the people are so impregnated with vice that they seek for no excuses
to palliate his conduct, and have no condemnation for this ruthless
destroyer of Iskander’s happy home. But they are Muhammadans, and seldom
allow themselves the luxury of burning moral convictions. I have never
seen a missionary proselytising amongst the Malays, but many years ago
I was told that a Christian missionary came to Malâya full of zeal and
confident of success. He began with a man who seemed an earnest, truthful
person, anxious to learn, a promising subject. The missionary told him
the story of the Immaculate Conception. The Malay listened to the end,
showing great interest in the miraculous narrative of the Blessed Virgin;
then he said, “If that had happened to my wife, I should have killed
her.”
XVII
MALAY SUPERSTITIONS
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy
_Hamlet_
Malay superstitions are the survival of a time antecedent to the advent
of the gospel of Islam, and their strong hold on the people is only
another proof of the conservative tendencies of the race. What was the
Faith of Malâya seven hundred years ago it is hard to say, but there is
a certain amount of evidence to lead to the belief that it was a form of
Brahmanism and that no doubt had succeeded the original Spirit Worship.
I do not propose to attempt to enumerate all the various forms of
superstition, their name is legion, but only to describe a few that are
both curious and interesting.
I have already referred to what is known as _bĕr-hantu_, the practice
of a kind of witchcraft for the healing of the sick; it reminds one
of “casting out devils in the name of Beelzebub the Prince of the
devils”—and I might here give some of the incantations commonly spoken
by the exorcist, but one will suffice. Here is the translation of a most
potent exorcism believed to be efficacious against the malevolent attacks
of a thousand lesser demons:
Heigh! thou Spirit whose name is Jin Pari of the Jin Âruah; Rabiah Jâmil
was thy mother’s, Imam Jâmil thy father’s name; thou art the grandchild
of Hakim Baisuri, the great-grandchild of Mâlim of the Forest. Thou
Spirit of the path Lôrin, Spirit of the rising ground Sri Permâtang,
Spirit of the ant-hill known as “Piebald Horse.” Heigh! you white ants
Sekutânai, why do you, Sekutâpa, flying up stream make me think you are
on your way down, and flying down stream give the impression that you are
going to the interior?
I know your origin, spawn of Hell’s spouting flame; do not any longer
torment this person.
If you disobey, I will curse you by the name of the Most High, saying,
“By the Grace of God, by the Grace of God, by the Grace of God.”
The final threat to drive out the demon by using the name of the Almighty
is curious as showing how the exorcist seeks by a judicious blending of
tradition with his latter-day Faith to get the better of the tormentor.
A very widespread superstition is that certain persons have familiar
spirits who will, at the instance of their owners, enter into and plague
any one whom it may be desired to injure. These evil spirits are known
as _Bâjang_, _Pôlong_, _Pĕlsit_, and _Langsûior_, the last being a
female spirit. They are either inherited or acquired by the practice of
witchcraft, and the way in which their possession is brought home to any
member of the community is as little reasonable as the “proof” of the
exercise of similar powers in the Western witch not so many centuries ago.
Some one in a village falls ill of a complaint, the symptoms of which
are unusual; there may be convulsions, unconsciousness, or delirium,
possibly for some days together or with intervals between the attacks.
The relatives will call in a native doctor, and at her (she is usually
an ancient female) suggestion, or without it, an impression will arise
that the patient is the victim of a _bâjang_. Such an impression quickly
develops into certainty and any trifle will suggest the owner of the
evil spirit. One method of verifying this suspicion is to wait till the
patient is in a state of delirium and then to question him or her as to
who is the author of the trouble. This should be done by some independent
person of authority who is supposed to be able to ascertain the truth.
A further and convincing proof is then to call in a “_Pâwang_” skilled in
dealing with wizards (in Malay countries they are usually men), and if he
knows his business his power is such that he will place the sorcerer in
one room, and, while he in another scrapes an iron vessel with a razor,
the culprit’s hair will fall off as though the razor had been applied to
his head instead of to the vessel! That is supposing he _is_ the culprit;
if not, of course he will pass through the ordeal without damage.
I have been assured that the shaving process is so efficacious that, as
the vessel represents the head of the person standing his trial, wherever
it is scraped, the wizard’s hair will fall off in a corresponding spot.
It might be supposed that under these circumstances the accused is
reasonably safe, but this test of guilt is not always employed. What more
commonly happens is that when several cases of unexplained sickness have
occurred in a village, with possibly one or two deaths, the people of
the place lodge a formal complaint against the supposed author of these
ills and desire that he be punished.
Before the advent of British influence it was the practice to kill the
wizard or witch whose guilt had been established to Malay satisfaction,
and such executions were carried out not very many years ago.
I remember a case in Perak less than ten years ago when the people of an
up-river village accused a man of keeping a _bâjang_, and the present
Sultan, who was then the principal Malay Judge in the State, told them he
would severely punish the _bâjang_ if they would produce it. They went
away hardly satisfied and shortly after made a united representation to
the effect that if the person suspected were allowed to remain in their
midst they would kill him. Before anything could be done they put him,
his family, and effects on a raft and started them down the river. On
their arrival at Kuala Kangsar the man was given an isolated hut to live
in, but not long afterwards he disappeared.
The hereditary _bâjang_ comes like other evils, the unsought heritage
of a dissolute ancestry, but the acquired _bâjang_ is usually obtained
from the newly-buried body of a stillborn child, which is supposed to
be the abiding-place of a familiar spirit until lured therefrom by the
solicitations of someone who, at dead of night, stands over the grave and
by potent incantations persuades the _bâjang_ to come forth.
_Pôlong_ and _Pĕlsit_ are but other names for _Bâjang_, the latter is
chiefly used in the State of Kĕdah where it is considered rather _chic_
to have a _pĕlsit_. A Kĕdah lady the other day, eulogising the advantages
of possessing a familiar spirit (she said that amongst other things it
gave her absolute control over her husband and the power of annoying
people who offended her), thus described the method of securing this
useful ally:
“You go out,” she said, “on the night before the full moon and stand with
your back to the moon and your face to an ant-hill so that your shadow
falls on the ant-hill. Then you recite certain _jampi_ (incantations),
and bending forward try to embrace your shadow. If you fail try again
several times, repeating more incantations. If not successful go the next
night and make a further effort, and the night after if necessary—three
nights in all. If you cannot then catch your shadow, wait till the
same day on the following month and renew the attempt. Sooner or later
you will succeed, and, as you stand there in the brilliance of the
moonlight, you will see that you have drawn your shadow into yourself,
and your body will never again cast a shade. Go home and in the night,
whether sleeping or waking, the form of a child will appear before you
and put out its tongue; that seize and it will remain while the rest
of the child disappears. In a little while the tongue will turn into
something that breathes, a small animal, reptile or insect, and when you
see the creature has life put it in a bottle and the _pĕlsit_ is yours.”
It sounds easy enough, and one is not surprised to hear that everyone in
Kĕdah, who is anybody, keeps a _pĕlsit_.
_Langsûior_, the female familiar, differs hardly at all from the _bâjang_
except that she is a little more baneful, and, when under the control of
a man, he sometimes becomes the victim of her attractions, and she will
even bear him elfin children.
It is all very well for the Kĕdah ladies to sacrifice their shadows
to obtain possession of a _pĕlsit_, leaders of society must be in the
fashion at any cost; but there are plenty of people living in Perak who
have seen more than one ancient Malay dame taken out into the river, and,
despite her protestations, her tears and entreaties, have watched her,
with hands and feet tied, put into the water and slowly pushed down out
of sight by means of a long pole with a fork at one end which fitted on
to her neck. Those who witnessed these executions have no doubt of the
justice of the punishment, and not uncommonly add that after two or three
examples had been made there would always ensue a period of rest from the
torments of the _bâjang_. I have also been assured that the _bâjang_, in
the shape of a lizard, has been seen to issue from the drowning person’s
nose. That statement, no doubt, is made on the authority of those who
condemned and executed the victim.
The following legend gives the Malay conception of the origin of all
_Jin_, _hantu_, _bâjang_, and other spirits.
The Creator determined to make Man, and for that purpose He took some
clay from the earth and fashioned it into the figure of a man. Then He
took the Spirit of Life to endue this body with vitality and placed the
spirit on the head of the figure. But the spirit was strong, and the
body, being only clay, could not hold it and was reft in pieces and
scattered into the air. Those fragments of the first great Failure are
the spirits of earth and sea and air.
The Creator then formed another clay figure, but into this one He
wrought some iron, so that when it received the vital spark it withstood
the strain and became Man. That man was Adam, and the iron that is in
the constitution of his descendants has stood them in good stead. When
they lose it, they become of little more account than their prototype the
first failure.
Another article of almost universal belief is that the people of a small
State in Sumatra called Korinchi have the power of assuming at will the
form of a tiger, and in that disguise they wreak vengeance on those they
wish to injure. Not every Korinchi man can do this, but still the gift of
this strange power of metamorphosis is pretty well confined to the people
of the small Sumatran State. At night when respectable members of society
should be in bed, the Korinchi man slips down from his hut, and, assuming
the form of a tiger, goes about “seeking whom he may devour.”
I have heard of four Korinchi men arriving in a district of Perak,
and that night a number of fowls were taken by a tiger. The strangers
left and went further up country, and shortly after only three of them
returned and stated that a tiger had just been killed, and they begged
the local headman to bury it!
On another occasion some Korinchi men appeared and sought hospitality in
a Malay house, and there also the fowls disappeared in the night, and
there were unmistakable traces of the visit of a tiger, but the next day
one of the visitors fell sick, and shortly after vomited chicken-feathers!
It is only fair to say that the Korinchi people strenuously deny the
tendencies and the power ascribed to them, but aver that they properly
belong to the inhabitants of a district called Chenâku in the interior
of the Korinchi country. Even there, however, it is only those who are
practised in the _elĕmu sĕhir_, the occult arts who are thus capable of
transforming themselves into tigers, and the Korinchi people profess
themselves afraid to enter the Chenâku district.
It was my misfortune some years ago to be robbed of some valuable
property, and several Malay friends strongly advised me to take the
advice of an astrologer or other learned person who (so they said) would
be able to give the name of the thief, and probably recover most of
the stolen things. I fear that I had no great faith in this method of
detection, but I was anxious to see what could be done, for the East is
a curious place, and no one with an inquiring mind can have lived in it
long without seeing phenomena that are not always explained by modern
text-books on Natural Philosophy.
I was first introduced to an Arab of very remarkable appearance. He was
about fifty years old, tall, with pleasant features and extraordinary
grey-blue eyes, clear and far-seeing, a man of striking and impressive
personality. I was travelling when I met him, and tried to persuade him
to return with me, but that he said he could not do, though he promised
to follow me by an early steamer. He said he would be able to tell me all
about the robbery, who committed it, where the stolen property then was,
and that all he would want was an empty house wherein he might fast in
solitude for three days, without which preparation, he said, he would not
be able to see what he sought. He told me that after his vigil, fast, and
prayer, he would lay in his hand a small piece of paper on which there
would be some writing, into this he would pour a little water, and in
that extemporised mirror he would see a vision of the whole transaction.
He declared that, after gazing intently into this divining-glass, the
inquirer first recognised the figure of a little old man. That having
duly saluted this _Jin_, it was only necessary to ask him to conjure up
the scene of the robbery, when all the details would be re-enacted in
the liquid glass under the eyes of the gazer, who would there and then
describe all that he saw. I had heard all this before, only it had been
stated to me then that the medium through whose eyes the vision could
alone be seen must be a young child of such tender years that it could
have never told a lie! The Arab, however, professed himself not only able
to conjure up the scene, but to let me see it for myself, if I would
follow his directions. Unfortunately, my grey-eyed friend failed to keep
his promise, and I never met him again.
A local Chief, however, declared his power to read the past by this
method, if only he could find the truthful child. In this he appeared
to succeed, but when, on the following day, he came to disclose to me
the results of his skill, he said that a difficulty had arisen because
just when the child (a little boy) was beginning to relate what he saw
he suddenly became unconscious, and it took the astrologer two hours
to restore him to his normal state. All the mothers of tender-aged and
possibly truthful children declined after this to lend their offspring
for the ordeal.
My friend was not, however, at the end of his resources, and, though
only an amateur in divination, he undertook to try by other methods to
find the culprit. For this purpose he asked me to give him the names of
everyone in the house at the time the robbery was committed. I did so,
and the next day he gave me one of those names as that of the thief. I
asked how he had arrived at this knowledge, he described the method and
consented to repeat the experiment in my presence. That afternoon I went
with him to a small house belonging to his sister. Here I found my friend
the Chief, his sister, and two men whom I did not recognise. We all sat
in a very small room, the Chief in the centre with a copy of the Korân
on a reading-stand, near to him the two men, opposite to each other,
the sister against one wall and I in a corner. A clean new unglazed
earthenware bowl with a wide rim was produced. This was filled with
water, and a piece of fair white cotton cloth tied over the top, making a
surface like that of a drum.
I was asked to write the name of each person present in the house when
the robbery was committed on a small piece of paper, and to fold each
paper up so that all should be alike, and then to place one of the names
on the cover of the vessel. I did so, and the proceedings began by the
two men placing each the middle joint of the forefinger of his right
hand under the rim of the bowl on opposite sides, and so supporting it
about six inches above the floor. The vessel being large and full of
water was heavy, and the men supported the strain by resting their right
elbows on their knees as they sat cross-legged on the floor and face to
face. It was then that I selected one of the folded papers, and placed
it on the cover of the vessel. The Chief read a page of the Korân, and
as nothing happened he said that was not the name of the guilty person,
and I changed the paper for another. This occurred four times, but at
the fifth the reading had scarcely commenced when the bowl began to
slowly turn round from left to right, the supporters letting their hands
go round with it, until it twisted itself out of their fingers and fell
on the floor with a considerable bang and a great spluttering of water
through the thin cover. “That,” said the Chief, “is the name of the
thief.”
It was the name of the person already mentioned by him.
I did not, however, impart that piece of information to the company, but
went on to the end of my papers, nothing more happening.
I said I should like to try the test again, and as the Chief at once
consented we began afresh, and this time I put the name of the suspected
person on first, and once more the vessel turned round and twisted
itself out of the hands of the holders, till it fell on the floor and
I was surprised it did not break. After trying a few more I said I was
satisfied, and the ordeal of the bowl was over.
Then the Chief asked me whose name had been on the vessel when it moved,
and I told him. It was a curious coincidence certainly. I wrote the names
in English, which no one could read; moreover, I was so placed that no
one could see what I wrote, and they none of them attempted to do so.
Then the papers were folded up so as to be all exactly alike, they were
shuffled together, and I did not know one from the other till I looked
inside myself. Each time I went from my corner and placed a name on the
vessel already held on the fingers of its supporters. No one except I
touched the papers, and no one but the Chief ever spoke till the _séance_
was over. I asked the men who held the bowl why they made it turn round
at that particular moment, but they declared they had nothing to do with
it, and that the vessel twisted itself off their fingers against their
inclination.
The name disclosed by this experiment was certainly that of the person
whom there was most reason to suspect, but beyond that I learnt nothing.
Another plan for surprising the secret of a suspected person is to get
into the room where that person is sleeping, and after making certain
passes to question the slumberer, when he may truthfully answer all
the questions put to him. This is a favourite device of the suspicious
husband.
Yet another plan is to place in the hand of a _pâwang_, magician, or
medium, a divining-rod formed of three lengths of rattan tied together at
one end, and when he gets close to the person “wanted,” or to the place
where anything stolen is concealed, the rod vibrates in a remarkable
manner.
A great many Malays and one or two Europeans may be found who profess
to have seen water drawn from a _kris_. The _modus operandi_ is simple.
The “pâwang” (I dare not call him conjurer) works with bare arms to show
there is no deception. He takes the _kris_ (yours, if you prefer it) from
its wooden handle, and, holding the steel point downwards in his left
hand, he recites a short incantation to the effect that he knows all
about iron and where it comes from, and that it must obey his orders.
He then with the thumb and first two fingers of his right hand proceeds
to gently squeeze the steel, moving his fingers up and down the blade.
After a little while a few drops of water fall from the point of the
_kris_, and these drops quickly develop into a stream that will fill a
cup. The “pâwang” will then hand round the blade and tell you to bend it;
this you will find no difficulty in doing, but by making two or three
passes over the _kris_ the “pâwang” can render it again so hard that it
cannot be bent.
The only drawback to this trick or miracle is that the process ruins the
temper of the steel, and a _kris_ that has been thus treated is useless.
One evening I was discussing these various superstitions with the Sultan
of Perak, and I did not notice that the spiritual teacher of His Highness
had entered and was waiting to lead the evening prayer. The _guru_,
or teacher, no doubt heard the end of our conversation and was duly
scandalised, for the next day I received from him a letter, of which the
following is the translation:
“First praise to God, the Giver of all good, a Fountain of
Compassion to His servants.
“From Haji Wan Muhammad, Teacher of His Highness the Sultan of
Perak, to the Resident who administers the Government of Perak.
“The whole earth is in the hand of the most High God, and He
gives it as an inheritance to whom He will of His subjects.
The true religion is also of God, and Heaven is the reward of
those who fear the Most High. Salvation and peace are for those
who follow the straight path, and only they will in the end
arrive at real greatness. No Raja can do good, and none can be
powerful except by the help of God the Most High, who is also
Most Mighty.
“I make ten thousand salutations. I wish to inquire about the
practice of _bĕr-hantu_, driving oneself mad and losing one’s
reason, as has been the custom of Rajas and Chiefs in this
State of Perak; is it right according to your religion, Mr.
Resident, or is it not? For that practice is a deadly sin to
the Muhammadan Faith, because those who engage in it lose their
reason and waste their substance for nothing; some of them cast
it into the water, while others scatter it broadcast through
the jungle. How is such conduct treated by your religion, Mr.
Resident, is it right or wrong? I want you in your indulgence
to give me an answer, for this practice is very hard on the
poor. The Headmen collect from the _rayats_, and then they make
elaborate preparations of food, killing a buffalo or fowls,
and all this is thrown away as already stated. According to the
Muhammadan religion such proceedings lead to destruction.
“I salute you many times, do not be angry, for I do not
understand your customs, Mr. Resident.
“(Signed) HAJI MUHAMMAD ABU HASSAN.”
XVIII
WITH A CASTING-NET
Where fountains of sweet water run between,
And sun and shadow chequer-chased the green
JÂMI
Perak is one of the largest and most populous of the States of the Malay
Peninsula, it is the one where probably the rulers can claim the clearest
genealogy and the longest recorded descent, and it is unquestionably here
that all ancient rites and customs have been most carefully preserved.
Whilst it was to Perak that the first British Resident was appointed, and
this State is now the most wealthy, advanced, and prosperous of all those
under British influence, the Malays still maintain their traditions and
observe their honoured customs as though railways and steamers, education
and sanitation had no more part in their lives than when Albuquerque was
striving to effect a landing on the shores of Malacca.
For ages it has been a practice of the Sultans of Perak to reserve
certain waters for their own fishing, and certain jungle tracts (usually
surrounding a hot spring of mineral water) for their own hunting. There
they would resort, annually or oftener, and with their relatives, chiefs,
and followers take their kingly pleasure, as it was duly chronicled had
been the custom of their ancestors.
In the lull after the first heavy rains, that is about the month of
December, when the river has been swollen to flood-height for a couple
of months, the _tuntong_ or river-turtles ascend the Perak River in
considerable numbers and lay their eggs on certain convenient sand
stretches in the neighbourhood of Bota, about 100 miles from the river’s
mouth.
The most frequented of these laying grounds is a place called _Pâsir
Tĕlor_ (egg-sand), just below Bota, and it is here that the ladies of the
Court annually assemble to dig up the eggs, which the Malay considers one
of the greatest delicacies known to him.
The river-turtle is a great deal smaller than the sea-turtle, but it lays
a larger egg, and one much more valued by Malays.