Part 9

I may as well say here that _hantu_ is a ghost, devil or spirit, and _bĕr-hantu_ means _to devil_, to raise the devil, or, at any rate, to engage in something as nearly akin to a witches’ revel on the Brocken as Malay traditions and surroundings will permit. It is a treatment commonly resorted to in Perak when other remedies fail. When, however, the friends of the patient decide that the time has arrived for _bĕr-hantu_, nothing will satisfy them but to have it, and if the sick man or woman dies during the performance, there is still the satisfaction of knowing that everything was done for them which love and skill could devise, and the issue was with God. _La-illahâ il-Allah, Muhammad Rasul-Allah_—“There is but one God, and Muhammad is His Prophet.”

This pious confession of faith has, however, nothing to do with the _bĕr-hantu_; it comes in afterwards when the seal of death is so evidently on the lips of the sufferer that his friends cease to call on the Devil, and commend the soul of the dying man to God. The _bĕr-hantu_ is, of course, a survival of præ-Islam darkness, and the priests abominate it, or say they do; but they have to be a little careful, because the highest society affects the practice of the Black Art.

To return to the King’s house. In the middle of the floor was spread a _puâdal_, a small narrow mat, at one end of which was seated a middle-aged woman dressed like a man in a short-sleeved jacket, trousers, a _sârong_, and a scarf fastened tightly round her waist. At the other end of the mat was a large newly-lighted candle in a candlestick. Between the woman and the taper were two or three small vessels containing rice coloured with turmeric, parched _padi_, and perfumed water. An attendant sat near at hand.

The woman in male attire was the _Pâwang_, the Raiser of Spirits, the Witch, not of Endor, but of as great repute in her own country and among her own people. In ordinary life she was an amusing lady named Raja Ngah, a scion of the reigning house on the female side and a member of a family skilled in all matters pertaining to occultism. In a corner of the room were five or six girls holding native drums, instruments with a skin stretched over one side only, and this is beaten usually with the fingers. The leader of this orchestra was the daughter of Raja Ngah.

Shortly after I sat down, the proceedings began by the _Pâwang_ covering her head and face with a silken cloth, while the orchestra began to sing a weird melody in an unknown tongue. I was told it was the spirit language; the air was one specially pleasing to a particular _Jin_, or Spirit, and the invocation, after reciting his praises, besought him to come from the mountains or the sea, from underground or overhead, and relieve the torments of the King.

As the song continued, accompanied by the rhythmical beating of the drums, the _Pâwang_ sat with shrouded head in front of the lighted taper, holding in her right hand against her left breast a small sheaf of the grass called _daun sambau_ tied tightly together and cut square at top and bottom.

This _châdak_ she shook, together with her whole body, by a stiffening of the muscles, while all eyes were fixed upon the taper.

At first the flame was steady, but by and by, as the singers screamed more loudly to attract the attention of the laggard Spirit, the wick began to quiver and flare up, and it was manifest to the initiated that the _Jin_ was introducing himself into the candle. By some means the _Pâwang_, who was now supposed to be “possessed” and no longer conscious of her actions, became aware of this, and she made obeisance to the taper, sprinkling the floor round it with saffron-coloured rice and perfumed water; then, rising to her feet and followed by the attendant, she performed the same ceremony before each male member of the reigning family present in the room, murmuring all the while a string of gibberish addressed to the Spirit. This done, she resumed her seat on the mat, and, after a brief pause, the minstrels struck up a different air, and, singing the praises of another _Jin_, called upon him to come and relieve the King’s distress.

I ascertained that each Malay State has its own special Spirits, each district is equally well provided, and there are even some to spare for special individuals. In this particular State there are four principal _Jin_; they are the _Jin ka-râja-an_, the State Spirit—also called _Junjong dŭnia udâra_—Supporter of the Firmament; _Mâia udâra_, the Spirit of the Air; _Mahkôta si-râja Jin_, the Crown of Royal Spirits; and _S’tan Ali_.

These four are known as _Jin âruah_, Exalted Spirits, and they are the guardians of the Sultan and the State. As one star exceeds another in glory, so one _Jin_ surpasses another in renown, and I have named them in the order of their greatness. In their honour four white and crimson umbrellas were hung in the room, presumably for their use when they arrived from their distant homes. Only the Sultan of the State is entitled to traffic with these distinguished Spirits; when summoned they decline to move unless appealed to with their own special invocations, set to their own peculiar music, sung by at least four singers and led by a _Bĕduan_ (singer) of the royal family. The _Jin ka-râja-an_ is entitled to have the royal drums played by the State drummers if his presence is required, but the other three have to be satisfied with the instruments I have described.

There are common devils who look after common people: such as _Hantu Songkei, Hantu Malâyu and Hantu Blîan_; the last the “Tiger Devil,” but out of politeness he is called “Blîan,” to save his feelings.

Then there is _Kĕmâla ajâib_, the “Wonderful Jewel,” _Israng_, Raja Ngah’s special familiar, and a host of others. Most _hantu_ have their own special _Pâwangs_, and several of these were carrying on similar proceedings in adjoining buildings, in order that the sick monarch might reap all the benefits to be derived from a consultation of experts, and, as one spirit after another notified his advent by the upstarting flame of the taper, it was impossible not to feel that one was getting into the very best society.

[Illustration]

Meanwhile a sixteen-sided stand, about six inches high and shaped like this diagram, had been placed on the floor near the _Pâwang’s_ mat. The stand was decorated with yellow cloth; in its centre stood an enormous candle, while round it were gaily decorated rice and toothsome delicacies specially prized by _Jin_. There was just room to sit on this stand, which is called _Pĕtrâna panchalôgam_ (meaning a seat of this particular shape), and the Sultan, supported by many attendants, was brought out and sat upon it. A veil was placed on his head, the various vessels were put in his hands, he spread the rice round the taper, sprinkled the perfume, and having received into his hand an enormous _châdak_ of grass, calmly awaited the coming of the _Jin Ka-râja-an_, while the minstrels shouted for him with all their might.

The Sultan sat there for some time, occasionally giving a convulsive shudder, and when this taper had duly flared up and all the rites had been performed, His Highness was conducted back again to his couch, and the _Pâwang_ continued her ministrations alone.

Whilst striding across the floor, she suddenly fell down as though shot, and it was explained to me that Israng, the spirit by whom she was possessed, had seen a dish-cover, and that the sight always frightened him to such an extent that his _Pâwang_ fell down. The cause of offence was removed, and the performance continued.

There are other spirits who cannot bear the barking of a dog, the mewing of a cat, and so on.

Just before dawn there was a sudden confusion within the curtains which hid the Sultan’s couch; they were thrown aside, and there lay the King, to all appearance in a swoon. The _Jin Ka-râja-an_ had taken possession of the sick body, and the mind was no longer under its owner’s control.

For a little while there was great excitement, and then the King recovered consciousness, was carried to a side verandah and a quantity of cold water poured over him.

So ended the _séance_.

Shortly after, the Sultan, clothed and in his right mind, sent to say he would like to speak to me. He told me he took part in this ceremony to please his people and because it was a very old custom, and he added, “I did not know you were there till just now; I could not see you because I was not myself and did not know what I was doing.”

The King did not die, after all—on the contrary, I was sent for twice again because he was not expected to live till the morning, and yet he cheated Death—for a time.

That reminds me of the banshee. I saw it sitting in a Malay house some months later, and they told me the boys had caught it, that it was an owl, and its name was _Toh ka-tampi_. It had very round, yellow eyes, and there was no mistake about the horns. It seems that with Malays it is an ill-omened bird, the herald of misfortune and death, and it shares this reputation with two other owls, which are called respectively _Tumbok lârong_, that is “Nail the coffin,” and _Chârek kafan_, “Rend the cloth for the shroud.” _Toh ka-tampi_ means “Old-man-winnow-the-rice-for-the-burial-feast.” The names are rather gruesome, and are said to be suggested by the peculiar cries of these “ghost birds.”

XV

THE KING’S WAY

We know what Heaven or Hell may bring But no man knoweth the mind of the King

RUDYARD KIPLING

He was the Sultan of an important Malay State, but to those who knew him best he was, and will remain, “Craddock’s King,” principally because he always sent for Craddock whenever he wanted anything that he thought needed the assistance of a European officer, and, on the rare occasions when he travelled outside his own dominions, Craddock used to go with him as guide, interpreter, and shield.

The King was one with whom things had gone badly until the appearance of the white man in his country. His character had not endeared him to the people, who should have been his subjects, but were, almost without exception, his enemies; and the consequence was that when he ought to have been elected to a high office, and later, when his birth entitled him to be nominated Sultan, his claims were ignored in favour of junior men. Up to the age of fifty or more he had passed his life in poverty, and even in want, and often in open resistance to such authority as existed. These strained relations with his own people made him loyal to the British, and as his claims were indisputable, and the opportunity came when they might be satisfied, he at last attained to the position which was his by right.

I will try to draw the man as he was at this time. Tall for a Malay, rather fair, with grey hair and a white moustache; very broad-shouldered and thick-set, a powerful figure, though now inclined to over-stoutness; a firm, upright carriage; in his face an exceeding _hauteur_, and in his manner something more than this—the plain evidence of a masterful and overbearing disposition. The strength of mind, the obstinacy of character, were writ large in both face and figure; while an imperious manner was accentuated by a loud voice and impatient speech, caused to some extent by the difficulty of understanding one whose teeth were few, and whose tongue was plainly over-large.

The King affected gay colours, and his appearance, when he took his walks abroad, was striking, not to say remarkable. A tartan silk jacket, combining many violent colours and fastened at the neck only, clothed his body; this jacket had a high collar which enclosed the wearer’s bull-neck and reached to the ears. The nether garment was a pair of very wide and loose white silk trousers fastened by many yards of a scarlet silk waist-cloth. These trousers reached a point low down on the calf of the leg, leaving a fair expanse of uncovered limb between them and the sky-blue canvas shoes which encased the stockingless feet. On his head, tilted rakishly over one ear, the King wore a wonderful round bright yellow cap, flat on the top with stiff sides, on which were sewn, in Arabic characters of black cloth, a verse from the Korân.

In his waist-cloth the King usually carried a short knife in a polished wooden sheath, and when walking he leant upon a spear or long bamboo stick. Both hands and feet were white with an unnatural and mottled whiteness, caused, His Highness averred, by eating the flesh of the white buffalo, and, in walking, the toes were turned out to such an extent as to give a decided waddle.

For people with whom loyalty to their rajas is an article of faith, the dislike in which the King was held by them was extraordinary. It is charitable to suppose that early disappointment had embittered his life, for he possessed good qualities. He was undeniably intelligent, and had a wider knowledge of his country and its ancient customs than any other man in it. He knew his own mind, was determined to obstinacy, and asked counsel of few. He was a keen sportsman, courageous, and, having sought the friendship of the British, never wavered in his loyalty. If it be said that in this he consulted his own interest and knew his unpopularity with his own people, his consistency and good faith were still a merit. On the other hand, his defects and vices were numerous, and just those likely to earn him the dislike of Malays. He was incredibly mean, he was overbearing to cruelty, rapaciously grasping, jealous of the good fortune of any of his subjects, selfish, difficult of access, and unconcerned with the misfortunes of others; vindictive to those who offended him or opposed his wishes, a gambler who nearly always contrived to win, and in matters where the other sex were concerned, decidedly unreliable. He was not an opium-smoker, nor was he in any sense a religious man, and, though the “Defender of the Faith” in his own country, he observed none of its outward forms. It cannot, therefore, be said that he was in good odour with the priesthood and yet one of his firmest friends—for a time—was the priest of the neighbouring village who, whenever a witness was needed to support the King in any action or statement, was ready both to vouch to supposed facts and prove his master’s case by the authority of Muhammadan writings.

The constant appeal to the priest for justification and the persistence with which this man found excellent reasons for the King’s peculiar methods was a little discouraging; but there came an estrangement. The King, accompanied by the priest and others, visited a neighbouring British possession, stayed there some days, and at the moment of his return was faced by a serious indignity. It appeared that someone in this place who did not understand the King’s peculiarities had, or thought he had, sold to His Highness a tricycle and a musical-box for which he could not obtain payment, and, having ascertained that the King was going and did not care about the things, this misguided individual somehow obtained a summons against His Highness to appear before a local tribunal and answer to the plaint.

The King, being informed, expressed his extreme unconcern, and said that, as it was the priest’s business and his only, he could settle it. The priest raised the amount necessary to meet the bill, and the party returned to their own State with the musical-box and tricycle.

Then “a private pique arose” between King and Priest as to who should finally pay for these playthings. For the first time these firm friends appeared in opposition to each other, and both parties gave their respective versions of the transaction before a highly edified and delighted Council of Arbitration.

First the King: He knew nothing of any musical-box, did not like musical-boxes, had no ear for music, and did not understand the discordant noises made by these inventions of the white man. He had seen a thing of the kind in his house, had heard it, had even himself made it play its absurd tunes, did not enjoy it in the least, and had done it without thinking, but knew it would please the priest as he had bought the thing, and he supposed he would not have done so unless he wanted to have it played.

As for the tricycle, how in the name of misfortune could a tricycle concern him? The bare idea of a man of his age and figure riding a tricycle was enough to make a dog bark (and here His Highness laughed consumedly at the spectacle he had conjured up). Had anyone ever seen him ride a tricycle? Where was he going to ride it? Was it on the sandy shore of the river where he lived? and if not there, then where? He understood that tricycles would neither go through the jungle nor across _padi_ fields, and, if he were to take “the creature” out shooting, he supposed it would not greatly help him to get a shot at a bison or a rhinoceros. Did anyone imagine he was going to carry letters? that he was going to join the Post Office? If the imputation were not so stupid he could almost be angry with the priest, a man whom he had heard over and over again say that the one thing he desired was a tricycle, something on which he could take exercise, and at the same time get about his district. He had even asked him, the King, to lend him money to buy the machine, but he had no money to lend and tried to dissuade the man because he thought that in his inexperience he might fall and hurt himself. Malays did not understand things that ran on three wheels without ever a horse or a bullock, or even a buffalo to pull them. He saw the tricycle lying under his house, and he heard the priest haggling with someone about the price, but he would take any oath that the priest or anyone else could devise that he had never set eyes on the man who sold the thing. All he knew was that he had been insulted by the issue of a summons because of the priest’s extravagant tastes, and, while any one who liked might pay, it would not be he.

Then the Priest:

Long before they left the State, His Highness told him that when they made this visit it was his desire to purchase a musical-box (in the sweet strains of which his soul delighted) and a tricycle, the beautiful three-wheeled silent carriage which cost little to start with and nothing to keep, wanted no horses, nor harness, nor expensive and impertinent horse-keepers, which never shied at bullock-carts or ran away from elephants, and which lasted through the lives of many beasts. Therefore, he, the priest, the obedient slave of the King, had sought the sweet-voiced box and the stomachless carriage, and after much difficulty he had found them. By the express order of the King the priest had bidden the owners bring them to the house in which the King was lodging, and there the whole details of the two transactions were arranged. The people who trafficked in these goods could not be taken into the presence of his master, and, indeed, the King had expressly declined to see them (was not the King all-wise?), but they had been brought into a room of the house across which hung a heavy curtain, and while he, the priest, discussed the terms with the seller on one side, the King sat on the other, and not only heard all that was said, but in the end, when the priest went behind the curtain to consult his royal master, had expressed his entire approval of the price, only stipulating that he should first hear the box sing and ride the stomachless horse. This he had arranged with some little difficulty, because the sellers were needy men and wanted the money; moreover, they seemed to distrust his master, the King, for some reason which he could not fathom. But he arranged that the singing-box and the seat on three wheels should stay with his master for four days, and that then they should be returned or paid for; those were the orders of the King. So they stayed, and the King turned the handle of the box and made it sing, or, more often, from prayer-time to prayer-time he, the priest, had to turn the handle and make music, and the King drank in the sound and was glad. As for the three wheels, they lay under the house, and the King looked upon the machine and said it was good and cheap and would eat nothing.

These are the words of the Priest: “The four days went by and the men came to be paid, and I told my master, but he seemed to be busy with other things, and I sent them away to come again the next day. In this way the time passed till the day for our departure, and I knew the men who owned the box and the carriage were angry, but I saw my master wanted the things. When at last the trouble came, and the King said it was not his business but mine, I told the men they could take the box and the carriage back because they did not please the King, but they would not, and I was afraid lest shame should come on my master, and I went out and borrowed the money and paid it. Could I, who am a priest, play with a box that sings not of God nor the Prophet? Can I, who am a poor man, who only live to pray and to preach, to exhort the living and to bury the dead, can I ride on the stomachless horse with three wheels, I whose duty is in the mosque and by the grave? My master the King knows that in this thing as in others I have but obeyed the voice of my master.”

So Church and State quarrelled, and the priest found no more favour in the sight of the King. But there were many who said:

“_Sĕpĕrti Nasrûan dëngan Bahtek_ _Bĕr-sâtu rangkêsa_ _Bĕr-chĕrei jâdi sentôsa._”

“They are like Raja Nasrûan and his minister Bahtek; their union brought ruin, their divorce solace.” Indeed, it was the opportunity of the proverb-monger, and such sayings as, “It is sometimes one’s own forefinger which pokes one in the eye,” and, “While you carry the Raja’s business on your head, don’t forget to keep your own under your arm,” were heard on all sides.

The King had a clerk who had served him faithfully for twenty years or more. The clerk had a wife, and the King’s eye fell upon her approvingly; so the King sent the clerk into a far country to chase a wild bird, and bestowed his favour upon the wife who remained under his care. The King also bestowed upon the lady sundry jewels of price, things that please poor heathen women with hardly any moral character and no education to speak of.