“I cannot,” said the Mouse-Deer, “because the King has asked me to watch

his gong,” pointing to the bee’s-nest.

“Is that the King’s gong?” said the Deer. “I should like to strike it to

hear what it sounds like.”

“So you may,” said the Mouse-Deer, “only let me get down and go to some

distance before you do so, as the noise would deafen me.”

So the Mouse-Deer sprang down and ran away. The Deer took a long stick

and struck the bee’s-nest, and the bees flew out angrily and stung him to

death.

The Pig, seeing what had happened, pursued the Mouse-Deer, determined to

avenge the death of his friend. He found his enemy taking refuge on a

tree round the trunk of which was a large python curled.

“Come down,” said the Pig, “and I will kill you.”

“I cannot come down to-day. I am set here to watch the King’s girdle.

Look at it,” he said, pointing to the Python. “Is it not pretty? I have

never seen such a handsome waist-belt before.”

“It is beautiful,” said the Pig. “How I should like to wear it for one

day!”

“So you may,” said the Mouse-Deer, “but be careful, and do not spoil it.”

So the foolish Pig entangled himself in the folds of the Python, who

soon crushed him to death and ate him for his dinner, and the clever

Mouse-Deer escaped, having outwitted his enemies.

SEA DYAK PROVERBS.

King Solomon, we are told, “spake three thousand proverbs,” and many of

these, as well as proverbs of an older date, have been handed down to us

in a more or less authentic form. A translation of them into English is

to be found in a well-known book. King Solomon was perhaps the first to

make a collection of proverbs, but long before his time proverbs were

in common use. It would seem that in every age and in every clime the

existence of language is accompanied by the existence of proverbs.

The Sea Dyaks have their proverbs, and these remind us of the lines:—

“Turn, turn thy wheel! The human race,

Of every tongue, of every place,

Caucasian, Coptic, or Malay,

All that inhabit this great earth,

Whatever be their rank or worth,

Are kindred and allied by birth,

And made of the same clay.”

It is impossible to imagine two nationalities so far removed from each

other in every respect as the English and the Dyak, and yet, when we

come to consider their proverbs, we find that they join hands and stand

on common ground. Allowing for difference in environment, and consequent

difference of similes, the ideas expressed in many Dyak proverbs is

precisely similar to that of some well known among the English.

The three following examples, taken from among many others, which are

often used by the Dyaks of the present day, will illustrate what I mean:—

_Remaung di rumah, rawong di tanah_ (“A tiger in the house, [but] a frog

in the field”). A lion in council, but a lamb in action.

_Kasih ka imbok, enda kasih ka manok_ (“To show kindness to the wild

pigeon, [but] not to show kindness to the domestic fowl”). Charity begins

at home.

_Lari ka ribut nemu ujan, lari ka sungkup nemu pendam_ (“Running from the

hurricane, he encounters the rain; running from a tombstone, he finds

himself in a graveyard”). Out of the frying-pan into the fire.

Necessarily, a great deal in human life changes as the years roll on.

Science grows, knowledge increases, society makes its way to new forms of

organization, and the outward fashions of life pass away, and new ones

take their place. All this is obvious and inevitable. And so there must

of necessity be many points of difference between primitive races and

races high up in the scale of civilization. Yet in human life there are

certain things which are always the same. Underneath what is variable in

man there is that which never changes. Now and again we catch glimpses

of this as we read some ancient author, and find that across the gap of

ages lived one who, thousands of years ago, in some respects, at least,

thought as we think and felt as we feel. The radical fundamental thoughts

and passions of mankind all over the world, in every age, are much

the same; and so, after consideration, it ought not to be a matter of

surprise to find that some of the Sea Dyak proverbs convey precisely the

same ideas as the proverbs of the English.

CHAPTER XXII

THREE DYAK LEGENDS

Dyak fairy-tales and legends—I. DANJAI AND THE WERE-TIGER’S

SISTER—II. THE STORY OF SIU, who first taught the Dyaks to

observe the omens of birds—III. PULANG GANA, and how he came to

be worshipped as the god of the earth.

There are many fairy-tales and legends known to the Sea Dyaks of the

present day. As they have no written language, these have been handed

down by word of mouth from generation to generation from ancient times.

These tales and legends may be divided into two classes:—

1. Those purely fabulous, and related as such, which are simply meant

to interest and amuse, and in these respects resemble the fairy-tales

familiar to us all.

2. And those believed to be perfectly true, and to record events which

have actually taken place, which are the traditions respecting their

gods and preternatural beings. These form, in fact, the mythology of the

Dyaks. To this latter class belong the many and varied adventures of

_Klieng_, the great warrior hero of ancient times, and his wife _Kumang_,

the Dyak Venus, as well as the traditions relating to the gods believed

in by the Dyaks of the present day. To these must be added certain

stories which give a reason for some of the curious customs observed by

the Dyaks. The three myths which follow belong to this latter class. The

Dyak legends are fast being forgotten, and I had the greatest difficulty

in obtaining the few here preserved.

I. DANJAI AND THE WERE-TIGER’S SISTER.

Once upon a time there lived a great Chief named Danjai. He was the head

of one of the longest Dyak houses that were ever built. It was situated

on a hill in the midst of a large plantation of fruit trees. Danjai was

said to be very rich indeed. He possessed much farming land, many fruit

trees, many _tapang_ trees, where the wild bees made their abode, and

from which the sweet honey is obtained, and in his room there were many

valuable jars of various kinds, and also a large number of brass vessels;

for the Dyaks convert their wealth into jars and brassware to hand down

to posterity. Every year he obtained a plentiful harvest of paddy,[2]

much more than he and his family could consume, and he had always much

paddy for sale, so much so that the news of his wealth travelled to

distant lands, and many from afar off would come and buy paddy from him.

Danjai also possessed many slaves, who were ready to help him in his work.

All the people in his house had a very high opinion of his judgment,

and were ready to obey his decisions, whenever he settled any of their

disputes. So great indeed was his reputation for wisdom that men from

distant villages would often consult him and ask his advice when in

any difficulty. He had also great fame as a brave warrior, and during

expeditions against the enemy, he was the leader of the men of his own

village and of many villages around, for all liked to follow such a brave

man as Danjai, who was sure to lead them to victory. Over the fireplace

in his veranda he had, hanging together in a bunch, the dried heads of

the enemies whom he himself had killed.

Now this man Danjai had a very pretty wife whom he had recently married,

but the marriage feast had not been held, because he had not yet obtained

a human head from the enemy as a token of his love for her: for this girl

was of good birth and a Chief’s daughter, and wanted the whole world to

know, when they attended her marriage feast, what a brave man her husband

was. One day Danjai said to his young wife: “I will hold a meeting of the

Chiefs around, and tell them that we must all get our war-boats ready, as

I intend leading an expedition against the enemy. I should like to bring

you a human head as a token of my love, so that you may not be ashamed of

your husband. And as soon as I return, we will have the wedding feast.”

Though his wife was sorry that her husband intended leaving her, still

she did not oppose his wishes, for she wished him to come back covered

with glory. So a council of war was held, and Danjai told the assembled

Chiefs what he intended to do, and it was decided that all should begin

at once making war-boats, which were to be ready in two months’ time.

Assisted by his slaves and followers, Danjai had been at work at his boat

for several weeks, and it was nearly finished. It was a beautiful boat

made out of the trunk of one large tree, and Danjai was proud of his

work. He was so anxious to finish his boat that one day he started very

early in the morning, before his breakfast was ready, and he asked his

wife to bring his food to him later on to the part of the jungle where he

was working at his boat.

Accordingly, Mrs. Danjai cooked the food and ate her own breakfast. Then

she made up a small bundle of rice and also put together some fish and

salt, and placed all in a little basket to take to her husband. She had

never been out in the jungle by herself before, but she was not afraid,

for her husband had told her the way, and she could hear the sound of his

adze as he worked at his boat not very far off. She hung her basket over

her left shoulder, and, holding her small knife in her right hand, went

cheerfully on. Presently she came to the stump of a tree on which was

placed a bunch of ripe _sibau_ fruit. They looked so tempting that she

could not help eating some of them, and as they were very nice, she put

what remained in her basket, saying to herself: “Perhaps Danjai forgot to

take these with him and left them here. I will take them to him myself;

he will no doubt be glad to eat these ripe fruits after his hard work.”

Now there was in this land a Were-Tiger, that was much feared by all

who lived around. He had the appearance of a man, but at times would

transform himself into a tiger, and then he would attack human beings

and carry off their heads as trophies to his own house. But he never

attacked any unless they had first done wrong by taking something which

belonged to him. So this Were-Tiger would leave tempting fruit by the

side of jungle paths, and on the stumps of trees, in the hope that some

tired traveller would take and eat them. And if anyone ate such fruit,

then he or she was doomed to be killed by him that same day. But all knew

about him, and though he placed many tempting baits in all parts of the

jungle, no one touched his fruit, for all feared the fate which awaited

them if they did any such things. But Danjai’s wife knew nothing about

the Were-Tiger. No one had told her of him, and she had never been out

before in the jungle by herself, and she had never been warned not to

touch any fruit she might find lying about.

“Oh, Danjai,” she said, as soon as she met her husband, “I am afraid I am

rather late. You must be very tired and hungry, working the whole morning

at your boat without having had anything to eat. Never mind! Here is your

breakfast at last.” And she handed the basket which contained his food to

her husband.

Now Danjai was really very hungry, so he was glad to see his food had

arrived. He thanked his wife, and at once began to empty the basket.

The first thing he saw was the ripe _sibau_ fruit at the top, and he

asked his wife where she got them from. She told him she had found them

on the stump of a tree by the wayside, and she said she thought they had

been left there by him. She added with a smile that they were very good,

as she had eaten some herself.

Then Danjai, brave man though he was, turned pale with fear and anxiety.

“We must not linger here a moment,” he said to his wife. “Hungry though

I am, I will not eat my food here. We must both hurry home at once. You

have taken and eaten fruit belonging to the Were-Tiger, so much feared by

all. It is said that whoever touches his fruit will surely die a terrible

death: and you are the first person I know who has done so.”

[Illustration: A DYAK WOMAN IN EVERYDAY COSTUME

She is wearing a necklace of small silver current coins, fastened

together with silver links. The bangles are hollow, and of silver or

brass, made separately, but worn several together on each wrist. The two

favourite colours for petticoats are blue and red. The red petticoat, as

in the picture, has often a design in white worked or woven into it.]

Danjai hurriedly gathered together all his tools and told those that were

with him of his trouble, and they all started and walked silently back.

Danjai was wondering how he was to avert the fate which awaited his young

wife. She was silent, because she saw her husband was troubled, and she

was sorry that she had caused him grief.

As soon as they arrived at the house, Danjai sent for all the men round

about and told them what had happened, how his wife had taken and eaten

the fruit of the Were-Tiger. He begged them all to help to shield her,

for the Were-Tiger was sure to have his revenge, and come and take the

head of his wife.

So they all prepared themselves for the tiger’s visit by sharpening

their knives and spears. Some men placed themselves on the roof of the

house, others in the veranda. The ladder leading up to the house was also

guarded, and so were all parts of the house by which he was likely to

force an entrance. As for Danjai’s wife, they hid her beneath some mats

and sheets in the room, and twelve brave men stood round her with their

swords drawn, ready to save her life even at the cost of their own.

Just before dark they heard the roar of the tiger in the distance. Though

still a long way off, the sound was very terrible to hear, and the men

all grasped their swords and spears firmly, for they knew the tiger would

soon be upon them.

Once more the tiger’s roar sounded, nearer and clearer, and then they

heard him crash through the leaf-thatch roof and fall into the room.

There was a great commotion among the men, but though all tried to kill

the animal, none could see him. Soon after they heard a roar of triumph

from the tiger outside the house. They lifted up the mats and sheets

which covered Danjai’s wife, and there they saw her headless body! The

Were-Tiger had succeeded in his attack, and had carried off the head of

his victim!

Loud was the weeping and great the lamentation over her dead body. She

was so young to die! And what death could be more terrible than hers

whose head had been carried away by her murderer! All in the house

mourned her loss for seven days, and during that time the house was very

quiet, as all lived in their separate rooms, and did not come out into

the common veranda to do work or to talk to each other.

The death of his wife grieved Danjai very much. But though his grief was

great, his desire for revenge was greater still.

Very early on the morning of the next day Danjai started after the tiger.

The drops of blood which had fallen could plainly be seen on the ground,

and he had no difficulty in finding out in what direction the tiger had

gone. On and on he tracked the blood till he came to a cave at the foot

of a high mountain. The sides of the cave were splashed with blood, so

Danjai walked boldly in, determined to revenge the death of his wife. It

was not very dark in the cave. In the distance he could see an opening,

and he hurried towards it.

He came out on the other side of the mountain, and saw a large plantation

of sugar-cane and plantain-trees. Beyond this he saw a long Dyak house.

“This,” he said to himself, “is surely the abode of the Were-Tiger, and

soon I shall have an opportunity of revenging the death of my wife.”

He planted two sticks one across the other in the ground to mark the

opening in the mountain, so that he might not miss his way on his return,

and then he boldly walked towards the house.

He followed a path through the sugar-cane plantation—still tracking the

drops of blood upon the ground—until he came to the ladder leading up to

the house. He was so anxious to attack his wife’s murderer that he did

not pause to ask—as is the usual Dyak custom—whether he might walk up

or not, but went straight on into the house. Men sitting in the veranda

asked him, as he passed them, where he was going and what he wanted, but

he did not answer them. His heart was heavy within him, thinking of his

dead wife, and wondering if he would be able to accomplish his task,

and whether he would succeed in leaving the house as easily as he came

in. But he was determined to avenge his wife’s murder, and he would not

shrink from any difficulties in the way.

He stopped at the room of the headman of the house, and a girl asked him

to sit down, and spread a mat for him. He did so, and the girl went into

the room to fetch the brass vessel containing the betel-nut ingredients

which the Dyaks love to chew. As he sat down, he saw drops of blood on

the fireplace, and, looking up, he noticed a fresh head, still dripping

with blood, among the other skulls hanging there. He recognized it at a

glance—it was the head of his loved wife!

The girl came out with the brass vessel of betel-nut, and said: “Help

yourself, Danjai. We did not expect you to visit us so soon. Please

excuse me for a while; I have to attend to the cooking. But you will

not be alone, for my brother will soon be back. He has only gone to the

plantation to fetch some sugar-cane.”

So Danjai sat on the mat by himself, thinking what he was to do next,

and what he was to say to his wife’s murderer when he came in. Soon the

Were-Tiger arrived, carrying on his shoulder a bundle of sugar-cane.

“I am very pleased to see you, Danjai,” he said. “Would you like some

sugar-cane? If so, help yourself.”

Danjai was so sad thinking of his wife that he did not notice how curious

it was that they should know his name when they had never seen him

before. He did not feel at all inclined to eat sugar-cane, but lest his

host should think he had come to kill, and to put him off his guard, he

pretended to eat a little. He heard the Were-Tiger say to his sister in

the room that she was to be sure to have enough food cooked, as Danjai

would eat with them that evening. Then he left them and went to the river

to bathe.

The sister came out of the room, and spoke to Danjai, who was still

sitting in the veranda, and asked him to come into the room, as she had

something to say to him.

“Yes, Danjai,” she said to him in a kind tone of voice, “I know of your

trouble and I am sorry for you. However, if you follow my advice, all

will be well. You must be careful, for my brother is easily put out, and

has no scruples about killing any who displease him. Our own people here

hate him, for he is so merciless; but no one dares attack him, for all

fear him greatly. Now listen attentively to what I have to say. When I

put out the plates of rice in the room presently, do not take the one

he tells you to have: take any of the others, for the one he wishes you

to have is sure to contain some poison. Later on, when you retire to

rest, do not spend the night on the mat spread out for you, but sleep

somewhere else, and put the wooden mortar for pounding paddy on the mat

in your stead; and so again on the second night, place the wooden mill

for husking the paddy on your mat; and on the third night a roll of the

coarse matting used for treading paddy. If his three attempts to kill

you are unsuccessful, then he will be in your power, and will do what

you command. But even then there is still danger, and you must not do

anything rash, but ask my advice again later on. But go outside now into

the veranda, for I think I hear my brother returning from his bath. I

must make haste and put out the food for you all to eat.”

Soon the Were-Tiger came in, and, sitting on the mat by Danjai, asked him

the news and how matters were in his country. Danjai answered little,

for he was very sad; besides, his host always laughed at him whenever he

spoke. The fact was that he was amused at the idea of the man whose wife

he had killed sitting in his veranda and talking to him in a friendly way.

The sister came out of the room and asked them in to have their meal. All

happened as she said it would. Danjai remembered her advice, and did not

take the plate of rice his host offered him. But he was too sad to eat

much.

In the evening Danjai and the Were-Tiger sat by a fire in the veranda.

Over this fire hung several human heads. The tears came into Danjai’s

eyes as he sat there and saw the head of his dear wife being scorched by

the fire. He felt inclined there and then to grasp his sword and attack

her murderer; but he restrained himself, remembering the advice of the

Tiger’s sister.

The Were-Tiger said to him with a nasty laugh: “What is troubling you

that you should weep?”

“I am not troubled about anything,” said Danjai; “but the smoke of the

fire is too much for my eyes, and it makes them water and feel sore.”

“If so,” said his host, “let us put out the fire and retire to rest, as

it is very late.”

Two mats were spread out for them, one on each side of the fireplace, and

they lay down to sleep. But Danjai kept awake, and when his companion was

asleep, he rose and placed the wooden mortar for pounding paddy on his

mat, and covered it over with a sheet; and he himself retired to a safe

place, as he was advised to do by the Tiger’s sister. He watched to see

what would happen, and he was not disappointed. Not long after, he saw

the Were-Tiger wake up and fetch a sword, and walk up to the place where

he was supposed to be asleep. With the sword he made two or three vicious

cuts at the wooden mortar, and said:

“Now, Danjai, this will settle you. You will not think of revenging

yourself on me any more.”

Then Danjai cried out from where he was: “What is the matter? What are

you doing?”

“Oh, Danjai! Is that you?” said his host. “I did not mean to hurt you. I

had a bad dream, and I sometimes walk in my sleep. How lucky it is you

were not lying on the mat! I should have certainly killed you, and I

should never have forgiven myself for doing so. Please understand I meant

no harm to you, and let us lie down to rest again.”

On the two following nights the Were-Tiger attempted to kill Danjai, but

failed each time, because, following the advice given him, Danjai placed

first the wooden mill for husking the paddy on his mat, and next a roll

of coarse matting used for treading paddy. His host made the same excuse

for his strange behaviour each time.

On the morning of the fourth day, after the Were-Tiger had left the house

to see whether any fish had been caught in his fish-trap, his sister

asked Danjai to come into the room, as she had something to say to him

before he left to return home.

“Now, Danjai,” she said, “as I told you before, since my brother has

not been able to kill you these three days, he is in your power. After

breakfast ask him to accompany you and show you the way back to your

country. When you have both come to the farther end of the sugar-cane

plantation, beg him to sit down for a little while, and say you would

like to eat some sugar-cane before you leave him and go on your journey

alone. When he gives you the sugar-cane, ask him to lend you his sword,

giving as an excuse that yours is not sharp enough for peeling the

sugar-cane, or that it is stuck fast in its sheath and cannot be drawn.

When he hands you his sword, you must attack him with it and kill him.

My brother is invulnerable to any other sword but his own. When you have

killed him, cut off his head and bring it to me, and I will give you your

wife’s head in exchange for it.”

A few minutes after this conversation the Were-Tiger returned with a

basket full of fish. Some of these were soon cooked, and they sat down to

breakfast.

Soon after they had eaten, Danjai told his host that he must be returning

to his own country, and asked him to accompany him and show him his

way back. So they started together and walked through the sugar-cane

plantation.

Just as they came near the end of it, Danjai begged his companion to

stop. He said he would like to have some sugar-cane before going on.

“I am sorry I did not offer you any,” said the Were-Tiger; “it was very

forgetful of me. Never mind, I will at once cut down some sugar-cane for

us.”

When he had brought the sugar-cane and had finished peeling the piece he

wanted for himself, Danjai said to him:

“Please lend me your sword, for mine is stuck fast in its sheath, and I

cannot draw it out.”

The Were-Tiger, suspecting nothing, handed the sword to him, and Danjai

began peeling his sugar-cane.

Just then the Were-Tiger turned round to look at his house, and Danjai,

seizing his opportunity, gave him a blow with the sword and killed him.

Then he cut off the head and carried it back with him to the house he had

just left.

When he came near, he saw the sister watching for his return, and

standing at the top of the ladder leading up to the house. He followed

her into the house, and gave her the head of her brother.

“You ought to be quite satisfied now, Danjai,” she said, “for you have

taken your revenge for the death of your wife. I want you to promise me

certain things before you go. First of all, you must not let anybody know

that you have killed my brother. Next, on your return, you must go on the

warpath and bring back to me the head of a woman, to enable me to put

away the mourning of myself and my relatives for the death of my brother.

And then I hope you will take me with you as your wife. And I give you

now some locks of my hair, to be used as a charm to make you invisible

to the enemy, when you are on the warpath. Lastly, I advise you and your

people never to eat or to take away any fruit you may find lying about

in the jungle, on the stump of a tree, or on a rock, without knowing for

certain who put it there and to whom it belongs, or making sure that it

has fallen from some tree near. This must be remembered from generation

to generation. Whoever disobeys this advice will be punished by death.

You may now have the head of your wife to take back to your country.”

As she finished speaking, she handed him his wife’s head, and Danjai

started off at once, for he was anxious to get back.

He reached his house late that same evening. All his friends were glad to

see him come back safe and sound. They had given up all hope of seeing

him again. They were also pleased to see he had been successful in

bringing back the head of his dead wife.

Soon after Danjai’s return from the Were-Tiger’s country, he gathered

all his followers together and told them that he intended going on the

warpath. As soon as they were able to get everything ready, they started

for the enemy’s country. They were very successful, and succeeded in

taking many heads; but Danjai, protected as he was by the charm which he

had received from the Were-Tiger’s sister, was more successful than the

others. They resumed with much rejoicing, and a great feast was held in

honour of their victory. The human heads were placed on a costly dish,

and the women carried them into the house with dancing and singing.

A few days after, Danjai started to fulfil his promise to the

Were-Tiger’s sister. He brought her back with him as his wife, and they

lived very happily together for many years.

This story explains why the Dyaks, even at the present day, dare not eat

any fruit they may find lying on the stump of a tree, or on a rock in the

jungle. They fear that evil will happen to them as it did to Danjai’s

wife.

II. THE STORY OF SIU, WHO FIRST TAUGHT THE DYAKS TO PLANT PADDY AND TO

OBSERVE THE OMENS OF BIRDS.

Many thousands of years ago, before the paddy-plant was known,

the Dyaks lived on tapioca, yams, potatoes, and such fruit as

they could procure. It was not till Siu taught them how to

plant paddy that such a thing as rice was known. The story of

how he came to learn of the existence of this important article

of food, and how he and his son Seragunting introduced it among

their people, is set forth in the following pages.

Siu was the son of a great Dyak Chief. His father died when he was quite

a child, and at the time this story begins he lived with his mother,

and was the head of a long Dyak house in which lived some three hundred

families. He was strong and active, and handsome in appearance, and

there was no one in the country round equal to him either in strength or

comeliness. When ready to go on the warpath, he was the admiration of

all the Dyak damsels. On these occasions he appeared in a many-coloured

waist-cloth, twelve fathoms in length, wound round and round his body.

On his head he wore a plaited rattan band, in which were stuck some

long feathers of the hornbill. His coat was woven of threads of bright

colours. On each well-shaped arm was an armlet of ivory. To his belt were

fastened his sword and the many charms and amulets that he possessed.

With his spear in his right hand and his shield on his left arm, he

presented a splendid type of a Dyak warrior. But it is not of Siu’s

bravery nor of his deeds of valour against the enemy that this tale

relates. It tells only of an adventure which ended in his discovery of

paddy.

He proposed to the young men of his house that they should take their

blowpipes with them and go into the jungle to shoot birds. So one morning

they all started early. Each man had with him his bundle of food for the

day, and each went a different way, as they wished to see, on returning

in the evening, who would be the most successful of them all.

Siu went towards a mountain not far from his house, and wandered about

the whole morning in the jungle, but, strange to say, he did not see any

bird, nor did he meet with any animal. Everything was very quiet and

still. Worn out with fatigue, he sat down to rest under a large tree,

and, feeling hungry, he ate some of the food he had brought with him.

It was now long past midday, and he had not been able to kill a single

bird! Surely none of the others could be so unfortunate as he! Determined

not to be beaten by the others, after a short rest he started again,

and wandered on in quest of birds. The sun had gone half-way down in

the western heaven, and Siu was beginning to lose heart, when suddenly

he heard not far off the sound of birds. Hurrying in that direction, he

came to a wild fig-tree covered with ripe fruit, which a large number of

birds were busy eating. Never before had he seen such a sight! On this

one tree the whole feathered population of the forest seemed to have

assembled together! Looking more carefully, he was surprised to see that

the different kinds of birds were not all intermingled together as is

usually the case, but each species was apart from the others. He saw a

large flock of wild pigeons on one branch, and next to them were the

parrots, all feeding together, but keeping distinct from them. Upon the

same tree there were hornbills, woodpeckers, wild pigeons, and all the

different kinds of birds he had ever seen.

Siu hid himself under the thick leaves of a shrub growing near, very

much pleased at his luck, and, taking a poisoned dart, he placed it in

his blow-pipe, and shot it out. He had aimed at one bird in a particular

flock, and hit it. But that bird was not the only one that fell dead at

his feet. To his astonishment, he saw that many of the other birds near

it were killed also. Again he shot out a dart, and again the same thing

happened. In a very short time Siu had killed as many birds as he could

carry. As the little basket in which he had brought his food was too

small to hold them all, he set to work and made a coarse basket with the

bark of a _pendok_ tree growing near. Then he put his load on his back

and started to return home, glad that he had been so successful.

He tried to return the same way by which he had come, but as he had not

taken the precaution to cut marks in the trees he passed, he very soon

found himself in difficulties. He wandered about, sometimes passing by

some large tree which he seemed to remember seeing in the morning. He

climbed up a steep hill and went several miles through a large forest,

but did not find the jungle path which he had followed early in the day.

It was beginning to grow dusk and the sun had nearly set.

[Illustration: A DYAK USING A WOODEN BLOW-PIPE

He is seated on the ground with his blow-pipe held in position to his

mouth. He is just in the act of blowing out one of his poisoned darts,

some of which are lying on the ground in front of him. To his waist is

fastened the bamboo receptacle in which the darts are kept.]

“I must hurry on,” said Siu to himself, “in the hope of finding some

house where I can get food and shelter. Once it is dark I shall be forced

to spend the night in the jungle.”

Coming to a part of the jungle which had lately been a garden, he thought

there must be a path from it leading to some house, so he began to walk

round it. Soon he found an old disused path, which he followed. By this

time it was quite dark, and Siu made haste to reach the Dyak house which

he felt sure was not very far off. He came to a well, and near at hand he

saw the lights and heard the usual sounds of a Dyak house. He was glad to

think that he would not have to spend the night in the jungle, but would

be able to get food and shelter at the house. He stopped to have a bath,

and hid the birds he was carrying and his blow-pipe and quiver in the

brushwood near the well, hoping to take them with him when he started to

return the next morning.

As he approached the house, he could hear the voices of the people there.

When he came to the bottom of the ladder leading up to the house, he

shouted: “Oh, you people in the house, will you allow a stranger to walk

up?” At once there was dead silence in the house. No one answered. Again

Siu asked the same question, and after a pause a voice answered, “Yes;

come up!”

He walked up into the house. To his surprise he saw no one in the open

veranda in front of the different rooms. That part of a Dyak house,

usually so crowded, was quite empty. Nor did he hear the voices of people

talking in any of the rooms. All was silent. Even the person who answered

him was not there to receive him.

He saw a dim light in the veranda further on, in the middle of the house,

and walked towards it, wondering the while what could have happened to

all the people in the house, for not long before he had heard many voices.

“This seems to be a strange house,” he said to himself. “When I was

bathing, and when I walked up to the house, it seemed to be well

inhabited, but now that I come in, I see no one and hear no voice.”

When Siu reached the light he sat down on a mat. Presently he heard a

woman’s voice in the room say: “Sit down, Siu; I will bring out the

_pinang_[3] and _sireh_[4] to you.”

Siu was very pleased to hear a human voice. Soon a young and remarkably

beautiful girl came out of the room with the chewing ingredients, which

she placed before him.

“Here you are at last, Siu,” she said; “I expected you would come

earlier. How is it you are so late?”

Siu explained that he had stopped at the well to have a bath, as he was

hot and tired.

“You must be very hungry,” said the girl; “wait a moment while I prepare

some food. After you have eaten, we can have our talk together.”

When Siu was left to himself, he wondered what it all meant. Here was a

long Dyak house, built for more than a hundred families to live in, and

yet it seemed quite deserted. The only person in it appeared to be the

beautiful girl who was cooking his food for him. Again, he was surprised

that she knew his name and expected him that day.

“Come in, Siu,” said the voice from the room; “your food is ready.”

Siu was very hungry, and went in at once, and sat down to eat his dinner.

When they had done eating, she cleared away the plates and put things

back into their places and tidied the room. Then she spread out a new

mat for him, and brought out the _pinang_ and _sireh_, and bade him be

seated, as she wished to have a chat with him.

Siu had many questions to ask, and as soon as they were both seated, he

began:—

“Why are you all alone in this house? This is a long house, and many

families must live in it. Where are the others? Why is everything so

silent now? I am sure I heard voices before I entered the house; but now

I hear no sound.”

“Do not let us talk about this house or the people in it for the present.

I would much rather talk of other matters. Tell me of your own people,

and what news you bring from your country.”

“There is no news to give you,” Siu replied. “We have been rather badly

off for food, as our potatoes and yams did not turn out so well this year

as we hoped.”

“Tell me what made you come in this direction, and how it was you found

out this house.”

“While I was hunting in the jungle to-day I lost my way. After wandering

about a long time, I found a path which I followed and came to this

house. It was kind of you to take me in and give me food. If I had not

found this house, I would have been lost in the jungle. To-morrow morning

you must show me the way to my country, and also I must beg of you some

food for my journey back. My mother is sure to be anxious about me. She

is left all alone now that I am away. My father died a long time ago,

and I am her only son.”

“Do not go away as soon as to-morrow morning. Stay here a few days at any

rate.”

At first Siu would not consent, but she spoke so nicely to him that she

succeeded in persuading him to stay there at least a week. Then he went

out to the veranda, and she brought out a mat for him to sleep on and a

sheet to cover himself with. As Siu was very tired, he soon fell sound

asleep, and did not wake up till late on the following morning.

He saw some little children playing about the next day, but he did not

see any grown-up people. He went into the room to have his morning meal,

but saw no one there, except the girl he had seen the evening before. He

felt very much inclined to ask her again where the people of the house

were, but he did not do so, as she did not seem inclined to speak about

them.

Now though Siu knew it not, this was the house of the great Singalang

Burong, the Ruler of the Spirit-World. He was able to metamorphose

himself and his followers into any form. When going forth on an

expedition against the enemy, he would transform himself and his

followers into birds, so that they might travel more quickly. Over the

high trees of the jungle, over the broad rivers, sometimes even across

the sea, Singalang Burong and his flock would fly. There was no trouble

about food, for in the forests there were always some wild trees in

fruit, and, while assuming the form of birds, they lived on the food

of birds. In his own house and among his own people, Singalang Burong

appeared as a man. He had eight daughters, and the girl who was cooking

food for Siu was the youngest of them.

The reason why the people of the house were so quiet, and did not make

their appearance, was because they were all in mourning for many of their

relatives who had been killed some time back. Only the women and children

were at home, because that same morning all the men had gone forth to

make a raid upon some neighbouring tribe, so that they might bring home

some human heads to enable them to end their mourning. For it was the

custom that the people of a house continued to be in mourning for dead

relatives until one or more human heads were brought to the house. Then a

feast was held, and all mourning was at an end.

After Siu had been in the house seven days, he thought he ought to think

of returning to his own people. By this time he was very much in love

with the girl who had been so kind to him, and he wished above all things

to marry her, and take her back with him to his own country.

“I have been here a whole week,” he said to her, “and though you have not

told me your name, still I seem to know you very well. I have a request

to make, and I hope you will not be angry at what I say.”

“Speak on; I promise I will not be angry whatever you may say.”

“I have learnt to love you very much,” said Siu, “and I would like to

marry you if you will consent, so that I shall not leave you, but take

you with me, when I return to my own land. Also I wish you to tell me

your name, and why this house is so silent, and where all the people

belonging to it are.”

“I will consent to marry you, for I also love you. But you must first

promise me certain things. In the first place, you must not tell your

people of this house, and what you have seen here. Then also you must

promise faithfully never to hurt a bird or even to hold one in your

hands. If ever you break this promise, then we cease to be man and wife.

And, of course, you must never kill a bird, because, if you do so, I

shall not only leave you, but revenge myself on you. Do you promise these

things?”

“Yes,” said Siu; “I promise not to speak of what I have seen here until

you give me leave to do so. And as you do not wish it, I will never touch

or handle a bird, and certainly never kill one.”

“Now that you have promised what I wish, I will tell you about

myself and the people of this house,” said the maiden. “My name is

_Endu-Sudan-Galinggam-Tinchin-Mas_ (the girl Sudan painted like a gold

ring), but my people call me by my pet names, _Bunsu Burong_ (the

youngest of the bird family), and _Bunsu Katupong_ (the youngest of the

_Katupong_ family). This house, as you noticed, seems very empty. The

reason is that a month ago many of our people were killed by some of the

people of your house, and we are all still in mourning for them. As you

know, when our relatives have lately died, we stay silent in our rooms,

and do not come out to receive visitors or to entertain them. Why are

your people so cruel to us? They often kill our men when they go out

fishing or hunting. On the morning of the day on which you arrived, all

the men of this house went on the warpath, so as to obtain the heads of

some of the enemy to enable us to put away our mourning. With us as with

you, it is necessary that one or more human heads be brought into the

house before the inmates can give up sorrowing for their dead relatives

and friends. You see us now in the form of human beings, but all the

people in this house are able to transform themselves into birds. My

father, Singalang Burong, is the head of this house. I am the youngest of

eight sisters; we have no brother alive. Our only brother died not long

ago, and we are still in mourning for him, and that is the reason why my

sisters did not come out to greet you.”

Siu heard with surprise all she had to say. He said to himself that it

was lucky he did not bring up to the house the basket of birds which he

had killed in the jungle, and that he had hidden them with his blow-pipe

and quiver containing poisoned darts in the brushwood near the well.

He determined to say nothing about the matter, as probably some of her

friends or relations were among the birds that were killed by him.

So Siu married Bunsu Burong, and continued to live in the house for

several weeks.

One day he said to his wife: “I have been here a long time. My people

must surely be wondering where I am, and whether I am still alive. My

mother, too, must be very anxious about me. I should like to return to my

people, and I want you to accompany me. My mother and my friends are sure

to welcome you as my wife.”

“Oh yes, I will gladly accompany you back to your home. But you must

remember and say nothing of the things you have seen in this house. When

shall we start?”

“We can start early to-morrow morning, soon after breakfast,” answered

Siu.

They started early the next day, taking with them food enough for four

days, as they expected the journey would last as long as that. Siu’s wife

seemed to know the way, and after journeying for three days, they came to

the stream near the house, and they stopped to have a bath. Some of the

children of the house saw them there, and ran up to the house, and said:

“Siu has come back, and with him is a beautiful woman, who seems to be

his wife.”

Some of the older people checked the children, saying: “It cannot be Siu;

he has been dead for a long time. Don’t mention his name, for if his

mother hears you talk of him, it will make her very unhappy.”

But the children persisted in saying that it was indeed Siu that they had

seen. Just then Siu and his wife appeared and walked up to the house.

Siu said to his wife: “The door before which I hang up my sword is the

door of my room. Walk straight in. You will find my mother there, and she

will be sure to gladly welcome you as her daughter-in-law.”

When they came into the house, all the inmates rushed out to meet

them, and to congratulate Siu on his safe return. They asked him many

questions: where had he been living all this time? how he came to be

married? and what was the name of his wife’s country? But Siu answered

little, as he remembered the promise he had made to his wife, that he

would not speak of what he had seen in her house.

When they reached the door of his room, Siu hung up his sword, and his

wife went into the room. But she did not see his mother, as she was ill,

and was lying in her mosquito-curtain. Then Siu followed his wife into

the room, and called out: “Mother, where are you? Here is your son Siu

come back!”

But his mother made no answer, so he opened her curtain, and saw her

lying down, covered up with a blanket. She had been so troubled at the

thought that her son was dead, that she had refused to eat, and had

become quite ill.

She would not believe that her son had really returned alive, and she

said: “Do not try to deceive me; my son Siu is dead.”

“I am indeed your son Siu, and I have come back alive and well!”

“No,” she replied, “my son Siu is dead. Leave me alone; I have not long

to live. Let me die in peace, and follow my son to the grave.”

Siu then went to the box in which his clothes were kept and put on the

things that his mother had often seen him wear. Then he went to her

again, and said: “Even if you do not believe that I am your son, at any

rate you might turn round and look at me, to make sure that I am not your

son.”

Then she looked at him, and saw that it was indeed her son. She was so

pleased at his return that she soon recovered from her illness, which was

really caused by her sorrow and refusal to eat. Siu told his mother of

his marriage, and she welcomed his wife with joy.

The women all crowded round Siu’s wife, and asked her what her name

was. She answered: “_Endu-Sudan-Galinggam-Tinchin-Mas_” (The girl Sudan

painted like a gold ring). They looked at her in surprise; they had never

heard of such a name before.

“Where do you come from?” they asked. “What is the name of your country?”

“_Nanga Niga Bekurong Bebali nyadi Tekuyong Mabong_” (The mouth of the

hidden Niga stream changed into an empty shell),[5] was the reply.

They were astonished at her answer. They had never heard of such a

country. They asked her of her people, but she would not say anything

more of herself or speak about her people.

Everybody admired the great beauty of Siu’s wife. No more questions were

asked of her, as she seemed unwilling to answer. Her parentage remained a

mystery.

In process of time Siu’s wife bore him a son whom they named Seragunting.

He was a fine child, and as befitted the grandson of Singalang Burong, he

grew big and strong in a miraculously short time, and when he was three

years old, he was taller and stronger than others four times his age.

One day, as Seragunting was playing with the other boys, a man brought up

some birds which he had caught in a trap. As he walked through the house

he passed Siu, who was sitting in the open veranda. Siu, forgetting the

promise he had made to his wife, asked him to show him the birds, and he

took one in his hands and stroked it. His wife was sitting not far off,

and saw him hold the bird, and was very much vexed that he had broken his

promise to her.

She got up and returned to her room. Siu came in and noticed that she was

troubled, and asked her what was wrong. She said that she was only tired.

She said to herself: “My husband has broken his word to me. He has done

the thing he promised me he would never do. I told him he was never to

hold a bird in his hands, and that if he did such a thing, I would leave

him. I cannot stay here in this house any longer. I must return to the

house of my father, Singalang Burong.”

She took the water-vessels in her hands, and went out as if to fetch

water. But when she came to the well, she placed the water-vessels on the

ground and disappeared in the jungle.

[Illustration: A DYAK GIRL

Seated on a mat and folding up a petticoat before putting it away. The

girls are very careful of their clothing and are often very vain, but

when they are married they frequently become very untidy. A woman’s

wardrobe is not extensive. It consists of two petticoats and one jacket

as a general rule.]

[Illustration: SCRAPING PALM LEAVES FOR FIBRE

With this the women tie up the threads they weave, so that when they are

dipped in any particular dye the parts which are tied may not be affected

by the dye. It is by this means that the different patterns in Dyak cloth

are obtained.]

In the meantime Seragunting, tired with his play, came back in search of

his mother. She was very fond indeed of him, and he expected her to come

to him as soon as he called out to her. But he was disappointed. No one

answered his call, and when he looked in the room she was not there. He

asked his father where his mother was, and he told him that she had just

gone to the well to fetch water, and would soon be back.

But hour after hour passed, and she did not return to the house. So

Seragunting began to be anxious, and asked his father to accompany him to

the well to look for her. At first his father refused to do so, but when

he saw his son crying for his mother, he went with him to the well. They

found the water-vessels there, but saw no signs of her.

“Your mother is not here, Seragunting,” said Siu. “Perhaps she has gone

to the garden to get some vegetables for our dinner. Let us go back to

the house. If your mother is not back early to-morrow morning, we will go

and look for her.” So they both returned to the house, taking back with

them the water-gourds which Siu’s wife had left at the well.

Early the next morning Seragunting and his father went in search of her.

They took with them only a little food, as they expected to find her not

very far off. But they wandered the whole day, and saw no signs of her.

They spent the night under a large tree in the jungle. Early the next

morning they were surprised to find a small bundle of food, wrapped up in

leaves, near Seragunting. This food was evidently meant for him alone,

as it was not enough for two, but he gave some of it to his father, who

ate sparingly of it, so that his son might not be hungry. They wandered

on for several days, and every night the same strange thing occurred—a

bundle of food was left near Seragunting. Siu suggested to his son that

they should return; but Seragunting, who during the journey had grown up

into a strong lad, with a will of his own, would not consent to do so, as

he was determined to find his mother.

They wandered on for several days, deeper and deeper into the jungle, but

could find no signs of her whom they sought. At last they came to the

sea-shore. Here they rested for some days, in the hope that some boat

might pass. Still, as before, each morning a bundle of food was found by

Seragunting. If it were not for this food, they would have long ago died

of starvation. On this they managed to live, waiting hopefully to see

some boat appear to take them on their journey.

One day as Seragunting was watching, he heard the sound of paddles, and

saw in the distance several long boats approaching. He hailed the first,

and asked the men in it to take him and his father with them. The boat

made for the shore, but the man in the bows recognized the two wanderers,

and shouted out: “It is Siu and his son Seragunting; do not let them come

into the boat.” The boat went on and left them to their fate. The same

thing happened in the case of each of the other boats. As soon as Siu and

his son were recognized, no one would help them.

Now these were the boats of the sons-in-law of Singalang Burong:

Katupong, Beragai, Bejampong, Papau, Nendak, Kutok, and Embuas. They were

not pleased at their sister-in-law marrying a mere mortal like Siu, and

so refused to help him and his son.

The next day Seragunting saw what seemed to be a dark cloud come towards

him over the sea. As it came nearer, it took the form of a gigantic

spider, carrying some food and clothes.

“Do not be afraid,” said the Spider; “I have come to help you and your

father. I have brought you food and clothing. When you have eaten and

changed your clothes I will take you across the water to the land on the

other side. My name is Emplawa Jawa (the Spider of Java). I know your

history, and I will lead you to your mother whom you seek.”

After they had eaten and put on the new clothes brought them, the spider

told them to go with him across the sea. They were not to be afraid,

but to follow his track, not turning to the right hand nor to the left.

They obeyed his words. Strange to say, the water became as hard as a

sandbank under their feet. For a long time they were out of sight of

land, but towards evening they approached the opposite shore, and saw a

landing-place where there were a large number of boats. Not far off were

several houses, and one longer and more imposing than any of the others.

To this house the Spider directed Seragunting, telling him that he would

find his mother there. The Spider then left them. As it was late, they

did not go up to the house that evening, but spent the night in one of

the boats at the landing-place. Among the boats were those belonging to

the sons-in-law of Singalang Burong, which had passed Siu and his son as

they waited on the sea-shore for some boat to take them across the sea.

When Seragunting and his father woke up next morning, they saw that the

road leading up to the house had sharpened pieces of bamboo planted close

together to prevent their walking up to it. As they were wondering what

they were to do next, a fly came to Seragunting, and said:

“Do not be afraid to walk up. Tread on the spikes that I alight on; they

will not hurt you. When you come to the house you will find swords with

blades turned upwards fastened to the ladder. Tread on the blades that I

alight on, and walk boldly up into the house.”

They did as the fly advised them, and were not hurt. The bamboo spikes

crumbled under their feet, and the sword-blades they trod on were blunt

and harmless.

The people of the house took no notice of them, and they sat down in the

veranda of the house. Then the fly came to Seragunting, and whispered to

him: “You must now follow me into the room. Your mother is there, lying

in her mosquito curtain. I will point out to you which it is, and you

must wake her up and tell her who you are. She will be very pleased to

see you. Then when you come out into the veranda and see the sons-in-law

of Singalang Burong, you must greet them as your uncles. They will disown

you, and pretend that you are no relation of theirs. But do not be

afraid. You will be victorious in the end.”

Seragunting followed the fly into the room, and went to the curtain on

which it alighted. He called out to his mother, and she awoke and saw

with joy her son. She embraced him, and he said to her:

“How is it you went away and left us? We missed you so much, and were so

sorry to lose you, that my father and I have been travelling for many

days and nights in search of you. Now our troubles are over, for I have

found you.”

“My dear son,” she said as she caressed him, “though I left you I did not

forget you. It was I who placed the food by you every night. I left your

father because he broke the promise he made to me. But you are my own

son, and I have been wishing to see you ever since I left your house.

It was I who sent the Spider to help you and show you your way here. My

love for you is as great as it ever was. We will go out now into the

veranda, and I will introduce you to your uncles and aunts, and to your

grandfather. They may not welcome you, because they were opposed to my

marriage to your father. But do not fear them. We will be more than a

match for them all.”

Then she spoke to her husband Siu, whom she was glad to meet again. All

three then went out into the veranda, which was now full of people.

Seragunting called the sons-in-law of Singalang Burong his uncles, but

they refused to acknowledge him as their nephew.

They proposed several ordeals to prove the truth of his words, that he

was indeed the grandson of Singalang Burong. In all of these Seragunting

came off victorious.

As the men and boys were spinning their tops, they asked Seragunting to

join them. He had no top of his own, so he asked his mother for one. She

took an egg and uttered some mysterious words over it, and immediately it

became a top. This she gave to her son, who went and joined the others

in the game. Whenever Seragunting aimed at a top, he always hit it and

smashed it. None of the others were a match for him. In a short time all

the tops, except that of Seragunting, were broken in pieces.

Then they suggested a wrestling match. Seragunting was quite ready to try

a fall with any of them, old or young. Some of their best wrestlers came

forward. The first two were overthrown by him so easily, that the others

saw it was no use their attempting to wrestle with Seragunting.

As a last trial they proposed that all should go out hunting. Here they

hoped to be more fortunate. All the sons-in-law of Singalang Burong took

their good hunting dogs with them, confident of success. Seragunting was

told that he could have any of the other dogs left in the house. There

he saw a few old dogs, weak and useless for hunting. With these he was

expected to compete against the others, and if he were not successful,

both he and his father were to be killed! Seragunting consented even to

such an unfair ordeal as that. He called to him an old sickly-looking

dog and gently stroked it. At once it became young and strong! While the

others went forth into the jungle with a pack of hounds, Seragunting was

only accompanied by one dog. In the evening Katupong, Beragai, Bejampong,

and the others all returned unsuccessful. Soon after Seragunting’s dog

appeared, chasing a huge boar, which made a stand at the foot of the

ladder of the house. Seragunting asked the others to kill the beast if

they dared. The spears cast at it glided off and left the beast unharmed.

Some of those who were rash enough to go near the animal had a close

escape from being torn in pieces by its tusks.

Seragunting, armed with nothing better than a little knife belonging to

his mother, walked up to the infuriated animal and stabbed it in a vital

part, and it fell down dead at his feet.

After these marvellous feats, all were compelled to admit that

Seragunting was a true grandson of the great Singalang Burong. They all

acknowledged him as such, and he was taken to his grandfather, who was

pleased to see the lad, and promised to help him throughout his life.

[Illustration: DYAKS MAKING A DAM FOR TUBA FISHING

The poison from the _tuba_ root is put in the water some distance up

river, and the Dyaks follow it as it drifts, and spear and net the

poisoned fish. The _tuba_ does not seem to affect the flesh of the fish,

which can be cooked and eaten. Many fish swim down river to escape the

poison. These come to this dam, in which there is an opening leading to

an enclosure; in this the fish congregate and are afterwards captured.]

But Siu was unhappy in his new home. He could not help thinking of his

mother, whom he had left alone, and he was anxious to return to his own

people. He begged his wife to accompany him back to his old home, but she

refused to do so. It was decided that Siu and his son should stay in the

house of Singalang Burong till they had obtained such knowledge as would

be useful to them in the future, and that then they were to return to the

lower world, bringing with them the secrets they had learnt from those

wiser and more powerful than themselves.

All the people of the house were now most kind to Siu and his son, and

were most anxious to teach them all they could. They were taken on a war

expedition against the enemy, so that they might learn the science and

art of Dyak warfare. They were taught how to set traps to catch deer and

wild pig. They were shown the different methods of catching fish, and

learnt to make the different kinds of fish-trap used by the Dyaks of the

present day. They remained in Singalang Burong’s house that whole year so

that they might have a complete and practical knowledge of the different

stages of paddy-growing.

When the year was ended, Seragunting’s mother took him and Siu to see her

father, Singalang Burong, so that they might receive from him his advice,

as well as such charms as he might wish to give them before they left to

return to the lower world of mortals.

Singalang Burong was sitting in his chair of state, and received them

most kindly. He bade them be seated on the mat at his feet, as he had

many things to say to them. Then he explained to Siu and his son who

he was, and the worship due to him, and they learnt also about the

observance of omens, both good and bad.

“I am the Ruler of the Spirit-World,” said Singalang Burong, “and have

the power to make men successful in all they undertake. At all times if

you wish for my help, you must call upon me and make offerings to me.

Especially must this be done before you go to fight against the enemy,

for I am the God of War, and help those who pay me due respect.

“You have learnt here how to plant paddy. I will give you some paddy

to take away with you, and when you get back to your own country, you

can teach men how to cultivate it. You will find rice a much more

strengthening article of food than the yams and potatoes you used to live

upon, and you will become a strong and hardy race.

“And to help you in your daily work, my sons-in-law will always tell

you whether that you do is right or wrong. In every work that you

undertake you must pay heed to the voices of the sacred birds—_Katupong_,

_Beragai_, _Bejampong_, _Papau_, _Nendak_, _Kutok_, and _Embuas_. These

birds, named after my sons-in-law, represent them, and are the means by

which I make known my wishes to mankind. When you hear them, remember

it is myself speaking through my sons-in-law for encouragement or for

warning. Whatever work you may be engaged in,—farm-work, house-building,

fishing, or hunting—wherever you may be you must always do as these birds

direct. Whenever you have a feast, you must make an offering to me, and

you must call upon my sons-in-law to come and partake of the feast. If

you do not do these things, some evil is sure to happen to you. I am

willing to help you and to give you prosperity, but I expect due respect

to be paid to me, and will not allow my commands to be disobeyed.”

Then Singalang Burong presented them with many charms to take away with

them. They were of various kinds. Some had the power to make the owner

brave and fortunate in war. Others were to preserve him in good health,

or to make him successful in his paddy-planting, and cause him to have

good harvests.

Siu and Seragunting then bade their friends farewell and started to

return. As soon as they had descended the ladder of the house of

Singalang Burong, they were swiftly transported through the air by

some mysterious power, and in a moment they found themselves at the

bathing-place of their own house.

Their friends crowded round them, glad to see them back safe and well.

They were taken with much rejoicing to the house. Friends and neighbours

were told of their return, and a great meeting was held that evening.

All gathered round the two adventurers, who told them of their strange

experiences in the far country of the Spirit Birds. The charms received

from Singalang Burong were handed round for general admiration. The new

seed, paddy, was produced, and the good qualities of rice as an article

of food explained. The people congregated there had never seen paddy

before, but all determined to be guided by Siu and Seragunting, and to

plant it in future. The different names of the sacred birds were told to

the assembled people, and all were warned to pay due respect to their

cries.

And so, according to the ancient legend, ended the old primitive life of

the Dyak, when he lived upon such poor food as the fruits of the jungle,

and any yams and potatoes he happened to plant near his house; the old

blind existence, in which there was nothing to guide him; and then began

his new life, in which he advanced forward a step, and learnt to have

regularly, year by year, his seed-time and harvest, and to know that

there were unseen powers ruling the universe, whose will might be learnt

by mankind, and obedience to whom would bring success and happiness.

III. PULANG-GANA, AND HOW HE CAME TO BE WORSHIPPED AS THE GOD OF THE

EARTH.

Long, long ago, though the Dyaks knew of paddy, and planted it every

year, yet they had very poor crops, because they did not know what god

owned the land, and as they did not offer him sacrifices he did nothing

to help them. In those days there lived together seven brothers and

their only sister. The brothers’ names were Bui-Nasi, Belang-Pinggang,

Bejit-Manai, Bunga-Jawa, Litan-Dai, Kenyawang, and Pulang-Gana, and the

sister’s Puchong-Kempat. They lived on a hill by the side of a broad

river. On all sides were wide plains, and beyond them high hills rose in

the distance. Most of these plains were covered with thick jungle, and

only a few clearings where paddy had been planted could be seen.

Not far from the house the brothers had a garden in which they planted

potatoes, yams, sugar-cane, and tapioca; but a porcupine would often

come at night and do much damage to the garden. They bade their youngest

brother, Pulang-Gana, keep watch, directing him to drive away the

animal or kill it if he could. But all his efforts were vain. When he

was awake the animal did not come, but as soon as he fell asleep the

porcupine would creep in quietly and eat up the potatoes and yams. The

elder brothers were not kind to Pulang-Gana. They would not keep watch

themselves, but whenever they saw fresh damage done they not only scolded

their younger brother, but beat him with sticks.

“He is only lazy,” they said, “and deserves a thrashing. He does nothing

but sleep, and is too lazy to wake up at night and drive the porcupine

away!”

Poor Pulang-Gana! His was a hard lot indeed!

He determined to keep careful watch one night, and, whatever it cost him,

to kill the porcupine, so that his brothers might have no more cause for

blaming him. That night he did not sleep at all. The porcupine came just

before dawn, when all was still. Pulang-Gana was awake, and went after

it, determined to kill it. The animal ran away, and Pulang-Gana followed.

The moon was shining brightly, and he had no difficulty in seeing in what

direction the animal went. Every now and then the porcupine stopped, but

as soon as Pulang-Gana came up it started off again, and he was not able

to kill it; so the animal went on, and Pulang-Gana followed, determined

not to give up the chase until he had effected his purpose.

The sun was beginning to rise in the east, and still Pulang-Gana pursued

the porcupine.

“Sooner or later,” he said to himself, “I must catch it up. The animal is

already tired. I will not return home till I have killed it.”

The porcupine now came to the foot of a rocky mountain. Pulang-Gana,

thinking the chase would soon be over, hurried on, but before he could

reach the animal it had escaped through an opening in the solid rock. The

cave into which it had disappeared was large enough for a man to stand

upright in, and Pulang-Gana said to himself:—

“Now I have you. Wait till I have a light to show me where you are, and

then I will come in and kill you.”

He collected some dry branches, and tied them together for a torch. He

found a piece of dry soft wood, and also a short stick of some hard wood,

the point of which he sharpened. With the palms of his hands he worked

the small stick and drilled a hole in the soft wood. Soon it began to

smoke, and with the aid of some dry twigs he blew the fire into a blaze;

then he lighted his torch, and hurried into the cave after the porcupine.

He saw the animal a little distance ahead of him, and followed it

leisurely. There was no need for haste, as he would be able to kill it

easily enough when he drove it to the end of the cave, and it had no

means of escape. The cave seemed to extend a great way into the mountain.

After a few hours’ walking Pulang-Gana was surprised to come to an

opening in the rock, through which the porcupine had evidently escaped.

Outside the sun was shining brightly. Pulang-Gana went through this

opening, but, though he looked in all directions, he could see no signs

of the porcupine.

He was uncertain what he ought to do next. The porcupine had escaped,

and there was no chance of his being able to kill it. He did not feel

inclined to return to his brothers, because they were all unkind to him.

On the other hand, he did not know if this new country in which he found

himself was inhabited; and, if inhabited, whether the people would treat

him kindly. Looking around, he saw smoke arising some distance off, and

guessed that it was a Dyak house. As he was hungry, he decided to make

for it, hoping the inmates would be kind to him and give him food.

As Pulang-Gana came nearer, he saw the house was a very long one,

inhabited by about one hundred families. He stopped at the bottom of the

ladder leading up to the house, and, following the Dyak custom, asked in

a loud voice if he might walk up.

“Yes; come up, Pulang-Gana,” said a voice in reply. “We have been

expecting you for some time, and will be glad to see you.”

He was surprised that his name should be known in this strange country in

which he had never been before. He walked up, and in the long open hall

stretching the whole length of the house he saw an old man and a young

and beautiful girl.

“Spread out a mat, my daughter,” the old man said, “that Pulang-Gana may

sit and rest after his long journey, and you can prepare some food for

him. No doubt he is hungry as well as tired.”

She spread out a mat for Pulang-Gana, and then went into the room to get

ready a meal for their visitor. Soon after she opened the door of the

room and asked him to come in and eat.

The old man, who seemed kind and hospitable, said to him:—

“Go in and have some food. You must be hungry after your long journey.

When you have eaten and rested we can have a talk together. I have long

wished to meet you and to ask you about yourself and your brothers, and

how affairs are in your country.”

Pulang-Gana went into the room, and found a nice meal awaiting him. Being

very hungry, he did full justice to it.

That evening, as they sat by the fire, the old man asked him about his

people, and if they had good crops of paddy in his country. Pulang-Gana

answered that, though his brothers possessed the largest paddy-fields in

the country, he never remembered their having a really good harvest. The

paddy they obtained was not sufficient to last them the whole year, and

they had to fall back on potatoes and sago for food. The old man seemed

interested in what his guest said of himself, so Pulang-Gana went on and

told him of all his circumstances,—how he lived with his six brothers

and only sister, and how unkind his brothers were to him. He also told

the old man about the porcupine which did such damage to their garden,

and how often he had been scolded and beaten by his brothers for not

being able to drive away or kill the animal. He gave an account of his

adventures that morning, and how, determined to kill the porcupine, he

had followed it through the underground passage under the mountain, and

had found himself in this strange country.

“I have heard your story,” said the old man, “and think you are much

to be pitied. Your brothers seem to have been very unkind and to have

treated you very badly. I would like you to stay with me here, and not

return to them. I have no son, and would like you to marry my daughter

and live with us. I am getting old, and am not so strong as I used to be,

and will be glad of your help.”

“I should like to stay with you very much, for you seem so kind, and are

so different to my brothers, and I should like to marry your daughter

and spend the rest of my life here. But there is no one to look after

our garden, and the porcupine will do much damage to it. My brothers are

sure to be angry with me for leaving them, and when they see their garden

destroyed through my neglect they are sure to hunt for me, and when they

find me they will probably kill me. No; much as I would like to stay, I

am afraid I cannot. I must start to return to-morrow. It would have been

different if I had succeeded in killing the porcupine; then it would not

matter so much if I stayed away some time.”

“You need not trouble yourself about the animal that attacks the

vegetables planted in your garden. I can prevent its coming again.

That porcupine is not really an animal. One of our slaves here, named

Indai-Antok-Genok, is commanded by me to transform herself into a

porcupine, and pay visits to that garden. I shall tell her to do so no

more, and your brothers’ garden will be safe enough without you to watch

it. You must remain here with us. There is nothing for you to fear.

If you do not return, your brothers will think that some accident has

happened to you, and that you are dead. As they are all so unkind to you,

you may be sure they will not trouble to look for you.”

“Well, if that be the case, I will gladly live with you. I was not happy

with my brothers, and I am sure I shall be happy here.”

So it was decided that Pulang-Gana should remain in the house of the

old man. Some months afterwards he married the daughter, and they lived

happily as husband and wife. His wife’s father and mother were kind to

him, and so were the other people in the house, and Pulang-Gana was very

glad he decided to cast in his lot with them.

Now, this old man who treated Pulang-Gana so kindly was no ordinary

mortal. His name was Rajah Shua, and he ruled the spirits who lived in

the underground caves of the earth. His wife was quite as powerful as

he. She was a goddess, and had power over the animals of the forest,

all of which obeyed her. She was known as Seregendah. The daughter that

married Pulang-Gana was called Trentom-Tanah-Tumboh, and sometimes

Setanggoi-Tanggoi-Buloh.

In process of time Pulang-Gana’s wife gave birth to a girl, who was very

much admired by all, and greatly loved by her parents.

When the child was a few years old, she came one day to her father and

mother and asked what property they intended to leave her. The mother

showed her the valuable jars and brassware that she possessed, all of

which were to belong to her child. Then the little girl asked her father

what he had to give her. Pulang-Gana had no property to leave to his

daughter. Years ago he had come by chance to this house of Rajah Shua,

bringing nothing with him, and unless his brothers gave him a share of

their father’s property, he would have nothing to leave his daughter. So

he told her to be content with what her mother gave her. She would be

very rich without anything from him. But she was not satisfied with this

reply, and cried because her father said he had nothing to give her.

When Pulang-Gana saw how sad his child was he said to his father-in-law

that he would like to pay a visit to his brothers, and ask them for his

share of the property, that he might have something to give his daughter.

Rajah Shua told him he might go to them, but warned him that probably he

would not have a kind reception, and advised him not to be away long, but

to return as soon as possible.

Pulang-Gana started on his journey to his old home, wondering how his

brothers would receive him after his long absence. He had no difficulty

in finding his way, as his father-in-law gave him very definite

instructions about his journey. He found that his brothers had built a

new house not far from the site of the old one in which he had lived

with them years ago. The house seemed very quiet, and he learnt that

nearly all the people were away on a _tuba_-fishing expedition. Only his

sister-in-law, the wife of his brother Belang-Pinggang, was at home.

She was very much surprised to see him, and said they had given him

up for dead long ago. She told him that the others were away fishing,

and that his brother Bui-Nasi, herself, and a little boy were the only

members of the family left at home. He would find his brother and the

little boy working at the forge making some implements for their work.

Pulang-Gana said he would go to his brother, and he left the house and

walked in the direction where he guessed the forge was from the sound of

hammering he heard.

“Oh! is that you, Pulang-Gana?” said Bui-Nasi, as soon as he saw him.

“Where have you been all these years? We thought that you had met with

some accident, and had died long ago.”

Pulang-Gana said little about himself to his brother. He told him how he

had lost his way in the jungle years ago, and when he arrived at last at

a house the people there persuaded him to stay with them, and he said

that he was now married and had a daughter.

“Have you come with your wife to stay with us?” asked Bui-Nasi.

“No,” was the answer; “I have only come on a short visit by myself to ask

for my share of the property left us by our father.”

“You have nothing whatever to expect. You left us years ago of your own

will, and have been away all this time, and now you have the impudence to

come and ask for your share of the property. I advise you to say nothing

of this to the others. They will be very vexed with you if you do.”

“I do not ask for much,” said Pulang-Gana. “I will be satisfied with

little. But my daughter asked me what I had to give her, so I came here

to beg for something, and I should be sorry to return empty-handed.”

“You shall not return empty-handed,” said Bui-Nasi in scorn. “Here is

something for you to take back with you. It is all that you will get from

us, I can tell you.” With these words he threw Pulang-Gana a clod of

earth which he saw lying near. “Now go away, and do not let us see your

face again.”

Pulang-Gana put the lump of earth in his bag, and with a heavy heart

started to return to his house. So this was the way his brothers treated

him! There was nothing to expect from them!

When he arrived at his house, all the family gathered round him. They had

heard that he had gone to ask his brothers for his share of the property,

and they were anxious to see what he brought back. His little daughter

rushed up eagerly to him and said:—

“Father, what have you brought back for me from my uncles? Let me see the

nice things they gave you.”

Then Pulang-Gana said sadly: “I received no share of the property from

your uncles. They would have nothing to do with me, and drove me away.”

“But did you get nothing at all from them?” asked his father-in-law.

“Yes,” said Pulang-Gana; “my brother Bui-Nasi did give me something, but

I am ashamed to tell you what it is. Here it is.” And he took out from

his bag the lump of earth his brother had given him, and handed it to his

father-in-law.

When Rajah Shua saw what Pulang-Gana had received from his brothers, he

said joyfully:—

“They have given you the most valuable gift it is possible to imagine.

You are now a person of great importance. The earth is yours. Whoever

wishes to plant on it must first make offerings and sacrifices to you,

and pray to you to give him a good harvest. It is in your power to make

the earth fruitful or barren, and to give mankind a good or a bad harvest

as you will.”

A few months after, the brothers of Pulang-Gana, at the advice of

Bui-Nasi, decided on the site where they were to plant paddy that year.

It was a large forest some distance away from their house. First they cut

down the smaller trees, and then they felled the large trees, and when

all this work was done they rested for some weeks, waiting for the sun to

dry up the timber, so that it might be set on fire and the land be ready

for planting on.

One day Pulang-Gana’s father-in-law said to him: “I hear that your

brothers have been busy cutting down the trees where they intend to plant

paddy this year. As they gave you the earth some time ago to be your

share of the property, it is only right that they should ask leave from

you before planting on it. Since they have not done so, you must stop

them from planting paddy there.”

“How can I prevent them planting paddy where they like?” said

Pulang-Gana in dismay. “Is it likely that they will take any notice of

anything I say?”

“Yes,” said his father-in-law, Rajah Shua; “they will have to listen to

what you say, for I will be on your side, and will help you. I am the god

that rules the spirits that live in the underground caves of the earth,

and my wife Seregendah has power over the animals and the spirits which

inhabit the forests. As your brothers have treated you so unkindly, and

have given you no share of the property, and have simply given you a clod

of earth to take back with you, my wife and I will punish them and reward

you by giving you power over everything that grows on the earth. Before

the land is planted, offerings must be made to you, and invocations must

be sung to yourself, and myself, and my wife Seregendah. Unless these

things be done, the ground will not be fruitful.

“As your brothers have not done anything of the kind, you must teach them

a lesson, and prevent them from going on with their work. This evening at

dusk you must go to the newly cleared forest and cry aloud: ‘Come here,

all you who are the servants of Seregendah and Rajah Shua,’ and name all

the wild beasts of the forest. They will come to you in large numbers.

Then you must ask them, as well as the invisible spirits, who will be

present too, to help you to put up all the trees that have been cut down.”

Pulang-Gana did as his father-in-law advised him. He went at dusk to the

part of the jungle where his brothers had been cutting down the trees,

and called to the animals in the name of Rajah Shua and of Seregendah,

and they came in large numbers and helped him to put up all the trees

that had been felled, and the forest appeared just as it had been before

any of the trees had been cut down.

The next day Bui-Nasi went early in the morning to see if the fish-traps

he had set in the stream had caught any fish, and as he was near the

part of the forest where the trees had been cut down by his brothers and

himself not long before, he went on to see how things were getting on,

and if the felled jungle was dry enough to be burnt.

To his great surprise he found all the trees standing, and no signs of

the clearing that had been made. He hurried home and told his brothers

what he had seen, and they all returned, accompanied by their friends and

followers, and found that what Bui-Nasi had told them was perfectly true.

They were all very much surprised, as they had never known such a thing

happen before.

“I wonder if this is really the part of the forest which we cleared a few

weeks ago,” said one of the brothers. “Perhaps we have mistaken the spot.”

“No,” said Bui-Nasi in reply; “there is no mistake. Here are the

whetstones on which we sharpened our axes and hatchets; and here, too, is

where we did our cooking for our midday meal.”

They held a consultation as to what was to be done.

“This is very strange,” said Bui-Nasi. “Some enemy, who is helped by

powerful spirits, is determined not to let us plant paddy here. Let us

try and find out who has made the trees that we have cut down stand

upright as before. My advice is that we cut down the jungle anew, and

that some of us remain and keep watch here all night. Perhaps we may be

able to catch the culprit.”

So the brothers and all their friends and followers set to work, and

before the day was ended they had cleared afresh a large stretch of

jungle.

Twelve men, with Bui-Nasi at their head, were set to watch, and the

others returned home, discussing among themselves what had taken place.

Those that were left by the clearing had not long to wait. Soon after

dusk they saw a man come, and, standing on the trunk of a large felled

tree, call aloud to the animals of the forest and the invisible spirits

around in the name of Rajah Shua and Seregendah to come to his help. The

twelve men crept up cautiously behind him and seized him.

“We have you now,” they said as they held him fast. “It is you who have

caused us all the trouble of having to cut down this jungle for the

second time. Now we intend to kill you, and you will not be able to play

your tricks on us any more.”

It was too dark to see who it was, and Bui-Nasi said: “Let us have a

light and see what he is like. I am sure he must be as ugly as he is

troublesome.”

One of them fetched a light, and to their great surprise they saw their

prisoner was Pulang-Gana!

“So it is you, Pulang-Gana!” said his brother in anger. “You are up to

your old tricks again. You were too lazy to work before, and would not

keep watch over our garden, and you left us without telling us where you

were going. And now, after several years’ absence, you come back and

disturb us in our work, and by some means or other set up the trees we

have had the trouble of cutting down. Though I am your brother, I have

no pity for you. As long as you are alive you will give us trouble, so we

intend to kill you and be well rid of you.”

He expected Pulang-Gana to be afraid of him, and to plead for his life.

But things were very much changed from the old days, when Pulang-Gana was

the despised youngest brother, beaten and scolded by the others. Now he

was the son-in-law of the gods, and had Rajah Shua and Seregendah to help

him, and he was not at all afraid of his brothers, because he knew well

they could do him no harm.

He shook off those that held him, and told them to listen to what he had

to say. His manner and bearing were very different from that of one who

feared them. They stood around him in awe, for they instinctively felt

that Pulang-Gana was not to be trifled with, and from what had already

taken place they knew that he was aided by powerful spirits.

Then Pulang-Gana spoke:—

“I have good reason for doing what I did. You have no right to cut down

this jungle or to plant on this land. You have not asked my leave to

do so, and have not paid me the price of the land. Not long ago, you,

Bui-Nasi, gave me a clod of earth as my share of the property of our

father, and so I have now the right of preventing any from planting on

the earth. It is no use you attempting to kill me. Though you are many in

numbers, it is impossible for you to kill me, because I am now the god of

the earth, and am assisted by Rajah Shua and Seregendah, whose power you

know.”

There was silence for a short time, and then Bui-Nasi said:—

“No doubt what you say is true, for no one without supernatural aid

could have made the trees that were cut down stand upright and grow. What

do you wish us to do, and how are we to obtain your leave to plant on the

land?”

Pulang-Gana told them to gather all the people together the next day, and

he would tell them what they must do in order to insure their getting

good crops of paddy.

That same night messengers were sent in all directions to tell the people

in the neighbouring villages to come together the next day, in order that

they might learn from Pulang-Gana what they were to do before cutting

down the jungle and planting paddy.

The next morning a very large crowd gathered together, and Pulang-Gana

said to them:

“You must always remember that I am the god of the earth, and before

cutting down the jungle for planting you must make invocations to me, as

well as to Rajah Shua and Seregendah, and you must ask me for permission

to plant on the piece of land you have chosen. You must also kill some

animal—a pig or a fowl—and offer it as a sacrifice to me, and in addition

to this some offering of food—rice, or eggs, or potatoes, or fruit—must

be made. Then, lastly, you must remember to bury some small offering in

the ground. That is the rent you pay me for the use of the land, for all

the land belongs to me, and I expect rent to be paid by all who use it.

“And if anything goes wrong in your paddy-fields, and the crops are poor,

or, being good, are attacked by insects or wild animals, then you must

call upon Rajah Shua and Seregendah and myself to come to your aid, and

we will help you.”

Then for the first time did the new ceremonies come into force, and,

aided by the higher powers, men were able to obtain much better crops

than they had done before. And this is why no Dyak dares to plant paddy

without first burying some small gift in the earth, and also making

invocations and offerings to Pulang-Gana, Rajah Shua, and Seregendah.

CHAPTER XXIII

SOME CURIOUS CUSTOMS

Trial by ordeal—Diving contests—A diving contest

in Krian—A Dyak superstition—Names—Fruit found

by the pathway—Circumcision—Fishing and hunting

superstition—Madness—Leprosy—Time—Form of greeting.

The practice of referring disputed questions to supernatural decision

is not unknown to the Dyaks. They have the trial by ordeal, and believe

that the gods are sure to help the innocent and punish the guilty. I

have heard of several different methods, which are seldom resorted to

nowadays. The only ordeal that I have frequently seen among the Dyaks

is the Ordeal by Diving. When there is a dispute between two parties in

which it is impossible to get any reliable evidence, or where one of the

parties is not satisfied with the decision of the headman of the Dyak

house, the Diving Ordeal is often resorted to.

Several preliminary meetings are held by the representatives of both

parties to determine the time and place of the match. It is also decided

what property each party should stake. This has to be paid by the loser

to the victor. The various articles staked are brought out of the room,

and placed in the public hall of the house in which each litigant lives,

and there they are covered up and secured.

The Dyaks look upon a Diving Ordeal as a sacred rite, and for several

days and nights before the contest they gather their friends together,

and make offerings and sing incantations to the spirits, and beg of them

to vindicate the just and cause their representative to win. Each party

chooses a champion. There are many professional divers who for a trifling

sum are willing to undergo the painful contest.

On the evening of the day previous to that on which the diving match is

to take place each champion is fed with seven compressed balls of cooked

rice. Then each is made to lie down on a fine mat, and is covered with

the best Dyak woven sheet they have; an incantation is made over him, and

the spirit inhabitants of the waters are invoked to come to the aid of

the man whose cause is just.

Early the next morning the champions are roused from their sleep, and

dressed each in a fine new waist-cloth. The articles staked are brought

down from the houses and placed upon the bank. A large crowd of men,

women, and children join the procession of the two champions and their

friends and supporters to the scene of the contest at the riverside. As

soon as the place is reached, fires are lit and mats are spread for the

divers to sit on and warm themselves. While they sit by their respective

fires, the necessary arrangements are made.

Each party provides a roughly-constructed wooden grating to be placed in

the bed of the river for his champion to stand on in the water. These are

placed within a few yards of each other, where the water is deep enough

to reach the waist, and near each a pole is thrust firmly in the mud for

the man to hold on to when he is diving.

The two men are led out into the river, and each stands on his own

grating grasping his pole. At a given signal they plunge their heads

simultaneously into the water. Immediately the spectators shout aloud

at the top of their voices, over and over again, “_Lobon—lobon_,” and

continue doing so during the whole contest. What these mysterious words

mean, I have never been able to discover. When at length one of the

champions shows signs of yielding, by his movements in the water and the

shaking of the pole he is holding to, the excitement becomes very great.

“_Lobon—lobon_,” is shouted louder and more rapidly than before. The

shouts become deafening. The struggles of the poor victim who is fast

becoming asphyxiated are painful to witness. The champions are generally

plucky, and seldom come out of the water of their own will. They stay

under water until the loser drops senseless, and is dragged ashore

apparently lifeless by his companions. The friends of his opponent,

raising a loud shout of triumph, hurry to the bank, and seize and carry

off the stakes. The vanquished one, quite unconscious, is carried by his

friends to the fire. In a few minutes he recovers, opens his eyes and

gazes wildly around, and in a short time is able to walk slowly home.

Next day he is probably in high fever from the effects of his dive. When

both champions succumb at the same time, the one who first regains his

senses is held to be the winner.

I have timed several diving contests, and where the divers are good they

keep under water between three and four minutes.

Among some tribes of Dyaks, the champion is paid his fee whether he wins

or loses. They say it is not the fault of the diver, but because his side

is in the wrong, that he is beaten. Among other tribes, however, no fee

is given to the losing champion, so he comes off very poorly indeed.

There are certain cases where diving seems to be the only means of a

satisfactory decision. Take the case of the ownership of a _durian_

tree. The tree probably does not bear fruit till fifteen years after it

has been planted. Up to that time no one pays any attention to it. When

the tree begins to bear fruit two or three lay claim to it. The man who

originally planted it is probably dead, and no one knows for certain whom

the tree belongs to. In a case like this, no amount of discussion can

lead to a satisfactory decision, whereas a diving contest settles the

matter to the satisfaction of all parties.

The Dyaks have great faith in the Diving Ordeal, and believe that the

gods will always maintain right by making the man who is in the wrong be

the loser. In fact, if a Dyak refuses the challenge of a Diving Ordeal,

it is equivalent to his admitting that he is in the wrong.

Among the Dyaks of the Batang Lupar diving contests are frequent.

Champions are poorly paid for diving, and the losing diver receives

nothing at all. Little or nothing is staked, and there is not much

attached to the winning or losing of a case except the property in

dispute. If the diving contest be about a fruit-tree, the winner becomes

the owner of the tree, and the loser is not allowed to make any further

claim. In the villages on the Krian River, however, the ordeal by diving

is rarely resorted to, and when a diving contest does take place, the

stakes are very high indeed.

A remarkable dispute was decided in Krian many years ago. I was told of

it by the son of the man who won the case. A girl put out in the sun a

petticoat she had woven. It was stolen. Some months after she saw a girl

wearing it, and recognized it as her petticoat. She accused the girl of

stealing it. The girl declared it was her own, and denied the theft. Both

girls belonged to good families. It was decided to resort to the ordeal

by diving. The stakes were very high. It was agreed that the losing party

should give to the other eight valuable jars.

Each party chose a good champion, and the fee paid him was very high. On

the day of the contest a very large crowd from far and near came together

to witness it.

The losing party paid to the victors the eight valuable jars as promised,

and were reduced to poverty by doing so.

The Dyaks have a curious superstition that if food is offered to a man,

and he refuses it, and goes away without at least touching it, some

misfortune is sure to befall him. It is said that he is sure to be either

attacked by a crocodile, or bitten by a snake, or suffer from the attack

of some animal.

When Dyaks have been asked to stay and have a meal, if they do not feel

inclined to do so, I have often noticed them touch the food before going

away. They say it would be _puni_ not to do so. I have never been able to

discover the reason for this curious superstition, but innumerable tales

are told of those who have disregarded it, and have paid the penalty by

being attacked by some animal.

A curious custom prevails among the Dyaks with regard to names. Parents

are no longer known by their names, but as the father or mother of

So-and-so. For instance, if the child is born, and named Janting, the

father would no longer be known by his own name, but would be called

_Apai Janting_ (the father of Janting) and the mother _Indai Janting_

(the mother of Janting).

The names of children are often changed because the Dyaks have a great

dislike of mentioning the name of anyone who is dead. So when a man dies,

it is usual for his namesakes in his village to have new names given them.

It is considered a terrible crime to mention the name of the

father-in-law or mother-in-law. Though a Dyak does not speak of his

father and mother by name, still if he were asked their names, he would

give them. But if a man were asked the name of his father-in-law or

mother-in-law, he would not tell it, but ask some other person present to

do so.

The Dyaks will eat fruit that has fallen from any tree, but if they find

fruit by the path, they will never touch it. The reason for this is given

in the Dyak legend, “Danjai and the Were-Tiger’s Sister” (p. 265).

I remember once walking with some Dyaks, and a man carrying a load of

fruit passed us. Farther on we saw some fruit which had evidently dropped

from his load, but none of the Dyaks would eat it.

Circumcision is practised among certain Dyak tribes. It is not a

religious ceremony, and is not accompanied with the offering of

sacrifices or the singing of incantations. All I have been able to learn

from such tribes as practise it, is that it has been the custom from

ancient days, and so they do it. The cutting of the foreskin is not done

with a knife, but with a piece of sharpened bamboo. The custom is by no

means universal among the Sea Dyaks.

When going out fishing or hunting it is considered most unfortunate to

mention the name of any fish or bird, or to talk of any animal which it

is hoped to secure. One evening I was out shooting wild pig, and was

sitting in a dug-out, which was paddled up a stream by three Dyaks. I

said in fun: “There will be plenty of room to put a pig here behind me

if we manage to shoot one.” The Dyaks all looked horrified, and I was

told that saying such a thing as that meant with them the certainty of

failure. As it happened, we succeeded in killing a wild pig, and brought

it back that evening in the boat. There was much discussion among the

people in the Dyak house, and they were surprised at our success after

what I had said.

Madness is looked upon by the Dyaks as possession by some evil spirit.

All they can do for it is to call the witch-doctors in to sing their

incantations, and exorcise the evil spirit. If no good result follows,

and the man is still a violent lunatic, a large wooden cage (_bubong_)

is made, and the man is kept in it. This is only done in the case of

dangerous and violent madmen. Harmless lunatics and idiots are allowed

their freedom.

Leprosy is not unknown among the Dyaks, and occasionally cases of it

are met with. There used to be a village in the Krian where there were

several suffering from leprosy. When the disease is so far advanced as

to make it unsafe to let them live with others in the long Dyak house, a

separate little hut is put up for them at some distance away. I remember

seeing a poor woman who lived by herself in this way. The people from

the house would often go and see her, and take her food and water, but

sometimes she would be left for days. She told me that once her fire went

out, and as no one came to see her for two days, she was unable to cook

any food, and had to live as best she could during that time. It must

have been a lonely, unhappy life she led, and one can imagine such an one

longing for death to end her troubles.

The Dyaks mark the time by the position of the sun. A man will tell you

at what hour you may expect him by saying something of this kind, “I

shall come to-morrow when the sun is there,” pointing to the part of the

sky where the sun will be.

The usual form of greeting when Dyaks meet is, “_Kini ka nuan?_” (“Where

are you going?”), or, “_Ari ni nuan?_” (“Where have you come from?”).

CHAPTER XXIV

THE FUTURE OF THE SEA DYAK IN SARAWAK

The Sea Dyak—Work—Bad times—Cheerfulness—The view

from within—The Sea Dyak’s future—Mission work among

them—Government—Development in the immediate future.

There are occasions when one who has lived among a people like the Dyaks,

and has learnt to know and to love them, looks forward into the coming

years and tries to picture what is in store for them. Those who have

read the preceding pages will be able to form some idea of the Dyaks

as they are, and know their manner of life, and to a certain extent, I

hope, their modes of thought. In this chapter I shall say something of

the probable future of the Sea Dyak in Sarawak. Let me first recall some

features of the home life of the average Dyak at the present day.

He marries at an early age, and lives in a long Dyak village house with

his wife and children. His wife since her marriage has grown into a

tired-looking, untidy woman, very different from the bright merry girl

of ten years ago. How can she help it? She has four children to look

after, and the youngest is still an infant, who needs a great deal of her

attention. She has to fetch the water required, and do the cooking for

the family. She has to attend to the drying and pounding of the paddy,

and convert it into the rice for their daily food. In addition to all

this, there is the worry and commotion connected with having to move the

household for some months each year to the little hut put up in their

paddy-farm some little distance away.

The Sea Dyak has year after year to grow as much paddy as possible. He

rises on work-days early in the morning, partakes of his frugal meal of

rice and salt, or rice and salt fish, varied, if he be very lucky, by a

piece of wild pig’s flesh or venison, which he has received as a gift or

bought from some hunting friend. His wife bundles up for him his midday

meal in the spathe of the Penang palm, and he goes off to his work,

returning home late in the evening.

There are days when he does not go to work on his paddy-farm, but spends

his time in getting firewood or mending things in his room, or in sitting

about in the common veranda chatting with his friends.

When the paddy has grown a little, and the time for weeding draws near,

the family remove to the little hut put up in the paddy-field. In the

weeding the Sea Dyak is helped by his wife, the younger children being

left in charge of the elder for the greater part of the day, while their

parents are at work. When the weeding has been done, the family return to

the long Dyak house for a month or so; then they go back to their hut to

watch the ripening paddy and guard it against attacks of birds and beasts.

Paddy-planting is the chief occupation of every Sea Dyak, but he has

plenty of time for other things, and his life is not quite so monotonous

as may be supposed. The actual work of paddy-planting, and things

connected with it, such as the building of farm-huts and the getting

ready of farming implements, takes up seven or perhaps eight months of

the year. The Sea Dyak has, therefore, a certain amount of time during

which he can visit his friends, make boats, or hunt for jungle produce.

On certain occasions the Sea Dyaks muster in great force. At a feast a

large number of them appear dressed in such finery as they possess, and

they eat more than is good for them, and drink enough bad Dyak _tuak_

(spirit) to make them very sick and to give them a bad headache for the

next few days. At a large _tuba_-fishing crowds of them congregate with

their hand-nets and fish-spears, and a pleasant sort of picnic is spent,

attended, if they are fortunate, with the procuring of much fish.

The Sea Dyak has his bad times. When he has had a bad crop, he has to

think of some means of raising money—not for luxuries in dress and food,

but for the plain necessaries of rice and salt upon which many Dyaks have

to live for several months in the year. On these occasions he will work

for some Chinaman at the nearest bazaar for a low wage, or sell firewood

to them for whatever they will give. If he possess such things, he sells

some old brass gun or gong to buy food for his family. If he be reduced

to borrowing paddy from his neighbours, he will have to pay back the

following year double the amount he has received.

[Illustration: A DYAK IN GALA COSTUME

He has a fringed headkerchief, in which are fixed feathers of the

rhinoceros hornbill, and other birds. His ears are decorated with lead

pendants. Round his neck are necklaces of beads, and brass or silver

buttons. He has shell bracelets and brass and cane rings on his arms,

and a large number of palm fibre rings on his wrists. Round his waist

is a belt of silver coins, and his sword is fastened to his side. He is

wearing the Dyak waistcloth and has a _sarong_ on his right shoulder.

This is the usual dress worn by a Dyak at a feast.]

Below the class of industrious workers whom I have tried to depict, there

is a lower stratum consisting of the failures. These are the lazy Dyaks,

the poor workers, who have never by any possible chance enough paddy at

the harvest to last them through the year; who live perpetually in an

atmosphere of debt; who eke out their livelihood by selling wild-ferns

and bamboo-shoots for the trifling payment in paddy that people will

give for such things; who live a hugger-mugger life, depending a good

deal on the charity of their neighbours. Of this class I say nothing.

It is not numerous, and does not come within the scope of this chapter.

Another class which I pass over consists of the few rich men, whose

wealth is continually increasing, who sell paddy year after year, and,

when there is more work than they can conveniently do, can always afford

to get extra labour by paying for it. The class I am dealing with is

neither rich nor poor, and is to be met with in large numbers in any Dyak

community.

The Dyak is cheerful and contented with his life. If his lot is a hard

and uneventful one, he is ignorant of any other, and is quite satisfied

with it. He knows little of the outside world. He reads no books or

newspapers. The scope of his conversation is limited to matters of

farming or of boat-building, varied perhaps by some local Dyak scandal,

or some experience he may have gone through when, in his younger days,

before he settled down as a sober married man, he went out gutta-hunting

in distant lands. He has no wish to improve himself. His father and

grandfather lived in long Dyak houses, and what was good enough for them

is good enough for him. Why should he worry himself about building better

houses, or farming in some new and improved way? He will not meddle with

matters that are too high for him; and yet, notwithstanding this calm and

even existence that he leads from childhood to the grave, those who are

most interested in the Sea Dyak must feel that his life is not what it

ought to be, that it shows few signs of progress, and is too stagnant to

be healthy.

They do not suppose him to be a “fortuitous aggregation of atoms that

will shortly be dispersed throughout space.” They believe that there is

something Divine in him holding those fleeting atoms together, and making

them one, and that he is journeying through a world of tragic meaning to

the significance of which he seems to be for ever blind. They long to see

him brought under the elevating and purifying influence of Christianity.

It may be asked: What are the Missions, Church of England and Roman

Catholic, doing to elevate the Sea Dyak? I believe they are doing the

best they can, but there are many things to contend against. First, there

is the natural inability of the Dyak to keep his attention fixed upon

one subject for any length of time, and so it is difficult to prevent

the conversation from drifting into some commonplace topic when one is

talking about serious matters. Then, again, when are they to be taught?

They usually come home from their work late in the evening, and then

they are tired, and take no interest in anything, being greatly in need

of rest. It is at all times difficult to have a quiet conversation in a

Dyak house. The common veranda is suitable for many things, but it is far

too noisy to be convenient for teaching. They are often away from their

homes for months, and the Missionary, who generally has a large field to

cover, finds he cannot visit many villages in his parish more than once

in three months. How much of such teaching is likely to be remembered? Of

course, things are better where the Church and Mission House are. There

regular services are held, and these the Sea Dyak has the opportunity of

attending. He can also come up to the Mission House and talk over matters

with the Missionary in charge, or the Schoolmaster, or the Catechist. But

the number of Mission Houses with resident Missionaries among the large

and scattered population of Sea Dyaks in Sarawak is but small.

The up-country Mission Schools, which the Government liberally support,

admit boys at an early age, when they are most susceptible to the

reception of new ideas. Here they are away from Dyak surroundings, and

live with the Missionary and Schoolmaster. One naturally hopes that

each of these boys returning to his family will be an example to them,

leading them into the right way, and no doubt the old schoolboys have an

influence for good, in more ways than one, on the homes to which they

return. There are, indeed, among the Christian Sea Dyaks of Sarawak

some striking examples of an intelligent reception of the truth, and

of a faith which is a living personal force governing their lives.

But, unhappily, these cases are few as compared with the bulk of the

population, and the people live such an unsettled life that missionary

effort, as it exists in Sarawak at the present time, can but touch a

small proportion of them, and, unless greatly reinforced, cannot affect,

to any very considerable extent, the future of the Sea Dyak.

The Government, by maintaining discipline in the different districts,

by punishing crime and regulating trade, is no doubt instilling into

the mind of the people important principles of law and order, and it

has suppressed the atrocious crimes of piracy and head-hunting. The

importation of Hakka Chinese to show the Dyaks how paddy ought to be

planted is an important move in the right direction, and will conduce to

their prosperity if only they can be persuaded to submit to instruction.

But the future of the Sea Dyak even as regards material well-being is

somewhat doubtful. There are those who say that he is slowly, but none

the less surely, improving, and that he will at no very distant time

reach the stage of progress to which most of the Malays in the country

have attained; that his means of earning a livelihood then will not be

confined to paddy-planting and occasionally working jungle produce, but

that he will work sago, and also engage in fishing and boat-building on

a large scale. Others, however, mutter dark things concerning the Sea

Dyak’s primitive methods of farming and his unwillingness to give them

up, and they paint a dismal picture of villages crowded in the distant

future by half-starved men and women, living on worn-out land which will

not bear abundant crops, as in the old days, a weakly and sickly race,

debilitated by insufficiency of food.

Whatever may be the ultimate fate of the Sea Dyak, that events will move

on certain lines in the immediate future seems to be fairly probable. The

Sea Dyak will go on living in the same kind of house as his ancestors

had—much the same kind of life year after year. He will go on farming in

his present primitive way till the soil around is worn out; then he will

ask leave of the Government, as has been done in many cases lately, to

remove to some new and uncultivated country, and to be allowed to cut

down the jungle on the hills there. Enormous tracts of lowland jungle

exist in the lower reaches of the rivers on whose banks the Sea Dyaks

live; but though they are industrious enough to plant their paddy on

swampy soil which was cleared of jungle generations ago, they do not seem

to care to cut down lowland jungle and prepare such land for planting.

No doubt the reason is that it is harder work, and that after the trees

are felled, it is six or seven years before the roots have rotted, and

the soil has settled, and the land is fit for planting paddy on. What

the Sea Dyaks like is to be allowed to remove to some country with plenty

of wooded hills. They prefer planting paddy on the hills to clearing the

lowland jungle, and waiting till the swampy land is fit for planting. The

old sequence of events will repeat itself. The new land, rich virgin soil

at first, will, under his devastating hand, soon become exhausted and

worn out. It does not take long to impoverish land if no attempt is made

to enrich it.

That these melancholy forebodings may never be fulfilled must be the

earnest wish of all who have in some way or other come into contact with

the Sea Dyak—a warm-hearted, hospitable, cheery figure, satisfied with

little, living in the present, with no thought of the future, quite

content if he have food to eat and tobacco to smoke, and yet, for this

very reason, because he is so satisfied with his lot, most unwilling to

admit new ideas, seemingly for ever unconscious of the significance of

his life, and ignorant of the infinite possibilities for good or evil

which exist in him.

FOOTNOTES

[1] “And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground” (Gen. ii. 7).

In this respect Dyak tradition corresponds with the Biblical account.

[2] Rice in the husk.

[3] _Pinang_, betel-nut.

[4] _Sireh_, a kind of pepper-leaf which the Dyaks are fond of eating

with betel-nut.

[5] The Dyaks are fond of rhyming names, which often have no special

meaning.

GLOSSARY OF DYAK WORDS AND PHRASES

WHICH OCCUR IN THE FOREGOING PAGES

A

=Achar=, a spoon-bait.

=Akal plandok=, the cunning of the _plandok_ or mouse-deer.

=Anggat=, a term of endearment used in addressing a boy.

=Antu=, a spirit; the dead.

=Ari ni nuan?= “From whence are you (come)?” A form of greeting.

=Attap=, a leaf roof made from the leaves of the _nipa_ palm.

B

=Baiya=, goods put aside upon the owner’s death and placed upon or within

his grave.

=Banghong=, a Dyak boat.

=Baru=, a tree with fibrous bark.

=Batu=, a stone.

=Batu bintang=, “star stone.”

=Batu ilau=, “stone of light.”

=Batu krang jiranau=, the petrified section of _jiranau_ (Zingeberad?).

=Batu krat ikan sembilan=, the petrified section of the _sembilan_ fish.

=Batu kudi=, “stones of wrath.”

=Batu lintar=, thunderbolt.

=Batu nitar=, thunderbolt.

=Bebaju besi=, “wearing an iron coat.” Name of a _manang_ ceremony.

=Bebandong api=, “displaying fire.” Name of a _manang_ ceremony.

=Bebayak=, making a _bayak_ or iguana. Name of a _manang_ ceremony.

=Beburong raia=, “making or acting the adjutant bird.” Name of a _manang_

ceremony.

=Begiling lantai=, “rolled up in the flooring.” Name of a _manang_

ceremony.

=Bekliti=, opening. One of the ceremonies of initiation of a _manang_, or

witch-doctor.

=Belelang=, to wander about; to visit a far country.

=Benih=, seed.

=Bepancha=, “making a _pancha_, or swing.” Name of a _manang_ ceremony.

=Beremaung=, “acting the tiger.” Name of a _manang_ ceremony.

=Berencha=, “making an assault.” Name of a _manang_ ceremony.

=Berua=, “swinging.” Name of a _manang_ ceremony.

=Besi=, iron.

=Besudi=, “feeling or touching.” One of the ceremonies of initiation of

_manang_, or witch-doctor.

=Betanam pentik=, “planting a _pentik_, or wooden representation of a

man.” Name of a _manang_ ceremony.

=Betepas=, “sweeping.” Name of a _manang_ ceremony.

=Betiang garong=, “making a post for souls.” Name of a _manang_ ceremony.

=Betiti tendai=, “walking on the _tendai_, or bar on which cotton is

placed in weaving.” Name of a _manang_ ceremony.

=Betukup rarong=, “to split open the coffin.” Name of a _manang_ ceremony.

=Bilian=, iron-wood; the only wood which the white ants do not attack.

=Bilik=, a room.

=Bliong=, a Dyak tool, which can be used both as an adze and an axe.

=Bubong=, a cage.

C

=Chanang=, a brass gong, smaller than the _tawak_.

D

=Dandong=, a shawl; a _sarong_, or long skirt.

=Duku=, a chopper; a sword.

=Durian=, a fruit very much liked by the Dyaks.

E

=Embuas=, name of an omen bird.

=Endun=, a term of endearment applied to girls.

=Engkratong=, a musical instrument resembling a guitar.

=Engkrumong=, a set of eight small brass gongs, each sounding a different

note, arranged in a frame.

=Engkrurai=, a musical instrument made of bamboo tubes fixed in a gourd.

=Ensera=, a fairy tale.

=Ensuling=, a flageolet.

G

=Galanggang=, a game, not unlike prisoner’s base, played by the Dyaks.

=Gawai Antu=, the “Spirit Feast”; feast in honour of the dead.

=Gawai Batu=, the “Stone Feast,” held before farming operations begin.

=Gawai Benih=, the “Seed Feast,” held just before sowing the seed.

=Gawai Burong=, the “Bird Feast,” held in honour of human heads taken in

war.

=Gawai Gajah=, the “Elephant Feast”; the greatest of all feasts connected

with head-hunting.

=Gawai Ijok=, the “_Ijok_ Feast.” The _ijok_ is the gamuti palm from

which a native drink (_tuak_) is obtained. This feast is connected with

head-hunting.

=Gawai Mandi Rumah=, a feast given when a new house is built; the

house-warming.

=Gawai Nyimpan Padi=, the “Feast of Storing the Paddy,” held after the

reaping and winnowing are over, when the paddy is ready to be stored.

=Gawai Pala=, “the Head Feast.” Another name for _Gawai Burong_.

=Gawai Tenyalang=, “the Horn-bill Feast.” Another name for _Gawai Burong_.

=Ginselan=, a sacrifice in which some animal is slain and the blood used.

=Gusi=, the name of an old jar of great value, and looked upon as sacred.

I

=Igat=, a term of endearment applied to boys.

=Ilang=, a curiously carved sword.

=Ipoh=, a tree (_Antiaris toxicaria_) the sap of which is poisonous, and

used to poison the darts of the blow-pipe.

J

=Jadi rumah?= “Is the house free from taboo?”—_i.e._, May we walk up into

the house? The usual question asked before entering a Dyak house.

=Jala=, a casting-net.

K

=Kabayah=, a long jacket worn by Malay women.

=Kadjang=, a covering made of the young leaves of the _nipa_ palm, etc.,

sewn together with split cane. This is used as awnings for boats, or for

the roof of temporary huts.

=Kain=, a woman’s petticoat.

=Kana=, a fairy tale set to verse and sung.

=Kapu=, lime.

=Kasih ka imbok enda kasih ka manok=, “To show kindness to the wild

pigeon, but not to the domestic fowl” (Dyak proverb).

=Kati=, 1¼ pounds.

=Katupong=, an omen bird.

=Kini ka nuan?= “Where are you going?” A form of greeting.

=Klambi=, a sleeveless jacket; a coat.

=Kutok=, an omen bird.

L

=Labong=, a headkerchief.

=Langan=, waves in tidal rivers which are caused at flood-tide by the

strong current rushing over the shallows.

=Lantai=, bamboo, or palms, etc., split into laths, and tied together for

the flooring of a house, or to sit upon in boats.

=Lari ka ribut nemu ujan, lari ka sungkup nemu pendam=, “Running from the

hurricane, he encounters the rain; running from a tombstone, he finds

himself in a graveyard” (Dyak proverb).

=Lesong=, a wooden mortar used for pounding rice, etc.

=Limban=, the Dyak Styx; the river in Hades.

=Lobon-lobon=, the words shouted by those watching a diving ordeal. The

meaning is uncertain.

=Lumpang=, a piece of bamboo in which rice has been cooked; used at the

feast for the dead as a boat to fetch the spirits from Hades.

=Lunas=, the keel of a boat.

=Lupong=, a Dyak medicine-chest.

M