There he saw the Queen, but thought
Of Bidasari. "O my love," he said,
"To-morrow I'm resolved to hunt again,
And bring thee back a fawn, and win thy thanks.
I'm never happy when away from thee,
My dearest love. Thine image is engraved
Upon my heart." Then he caressed the Queen
And fondled her, but still his heart went out
To Bidasari. All night long his eyes
He did not close in sleep, but thought of her,
In all her beauty rare. Before the dawn
The royal couple rose. The King then gave
Command that those who wished should hunt again
With him. At sunrise forth they fared.

On Bidasari let us look again.
When night had gone, in loneliness she rose,
And ate and drank. Then to the bath perfumed
She went, and coming to her chamber, took
Some siri from the betel-box. She saw
A sepah recently in use and cast
It forth. She thought within herself:
"Who could have used it? Someone hath been here."
She ran through all the rooms, but nothing found
Except the sepah in the betel-box.
"Had it my father been, he would have left
Some food for me. Oh, he is very rash
To leave me here alone." Upon the couch
She sat and wept, and could not tell her grief
To anyone. "When we no longer may
Live happily," she said, "'tis best to die.
My parents never can forgiven be,
To leave me here like any infidel.
And if I suffer, they will sorrow, too."
The minahs, the bajans, and talking birds
Began to sing. She took a 'broidered cloth,
And 'neath its folds she sweetly fell asleep.

The King's horse flew apace to the campong
Of Bidasari. All the mantris said:
"Thou takest not the path for hunting, sire;
This is but the campong of demons dread
And spectres. They may do us deadly harm."
The great prince only laughed, and made as if

He heard not, still directing his fleet course
To Bidasari's garden, though they sought
His wishes to oppose. When they arrived
Before the palisades, the mantris cried:
"Avaunt, ye cursed demons, and begone
Into the thorns and briers." Then to the King:
"If thou wilt prove the courage of thy men,
Lead us behind the barriers, among
The evil spirits. We will go with thee."
"Nay. Let me go alone," the prince replied,
"And very shortly I'll come forth again."
They said: "O prince, to us thy will is law.
To God most high do we commend thy soul."
Alone the prince in Bidasari's home
Set foot. He was astonished, for he saw the bath
Had recently been used, and all the lamps
Were trimmed and full of oil. Then opening
The chests, he saw the traces of a meal,
And glasses freshly drained. The chambers all
He searched, and came to Bidasari's couch,
And, lifting up the curtains, saw her there,
Asleep beneath the 'broidered covering.
"Tis certain that she lives," he said. "Perchance
It is her lot to live at night, and die
At dawn." Then came he nearer yet, and gazed
Upon her beauty. Ling'ring tears he saw
Bedewed her lashes long, and all his heart
Was sad. Her face was beautiful. Her locks
Framed * with curls most gracefully. He took
Her in his arms and cried, with kisses warm:
"Why hast thou suffered, apple of my eye?"
He wept abundantly, and said: "My gold,
My ruby, my carbuncle bright, thy face
Is like Lila Seprara's, and thy birth
Is pure and spotless. How could I not love
A being fair as thou dost seem to me?
Thy beauty is unspeakable; thou art
Above all crowns, the glory of all lands.
My soul adores thee. Lord am I no more
Of my own heart. Without thee, love, I could
No longer live; thou art my very soul.
Hast thou no pity to bestow on me?"
The more he looked the more he loved. He kissed
Her ruby lips, and sang this low pantoum: