Whilst we were staying at the bungalow at Simanggang, Mr. Bailey
sent me a message one morning to the effect that a number of Dyak
women, living a little distance in a village up the Batang Lupar, had
requested permission to send a deputation to welcome us to the country.
I was only too delighted to receive the women, so that Bertram and
I stood on the verandah in expectation of their arrival. A little
distance up the path, bordered by betel-nut palms, sweet-smelling
limes, and other tropical growth we saw a long file of women making
their way in our direction, bearing aloft great round trays piled up
with fruits and cakes. High silver combs, from which dangled fringes
of silver, falling each side of their faces below the ears, decorated
their huge coils of hair. Their bodies were cased in innumerable coils
of brass rings, and they wore short petticoats of cotton cloth, brown,
blue, and white. They wore quantities of anklets and bangles, and their
throats were encircled with rows upon rows of beads and gold ornaments.
There were about thirty or forty of these women, walking slowly,
holding themselves very straight, their eyes cast down, and I noticed
the same curious, mysterious, archaic expression on their faces as on
those of the Tanjong dancers. They came to the bungalow, passed Bertram
and me, and laid their gifts of fruits and cakes on the verandah at the
back of our house, then followed us into our sitting-room to have a
little talk.
This charming welcome was their way of showing pleasure at our arrival,
and when they had taken their places, squatting on the floor, their
feet tucked underneath them, and the few moments of silence required
on such important occasions had passed, we began our talk, and I
asked them about their families and all the news of their village.
They told me that not many weeks before, sickness had attacked some
members of their community, and that their long house, surrounded by
an orchard of bananas, durians, jack fruit, etc., was situated a few
yards from the banks of the river. In order to appease the anger of the
god of sickness, they had erected a little hut on the river-bank. I
felt curious to see this hut, and asked them whether I might pay it a
visit. They were pleased with the idea, and these forty women suggested
paddling me thither in one of their boats. Accordingly, that afternoon,
Bertram and I were conveyed a few reaches up the Batang Lupar by this
picturesque crew. It did not take us long to reach the spot, where we
saw an open shed, propped on bamboo poles, roofed in with palm leaves.
Large plates, some chipped and broken, hung from the roof, and on a
platform below were placed cooked rice, pieces of salt fish, and
other edibles, together with a gourd of water, to tempt the spirit of
the plague to eat his meals there, instead of going further inland
to procure his food off human flesh. This custom is, I believe, a
universal one amongst some of the tribes in Sarawak. The women assured
me that the sickness was stayed by these methods, but the hut had been
left there, in case the unwelcome visitor should return at any time for
more victims. We were paddled back to the bungalow in the same way as
we had come, and the women expressed themselves delighted with the time
we had spent together.
That evening we held a large reception in the Fort, at which all
my old friends, Malays and Dyaks, were present, Mr. Bailey and Mr.
Kirkpatrick being the masters of ceremony on the occasion. One of
the Malays present, a Seripa, whom I knew well in her younger days,
amused me much, so careful did she seem to be of Bertram’s morals. A
pretty girl, whose name was Lada (meaning pepper), a Dyak of Sekarrang
and the daughter of a fortman, happened to be amongst our guests.
Her magnificent hair, her great dark eyes fringed with eyelashes of
wonderful length, her little flat nose and well-shaped mouth, her
pale yellow complexion, her slim figure, and her graceful movements
made her a striking personality at the party. I must own Bertram
thought the girl pretty and talked a good deal to her, but in quite a
fatherly manner. This conduct, however, on his part, did not please
the Seripa, who sat next to me. She objected to his showing attention
to a person she considered an “orang kechil” (a little person of no
consequence). She told me she was my friend, and therefore competent
to teach “Anak Rajah” (a Rajah’s child) in the ways he should go.
She continued her ejaculations on the subject during the Evening. I
tried to pacify her, and could only manage to do so by telling her
that perhaps she might get an opportunity the following morning of
seeing Bertram, and remonstrating with him on his conduct. Meanwhile,
poor Bertram was quite unconscious of the displeasure of the Seripa.
She was a curious-looking woman, of Arabian descent, and her features
were more European than were those of Malays generally. She had been
good-looking, and was even then a picturesque figure in her draperies
of dark blue and her dark purple scarf, made of gauzy material, flung
over her locks, still untouched with grey, but curling in profusion all
over her head.
The next morning Ima told me that the Seripa and one or two of her
female retinue were prowling round the garden of the bungalow, in
order to waylay Bertram as he went out for his morning walk. What
happened at the interview, I never quite made out, but, being warned
by Ima that the couple had met, I stood on the verandah and watched
the proceedings. The angry dame was pouring forth a torrent of words
to Bertram, who could only understand about a quarter of all she said.
Ima told me, however, that the gist of it was that she (the Seripa) was
my friend, and that if Bertram chose to pay attention to any of her
relations it would be quite the right thing for a Rajah’s son to do,
as they were Seripas, but she forbade him to waste his compliments and
attentions on people below his rank. I am sorry to say that Bertram did
not at all appreciate the friendly interference of the angry Seripa,
although when a few days had elapsed, my loyal friend could judge for
herself that the matter was not of such serious import after all. By
the time we left Simanggang, Bertram and the Seripa had become good
friends.
It must be remembered that the greatest pleasure to Malays who have
passed their first youth is in teaching others. Their one idea on
approaching young people is to “ajar” them. “Baik sahya ajar” (it is
well I should teach him) were the words I was perpetually hearing from
many Malays during my journeys with Bertram through Sarawak. It shows
friendship and interest on their part, and I remember with tenderness
and affection the admonitions the dear people used to give me when I
first went amongst them in the days of my youth.