The Rajah and I had only been a few weeks in Kuching when he had to
leave me and go on an expedition to the interior, and I was left alone
in the Astana with a maid whom I had brought from England. She was an
ordinary sort of woman, with no capacity for enjoying anything that was
not European. She left me soon after, for, as she said, she did not
like living in such an outlandish place. With this solitary exception
there was, at this time, no one in the Astana with whom I could speak,
as I did not know Malay. There was, however, the Rajah’s butler, a
Sarawak Malay, who had been with the first Rajah Brooke for some years.
At the Rajah’s death, my husband took this man into his service. He
was called Talip (a name signifying light). Talip knew a few words of
English, and he and I became great friends. He was good-looking, taller
than most Malays, with dark, intelligent eyes, a black moustache,
and an abundant crop of hair forming a short curly fringe under his
head-handkerchief, which he folded round his head with consummate
skill. He was a bit of a dandy, and very neat in appearance. He wore a
white jacket, under which appeared the folds of his yellow-and-black
sarong, white trousers, and he walked about with bare feet. He was a
favourite with all classes in Kuching, for his many years in the first
Rajah’s service had endeared him to the people.
During the Rajah’s absence I got a great deal of information out of
Talip, and the way he managed to make himself understood in his broken
English was wonderful. One day I said to him, “I want to see the Malay
women of Kuching. Ask them to come here.” Talip answered, “Certainly.
I bring my two wives play with you!” I gently suggested that, together
with the two wives, the ministers’ and chiefs’ wives and daughters
might be included in the invitation. After talking the matter over,
Talip and I settled that I should hold a reception--my first reception
in Sarawak--and that he should be the chamberlain on the occasion and
invite, in my name, the principal women of the place.
My life now began to be interesting, for Talip and I had a great many
preparations to make and plans to talk over. The dining-room of the
Astana was large, and could accommodate about two hundred and fifty
guests. I kept impressing on Talip that none of the ministers’ and
chiefs’ lady relations should be forgotten, as it would never do to
create jealousy on this my first introduction to the women of the
country. I found out that the Datu Bandar, the Datu Imaum, the Datu
Temanggong, and the other chiefs all had wives, sons, daughters, and
grandchildren galore. “They must all be invited,” I said; “for I must
know them and make friends with them.” I was then initiated by Talip
into the proper manner of giving parties in Malayland.
First of all, the question of refreshments had to be considered. Talip
invested in dozens and dozens of eggs, pounds and pounds of sugar, and
I cannot remember the bewildering quantity of cocoa-nuts and of various
other ingredients he deemed necessary for making Malay cakes. These he
judiciously parcelled out to the houses of the people I was going to
invite, so that they could make the cakes with which I was to present
them when they came to call. Talip also borrowed from them cups,
saucers, plates, and many other things wanted for such an important
occasion.
Some days before the party, on looking out of my sitting-room window
towards the landing-place and the path leading up from it to our
door, I saw a number of little boys staggering under the weight of
numerous round, red lacquer boxes. These were very large, and I sent
for Talip and asked him what they were. He informed me that they were
to be used for the various cakes and fruit in the same way as we use
silver dishes. Talip arranged that on this great occasion we should
all sit on the floor round the room, and that the place occupied by
the chiefs’ wives, with myself in their midst, should be set out with
piles of gorgeous cushions covered with gold brocade--also borrowed
from the houses of my guests.[3] A fortnight or so was occupied in the
preparations, and at last the day came to which I had been looking
forward so much. I glanced into the dining-room in the morning, and
thought how pretty a meal laid out for Malay ladies looked--very
much prettier than the table arrangements at our dinner-parties in
England. Great strips of white and red material, bought for the
occasion in the Bazaar, were laid down both sides of the room with
cross pieces at each end. The red boxes were put at equal distances
on these strips, and between the boxes were dishes with the fruits of
the country--mangosteens, mangoes, oranges, pineapples, etc. The red
lacquer boxes made beautiful notes of colour all round the room.
[Illustration: A ROOM IN THE ASTANA]
The tea-party was supposed to begin at 4 o’clock, so accordingly, I
dressed myself in my best garments and was quite ready to enter the
dining-room and receive my guests. I had heard a great deal of noise
going on outside my rooms since 2 o’clock in the afternoon: the rustle
of silks, bare feet pattering up and down the verandah, and, becoming
curious, I looked over the partitions and saw women in silken draperies
flitting about. But Talip was on guard, and every time I came out, or
even looked over the partitions, he said to me, “You must not show
yourself too soon.” However, at 4 o’clock I was dressed, and determined
to go out, when Talip again, like the angel with the flaming sword at
the gate of Paradise, waved me back. He made me understand that I ought
not to show myself before 5.30 on account of Malay etiquette, and went
on to explain that the Rajah’s subjects should await my pleasure. In
his opinion, 9 o’clock would have been preferable for our meeting, but
considering my impatience he would allow me to enter the dining-hall at
half-past five! So another hour and a half went by whilst I patiently
waited to make the acquaintance of my guests, on account of inexorable
Malay etiquette. I felt a little anxious, for I did not know a word
of Malay, so I took Marsden’s Dictionary with me, and armed with the
great volume, at 5.30 punctually, made my entrance into the hall. I was
quite taken aback by the charming sight that awaited me as I entered
the dining-hall. The rows of women and young girls seated on the floor
round the room, with their silken brocades and gauzy veils of rose,
green, blue, and lilac, reminded me of an animated bed of brightly
coloured flowers. I noticed what beautiful complexions most of these
women had, of the opaque pale yellow kind, like the petals of a fading
gardenia. Their dark eyes and long eyelashes, their arched eyebrows,
their magnificent black hair, their lovely feet and hands, and their
quiet manners, were to me quite entrancing. As I came into the room,
Talip told them to get up, and the sound of their rustling silks, all
moving together, was like a gentle wind sighing through the branches
of a bamboo forest. Datu Isa and Datu Siti, the wives of the principal
Malay chiefs, came forward one on each side of me, and, each placing
one hand under my elbows and the other under my finger-tips, led me to
the seat prepared for me against the wall, in the middle of a row of
women. My pile of cushions was uncomfortably high, so I asked Talip
whether I could not have two pillows taken away, but he said: “No,
that could not be. Rajah Ranee must have three cushions more than the
chiefs’ wives.” Therefore, once again I gave way to the conventions of
Malaya.
Talip and his satellites appeared with huge jugs of lukewarm coffee,
made sweet as syrup to suit the taste of my guests. It was, however,
devoid of milk, as the Malays of Sarawak are unaccustomed to the use
of that liquid.[4] It took some time to help us all, but when each
guest’s cup was full, Talip stood in the middle of the room and shouted
out: “Makan! la.... Minum! la.... Jangan malu!” (Eat. Drink. Don’t be
ashamed).
After coffee, the real business of the day began. Talip told me to
say something to my guests, and that he would translate my words into
Malay. “Datus, Daiangs, my friends,” I said, “I have sent for you
because I feel lonely without you. I have come to live here and to make
friends with you all. I have waited for this day with great impatience,
because I know we shall love one another, and I feel sure if women are
friends to one another they can never feel lonely in any country.”
Talip translated my speech at great length, and when he had finished,
Datu Isa, the wife of Datu Bandar the chief minister, bent forward, her
eyes cast down, her hands palm downwards on her knees, and replied,
“Rajah Ranee, you are our father, our mother, and our grandmother. We
intend to take care of you and to cherish you, but don’t forget that
you are very young, and that you know nothing, so we look upon you as
our child. When the Rajah is away, as I am the oldest woman here, I
will look after you. There is one thing you must not do: I have heard
of Englishwomen taking the hands of gentlemen by the roadside. Now,
Rajah Ranee, you must not do that, and when you are sad you must come
to me, and I will help to lighten your heart.” Talip translated this to
me, and I smiled in response. But all the women kept that gravity which
never leaves Malays when they are shy or nervous, or in the presence
of strangers. I thought I would try a little conversation on my own
account. I looked out some words in Marsden’s Dictionary, and meant
to inquire of Datu Isa how many sons she had. This remark thawed the
ice, for a ripple of laughter went over the room. Instead of saying
“sons” I had used the words “baby boys”--the old lady being seventy,
no explanation is required! After that, we became very friendly. I
consulted Marsden for the rest of the afternoon, and got on beautifully
with my guests.
It is strange, even now, how well I remember that party: it might
all have happened yesterday. From that eventful day my home-sickness
completely vanished, for I felt I had found my friends.
FOOTNOTES:
[3] There is no greater pleasure one can give Malays
than that of borrowing their things. Women, however,
ungrudgingly lend their golden ornaments to each other,
and the same may be said of their crockery, their
furniture, their clothes, etc.
[4] Some Malay women confided in me that they would not
drink it, as by so doing they might get to resemble
animals.