Hear now the song I sing about a king
Of Kembajat. A fakir has completed
The story, that a poem he may make.
There was a king, a sultan, and he was
Handsome and wise and perfect in all ways,
Proud scion of a race of mighty kings.
He filled the land with merchants bringing wealth
And travellers. And from that day's report,
He was a prince most valorous and strong,
Who never vexing obstacles had met.
But ever is the morrow all unknown.
After the Sultan, all accomplished man,
Had married been a year, or little more,
He saw that very soon he'd have an heir.
At this his heart rejoiced, and he was glad
As though a mine of diamonds were his.
Some days the joy continued without clouds.
But soon there came the moment when the prince
Knew sorrow's blighting force, and had to yield
His country's capital. A savage bird,
Garouda called, a very frightful bird,
Soared in the air, and ravaged all the land.
It flew with wings and talons wide outstretched,
With cries to terrify the stoutest heart.
All people, great and small, were seized with dread,
And all the country feared and was oppressed,
And people ran now this way and now that.
The folk approached the King. He heard the noise
As of a fray, and, angry, asked the guard,
"Whence comes this noise?" As soon as this he said
One of his body-guard replied with awe,
"Illustrious lord, most merciful of kings,
A fell garouda follows us about."
The King's face paled when these dread words be heard.
The officers arose and beat their breasts.
The sorrow of the King was greater still
Because the Queen was ill. He took her hand
And started without food or anything.
He trusted all to God, who watches o'er
The safety of the world. The suff'ring Queen
Spoke not a word and walked along in tears.
They went by far _campongs_ and dreary fields
Beneath a burning sun which overwhelmed
Their strength. And so the lovely Queen's fair face
From palest yellow grew quite black. The prince
Approached the desert with his body torn
By thorns and brambles. All his care and grief
Were doubled when he saw his lovely wife
Who scarce could drag herself along and whom
He had to lead. Most desolate was he,
Turning his mind on the good Queen's sad lot.
Upon the way he gave up all to her.
Two months they journeyed and one day they came
Unto a _campong_ of a merchant, where
They looked for rest because the Queen was weak.
The path was rugged and the way was hard.
The prince made halt before the palisades,
For God had made him stop and rest awhile.
The Sultan said: "What is this _campong_ here?
I fain would enter, but I do not dare."
The good Queen wept and said: "O my beloved,
What shall I say? I am so tired and weak
I cannot journey more." The King was quite
Beside himself and fainted where he sat.
But on they journeyed to the riverside,
Stopping at every step.
And when the King
Had gained the bank he saw a little boat
With roof of bent bamboos and _kadjang_ screen.
Then to the Queen, "Rest here, my precious one."
The silver moon was at the full, but veiled
With clouds, like to a maid who hides her face
And glances toward her lover timidly.
Then there was born a daughter, like a flower,
More beautiful than statue of pure gold,
Just like the tulips that the princess plucked.
The mother's heart was broken at the thought
That she must leave the babe, the child beloved
They both adored, such beauty it presaged.
The King with tears exclaimed, "How can we take
The infant with us o'er this stony road
Beset with thorns, and burned with dreadful heat?
Pearl of my palace," said he to the Queen,
"Weep not so bitterly about the child.
An offering let us make of her to God.
God grant she may be found by loving hearts
Who'll care for her and raise her in their home."
As soon as they had quite determined there
To leave the infant princess, their great grief
No limit knew. But ere they went away
The King took up the infant in his arms
And rocked her on his knees until she slept.
"Sleep on, heart's love, my soul, my little one,
Weep not for thy dear mother's lot. She fain
Would take thee with her, but the way is hard.
Sleep on, dear child, the apple of my eye,
The image of thy sire. Stay here, fear not.
For unto God we trust thee, Lord of all.
Sleep on, my child, chief jewel of my crown,
And let thy father go. To look at thee
Doth pierce my heart as by a poniard's blow.
Ah, sweet my child, dear, tender little one,
Thy father loves yet leaves thee. Happy be,
And may no harm come nigh thee. Fare thee well."
The little princess slept, lulled by his voice.
He put her from his knees and placed her on
A finely woven cloth of Ind, and covered her
With satin webbed with gold. With flowing tears
The mother wrapped her in a tissue fine
Adorned with jewels like to sculptured flowers.
She seized the child and weeping murmured low:
"O dearest child, my pretty little girl!
I leave thee to the Master of the world.
Live happily, although thy mother goes
And leaves thee here. Ah, sad thy mother's lot!
Thy father forces her to quit thee now.
She would prefer with thee to stay, but, no!
Thy father bids her go. And that is why
Thy mother's fond heart breaks, she loves thee so,
And yet must leave thee. Oh, how can I live?"
The mother fainted, and the grieving King
Was fain to kill himself, so was he moved.
He took the Queen's head on his knees. And soon
By God's decree and ever-sheltering grace
She to her senses came and stood erect.
Again she wept on looking at the child.
"If I should never see thee more, sweet soul,
Oh, may thy mother share thy fate! Her life
Is bound to thine. The light is gone from out
Thy mother's eyes. Hope dies within her heart
Because she fears to see thee nevermore.
Oh, may some charitable heart, my child,
Discover thee!" The prince essayed to dry
Her tears. "Now come away, my dearest love.
Soon day will dawn." The prince in grief set out,
But ever turned and wanted to go back.
They walked along together, man and wife
All solitary, with no friends at hand,
Care-worn and troubled, and the moon shone bright.