Malayan Literature Part 4

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.

Ill.u.s.trious Queen they call her--but her words Are hard and cruel. May the curse of G.o.d O'erwhelm her and annihilate! From thee, O G.o.d, she shall receive the punishment Deserved. She who pursueth thus a soul Shall know remorse and pain. So G.o.d hath willed.

So G.o.d 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 G.o.d. 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.

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 G.o.d, the faith they owe.

Oh, pardon, G.o.d! 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 cus.h.i.+on 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 G.o.d.

"O sovereign G.o.d, 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 G.o.d. 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 a.s.sembled. 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 p.r.o.nounced, 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 pa.s.sion 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 n.o.bly 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 s.h.i.+ne with loveliness, Like to a jewel in a gla.s.s. 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 pa.s.s."

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 s.h.i.+elds 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.