Pak Belalang the Royal Seer
Once upon a time, in the sun-drenched kingdom of Terang Bulan, there lived a poor widower named Pak Belalang. He was known across his village not for his wisdom nor for his wealth, but for his astonishing laziness. While others toiled in the paddy fields or gathered fish from the streams, Pak Belalang spent his days sprawled beneath a coconut tree, snoring through the rustling breeze.
His only child, a clever and dutiful boy named Belalang, bore the burden of their daily bread. Though still a child, Belalang rose before the roosters, helping villagers with chores, errands, and harvesting fruits. Whatever little rice they had came from the sweat of the boy's brow.
One day, as Belalang wandered near the edge of the jungle, he stumbled upon a pair of thieves stealing a villager’s buffalo. Quick as a mousedeer, he followed the rustlers deep into the forest and noted their hiding place. When he returned home, he shared his discovery with his father.
But Pak Belalang, groggy and ever cautious, waved the boy off. “Don’t meddle with thieves,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes.
But Belalang's eyes sparkled with mischief and hope. “What if,” he said slowly, “you pretend to be a nujum... a seer? I’ll tell the villagers you can find the stolen buffalo. If they believe you, they’ll reward you. No more working in the sun!”
Pak Belalang blinked. He scratched his head. “Well... that does sound easier than planting cassava.”
The next day, the village was in turmoil. The missing buffalo had caused an uproar, and the penghulu, or village headman, was desperate. Belalang, standing among the villagers, seized the moment.
“My father,” he said boldly, “can help. He is a wise nujum, skilled in seeing what others cannot.”
The villagers, desperate for hope, rushed to Pak Belalang's humble hut. There, they found him seated cross-legged, squinting at the clouds and muttering words no one understood.
“The buffalo,” Pak Belalang announced, “rests by the great merbau tree, upstream beyond the bend.”
The villagers rushed to the spot and there, to their astonishment, was the stolen buffalo, chewing lazily on the grass.
From that day on, Pak Belalang was no longer mocked. He was praised, gifted baskets of rice, salted fish, and silk sarong. His name spread like monsoon wind across Terang Bulan. No one questioned how he knew such things, and soon, even the Sultan heard of the legendary seer.
But the greatest test was yet to come.
Far across the sea, in the proud kingdom of Antan Kesuma, a ship set sail bearing strange tidings and stranger men. Upon its arrival at Terang Bulan’s port, the ship’s nakhoda — a tall, grim man with a turban of gold thread — requested an audience with the Sultan.
“Great Sultan of Terang Bulan,” he declared, “we come not for war, but for challenge. Let our kingdom’s nujum face yours in a test of wisdom. Should your seer triumph, our ship and its treasures are yours. But should he fail, your land shall bend knee to Antan Kesuma.”
The Sultan, startled but intrigued, summoned his council. Scribes, ministers, even the palace cook whispered one name: Pak Belalang.
When summoned to court, Pak Belalang arrived trembling, sweat pooling at his collar. He had never set foot in a palace, nor stood before royalty.
“Tell us, wise nujum,” the Sultan said, eyes sharp as kris steel, “will you defend the honor of Terang Bulan?”
Heart pounding, Pak Belalang bowed. “Your humble servant shall try.”
In the great hall hung with batik banners and scented with clove and bunga rampai, the challenge began.
The foreign nujum, cloaked in indigo robes, stepped forward. “First question,” he intoned. “What creature walks on four legs in the morning, two at midday, and three in the evening?”
The hall fell silent. Even the fans paused mid-sway.
Pak Belalang smiled, remembering the riddle from a tale his son once heard. “Man,” he said. “He crawls as a baby, walks on two feet as a man, and in old age, leans on a stick.”
A roar of delight shook the hall. The Sultan clapped his hands, his eyes gleaming.
The foreign nujum scowled. “Second question,” he said, holding out a straight, thick stick. “Tell me which is the top and which is the bottom.”
Pak Belalang took the stick and placed it gently into a basin of water. The heavier end sank first. “The end that sinks is the base,” he said calmly. “For even wood knows where its roots lie.”
Again, the crowd cheered. Gamelan drums rang in celebration.
What none knew was this: Belalang had overheard the Antan Kesuma men rehearsing these very riddles days before, while delivering coconuts to the port.
At last, the foreign nujum, humbled and defeated, lowered his head. “We have lost. The ship is yours, and so is our respect.”
The Sultan, overjoyed, bestowed upon Pak Belalang the title of Nujum Diraja the royal seer, and granted him gold, silks, and most wondrous of all, the hand of his daughter, Princess Laila Sari.
Though Pak Belalang now lived in a palace, he never again lied to the people. Instead, he spent his days learning real wisdom, aided by Belalang, whose heart was truer and mind sharper than any in the land.
And so, in the land of Terang Bulan, beneath skies of endless stars, the boy and his father lived happily ever after, not just in comfort, but in truth.