A second charm of great length follows, the object of which is to
drive out the evil spirit in possession of the man.
An example of this form of cure as practised by Malay medicine-men is
referred to by Mr. Clifford, who, in speaking of his punkah-puller,
Umat, says:--
"It was soon after his marriage that his trouble fell upon Umat,
and swept much of the sunshine from his life. He contracted a form of
ophthalmia, and for a time was blind. Native Medicine Men doctored him,
and drew sheaves of needles and bunches of thorns from his eyes, which
they declared were the cause of his affliction. These miscellaneous
odds and ends used to be brought to me at breakfast-time, floating,
most unappetisingly, in a shallow cup half-full of water; and Umat
went abroad with eye-sockets stained crimson, or black, according to
the fancy of the native physician. The aid of an English doctor was
called in, but Umat was too thoroughly a Malay to trust the more simple
remedies prescribed to him, and though his blindness was relieved,
and he became able to walk without the aid of a staff, his eyesight
could never really be given back to him." [679]
In the above connection I may remark that, whether from the working
of their own imaginations or otherwise, those who were believed to be
possessed by demons certainly suffered, and that severely. H.H. Raja
Kahar, the son of H.H. the late Sultan of Selangor, was attacked by a
familiar demon during my residence in the Langat District, and shortly
afterwards commenced to pine away. He declared that the offending
demon was sitting in his skull, at the back of his head, and that it
dragged up and devoured everything that he swallowed. Hence he refused
at length to eat any sort of solid food, and gradually wasted away
until he became a mere skeleton, and went about imploring people to
take a hatchet and split his skull open, in order to extract the demon
which he believed it to contain. Gradually his strength failed, and at
length I learned from H.H. the Sultan (then Raja Muda) that all the
Malays in the neighbourhood had assembled to wail at his decease. As
we strolled among the cocoa-nut palms and talked, I told him of the
many miraculous cures which had attended cases of faith-healing in
England, and suggested, not of course expecting to be taken seriously,
that he should try the effect of such a cure upon his uncle, and "make
believe" to extract some "mantises" from the back of his head. To
my intense astonishment some days later, I learned that this idea
had been carried out during my temporary absence from the district,
and that the Muhammadan priest, after cupping him severely, had shown
him seven large mantises which he pretended to have extracted from the
back of his head. The experiment proved extraordinarily successful, and
Raja Kahar recovered at all events for the time. He declared, however,
that there were more of these mantises left, and eventually suffered a
relapse and died during my absence in England on leave. For the time,
however, the improvement was quite remarkable, and when Said Mashahor,
the Penghulu of Kerling, visited him a few days later, Raja Kahar,
after an account of the cure from his own point of view, declared
that nobody would now believe that he had been so ill, although "no
fewer than seven large mantises" had been "extracted from his head."
I now give a specimen of the ceremonies used for recalling a wandering
soul by means of a dough figure or image (gambar tepong). It is not
stated whether any of the usual accessories of these figures (hair
and nails, etc.) are mixed with the dough, but an old and famous
soul-doctor ('Che Amal, of Jugra) told me that the dough figure
should be made, in strictness, from the ball of kneaded dough which
is rolled all over the patient's body by the medicine-man during the
"sucking-charm" ceremony (mengalin). The directions for making it
run as follows:--
Make an image of dough, in length about nine inches, and representing
the opposite sex to that of the patient. Deposit it (on its back)
upon five cubits of white cloth, which must be folded up small for
the purpose, and then plant a miniature green umbrella (made of cloth
coated thickly with wax, and standing from four to five inches in
height) at the head of the image, and a small green clove-shaped
taper (of about the same height) at its feet. Then burn incense;
take three handfuls each of "parched," "washed," and "saffron" rice,
and scatter them thrice round the figure, saying as you do so:--
"O Flying Paper,
Come and fly into this cup.
Pass by me like a shadow,
I am applying the charm called the 'Drunken Stars [680]'
Drunken stars are on my left,
A full moon (lit. 14th day moon) is on my right,
And the Umbrella of Si Lanchang is opposite to me
Grant this by virtue of 'There is no god but God,'" etc.
The statement that this dough image should represent the opposite sex
to that of the patient should be received with caution, and requires
further investigation to clear it up. My informant explained that the
"Flying Paper" (kretas layang-layang) referred to the soul-cloth,
and the "cup" to the image, but if this explanation is accepted,
it is yet not unlikely that a real cup was used in the original
charm. The "drunken stars" he explained as referring to the parched
rice scattered on his left, and the full moon to the eyes of the
image. Arguing from the analogy of other ceremonies conducted on the
same lines, the wandering soul would be recalled and induced to enter
the so-called cup (i.e. the dough image), and being transferred thence
to the soul-cloth underneath it, would be passed on to the patient
in the soul-cloth itself.
Another way to recall a soul (which was taught me by 'Che `Abas of
Kelantan) is to take seven betel-leaves with meeting leaf-ribs (sirih
bertemu urat), and make them up into seven "chews" of betel. Then
take a plateful of saffron-rice, parched rice, and washed rice, and
seven pieces of parti-coloured thread (benang pancharona tujoh urat)
and an egg; deposit these at the feet of the sick man, giving him
one end of the thread to hold, and fastening the other end to the egg.
The soul is then called upon to return to the house which it has
deserted, is caught in a soul-cloth, and passed (it is thought)
first of all into the egg, and thence back into the patient's body
by means of the thread which connects the egg with the patient. The
charm runs as follows:--
"Peace be with you, O Breath!
Hither, Breath, come hither!
Hither, Soul, come hither!
Hither, Little One, come hither!
Hither, Filmy One, come hither!
Hither, I am sitting and praising you!
Hither, I am sitting and waving to you!
Come back to your house and house-ladder,
To your floor of which the planks have started,
To your thatch-roof 'starred' (with holes).
Do not bear grudges,
Do not bear malice,
Do not take it as a wrong,
Do not take it as a transgression.
Here I sit and praise you.
Here I sit and drag you (home),
Here I sit and shout for you,
Here I sit and wave to you,
Come at this very time, come at this very moment," etc.
Another way of recalling the soul is as follows:--
Put some husked rice in a rice-bag (sumpit) with an egg, a nail, and
a candle-nut; scatter it (kirei) thrice round the patient's head, and
deposit the bag behind his pillow (di kapala tidor), after repeating
this charm:--
"Cluck, cluck, souls of So-and-so, all seven of you,
Return ye unto your own house and house-ladder!
Here are your parents come to summon you back,
Back to your own house and house-ladder, your own clearing
and yard,
To the presence of your own parents, of your own family and
relations,
Go not to and fro,
But return to your own home."
When three days have expired, gather up the rice again and put it all
back into the bag. If there is a grain over throw it to the fowls,
but if the measure falls short repeat the ceremony.
Again, in order to recall an escaping soul (riang semangat) the
soul-doctor will take a fowl's egg, seven small cockle-shells (kulit
k'rang tujoh keping), and a kal [681] of husked rice, and put them
all together into a rice-bag (sumpit). He then rubs the bag all over
the skin of the patient's body, shakes the contents well up together,
and deposits it again close to the patient's head. Whilst shaking
them up he repeats the following charm:--
"Cluck! cluck! soul of this sick man, So-and-so,
Return into the frame and body of So-and-so,
To your own house and house-ladder, to your own ground and yard,
To your own parents, to your own sheath."
At the end of three days he measures the rice; if the amount has
increased, it signifies that the soul has returned; if it is the same
as before, it is still half out of the body; if less, the soul has
escaped and has not yet returned. In this case the soul is expected
to enter the rice and thus cause its displacement.
Another method, not of recalling the soul, but of stopping it in
the act of escaping, is to take a gold ring, not less than a maiam
[682] in weight, an iron nail, a candle-nut (buah k'ras), three small
cockle-shells, three closed fistfuls of husked rice (b'ras tiga genggam
bunyi), and some parti-coloured thread. These articles are all put
in a rice-bag, and shaken up together seven times every morning for
three days, by which time the soul is supposed to be firmly reseated
in the patient's body; then the rice is poured out at the door "to
let the fowls eat it." The ring is tied to the patient's wrist by
means of a strip of tree-bark (kulit t'rap), and it is by means of
this string that the soul is supposed to return to its body. When
the shaking takes place the following charm must be recited:--
"Peeling-Knife, [683] hooked Knife,
Stuck into the thatch-wall!
Sea-demons! Hamlet-demons!
Avaunt ye, begone from here,
And carry not off the soul of So-and-so," etc.
In conclusion, I will give a quotation from Malay Sketches, which is
perhaps as good an example as could be given of the way in which the
Black Art and the medical performances that in their methods closely
resemble it, are regarded by many respectable Malays:--
"One evening I was discussing these various superstitions with the
Sultan of Perak, and I did not notice that the spiritual teacher of His
Highness had entered and was waiting to lead the evening prayer. The
guru, or teacher, no doubt heard the end of our conversation, and
was duly scandalised, for the next day I received from him a letter,
of which the following is the translation:--
"'First praise to God, the Giver of all good, a Fountain of Compassion
to His servants.
"'From Haji Wan Muhammad, Teacher of His Highness the Sultan of Perak,
to the Resident who administers the Government of Perak.
"'The whole earth is in the hand of the Most High God, and He gives it
as an inheritance to whom He will of His subjects. The true religion
is also of God, and Heaven is the reward of those who fear the Most
High. Salvation and peace are for those who follow the straight path,
and only they will in the end arrive at real greatness. No Raja
can do good, and none can be powerful, except by the help of God,
the Most High, who is also Most Mighty.
"'I make ten thousand salutations. I wish to inquire about the
practice of ber-hantu, driving oneself mad and losing one's reason,
as has been the custom of Rajas and Chiefs in this State of Perak;
is it right, according to your religion, Mr. Resident, or is it
not? For that practice is a deadly sin to the Muhammadan Faith,
because those who engage in it lose their reason and waste their
substance for nothing; some of them cast it into the water, while
others scatter it broadcast through the jungle. How is such conduct
treated by your religion, Mr. Resident; is it right or wrong? I
want you in your indulgence to give me an answer, for this practice
is very hard on the poor. The Headmen collect from the rayats, and
then they make elaborate preparations of food, killing a buffalo or
fowls, and all this is thrown away as already stated. According to
the Muhammadan religion such proceedings lead to destruction.
"'I salute you many times; do not be angry, for I do not understand
your customs, Mr. Resident.
"'(Signed) Haji Muhammad Abu Hassan.'" [684]
9. DANCES, SPORTS, AND GAMES
Dance Ceremonies
The following passage is an account of a characteristic Malay dance,
the Joget:--
"Malays are not dancers, but they pay professional performers to
dance for their amusement, and consider that 'the better part' is
with those who watch, at their ease, the exertions of a small class,
whose members are not held in the highest respect. The spectacle
usually provided is strangely wanting in attraction: a couple of
women shuffling their feet and swaying their hands in gestures that
are practically devoid of grace or even variety--that is the Malay
dance--and it is accompanied by the beating of native drums, the
striking together of two short sticks held in either hand, and the
occasional boom of a metal gong. The entertainment has an undoubted
fascination for Malays, but it generally forms part of a theatrical
performance, and for Western spectators it is immeasurably dull. [685]
"In one of the Malay States, however, Pahang, it has for years been
the custom for the ruler and one or two of his near relatives to keep
trained dancing girls, who perform what is called the 'Joget'--a real
dance with an accompaniment of something like real music, though the
orchestral instruments are very rude indeed.
"The dancers, budak joget, belong to the Raja's household, they may
even be attached to him by a closer tie; they perform seldom, only for
the amusement of their lord and his friends, and the public are not
admitted. Years ago I saw such a dance, [686] and though peculiar to
Pahang, as far as the Malay States are concerned, it is probable that
it came originally from Java; the instruments used by the orchestra
and the airs played are certainly far more common in Java and Sumatra
than in the Peninsula.
"I had gone to Pahang on a political mission accompanied by a friend,
and we were vainly courting sleep in a miserable lodging, when at 1
A.M. a message came from the Sultan inviting us to witness a joget. We
accepted with alacrity, and at once made our way to the astana, a
picturesque, well-built, and commodious house on the right bank of
the Pahang river. A palisade enclosed the courtyard, and the front
of the house was a very large hall, open on three sides, but covered
by a lofty roof of fantastic design supported on pillars. The floor
of this hall was approached by three wide steps continued round the
three open sides, the fourth being closed by a wooden wall which
entirely shut off the private apartments save for one central door
over which hung a heavy curtain. The three steps were to provide
sitting accommodation according to their rank for those admitted
to the astana. The middle of the floor on the night in question was
covered by a large carpet, chairs were placed for us, and the rest
of the guests sat on the steps of the dais.
"When we entered, we saw, seated on the carpet, four girls,
two of them about eighteen and two about eleven years old, all
attractive according to Malay ideas of beauty, and all gorgeously
and picturesquely clothed. On their heads they each wore a large and
curious but very pretty ornament of delicate workmanship--a sort of
square flower garden where all the flowers were gold, trembling and
glittering with every movement of the wearer. These ornaments were
secured to the head by twisted cords of silver and gold. The girls'
hair, combed down in a fringe, was cut in a perfect oval round their
foreheads and very becomingly dressed behind.
"The bodices of their dresses were made of tight-fitting silk,
leaving the neck and arms bare, whilst a white band of fine cambric
(about one and a half inches wide), passing round the neck, came
down on the front of the bodice in the form of a V, and was there
fastened by a golden flower. Round their waists were belts fastened
with large and curiously-worked pinding or buckles of gold, so large
that they reached quite across the waist. The rest of the costume
consisted of a skirt of cloth of gold (not at all like the sarong),
reaching to the ankles, while a scarf of the same material, fastened
in its centre to the waist-buckle, hung down to the hem of the skirt.
"All four dancers were dressed alike, except that the older girls
wore white silk bodices with a red and gold handkerchief, folded
corner-wise, tied under the arms and knotted in front. The points of
the handkerchief hung to the middle of the back. In the case of the two
younger girls the entire dress was of one material. On their arms the
dancers wore numbers of gold bangles, and their fingers were covered
with diamond rings. In their ears were fastened the diamond buttons so
much affected by Malays, and indeed now by Western ladies. Their feet,
of course, were bare. We had ample time to minutely observe these
details before the dance commenced, for when we came into the hall
the four girls were sitting down in the usual [687] Eastern fashion
on the carpet, bending forward, their elbows resting on their thighs,
and hiding the sides of their faces, which were towards the audience,
with fans made of crimson and gilt paper which sparkled in the light.
"On our entrance the band struck up, and our special attention was
called to the orchestra, as the instruments are seldom seen in the
Malay Peninsula. There were two chief performers: one playing on
a sort of harmonicon, the notes of which he struck with pieces of
stick held in each hand. The other, with similar pieces of wood,
played on inverted metal bowls. Both these performers seemed to have
sufficiently hard work, but they played with the greatest spirit from
10 P.M. till 5 A.M.
"The harmonicon is called by Malays chelempong, and the inverted
bowls, which give a pleasant and musical sound like the noise of
rippling water, gambang. The other members of the orchestra consisted
of a very small boy who played, with a very large and thick stick,
on a gigantic gong, an old woman who beat a drum with two sticks,
and several other boys who played on instruments like triangles called
chanang. All these performers, we were told with much solemnity, were
artists of the first order, masters and a mistress in their craft,
and if vigour of execution counts for excellence they proved the
justice of the praise.
"The Hall, of considerable size, capable of accommodating several
hundreds of people, was only dimly lighted, but the fact that, while
the audience was in semi-darkness, the light was concentrated on the
performers added to the effect. Besides ourselves, I question whether
there were more than twenty spectators, but sitting on the top of
the dais, near to the dancers, it was hard to pierce the surrounding
gloom. The orchestra was placed on the left of the entrance to the
Hall, that is, rather to the side and rather in the background,
a position evidently chosen with due regard to the feelings of the
audience.
"From the elaborate and vehement execution of the players, and the
want of regular time in the music, I judged, and rightly, that we had
entered as the overture began. During its performance the dancers sat
leaning forward, hiding their faces as I have described; but when it
concluded and, without any break, the music changed into the regular
rhythm for dancing, the four girls dropped their fans, raised their
hands in the act of Sembah or homage, and then began the dance by
swaying their bodies and slowly waving their arms and hands in the
most graceful movements making much and effective use all the while of
the scarf hanging from their belts. Gradually raising themselves from
a sitting to a kneeling posture, acting in perfect accord in every
motion, then rising to their feet, they floated through a series of
figures hardly to be exceeded in grace and difficulty, considering
that the movements are essentially slow, the arms, hands, and body
being the real performers, whilst the feet are scarcely noticed and
for half the time not visible.
"They danced five or six dances, each lasting quite half an hour, with
materially different figures and time in the music. All these dances, I
was told, were symbolical: one of agriculture, with the tilling of the
soil, the sowing of the seed, the reaping and winnowing of the grain,
might easily have been guessed from the dancer's movements. But those
of the audience whom I was near enough to question were, Malay-like,
unable to give me much information. Attendants stood or sat near the
dancers, and from time to time, as the girls tossed one thing on the
floor, handed them another. Sometimes it was a fan or a mirror they
held, sometimes a flower or small vessel, but oftener their hands
were empty, as it is in the management of the fingers that the chief
art of Malay dancers consists.
"The last dance, symbolical of war, was perhaps the best, the music
being much faster, almost inspiriting, and the movements of the dancers
more free and even abandoned. For the latter half of the dance they
each held a wand, to represent a sword, bound with three rings of
burnished gold which glittered in the light like precious stones. This
nautch, which began soberly like the others, grew to a wild revel
until the dancers were, or pretended to be, possessed by the Spirit
of Dancing, hantu menari as they called it, and leaving the Hall for
a moment to smear their fingers and faces with a fragrant oil, they
returned, and the two eldest, striking at each other with their wands,
seemed inclined to turn the symbolical into a real battle. They were,
however, after some trouble, caught by four or five women and carried
forcibly out of the Hall, but not until their captors had been made
to feel the weight of the magic wands. The two younger girls, who
looked as if they too would like to be "possessed," but did not know
how to accomplish it, were easily caught and removed.
"The bands, whose strains had been increasing in wildness and in
time, ceased playing on the removal of the dancers, and the nautch,
which had begun at 10 P.M., was over.
"The Raja, who had only appeared at 4 A.M., told me that one of the
elder girls, when she became "properly possessed," lived for months
on nothing but flowers, a pretty and poetic conceit.
"As we left the Astana, and taking boat rowed slowly to the vessel
waiting for us off the river's mouth, the rising sun was driving the
fog from the numbers of lovely green islets, that seemed to float like
dew-drenched lotus leaves on the surface of the shallow stream. [688]"
The religious origin of almost all Malay dances is still to be
seen in the performance of such ritualistic observances as the
burning of incense, the scattering of rice, and the invocation of
the Dance-spirit according to certain set forms, the spirit being
duly exorcised again (or "escorted homewards," as it is called)
at the end of the performance.
The dances which have best preserved the older ritual are precisely
those which are the least often seen, such as the "Gambor Dance"
(main gambor), the "Monkey Dance" (main b'rok), the "Palm-blossom
Dance" (main mayang), and the "Fish-trap Dance" (main lukah). These
I will take in the order mentioned.
The "Gambor Dance" (lit. Gambor Play) should be performed by girls just
entering upon womanhood. The debutante is attired in an attractive
coat and skirt (sarong), is girt about at the waist with a yellow
(royal) sash, and is further provided with an elaborate head-dress,
crescent-shaped pendants (dokoh) for the breast, and a fan. The
only other "necessary" is the "Pleasure-garden" (taman bunga),
which is represented by a large water-jar containing a bunch of
long sprays, from the ends of which are made to depend artificial
flowers, fruit, and birds, the whole being intended to attract the
spirit (Hantu Gambor). In addition there is the usual circular tray,
with its complement of sacrificial rice and incense. Everything being
ready, the debutante lies down and is covered over with a sheet, and
incense is burnt, the sacrificial rice sprinkled, and the invocation
of the spirit is chanted by a woman to the accompaniment of the
tambourines. Ere it has ended, if all goes well, the charm will have
begun to work, the spirit descends, and the dance commences.
At the end of this dance, as has already been said, the spirit is
exorcised, that is, he is "escorted back" to the seventh heaven from
whence he came.
The invocations, which are used both at the commencement and
the conclusion of the performance, consist of poems which belong
unmistakably to the "Panji" cycle of stories; here and there they
contain old words which are still used in Java.
The "Monkey Dance" is achieved by causing the "Monkey spirit" to enter
into a girl of some ten years of age. She is first rocked to and fro
in a Malay infant's swinging-cot (buayan), and fed with areca-nut
and salt (pinang garam). When she is sufficiently dizzy or "dazed"
(mabok), an invocation addressed to the "Monkey spirit" is chanted
(to tambourine accompaniments), and at its close the child commences
to perform a dance, in the course of which she is said sometimes to
achieve some extraordinary climbing feats which she could never have
achieved unless "possessed." When it is time for her to recover her
senses she is called upon by name, and if that fails to recall her,
is bathed all over with cocoa-nut milk (ayer niyor hijau).
The foregoing does not, of course, in any way exhaust the list of Malay
dances. Others will be found described in various parts of this book,
amongst them the "Henna Dance" (at weddings); the medicine-man's dance,
as performed at the bedside of a sick person; the dance performed in
honour of a dead tiger; theatrical dances, and many kinds of sword and
dagger dances, or posture-dances (such as the main bersilat, or main
berpenchak), whether performed for the diversion of the beholders or by
way of defiance (as in war). The main dabus is a dance performed with
a species of iron spits, whose upper ends are furnished with hoops,
upon which small iron rings are strung, and which accordingly give
out a jingling noise when shaken. Two of these spits (buah dabus)
are charmed (to deaden their bite), and taken up, one in each hand,
by the dancer, who shakes them at each step that he takes. When he is
properly possessed, he drives the points of these spits through the
muscle of each forearm, and lets them hang down whilst he takes up a
second pair. He then keeps all four spits jingling at once until the
dance ceases. The point of each spit goes right through the muscle,
but if skilfully done, draws no blood. [689]
We now come to a class of dances in which certain inanimate objects,
that are believed to be temporarily animated, are the performers,
and which therefore closely correspond to the performances of our
own spiritualists.
The Palm-blossom dance is a very curious exhibition, which I once saw
performed in the Langat District of Selangor. Two freshly-gathered
sheaves of areca-palm blossom (each several feet in length) were
deposited upon a new mat, near a tray containing a censer and the
three kinds of sacrificial rice.
The magician ('Che Ganti by name) commenced the performance by playing
a prelude on his violin. Presently his wife (an aged Selangor woman)
took some of the rice in her hand and commenced to chant the words
of the invocation, she being almost immediately joined in the chant
by a younger woman. Starting with the words, "Thus I brace up,
I brace up the Palm-blossom" ('ku anggit mayang 'ku anggit), their
voices rose higher and higher until the seventh stanza was reached,
when the old woman covered the two sheaves of Palm-blossom with a
Malay plaid skirt (sarong) and the usual "five cubits of white cloth"
(folded double), both of which had of course first been fumigated. Then
followed seven more stanzas ("Borrow the hammer, Borrow the anvil,"
and its companion verses), and rice having been thrown over one of
the sheaves of palm-blossom, its sheath was opened and the contents
fumigated. Then the old woman took the newly-fumigated sheaf between
her hands, and the chant recommenced with the third septet of stanzas
("Dig up, dig up, the wild ginger plant"), as the erect palm-blossom
swayed from side to side in time to the music. Finally the fiddle
stopped and tambourines were substituted, and at this point the
sheaf of blossom commenced to jump about on its stalk, as if it were
indeed possessed, and eventually dashed itself upon the ground. After
one or two repetitions of this performance, other persons present
were invited to try it, and did so with varying success, which
depended, I was told, upon the impressionability of their souls,
as the palm-blossom would not dance for anybody whose soul was not
impressionable (lemah semangat).
When the first blossom-sheaf had been destroyed by the rough treatment
which it had to undergo, the second was duly fumigated and introduced
to the company, and finally the performance was brought to a close
by the chanting of the stanzas in which the spirit is requested to
return to his own place. The two spoiled sheaves of blossom were then
carried respectfully out of the house and laid on the ground beneath
a banana-tree.
The Dancing Fish-trap (main lukah) is a spiritualistic performance, in
which a fish-trap (lukah) is substituted for the sheaf of palm-blossom,
and a different invocation is used. In other respects there is very
little difference between the two. The fish-trap is dressed up much
in the same way as a "scare-crow," so as to present a rough and ready
resemblance to the human figure, i.e. it is dressed in a woman's
coat and plaid skirt (sarong), both of which must, if possible, have
been worn previously; a stick is run through it to serve as the arms
of the figure, and a (sterile) cocoa-nut shell (tempurong jantan)
clapped on the top to serve as a head. The invocation is then chanted
in the same manner and to the same accompaniment as that used for the
"Palm-blossom." At its conclusion the magician whispers, so to speak,
into the fish-trap's ear, bidding it "not to disgrace him," but rise
up and dance, and the fish-trap presently commences to rock to and
fro, and to leap about in a manner which of course proves it to be
"possessed" by the spirit. Two different specimens of the invocations
used will be found in the Appendix.
Buffalo Fights and Cock Fights
"The Malays are passionately addicted to buffalo and cock
fighting. Whole poems are devoted to enthusiastic descriptions of these
'sports of princes,' and laws laid down for the latter as minute as
those of the Hoyleian code." [690]
"The bulls have been trained and medicined for months beforehand, with
much careful tending, many strength-giving potions, and volumes of the
old-world charms, which put valour and courage into a beast. They stand
at each end of a piece of grassy lawn, with their knots of admirers
around them, descanting on their various points, and with the proud
trainer, who is at once keeper and medicine-man, holding them by the
cord which is passed through their nose-rings. Until you have seen
the water-buffalo stripped for the fight, it is impossible to conceive
how handsome the ugly brute can look. One has been accustomed to see
him with his neck bowed to the yoke he hates, and breaks whenever the
opportunity offers; or else in the padi fields. In the former case he
looks out of place,--an anachronism belonging to a prehistoric period,
drawing a cart which seems also to date back to the days before the
Deluge. In the fields the buffalo has usually a complete suit of grey
mud, and during the quiet evening hour goggles at you through the
clouds of flies which surround his flapping ears and brutal nose, the
only parts that can be seen of him above the surface of the mud-hole or
the running water of the river. In both cases he is unlovely, but in
the bull-ring he has something magnificent about him. His black coat
has a gloss upon it which would not disgrace a London carriage horse,
and which shows him to be in tip-top condition. His neck seems thicker
and more powerful than that of any other animal, and it glistens with
the chili water, which has been poured over it in order to increase
his excitement. His resolute shoulders, his straining quarters,--each
vying with the other for the prize for strength,--and his great girth,
give a look of astonishing vigour and vitality to the animal. It is
the head of the buffalo, however, which it is best to look at on these
occasions. Its great spread of horns is very imposing, and the eyes,
which are usually sleepy, cynically contemptuous and indifferent,
or sullenly cruel, are for once full of life, anger, passion, and
excitement. He stands there quivering and stamping, blowing great
clouds of smoke from his mouth and nose:--
"With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,
And with circles of red for his eye-socket's rim.
"The wild joy of battle is sending the blood boiling through the
great arteries of the beast, and his accustomed lethargic existence is
galvanised into a new fierce life. You can see that he is longing for
the battle with an ardour that would have distanced that of a Quixote,
and, for the first time, you begin to see something to admire even
in the water-buffalo.
"A crowd of Rajas, Chiefs, and commoners are assembled, in their
gaily-coloured garments, which always serve to give life and beauty
to every Malay picture, with its setting of brilliant never-fading
green. The women in their gaudy silks, and dainty veils, glance
coquettishly from behind the fenced enclosure which has been
prepared for their protection, and where they are quite safe from
injury. The young Rajas stalk about, examine the bulls, and give
loud and contradictory orders as to the manner in which the fight
is to be conducted. The keepers, fortunately, are so deafened by
the row which every one near them is making, that they are utterly
incapable of following directions which they cannot hear. Malays love
many people and many things, and one of the latter is the sound of
their own voices. When they are excited--and in the bull-ring they
are always wild with excitement--they wax very noisy indeed, and,
as they all talk, and no one listens to what any one else is saying,
the green sward on which the combat is to take place speedily becomes
a pandemonium, compared with which the Tower of Babel was a quiet
corner in Sleepy Hollow.
"At last the word to begin is given, and the keepers of the buffaloes
let out the lines made fast to the bulls' noses, and lead their charges
to the centre of the green. The lines are crossed, and then gradually
drawn taut, so that the bulls are soon facing one another. Then
the knots are loosed, and the cords slip from the nose-rings. A dead
silence falls upon the people, and for a moment the combatants eye one
another. Then they rush together, forehead to forehead, with a mighty
impact. A fresh roar rends the sky, the backers of each beast shrieking
advice and encouragement to the bull which carries their money.
"After the first rush, the bulls no longer charge, but stand with
interlaced horns, straining shoulders, and quivering quarters,
bringing tremendous pressure to bear one upon the other, while each
strives to get a grip with the point of its horns upon the neck,
or cheeks, or face of its opponent. A buffalo's horn is not sharp,
but the weight of the animal is enormous, and you must remember that
the horns are driven with the whole of the brute's bulk for lever
and sledgehammer. Such force as is exerted would be almost sufficient
to push a crowbar through a stone wall, and, tough though they are,
the hardest of old bull buffaloes is not proof against the terrible
pressure brought to bear. The bulls show wonderful activity and skill
in these fencing matches. Each beast gives way the instant that it
is warned by the touch of the horn-tip that its opponent has found
an opening, and woe betide the bull that puts its weight into a stab
which the other has time to elude. In the flick of an eye--as the
Malay phrase has it--advantage is taken of the blunder, and, before
the bull has time to recover its lost balance, its opponent has found
an opening, and has wedged its horn-point into the neck or cheek. When
at last a firm grip has been won, and the horn has been driven into
the yielding flesh, as far as the struggles of its opponent render
possible, the stabber makes his great effort. Pulling his hind-legs
well under him, and straightening his fore-legs to the utmost extent,
till the skin is drawn taut over the projecting bosses of bone at
the shoulders, and the knots of muscle stand out like cordage on a
crate, he lifts his opponent. His head is skewed on one side, so that
the horn on which his adversary is hooked is raised to the highest
level possible, and his massive neck strains and quivers with the
tremendous effort. If the stab is sufficiently low down, say in the
neck or under the cheek-bone, the wounded bull is often lifted clean
off his fore-feet, and hangs there helpless and motionless 'while a
man might count a score.' The exertion of lifting, however, is too
great to admit of its being continued for any length of time, and as
soon as the wounded buffalo regains its power of motion--that is to
say, as soon as its fore-feet are again on the ground--it speedily
releases itself from its adversary's horn. Then, since the latter
is often spent by the extraordinary effort which has been made, it
frequently happens that it is stabbed and lifted in its turn before
balance has been completely recovered.
"Once, and only once, have I seen a bull succeed in throwing his
opponent, after he had lifted it off its feet. The vanquished bull
turned over on its back before it succeeded in regaining its feet,
but the victor was itself too used up to more than make a ghost
of a stab at the exposed stomach of its adversary. This throw is
still spoken of in Pahang as the most marvellous example of skill
and strength which has ever been called forth within living memory
by any of these contests.
"As the stabs follow one another, to the sound of the clicking of the
horns and the mighty blowing and snorting of the breathless bulls,
lift succeeds lift with amazing rapidity. The green turf is stamped
into mud by the great hoofs of the labouring brutes, and at length
one bull owns himself to be beaten. Down goes his head--that sure
sign of exhaustion--and in a moment he has turned round and is off
on a bee-line, hotly pursued by the victor. The chase is never a long
one, as the conqueror always abandons it at the end of a few hundred
yards, but while it lasts it is fast and furious, and woe betide the
man who finds himself in the way of either of the excited animals.
"Mr. Kipling has told us all about the Law of the Jungle--which
after all is only the code of man, adapted to the use of the beasts
by Mr. Rudyard Kipling--but those who know the ways of buffaloes
are aware that they possess one very well-recognised law. This is,
'Thou shalt not commit trespass.' Every buffalo-bull has its own
ground; and into this no other bull willingly comes. If he is brought
there to do battle, he fights with very little heart, and is easily
vanquished by an opponent of half his strength and bulk who happens
to be fighting on his own land. When bulls are equally matched, they
are taken to fight on neutral ground. When they are badly matched
the land owned by the weaker is selected for the scene of the contest.
"All these fights are brutal, and in time they will, we trust,
be made illegal. To pass a prohibitionary regulation, however,
without the full consent of the Chiefs and people of Pahang would be
a distinct breach of the understanding on which British Protection
was accepted by them. The Government is pledged not to interfere
with native customs, and the sports in which animals are engaged are
among the most cherished institutions of the people of Pahang. To
fully appreciate the light in which any interference with these
things would be viewed by the native population, it is necessary to
put oneself in the position of a keen member of the Quorn, who saw
Parliament making hunting illegal, on the grounds that the sufferings
inflicted on the fox rendered it an inhuman pastime. As I have said
in a former chapter, the natives of Pahang are, in their own way, very
keen sportsmen indeed; and, when all is said and done, it is doubtful
whether hunting is not more cruel than anything which takes place in a
Malay cock-pit or bull-ring. The longer the run the better the sport,
and more intense and prolonged the agony of the fox, that strives to
run for his life, even when he is so stiff with exertion that he can do
little more than roll along. All of us have, at one time or another,
experienced in nightmares the agony of attempting to fly from some
pursuing phantom, when our limbs refuse to serve us. This, I fancy,
is much what a fox suffers, only his pains are intensified by the
grimness of stern reality. If he stops he loses his life, therefore
he rolls, and flounders, and creeps along when every movement has
become a fresh torture. The cock, quail, dove, bull, ram, or fish,
[691] on the other hand, fights because it is his nature to do so,
and when he has had his fill he stops. His pluck, his pride, and his
hatred of defeat alone urge him to continue the contest. He is never
driven by the relentless whip of stern, inexorable necessity. This it
is which makes fights between animals, that are properly conducted,
less cruel than one is apt to imagine." [692]
I will now pass to the subject of cock-fighting, of which the
following vivid description is also taken from Mr. Clifford's In
Court and Kampong. [693]
"In the Archipelago, and on the West Coast of the Peninsula,
cock-fights are conducted in the manner known to the Malays as
ber-taji, the birds being armed with long artificial spurs, sharp as
razors, and curved like a Malay woman's eyebrow. These weapons make
cruel wounds, and cause the death of one or other of the combatants
almost before the sport has well begun. To the Malay of the East Coast
this form of cock-fighting is regarded as stupid and unsportsmanlike,
an opinion which I fully share. It is the marvellous pluck and
endurance of the birds that lend an interest to a cock-fight--qualities
which are in no way required if the birds are armed with weapons
other than those with which they are furnished by nature.
"A cock-fight between two well-known birds is a serious affair in
Pahang. The rival qualities of the combatants have furnished food for
endless discussion for weeks, or even months, before, and every one
of standing has visited and examined the cocks, and has made a book
upon the event. On the day fixed for the fight a crowd collects before
the palace, and some of the King's youths set up the cock-pit, which
is a ring, about three feet in diameter, enclosed by canvas walls,
supported on stakes driven into the ground. Presently the Juara,
or cock-fighters, appear, each carrying his bird under his left
arm. They enter the cock-pit, squat down, and begin pulling at,
and shampooing the legs and wings of their birds, in the manner
which Malays believe loosen the muscles, and get the reefs out of
the cocks' limbs. Then the word is given to start the fight, and the
birds, released, fly straight at one another, striking with their
spurs, and sending feathers flying in all directions. This lasts
for perhaps three minutes, when the cocks begin to lose their wind,
and the fight is carried on as much with their beaks as with their
spurs. Each bird tries to get its head under its opponent's wing,
running forward to strike at the back of its antagonist's head, as
soon as its own emerges from under its temporary shelter. This is
varied by an occasional blow with the spurs, and the Malays herald
each stroke with loud cries of approval. Basah! Basah! 'Thou hast
wetted him! Thou hast drawn blood!' Ah itu dia! 'That is it! That is
a good one!' Ah sakit-lah itu! 'Ah, that was a nasty one!' And the
birds are exhorted to make fresh efforts, amid occasional burst of the
shrill chorus of yells, called sorak, their backers cheering them on,
and crying to them by name.
"Presently time is called, the watch being a small section of cocoa-nut
in which a hole has been bored, that is set floating on the surface
of a jar of water, until it gradually becomes filled and sinks. At
the word, each cock-fighter seizes his bird, drenches it with water,
cleans out with a feather the phlegm which has collected in its throat,
and shampoos its legs and body. Then, at the given word, the birds are
again released, and they fly at one another with renewed energy. They
lose their wind more speedily this time, and thereafter they pursue
the tactics already described until time is again called. When some
ten rounds have been fought, and both the birds are beginning to
show signs of distress, the interest of the contest reaches its
height, for the fight is at an end if either bird raises its back
feathers in a peculiar manner, by which cocks declare themselves to
be vanquished. Early in the tenth round the right eye-ball of one
cock is broken, and, shortly after, the left eye is bunged up, so
that for the time it is blind. Nevertheless, it refuses to throw up
the sponge, and fights on gallantly to the end of the round, taking
terrible punishment, and doing but little harm to its opponent. One
cannot but be full of pity and admiration for the brave bird, which
thus gives so marvellous an example of its pluck and endurance. At
last time is called, and the cock-fighter who is in charge of the
blinded bird, after examining it carefully, asks for a needle and
thread, and the swollen lower lid of the still uninjured eye-ball
is sewn to the piece of membrane on the bird's cheek, and its sight
is thus once more partially restored. Again time is called, and the
birds resume their contest, the cock with the injured eye repaying its
adversary so handsomely for the punishment which it had received in
the previous round, that, before the cocoa-nut shell is half full of
water, its opponent has surrendered, and has immediately been snatched
up by the keeper in charge of it. The victorious bird, draggled and
woebegone, with great patches of red flesh showing through its wet
plumage, with the membrane of its face and its short gills and comb
swollen and bloody, with one eye put out, and the other only kept
open by the thread attached to its eyelid, yet makes shift to strut,
with staggering gait, across the cock-pit, and to notify its victory
by giving vent to a lamentable ghost of a crow. Then it is carried
off followed by an admiring, gesticulating, vociferous crowd, to be
elaborately tended and nursed, as befits so gallant a bird. The beauty
of the sport is that either bird can stop fighting at any moment. They
are never forced to continue the conflict if once they have declared
themselves defeated, and the only real element of cruelty is thus
removed. The birds in fighting follow the instinct which nature
has implanted in them, and their marvellous courage and endurance
surpass anything to be found in any other animals, human or otherwise,
with which I am acquainted. Most birds fight more or less--from the
little fierce quail to the sucking doves which ignorant Europeans,
before their illusions have been dispelled by a sojourn in the East,
are accustomed to regard as the emblems of peace and purity; but no
bird, or beast, or fish, or human being fights so well, or takes such
pleasure in the fierce joy of battle, as does a plucky, lanky, ugly, hard-bit old fighting-cock. |
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