The Princess of Mount Ledang
Once upon a time, in the ancient kingdom of Melaka, there rose a mystical mountain called Gunung Ledang, its peak shrouded in mist and legend. Upon this sacred summit dwelt a princess of extraordinary beauty, known throughout the land as the Princess of Mount Ledang. She was not alone in her mountain realm, for faithful dayang, court maidens, served as her companions, and a wise nenek kebayan, midwife-healer, shared their enchanted dwelling.
The princess was no ordinary maiden, for she possessed the gift of appearing to those in need. When villagers from the kampongs at the mountain’s base ventured up the slopes to gather jungle fruits and medicinal herbs, they would sometimes encounter her in their hour of greatest peril. Lost travelers found their way by her guidance, and those who faced danger discovered her protection. Thus her name became renowned throughout the kingdom, spoken with reverence in every village and town.
Now it came to pass that Sultan Mahmud Shah, ruler of the mighty sultanate of Melaka, heard tell of this wondrous princess and her matchless beauty. His heart was immediately inflamed with desire, and he declared his intention to make her his queen. When the Sultan announced his wish to his court, the nobles fell silent with apprehension, for they knew the dangers that lay ahead. Even the Datuk Bendahara, Chief Minister dared not speak against his master’s will, though in his heart he thought: “It is no simple matter to find the Princess of Mount Ledang, for not all who seek her are blessed to meet her.”
Yet what could the Chief Minister do? He knew Sultan Mahmud to be a fierce ruler who brooked no opposition to his desires. Death awaited any who defied him. Thus, with heavy heart, the Bendahara chose several court nobles to seek out the princess and request her hand in marriage.
He selected Tun Mamat to lead the mission, along with the experienced Datuk Sang Setia. But the Sultan commanded that his greatest warrior, the legendary Laksamana Hang Tuah, should also join the expedition. The Chief Minister was troubled by this order, for the admiral was now advanced in years and often unwell. Yet Hang Tuah, ever loyal, accepted his sovereign’s command with humble words: “Your Majesty’s will shall be obeyed.”
On the appointed day, the royal envoys set forth toward Mount Ledang. The journey was long and treacherous—through dense jungle, across rushing rivers, over hills and through valleys. They endured all hardships with determination, for they knew the Sultan’s wrath awaited them should they return empty-handed.
At last they reached a kampong near the mountain’s base. The villagers were amazed to learn that emissaries from the Sultan of Melaka had come to court the Princess of Mount Ledang, yet none could offer aid.
“We wish to help,” said the villagers, “but we ourselves do not know where exactly the princess dwells upon the mountain.”
“Perhaps she is a bunian princess,” suggested another, speaking of the invisible fairy folk, “for that is why no one knows her true dwelling place.”
With no choice but to continue their quest alone, the envoys pressed on to the mountain’s foot. There, the aged Hang Tuah and Sang Setia, overcome with exhaustion, could climb no further. The admiral instructed Tun Mamat to continue with the younger men while they waited below.
Up the mountain slopes went Tun Mamat and his companions, facing countless perils and strange sights. At length they discovered a most peculiar dwelling—its pillars made of enormous bones, its roof woven from impossibly long hair. Despite his brave heart, Tun Mamat felt fear creep into his soul.
Suddenly, dozens of beautiful maidens appeared and surrounded him. “From whence do you come, sir?” asked one of the dayang.
“I come from Melaka,” replied Tun Mamat, “seeking audience with the Princess of Mount Ledang.”
Then emerged from the strange dwelling an elderly nenek kebayan, who inquired about his purpose. When Tun Mamat explained his mission, she said, “I shall ask our princess whether she consents to become the Sultan of Melaka’s queen.” She disappeared into the dwelling, returning shortly with an answer.
“The Princess of Mount Ledang agrees to wed the Sultan of Melaka,” announced the old woman, “provided he can fulfill all the conditions of her betrothal.”
“What are these conditions?” asked Tun Mamat eagerly.
The nenek kebayan spoke thus: “The Sultan must build a bridge of gold and a bridge of silver from Melaka to Mount Ledang, seven urns filled with gold and seven with silver, seven urns of young betel nut water and seven urns of tears, seven trays of mosquito hearts and seven trays of germ hearts, and one bowl of the Sultan’s blood and one bowl of his son’s blood.”
Tun Mamat was struck speechless by these impossible demands. In his wisdom, he understood that the princess had no desire to marry the Sultan, yet was too gracious to refuse outright. These conditions were her gentle way of declining while preserving the Sultan’s honor.
Without delay, Tun Mamat descended the mountain to rejoin his companions. He related his strange encounter to Hang Tuah, who listened with the wisdom of age.
“Did you meet the princess herself?” asked the admiral.
“Nay,” replied Tun Mamat, “I spoke only with the nenek kebayan.”
“Ah,” said Hang Tuah with a knowing smile, “the nenek kebayan was the princess herself, disguised as an old woman.”
Tun Mamat was astounded. “Had I known, I would have captured her and brought her back to Melaka!” he exclaimed in frustration.
Hang Tuah and Sang Setia laughed gently at his words, for they understood the futility of trying to capture a mystical being against her will.
The envoys returned to Melaka and presented themselves before Sultan Mahmud. Tun Mamat recounted the princess’s conditions, and the Sultan sat in stunned silence, as did all his nobles. Only Hang Tuah and Tun Mamat exchanged knowing glances, understanding the princess’s true intent.
After long contemplation, Sultan Mahmud spoke: “If I so desired, I could fulfill all these conditions save one. I cannot and will not shed the blood of my own son for the sake of any marriage, even to the Princess of Mount Ledang.”
The court breathed a collective sigh of relief, for they had feared their ruler might attempt even this final, terrible demand.
“Let us forget this Princess of Mount Ledang,” declared the Sultan at last. “She need not become Queen of Melaka. Let her remain upon her mountain peak.”
The nobles smiled with relief, and from that day forward, Sultan Mahmud spoke no more of the Princess of Mount Ledang. Indeed, he forbade any from his kingdom to venture near the mountain during his lifetime.
Thus ends the tale of the Princess of Mount Ledang, whose wisdom saved both kingdoms from a union that was never meant to be. And though many years have passed, the people still remember a pantun (traditional verse) once spoken by the princess and her maidens:
Dang Nila holds the golden tray,
Rich with fish scales gleaming bright;
Are you mad, good sir, to say
Flying birds can be caught with peppered bite?
And so the Princess of Mount Ledang remains upon her mystical peak, a guardian spirit watching over the land, appearing to those in need, and reminding all who hear her tale that some treasures are too precious to be possessed, and true wisdom lies in knowing when to pursue one’s desires and when to let them go.