Bawang Merah and Bawang Putih - Indonesian

My name is Bawang Putih, and my story begins in a small, sunny village in Indonesia, where the sweet scent of cloves and cinnamon always danced on the breeze and the river was my only true friend. After my dear mother passed away, leaving a quiet space in our home, my father remarried a woman with a daughter named Bawang Merah. This is the story of Bawang Merah and Bawang Putih. At first, I was filled with hope for a new sister and mother, but their hearts were as cold and hard as river stones. They forced me to do all the work, from scrubbing the floors at sunrise to washing the clothes in the river until my fingers were wrinkled like raisins. My stepsister, Bawang Merah, whose name means ‘Red Onion,’ did nothing but admire her reflection and complain that the sun was too bright. I, ‘White Garlic,’ was left with the endless chores and a quiet hope that one day, my patience and kindness would finally matter. I would whisper my dreams to the flowing water, imagining a life where I wasn't so alone.

One sweltering afternoon, while I was scrubbing a mountain of laundry by the riverbank, my stepmother’s favorite scarlet scarf slipped from my grasp. The river, usually my friend, became a thief, snatching the beautiful fabric and carrying it away on its swift current. Panic seized me. Can you imagine how terrified I was? My stepmother would be furious. I had no choice but to follow it. I walked for hours, my feet growing sore on the dusty path, asking every fisherman and farmer I met, “Have you seen a scarlet scarf floating by?” but no one had. Just as the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, I stumbled upon a dark, shadowy cave nestled by the water’s edge. A flicker of firelight danced from within. Hesitantly, I peeked inside and saw a very, very old woman stirring a pot. Her face was a map of wrinkles, and her eyes held the wisdom of a thousand years. And what was in her hand? The scarlet scarf. “I have what you are looking for,” she rasped, her voice like rustling leaves. “I will give it back, but only if you stay and help me with my chores for one week.” Though I was exhausted and a little frightened of the strange cave, I remembered my mother’s words: always respect your elders. I nodded and agreed. For seven days, I swept the dusty cave floor, cooked simple meals over the fire, and listened to her fascinating stories of ancient magic and mischievous forest spirits. I never once complained, for I was just grateful to have a roof over my head.

When the week was over, the old woman smiled, her wrinkles deepening around her eyes. “You have a good heart, Bawang Putih,” she said, handing me the clean, neatly folded scarlet scarf. “For your hard work and kindness, you may choose a reward.” She led me to a small garden behind her cave where two pumpkins sat side-by-side. One was absolutely enormous, a magnificent orange giant that looked like it would take two people to carry. The other was small and pale, no bigger than my head. The old woman watched me, her gaze steady. “Choose whichever one you wish.” My stepsister, Bawang Merah, would have grabbed the giant one without a second thought. But I felt that would be greedy, and besides, how would I ever carry such a heavy thing all the way home? I pointed to the smaller one. “Thank you, I will take this one,” I said politely. “It is all I need.” I thanked her again and hurried on my way, clutching the scarf and the little pumpkin. When I finally arrived home, my stepmother and Bawang Merah were waiting, their faces stormy with anger. “Where have you been, you lazy girl?” my stepmother shrieked. They saw the tiny pumpkin in my arms and burst into cruel laughter. But their laughter died in their throats when I took a knife and cut the pumpkin open on the kitchen table. Instead of seeds and pulp, it was filled to the brim with shimmering gold coins, sparkling diamonds, and lustrous pearls that spilled out, glittering in the lamplight. Their eyes widened, and I saw a greedy plan begin to form in their minds.

The very next morning, my stepmother sent Bawang Merah to the river with a basket of clothes. Following her mother’s instructions, she purposely tossed a scarf into the water and then began to wail dramatically, pretending to be upset. She followed the river until she found the same dark cave. But when the old woman invited her in, Bawang Merah was rude and demanding. “Give me back my scarf, old woman!” she ordered. When asked to help with chores for a week, she refused, complaining that the work was beneath her. She spent the entire week lounging about, eating the old woman’s food without a word of thanks. At the end of the week, the old woman offered her the same choice of pumpkins. Without a moment’s hesitation, Bawang Merah greedily seized the enormous pumpkin. It was so heavy she had to drag it all the way home, grunting and sweating but dreaming of the riches inside. She and my stepmother slammed the pumpkin onto the floor, their hands trembling with excitement as they smashed it open. But what poured out was not treasure. A horrifying swarm of venomous snakes, stinging scorpions, and biting centipedes slithered and scuttled out, chasing the screaming pair out of our house and deep into the jungle, never to be seen again. At last, I was free. I used the treasure to help myself and the other villagers, ensuring no one ever went hungry.

My story has been told for many generations in Indonesia, a lesson whispered from parents to children at bedtime. It teaches that kindness, humility, and a patient heart are treasures far more precious than any amount of gold or jewels. It also serves as a warning that greed and cruelty will always lead to an unhappy ending. You might think it sounds a bit like the story of Cinderella, and in a way, it is. It’s a timeless reminder that true goodness can shine through even in the most difficult of times. Today, the tale of Bawang Merah and Bawang Putih is still celebrated in plays, books, and art, a beautiful part of my country's culture that reminds everyone that the greatest magic in the world is, and always will be, a kind and generous heart.