Badang and the River Spirit's Bargain
Once upon a time, in the fabled land of Sayung, where the tropical sun painted the sky in hues of gold and crimson, there lived a humble bondsman named Badang. He served a wealthy landowner with unwavering devotion, toiling from sunrise to sunset in the manner that good and faithful servants do. Though his station was low, Badang's heart was pure, and he never shirked his duties, no matter how arduous they might be.
One day, his master commanded him to clear a vast tract of jungle to make way for new fields. Day after day, Badang labored with his parang, felling mighty trees and splitting thick timber. This was work that would take many months to complete, yet Badang accepted it without complaint, for he knew that honest labor was blessed by the Almighty.
One evening, having finished his daily toil earlier than usual, Badang decided to set a fish trap called a lukah in the nearby river, hoping to catch fish for his meager supper. He wove the trap from bamboo strips in the ancient way his grandfather had taught him, and placed it carefully where the water ran deep and swift.
But when dawn broke and Badang returned to check his trap, he found it empty. Stranger still, scattered along the riverbank were fish bones and scales, as if some creature had feasted there in the night. The same mysterious theft occurred the next day, and the day after that. Badang's suspicions grew, and he resolved to discover the identity of this thief.
So it was that Badang concealed himself behind a great tembusu tree as the moon rose high. He waited with the patience of a hunter, and before long, a terrible apparition emerged from the dark waters—a river spirit of fearsome aspect, with a hideous face, flowing hair like water weeds, a beard thick as jungle moss, and eyes that burned red as glowing coals.
This hantu air seized the fish from Badang's trap and devoured them greedily, casting the bones upon the shore. At this sight, Badang's righteous anger flared, and he leaped from his hiding place, his parang gleaming in the moonlight.
Seizing the spirit by its tangled beard, Badang pressed his blade to the creature's throat. "Demon of the waters!" he cried. "You have stolen my fish for the last time. Now you shall pay with your life!"
The water spirit trembled like a leaf in the monsoon wind. "Mercy, good sir!" it pleaded. "Spare my wretched existence, and I shall grant you whatever your heart desires!"
Badang considered this offer, his grip still firm upon the spirit's beard. "Can you make me strong beyond measure?" he asked.
"Indeed I can!" replied the trembling spirit. "But there is a price—you must consume what I shall vomit forth. Only then will you gain the strength you seek."
Though the prospect filled him with disgust, Badang's desire for strength overcame his revulsion. The spirit retched upon a broad banana leaf, and Badang, closing his eyes and steeling his heart, consumed the vile offering.
No sooner had he swallowed than Badang felt a wondrous transformation coursing through his limbs. To test his newfound power, he grasped a mighty tree that grew upon the riverbank—a tree so large that ten men could not encircle it with their arms. Yet Badang uprooted it as easily as one might pluck a blade of grass, roots and all.
Amazed by this miracle, Badang released the grateful spirit and returned to his jungle clearing. What had been months of backbreaking labor, he now completed in a single day. Trees that had stood for centuries fell before his touch, and the dark jungle was transformed into a bright field ready for planting.
When his master beheld this wonder, he was struck with awe. "Badang," he declared, "in reward for this miraculous deed, I hereby grant you your freedom. You are no longer my bondsman, but a free man."
Badang wept with joy and gratitude, for freedom is the greatest treasure any man can possess.
News of Badang's incredible strength spread throughout the land like wildfire in the dry season, reaching even the ears of the great Sultan of Temasik, Sri Rana Wira Kerma. The Sultan summoned Badang to his palace and, impressed by both his strength and his noble character, appointed him as his chief warrior and protector of the realm.
One day, the Sultan developed a craving for the tender shoots of the kuras tree, which are prized as a delicacy. His royal cook informed him that the tallest kuras tree grew at Kuala Sayung, but its height was so great that no man had ever dared climb it.
"Badang," commanded the Sultan, "fetch me these shoots, for I have faith in your abilities."
Badang set sail in a royal boat to Kuala Sayung. When he arrived, he beheld a kuras tree so tall its crown seemed to touch the very clouds. As he climbed, a branch snapped beneath his weight, and he plummeted to the earth below. His head struck a massive boulder, yet instead of being injured, the great stone split in two like a ripe coconut!
Undaunted, Badang completed his climb and returned to the palace with the precious shoots. The Sultan was so delighted that he showered Badang with gifts and honors.
Soon after, the Sultan ordered the construction of a great ship. When the vessel was completed, forty-four strong men attempted to launch it into the sea, but it would not budge. Even when more men were summoned to help, the ship remained motionless as a mountain.
The Sultan called for Badang, who lifted the enormous vessel single-handedly and cast it into the waves as easily as a child might launch a toy boat. All who witnessed this feat cheered and marveled, and the Sultan's love for his champion grew even greater.
But fame, like the monsoon wind, carries both blessing and curse. Word of Badang's prowess reached the Sultan of Benua Keling, who grew jealous of his neighbor's mighty warrior. He dispatched his own champion, Nadi Bijaya Pikrama, with seven ships and orders to challenge Badang to combat.
The contest was held in the royal hall before all the court. Badang defeated the foreign champion in wrestling as easily as a grown man might overcome a child. But Nadi Bijaya Pikrama, his pride wounded, demanded a second trial of strength.
This time, they were to lift a massive stone that lay in the palace courtyard. Nadi Bijaya Pikrama strained with all his might, raising the boulder only to his knees. But Badang not only lifted the stone with ease—he hurled it far across the water to the mouth of the Singapore River, where it formed a promontory that stands to this day, known as Tanjung Singapura.
Humbled and defeated, Nadi Bijaya Pikrama surrendered his seven ships to the Sultan of Temasik and departed in shame.
When news of this victory reached the Sultan of Perlak, his own champion, Benderang, burned with jealousy. He begged permission to journey to Singapore and prove his superiority over Badang.
The Sultan of Perlak granted his request, and Benderang sailed to Singapore with a great retinue. But Badang, wise in the ways of men, suggested to Sultan Sri Rana Wira Kerma that they test the visitor's strength in secret during a welcoming feast.
As they sat side by side at the banquet, Badang and Benderang engaged in a subtle contest, each trying to pin the other's knee beneath the table. Though Benderang strained with all his might, he could not budge Badang's leg, while Badang easily pinned his opponent's knee without apparent effort.
Realizing he was hopelessly outmatched, Benderang wisely advised his leader to withdraw the challenge rather than face certain defeat and dishonor.
The next day, Tun Perpatih Pandak, the leader of the Perlak delegation, requested that the contest be cancelled. The Sultan agreed, and instead commanded both warriors to work together, creating a stone barrier across the waters around Singapore to control the ships entering the harbor.
The two champions labored side by side in harmony, and when their work was complete, the Perlak delegation returned home in peace.
Badang continued to serve Sultan Sri Rana Wira Kerma with unwavering loyalty until the end of his days. Though he possessed strength beyond mortal measure, he remained humble and faithful, never using his power for selfish gain or evil purpose.
When at last death claimed him, Badang was buried in a place called Buru. Even the Sultan of Benua Keling, whose champion Badang had once defeated, sent a magnificent tombstone to honor the memory of so noble a warrior.
And so ends the tale of Badang—a man who rose from humble bondage to become the greatest hero of his age, not through cunning or cruelty, but through courage, loyalty, and the blessing of the spirits themselves. His story reminds us that true strength lies not in the might of one's arm, but in the nobility of one's heart.