binding on both husband and wife, come into force, and have to be
observed until the child has cut its first teeth. The parents may not
cut creepers that hang over the water or over the path, lest the mother
should suffer from hæmorrhage after delivery. They may not cut anything
in the shape of cloth, cotton, etc., nor lay hold of the handle of a
knife or chopper, nor bind up anything into a parcel; nor may they dam a
stream to set up a fish-trap, or plait the rattan for fixing the adze.
They must under no circumstances tie up anything with a string, or drive
a nail into a board. Neither parent may eat anything while in the act of
walking. If the neighbour in the next room should hand anything through
the small window in the partition wall, the hand that receives it must
not be passed through the window, so as to be on the other side in the
next room, but must be kept on its own side of the wall. The man may
not nail up a wall or fasten together the planks of a boat. Nor must
he plant a post in the earth, nor dig a trench. Plaiting a basket or
mat-work must not be done by the woman. It is unfortunate if the cord of
the water-gourd, used by the women, break when carrying water, but in
case of such an accident, evil consequences may be averted if the woman
step astride over the gourd or other vessel three times backwards and
forwards. To do any of these forbidden things would hinder the wife’s
parturition.
There are many prohibitions which, if disregarded by the parents, would
result in some harm to the child. They must not pour out oil, lest the
child should suffer from inflammation of the ears; or fix the sword
(_duku_) in its hilt, lest the child be deaf; or break an egg, lest the
child be blind; or plant a banana-tree, lest the head of the child should
be abnormally large; or kill any animal, lest the child be deformed or
its nose bleed; or scrape the shell of a cocoanut, lest the child’s hair
should not grow. It is also forbidden to eat anything in a mosquito
curtain, lest the child should be still-born; to carry stones, lest the
child should be paralyzed; to bend into a circle any piece of wood, lest
the child should not prosper.
There are a great many other matters of a similar sort forbidden, but
in the case of nearly all their restrictions, there are ways by which
they can be circumvented, and no evil effects follow. For instance, the
mother may do basket-work and make mats, provided some other woman begin
the work for her, and the man may dig trenches or erect a hut provided
the hands of others are first laid to it. A man may not kill an animal
yet, if he does kill anything, and runs away and then returns a few
minutes afterwards, and makes some remark like this aloud, “I wonder who
killed this animal?” he has nothing to fear.
These curious restrictions are more or less similar among the different
tribes. It is probable that they are founded on some theory of sympathy.
Man, woman, and unborn or newborn babe are all linked together by some
unseen bond, and, accordingly, the wrong action of one may result in harm
to the others.
The whole period of a woman’s pregnancy is passed in fear lest the
spirits (_antu_) should do harm to her or her unborn babe. If the mother
has a bad dream or hears a bird of ill omen, at once a fowl is sacrificed
to propitiate the spirits.
Should the husband wilfully violate any of the restrictions, the wife’s
relations immediately bring him to justice, and, according to Dyak law,
he has to pay a fine.
Some years ago Bishop Hose, accompanied by a missionary, visited
Ginsurai, one of the villages in the Saribas. The Christians there had
built for themselves a small chapel, where services were held. In the
evening, when the Dyaks were sitting together in the _ruai_ of the Dyak
house talking to the Bishop and his companion, the question arose as to
whether the attending of public worship should be included among the many
restrictions imposed upon a pregnant woman. The wife of the headman in
the house was a great invalid, and she gave her opinion on the matter.
“I think,” she said, “a woman in that state should be allowed to come to
public worship. It is just the time she needs it most. You men have so
much to engage your attention, and go out to your work. I am an invalid,
and am left at home ill. I often go by myself into our little chapel and
say the Lord’s Prayer, and I find it is a great consolation to me. A
pregnant woman, who is perhaps feeling ill and low-spirited, ought to be
allowed to join in public prayers.” Not so very long after she spoke in
this way this woman, Manja’s wife, died. Let us hope that there are many
others in Borneo who, like herself, have learnt to rely on a Higher Power
in time of need.
When the time of delivery is near, and the woman is in travail, two or
three older women come in and attend to her.
Should any difficulty occur in the delivery of the child the _manangs_,
or witch-doctors, are called in. One takes charge of the proceedings
in the lying-in room, while the others remain outside in the _ruai_,
or common veranda. The _manang_ inside the room winds a loop of cloth
around the woman above the womb. One of the _manangs_ outside wraps his
body around in the same manner, but first places within the folds of a
cloth a large stone. A long incantation is then sung by the _manangs_
outside, while the one within the room strives to force the child
downward, and so hasten delivery. If he succeed in doing this, he draws
down upon it the loop of cloth, and twists it tightly around the mother’s
body, so as to prevent the upward return of the child. A shout from him
proclaims his success to his companions outside, and the _manang_ who is
personating the mother moves the loop of cloth which contains the stone
and encircles his body a stage downwards, in imitation of what has been
done to the mother in the room. So the matter proceeds until the child is
born, or until all concerned become assured of the fruitlessness of their
efforts.
Fortunately for Dyak mothers, difficulties of this sort seldom occur.
Delivery is generally very easy. The mother may often be seen sitting up
with her back to the fire half an hour after her child is born, looking
none the worse for what she has gone through, and before a week she will
probably be back at her work as usual.
As soon as the child is born, a signal is given either by beating a
bamboo with a stick or by striking a brass gong to announce the event.
Then a fowl is waved over the heads of all present, including the infant
and his mother. The fowl is killed and the blood smeared on the foreheads
of those present. It is afterwards cooked and eaten by the parents of the
child and any friends that may be present.
The mother has a poultice of ground ginger placed on her abdomen, and is
bandaged and made to sit up with her back to the fire, and she is given
an unlimited amount of ginger-tea to drink. Her poultice is changed once
a day. The infant is washed, and a compound of betel-nut and pepper leaf,
which has been chewed in the mouth, is placed on its stomach, and a
binder tied round it. It is then made to lie on the spathe of a betel-nut
palm, a cloth is put round it, and a Dyak sheet hung over it.
Until a civilized Government interfered to prevent such atrocious
murders, there used to be a custom among the Dyaks that, if the mother
died in giving birth to her child, the babe should pay the penalty and
be buried with the mother. The reasons given by them for this cruel act
being, that it was the cause of the mother’s death, and that there was
no one to nurse and care for it. No woman would dare to suckle such an
orphan, lest it should bring misfortune upon her own children. Therefore
the poor child was very often placed alive in the coffin with the dead
mother, and both were buried together. This was the old Dyak custom, but
it is a long time since it has been carried out. I have myself known many
cases among the Dyaks when, the mother having died in child-birth, the
orphan has been adopted and brought up by some friend or relative.
During the first three days the child receives its bath in a wooden
vessel in the house, but on the fourth day it is taken to the river.
Some ceremonies attend its first bath in the river. An old man of some
standing, who has been successful in all he has undertaken, is asked to
bathe the child. He wades into the river holding the child in his arms.
A fowl is killed on the bank, a wing is cut off, and if the child be a
boy, this wing is stuck upon a spear, and if a girl, it is fixed to the
shuttle used to pass between the threads in weaving, and this is erected
on the bank, and the blood allowed to drop into the stream as an offering
to propitiate the spirits supposed to inhabit the waters, and to insure
that, at any rate, no accident by water shall happen to the child. The
remainder of the fowl is taken back to the house, cooked and eaten.
At some period after the child’s birth—it may be within a few weeks, or
it may be deferred for years—a ceremony is gone through in which the
gods are invoked to grant the child health and wealth, and success in
all his undertakings. The ceremony is generally postponed for some years
if the parents are poor, in order to enable them to save a little to pay
for the entertainment of their friends and relations on the occasion.
Where the parents are better off, the ceremony is held a few weeks after
the birth of the child. Several witch-doctors are asked to take part in
this performance. A portion of the long open veranda of the Dyak house
is screened off by large, hand-woven Dyak sheets (_puah_), and within
these the mother sits with her child in her arms. The medicine men walk
round and round, singing some incantation. Generally there is a leader,
who sings by himself for a few minutes; then he pauses, and turns round
to his followers, and they all sing in chorus. Then the leader sings by
himself again, and so on. They all walk round, first turning their feet
to the right and stamping on the floor, then pausing a moment and turning
their feet to the left, still stamping. This ceremony begins in the
evening, and goes on for several hours. When it is over, food is brought
out to the assembled guests, and all partake of the provided feast.
The proceedings differ very much according to the wealth and standing
of the parents. Among the poor it is a very quiet affair—two or three
witch-doctors attend, and only the near relatives of the child are
present. On the other hand, among those who are rich, this ceremony is
made the occasion of holding a great feast, and inviting people from all
parts to attend. Pigs and fowls are killed for food. Jars of _tuak_ (a
spirit obtained from rice) are brought forth for the guests to drink, and
all are invited to rejoice with the parents.
The naming of the child is not made the occasion for any ceremonies, and
it is not unusual to meet children of seven or eight years old who have
not yet received a name. They are known by some pet name, or are called
_endun_ (little girl), or _igat_, or _anggat_ (little boy).
[Illustration: DYAK CHILDREN
The figure on the right is a boy, the other five are girls. The children
are fond of games, and are generally expert swimmers, but they have to
make themselves useful, and help their parents very early in life. Dyak
parents are very kind to their children, who, as a rule, return the
affection, and do as they are told from a desire to please them.]
Even when a name is given to a child, it is often changed for some reason
or other. The Dyaks have a great objection to uttering the name of a dead
person, so if the namesake of a child dies, at once a new name is chosen.
Again, if a child is liable to frequent attacks of illness, it is no
uncommon thing for parents to change the name two or three times in the
course of a year. The reason for this is that all sickness and death is
supposed to be caused by evil spirits, who are put off the scent by this
means. When they come to take the child’s soul away, they do not hear his
old name uttered any more, and so they conclude he no longer exists, and
return without him!
The Dyaks are very fond of children, and treat them very kindly. They
rarely, if ever, punish them. The children have a great deal of liberty,
but are not often unruly, disobedient, or disrespectful. They are, as a
rule, very fond of their parents, and when they grow older, do as they
are told from a desire to please them.
The girls like to help their mothers in the work of the house, and become
useful at an early age. The boys also begin to work early, and are often
seen accompanying their fathers when they work on their farms. A boy is
very proud when he has succeeded in making his first dug-out canoe, which
he sometimes does at fifteen. He can at this age join a party working in
the jungle and collecting gutta-percha, canes, and other jungle produce,
and he receives an equal share with the adult members of the party. The
boys generally bring back what money they earn in this way, and give it
to their parents.
Dyak children have not many toys. Little girls are sometimes seen with
rudely carved wooden dolls, and little boys play with models of boats.
The boys are fond of spinning-tops, which they make for themselves.
Though the Dyaks marry young, they do not have large families. It is not
often that one meets a family of over three or four children, and I have
only known of one case where a woman had seven children. The conditions
are favourable, one would think, to a rapid increase of population. They
have plenty of good plain food, and the climate is healthy. There are
none of the principal checks to population mentioned by Malthus among
savage nations—starvation, disease, war, infanticide, or immorality.
What, then, is the cause of the small number of births? Climate and race
may have something to do with it, but I think the main cause of it is the
infertility of the women. This is no doubt brought about by the hard work
they do, and the heavy loads they often carry. A Dyak woman sometimes
spends the whole day in the field, and carries home at night a heavy
load, often walking for several miles over hilly paths. In addition to
this, she has to pound the rice, a work which strains every muscle of the
body. I have often been told by Dyak women that the hardest work they
have to do is this rice-pounding. This kind of hard labour begins at an
early age, and never ceases until the woman is too old or too weak to
work. Need we wonder, then, at the limited number of her children?
CHAPTER VIII
MY SCHOOL IN THE JUNGLE
Up-country mission schools—Education—The Saribas Dyaks eager to
learn—School programme—What the boys were taught—Some schoolboy
reminiscences—A youthful Dyak _manang_—The story of Buda—The
opening of the Krian Mission and the Saribas Mission.
In this chapter I want to say something about the little school of Dyak
boys I had in the up-country mission station in my charge. My school
was a very small one. The largest number of boarders I ever had was
sixteen. It would seem hardly necessary to devote a whole chapter to it,
but the up-country school is an important factor for good, and deserves
encouragement. I should like to see more of these schools in different
parts of the country. I feel sure that it does a Dyak boy a great deal
of good to be a few years in one of these small schools under the
personal supervision of the missionary in charge. Here he would do much
manual work, just as he would do in his own home, and he would at the
same time be taught moral truths as well as general knowledge. When he
returns to his Dyak home, he is sure to influence his people for good.
The object of education is to build up character. The way to improve the
Dyaks is not to educate a certain number of them to earn their living
elsewhere, but to take some young people from the Dyak village, improve
them by implanting in their minds right ideas, and then send them back
to live with their own people the ordinary work-a-day life of the Dyak.
I agree with those who say that to place Dyak boys in one of the larger
schools in Kuching for any length of time will make a return to their old
surroundings distasteful to them, and unfit them for the ordinary life
and occupations of their people. And therefore I think that only those
who show a special aptitude to become teachers should be sent on to the
school at the capital to be taught to read and write English. A certain
number of clerks are needed, but that number is very limited, and to
produce a large number of Dyak clerks for whom there is not sufficient
work is surely a mistake. There are some who advocate technical education
for the Dyak. No doubt he would with training make an excellent carpenter
or smith, but again he would find difficulty in getting work. He would
never be able to compete with the Chinese artisan into whose hands all
the skilled labour has fallen.
The main object of my school in the jungle was to teach Dyak boys for a
few years, and then send them back to their own people. Unfortunately, I
had not the means to carry this out to any great extent.
A few of my schoolboys, after being with me for some time, were sent on
to the larger school at Kuching to be taught English. These were the boys
who one hoped would in after years become teachers and catechists. There
is so little Dyak literature that it is necessary that a person learn
English so as to be able to educate himself by reading English books. But
the majority of my boys stayed with me for two, three, or four years,
and then returned to their Dyak homes. In my school there was manual
work as well as lessons to do. They lived plainly, cooking their own
food and doing most of their own work. They were cut away from all the
superstitious customs of their people, and received a certain amount of
moral and religious training. After three or four years of such school
life they were ready to return to their old surroundings, taking with
them the lessons they had learnt.
For the present, at any rate, there is no need for the Dyak to take up
new industries. What he wants is to be taught to do the work he has to
do more thoroughly, and to be released from the bondage of superstition
and the constant fear of evil spirits in which he lives. The problem of
his future will work itself out by a natural process. When the present
sources of supply fail him, necessity will force him to take up new
industries.
My schoolboys came from different Dyak villages, but the majority of
them were boys from Saribas. The Dyaks of that district are more anxious
to improve themselves than other Dyak races. The following incident
will show how keen they are to learn to read. A party of Saribas Dyaks
going on a gutta-hunting expedition asked for a copy of the first Dyak
reading-book, because one of them could read, and thought he would teach
the others in the evenings when they were not at work. And this is indeed
what did happen, and when the party returned most of them were able to
read. The Saribas women are just as keen as the men, and many of them
have been taught to read by some Dyak friend. I have myself noticed, when
holding services for the Christians in some villages in Saribas, how many
of those present were able to use the Dyak Prayer-Book and follow the
service and read the responses.
A Dyak schoolmaster, who had taught in Banting for many years, afterwards
worked as the Government clerk at Betong in Saribas. He told me that
he was struck by the number of Dyak men and women in Saribas who could
write, and how they often wrote letters to their friends who were away,
and received letters from them.
The school programme for the day was as follows:
5.45 _a.m._—The two boys whose turn it was to cook, and the two boys
whose turn it was to sweep out the school-room and the lower room of the
Mission House, would get up and begin their duties.
6.30 _a.m._—A gong would be struck telling the boys to come to breakfast.
They would all go to the kitchen and have their meal, consisting of rice
with a little salt fish or vegetables.
7 _a.m._—The boys would be told what manual work they had to do: either
they would weed the paths, or cut the grass, or work at their different
vegetable gardens. Sometimes they would go out into the jungle to get
firewood. At Temudok, where the soil was good, the schoolboys had
excellent vegetable gardens.
8.30 _a.m._—A gong would be struck to let them know they were to stop
working and have a bath, after which, at 8.45 _a.m._, there would be a
short service.
9-11 _a.m._—Morning school.
12 _noon_.—Midday meal.
2-4 _p.m._—Afternoon school.
5 _p.m._—Evensong, to which some of the Dyaks from the village would come.
6 _p.m._—Evening meal.
7-8 _p.m._—Preparation for next day’s lessons.
9 _p.m._—Two or three short prayers and one verse of a children’s evening
hymn, after which the boys would go to bed.
On Saturdays there was no school. The boys did their washing on that day,
and often went into the jungle for firewood, but they had most of the day
for play.
The children were taught to read and write Dyak, and a little arithmetic.
They were also taught the elements of the Christian religion. They were
always encouraged to ask the schoolmaster or myself any questions they
liked. I have learned from conversations I had with my boys what were the
special points in Christianity that needed explanation to Dyaks. Living
with me as they did, I got to know my boys very well, and through them I
learnt to know their parents and friends. They did not have many lessons
to learn; there was plenty of time for play and work. It was not so
much what they learnt from books that did the boys good, as their being
separated for a time from the customs and superstitions of the Dyaks.
We have had many instances of families becoming Christian through some
children of theirs coming to school.
Most of the boys in the school were Christians, but all, whether
Christians or not, attended the services and were taught about God. Some
of the bigger heathen boys, after being in the school some time, have
asked to be baptized.
The following schoolboy reminiscences may be of interest to my readers:—
When I was visiting the different villages in the Saribas River and
teaching the people in the evening in the public hall of the Dyak house,
very often some boys would say they would like to join my school. Then I
would speak to their parents, and if they agreed to it these boys would
go back with me on my return to the Mission House and attend my school.
I must relate an incident which occurred when I was stationed at Temudok
on the Krian River. I paid my usual quarterly visit to Saribas, and when
I was at Stambak a boy named Usat, about twelve years old, said he would
like to attend my school. In the evening, when we were seated on mats in
the public part of the house, the headman, who was a great warrior, and
had a very gruff manner, said to me:—
“I hear you are thinking of taking Usat to your school. His brother is
here, but he is a fool and cannot speak, so I will speak for him. I
should not advise you to take Usat. He is a bad boy, and never obeys his
elders. Why, one day he took a knife and wanted to attack me! Of course,
if you wish to take a boy of that kind with you, you can, but I have
warned you.”
Usat was himself present and heard all this, but said nothing. I said
to him: “If you come with me to school you must do what you are told; I
don’t want disobedient boys.” He made no reply.
Later on in the evening, when I was returning to my boat, I heard a
pattering of feet behind me on the log which formed the path. Turning
round, I saw it was Usat, who had followed me, and wanted to say
something to me.
“If you take me with you,” he said, “I will do as I am told.”
I liked his looks, as he seemed bright and intelligent, so I told him I
would call for him in about ten days’ time, when I had visited the other
Saribas villages, and was on my way back to Temudok, and if his parents
consented to his going to school, he could accompany me.
He was waiting for me on my return from up-river, and I took him in my
boat to Temudok, where he soon made friends with the other boys. He was
full of fun and mischief, but very frank and open, and we all liked him
very much.
After he had been with me about three weeks, four Dyaks came overland
from Stambak. They said they had been sent by Usat’s parents and friends,
who felt certain that the boy must have given a great deal of trouble,
and that I was anxious to get rid of him, and so they had come to fetch
him home. I told them the boy was happy enough, and that I did not want
to send him back, so they returned without him. I do not know what they
said about the boy, but, anyhow, he was allowed to stay at my school for
over two years, when his parents wished him to return to help them in
their work.
A little boy from Seblak, a branch of the Krian River, came to me
at Temudok, and asked to be admitted into my school. There were no
Christians in the village where he lived, but his brother, who was in the
Government employ at Kabong as a fortman, had heard of my school. Belawan
was not a particularly sharp boy, but he was very strong for his age and
a very good wrestler. Nothing gave him greater pleasure than to wrestle
and beat a boy older than himself. He stayed at my school a little over
two years. I have never done any missionary work on the Seblak River,
but I am glad Belawan came to my school, because I learnt from him what
absurd ideas the people at Seblak had of the missionary and the Mission
House. One thing he said was that there was a general idea among some of
the people that I had a roomful of _antu_ (evil spirits) in the Mission
House, and he said that was one reason why for a long time he hesitated
about joining the school at Temudok! Seblak is rather out of the usual
beat, and the Dyaks there do not come into contact with missionaries, and
I was not at all surprised that the people of that district should have
absurd ideas. I hope later on, when missionary work is begun in Seblak,
the fact that Belawan stayed for two years in my house will have helped
to pave the way for a kind reception of the missionary.
I was once returning to Temudok from a visit to the Saribas River, and
as usual had in my boat a few Dyak schoolboys who had been on a visit to
their friends at Saribas. We had had a tiring day, and my boat got to
Kabong—the mouth of the Krian River—at about 7 p.m. The boatmen had not
had their evening meal, and everybody was tired and hungry. I was going
to spend the night at the Fort, so the men and boys carried from the boat
such things as I might require. When everything I needed had been brought
to the Fort, one of the schoolboys, Saran, said to me:—
“There is a Malay boy on the beach who says he would like to fight me. If
you give me leave, I should be glad to fight him.”
“What do you want to fight for at this hour?” I said. “You are all tired
and hungry. The best thing for you to do is to have your dinner.”
“The Malay boy was very cheeky,” Saran went on to say; “he shook his
fist at me, and said I was afraid of him. I should like to give him a
thrashing.”
“Very well,” I said; “go and fight him if you like, but don’t come back
whining to me and say you are hurt.”
About half an hour afterwards Saran returned very pleased with himself.
It seems that when the Malay boy saw Saran meant business, he took to
his heels, and my schoolboy had the pleasure of chasing him to the Malay
village. Though he did not have his fight, he had the pleasure of feeling
he had defeated the enemy. I mention this little incident to show how
very much like other boys the Dyaks are, and how my schoolboy was ready
for a fight even though he was tired and hungry.
When stationed at Temudok, I used to visit the Christians on the Budu
River—a branch of the Krian River—and I had there a little native-built
hut, where I used to live for a week or so. The boys and girls there were
very anxious to learn, so I got some slates for them. In the evenings
there used to be about a dozen boys and girls in my room learning to read
and write. It was amusing to see what they did when they wanted a slate
pencil. They would go to the shingly bed of the river a few yards away,
and pick up a long thin bit of slate, and rub it against some other stone
till it was the right shape to be used as a pencil.
One day I went with my Catechist, Tujoh, and two schoolboys, who had
accompanied me from my Mission School at Temudok, overland to a long
Dyak house higher up the Budu River. A boy about fourteen years old
was pointed out to me there, and I was told that he was a _manang_, or
witch-doctor. I had never seen anybody as young as that acting as a
_manang_, and knowing what a great deal of deceit is practised by the
Dyak witch-doctor, there was to me something very sad in the thought of
this young boy doing such work. I was also curious to know what led him
to become a _manang_, so I spoke to him, and told him that if he cared to
pay a visit to Temudok, or to come to school there, he would be welcome.
After some little discussion, his parents allowed him to come with me
on a visit, and later on the boy, whose name was Ambu, was allowed to
attend my school. I found out from him that he understood very little of
the doings of the witch-doctors. There were very few _manangs_ near his
village, and there was a difficulty in getting more than two or three to
take part in their ceremonies over the sick, so Ambu was persuaded to
join them and walk round when incantations were made. While the other
Dyak doctors were well paid, Ambu received some trifle for his part in
the proceedings. Ambu stayed with me nearly a year, and then returned to
his people. I had a long talk with him before he went back about the work
of the _manangs_. I said that my advice to him was not to have anything
to do with their ceremonies for the next few years. If, when he was old
enough to judge for himself, he still wished to be a _manang_, he could
do so, but in the meantime he had better follow the advice of one who was
older than himself, and knew something of the deceit of the _manangs_. I
lost sight of Ambu soon after his return to his people, because the house
was broken up, and the inmates moved to some distant part.
I conclude this rambling chapter with the romantic but true story of how
one of the most influential native Catechists became a Christian through
seeing the missionary teaching some boys in an up-country Mission School.
[Illustration: A DYAK YOUTH
He has on an elaborate headkerchief decorated with tassels and small
pieces of silver or brass. These headkerchiefs are sometimes woven by the
Dyaks themselves, or else they make the border of bright-coloured threads
and sew it round a piece of red or blue imported cloth.]
[Illustration: A DYAK LAD
On his head he has a headkerchief which consists of a square piece of
cloth tied in such a manner as to form a cap.]
Buda was the youngest of the warrior sons of the old Orang Kaya Pemancha,
the famous pirate and war-leader of the Saribas Dyaks in the old
lawless days. One of his brothers, Haji, was killed fighting against
the Government forces sent to punish the rebels and restore order in
the Saribas. Loiyo and Nanang, two other brothers, were at one time
followers of Rentap, who held out so long against the Sarawak Government,
and made Sadok Mountain, between the Saribas and the Skrang Rivers, his
headquarters. The Dyaks often relate with keen interest the story of
those ancient days when Rentap’s stronghold, high up on Sadok Mountain,
with precipitous approaches on every side, was considered impregnable.
Many an expedition did the Government lead against Rentap, but to no
purpose. Rentap, who was called by his followers the “Inland Rajah,” and
was the leader of the opposition to the rule of the Rajah of Sarawak, was
supported by a large force of disaffected Saribas and Skrang Dyaks, and
was not to be easily beaten.
In 1861, however, Rentap was losing his popularity, and a great many of
his followers had deserted him. They could not endure the violence and
wilfulness of their leader, and they saw that the Dyaks who had submitted
to Rajah Brooke’s Government were happy and flourishing. Moreover, Rentap
had offended their Dyak prejudices. He had discarded his old wife, and
married one of the girls he had taken captive, and called her “the Ranee
of Sadok.” This was contrary to all Dyak custom, and was greatly resented
by his followers. In that year Loiyo and Nanang, two of Rentap’s leading
warriors, and their adherents, made their submission to Rajah Brooke.
They had to give security to the amount of forty valuable jars (worth
about £500), which were to be retained for three years, and then returned
to their owners should they remain loyal.
The next expedition led by the Government succeeded in defeating Rentap.
When he found that his stronghold was no longer tenable, he fled with
such of his followers as were able, down the opposite side of the
mountain. Deserted by most of his followers, he retired to the Entabai
branch of the Kanowit River, and died there some years after.
Buda and his brother Unting, the two other sons of the Orang Kaya
Pemancha, did their share of fighting during these troubled times, and
took part in many a bold deed, to the annoyance of the Government. Unting
married and settled at Saribas, and I knew him well. Buda married into a
family at Sebetan, and made his home there.
I have told the history of Buda and his brothers in order to give some
idea of the kind of reputation his family had among the Dyaks. At the
time of Buda’s visit to Banting, the Rev. W. R. Mesney (afterwards
Archdeacon of Sarawak) was living at Banting with the Rev. Walter
Chambers, who became afterwards Bishop of Labuan and Sarawak. Let me give
the account of what happened in Mr. Mesney’s own words:—
“Buda had started from his home to visit different places—_belelang_, as
the Dyaks call it. He had with him a couple of favourite fighting-cocks,
and these he matched against the cocks of the houses he came to in his
wanderings. In this way he came down the Batang Lupar, and reached
Banting, where he knew that a distant connection of his family lived,
and for that house he shaped his course. He made himself known to these
friends, who welcomed him, and were proud of a visit from the son of the
Orang Kaya Pemancha. He put his fighting-cocks into one of the _kurongs_
(baskets) under the _lantai_ (flooring) of the house, and made his pets
safe, and then, as it was just the time for the women to begin their
rice-pounding, he dressed himself up, and marched off, and found his way
up the hill to the Mission House.
“I was just then there alone. Mr. Chambers was gone to visit some of the
out-stations on the Batang Lupar. I was teaching half a dozen small fry
at the table, which stood in what corresponded to the veranda in the old
Mission House at Banting. I was not paying any attention to the door,
nor troubling about who came in, as at that time of the day many young
fellows, who were on the hill for any purpose, were in the habit of
coming in and watching the boys learning. I was busy with a couple of the
youngsters, when I noticed the others all press up close together, and
begin whispering and signalling as Dyaks can, and showing unmistakable
signs of uneasiness. When I saw this, I looked up to see the cause of it,
and there, standing by one of the posts of the house, was a strange man,
very unlike a Balau in dress and appearance, with his hand on the handle
of his _ilang_ (sword); in fact, behaving in quite a different way to the
ordinary Dyak visitor. The boys did not like his manner at all, I could
see, and I heard them whisper “_munsoh_” (enemy) to each other.
“I asked the man to sit down, but this he declined to do, for he
continued standing there with his eyes fixed on us and his hand on the
handle of his sword, from the sheath of which a large bunch of charms
was suspended. I kept my eye on the man, and at the same time went on
teaching. He continued to watch us for some minutes, and the boys got
more and more uncomfortable. When at last the man actually came up to
the table and picked up a piece of paper, I thought the boys would have
all bolted. However, after looking at the paper for a few minutes, he
made some remark, and I again asked him to sit down. This time he did
what I asked him to do, and sat down on the floor just where he had
been standing. I asked him the usual questions, “_Ari ni nuan?_” (“From
where have you come?”) and so on. He soon made some remark about the
paper he had picked up, and we talked to each other. In the midst of our
conversation, he suddenly got up and went to the door, where he proceeded
to take off his sword and the great bunch of charms that he was wearing
at his waist, and placed them very carefully down on the floor just
outside the door, as he could not find anything to hang them up to. He
came back, and this time took his seat on the form at the table. I went
on for a short time longer teaching the boys, and then began talking to
my visitor. He was very much interested, and said that he should like to
hear more; might he come again when the boys were being taught? After he
had gone, I heard who he was, and what he had come to Banting for.
“The next day he made his appearance again, and sat and listened while
the boys had their lesson. The reading was the attraction to him, and he
said that he would like to be able to read; might he stay at Banting,
and come up to the Mission House for lessons? And so it came about that
when Mr. Chambers returned, he walked into the Mission House, and found
me with the redoubtable Buda, seated and quietly learning his A B C! Mr.
Chambers, of course, knew the man well by reputation, and he took me
aside, and asked me if I knew his character, and what he had done in the
past. I could only say that I had gathered from the behaviour of other
people that he was well-known, but that I had had no cause to complain of
his behaviour during the few days he had been at Banting and coming to
the Mission House. When Mr. Chambers found the man was amenable, he was
glad to have him at Banting, and Buda devoted himself to learning, and
was quite a pattern scholar.”
From this account it will be seen that Buda was first induced to take
lessons by seeing Dyak boys being taught at an up-country Mission School.
After a short stay in Banting he went back to his home, but returned
to Banting again for more instruction. He was baptized, and afterwards
worked as Catechist. He accompanied Mr. Chambers to his home in Sebetan,
where he had already taught many of the Dyaks, and thus the Krian and
Sebetan Mission was started. For many years Buda worked as Catechist at
Sebetan under Mr. Perham, afterwards Archdeacon of Singapore.
When returning from one of his visits to Sebetan, Mr. Chambers persuaded
Buda to come back to Banting and bring his wife and child with him, so
that she might get more instruction. While at Banting on that occasion,
Buda proposed to Mr. Mesney that he should go with him to the Saribas,
and see whether they could not influence some of his relatives there in
the Gospel message. Mr. Chambers hesitated for some time, because the
Balaus of Banting distrusted the Saribas Dyaks, who used to be their
enemies. But at last he said that, if Mr. Mesney was bold enough to visit
the Saribas Dyaks, and could get men to accompany him, he might do so.
There was some difficulty in getting the men, but this was overcome, and
Mr. Mesney, accompanied by Buda and some Banting Dyaks, paid a visit to
Saribas. That was the beginning of the Saribas Mission, which at the
present time is the most successful and encouraging of all the missions
in Sarawak.
CHAPTER IX
MARRIAGE
Courtship—Discussion where the married couple are to live—The
fetching of the bride—The wedding ceremony—_Mlah Pinang_—Visit
of bride to her mother-in-law—Bride’s dress—Bridegroom—Old
bachelors among the Dyaks—Age of marriage—Monogamy—Prohibitive
degrees—Dyak view of marriage—Conjugal affection—Mischief-making
mothers-in-law—Separation and reconciliation—Divorce—Adultery.
The mode of courtship among the Dyaks is peculiar. No courting goes on by
day, but at night, when all is quiet, a young lover creeps to the side of
the curtain of his lady-love, and awakes her. The girls sleep apart from
their parents—sometimes in the same room, but more often in the loft.
He presents her with a roll of _sireh_ leaf, in which is wrapped the
betel-nut ingredients the Dyaks love to chew.
If, when awakened, the girl accepts the betel-nut roll which the young
man presents her, and puts it in her mouth, it is a sign that his visit
is acceptable, and that he may stay and speak to her. If, on the other
hand, she says, “Please blow up the fire,” or “Be good enough to light
the lamp” (which is usually a bamboo filled with resin), it shows that
she will have nothing to say to him, and he recognizes the usual form of
dismissal and goes away.
If the lover’s visit be acceptable to her, they chew _sireh_ and
betel-nut, a plentiful supply of which the man brings with him, and make
arrangements about the future.
This nocturnal visiting goes on for some weeks. If the parents of the
girl think the match a suitable one, the young people are permitted to
see each other very often. On the other hand, if the young man does not
find favour with them, they soon let him know that his visits are not
desired. They do not allow their daughter to see him alone, and the
matter goes no farther.
This nightly courtship is, in fact, the only way a man and woman can
become acquainted with each other, for such a thing as privacy during the
day is quite unknown in a Dyak house. If the girl be pleased with her
lover, he remains with her until close upon daybreak, when he leaves with
her some article as a pledge of his honour, such as a bead necklace, or
ring, or a headkerchief, or anything else which he may have about him.
This act of leaving some gift with the girl is considered as a betrothal
between the two parties, and the man who refuses to marry the girl after
doing so is considered guilty of breach of promise of marriage, and
liable, according to Dyak law, to a fine.
I have often spoken to older Dyaks about the matter, and have been told
by them that these nocturnal visits very seldom result in immorality.
The girl who is not careful how she behaves very soon gets a bad name
among the young men, and all her chances of securing a husband are lost.
And it is a fact that, considering the population, there are not many
illegitimate children among the Dyaks.
When the young couple have decided the question of the future to their
mutual satisfaction, the next step in the proceedings is for the man to
make known his wishes to his own parents, and then a visit is paid by the
man’s relatives and friends to the girl’s parents to request formally
the hand of their daughter in marriage. This consent is seldom refused,
because as a rule the parents of the girl approve of her choice, or they
would not have allowed her to receive visits from the man.
There is a great deal of discussion, sometimes lasting for days, as to
where the married couple are to live after the wedding ceremony. The wife
does not always leave her home to go and live with her husband. As often
as not the man takes up his abode in the house of his wife’s relations.
Many matters are taken into consideration in deciding where they are
to live. If the daughter be an only child, her parents generally make
it a condition of marriage, that the son-in-law should come and live
with them, and work for them, but where the girl has many brothers and
sisters, and the man has not, she is allowed to go and live in his house.
Then, again, the question of social standing comes in, and if a girl
marries beneath her she refuses to go to the house of her husband, and
expects him to come to her.
When everything has been satisfactorily arranged, and the consent of
the girl’s parents has been obtained, a day is fixed for the marriage
ceremony.
The day before the wedding is spent by the bridegroom in obtaining a
plentiful supply of betel-nut, _sireh_ leaf (a species of pepper), lime,
gambier, etc.—all necessary concomitants for the guests to chew during
the proceedings connected with the marriage ceremony.
The wedding may take place either at the house of the bride, or else at
that of the bridegroom. Generally it is held in the house in which the
newly married couple do not intend to reside; that is, if it be decided
that the newly married wife should settle in her husband’s house, then
the wedding will take place at her home. If, on the other hand, the
relatives decide that the husband is to live in the home of his wife,
then the wedding takes place at the house of his parents.
The principal part of the ceremony among the Sea Dyaks is the fetching
of the bride from her father’s to the bridegroom’s house. The women-folk
of his village set out in a boat, gaily decorated with an awning of
parti-coloured sheets, and with streamers and flags flying, to an
accompaniment of gongs and drums, and musical instruments, to fetch the
bride to her future husband’s house.
When the other party arrive at the landing-stage of the house at which
the wedding is to take place, they walk up to the house—a gaily-dressed
crowd—and sit down in the open veranda, to talk over the future prospects
of the young couple, chewing betel-nut and _sireh_ all the time. A
portion of these chewing ingredients are carefully set aside to be used
later on. The Dyak, with his great love for divination, cannot allow such
an occasion to pass without making some attempt to penetrate into the
secrets of the future.
The company sit down in the long common room of the Dyak house, and then
are brought forward the betel-nut, _sireh_, etc., specially set aside for
the ceremony. A betel-nut is split into seven pieces by a man supposed
to be lucky in matrimonial matters, and these, together with the other
ingredients of the betel-nut mixture, are all put in a little basket,
which is bound together with red cloth and laid for a short time upon the
open platform adjoining the house.
The master of the ceremonies, who splits the betel-nut, generally
an older man of some standing, then makes to the assembled guests
the declaration that if either party should desert the other without
sufficient reason, the offending party shall be fined to such an amount
as has been already agreed upon.
The basket containing the split pieces of betel-nut is then brought
in and uncovered, and the contents examined to ascertain the will of
the gods. Should the pieces of betel-nut by some mystic power increase
in number, the marriage will be an unusually happy one; but should
they decrease it is a bad omen, and the marriage must be postponed, or
relinquished altogether. But as a matter of fact, they neither increase
nor decrease, and this is interpreted to mean that the wedding is one
upon which the spirits have pronounced neither a good nor a bad verdict.
This action gives the name to the marriage ceremony. The Dyaks call
marriage _Mlah Pinang_—“splitting the betel-nut.”
The contents of the little basket used to discover the will of the higher
powers are chewed just as other _pinang_ and _sireh_, and the marriage
ceremony is over; the young couple are lawfully man and wife.
The married couple stay for three days in the house which is to be their
future home. On the fourth day a visit is paid, lasting for three days,
to the family with whom the alliance has been made. Then the young couple
return to settle down in their new home.
[Illustration: A DYAK WEDDING
The bride is seated in the middle with a large filigree silver comb in
her hair. The bridegroom is seated on her right, and her mother on her
left. The old man on the right is the “Master of Ceremonies.” Before him,
covered with a native cloth, is the basket containing the pieces of split
betel-nut, which are examined to see if the marriage will be a happy
one.]
On the occasion of the first visit of the bride to the house of her
husband, she must not enter her mother-in-law’s room, but must be led in
either by that much dreaded relative herself, or by some woman deputed
by her to perform that office. The bride, therefore, goes into the room
of some female friend living in the house, and there awaits the coming of
her mother-in-law; the husband meanwhile sits down on a mat in the open
veranda outside his mother’s room.
The lady, having ascertained the whereabouts of her daughter-in-law, goes
and fetches her, and brings her into the room. She bids her sit down on a
mat spread for the purpose. Then she goes out to her son in the veranda,
and leads him in, and tells him to sit by his wife’s side. When they
are seated side by side, the mother waves a live fowl over her son and
daughter-in-law with a hastily muttered invocation for future health and
prosperity.
The respect that Dyaks are required to pay to the father-in-law and
mother-in-law is far greater than they have to pay to their own parents.
It is considered a terrible crime for a man to mention the names of his
wife’s parents, and he dare not disobey their commands. A young man
marrying an only child and living with her parents has generally a hard
time of it, because he has to give way in everything to the wishes of his
wife’s parents. In the same way a girl who marries an only son, and lives
with his parents, has often an unhappy time, being continually ordered
about and scolded by her mother-in-law. I have known cases where husband
and wife have separated simply because the mother-in-law has made the
life of the wife unbearable.
For the wedding, and for the subsequent visit which the bride pays to her
husband’s home, she decks herself out in all the finery she possesses
or can borrow from her friends. Her wedding-dress consists of a short
petticoat of Dyak woven cloth which reaches to her knees. Along the
bottom edge of this there are sewed several rows of tinsel and of silver
coins, below which probably hang some rows of hawk-bells, which make a
tinkling sound as she moves. Round her waist are several coils of brass
or silver chain, and two or three belts made of dollars or other silver
coins linked together.
From her hips upwards, as far as her armpits, she wears a corset formed
by threading upon split cane a great number of small brass rings,
arranged so closely together as completely to hide the cane. To this
corset may be fixed two or three bands of silver coins. Her armlets of
brass or silver extend as far up as her elbow. As many rings as she
possesses are on her fingers, and she wears necklaces of small beads,
worked in very beautiful patterns, and finished off with a tassel of
beads, or else a large number of big silver or brass buttons strung
together round her neck. Her ears are decorated with filigreed studs of
silver gilt, with a setting of scarlet cloth behind the filigree work to
show them off.
In her hair is a towering comb of silver filigree work, to which are
attached a number of silver spangles, which glitter with every movement
of her head. She wears her hair in a knot into which are stuck a number
of large brass hair-pins decorated with beads and little tags of red
and yellow and white cloth. She possesses a bright-coloured jacket of
Dyak woven cloth; but she does not wear it; it is slung over her right
shoulder.
After this detailed description of the bride’s dress, it is disappointing
to learn that the bridegroom takes no special pains to ornament his
person. The men wear a great deal of finery when they attend a feast, or
when they go out on the warpath, but on the occasion of his wedding the
bridegroom takes no extra trouble about his apparel.
I have been present at a Dyak wedding more than once, and what struck
me most was the perfunctory manner in which everything was done. No one
seemed to listen much to what the Master of Ceremonies had to say; all
sat round talking and laughing as the mood suited them. The examining of
the basket containing the pieces of split betel-nut was not awaited with
any anxiety. Everything seemed to be done because it was the custom, and
for no other reason.
Nearly every Sea Dyak is married, and it is very unusual to meet a
bachelor above the age of twenty-five. The exception to this is among the
Skrang Dyaks, among whom one often sees an unmarried man over forty years
of age. The expression _Bujang Skrang_—“a Skrang bachelor”—means an old
bachelor.
A man rarely marries a woman who has an illegitimate child. But children
are very much desired, and the Dyaks have a great horror of being
childless. Intercourse often takes place between those who have been
betrothed, but not formally married, simply to ascertain if the marriage
will be fruitful. At the first signs of the desired result the marriage
ceremony takes place.
Both sexes marry at an early age. The young men marry when about eighteen
to twenty years of age, and the girls at sixteen or seventeen, though
sometimes marriage is postponed till later. They frequently separate by
mutual consent, and nothing is thought of it if the couple be childless;
but it is very seldom that anything of the kind occurs if there are
children.
Among the Dyaks no man has more than one wife. Polygamy is considered
very displeasing to the gods, and if a man does take to himself two
wives, the other people of the village compel him to give one up, and
sacrifices are offered to the gods and spirits to avert any evil effects
upon the community for the crime.
The Dyaks are very particular as to their prohibitive degrees, and are
opposed to the marriage of relatives. The prohibitive degrees are much
the same as among Christians.
The Dyak men view marriage as an arrangement for the mutual convenience
of both parties in order to obtain children. Though there is often a
great deal of love between husband and wife, still, when the marriage is
childless, the Dyak idea is that the proper thing to do is to separate.
I have known many childless couples who have continued to live together,
and have perhaps adopted a child; but they have done so in spite of all
that has been said to them and in opposition to the wishes of their
friends. I have often heard Dyaks say: “When you plant a fruit-tree you
expect it to bear fruit, and when you marry you expect your wife to bear
children.”
The Dyak women generally regard marriage as a means of obtaining a man
to work for them. A woman will often separate from her husband simply
because he is lazy, and will not do his fair share of the work. There is
a certain division of labour among Dyaks, and there are some kinds of
work which it is usual for the man to do, and other work which falls to
the share of the woman. It is no unusual thing to hear a woman who wishes
to be divorced from a lazy husband say: “I married because I wanted a man
to work for me; but if I have to do the man’s work as well as my own, as
I have to with a husband like mine, I might just as well be unmarried.”
[Illustration: DYAK GIRL SPINNING
She is seated on a mat, in a characteristic attitude, and is making yarn
out of the cotton, using a primitive spinning-wheel.]
It must not be supposed from what has been said that conjugal affection
is rare among the Dyaks. On the contrary, a great deal of it exists,
and the men very often love their wives and think a great deal of their
opinion. They will not decide upon any important course of action without
consulting them. Where there are children, the husbands very often help
their wives in doing more than their share of the man’s work, and I have
often seen the men nursing and fondling their naked babies when the
mothers were busy.
Dyaks who have come in contact with civilization, and who have been to
school themselves, see the advantages of being educated, and I know of
a Dyak in Saribas who married a young wife and sent her to the Society
for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts Girls’ School in the
capital of Sarawak (Kuching) for two years to be taught before she came
to live with him in his Dyak home.
As has been mentioned before, the parents of a woman often tyrannize over
a son-in-law who takes up his abode with them. If the woman herself side
with her parents, it is often very unpleasant for the husband. I remember
talking over this matter with some Dyaks at Sebetan, and telling them
that I thought, as a general rule, it was better for husband and wife
to settle between themselves any differences they might have, without
interference from others, and I mentioned certain cases of divorce which,
I said, I felt sure would not have come about except for the interference
of the mothers-in-law, who behaved foolishly and caused mischief. Then I
turned round to one of the men present, and said:—
“You have lived for many years with your wife’s relatives, and you seem
to be happy enough. You are one of the few who have had no differences
with the relatives of their wives, and live happily in spite of your
mother-in-law’s presence in your house. Is it not so?”
“Yes,” he said, “we do get on very well now, but it was not always so.
When I was first married, her parents were always taking her side against
me, and the result was that I was ordered about so much, and found fault
with so often, that I was beginning to get sick of it. However, matters
soon came to a climax. One day my wife was pounding paddy, and, turning
to me, she said: ‘This _lesong_ (wooden mortar) is not a nice one; will
you make me another?’ I said I would, and I went to the jungle, cut down
a tree, and made a new wooden mortar, and carried it home. She did not
like it. It was, in her opinion, no better than the other.”
(I may mention here that the Dyak women like a mortar that makes a great
deal of noise when paddy is pounded in it to rid it of the husk. Probably
the only fault to be found with the mortar was that it did not make
enough noise when in use to satisfy his wife.)
“I was told,” the man continued, “to make another _lesong_ for my wife.
This I obediently did, but I did not succeed in pleasing her with my
second attempt any better than I did with my first. I was told to go into
the jungle and make her a third mortar. This I refused to do. I said that
evidently I could not make a wooden mortar to her satisfaction, and the
best thing to do was for us to get someone else to make one, and pay him
for it. She was very angry at my refusal, and said that when she married
she did not expect to have to buy things which other husbands made for
their wives.
[Illustration: A DYAK BRIDE
She wears a silver filigree comb in her hair and a necklace of brass or
silver buttons. Round her body is the brass corset worn by the women and
three belts of silver coins. She has bangles on her wrists and earrings
in her ears. Her jacket is slung over her right shoulder.]
[Illustration: A DYAK GIRL
Round her body is the brass corset the women wear, and she has a necklace
made of large buttons of brass or silver.]
“In all this,” he said, “my wife was backed up by her mother, who, in
many ways, had been making mischief, and was often criticizing my work.
I said little, but when she called me the ‘dead body of a man’ (_bangkai
orang_) it was more than I could stand, and when she went on to say that
I might just as well return to my people if I was not going to work, I
packed up my clothes and returned to my parents.
“After a few days my mother-in-law came to the house of my parents to
ask me to return with her. I refused to do so, because, I said, I was
not sure what sort of reception I should get from my wife. She said
that she had been sent by my wife, and that I need not fear that there
would be any unpleasantness. Still I refused to return, and I told my
mother-in-law that I would not return unless my wife came herself to ask
me.”
(I may remark that it is a very unusual thing for a man to speak in this
way to his mother-in-law. She is treated with so much respect that it is
very seldom a Dyak dares to oppose her wishes.)
“My mother-in-law returned to her house, and a few days after she and my
wife came to fetch me. I went back with them, and ever since I have had
no serious trouble either with my wife or mother-in-law.”
I have already said that until children are born a Dyak husband and wife
often separate from each other for very trivial reasons. After the birth
of children there is seldom a divorce except for adultery, and even then
very often the friends and relatives try hard—sometimes successfully—to
persuade the husband and wife to live together again for the sake of the
children. This lax view that Dyaks have of the marriage tie causes them
very often to marry without any serious consideration. Where divorce is
easy it naturally follows that marriage ceases to be a serious matter,
which ought not to be “taken in hand unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly,”
as the marriage service has it.
I remember one day holding a service at a little chapel in a village in
Saribas, and giving an address on marriage, and trying to explain to
my small congregation of Dyaks the Christian view of it. I said that
marriage ought to be a life-long tie, that the Dyak custom of husband and
wife separating for any trivial cause was a bad one, and that Christians,
when married, should live together “for better for worse” till death
parted them. An old Dyak present interrupted me by asking: “What if one
of them commits adultery?”
I went on to say that adultery was the only reason which Christ said
justified a divorce.
I mention this little incident because I think it shows in an indirect
way that deep down in the Dyak heart there is a feeling that adultery is
a terrible crime, far worse than any other, and that where there has been
adultery it is impossible for husband and wife to live happily together.
CHAPTER X
BURIAL RITES
Life beyond the grave—Wailings—Rice strewn on the dead man’s
chest—The professional wailer—Feeding the dead—Carrying the
dead—The grave—Articles buried with the dead—_Baiya_—Fire lit
at sunset—The _ulit_, or mourning—_Pana_, or offering to the
dead—The wailer’s song—_Sumping_—Periodical _Sabak_—Feast in
honour of the dead—_Gawai Antu_—The dead not forgotten—Other
methods of disposing of the dead besides burial—Dyak ideas of a
future life.
Death for the Dyak does not mean the end of all. He has a belief in a
life beyond the grave—a life different indeed from his existence in
the flesh, with all its cares and anxieties, a life with little of the
spiritual about it, but still, for all that, life, and not annihilation.
The soul survives burial, and in Hades (_Sabayan_) lives anew much the
same life as he does on earth, building houses and sowing and planting as
do his friends and relatives in this world. He is able to watch those on
earth, and can help them when required, and so his aid is often asked for
in time of need. And in the Sea Dyak burial rites there are seen glimpses
of a belief in the communion between those on earth and those who have
crossed the River of Death, such as we would expect to find only among
people of a higher civilization and a higher education.
From that distant unknown land of Death the spirits of the dead
relatives and friends of the dying man come in a long boat, so the Dyaks
say, to take his soul away. For a long time there is a struggle between
those on earth trying to keep him back and the unseen spirits urging him
to join them. Over and over again when the man loses consciousness there
are distracted cries from those around of “_Pulai! Pulai!_”—“Come back!
Come back!”
The witch-doctors, who are often called in, try by their incantations to
frighten away the spirits.
Immediately the breath has left the body, the female relatives begin
loud and melancholy wailings. They wash the corpse and get it ready for
burial. All the able-bodied men of the village turn out to help the
bereaved family, as in a hot climate the burial has to take place within
twenty-four hours.
Rice is strewn on the dead man’s chest. This is a propitiation to the
gods for any wrong he may have done while alive. According to Dyak
ideas, death is the punishment for some sin, and for that sin some
sacrifice must be made, or the living may also suffer for it. By sin
is meant either the doing of any of the thousand and one things which
a Dyak considers forbidden by the gods, or the disregarding of the
warnings of birds or dreams. While this sin-offering is being made,
others collect his belongings—his clothes, his implements of work, his
shield, his spear—all of which are to be buried with him, and which he
is supposed to make use of in the other world. The corpse is dressed in
its best garments, and is borne into the great open veranda or common
hall (_ruai_), and covered with a Dyak sheet. Here he is surrounded by
the friends and relatives, to be mourned over. Sometimes a professional
wailer sits on a swing near the head of the corpse and sings her song of
mourning. She calls upon the different parts of the house, beginning at
the roof-ridge and proceeding downwards, and blames them for not keeping
back the soul of the dead man. Then in highly figurative language she
speaks of the journey to Hades, and asks the spirits to guide his soul in
the right direction, so that he may not lose his way.
While the body is laid out in the public part of the house none may step
over the corpse. There is no special reason against this except the
general belief that if such a thing were done the dead man would not live
happily in Hades, but would continually visit his former home and trouble
the living.
At sunset a fire is lit by the side of the corpse. All through the long
hours of the night the sad watchers sit around, and the loud sustained
cry of the professional wailer mingles with the sobs and spasmodic
utterances of those who feel most the loss of the dead man.
Early on the following morning food is given him to strengthen him for
that long journey to Hades, and a little cotton-wool is placed as a
pillow for his head. The food is given to the dead in a curious manner.
Rice is dashed into his mouth, and the earthen cooking-pot is then broken
in pieces—it may not be used for the living, having once been used for
the dead. The pillow of cotton-wool is about the size of a pigeon’s egg,
and, as far as can be gathered from the Dyaks, it in some way insures the
comfort of the dead man in the other world.
Then the body, wrapped in mats and covered over with a light framework of
wood, is carried on the shoulders of four men. As they descend the ladder
ashes from the fire burnt near the corpse are thrown after them by the
people who are left in the house. This is done in order that the dead
man may not know his way back to the house, and may thus be unable to
trouble his friends afterwards. The women are not permitted to accompany
the body to its burial, so they raise a dismal wail as the body is
carried away from the house.
The body is either taken by boat or carried on foot to the jungle, where
a tree is to be cut down for the coffin. When the spot is reached a halt
is made. A fowl is killed, and the blood is collected in a cup and mixed
with a little water. Each person present is touched with the blood, to
propitiate the gods of the infernal world and to secure immunity from any
evil consequences to the persons engaged in the funeral rites. They now
set to work to make the coffin. A tree is felled, and the required length
cut off. This is split in two, and each half is hollowed out. The corpse
is then placed in this rude coffin, the two parts of which are now firmly
lashed together with cane.
The crowd then proceed either on foot or by boat to the place of burial.
The burial-ground, or _pendam_, is generally on the side of a hill. The
trees are not cut down, and there is nothing to distinguish the _pendam_
from ordinary jungle. The Dyaks regard a cemetery with superstitious
terror as the abode of spirits, and never go to it except to bury their
dead, and when they do this they do not stay longer than they can help,
but hurry away lest they should meet some spirit from the other world.
The consequence is that the place is wild and uncared for. The graves,
being shallow and not fenced round, are often dug up by wild pigs or
bears, and bones and skulls strew the ground.
[Illustration: A DYAK CEMETERY BY THE RIVER-SIDE
This shows the carved wooden erections put over some of the graves.
The trees are generally left standing in a Dyak cemetery, and a little
distance from the river bank it is covered with jungle growth.]
[Illustration: A DYAK DANCING THE WAR DANCE
He is imitating the action of a man creeping through the jungle, sword in
hand, to attack the enemy. The man on the right is playing a Dyak musical
instrument called the _Engkrurai_.]
When they reach the spot where the grave is to be, some rice is scattered
on the ground. This rice is the price paid to _Pulang Gana_, the spirit
who owns the land, for the grave. Then a fowl is killed, and the blood
sprinkled on the ground. These offerings are made to prevent the spirits
from hurting any of those who take part in digging the grave.
The graves are rarely more than three feet deep. The Dyaks dare not step
into the grave to deepen it, because, according to their superstitious
ideas, anyone who does such a thing will die a violent death. They use no
spade or hoe to turn up the earth, but cut the soil with their choppers,
and throw up the mould with their hands. They dig into it as far as their
arms will reach and no farther.
The corpse is lowered into the grave hurriedly, and all present shout.
They cry to the dead man, but why they do so or what advantage is gained
by doing so is not clear. The reason why the body is hurriedly buried is
the fear lest the cry of some sacred bird may be heard, and the burial
of the man become unpropitious; the less time they take in putting the
corpse into the grave the less chance there is of this.
With the corpse are put for use in the next world various articles of
clothing, personal ornaments, weapons of warfare, implements for farm
work, and even instruments of music, according to the sex and natural
proclivities of the dead. Some of these things belonged to the departed;
others are given by friends as tokens of affection. Rice, tobacco, and
betel-nut are also cast into the grave, as these things may be needed
in the other world. It used to be the custom to place money, gold and
silver ornaments, and brass utensils in the grave, but these articles
were so often stolen that, nowadays, it is the practice to break in
pieces all the utensils placed in the grave. Jars and brass gongs are
not buried with the corpse, but placed on the grave. When all this has
been done, the grave is fenced round, and food and drink are placed in
the enclosure, and at either end something is put to indicate the sex and
favourite occupation of the deceased. If the grave be that of a warrior,
it is roofed and decorated with streamers, and such of his weapons as are
not buried with him are hung about, and the ground around is palisaded
and spiked. The grave of the hunter is distinguished by his blow-pipe and
quiver, together with the trophies of the chase—stags’ antlers and boars’
tusks. Some article of feminine attire or work—spindles or petticoats, or
waist-rings or water-gourds—indicate the graves of women. The graves of
the rich have valuable jars or gongs, which are secured in their places
by having a stake driven through them and thus rendered worthless.
A lighted torch is always carried to a funeral, and when the body is
buried it is extinguished at the grave.
The articles which are buried with the dead person or put upon the grave
are called _baiya_. They are for the use of the spirit in the other
world. The Dyaks argue that though the articles placed on the grave
remain there, still the spirit of these articles are of use to the soul
in Hades, and so their gifts are not wasted.
Those of the mourners who leave the grave last plant sharpened stakes in
the ground, so that the spirit of the dead man may not follow them back
to the Dyak house, the stakes planted in the ground being supposed to
prevent his return.
At sunset on the day of death, a fire is lit at the landing-place on
the bank of the river near the house of the dead man. This fire is kept
burning all night. For three or four evenings after death they light
a fire either at the landing-place or somewhere outside the house.
This is for the use of the departed, for in Hades fire is not to be
procured without paying for it, and if the dead find any difficulty about
obtaining fire, they can come and fetch it from the fire lit by their
earthly friends. This idea does not seem consistent with the many things
done to prevent the soul of the dead man finding his way back to his
earthly home.
When there is a death among the Dyaks, none of the inmates of the house
do any farm work on the day of the funeral. In the case of the death of a
Chief, they refrain from work for three days or even more.
When anyone dies, the _ulit_, or mourning, has to be observed by the
immediate relatives of the deceased, and continues until the feast in
honour of the dead (_Gawai Antu_) is held. All the finery and bright
articles of apparel belonging to the relatives are tied up in a bundle
and put away. At the _Gawai Antu_ the string which binds this bundle
together is cut by the headman of the house, and they may use their
bright garments again. The mourning (_ulit_) includes many other
restrictions beside the prohibition of ornaments and bright-coloured
clothing. There must be no striking of gongs or drums or dancing or
merrymaking in the house. In the old days the mourning could not end
until one of the relatives managed to secure a human head.
On the third day an observance called _Pana_ is made. A plate containing
rice and other eatables, as well as a Dyak chopper, an axe, and a cup,
are taken by several of the neighbours to the room of the dead person.
They go to tell the mourners to weep no more, and to give the dead man
food. They enter the room, and one of them—generally an old man of
some standing—pushes open the window with the chopper, and the offering
of food is thrown out for the benefit of the dead man and his spirit
companions. Up to this time the near relatives of the dead man live in
strict seclusion in their room, but after it they may come out to the
public part of the house and return to their usual occupations. But the
_ulit_, or mourning, is still observed, and does not come to an end till
the feast in honour of the dead (_Gawai Antu_) is held.
Among tribes where professional wailers exist it is not enough to throw
the offering of food out of the window at the back of the house. The
wailer must help to send that food to Hades. She sings her incantation
and calls upon the adjutant bird to convey the articles of food and the
tears and sobs of the relatives to the other world. The bird, so sings
the wailer, speeds on its way, and arrives at the Country of the Dead.
There the spirits are supposed to see the visitant, and inquire where
it comes from and what is the object of its journey. “Do you come to
look at the widows? We have thirty-and-one; but only one is handsome.
Do you come to seek after maidens? We have thirty-and-three; but only
one is beautiful.” “No,” says the bird, “we have many widows and maidens
in the land of the living; and they are all beautiful and admired of
men.” They ask as they see what it carries: “What is that you have
brought with you so securely covered up?” “Bring a vessel, and I will
pour the contents of my burden into it.” A large vessel is brought, the
crowd stand expectant around, and the bird pours out the offering of
food, and lo! the eatables, as well as the tears and sobs of the living
which accompany them, have become gold and silver and precious stones
wondrously beautiful. But the inhabitants of Hades cannot understand what
it all means, and quarrel among themselves. Then an old learned woman,
who has lived in Hades very many years, speaks. She bids them be silent
and listen to her, and she explains that the bird has come from the land
of the living with presents for them from their earthly friends.
Until this _Pana_ is made, the Dyaks say the soul of the dead man is
unsettled. It has not quite left this world, and Hades will not receive
it or give it food and drink. But after this observance it is received
and welcomed as a regular denizen of the spirit world.
There is another observance called _Sumping_, which is sometimes carried
out at a varying period after death. The Dyaks bring the symbols and
trophies of a head-hunting raid and place them in the middle of the
public hall of the house. The wailer sings her incantation, and procures
the services of the Spirit of the Winds to convey them to the dead, whose
abode, until now full of discomfort and darkness, becomes at sight of
these trophies filled with light. The spirits rejoice at the thought that
their relatives have revenged upon others their own death.
This observance, according to ancient custom, could not be held until the
head of an enemy had been obtained. It brings out the darker and fiercer
side of the Dyak nature. They would fight with Death if they could, and
rescue their dead friends from his clutches. But as they cannot do this,
they rejoice in taking vengeance upon the living and killing someone,
so that their relatives in Hades may have the satisfaction of saying:
“My death has been avenged. A life has been paid for my life.” In these
days, when the Dyaks live under a strong and just Government, it is
very seldom that this observance can be carried out according to ancient
custom; now they have either to dispense with the newly-procured human
head or omit the observance altogether.
The dead man is not forgotten. Periodical mournings (_sabak_) at
intervals of two or three months are held in his memory, and the
professional wailer calls on the dead man and weeps over him. The
relatives work themselves up into a frenzy of sorrow on these occasions,
and many of them are often seen weeping sadly. The Dyaks believe that the
dead hear their cries, and that a bond of sympathy unites them with those
on earth.
A year or two after the death the _Gawai Antu_ is held. This feast is
held in honour of all those that have died since the last _Gawai Antu_
was held. Small, curiously-shaped baskets, supposed to represent the
different implements a man or woman uses in work when alive, are made and
placed on the different graves. Thus they furnish the dead with the means
of livelihood in Hades. This feast ends all mourning for the dead, and
after it has been held there are no more periodical mournings.
But even after all mourning has ceased the Dyak still believes that his
dead friends and relatives live and visit the earth. Before going forth
on an expedition against the enemy, the dead are invoked, and are begged
to help their friends on earth, so that they may be successful against
their foes. In times of peril and of need the dead are called upon; and
on the hilltops or in the solitudes of the jungle a man often goes by
himself and spends the night in the hope that the spirit of some dead
relative may visit him, and in a dream tell him of some charm by means of
which he may overcome difficulties and become rich and great.
Burial is the usual, but not the only, mode of disposing of the dead.
_Manangs_, or witch-doctors, are never buried, but their coffins are hung
up in the cemetery. Among some tribes a young child dying before he has
any teeth is put in a jar instead of a coffin, and this is tied to the
branch of some tree in the burial-ground.
The Dyak believes in a future life, but it is simply a prolongation of
the present state of things in a new sphere. Even the journey from this
world to the land of spirits is much like the journey from one part
of the country to another. The traveller must be provided with food
and money for his journey, which may take a longer or a shorter time,
dependent to a great extent on the liberality of his friends here on
earth and to the kindness of those whose houses he passes in his journey
to the spirit world.
If the dead man has been able while in this terrestrial sphere to provide
for himself assistance in the world of spirits, then his life in the
other world will be an easy one. The spirits of the enemies whose heads
he has taken become his slaves in the other world, and the man who has
succeeded in killing many enemies lives in Hades a life of ease.
I have given the general belief among the Sea Dyaks about the future
existence. But occasionally other conceptions are met with. The idea of
metempsychosis is not unknown, and I have met a Dyak who treated a snake
with the greatest kindness, because he said it had been revealed to him
in a dream that the spirit of his grandfather dwelt in that snake.
Some Dyaks speak of a series of spirit worlds through which their souls
must pass before they become finally extinct. Some Dyaks say they have to
die three times; others say seven times; but all seem to agree in the
idea that after these successive dyings they practically cease to exist,
and are absorbed into air and fog. They do not believe in an endless
life, because perhaps they lack the mental capacity to conceive of such a
thing.
CHAPTER XI
TRAVELLING IN SARAWAK
Travelling by boat—Paddles v. oars—Dangers—Tidal
bores—Sandbanks—_Langan_—Up-river travelling—Poling—Camping
out at night—Travelling on foot—Jungle paths—Scenery—Wild
animals—The _Orang-utan_—Vegetation.
Most of the Sea Dyaks live on the banks of the rivers, so that travelling
is usually done by boat. The lower reaches of the river have very
swift tides, against which it is impossible to row or paddle; so, when
travelling up-river, the flood-tide is taken advantage of, and the boat
either anchors or is tied to the bank during the ebb, and _vice versâ_.
Some of the boats used by the Dyaks are roomy and well built. The Balaus
are very good boat-builders, and their boats are very well made and swift.
The question is sometimes raised as to whether oars or paddles propel a
boat best. If the number of boatmen be taken into consideration, then
oars certainly drive a boat along much faster than paddles. Four oars
would be sufficient for a boat thirty or forty feet long, but for a boat
of that length at least twenty paddles would be needed to make it travel
at any pace.
The Dyaks sit in their boats on a rough matting made of split bamboo
tied together with cane. For shelter against the sun and rain they have
an awning made of palm-leaves (_kadjang_). This is tied on to a rough
framework of wood fixed on the boat, and is an excellent protection
against the weather.
There are many dangers to be guarded against when travelling by boat in
Borneo. Many rivers have a large tidal bore during the spring-tides,
and if the boat be in some narrow part of the river when it meets the
tidal bore it is likely to be swamped. The safest course is to wait for
the tidal bore in some broad part of the river, where it is not at all
dangerous.
There are also many sand-banks, and though Dyak boats draw little water,
still these have to be guarded against when the tide is very swift. I
have known cases where a boat has struck against a sand-bank and been
rolled over and over by the swift tide, and lives lost.
[Illustration: BOAT-TRAVELLING
A boat being dragged through the rapids. The boatmen are wading in the
water and dragging it along.]
In certain parts of the lower reaches of the large Bornean rivers,
where large sand-banks are to be found, the swift incoming spring-tide
makes, soon after it has covered the sand-bank, a peculiar dangerous
motion of the water, called by the natives _langan_. We all know the
bubbling appearance of boiling water in an open pot, and if we picture
to ourselves that kind of thing on a very large scale, it will give a
good idea of what the _langan_ is like. It does not last long in any
particular part of the river, because, as soon as the water has risen and
is deeper, the _langan_ disappears. It is most dangerous. The peculiar
motion of the water is so irregular and uncertain that small boats are
easily swamped, and many lives have been lost owing to this _langan_.
The part of the Batang Lupar near the village of Rawan is particularly
dangerous from this cause. I have known of many cases of a Dyak boat
being swamped by the _langan_ there, and not a single person being saved.
Though the Dyaks are good swimmers, the boat is rolled over by the swift
current, and they have no chance of saving themselves. When I have had
to travel past Rawan during the spring-tides when there is most danger,
if the tide has only just made, I have thought it wisest not to run any
risks, and have told my boatmen to fasten the boat to the bank, and wait
for ten minutes, and not to proceed till there was no danger of being
swamped by the terrible _langan_.
In the rapids up the rivers travelling is done in a “dug-out,” because
that draws little water. The boat has a long cane or creeper tied to the
bows, and when it has to be pulled over the rapids some of the men drag
at this, while the others remain in the boat and work with their poles
or small paddles. The skill with which the Dyaks pole the boat along, as
they stand up in it, is beautiful to see. With a skilful turn of the pole
they will guide the boat past some huge boulder which it seems impossible
to avoid. The sensation to one sitting in a boat going over the rapids,
either up or down stream, is not particularly pleasant. The boat is
bumped and jerked about, and the water often splashes in. At times the
boat will be propelled by poles; then, when the water is too shallow, the
men jump out and walk by the side, pulling the boat along. When they get
to deeper water, they jump in again.
The Dyaks are most excellent companions when travelling has to be done.
They are hard-working and good-tempered, and most resourceful. When one
is travelling in small “dug-outs” in the upper reaches of the river, it
often happens that he has to spend some nights on the journey. If any
Dyak house be near, the travellers make for it, knowing well that the
hospitable inmates will gladly give them shelter. But sometimes they
have to camp out on the river-bank. It is quite remarkable how well the
Dyaks manage under such circumstances. I have always admired the way in
which in a very short time wood and creepers are got from the jungle,
and a little hut put up for me on a cleared spot on the river-bank. The
creepers are used for tying the wood together; the _kadjang_ from the
boat is fastened up for the roof of the little hut; a flooring, two or
three feet off the ground, is made of laths of wood tied together with
creepers; my small cork boat mattress and curtain are fixed up; and
in about an hour’s time I am safely lodged for the night. The Dyaks
themselves are very hardy. They will wrap themselves up in their _puah_,
or sheet, and sleep in the open air, sometimes on mats; but if there are
no mats, they will make for themselves a bed of leaves on the ground, and
think it no great hardship to sleep on this.
When travelling has to be done on foot, one has to walk on a Dyak jungle
path, which consists of the trunks of the giants of the forest placed in
a line. No attempt is made to hew the round trunks into an even upper
surface, so one must walk carefully lest he slip off; for in some parts
the bark on these tree-trunks is rotten, and in others there is a growth
of wet slippery moss. Over the jungle streams there are Dyak bridges
made, like the path, of the trunk of a tree, sometimes with a light
hand-rail tied to it, sometimes not.
I have often travelled on foot through the jungle, accompanied by Dyaks
carrying my baggage. We have walked in single file on these trunks of
trees, and have listened to the weird jungle sounds—the creaking of
giant trees, the strange cries of insects, or birds, or monkeys. And
sometimes in the gathering darkness, when the storm-clouds have hurried
overhead and the winds shrieked through the tree-tops in fierce discord,
ruthlessly twanging the harp-strings of Nature, I have understood why
it is that the Dyaks believe that the lone forests are inhabited by the
spirits of the wind and the rivers, of the mountains and the trees.
No one can adequately realize the Equatorial Bornean jungle until he sees
it in all its wonder—the heated steamy stillness broken by weird sounds,
the colossal trees, the birds with brilliant plumage, and the infinite
variety of monkeys among the branches, sitting, hanging by hands or
tails, leaping, grimacing, jabbering, as they see the strange sight of
human beings invading their domains.
What are the wild animals that the traveller is likely to meet as he
walks through the jungle? The animal life of Borneo is akin to that
of Sumatra or Java, but with certain differences. Borneo is free from
tigers, and this is fortunate, for travelling through the forests would
be dangerous indeed if tigers were likely to be encountered. The only
wild animals to be met with are the small and comparatively harmless
tree-tiger, and the small brown honey-bear, but neither of them is much
feared. There are, of course, ferocious crocodiles in the rivers, and
many varieties of snakes, varying in size from the python downwards. But
the cobra, so much dreaded in India, is not met with in Borneo, and death
from a snake-bite is very rare. The elephant and the rhinoceros seem to
be confined to the north end of the island. There is the great man-like
ape—the _orang-utan_, or _maias_, as it is called by the Dyaks. It is
only found in a limited area, in the territory between the Batang Lupar
and the Rejang Rivers. As a rule, this animal does not exceed the height
of four feet two inches, though there are stories told of its attaining
a far greater size. The height, however, gives a poor idea of the
animal’s bulk and strength. The body is as large as that of an average
man, but the legs are extremely short. Its arms are of great length, and
measure over seven feet in spread. The whole body is covered with long
red hair. It rarely attacks man, but when provoked is very ferocious, and
as its strength is very great, it is a foe not to be despised. There are
numerous wild boars in the jungle, but they never attack the traveller,
and are not a source of danger.
The vegetation of Borneo is rich and varied. By the seashore and at the
mouths of the rivers there grows the _nipa_ palm, “the tree of a thousand
uses.” The young leaves are used for making _kadjangs_, the awnings
with which Dyak boats are covered. The old leaves are made into _attap_
for the roofs and walls of their houses. From the blossom a sweet drink
is obtained, and this is converted into sugar. From the ashes of the
burnt stump of this palm salt is obtained. As one travels up a Bornean
river the _nipa_ palms become less and less plentiful, and one finds the
banks covered with mangroves. These trees thrive on the muddy banks.
A network of roots grows out of the stem several feet above the soil,
and keeps them firm. At night these mangroves are lit up by myriads of
fireflies. The missionary stationed at Banting many years ago had all the
mangrove-trees, except one on each side of his landing-place, cut down,
and on the darkest night there was no difficulty in knowing where his
boat was to stop. These two trees, covered with fireflies, were not to be
mistaken in the surrounding darkness.
In Borneo there are many varieties of palms. There is the _nibong_ palm,
the trunk of which is often used for the posts of native houses. When
split up, it is used for the flooring. There is the _sago_ palm, from
the pith of the trunk of which sago is obtained. There are the cocoanut
and betel-nut palms, and lastly a useful climbing palm—the cane, or
_rotan_—which is exported in great quantities and used for the seats of
chairs.
There are many kinds of useful woods to be found in the Bornean jungles.
There is the _bilian_, or iron-wood, which is so valuable for building
purposes, as it is practically indestructible. It will not rot in earth
or water, and it is the only wood that the white ants cannot destroy.
There are also many other hard woods used for the building of houses and
the making of keels for boats.
The ebony-tree is to be found in Borneo. The ebony is the heart of the
tree, the rest of the wood being of a light colour.
The camphor-tree is also found, as well as various trees which produce
gutta and rubber of different sorts.
There are many fruit-trees, but the fruit most loved by the Dyaks is the
_durian_. This grows on a large tree, and is about the size of a man’s
head. When ripe, it is easily split open, and in it are pods in which are
rows of seeds covered with a sweet pulp.
CHAPTER XII
OMENS AND DREAMS
Seven omen birds—Other omen animals—Omens sought before
beginning rice-farming—House-building omens—Substitutions for
omens—Good and bad omens in farming—A dead animal—Means of
avoiding bad effects—Omens obeyed at all times—Bird flying
through a house—A drop of blood—Killing an omen bird or
insect—Origin of the system of omens—Augury—Dreams.
The Dyak is conscious of his ignorance of the natural laws which govern
the world in which he lives. He longs for some guidance in his precarious
farming, in his work in the lonely depths of the jungle, in his boating
over the dangerous rapids or treacherous tides of the swift rivers. He
is aware that injury or death may suddenly confront him from many an
unexpected source. He knows that Nature has voices, many and varied, and
he is convinced that if he could only understand those voices aright,
he would know when to advance and when to recede. He feels the need of
guidance, and he has devised for himself a system of omens.
Like the ancient Romans, who took auguries from the flight or notes
of certain birds—the raven, the owl, the magpie, the eagle, and the
vulture—the Dyak has his sacred birds, whose flight or calls are supposed
to intimate to him the will of unseen powers. They are seven in number,
and their native names are: _Katupong_, _Beragai_, _Kutok_, _Embuas_,
_Nendak_, _Papau_, and _Bejampong_. They are beautiful in plumage, but,
like most tropical birds, they have little song, and their calls are
shrill and piercing. They are supposed to be manifestations of the seven
spirit sons of the great god Singalang Burong (see the “Story of Siu,” p.
278).
The system, as carried out by the Dyaks, is most elaborate and
complicated, and the younger men have constantly to ask the older ones
how to act in unexpected combinations of apparently contradictory omens.
The law and observance of omens occupy a greater share of the thoughts of
the Dyak than any other part of his religion.
It is not only to the cry of birds that the Dyaks pay heed. There are
certain animals—the deer, the armadillo, the lizard, the bat, the
python, the cobra, even the rat, as well as certain insects—which all
may give omens under special circumstances. But these other creatures
are subordinate to the birds, from which alone augury is sought at the
beginning of any important undertaking.
Some idea of the method in which the Dyaks carry out their system of
omens may be gathered from what is done at the commencement of the yearly
rice-farming. Some man who has the reputation of being fortunate, and
has had large paddy crops, will be the augur, and undertake to obtain
omens for a large area of land on which he and others intend to plant.
The Dyaks begin clearing the ground of jungle and high grass when the
Pleiades appear at a certain height above the horizon at sunset. Some
little time before this the augur sets about his work. He will have to
hear the cry of the _nendak_, the _katupong_, and the _beragai_, all
on his left. If these cries come from birds on his right, they are not
propitious. The cries of the other sacred birds must sound on his right.
He goes forth in the early morning, and wanders about the jungle till the
cry of the _nendak_ is heard on his left. He will then break off a twig
of anything growing near, and take it home and put it in a safe place.
But it may happen that some other omen bird or animal is first to be
seen or heard. In that case he must give the matter up, return, and try
his chance another day. Thus, sometimes several days pass before he has
obtained his first omen. When he has heard the _nendak_, he will then
listen for the _katupong_ and the other birds in the necessary order.
There is always the liability of delays caused by the wrong birds being
heard, and it may possibly be a month or more before he obtains all those
augural predictions, which will give him confidence that his farming for
the year will be successful. When the augur has collected a twig for
each bird he has heard, he takes these to the land selected for farming,
buries them in the ground, and with a short form of address to the birds
and to Pulang Gana—the god of the Earth—clears a small portion of the
ground of grass or jungle, and then returns home. The magic virtues of
the birds have been conveyed to the land, and the work of clearing it for
planting may be begun at any time.
The sacred birds can be bad omens as well as good. If heard on the wrong
side, or in the wrong order, the matter in hand must be postponed or
altogether abandoned, unless a subsequent conjunction of good omens
occurs, which in the judgment of old experts more than counterbalances
the bad omens.
I have mentioned the omens necessary before planting the seed. In a
similar manner, before beginning to build a house, or starting on a war
expedition, or undertaking any new line of action, certain omens are
required if good fortune is to attend them and the Fates be propitious.
For house-building, the cries of the same birds are required, and in the
same order as before planting the seed. But for a war expedition, birds
heard on the right hand are best, except in the case of the _nendak_,
which may be heard either on the right or on the left hand side.
There are, I believe, certain substitutions for this tedious process of
seeking the omens of birds. It is said that for farming, if a piece of
gold be hidden in the ground, the hearing of the proper omen birds may be
dispensed with. If a fowl be sacrificed, and the blood made to drop in a
hole in the earth in which the fowl is afterwards buried, it is said the
gods will be satisfied, and a good harvest ensue. And on the occasion of
a war expedition, if an offering is made with beating of gongs and drums
on starting from the house, it is said that no cries of birds need be
obeyed afterwards. But none of these methods are ever used, the Dyaks
preferring to submit to the tedious procedure of listening to the cries
of the birds.
It is in regard to farming that the practice is most conspicuous. And if
any of these omen birds are heard or seen by the Dyak on his way to his
work on his paddy land, it foretells either good or evil to himself or
to his farm—if good, then all is well, and he goes on his way rejoicing;
if evil, he will at once turn back and wait for the following day before
going to his work again. The _nendak_ foretells good, whether heard on
the right hand or the left; so does the _katupong_; but the _papau_ is
of evil omen, and, if heard, the man must at once beat a retreat. A
_beragai_ heard occasionally does not matter, but if heard frequently,
no work must be done for one day. The _embuas_ heard on the right hand
is very bad, and in order to insure a good harvest, the unlucky man must
not work on his farm for five days. The cry of the _beragai_ acts as an
antidote, and destroys the bad effects of the cries of birds of bad omen.
For instance, the _kutok_ and _katupong_ are both birds of bad omen, but
if after hearing them the cry of a _beragai_ is heard, no evil effects
need be dreaded. If the cry of a deer, a gazelle, or a mouse-deer be
heard, or if a rat crosses the path of a man on his way to his farm, a
day’s rest is necessary, or he will either cut himself, or become ill, or
suffer by failure of his crop.
When a remarkably good omen is heard—one which foretells a plentiful
harvest—the man must go to his farm at once, and do some trifling work
there, and then return, and in this way clench the foreshadowed luck and
at the same time reverence the spirit who promises it. Should a deer, a
gazelle, or a mouse-deer come out of the jungle to the farm when a man is
at work there, it is an exceptionally good omen. It means that customers
will come to buy the paddy, and that therefore the crop will be very
good in order that there may be paddy to sell. They honour this omen by
resting from work for three days.
But the worst of all omens is to find anywhere on the farm the dead body
of any animal, especially if it be that of any animal included in the
omen list. It infuses a deadly poison into the whole crop, and one or
other of the owner’s family will certainly die within the year. When
such a terrible thing happens, the omen is tested by killing a pig, and
divining from the appearance of its liver directly after death. If the
liver be pronounced to be of good omen, then all is well, but if not,
then all the rice grown on that ground must be sold or given away. Other
people may eat it, for the omen affects only those who own the crops.
A way of escaping from the bad effects of omens is sometimes resorted
to. Certain men, who by some peculiar magic influence are credited with
possessing in themselves some occult power which can overcome bad omens,
are able by eating some little thing of the produce of the farm to turn
away the evil prognostication and render it ineffectual. Something grown
on the farm—a little Indian corn or a few cucumber-shoots—is taken to
the man. For a small consideration he eats it raw. By this means he
appropriates to himself the evil omen, which can do him no harm, and thus
delivers the owner of the farm from any possible evil in the future.
The Dyak pays heed to these ominous creatures not only in his farming,
but in all his journeyings and in any kind of work he may be engaged in.
If he be going to visit a friend, the cry of a bird of ill omen will send
him back. If he be engaged in carrying beams from the jungle for his
house, and hear a _kutok_, or _bejampong_, or an _embuas_, he will at
once throw down the piece of timber, and it will be left there for a day
or two, or perhaps abandoned altogether. If at night the inhabitants of
a long Dyak house hear an owl make a peculiar noise called _sabut_, they
will all hastily leave the house in the early morning, and remain away,
living in temporary sheds, for some weeks, and return to the house only
when they hear a _nendak_ or _beragai_ cry on their left. There are many
omens which make a place unfit for habitation—for example, a _beragai_
flying over the house or an armadillo crawling up into it.
So great is the Dyak belief in omens that a man will sometimes abandon a
nearly finished boat simply because a bird of ill omen flies across its
bows. The labour of weeks will thus be wasted. I have myself seen wooden
beams and posts left half finished in the jungle, and have learned on
inquiry that some bird of ill omen was heard while the man was at work on
them, and so they had to be abandoned.
If a _katupong_ flies in at one end of the house and flies out at the
other, it is a bad omen, and the house is often abandoned. On one of my
visits to Sebetan there was great excitement at the Dyak house near mine
because on the previous night a _katupong_ had flown through the house.
Opinions were divided. Some thought the house ought to be abandoned;
others said that if sacrifices were offered, there was no need to desert
the house. My opinion was asked. At that time of the year the Dyak house
was very empty, as most of the families, if not all, would be living on
their farms, and I said: “You have fruit-trees growing thickly all round
your houses, and as you leave your houses empty, I am not surprised at
any bird flying through the house.” My matter-of-fact ideas were not much
approved. As usual in doubtful cases, they sacrificed a pig and examined
its liver. Luckily, the omen was good, so they continued to live in the
house; otherwise, they would have had to leave that house and build
another.
To see a drop of blood on a mat or on the floor of a Dyak house is
considered a bad omen, which sometimes necessitates the abandoning of
the house altogether. I remember hearing a woman of this same house in
Sebetan relate that, after she and the children had had their evening
meal, she was putting away the plates on the rack in the wall, when she
saw a drop of fresh blood on the mat. The Dyaks considered it a most
terrible thing to happen. I was asked what I thought about it. I said
that probably one of the children had a cut finger, and the blood was
from that. The mother was positive the blood was not that of any of her
children. I said that perhaps there was a wounded rat in the roof, and
the blood was from it. I could see that the Dyaks considered me very
ignorant. They told me that they were sure the blood must be that of some
spirit who chose that method of showing his displeasure. It was useless
for me to argue that if the spirit was invisible, his blood must be
invisible, too.
To kill one of these omen creatures, be it bird or insect, is a crime
which will certainly be punished by sickness or death. But this
sacredness of life, it may be noticed, does not apply to the deer, the
gazelle, the mouse-deer, the armadillo, and the iguana, all of which they
freely kill for food. Rats also are killed, as they are great pests. It
would seem that physical requirements are stronger than religious theory.
This is the merest outline of the practice of interpreting omens among
the Dyaks, but it will give some idea of the tediousness of the process.
And the intricacies of the subject are great. The different combinations
of these voices of Nature are endless, and it is difficult to know in
each special case whether the spirits intend to foretell good or bad
fortune. It is not an unusual thing to see old men, industrious and
sensible in ordinary matters of life, sitting down for hours discussing
the probable effect on their destiny of some special combination of omens.
The full Dyak explanation of the origin of this system of listening to
the cries of certain birds is contained in the “Story of Siu” (see p.
278).
Another story tells how some Dyaks in the Batang Lupar made a great
feast, and invited many guests. When everything was ready, and the
arrival of the guests expected, the sound of a great company of people
was heard near the village. The hosts, thinking they were the invited
friends, went to meet them, but to their surprise found they were all
utter strangers. However, they received them with due honour, and
entertained them in a manner suitable to the occasion. When the time of
departure came, they asked the strange visitors who they were, and from
whence they came. Their Chief replied: “I am _Singalang Burong_, and
these are my sons-in-law and their friends. When you hear the voices of
the following birds [giving their names] you must pay heed to them. They
are our deputies in this lower world.” And then the Dyaks understood that
they had been entertaining guests from the Spirit World, who rewarded
their hospitality by giving them the guidance of the omen system.
A favourite way of auguring good or evil among the Dyaks is the old
classical method of examining the entrails of some animal offered in
sacrifice. A pig is killed, and the heart and liver taken out and placed
upon leaves. These organs are handed round to the old men present, who
closely examine them, and pronounce them to augur either good or evil.
This method of augury is often resorted to when the interpretation of the
cries of birds is doubtful.
[Illustration: A DYAK YOUTH HOLDING A SPEAR
He is wearing the usual waistcloth and has also a sleeveless war-jacket
made of skin covered with hair.]
A study of the subject of omens and augury shows the need the Dyak feels,
in common with all mankind, of some guidance from higher and unseen
powers. What is the principle which underlies this system of omens? There
is no doubt a morbid anxiety to know the secrets of the future. But that
is not all. Surely in addition to this there is the hidden conviction
that the gods have some way of revealing their wishes to mankind, and
that obedience to the will of the higher powers is the only way to insure
success and happiness.
The Dyaks place implicit confidence in dreams. Their theory is that
during sleep the soul can hear, see, and understand, and so what is
dreamt is really what the soul sees. When anyone dreams of a distant
land, they believe that his soul has paid a flying visit to that land.
They interpret their dreams literally. The appearance of deceased
relatives in dreams is to the Dyaks a proof that the souls live in
_Sabayan_, and as in the dreams they seem to wear the same dress and to
be engaged in the same occupations as when they lived in this world, it
is difficult to persuade the Dyaks that the life in the other world can
be different from that in this.
In dreams, also, the gods and spirits are supposed to bring charms to
human beings. The story is often told of how a man falls asleep, and
dreams that a spirit came to him and gave certain charms, and lo! when he
awakes, he finds them in his hands. Or else he is told in his dream to go
to a certain spot at a certain time, and take some stone which will have
some mysterious influence for good over his fortunes. Very often these
magic charms, or _pengaroh_, as they are called by the Dyaks, are nothing
more than ordinary black pebbles, but the possession of them is supposed
to endow the owner with exceptional powers.
No doubt Dyaks often concoct dreams out of their waking thoughts to suit
their own interests, and many a man falsely declares he has received the
gift of a charm from some spirit in order to appear of importance before
others.
To conclude, dreams are looked upon by the Dyaks as the means the gods
and spirits use to convey their commands or to warn men of coming danger.
Houses are often deserted, and farming land on which much labour has
been spent abandoned, on account of dreams. Newly-married couples often
separate from the same cause. It is no unusual thing for a man or a woman
to dream that the spirits are hungry and need food. In that case the
inmates of the Dyak house organize a feast, and offerings are made to the
hungry spirits.
Sometimes dreams are made an excuse for evil deeds. A woman who had been
guilty of adultery said she was only carrying out the command of the gods
conveyed to her in a dream, and that if she disobeyed she would probably
become mad!
CHAPTER XIII
THE “MANANG,” OR WITCH-DOCTOR
_Manangs_ supposed to possess mysterious powers over evil
spirits—Dyak theory of disease—Treatment of disease—_Lupong_,
or box of charms—_Batu Ilau_—_Manang_ performances—_Pagar
Api_—Catching the soul—Sixteen different _manang_
ceremonies—Killing the demon _Buyu_—_Saut_—Salampandai—Deceit
of _manangs_—Story of a schoolboy—Smallpox and cholera—Three
ceremonies of initiation—Different ranks of _manangs_.
Among the lower races of mankind there is always to be found the
witch-doctor, who claims to have mysterious powers, and to be able to
hold communication with the spirit-world. Where there is ignorance as
to the cause of disease, and the effects that different medicines have
on the human body, magical ceremonies and pretensions to supernatural
powers are allowed full sway. Fear and anxiety in cases of illness make
men eager to believe in any suggested remedy, however absurd it may be.
The Dyaks are no exception to the rule. They have their _manangs_, or
witch-doctors.
The peculiar attribute of the _manang_ is the possession of mysterious
powers over the spirits, rather than any special knowledge of medicines.
There is often some small idea of the use of certain simple herbal
remedies, but it is not on this knowledge that his importance depends.
The great function of the _manang_ is to defeat and drive away the
malignant spirits which cause sickness and death. All maladies are
supposed to be inflicted by the passing or the touch of demons, who are
enemies to mankind. The Dyak description of most diseases is _pansa
utai_, literally “something passed him.” A spirit passed him and struck
him. In accordance with this idea of disease, the only person who can
cure the sick man is the one who can cope with the unseen evil spirit.
The _manang_ claims to be able to do this. He can charm or persuade
or kill the evil spirit and rescue the departing soul from his cruel
clutches. When called in to attend a patient, he, in company with other
medicine-men, goes through a performance called _Pelian_. There are
different varieties of this ceremony, according to the disease and the
amount of the fees paid.
_Manangs_ are generally called to their profession by a revelation made
to them in dreams by some spirit. Each _manang_, therefore, claims to
have a familiar spirit, whom he can call to his aid when necessary. When
a person receives a call from the spirit, he bids adieu for a while to
his relatives, abandons his former occupations, and attaches himself to
some other experienced _manang_, who, for a consideration, will take him
in hand and instruct him in the incantations, a knowledge of which is
necessary for his calling.
The _manang_ looks upon a sick person as in the power of an evil spirit.
As long as that spirit remains in possession, the patient cannot recover.
He bids it depart. If it be obstinate and will not go, he summons his
own familiar spirit to his aid. If the evil spirit still refuse to go,
then the _manang_ admits his inability to deal with the case alone, and
several other _manangs_ are called to his aid.
Whether the patient live or die, the _manang_ is rewarded for his
trouble. He makes sure of this before he undertakes a case, as he is put
to considerable inconvenience by being fetched away from his own home and
his own work. He takes up his abode with the patient, and has his meals
with the family, and in other ways makes himself at home. If a cure be
effected, he receives a present in addition to his regular fee. Herbal
remedies are often administered internally or applied outwardly by him,
but, in addition to these, spells are muttered and incantations made to
exorcize the evil spirit that is tormenting the man.
Every _manang_ consults his familiar spirit as to what is best to be done
for the case. When a person complains of pain in his body, the familiar
is said to suggest that some mischievous spirit has put something into
him to cause the pain. The _manang_ will then manipulate the part, and
pretend to draw something out—a small piece of wood or a stone, or
whatever it may chance to be—and exhibit it as the cause of the pain in
the body. This he has by his magical power been able to remove from the
body without even leaving a mark on the skin!
The _manang_ always possesses a _lupong_, or medicine-box (see p. 184),
generally made of the bark of a tree, and this is filled with charms
consisting of scraps of wood or bark, curiously twisted roots, pebbles,
and fragments of quartz. These medicinal charms are either inherited,
or have been revealed by the spirits in dreams to their owners. One
important and necessary charm is the _Batu Ilau_ (“stone of light”)—a bit
of quartz crystal which every _manang_ possesses.
The _manang_ never carries his own box of charms; the people who fetch
him must carry it for him. He arrives at the house of the sick man
generally at sunset, for he never performs in daylight, unless the case
is very serious and he is paid extra for doing so. It is difficult and
dangerous work, he says, to have any dealings with the spirits in the
daytime. Sitting down by the patient, after some inquiries, he produces
out of his medicine-box a boar’s tusk or pebble, or some other charm, and
gently strokes the body with it. If there be several medicine-men called
in, the leader undertakes the preliminary examination, the rest giving
their assent.
The _manang_ now produces his _Batu Ilau_ (“stone of light”), and gravely
looks into it to diagnose the character of the disease, and to see where
the soul is, and to discover what is the proper ceremony necessary for
the case in question. Where there is serious illness the witch-doctor
affirms that the spirit of the afflicted person has already left the body
and is on its way to the next world, but that he may be able to overtake
it and bring it back, and restore it to the person to whom it belongs.
He pretends to converse with the spirit that troubles the sick man,
repeating aloud the answers that the spirit is supposed to make.
There are many different ceremonies resorted to in cases of illness, but
the following is what is common to all _manang_ performances.
In the public hall of the Dyak house a long-handled spear is fixed blade
upwards, with a few leaves tied round it, and at its foot are placed the
medicine-boxes of all the witch-doctors who take part in the ceremony.
This is called the _Pagar Api_ (“fence of fire”). Why it is called by
this curious name is not clear. The _manangs_ all squat on the floor,
and the leader begins a long monotonous drawl, the rest either singing
in concert or joining in the choruses or singing antiphonally with him.
After a tiresome period of this dull drawling, they stand up and march
with slow and solemn step in single file round the _Pagar Api_. The
monotonous chant sometimes slackens, sometimes quickens, as they march
round and round the whole night through, with only one interval for
food in the middle of the night. The patient simply lies on his mat and
listens.
Most of what is chanted is unintelligible, and consists of meaningless
sounds, it being supposed that what is not understood by man is
intelligible to the spirits. But some parts of it, though expressed
in very prolix and ornate language, can be understood by the careful
listener.
The witch-doctors call upon the sickness to be off to the ends of the
earth, and return to the unseen regions from whence it came. They invoke
the aid of spirits and of ancient worthies and unworthies down to their
own immediate ancestors, and spin the invocation out to a sufficient
length to last till early morning. Then comes the climax to which all
this has been leading—the truant soul has to be caught and brought back
again to the body of the sick man.
If the patient be in a dangerous state they pretend his soul has escaped
far away. Perhaps they give out that it has escaped to the river, and
they will wave about a garment or a piece of woven cloth to imitate the
action of throwing a casting net to enclose it as a fish is caught. Or
else they say that it has escaped into the jungle, and they will rush
out of the house to secure it there. Or perhaps they say that it has
been carried over the sea to unknown lands, and they all sit down and
imitate the action of paddling a boat to follow it. But this is only
done in special cases, and I have often been told by Dyaks who have been
present at a particular _manang_ performance: “The man was very ill
indeed. His _samengat_ (soul) had gone so far away that the _manangs_ had
great difficulty in finding it. They paddled over the sea, they threw
a net into the water, and did many other things before they ultimately
succeeded in catching it.”
Generally the next thing they do is to move faster and faster, till they
rush round the _Pagar Api_ as hard as they can, still singing their
incantation. One of their number suddenly falls to the floor and remains
motionless. The others sit down round him. The motionless _manang_ is
covered over with a blanket, and all wait while his spirit is supposed
to hurry away to the other world to find the wandering soul and bring
it back. Presently he revives, and looks vacantly round like a man just
waking out of sleep. Then he raises his right hand, clenched as if
holding something. That hand contains the soul, and he proceeds to the
patient and solemnly returns it to the body of the sick man through the
crown of his head, muttering at the same time more words of incantation.
This “catching of the soul” (_nangkap samengat_) is the great end to
which all that has preceded leads up. One function remains to complete
the cure. A live fowl must be waved over the patient, and as he does
so, the leader sings a special invocation of great length. The animal
is afterwards killed as an offering to the spirits, and eaten by the
_manangs_.
I have given a general account of all _Pelian_ or _manang_ performances.
There are different kinds of ceremonies, according to the advice of the
_manang_ or the fee the patient is prepared to pay. In the following list
are the names of the principal _Pelian_. If a patient fail to recover
after one kind of ceremony, the _manangs_ often recommend another and
more expensive one.
1. _Betepas_ (“sweeping”): At the time of the birth of each individual, a
plant is supposed to grow up in the other world. If this plant continues
to grow well, then the man enjoys good and robust health; if it droops,
the man’s health suffers. When a man, therefore, has bad dreams or feels
slightly unwell for a few days, his plant in Hades is said to be in a bad
condition, and the _manang_ is called to weed and sweep around it, and by
doing so improve the condition of the plant, and consequently the health
of the man. This is the first and cheapest function of the _manang_. In
this he does not “catch the soul,” as is done in the other ceremonies.
All he does is to mutter some incantation and wave a fowl over the person.
2. _Berenchah_ (“making an assault”): The door between the private room
and the public veranda is thrown open, and the _manangs_ march backwards
and forwards between room and veranda. Each _manang_ carries two swords,
one in each hand, and he beats these against each other, and they rush at
the patient as if to attack him. This is supposed to be making an assault
against the evil spirits and scattering them on all sides.
3. _Berua_ (“swinging”): A swing is hung up outside the door of the sick
person’s room. The _manang_ sits in this swing, with the double object of
catching the man’s soul, if it leave his body, and also of frightening
any evil spirit that may come near to hurt the man.
4. _Betanam pentik_ (“planting a _pentik_”): A _pentik_ is a roughly
carved wooden representation of a man. The _manang_ rushes through
the house three times with this figure, and then plants it in the
ground at the foot of the ladder of the house, and near it is put a
winnowing-basket, a cooking-pot, and the piece of wood used in weaving to
press the threads together. The figure is planted in the ground in the
evening. If it remain till the morning in an upright position, recovery
is certain; but if it be inclined either to the right or left, it is an
omen of death.
5. _Bepancha_ (“making a _pancha_”): A _pancha_ is a swing erected on the
tanju, or open-air platform, of the house. In this swing the _manang_
sits, and by the movement of his feet “kicks away” the disease. While
seated in this swing he “catches the soul” of the patient.
6. _Ngelembayan_ (“taking a long sight”): A number of planks are laid
about in the public veranda, and the _manangs_ walk upon them, chanting
their incantations. Then one of their number pretends to swoon, and is
supposed to sail over rivers and seas to find the soul and bring it back.
7. _Bebayak_ (“making a _bayak_, or iguana”): Some cooked rice is moulded
into the shape of an iguana, and is covered over with cloths. This figure
is supposed to eat up the evil spirits which cause the disease.
8. _Nemuai Ka Sabayan_ (“making a journey to Hades”): The _manangs_,
with hats on their heads, march up and down the house singing their
incantations. While their bodies are doing this, their souls are supposed
to speed away to Hades and bring back all manner of medicinal charms and
talismans, as well as the wandering soul of the sick man.
9. _Betiang garong_ (“making a post for departed souls”): A piece of
bamboo is hung up to the roof-ridge, and an offering is put on the
ridge. A swing is erected up there for the _manang_, and he makes his
incantations and “catches the soul.”
10. _Begiling lantai_ (“rolled up in the flooring”): In this ceremony,
when the _manang_ feigns to swoon, his body is rolled up in part of the
flooring, and certain miniature articles are put by his side, just as a
dead man’s possessions are put by his body, and the _manang_ is taken out
of the house as if to be buried.
11. _Beburong raia_ (“making or acting the adjutant bird”): The _manangs_
walk up and down the house seven times, imitating the actions of the
adjutant bird. They are covered with native sheets, put over their bodies
like cloaks, and they pretend to personate the bird.
12. _Bebaju besi_ (“wearing an iron coat”): Each _manang_ fastens two
choppers on his back and two in front, and carries one in each hand. Thus
equipped, they walk round and “catch the soul.”
13. _Bebandong Api_ (“displaying fire”): The patient is laid out in the
public part of the house, and several small fires are made round him. The
_manangs_ pretend to dissect his body, and fan the flames towards him to
drive away the sickness.
14. _Betiti tendai_ (“walking on the _tendai_”): The _tendai_ is the
bar on which cotton is placed when being spun. This bar is oiled and
placed in the middle of the public veranda, and the _manang_, armed with
a chopper in each hand, walks on it in order to “catch the soul” of the
patient.
15. _Beremaung_ (“acting the tiger”): In the middle of each family’s
portion of the public veranda is placed a wooden mortar, and the _manang_
prowls round them to “catch the soul” of the patient.
16. _Betukup rarong_ (“to split open the coffin”): A _manang_ is put in a
coffin, and by his side are put miniature articles, supposed to represent
the utensils used in daily life. The other _manangs_ walk round, and
attempt to “catch the soul” of the sick man. When they have succeeded in
doing this, the coffin is split open and the _manang_ gets out.
These are the different kinds of _manang_ ceremonies known, but only the
first four are in common use. The others are rarely resorted to nowadays.
In addition to these must be mentioned the _Munoh Antu_, or _Bepantap
Buyu_ (“killing the demon,” or “wounding Buyu”). Buyu is the name of the
evil spirit who brings many diseases and causes miscarriage in women.
When there is some unusual or obstinate disease, or when a woman has had
miscarriage, the _manangs_ declare that Buyu is the cause of the trouble,
and must be killed. A large number of witch-doctors are called together,
and the feat is performed in this way: The patient is taken out of the
room, and laid on the common veranda, and covered with a net. In the room
is placed an offering of food, and the _manangs_ walk in procession up
and down the whole length of the house, chanting their incantations, and
inviting the evil spirit to come to his victim, and also to partake of
the sumptuous repast that is prepared for him. This occupies some time,
for the spirit may be far away, on a journey, or fishing, or hunting.
All lights are extinguished, and in the darkness the _manangs_ walk up
and down the public hall of the Dyak house. At intervals one of them
peeps in at the door to see if the spirit has arrived. In due time the
demon comes, and then the _manangs_ themselves enter the darkened room.
Presently sounds of scuffling, of clashing of weapons, and of shouting
are heard by the Dyaks outside. Soon after the door is thrown open, and
the demon said to be dead. He was cheated into coming to torment his
prey, and instead of a weak and helpless victim he met the crafty and
mighty _manangs_, who have done what ordinary mortals cannot do—attacked
and killed him. As a proof of the reality of the deed lights are
brought in, and the _manangs_ point to spots of blood on the floor, and
occasionally to the corpse itself in the shape of a dead monkey or snake,
which they say was the form the spirit took for the occasion. The trick
is a very simple one. Some time in the day the _manangs_ procure blood
from a fowl or some other animal, or it may be from their own bodies,
mix it with water in a bamboo to prevent congealing, smuggle it into the
room, and scatter it on the floor in the dark. This can safely be done,
as no one but the _manangs_ themselves are in the room. Neither lights
nor outsiders are admitted, on the plea that under such circumstances the
demon could not be enticed to enter. The trick has often been detected
and the performers openly accused of imposture; consequently, it is not
now practised so often as in former times. When this victory over the
spirit is won, the _Pelian_ goes on in the usual way till the morning
hours.
In addition to these _Pelian_, there is another _manang_ ceremony which
is often performed, and known by the name of _Saut_. A feast is always
given in the house where this ceremony takes place, so it is the occasion
of the gathering of friends from many different Dyak houses. The reasons
for having this ceremony are various. If they have had a series of bad
harvests, or if one or more people in the house are ill, or if they wish
the future of one child or many to be bright and prosperous, then the
_manangs_ are called in to perform the _Saut_.
The principal god or deity invoked in this ceremony is Selampandai, the
god who fashions mankind out of clay by hammering them out on an anvil.
As in other performances of the _manangs_, there is a _Pagar Api_ put up
in the open veranda. The ceremony begins at dusk, when three offerings of
food are made. The first is to the gods of the women, and this is thrown
out of the window of the room to the ground; the second offering is made
to the gods of the men, and is thrown out to the ground from the unroofed
veranda in front of the house; the third offering is to Selampandai, and
this is put in the loft over the _Pagar Api_.
Areca-nut blossoms are placed ready for use on a little shelf, and three
plates of rice are put near them as offerings to the spirits. A large
valuable jar (_tajau_) filled with native spirit (_tuak_) is placed in
the public veranda of the house. If there be a sick man to be cured, he
sits on a brass gong (_chanang_) by the _Pagar Api_. The _manangs_ march
up and down singing their incantations. After doing this for some time,
each of them takes a bunch of areca-blossom in his hands, and they strike
each other with these until the blossoms are broken and strew the ground.
Then the _manangs_ walk slowly round the jar, bowing to it at each step.
After this they join hands, and rush round the jar as fast as they can
go, until they are quite exhausted.
During this the guests who have been invited to the feast are seated
about eating and drinking, or chatting to each other. Later on in the
evening, when the _manangs_ have completed their ceremony, the _tuak_ in
the jar is handed round in cups for the guests to drink. As usual at
feasts, when a cup of spirit is given to a man, he drinks the contents
and keeps the cup, and it is no unusual thing to see a man returning from
a feast with twenty or thirty cups in his possession.
There is a good deal of deceit and humbug and a little clumsy
sleight-of-hand on the part of the _manang_, and an unlimited amount of
faith on the part of the patient. The _manang_ must be conscious of his
own deceit, but he believes that his incantations do good, and I have
often known cases of _manangs_ having these ceremonies for members of
their own family who are ill. But as a rule a _manang_ is not a truthful
man at all. He is not above telling any number of lies to increase his
importance. He always pretends to have had previous knowledge of what is
going to happen, and often says, when he is called in to a case, that he
knew some time previously that his patient would be ill and come to him
for help.
There can be no doubt that the average Dyak knows that there is a great
deal of deceit connected with the _manang’s_ profession, but he also
knows he must submit to that deceit if he wishes to have his help, and he
believes that in some way the incantations and remarkable actions of the
_manangs_ help to scare away the evil spirit which is the cause of the
disease.
I remember that one of my schoolboys was on a visit to his relatives in
Saribas. His sister was ill, and his parents sent for the _manangs_ to
cure her. The boy protested. He said they were Christians, and ought not
to make incantations to the spirits. But no notice was taken of what he
said. The _manang_ went through the usual farce of “catching the soul”
and restoring it to the girl. The boy looked on, and when it was over
said to him:
“You are a fraud. You know you cannot ‘catch the soul,’ and you only
pretend to do so, and get paid for it.”
The _manang_ was no doubt disgusted at being thus reproved by a little
boy, and replied:
“I am able to catch the soul and restore it. I will catch your soul if
you like.”
“Do so,” said the boy. “I would like you very much to do it.”
The foolish _manang_ pretended to faint; then he woke up in the orthodox
manner with one hand clenched, and when he opened it, lo and behold!
there was something there which he declared was the boy’s soul.
The boy sat and looked on while all this went on.
“Here is your soul,” the _manang_ said, “which I have succeeded in
catching after much troubled. Let me restore it to you, so that you may
be in good health.”
“Call that my soul?” said the boy. “I make a present of it to you. I do
not want it. You can keep it. I have a soul which you cannot touch.”
The _manang_ was puzzled. He had never known such a thing as anyone
daring to refuse to have his own soul. He spoke to the parents, and said
that something terrible would happen to the boy if he persisted in not
having his soul returned to his body. The parents wished the boy to do
what the _manang_ desired, but he was determined, and did what all Dyak
boys do when they are disobedient—ran off into the jungle, where he knew
he would not easily be found.
When this boy came back to my school, he told me all about it, and later
on, when he and I went to his people, they spoke about it. As the boy was
in very good health, they all had a laugh at the _manang’s_ expense. If,
however, anything had happened to the boy, no doubt the _manang_ would
have made much capital out of it.
I have sometimes argued with a _manang_ that if the soul has already left
the body of the patient when he is called in, then the man ought to be
dead. The answer to this is that a man has more than one soul. It is only
when _all_ his souls leave the body that the man dies. Some Dyaks assert
that a man has three souls, and others seven. Their ideas on this matter
do not agree.