FUNERAL CUSTOMS OF THE KATINGANS--DEPARTURE FROM KASUNGAN--AN ATTEMPTED
VISIT TO SEMBULO--INDIFFERENT MALAYS--A STRANGE DISEASE--THE BELIEF IN
TAILED PEOPLE--THE LEGEND OF THE ANCESTOR OF TAILED MEN
When a liao departs through the top of the head and death occurs, gongs
are beaten for twenty-four hours. Five or six men set to work to make a
beautiful coffin similar to the one already described; this is often
finished in a day and the corpse, having been washed, is immediately
placed within it. For a man a new chavat of wood fibre is adjusted around
the loins, without other vestments. Another day is consumed in the work of
decorating the coffin, which is done by men, while women weave diminutive
mats, which are left less than half finished and are laid on top of the
casket. For three days and as many nights the remains are kept in the
house, and, if a man, his duhong (ancient knife), parang, knife, spear,
sumpitan, betel box, tobacco container, and much food are placed nearby.
After these matters have received attention, food is eaten by those
present. Fires are kept burning within the house and also outside, and
after each meal the people strike one another's legs with firebrands in
order to forget their grief. Members of the family, who begin to wail
immediately after his death, continue to do so constantly for seven days,
and they wear no red garments until after the tiwah feast which
constitutes his second funeral. The coffin is buried in the ground or
placed on a crude platform, and, when this work is finished, thorough
ablution in water containing leaves which possess qualities especially
adapted to this purpose is the rule for everybody concerned. This is done
to the end that no odour of the dead shall linger, thus exposing the
living to danger from the bad antoh that is responsible for the
unfortunate event which necessitated their recent activities. Later, all
partake of tuak, including the children.
After this preliminary disposal of the body the family begins to plan for
the second and final funeral, which is considered a compensation to the
departed soul for the property he left behind. Caution demands that they
be very punctilious about this, for the ghost, though believed to be far
above this plane, is thought to be resentful, with power to cause
misfortunes of various kinds and therefore is feared. Until recently, when
a man of means died, a slave had to be killed and his head placed on top
of the coffin. When time for the second funeral, the tiwah, came round
another slave was killed and his head hung near by. They are his
attendants in the next life, but many more and elaborate arrangements are
necessary to satisfy the demands of the liao, and they must be fully
complied with on the celebration of the tiwah, the most elaborate of all
feasts in Borneo.
When the deceased is well-to-do this observance may follow immediately,
but usually years go by and many liaoes are served at the same time. On
the great occasion the coffin is put on a big fire for a couple of hours
until the flesh has been burned from the bones, which are then collected
in a small box and placed in a house of limited proportions especially
constructed for this purpose and called sandung. It is made of ironwood,
and in these regions the people have a preference for placing it high
above the ground, but it may also be put underground in a subterranean
chamber also made of ironwood, which may take five or six months to
construct and which is large enough to accommodate a family. The feast
lasts one week, during which food and tuak are provided. Every night the
women dance inside the house, around a tree composed of many bamboo stalks
placed together so as to form a large trunk. As elsewhere mentioned,
(Chapter XIV), the dancing, which is similar to that which follows the
harvest, is for the benefit of the ghost and is distinct from the usual
performance.
As soon as the tiwah feast has been decided upon the people start
simultaneously to perfect the various arrangements, some looking for a
water-buffalo or two, others beginning to make the several contrivances
which the occasion demands. Many men are thus occupied for several months.
There are experts in the required handiwork, though a skilful man may be
capable of performing all the various tasks. In earlier days the different
memorials and the box containing the bones were placed in front of the
house of the deceased, but of late years government officials have made
some changes in this arrangement. When preparing for a tiwah feast it was
the custom to close the river for perhaps three months by suspending a
rattan rope on which were hung many spears of wood, tail feathers of the
great hornbill, and leaves of certain trees. After a head had been secured
the impediment was removed, but the government has forbidden the temporary
obstruction.
A most important matter is the construction of the device to which the
water-buffalo, formerly the slave, is tied when sacrificed. In its make-up
it expresses symbolically the rules of behaviour for the widow until after
the feast has been celebrated. Its name is panyanggaran, an obscure word
which probably may be derived from sangar, which means to kill; the place
of killing.
The foundation is a large post, usually of ironwood, firmly planted in the
ground; its top is pointed and a little below, on either side, is attached
horizontally a piece of dressed wood like two arms. Further below a number
of sticks are affixed to each side, pointing obliquely upward, and all on
a plane with the arms above. These sticks, usually three on each side but
sometimes more, are considered as spears, and the top of each is finished
with a rosette representing four spear-points, called kalapiting. The post
itself is also regarded as a spear and is called _balu_ (widow), while the
sticks are named _pampang-balu_ (widow rules). It seems possible that the
post also represents the woman, head, arms, and body being recognisable.
However that may be, the attached sticks are regarded as so many rules and
reminders for the widow. In Kasungan I saw in one case eight sticks, in
another only four. The rules may thus vary or be applicable to different
cases, though some are fundamental.
Assuming that the requirements are six in number, according to my
informant, the following should be observed by the widow: (1) To make the
tiwah feast; (2) to refrain from remarriage until the feast has been
celebrated; (3) to abstain from sexual intercourse; (4) to remain in the
same place until after the feast; (5) to ask permission from the family of
the deceased if she wants to leave the kampong temporarily; (6) to wear no
red garments until the feast has been completed. Should any of these
injunctions be disregarded a gutshi, the value of which may be twenty
florins, must be paid to his relatives. If the widow desires to marry
earlier than the tiwah feast she is required to pay the entire cost of the
celebration, and sometimes an additional amount.
A simpler device than the panyanggaran is also used, serving a similar
purpose and called sapundo. It consists of an upright post carved to
represent the face of a good antoh, with tongue hanging out. To this
pillar is tied a water-buffalo (as substitute for the slave formerly
employed), a cow, or pig. As the sapundo is much easier to make it is used
by the orang kampong or poor people. For a rich man who has gone hence
both contrivances may be erected.
Another matter demanding attention is the erection of a tall, rather
slender pole of ironwood, called pantar. A gong or gutshi strung near the
top signifies that the deceased was a person of wealth and prominence,
while a wooden image of the rhinoceros hornbill occupies a lofty position
on the pinnacle. On account of its ability to discern objects at a great
distance, this bird is regarded as a good watchman to guard the sacrifice,
whether it be a water-buffalo or other animal. The pantar itself simply
means "in memoriam," as if enjoining: "Don't forget this man!" These
primitive monuments sometimes last over a hundred years, and more than one
may be raised for the same man. Should it prove impossible to secure a
water-buffalo, an ordinary cow may serve as sacrifice. The family thereby
presents the animal's liao (soul) to the liao of the deceased, and the
blian by dancing and sacrifice calls the latter to come and eat. Not only
this, but the liao of every animal, bird, and fish which the family eats
from the time of his death until the tiwah feast is given to him. Account
is kept by incised cross-cuts on certain posts, notifying him of the
number. I was told that when a raja died similar marks of account were
made on a slave. The jaws of pigs or other animals, hanging by scores in
the houses, together with heads of fish and legs of birds, are similar
accounts for the same purpose, and all close with the tiwah feast.
A kapatong must be made, or, if the deceased were rich, perhaps two or
three, which are inaugurated by the blian in the usual way, to be the
ghost's attendants and guardians. The remaining duties to be performed are
the making of a box or coffin for the bones to rest in, and the house in
which it is to be deposited, either above or under the ground as may be
decided. These tasks accomplished, no further responsibility devolves upon
the widow or other members of the family.
On my return journey I stopped a few hours at a kampong in the vicinity to
see some stones that, according to Katingan belief, are alive and
multiplying. As my visit was expected, a fowl had just been sacrificed to
these guardians of the kampong, and a fire made from bark was burning near
by to keep the stones comfortable, so they would not be angry at being
photographed. There were two roundish specimens, almost honeycombed with
small cavities, one of them, scarcely twenty-five centimetres high, being
regarded as masculine and the other, smaller and covered with green moss,
was supposed to be of feminine gender. Originally, as the story goes, only
these two were there, but later six "children" appeared, as evidenced by
six smaller stones lying close to the "parents." The domain held sacred to
this interesting family was bounded by four pieces of wood, each about a
metre in length. Over all was extended a small square piece of red cloth
supported on four upright sticks, which had been placed there two weeks
before on behalf of a sick man whose recovery was attributed to this act
of veneration. In front of the small enclosure lay four stones of
inconsiderable size, lying in two pairs and supposed to be attendants; in
the rear was a small house, reputed to be over three hundred years old,
its purpose being to protect the stones, where offerings of food, with
skulls of deer and pigs, were deposited.
Next day we met the _Selatan_ on its way up the river, brought our luggage
on board, and continued our journey. We had a disagreeable night before
arriving at Bandjermasin; in fact, it is risky to travel south of Borneo
in a steam-launch in January. As the wind was strong and the waves were
too high for us to proceed, anchor was thrown and we were tossed about,
the lamps went out, and, according to the captain, the boat nearly turned
over. Mr. Loing, prostrate with seasickness, saved himself from being
thrown overboard by grasping the rail.
After packing my collections I again set out for Sampit with the intention
of revisiting Sembulo by another route, proceeding by prahu up the Kuala
Sampit as far as possible, and then marching overland to the lake. The
controleur was absent, but his native clerk and the kapala together got me
the prahus and the men, such as the place afforded. As usual, the Malay
coolies were late in arriving and began making many difficulties about
various things. To cheer them I gave each f. 1.50 in advance, which made
them all happy, and in buoyant, talkative spirits they immediately went
off to buy rice, dried fish, tobacco, cigarettes, and other things. All
was well, and at ten o'clock in the morning we finally started, with a
native policeman in attendance.
An hour later the coolies wanted to cook rice. It did not take long to
discover that they were not very useful, though the clerk had done his
best. Two brothers were intolerably lazy, continually resting the paddles,
lighting cigarettes, washing their faces, etc., the elder, after the full
meal they had eaten, actually falling asleep at times. The interest of the
men centred in eating and early camping, and we made slow progress,
detained besides by a thunder-storm, as it was impossible to make headway
against the strong wind. The man at the helm of the small prahu was
intelligent, and from him I finally obtained information about a place to
stop for the night.
At six o'clock we arrived at the mouth of the Kuala Sampit, where we found
it difficult to effect a landing on account of the dilapidated condition
of the landing-float. Some distance from the water stood a lonely house,
in genuine Malay style, with high-gabled roof. The stairs afforded
precarious access, a condition which may have been regarded as a
protection, but more likely it was due to laziness and want of care.
However that may have been, the interior was surprisingly substantial,
with an excellent floor like that in a ballroom. I slept in a detached
ramshackle room used as a kitchen, comfortable because of being open to
the air.
In the morning the Malays were again too late. I was ready for a start at
six o'clock, but about that time they began to cook. The small river,
perhaps twenty metres wide, is deep enough to have allowed a steam-launch
of the _Selatan's_ dimensions to go as far as the kampong Rongkang, our
first destination, and there is little current. At five o'clock we had to
stop to give the men opportunity to prepare their rice, and in the evening
we arrived at Rongkang. The gongs were being beaten lustily in the
darkness; we thought it must be on account of a death, which proved to be
the case, a woman having died some days before. The house which was placed
at my disposal was more nearly airtight than usual.
The kapala said it was difficult to get men, but he would do his best. A
strange epidemic had lately appeared, and some deaths had occurred in the
kampongs of this region. In the room I occupied a woman had recently
recovered from an attack of a week's duration. The disease, which probably
is a variety of cholera, was described to me as being a severe diarrhoea
accompanied by vomiting, paralysis, and fever, the crisis occurring in
three to five days. The disorder appears to rise from the feet, and if it
settles between the liver and heart may prove fatal in half a day. As I
learned later, this illness, which the Malays call men-tjo-tjok, is
usually present in the inland region of the Sampit River, and is also
found on the upper parts of the Kahayan and Pembuang Rivers.
People in this neighbourhood were lappar (hungry), having no rice, and the
men were absent in the utan looking for rattan, white damar, and rubber,
which they exchange for rice from Chinese traders. Under such
circumstances, chiefly women and children are left in the kampongs. Of
nearly thirty men needed for my overland trip, only three could be
mustered here. One Dayak who was perfectly well in the evening came next
morning to consult me about the prevalent illness which he had contracted
during the night. The only available course was to return to Sampit.
The name of the Dayaks here and on Lake Sembulo is Tamoan (or Samoan),
with intermixture of Katingans, who are said to understand each other's
language. Most of these friendly natives had fair-sized beards, some only
mustaches. The elder men complainingly said that the younger ones no
longer want to tatu nor cut the front teeth. No haste was apparent about
making the coffin for the woman who had been dead four days; although not
yet commenced they said it would be completed that day.
The left bank of the river is much higher than the right, which is
flooded, therefore the utan on that side presents a very different
appearance, with large, fine-looking trees and no dense underbrush. All
was fresh and calm after the rain which prevails at this season
(February). There were showers during the afternoon, at times heavy, and
the Malays were much opposed to getting wet, wanting to stop paddling,
notwithstanding the fact that the entire prahu was covered with an atap.
As we approached the mouth of the river, where I intended to camp for the
night, I noticed a prahu halting at the rough landing place of a ladang,
and as we passed it the rain poured down. When the single person who was
paddling arose to adjust the scanty wet clothing I perceived that it was a
woman, and looking back I discovered her husband snugly at ease under a
palm-leaf mat raised as a cover. He was then just rising to walk home.
That is the way the men of Islam treat their women. Even one of the Malay
paddlers saw the humour of the situation and laughed.
At Rongkang I was told the legend of the dog that in ancient times had
come from the inland of Borneo to Sembulo, where it became progenitor of
the tailed people. In various parts of Borneo I heard about natives with
short tails, and there are to-day otherwise reliable Dayaks, Malays, and
even Chinese, who insist that they have seen them. Especially in regard to
their presence at the lake of Sembulo, at the kampong of the same name,
the consensus of opinion is strong. That place is the classical ground for
the rumour of tailed men, and I thought it worth while, before leaving
Borneo, to make another attempt later to reach Sembulo and investigate the
reasons for the prevalent belief in tailed humans in that locality. The
most complete legend on this subject I obtained from a prominent
ex-district kapala, Kiai Laman, a Kahayan Dayak converted to Islam. He has
travelled much in certain sections of Borneo, is interested in folklore
matters, and told his stories without apparent errors or contradictions.
The tale here rendered is from the Ot-Danums on the Upper Kahayan River.
A male dog called Belang started out to hunt for game--pig, deer, plandok.
The kampong heard him bark in the manner common to dogs when on the trail
of an animal, and then the baying ceased. The owner watched for the animal
to return, but for half a year there was no news of him. In the meantime
the dog had gone to Sembulo, making the trip in fifteen days. He appeared
there in the shape of a man, took part in the work of the kampong, and
married. His wife bore a child who had a tail, not long, about ten
centimetres. "I do not like to tell a lie," said my raconteur. "What the
sex was I do not know, but people say it was a male infant. She had
another child, a female, also with a tail."
In the ladang the woman thought the crying of her children sounded very
strange. "It is not like that of other infants," she said. "Other people
have no tails and you have; you look like the children of a dog." Their
father replied: "In truth I am a dog," and immediately he resumed his
natural form, ran away, and after an interval arrived in the Upper
Kahayan, where his owner welcomed him, and the dog lived to old age and
died.
In due time the two children married and had large families, all of whom
had tails, but since the Malays came and married Sembulo women the tails
have become shorter and shorter. At present most of the people have none,
and those that remain are not often seen because clothes are now worn;
however, many travellers to Sembulo have beheld them.
The rendering from Rongkal is similar, with this difference: The man from
Upper Kahayan followed his dog--which at sight of his master resumed
canine form--and killed it. According to a Malay version, a raja of
Bandjermasin was much disliked and the people made him leave the country.
He took a female dog with him in the prahu and went to Sembulo, where he
had children all of whom had tails.