Back to Badang (Queen’s Commonwealth Short Story)
I wrote this short story for the Queen’s Commonwealth Essay Competition in response to the prompt: National legends and folklore can take us on a journey through history and culture. Retell a famous folklore from your own or another Commonwealth country in a surprising way. Disclaimer: I realised that this was due 3 hours before the actual deadline, and this is what I managed to cook up in 2 hours and 50 minutes, not including bathroom breaks. It’s pretty clique, but it did somehow win the Silver Prize so I thought to share it here. This was a fun exercise in creative historical reimagination.
Back to Badang
It was supposed to be just another school excursion – hot sun, itchy uniforms, that same boring worksheet nobody wanted to fill in. Natalie, Krishna, and Wei Jie trudged far behind the rest of the class, dragging their feet as they followed a heritage trail guide through the National Museum. Mr Dominic walked past, shaking his head: he had already given up trying to get this particular group to even pay attention, if not take notes.
“Why do we always come here?” Krishna mumbled. “Why can’t we go to, I don’t know, Universal Studios or something instead?”
Puffing up his cheeks, Wei Jie stood up to his tallest height, which really wasn’t much. 5 foot 3 to be exact. Scowling, he mimicked their teacher’s serious tone. “Mr Dominic says it’s part of our national identity. We must engage with our heritage regularly to call ourselves Singaporeans.”
Wei Jie turned to Natalie, grinning at his own joke – he thought it was hilarious. But Natalie wasn’t listening. She stood transfixed in front of a thick glass display case in the corner of the gallery. Inside lay a massive, jagged sandstone fragment etched with faint, weather-worn inscriptions. The plague above read: The Singapore Stone.
“When the British arrived in Singapore in 1819, they found a sandstone monolith at the mouth of the Singapore River.” Krishna read aloud. “They blew it up to build their military headquarters. All that remains in Singapore is this fragment.”
Their curiosity piqued, the three peered just a little closer at the stone. The indecipherable inscriptions, though ancient and worn, seemed to be imbued with a strange glow beneath the plume of light shone by the spotlight above. Each crease in the stone, each valley carved by the hands of time, shimmered faintly – as if alive?
“Is that… sparkling?” Krishna asked in disbelief.
“It’s probably a trick of the light,” Natalie murmured, but even she wasn’t sure herself.
Something drew her in. She instinctively pressed her palm against the glass. Wait. Why did she just do that? Yet, something stirred inside of her. Something unknown. A vibration, resonating in her chest. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. The illegible markings seemed to swirl. Or was that another trick of the light? Was she hallucinating, or were the whispers she suddenly heard echoing in her mind really real?
“What if it isn’t just some historic stone,” she said slowly. “What if it’s meant to be remembered in some way?”
Wei Jie and Krishna snorted. “You sound like a damn ghost tour guide”, Krishna muttered, not unkindly.
Then the air shifted. The temperature dropped. A warm breeze, out of place in the temperature-controlled museum, brushed their skin. The lights flickered. The glass vibrated beneath Natalie’s palm.
The floor gave way.
They screamed.
---------------
When they opened their eyes, the air was thick and humid. The scent of wet earth, crushed leaves, and the pungent smell of something, somewhere, decaying pervaded their orifices. The group groggily got to their feet. As they did so, they realised their surroundings were unmistakably different: this wasn’t the cold, concrete walls of the museum. No, it was towering trees looming overhead, it was vines, serpentine in their movements, snaking from the canopy as if hunting their prey. Bird calls echoed in the distance.
Wei Jie was the first to speak, disbelief colouring his voice. “Guys, what on earth are we wearing?”
They were barefoot. Their school uniforms had vanished, replaced by rough, faded linen tunics.
“Better question: where are we?” Krishna gasped.
“Did we go back in time?” Natalie asked, blinking. No way this was real. She literally had homework due tomorrow, and she was not even close to done. Not by any metric. Her mom was going to kill her if she didn’t get that done… No, focus!
Wei Jie stared ahead. “We were touching the exhibit of the stone. The real one. Maybe it... did something.”
Before they could say another word, a sudden rustle came from the underbrush.
A tall man stepped out. In his hands was a fishing net. A faded cloth, deep crimson and wrapped low around his waist, fluttered slightly with every step. He was shirtless and his muscular frame was caked with sweat and sand. In his daze, Wei Jie couldn’t help but notice the man’s unusual headgear. It was stylized, marked with what looked like ancient symbols.
His sharp eyes studied them not with hostility, but with a quiet curiosity.
“You’re not from here, are you?” His voice was gravelly and deep.
Natalie stepped forward cautiously. “We don’t really know where 'here' is.”
The man gave a small smile. “That is often the way with magic.” He rested the net on a rock. “My name is Badang.”
The three froze.
“The Badang?” Natalie whispered. “The strongman? From the legends? That means… we’ve time travelled back to 14th century Singapore!”
Badang tilted his head. “Time travelled?” he echoed, unfamiliar with the term but choosing not to dwell on it. Instead, he gave a quiet smile. He was no stranger to magic. Looking at their dishevelled state and their utterly bamboozled faces, he knew something peculiar had happened. These children, with their odd accents and innocent faces, didn’t belong here. Somehow, they had stumbled into his world.
“Come with me,” he said gently. “I will help you understand what has happened.”
---------------
Natalie, Krishna, and Wei Jie jogged to follow Badang. As they walked, he told them about the spirit that had transformed him.
Badang was originally from Batu Pahat, in the northern part of Johor. He worked as a coolie for a rich farmer who mistreated and overworked him daily. Small-statured and weak, Badang had little to eat, and set fish-traps along the stream for extra food. One day, he caught a demon – Jembalang air – in his fishing net. The demon agreed to grant him a wish in exchange for freedom, and Badang asked to be the strongest man in the land. The genie had made him consume its bile to gain power.
“It was truly the disgusting thing I’ve ever eaten”, chuckled the giant man. But the transformation had been real. He had uprooted trees with bare hands, carried boulders, and defended the coast from raiders.
But lately, something had changed.
“The strength is fading,” Badang confessed as they sat around a crackling fire. “There is a challenge in two days. A foreign champion from India. Nadi Bijaya Pikrama. We are to duel by lifting the Great Stone in front of the palace.” A worried expression crossed his pockmarked face.
That night, the trio huddled together.
“What if we’re here to help him?” Natalie said. “What if that’s why the stone pulled us in?”
Krishna nodded slowly. “Maybe we’re meant to make sure the legend stays true.”
“We can’t give him strength, but maybe we can make the task easier,” said Wei Jie. “Physics can do what magic can’t.”
Natalie chuckled. “Wei Jie, Ms Muthukumaran would be so proud.”
They devised a plan. Using bamboo poles, thick vines, and flat stones, they constructed a makeshift lever and fulcrum system. Instead of relying on his fading strength, Badang would roll it onto a flat plank and use the lever to pivot and raise it at an angle, reducing the total force needed. Nearby, a sloped ramp would help him push it the final distance.
When they explained the plan to Badang, he looked confused. “You want me to lift it with sticks?” he asked.
“The lever multiplies the strength you already have”. “It’s about using less force,” Krishna said. “Trust us.”
Badang hesitated. These strange children, over the past few days, had created a device beyond his understanding. Yet, for some reason, he trusted them. Something told him that they wouldn’t fail him.
---------------
On the day of the contest, people gathered in the palace courtyard. Nadi Bijaya Pikrama lifted the stone for almost half a minute, muscular arms rippling, and dropped it with a loud “thud!”. The crowd cheered as he roared triumphantly.
Then Badang stepped forward. The crowd murmured as they saw the structure behind him. Whispers of confusion spread. Why was the mighty Badang using a contraption?
“Why doesn’t he lift it himself?” someone muttered.
But then, they watched.
Badang rolled the stone carefully onto the bamboo plank. He gripped the longer end of the lever, braced his foot against the base stone, and heaved. The plank shifted. The stone began to rise. Gasps filled the air.
“Is he lifting it… with a stick?”
Slowly, with precise movements, using the full motion of his body and the assistance of the ramp, Badang pushed the stone up, then gave one final heave.
The stone flew.
It sailed across the courtyard and landed in the river with a thunderous splash. For a second, silence. Then, came the roar of the crowd.
Seeing this, the trio erupted into cheers. Badang turned to them, grinning from ear to ear. “CHILDREN, THANK Y-”
Suddenly, light enveloped them.
They blinked.
They were back in the National Museum, in their old clothes! Natalie turned to the case. The stone was still there, but something had changed. The markings now read:
"Some histories are made by those who remember."
Krishna exhaled, chuckling. “Or maybe by those stupid enough to touch a strange, ancient stone.”
