upon the altar of a woman's ungovernable vanity.
One night, when the yellow dawn was splashing the gray in the East, and the
thin smoke-like clouds were hurrying across the sky, like great night fowls
winging their homeward way, Tûan Bângau awoke and found Ûteh sitting beside
him with his kris and girdle in her hands. She had taken them from his pillow as
he slept, and no persuasions on his part could induce her to return them. While
he yet sought to coax her into foregoing her resolve, she leaped to her feet, and,
with a sweet little laugh, disappeared in the palace, and Tûan Bângau returned
homeward with Âwang Îtam, each knowing that now indeed their hour was
come.
Once inside her own apartments, Tŭngku Ûteh placed the kris ostentatiously at
the head of her sleeping mat, and then composed herself calmly to enjoy the
tranquil slumber, which in the West is erroneously supposed to be the peculiar
privilege of the just. Next day, the kris had been seen and recognised, but her
father and mother received nothing but taunts from Ûteh in reply to their
inquiries. What her object was is difficult for the European mind to appreciate,
for it must be distinctly remembered that she had no quarrel with Tûan Bângau.
A Malay woman, however, is very far from regarding the possession of a lover
as a disgrace: in this case, Ûteh's vanity was gratified by the intrigue becoming
known. To obtain this even the sacrifice of her lover did not seem too heavy a
price to pay.
The King's anger knew no bounds when he heard of what had occurred, and
physical punishment was, of course, the only means of covering his shame,
which occurred to his primitive and unoriginal imagination. His position,
however, was a difficult one. Tûan Bângau was a member of a very powerful
clan; he was also a Saiyid, and the King feared that the fanaticism of his people
would be aroused if he openly slew a descendant of the Prophet Muhammad.
Âwang Îtam, whose intrigue had also become known, was arrested, carried into
the palace, and all trace was lost of him for months. Iang Mûnah also
disappeared from among the women; but to Tûan Bângau not a word was said,
and never by sign or gesture was he allowed to guess that his crime was known
to the King.
One day the King went a hunting, and took his way up a small stream which was
totally uninhabited. Tûan Bângau was of the party, and those who went with
them were all men selected for their discretion, and their unwavering loyalty to
the King. The hunting party travelled in boats, of which there were two, the King