provided with rattan ropes, descended to the muddy wallows among the
massive upright posts that support the house, and began at once to
give chase to the pigs. These knowing, omen-yielding animals perform a
highly important part in the rites, but they pay the dear forfeit of
their lives for the privilege; they seemed verily to suspect, on the
present occasion, the fate in store for them, and, at an early hour,
had ungraciously betaken themselves to the woods. An hour passed, then
another, and then another,—and no hunter with his pig had returned. Tama
Bulan gradually became greatly worried, and kept reiterating that no one
could estimate how evil would be the omen if the large pig which he had
destined for this ceremony could not be found. At last, however, cheering
shouts were heard from the neighboring jungle, and, soon after, one by
one, the pigs, six or seven in number, with _the_ pig to the fore, were
brought up to the veranda, slung on poles, with their four feet tied
together; here they were plumped down in a row close to the place where
the rites were to be held.
On the hearth, below the row of human skulls hanging opposite the Chief’s
door, there must now be started New Fire,—that is, fire produced by the
fire-saw, the most primitive method of obtaining it, and, possibly,
because it is the most primitive, it is obligatory at all august
ceremonies. According to tradition among the Kayans and Kenyahs, one of
the early inhabitants of the earth, named Laki Oi, the Prometheus of
Kayan mythology, taught the people this method, and called it ‘Musa;’
he also invented the fire-drill, which he called ‘Nalika.’ The Musa
consists of a piece of soft fibrous wood, which is held down by the feet,
firmly on the ground, and rests upon a bundle of fine slivers of dry
wood; underneath it, is passed a strip of dry but flexible bamboo, which
is sawed back and forth until the friction starts a spark in the fine
dust which has been thereby rubbed up; the spark is fostered and soon
blown into a flame in the bundle of slivers. When the materials are in
proper condition, fire can be produced in much less than a minute. Should
all the fires in a house go out, or when fire is to be started for the
first time in a new house, the Musa is the only method whereby fire may
be kindled,—no flint and steel, nor fire-drill, nor fire-syringe, nor
matches, (common enough, thanks to the Chinese bazaar,) can be used; it
must be the Musa, and the Musa alone. At the naming of a child, the piece
of soft wood is carved into a grotesque head at one end. The image thus
made is called ‘Laki Pesong,’ the god of the Musa.
[Illustration: The Stick, ‘Laki Pesong,’ and Strips of bamboo used in
making New Fire. One-quarter of the natural size.]
But to return to Tama Bulan’s house. As soon as New Fire had been
kindled, the gongs, as on the day before, began their deafening clangour;
the parents, looking very grave, slowly emerged from their ‘Lamin,’ or
_private room_. The mother carried the baby, who, for a wonder, was not
crying,—but I could see by his expression that he was well primed for a
vigorous bawl on the slightest provocation. Solemnly they marched and
took their places on the large mat close to the hearth. Some strong
youths now seized the big black pig, Tama Bulan’s prime selection, and
partly lifting it, and partly swinging it about by the ears and tail,
not without squealings which would have been ear-piercing but for the
gongs, they hauled it up close beside the Chief. Across the swine’s body
and over its neck were wreathed the mother’s most prized and costly
strings of beads; according to Kenyah computation, the value of these
beads amounted to the price of several slaves, or probably to the cost
of two whole houses. I suppose that this was not merely for the sake of
decorating the victim, but was designed to flatter and cajole it into
having a beautiful liver, overspread with bright omens for her boy.
[Illustration: MAKING FIRE WITH A ‘FIRE-DRILL.’
THE PIECE OF WOOD WHICH IS HELD UPON THE GROUND MUST BE SOFT, FIBROUS,
AND DRY; THE STICK WHICH IS DRILLED INTO IT IS HARD. FIRE CAN BE THUS
STARTED IN ABOUT FORTY SECONDS. THIS METHOD OF PRODUCING FIRE IS NOT HELD
TO BE SACRED, AS IS THAT OF CREATING FIRE WITH THE ‘MUSA’ OR FIRE-SAW.]
The relatives and the guests disposed themselves in a large circle
around the solemn parents, the infant, and the pig; directly in front,
and facing them, the Dayong sat cross-legged, a very tall and skinny old
man, whose lower jaw was furnished with but one tooth, which, when he
omitted to suck it in, stuck out at right angles. He did not wear, as far
as I could see, any peculiar costume or badge of office; he was clad in
nothing but an ordinary loin-cloth.
When the assemblage had settled themselves in their places, some sitting
on the floor, others standing on the large rice mortars so that they
could look into the centre of the circle, the old Dayong arose, and
grasping in his right hand a parang and a stick, the latter cut into a
brush of splinters at one end, with his left hand he sprinkled water upon
them from a bowl held by an assistant. The dripping stick and the parang
he waved over the child’s head and muttered words, which Tama Talun,
again my kind interpreter, said expressed the desire that the life of the
child might be as ‘laram,’ _cool_, as the water he was sprinkling over
it.[6]
To insure protection to the child against evil Spirits, a young chicken
was waved above and around it, as on the previous day; and then at once
the chicken’s head was chopped off and some of its blood smeared on the
baby’s hand. This indignity supplied the provocation, which, from the
first, I had anticipated, and instantly stirred up all the depravity of
the infant, who had been thus far just as quiet as a lamb; the gongs now
stopped their din, but the bonnie babe proved an excellent substitute,
and awoke every echo in the smoky rafters overhead. He kicked, and
roared, and wriggled in his mother’s lap, bent himself backward, and beat
with his little fists at the fluttering chicken every time it was waved
near his face; I was really afraid he would burst a blood-vessel so
scarlet did his little body become with the exertion of expelling those
piercing shrieks; not a tear issued from his eyes, and the bunches of
pewter rings in his stringy little ears kept flapping against his cheeks
as he shook his head and thrashed about in violent contortions. He never
once stopped bawling throughout all the rest of the ceremony.
All evil Spirits having been now effectually dispelled, the Dayong
squatted down by the pig, and taking from the fire a small stick of wood
with a glowing end he touched it to the pig’s side, by way of calling
the poor beast’s attention to what he was about to say. When the pig’s
struggles had calmed down, the old man laid his hands on its side and
soothingly addressed it as ‘Balli Boin Akán, Balli Boin Akán,’ and begged
it to intercede with Penylong and Perbungan, and to tell unerringly
whether or not the name now about to be given to the child had been
auspiciously chosen. The name had never yet been divulged; even the old
Dayong knew not what it was. It was an absolute secret between Tama Bulan
and the mother of the child. Some days before, not knowing that the name
was thus sacredly secret, I had asked what it was to be, but Tama Bulan
courteously told me that it was utterly impossible for him to reveal it.
All through this ceremony, Tama Bulan sat cross-legged beside his wife
quietly, every feature wearing a very serious expression, keenly watching
the Dayong.
Most of the time, the mother sat with her legs straight out in front
of her, and with her squirming baby wriggling on her knees from side
to side; she kept her eyes cast down, watching the child, but never
attempting to stop its bawling, to which, indeed, no one seemed to pay
the slightest attention.
Little Adom had a view better, of course, than any body except the
principals; there he was lying flat on his face on a beam directly above
the naming-party, his legs and arms dangling down on either side. When
I caught sight of him his little, black eyes danced with mischief, and
from his lofty perch he defied us with that impudent gesture which, in an
unhappy hour, I had taught him: putting his thumb to his nose, twirling
his fingers, and winking and blinking his eyes and lolling his tongue
out like a veritable little goblin. All the solemnity in the world could
never impress him.
When the Dayong had finished his address to the pig, italicising
important words by prods in the ribs with a bony thumb, he took up a
strip of bamboo, such as is used for the fire-saw, and, bending it into
a loop so that the two ends just touched, he set fire to it at the bend
and allowed it to burn through. The burning of this loop was watched
with breathless interest by Tama Bulan, as well as by a group of old
crones who had now gathered close about the Dayong. When the loop snapped
asunder and the flame went out, the Dayong put the two strips side by
side and so rested the unburnt ends on his thumb-nail as to make them
exactly even, and then closely scrutinized the burnt ends. He said not a
word, but ominously shook his head, assumed a troubled expression, and
even forgot to suck in his solitary tooth. The two strips were taken
from him by one of the old women and subjected to the same measurement
and scrutiny, except that she kept up a constant argument, and a shaking
of her head; finally, she fumbled over the burnt ends and knocked off
a little particle of ash just ready to fall; then she held them up
before the Dayong, and the tone of what she uttered was decidedly more
reassuring. He measured them again very closely, and seemed to be better
pleased. Tama Bulan could restrain himself no longer, but got up hastily
to examine the strips for himself; he also rubbed with his finger one of
the charred ends, and then adjusted the sound ends on his thumb-nail, but
he shook his head, and said, somewhat despairingly, ‘I’m afraid one is
much too long.’ Hereupon, the ever kind Tama Talun explained to us that
by these strips it is decided whether or not the undivulged name which
had been chosen is a good one; if the two pieces are of exactly the same
length, the omen is unfavorable; if they are very unequal in length, the
name is likewise ill-chosen. There should be just the tiniest, slightest
difference in the length of the strips; then it is absolutely certain
that the name is well-chosen. (Ah! what a shrewd, clever head devised
this augury! how easy by this rule of thumb-nail to make the difference
slight, and how hard to make the strips exactly even or greatly uneven!)
So it happened that, after the strips had passed over the thumb-nails
of half a dozen of the wisest crones and toothless old men, they were
returned to the Dayong, who was now fully convinced that his first
measurements had been entirely wrong, and he now emphatically declared
that the omens were most auspicious. Throughout this momentous discussion
the object of it all kept up an unintermitting bawl; if the evil Spirits
have ears, never during this hour would they have molested him; there was
no need of gongs with that baby to the fore.
The charred ends of the bamboo strips were then dipped in a cocoanut
shell of water held by one of the old women standing near; the ash
and water were mixed by the Dayong into a paste between his thumb and
finger and smeared on the baby’s forehead and in its hair. At the
instant of doing this he leaned forward and asked Tama Bulan what name
he had selected. Tama Bulan whispered mysteriously very low close to
the Dayong’s ear. The Dayong then reached for the cocoanut shell of
water held by the old woman, and most carefully and solemnly advanced
it toward the child; the shell was nervously followed every inch of the
way by four or five pairs of brown claw-like, old hands with anxious
zeal, lest a drop of its precious contents should be spilled; in spite
of the risk it ran from this excess of zeal, it got to its destination
safely, and the very instant that the water was poured over the head of
the baby the Dayong said aloud, impressively, ‘Be thy name Lijow!’ The
name, for the first time thus uttered aloud, was murmured throughout the
large assemblage, and the happiness of the selection commended with ‘nods
and becks and wreathed smiles;’ it was the name of one of Tama Bulan’s
ancestors, and means _Tiger_. (It is unlucky to name a child after a
living person,—it is apt to make the child stupid; and it is fatal to
select the name of one who has recently died,—speedy death follows.)
The cocoanut shell was now refilled with home-made arrack, whereof a drop
was placed on little Lijow’s lips from the finger of the Dayong; then
the mother, henceforth Tina Lijow, took a sip from it, and Tama Bulan
drained it to the dregs, whereof I imagine there were plenty, due to the
Dayong’s grimy finger. Then the Dayong poured out a measure for himself,
and then we, as guests of importance, were courteously served, and after
us followed all the rest of the guests in turn. Again, as on the first
day, packages of salt, ginger-root, and bananas were passed around, and
The Ceremony was over. Everything had gone off to perfection, not an
evil omen had marred its smooth success,—thanks to the gongs and the
strength of dear little Lijow’s lungs; if his voice keeps its promise
until manhood, he will make himself heard throughout Sarawak.
It now only remained to wrap up the precious strips of bamboo in a piece
of banana leaf and place them in the bamboo joint along with the symbols
of the first day’s rites. After this was properly accomplished, the
‘Balli Boin,’ that sacred pig, was killed, and his considerate liver
politely proclaimed in its every tint that Lijow’s life would be all that
the heart of a devoted Kenyah parent could desire.
Tama Bulan, with a beaming face, said to us, ‘Don’t forget to tell Tuan
Hote [Hose] that I have called my boy Lijow; he wanted to know what the
name was to be, but I couldn’t tell him then.’
The naming of little Lijow having been thus most successfully finished,
the Chief’s family party moved out of the circle gathered about the
hearth, and another family party took its place in front of the Dayong;
their Balli Boin was hoisted and pulled into position, and the same
ceremonies with the taking of omens were punctiliously repeated.
Of course, for these people of lesser rank, there was not felt the
same widespread interest as for the Chief’s son, and, therefore, the
assemblage gradually dwindled; the cool river offered more attractions
than the hot, breezeless veranda, with its din of gongs and of squalling
babies and of squealing pigs, and its loud-voiced Dayong with an unruly,
projecting tooth. I think there were in all six babies named on that day,
and by the time the last had been proclaimed a member of the clan the
afternoon was well advanced.
Many a jar of arrack had been broached during the ceremonies,
consequently all the members of the household and their guests were
decidedly fain to sing and dance. The raised portion of the flooring
extending along the greater part of the veranda under the eaves was lined
with men waiting in turn for the cups of arrack that were freely passed
from lip to lip. Tama Bulan beamed upon his whole large household, and
with his own hands dipped out the mild drink from the large jars with a
ladle made from a seed of the Billian tree (iron-wood). The minor notes
of Kaluris now resounded, and here and there on the floor of huge,
broad planks, for which Tama Bulan’s house is famous, the horny feet of
dancers thumped and shuffled and scraped as one after another essayed to
outdo all predecessors in the wild movements of a war-dance. They leaped
in the air, waving their parang and shield; they stamped in time to the
music; they whirled and twisted, sometimes falling on one knee, slashing
at imaginary foes; the long feathers of the Argus pheasant waved from
their war-caps, and the black and white feathers of the horn-bill rattled
on their war-coats and glittered in the crimson level rays of the sun
that swept in under the eaves of the house. Now was the time to bring
forth the great horn-bill with its plumage of cigarettes; it was tenderly
moved to a beam within easy reach, and its bristling feathers, which had
cost so much fair labor, were greedily snatched off, and in a trice the
atmosphere of the veranda, thick with tobacco-smoke, became even to the
long rays of the setting sun almost impenetrable.
While this smoking was literally in full blast, the women retired to
their rooms and arrayed themselves in every bit and shred that they
possessed of gaudy bead-work, for their necks, their ears, and their
waists; they donned their brightest fillets for the hair, and they tied
round their waists their skirts of black cloth with patches of bright
calico stitched down the side. Down to their waists, except for these
bead necklaces, they were, as usual, bare.
The withdrawal of the women was a signal to the men to range themselves
in two long rows facing each other; thus they sat on the floor, puffing
hard at their cigarettes and chuckling with one another in anticipation
of the ordeal they were about to undergo. From one of the rooms the women
issued in single file; she who headed the procession carried a large
bowl, the next carried a cocoanut-shell spoon, the third bore a large
flat dish piled high with cubes of raw fat pork, behind her, fourth
in the line, followed Bulan, the daughter of the house, who carried
nothing; but everyone could see, by the twinkle of her eye, that she
meant mischief; this same order:—bowl-bearer, spoon-bearer, pork-bearer,
helper, was preserved in a regular series all down the whole line of
sixty or more women.
Sedately and slowly and silently they marched the whole length of
the veranda close to the wall of the apartments, and then turned in
between the lines of squatting men. When the first man was reached,
the procession halted, and from the bowl held by the first woman, the
spoon-bearer dipped a spoonful of a muddy-looking liquid and poured it
into the man’s gaping mouth. As it touched his tongue, his face was a
study in contortions; when the spoon was withdrawn he tried first to
smile, then his eyes were lost in wrinkles, his mouth puckered up, he
looked seasick, and then with a shudder that shook his frame, gulped down
his dose; the spoon-bearer passed on, then the bearer of the pork cubes
halted in front of him, and Bulan, taking from the dish one of those
nauseating gray, greasy, tepid cubes of raw fat, popped it dexterously
into his mouth and then wiped her greasy fingers across his upturned
face. Again shuddering tremors shook his frame, but—he bolted it! then
gazed about him with a sickly smile. Down both lines there burst forth
peals on peals of laughter; the men shouted and stamped their feet with
merriment over the victim’s misery, unmindful that his fate would soon be
theirs. The women tried hard to maintain their gravity, but the varied
and ludicrous sufferings of their lords and masters were often too much
for their dignity, and they unreservedly joined in the mirth; to those
against whom they had any private grudge they administered an extra dose,
or stirred up the dregs of the drink, or bestowed a particularly flabby
and repulsive piece of pork. As we sat about half way down the line, we
had quite a while to await our turn, and to speculate on the ingredients
of the awful drink,—it was almost adequately nauseating that we should
have to take it out of that family, that tribal spoon. My turn came at
last. Well, it was a ghastly dose and no mistake. It was lukewarm, it
was fiery hot with peppers, it was salt, it was pungent, it was sweet,
it was flat, it was sour, and it tasted strongly of brass bowl. All this
was administered from a spoon that without washing or wiping had been
already in the mouths of thirty or forty black-toothed predecessors.
Our uncontrollable and immeasurable disgust created infinite amusement
and prolonged laughter, and when Bulan, full of mischievous merriment,
followed with the pork cubes, knowing that she had the Tuans at her
mercy, she did not leave the fraction of an inch of our faces that was
not bedaubed with grease. And then how she laughed! As though one such
dose was not enough, there was the prospect before us of having it,
Heaven save the mark! again and again administered down to the very last
woman of that long, interminable procession; first a spoonful of that
appalling, unnameable liquid! then a mouthful of raw pork! The devoted
Tama Bulan and Tama Talun came at length to our rescue, and told us
that after the first two or three doses there would be no offence if we
just dipped our finger in the drink and touched it to our tongue, and
if we merely took the pork between our lips; sometimes this evasion was
successful, but now and then the drink was forced upon us, and we got
a worse smearing from greasy fingers. Shrewd old Laki La, profiting by
experience at other similar feasts, held a tumbler under his chin, and
as fast as the drink and pork were deposited in his mouth they were
re-deposited in the tumbler. Tama Usong, to whose house on the Apoh
River we had paid a visit only a little while before, sat next to me,
and I asked him how he was getting along, and if his stomach was not
nearly full. ‘Oh, no, indeed, Tuan,’ said he, laughing; ‘I long ago put
my stomach out here,’ and he pointed behind him to a row, a foot long,
of cubes of pork which he had surreptitiously deposited on the railing
of the veranda. It was a hideous nightmare! But at last the little girls
brought up the end of the procession, and then the greater part of the
assembly dashed for the river to wash off a little of the fat with which
their faces were fairly dripping.
Tama Talun explained to us that this was a survival of old times, when
warriors returned from a head-hunt, and sat thus and were obliged to take
in their mouths a small piece of their enemy’s flesh, served to them
just as the fat pork is served now-a-days. They were not to swallow the
human flesh, but merely hold it between their lips to show contempt for
the enemy, and also thereby to absorb his valour. Dr. Hose, when told
of this interpretation, asserted that the object of this ceremony is to
impress evil Spirits, who, when they see so many men with faces smeared
with food, will be led to think that a very great feast had taken place
in honor of the newly named children, and that, therefore, these children
must be most important people, and to harm them would stir the anger of
a vast multitude. Dr. Hose’s knowledge of the Kenyahs extends over so
many years that it is venturesome to dissent from him; nevertheless,
our interpretation was received directly from an unusually intelligent
native, while the ceremony was going on before us, and was, moreover,
given voluntarily without any questions on our part. Dr. Hose rejects
this interpretation, because of his conviction that cannibalism, in any
form whatsoever, never existed in Borneo.
[Illustration: MUJAN, ONE OF THE BELLES OF TAMA BULAN’S HOUSEHOLD.
(From a photograph taken, and kindly loaned, by Professor A. C. Haddon,
F. R. S.)]