Flight MH72 by Krish Ram
Susan has managed to find an empty table after hovering around a couple
with large Coke in one hand and a bag of french fires in the other, and
waiting for them to leave, at the McDonald’s outlet at the departure
lounge of the Kuala Lumpur International Airport.
She looks around her as she nibbles on a piece of deep fried spud,
feeling lonely seeing all those others who have come to send off
families and friends but, at the same time, she’s glad that she’s alone.
Her children are in school, and know that she’d not be home when they
return in the afternoon in the same bus, for they are aware that she's
leaving to Hong Kong for a job.
“Two years? Why so long? Can we come and visit? Hong Kong has
Disneyland, you know?” Mei Ling is only seven. Kar Jin, her boy, who is
fast becoming a teenager at nine, had simply shrugged like he knew
everything, but didn’t. Or, did he?
We’ll see, darling, she had said, giving her a hug and a peck on her
cheek and turning away quickly as she fought back tears, whilst
pretending to shout out homework instructions to her son who was already
on his way out to the bus-stop. She had cried miserably after they
left, while her husband watched her wordlessly from the living room
couch. At least, he had lowered his newspapers.
Only her husband knew, and she had had his approval, not that it
mattered much. It had not been his idea and had hardly offered an
opinion. He had increasingly withdrawn into himself ever since the
restructuring exercise in his company. It was a choice between taking a
pay-cut and voluntary retirement. He had chosen the latter, and it
didn’t take him long to understand what the 8% national unemployment
figure meant. He had too much pride to take a job that paid less than
his earlier one. That was three years ago, and he has not worked since.
Susan thought she should have seen the signs. She had wondered about the
increasing numbers of ‘Bank Lelong’ notices along the roads around
Bangsar, written with marker pens on packing-box cardboard, and stuck to
lampposts. She had once said to her husband that they should seriously
think about using these bank auctions as a means for home upgrading. He
had smiled and remained silent. Then, she started noticing the notices
in banks, too. She once took a hefty printout, and browsed through it
while waiting for her number to be called by the teller. She had been
mildly surprised at the number of houses being foreclosed. She had
shuddered, and had been glad her family was not part of that statistic.
“Poor things,” she had thought. “Where will they live?”
To be honest, she had never understood when friends talked about ‘the
economy tanking’, although she had shown sufficient concern, nodding and
agreeing vigorously when they talked about the bursting property
bubble, or the crashing stock market, or unemployment figures, or the
plunging ringgit. To someone like her, who’d been a home-maker most of
her adult life, these were mere numbers that existed in a parallel
universe, like video-game scores. Sometimes it would get heated,
particularly when they discussed politics, at which point Susan would
quickly go into her kitchen and return with nonya kueh she had bought from the auntie outside TMC that morning. “ Anyone for kueh bengkang?”
Then they got a notice from the bank. Her husband had not paid the
mortgage instalment for almost two years; nothing, since he lost his
job. Maybe there were other notices that she had not seen. She doesn’t
know why she had opened that letter, because it’s not like her to open
her husband’s mail. She had slit open the envelope and had started
reading it absent-mindedly before realising it was addressed to him.
They had argued that night. Well, she did. Him, not so much, his stony
silence saying everything. Then, she had sobbed for a long time,
thinking of all the worst-case scenarios. He said calmly that they
should sell the house. She had argued and sobbed some more at that. It
was almost paid for, she had cried. “We can’t repay the mortgage any
more,” he had said. “I don’t have a job.” Well, if you were not so
damned stubborn she had wanted to say, but had bit her tongue. He had
worked so hard for so long before. They had been living on his savings
all this while, he had said. He had not serviced the housing loan
because he had not wanted to affect their lifestyles.
“What were you thinking? What happens when we run out of money?”
That's what happened, finally. The house was sold at an auction; they
got some money back after the bank did the sums, and they rented a
seven-hundred-square-foot flat in Taman Desa.
She thought she’d get a job; she did have a masters degree in English
Literature from the University of Malaya, after all. She tried running
tuition classes. She got a few students, but only made enough money only
for utility and grocery bills. There were far too many unemployed
graduates, and they were all running these classes. Schools were not
hiring; not even kindergartens. She was willing to work as a clerk or a
secretary, but she got no calls for interviews. She was over qualified
for them, they said when she inquired. The unemployment figures were now
at 9% and rising. No one had expected it to get so bad so quickly.
Meanwhile, they kept eating out of their piggy bank. Once, she thought
she was desperate enough to flip burgers at the local MacDonald’s, but
her pride would not let her. What if I’m seen, she had thought.
Then, she saw the advertisement by an agency. She applied for the
position, a job overseas. She was desperate. She was interviewed, and
selected. The pay was good; almost RM3000.00 plus when converted back.
But she didn't speak Chinese. The agency told her not to worry about
anything; they’d be given training and language lessons before they
left. It was also the agency that suggested she changed her name to
Susan from Wei Fern. It was easier to say and remember it, they said.
So, here she is in the airport, waiting for her flight to Hong Kong. She had chosen to fly on her own by Malaysia Airlines. Let me at least save a little of my dignity,
she had decided. The others were travelling in a group on a budget
airline, but Susan was afraid someone might see her. We’ll meet in Hong
Kong, she had said, lying to them about some prior commitment.
“Malaysia Airways flight MH72 to Hong Kong is now ready for boarding.
All passengers are requested to proceed to Gate C11 immediately,” she
hears over the PA system. She sees some people grab their bags, and
their children; some hugging, some kissing. She decides to wait out the
rush.
Finally, on the third announcement, she gathers her bags and heads to
the immigration counters to begin her two year contract as a domestic
maid in Hong Kong. The couple have two children and I have a masters in English; maybe I could be their governess,
she’d think sometimes, before real visions of toilet brushes, scrubbing
pads and mops crowded her mind, and a sob ran up her throat. Anyway,
she has decided tell that to her friends on Facebook and that she’ll
mainly teach English to little Chinese brats in a palatial home on the
island. I’m sure they have a big home.
It was only three years ago that she had had her own live-in Indonesian
maid in Bukit Damansara. She remembers how she had complained to her
neighbour when her husband took the maid to Pantai Hospital for
treatment when she collapsed suddenly.
“No need to waste so much money, mah,” she had told Mrs Khoo. “She's only a servant, what?”
She, suddenly, stops in her tracks. “Oh my God; what if they beat me?”
Monday, October 01, 2012
Thursday, August 02, 2012
Blood-thirsty vegetables
(This a story from the next book [no. 4] in the Silverfish Malaysian Classics series called Malaysian Fables, Folk-tales & Legends)
A VEGETARIAN DISPUTE
Once
upon a time, Jagong, the maize-plant, made boast and said, “If rice
should cease to exist, I alone should suffice to sustain mankind.” But
Dagun, the liane, and Gadong, the jungle yam, each made a like boast
and, as the parties could not agree, the case was brought before King
Solomon.
Said Solomon, “All three of you are perfectly right, albeit it were perhaps better that Jagong should sustain mankind because of his comrade-ship with Kachang, the bean.”
There at the wrath of Dagun, the liane, and Gadong, the yam, waxed hot against Jagong, and they went off together to hunt for a fruit-spike of the jungle fig-tree [libut] whereon to impale him, but found none. And, meanwhile, Jagong hearing news of their quest, set to work to find arrow-poison. And, when he had found it, he poisoned Gadong therewith (wherefore to this day the jungle yam has narcotic properties). Then Gadong, the yam, being wroth thereat, speared Jagong in turn (wherefore, to this day, the cobs of maize are perforated). And Jagong, reaching out in turn, seized the pointed shoot of a wilang stem and wounded Dagun therewith.
At this juncture, the parties to the quarrel went before the Prophet Elias, who said, “This matter is too great for me, take ye it before Solomon.”
And Solomon said, “Let them fight it out between them, that the rage of their hearts may be appeased.”
Wherefore, there was battle between them for twice seven days. Now Mata Lembu, the ox-eye tree, stood nigh to watch the battle and its skin was grazed by bullets (whereof its bark still shows the scars). But the perachak shrub on the other hand was filled with fear and, instead of drawing nearer in order to see the battle, it stood upon tiptoe (wherefore it still grows long and lanky). But Andram, the sedge, was the most afraid and ran to a place afar off, but as it still heard the noise of battle it plunged into the river (wherefore to this day it grows over the surface of water).
And when the twice seven days were ended, the battle being still undecided, the combatants were parted and a space was set between them by Solomon. And Gadong, the yam, made he to sit down and Dagun, the liane, to lie down. But Jagong, the maize-plane, and Kachang, the bean, he made to stand together.
A VEGETARIAN DISPUTE
Once
upon a time, Jagong, the maize-plant, made boast and said, “If rice
should cease to exist, I alone should suffice to sustain mankind.” But
Dagun, the liane, and Gadong, the jungle yam, each made a like boast
and, as the parties could not agree, the case was brought before King
Solomon. Said Solomon, “All three of you are perfectly right, albeit it were perhaps better that Jagong should sustain mankind because of his comrade-ship with Kachang, the bean.”
There at the wrath of Dagun, the liane, and Gadong, the yam, waxed hot against Jagong, and they went off together to hunt for a fruit-spike of the jungle fig-tree [libut] whereon to impale him, but found none. And, meanwhile, Jagong hearing news of their quest, set to work to find arrow-poison. And, when he had found it, he poisoned Gadong therewith (wherefore to this day the jungle yam has narcotic properties). Then Gadong, the yam, being wroth thereat, speared Jagong in turn (wherefore, to this day, the cobs of maize are perforated). And Jagong, reaching out in turn, seized the pointed shoot of a wilang stem and wounded Dagun therewith.
At this juncture, the parties to the quarrel went before the Prophet Elias, who said, “This matter is too great for me, take ye it before Solomon.”
And Solomon said, “Let them fight it out between them, that the rage of their hearts may be appeased.”
Wherefore, there was battle between them for twice seven days. Now Mata Lembu, the ox-eye tree, stood nigh to watch the battle and its skin was grazed by bullets (whereof its bark still shows the scars). But the perachak shrub on the other hand was filled with fear and, instead of drawing nearer in order to see the battle, it stood upon tiptoe (wherefore it still grows long and lanky). But Andram, the sedge, was the most afraid and ran to a place afar off, but as it still heard the noise of battle it plunged into the river (wherefore to this day it grows over the surface of water).
And when the twice seven days were ended, the battle being still undecided, the combatants were parted and a space was set between them by Solomon. And Gadong, the yam, made he to sit down and Dagun, the liane, to lie down. But Jagong, the maize-plane, and Kachang, the bean, he made to stand together.
Monday, July 02, 2012
The Epic of Bidasari
Easily the most charming poem of Malayan Literature is the Epic of
Bidasari. It has all the absorbing fascination of a fairy tale. We
are led into the dreamy atmosphere of haunted [a] palace and
beauteous plaisance; we glide in the picturesque imaginings of the
oriental poet from the charm of all that is languorously seductive
in nature into the shadowy realms of the supernatural. (Below is
part of Song 1 of 6.)
THE EPIC OF BIDASARI
(Metrical Translation by Chauncey C. Starkweather, A.B., LL.B.)(1901)
SONG I
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 he 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.
(The Epic of Bidasari will be available in the middle of July 2012 at all major bookshops.)
THE EPIC OF BIDASARI
(Metrical Translation by Chauncey C. Starkweather, A.B., LL.B.)(1901)
SONG I
Hear now the song I sing about a kingOf 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 he 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.
(The Epic of Bidasari will be available in the middle of July 2012 at all major bookshops.)
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Marong Mahawangsa (an extract)
(This is an extract from a forth coming title from Silverfish Books,
Marong Mahawangsa, that we
have edited to make it more accessible to the modern reader -- but
without changing too much of the old style of language -- and cross
referencing with other books covering the same periods for improved
coherence. The original author, of this tale of Homeric proportions,
is unknown but the current is, largely, based on a translation by Lt
Col James Low in 1849 in The
Journal of the Indian Archipelago.)
The voyage and shipwreck of Marong Mahawangsa
The work begins with praises of the Prophet Suliman, or Solomon, “to
whom the dominion of the whole world and every living thing in it
was entrusted by God.”
There was a Raja of Rum who despatched an ambassador named Raja Marong (Maha) Wangsa to China in order to negociate a marriage betwixt the prince, his son, and a daughter of His Chinese Majesty. This ambassador traced his lineage from the inferior gods. His father was descended from the genii, and his mother from the devadeva, or demigods. He was a great raja amongst the many rajas who had been assembled by the king on this occasion, and he moreover wore a diadem.
Raja Marong Mahawangsa had married, contrary to the wish of his parents, a girl whose father was a girgassi raja and whose mother was descended from the rakshasa. Whereever he went, he took her with him as he feared the grandees of the [Persian(?)] Court who dreaded his preternatural powers.
After the war of Rama, the island of Lankapuri became a desert and fell under the rule of the mighty bird, Girda(Garuda), which however had previously harboured on the island. He was a lineal descendant from Maha Raja Dewan and he was strong in battle, of supernatural power and dreaded by animals, reptiles and birds.
It happened that the bird, Rajawali, paid a visit to Girda, and asked him if he had not learned that the King of Rum intended contracting a marriage betwixt his son and a princess of China although these two countries lay wide apart and that, on account of the distance between them, a fleet of vessels was to be despatched from Rum to convey the royal lady from China. Girda replied that the old Crow had already given him this information as he had seen the gift bearing embassy on its way to China. Girda further observed that the King of Rum would most likely fail in this attempt to display his power and consequence to distant potentates.
“Have a little patience, Rajawali, I will instantly fly off and pay my respects to the Prophet Suliman (Solomon) whose superhuman wisdom has exalted him over all the other kings of the earth, and whose prime minister is Hurmanshah. His Majesty will, assuredly, interdict the King of Rum from negociating such an alliance.”
Girda having reported to King Suliman the state of affairs, His Majesty observed that when a prince and princess are once betrothed, it is not an easy matter to break off the alliance. Girda, not satisfied with this remark, swore that he would abandon the haunts of men and cease to wheel in the heavens, should he fail to effect their separation. The king said, ‘Very well, let me know the result.’ Girda now soared aloft on his dusky pinions and speedily reached China. He here alighted in a garden where the princess, attended by her foster mother and an attendant, was gathering flowers. Girda instantly lifted the three into the air, one by his beak and the two others in his talons, and carried them over the sea to Lankapuri where he protected them, and supplied the princess with every delicacy she desired.
The Sultan of Rum gave a large buhtera, or ship, to his chief, Marong Mahawangsa, for the accommodation of the prince, and another for himself and his people, for the voyage to China. To these were added many smaller vessels for the suite. The fleet sailed on a fortunate day and, as it went along, touched at all the ports which were then under the empire of Rum, the embassy receiving, at each of these, the accustomed marks of respect. At length, it entered the Sea of Hindustan and beheld its wonders. Then, coasting down that continent, the fleet anchored occasionally in the bays of the islands where the people sought for shell-fish, fired guns and, otherwise, amused themselves.
After a while, it reached the mouth of the Changong River where reigned Raja Galungi, or Kalungi.
Girda, bent on his plan of frustrating the expedition, here raised a violent storm of wind and rain, thunder and lightning. He was beheld high in the air, casting his vast shadow over the fleet. The prince and the ambassador directed their men to shout and to fire guns, and discharge enchanted arrows at the direful bird who, wild with rage, had taken up his position to the westward of the fleet. Marong Mahawangsa now strung his bow, or busor, and adjusted to it the arrow called Ayunan. The common arrows and shots, merely, glanced off Girda’s feathers, but this enchanted one put him to flight. This, however, was only effected with the loss of three of the vessels. Girda had, before this, shifted from the West, and hurled another tempest on the vessels from North to South. Thus was Girda, for the present, driven off by the potency of the arrow Ayunan, which has its point tipped with red, as if with fire, and which ascended towards Girda with a noise like that of a tufan, interposing betwixt the latter and the ships a mountain barrier. The remaining ships cast anchor that night to see if Girda would return but, as he had fled to the forests on the shore, they weighed next morning and set sail southwardly.
After a voyage of some days, the ships reached Tawai River where it disembogues into the sea.
The fleet had scarcely arrived when Girda again appeared, sending a tempest before him of rain, thunder and lightning. The two vessels of the prince and ambassador were anchored close together, and the other ships were stationed around them and kept ready with their arms. Marong Mahawangsa, having seized his bow with the arrow named Bratpura, with its point flaming with fire, and having stood out on the gunwale, off shot the arrow towards the sky. It sped with a loud noise and, in its descent, dispelled the tempest. But, notwithstanding the innumerable flights of arrows, and the constant firing and shouting of the sailors, Girda contrived to carry off three more vessels for he was invulnerable to all these missiles. So, after a short respite, he returned to his work of destruction as before.
Again Marong Mahawangsa sent the arrow, Bratpura, at him, which he avoided and it thus fell into the sea. Whereupon, Girda snatched away three more ships in his beak and talons, and soared aloft with them. Thus, six vessels were lost with all their crews. On the ensuing day, as Girda did not appear, the remnant of the fleet set sail in its now dismantled condition, having had twelve ships with all their crews destroyed. The fleet soon after got to the port of Mrit.
But here, at Mrit, it was again assailed by a furious storm, which darkened the heavens and shook the timbers of the ships, brigs, and gallies. Marong Mahawangsa resorted to the former expedient and, having got upon the top of the stern, drew his bow called Prasa Sampani Gambara and shot his flaming arrow, saying, speed arrow and slay Girda. But, Girda avoided it by making it glance off his plumage. Enraged, he pounced upon three more of the ships and vessels, and carried them off as he had done with the rest, in spite of the firing and shouting of the crews, for these vessels were also destroyed. Raja Mahawangsa, in a furious passion, shot another arrow towards the heavens, whereupon the arrow was changed into a bird named Jintayu, which gave chase to Girda. But, Girda vomited fire on Jintayu and consumed him. Girda, now, kept aloof in the mountains, dreading the supernatural endowments of Marong Mahawangsa. Next morning, the remnant of the fleet sailed away from Mrit and, after some days, came in sight of Salang, in the sea called Tappan. Here, having cast anchor abreast of the island, the ambassador sent a party on shore to ask permission of the chief, or raja, to wood and water, but the prince’s vessel with other ships stood on down the coast by rounding the point of the island.
About a day and night after the prince left Salang and was making for the island of Lankapuri, Girda espied his ships and perceived also that Marong Mahawangsa was not come up, so he attacked them with redoubled fury and sunk the whole; the men who were drowned far exceeded in number those who were saved alive. Fortunately, the Prince of Rum got hold of a plank and floated to Lankapuri. In the meanwhile, Marong Mahawangsa’s ship arrived at the spot of the shipwreck and picked up the survivors who were floating about.
Marong Mahawangsa was excessively grieved at the loss of the prince, especially as he felt himself responsible for it to the Sultan of Rum. But after a vain search, he sailed in his vessel, the only remaining one, to the eastward.
Keeping along this coast of the continent, Marong Mahawangsa arrived at a bay and a point of land. He inquired of an old malim (captain), who was in his ship, if he knew the locality, who said, “The large island we have reached is now becoming attached to the main land and its name is Pulo Srai (or Sri, my lord). That small island which Your Highness sees is named Pulo Jumbul, and that other, more inshore, is Pulo Lada.” On hearing this, Mahawangsa expressed himself satisfied and added, if such be the case, let us anchor. The vessel was then moored in the east of the bay, near to, or at the point of land, on the main shore; that is, the land more extensive than that large island.
Raja Marong Mahawangsa then went on shore, attended by his chiefs and followers.
The voyage and shipwreck of Marong Mahawangsa
The work begins with praises of the Prophet Suliman, or Solomon, “to
whom the dominion of the whole world and every living thing in it
was entrusted by God.”There was a Raja of Rum who despatched an ambassador named Raja Marong (Maha) Wangsa to China in order to negociate a marriage betwixt the prince, his son, and a daughter of His Chinese Majesty. This ambassador traced his lineage from the inferior gods. His father was descended from the genii, and his mother from the devadeva, or demigods. He was a great raja amongst the many rajas who had been assembled by the king on this occasion, and he moreover wore a diadem.
Raja Marong Mahawangsa had married, contrary to the wish of his parents, a girl whose father was a girgassi raja and whose mother was descended from the rakshasa. Whereever he went, he took her with him as he feared the grandees of the [Persian(?)] Court who dreaded his preternatural powers.
After the war of Rama, the island of Lankapuri became a desert and fell under the rule of the mighty bird, Girda(Garuda), which however had previously harboured on the island. He was a lineal descendant from Maha Raja Dewan and he was strong in battle, of supernatural power and dreaded by animals, reptiles and birds.
It happened that the bird, Rajawali, paid a visit to Girda, and asked him if he had not learned that the King of Rum intended contracting a marriage betwixt his son and a princess of China although these two countries lay wide apart and that, on account of the distance between them, a fleet of vessels was to be despatched from Rum to convey the royal lady from China. Girda replied that the old Crow had already given him this information as he had seen the gift bearing embassy on its way to China. Girda further observed that the King of Rum would most likely fail in this attempt to display his power and consequence to distant potentates.
“Have a little patience, Rajawali, I will instantly fly off and pay my respects to the Prophet Suliman (Solomon) whose superhuman wisdom has exalted him over all the other kings of the earth, and whose prime minister is Hurmanshah. His Majesty will, assuredly, interdict the King of Rum from negociating such an alliance.”
Girda having reported to King Suliman the state of affairs, His Majesty observed that when a prince and princess are once betrothed, it is not an easy matter to break off the alliance. Girda, not satisfied with this remark, swore that he would abandon the haunts of men and cease to wheel in the heavens, should he fail to effect their separation. The king said, ‘Very well, let me know the result.’ Girda now soared aloft on his dusky pinions and speedily reached China. He here alighted in a garden where the princess, attended by her foster mother and an attendant, was gathering flowers. Girda instantly lifted the three into the air, one by his beak and the two others in his talons, and carried them over the sea to Lankapuri where he protected them, and supplied the princess with every delicacy she desired.
The Sultan of Rum gave a large buhtera, or ship, to his chief, Marong Mahawangsa, for the accommodation of the prince, and another for himself and his people, for the voyage to China. To these were added many smaller vessels for the suite. The fleet sailed on a fortunate day and, as it went along, touched at all the ports which were then under the empire of Rum, the embassy receiving, at each of these, the accustomed marks of respect. At length, it entered the Sea of Hindustan and beheld its wonders. Then, coasting down that continent, the fleet anchored occasionally in the bays of the islands where the people sought for shell-fish, fired guns and, otherwise, amused themselves.
After a while, it reached the mouth of the Changong River where reigned Raja Galungi, or Kalungi.
Girda, bent on his plan of frustrating the expedition, here raised a violent storm of wind and rain, thunder and lightning. He was beheld high in the air, casting his vast shadow over the fleet. The prince and the ambassador directed their men to shout and to fire guns, and discharge enchanted arrows at the direful bird who, wild with rage, had taken up his position to the westward of the fleet. Marong Mahawangsa now strung his bow, or busor, and adjusted to it the arrow called Ayunan. The common arrows and shots, merely, glanced off Girda’s feathers, but this enchanted one put him to flight. This, however, was only effected with the loss of three of the vessels. Girda had, before this, shifted from the West, and hurled another tempest on the vessels from North to South. Thus was Girda, for the present, driven off by the potency of the arrow Ayunan, which has its point tipped with red, as if with fire, and which ascended towards Girda with a noise like that of a tufan, interposing betwixt the latter and the ships a mountain barrier. The remaining ships cast anchor that night to see if Girda would return but, as he had fled to the forests on the shore, they weighed next morning and set sail southwardly.
After a voyage of some days, the ships reached Tawai River where it disembogues into the sea.
The fleet had scarcely arrived when Girda again appeared, sending a tempest before him of rain, thunder and lightning. The two vessels of the prince and ambassador were anchored close together, and the other ships were stationed around them and kept ready with their arms. Marong Mahawangsa, having seized his bow with the arrow named Bratpura, with its point flaming with fire, and having stood out on the gunwale, off shot the arrow towards the sky. It sped with a loud noise and, in its descent, dispelled the tempest. But, notwithstanding the innumerable flights of arrows, and the constant firing and shouting of the sailors, Girda contrived to carry off three more vessels for he was invulnerable to all these missiles. So, after a short respite, he returned to his work of destruction as before.
Again Marong Mahawangsa sent the arrow, Bratpura, at him, which he avoided and it thus fell into the sea. Whereupon, Girda snatched away three more ships in his beak and talons, and soared aloft with them. Thus, six vessels were lost with all their crews. On the ensuing day, as Girda did not appear, the remnant of the fleet set sail in its now dismantled condition, having had twelve ships with all their crews destroyed. The fleet soon after got to the port of Mrit.
But here, at Mrit, it was again assailed by a furious storm, which darkened the heavens and shook the timbers of the ships, brigs, and gallies. Marong Mahawangsa resorted to the former expedient and, having got upon the top of the stern, drew his bow called Prasa Sampani Gambara and shot his flaming arrow, saying, speed arrow and slay Girda. But, Girda avoided it by making it glance off his plumage. Enraged, he pounced upon three more of the ships and vessels, and carried them off as he had done with the rest, in spite of the firing and shouting of the crews, for these vessels were also destroyed. Raja Mahawangsa, in a furious passion, shot another arrow towards the heavens, whereupon the arrow was changed into a bird named Jintayu, which gave chase to Girda. But, Girda vomited fire on Jintayu and consumed him. Girda, now, kept aloof in the mountains, dreading the supernatural endowments of Marong Mahawangsa. Next morning, the remnant of the fleet sailed away from Mrit and, after some days, came in sight of Salang, in the sea called Tappan. Here, having cast anchor abreast of the island, the ambassador sent a party on shore to ask permission of the chief, or raja, to wood and water, but the prince’s vessel with other ships stood on down the coast by rounding the point of the island.
About a day and night after the prince left Salang and was making for the island of Lankapuri, Girda espied his ships and perceived also that Marong Mahawangsa was not come up, so he attacked them with redoubled fury and sunk the whole; the men who were drowned far exceeded in number those who were saved alive. Fortunately, the Prince of Rum got hold of a plank and floated to Lankapuri. In the meanwhile, Marong Mahawangsa’s ship arrived at the spot of the shipwreck and picked up the survivors who were floating about.
Marong Mahawangsa was excessively grieved at the loss of the prince, especially as he felt himself responsible for it to the Sultan of Rum. But after a vain search, he sailed in his vessel, the only remaining one, to the eastward.
Keeping along this coast of the continent, Marong Mahawangsa arrived at a bay and a point of land. He inquired of an old malim (captain), who was in his ship, if he knew the locality, who said, “The large island we have reached is now becoming attached to the main land and its name is Pulo Srai (or Sri, my lord). That small island which Your Highness sees is named Pulo Jumbul, and that other, more inshore, is Pulo Lada.” On hearing this, Mahawangsa expressed himself satisfied and added, if such be the case, let us anchor. The vessel was then moored in the east of the bay, near to, or at the point of land, on the main shore; that is, the land more extensive than that large island.
Raja Marong Mahawangsa then went on shore, attended by his chiefs and followers.
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