Magic Rites as affecting the Life of Man (part 2)

The Malay Drama, taking the word in its widest sense as comprising every kind of theatrical exhibition, includes performances of several different types, which derive their origin from various distinct sources. Most of them bear some traces of their foreign extraction, and though they have been much modified by the Malays, and are now quite “naturalised” in the Peninsula, it is pretty clear that the greater part have been borrowed from India, Siam, China, and possibly other countries. It is noteworthy that many, perhaps most, of the plots represented in these performances owe their origin to the old classical Indian Epics, and especially to the story of the Ramayana, which has been handed down traditionally, much modified by local colouring, in Java and Siam as well as in the Malay Peninsula.

It is not within the scope of this work to give anything like a full description of these different kinds of dramatic representations, but it is desirable to give some account of the ritual which accompanies them, and the ideas and superstitions which they seem to involve.

The most important of the ceremonies which relate to the Malay theatre is that of inaugurating or “opening” (as it is called) a site for the performance. The following is an account (by Mr. Hugh Clifford) of the performance of this ceremony:—

“When one of these companies arrives at a place where it intends to ‘open,’ it erects a small, square shed, open at all four sides, but carefully roofed in, and with a hand-rail running round it about two feet from the ground. This shed is called a Bangsal, and the space which its sides enclose is termed Panggong. Before the play begins, the ceremony called Bûka Panggong, which has for its object the invocation and propitiation of certain spirits, is gone through....

“The ceremony, which is a curious one, is performed in the following manner: The company having entered the shed and taken their seats, a brazier is placed in front of the Pâwang, or Medicine-Man, who is also the head of the theatrical troop. In this brazier precious woods and spices are burned, and while the incense ascends, the Pâwang intones the following incantation, the other members of the troop repeating each sentence in chorus as he concludes it.

“‘Peace be unto Thee, whose mother is from the earth, and whose father has ascended to the Heavens! Smite not the male and female actors, and the old and young buffoons with Thy cruelty, nor yet with the curse of poverty! Oh, do not threaten with punishment the members of this company, for I come not hither to vie with Thee in wisdom or skill or talent: not such is my desire in coming hither. If I come unto this place, I do so placing my faith in all the people, my masters who own this village. Therefore suffer not any one to oppress, or envy, or do a mischief unto all the body of male and female actors, together with the young and old buffoons, and the minstrels and bridegroom, together with Sri Gĕmûroh, Sri Bĕrdĕngong. Oh, suffer them not to be hurt or destroyed, injured, or maimed; let not the male or female actors be contused or battered, and let them not be injured or maimed; let them not be afflicted with headache, nor with undue physical heat, nor yet with throbbing pains or with shooting aches. Oh, let them not be injured by collisions like unto ships, the bows of which are telescoped, nor afflicted with excessive voiding. Suffer them not to vomit freely, nor to be overcome by heavy weariness or fatigue or weakness. I ask that Thou wilt suffer them to be as they have been accustomed to be in former times, and to feel cool and fresh like unto the snake, the chinta-mâni.

“‘Peace be unto Thee, O Black Awang, who art King of the Earth! Be not startled nor deranged, and be not offended, for Thou art wont to wander in the veins of the ground, and to take Thy rest in the portals of the Earth. I come not hither to vie with Thee in wisdom, for I only place my trust in Thee, and would surrender myself wholly into thy hands; and I beg Thee to retire but three paces from the four corners of our shed, and that Thou shalt refrain from wandering hither and thither, for under Thy care I place the male and female actors, and all the buffoons, both young and old, together with all the musicians and the bridegrooms. I place them under Thy care, and do not oppress or envy them, neither suffer evil to befall them, do not strike against them as Thou passest by. I place them under Thy charge, together with the actors and actresses, the musicians and bridegrooms, the buffoons, both young and old, also the spectators and the owners of this house and compound; suffer them not to be afflicted with headaches, throbbing pains, nor yet with shooting pains, nor yet with toothache, nor with itchings and skin irritations, nor with burning sensations; for I pray that they may be suffered to get cool and refreshed like unto the snake, the chinta-mâni.’

“The Pâwang here scatters parched rice stained with saffron in every direction, and chants the following incantation the while: ʿPeace be unto thee! I am about to move from within this enclosure four paces in each direction of the four corners of the universe. O ye Holy Ones who are present in this place, within the space of these four paces towards the four extremities of the universe, be not startled nor deranged, do not remove to a distance, and be not angry or wrathful, for thy servant cometh not hither to vie with ye in wisdom within this thy territory and village. Your servant cometh to satisfy the desires of all the people who own this place, and your servant desires to abandon himself unto ye, his guardians, the Holy Ones of this place, and thus presuming he asks pardon of ye, and would commend to your care himself, and the actors and actresses, O Grandsires, ye Holy Ones of this place; and in like manner would he commend unto ye the musicians and the bridegrooms, the buffoons, both old and young; and he prays ye not to show envy towards them, nor yet to oppress them, nor do them any injury; suffer them not to be destroyed or injured; and he entreats thee, his Grandsires, and all your many imps, to refrain from striking against them as ye pass by them, neither to address them, nor to pinch or nip them, and let not your youths, O Grandsires, remove our means of livelihood; and your servant prays ye to refrain from destroying or damaging, injuring or hurting the whole company of the ma’iong, and suffer them to be cool and refreshed like unto the snake, the chinta-mâni.

“‘Peace be unto Thee! I am about to remove from thee my Grandsire who art styled Pĕtĕra Gûru, the original teacher, who art from the beginning, and who art incarnate from thy birth. Teacher who dwellest as a hermit in the recesses of the Moon, and who practisest thy magic arts in the womb of the Sun; teacher of mine whose coat is wrought of green beads, whose blood is white, who hast stumps for bones, the hairs of whose body are turned the wrong way, and the veins of whose body are adamant, whose neck is black, whose tongue is fluent, whose spittle is brine! Oh, because thou, my Grandsire, art a man of magic, whose prayers are answered, whose desires come to pass, do not, O Grandsire, show cruelty, or afflict with poverty or with punishment any of the actors or actresses, the musicians and bridegrooms, and the buffoons both young and old! And I pray thee, O Grandsire, to stretch forth thy feet—the feet at which I prostrate myself; and thy hands—the hands which I take in salutation. And I beg from thee, O Grandsire, the white charm (antidote), the mĕdong bĕr-sîla; cause to descend upon me three drops thereof together with thy magic, O Grandsire; I wish to sprinkle therewith all the actors and actresses, the buffoons both young and old, together with all the musicians and bridegrooms, and suffer them not to be destroyed or injured, and let them not be laid open or exposed to any evil influence; I pray thee not to suffer them to be injured, maimed, or battered. And now I will arouse all the actors and actresses from within the seven Chambers of the seven Palaces, the seven Pavilions—the Palaces which are on high, the Palaces which were from the beginning, which in the beginning came into being in their entirety. I am about to open the portals of the seven Chambers of the seven Palaces; I am about to open the closed doors from the exterior even unto the inner portals of the seven chambers of the seven Palaces. Let them be opened together with the Gates of Lusts and Passion, together with the Gate of Desire and Faith, together with the Gates of Longing and Supreme Desire. The Longing which lasts from Dawn unto Dawn, which causes food to cease to satisfy, and renders sleep uneasy, which remembering causes to remember unceasingly, hearing to hear, seeing to see! I will awake all from the exterior even unto the inner Chambers of the seven Apartments of the seven Palaces! remain not plunged in slumber, but awake! One and all awake and hear my tidings and my words! Awake and hearken unto my words, for they vanish not, neither are my senses slumbering, nor is my memory a blank! Awake, O actors and actresses, and await one upon another! Awake, O buffoons, together awake! Awake, ye drummers, together awake! Awake, ye gong-smiters, together awake! Awake, ye bridegrooms, together awake! Be not removed far from your means of livelihood, nor destroyed or injured! Oh, suffer them not to be hurt or damaged—all this company of actors and actresses, all this company of players who sit within this shed!’

“When this incantation is finished the player, whose turn it is to begin the performance, prostrates himself before the Hĕrbab, or large Malay fiddle, washes his face in some imaginary essence which the gong is supposed to contain, and then arises and begins to act his part.”

A similar ceremony was witnessed in 1897 by Mr. Everard Fielding and the present writer at the back of the Bungalow at Jugra (in Selangor). The object of the ceremony was to drive away evil spirits from the spot where the performance was to take place, and the performers were a little band of players from Penang who had settled in the neighbourhood and had planted their holdings with Liberian coffee.

The Pawang or magician in this instance was a Malay named ’Che Hussein, who acted as clown, and subsequently wrote out at my request rough transcripts of more than a dozen of the plays acted by his company.

A big mat or mats having been laid upon the ground in a spot carefully selected for the purpose, four corner posts were planted and a big awning or ceiling-cloth (langit-langit) stretched between them. The square space between the posts was then fenced off by carrying a couple of cords round it horizontally from post to post, one at the height of two, and the other about five feet above the ground. From these cords were suspended various ornamental objects made of plaited strips of cocoa-nut leaf, fashioned into rough resemblances of animals, birds, fruit and flowers, a few bananas being added at intervals, these latter serving as light refreshments for the players whenever they felt so minded. Stems of banana trees with their leaves fastened at each post made the structure complete, and the general effect, enhanced by the bright costumes of the performers, was extremely picturesque, and, as it was intended to be, extremely rural.

A tray with the usual brazier of incense and small bowls of rice variously prepared was then brought in, and all the instruments, though not necessarily the players, being in their places, the ceremony commenced as follows:—

First came the Lagu Pĕmanggil, or Invocation, a peculiar air performed on the instruments and accompanied by the Pawang. The latter heaped incense on a brazier in front of him, and “waved” in the incense first the fiddle (rĕbab) and then the masks, wooden daggers, and other “properties” of the company, until they were well fumigated. He next lighted three tapers, which he charmed and took between the closed palms of his hands (held in front of him), with the fingers straight and the thumbs crossed. He then proceeded to “wave” these tapers, pointing them first to the right, then in front of him, and finally to the left, and then distributed the tapers, putting the first on the rĕbab, and the second on the big gong, and the third on the edge of a brazen ring in front of the place where he is sitting. He now reached for the betel-leaf box (which should be close by), and dipping the tip of his finger into the moist lime which it contained, smeared the metal all round with it, and made the sign of the cross inside the ring. Next he shrouded his head with a black cloth, and taking a handful of rice in his closed fist held it in the incense, sprinkled some of it over the brazier and “charmed” it, holding it close to his mouth. Then he suddenly scattered it first to the right, then in front, and lastly to the left, the scattering being in each case accompanied by a single boom of the big gong.

The distribution of the rice being completed, he took four “chews” of betel and handed one to each of the two drummers (juru-gĕndang); the third he threw on to the top of the ceiling-cloth (or roof in the case of a shed, bumbong bangsal), and the fourth he buried underneath the bottom mat. With his head still shrouded he now placed the tip of his right thumb within the metal ring, in the very centre of the cross, called the Heart of the Earth (pusat bumi or hati tanah), and pressing downwards with it, worked it round to the left and back again repeatedly whilst he recited the necessary charm. After this he leaned in turn on the upper end of each of the drums, which he inclined over the brazier and “charmed,” concluding in each case with three loud taps on the drum which he was “charming,” each tap being accompanied by similar taps on the other two drums. Finally, the Pawang put the flageolet (sĕrunei) to his lips, and the other instruments accompanied him in the performance of the tune called taboh.

As has already been observed, the performances at these theatrical exhibitions are of several distinct kinds, and vary considerably in different places. The Joget, a kind of dramatic and symbolical dance, has been described under the head of Dances. The Ma’yong is a theatrical performance which includes both dancing (or posturing as Europeans would be tempted to call it) and singing. It is generally performed by travelling companies of professional actors and actresses, who go on tour and perform either at the houses of Rajas or other persons of some social standing, or before the general public in some public place. Just as the dances of the Joget are supposed to be symbolical of different actions and ideas, and are accompanied by appropriate music, so in the Ma’yong there is quite a long list of tunes, each of which is considered to be appropriate to a particular action, or to some one or more of the dramatis personæ. In fact, one may almost say that we have here, in principle, the rude germ of the Wagnerian Leitmotif. Thus when one of the performers is supposed to be sent to sleep, the Lagu Lĕgor Radin is the one used; in the representation of a death, the Lagu Mĕrayu; when a character is supposed to be entering the jungle, the Lagu Samsam; when any one sits down, the Lagu Patani Tuah. Similarly the Lagu Puyuh, the Lagu Dang Dondang Lanjut Kĕdah, and the Lagu Sendayong Dualapis Pŭtri are appropriated to the Princess (Pŭtri), one of the stock characters of this species of play, while other tunes can be used only by the Princess and the Raja or principal male character (Pa’yong); and others, again, are employed indifferently to accompany any of the parts, whether prince, princess, clown (P’ran), or maid (Inang).

The costumes of the performers in the various kinds of dramatic exhibitions vary, of course, with the subject-matter of the representation. The clown’s masks and the forest demon (hantu hutan), of which illustrations are given, will serve as specimens to indicate the nature of some of the accessories in use. A fairly full list of their Malay names will be found in the classification given below.

The Ma’yong is perhaps the most typical form of Malay theatrical representations, but another very characteristic performance is the Shadow-Play, properly termed Wayang, a name that has been loosely extended to cover theatrical exhibitions in general.

“The show is called Wayang Kulit, or leather puppets. It is exhibited in a rough shed, which has a flooring raised about three feet from the ground; the building is usually twenty feet square and enclosed on three sides, the front alone being open; across this opening a white sheet is stretched on which the shadows of the puppets are thrown and seen through by the audience; the latter sit or stand in the open air.

“The show seems to be of Hindu origin, if we may judge from the strong resemblance the figures bear to the representations of gods and goddesses worshipped by the Hindus of India; it is probably obtained from Java.

“The figures are made of buffalo hide, and the arms alone are movable; they are moved by slips of wood attached to them, which are very clumsily contrived, and as their shadows are seen with the puppets the effect is very much destroyed. Various scenes of a domestic nature are exhibited, and they take the shape of a play, but with no definite plot running through or connecting the different scenes.

“The following is a specimen:—

“An old man appears weeping for a long-lost son, and moves to and fro for some time bewailing his loss; the showman speaks each figure’s part, and alters the tone of his voice to suit the age of the speaker; a second figure comes on, representing a young man armed with a kris, who endeavours to pick a quarrel with the first comer, and the conversation is witty and characteristic, eliciting roars of laughter from the lookers-on; a fight ensues, and the old man is wounded; he falls and cries out that were he a young man, or if his lost son were present, his adversary should not thus triumph over him. In his conversation he happens to mention his son’s name; the young man intimates that his name is the same, an explanation ensues, and it ends by the old man discovering in his late adversary his long-lost son. The old fellow weeps and laughs alternately, caresses his son frequently, and declares they shall never part again; the scene ends by the youth shedding tears over his late inhuman conduct, and he finally walks off with the old gentleman on his back.

“The conversation is carried on solely in the Malayan dialect. Warlike scenes please most: a warrior comes on the stage and challenges his invisible enemy to mortal combat; suddenly another figure comes on at the opposite side and a desperate fight ensues, which lasts for a very long time, and ends in one of the combatants being killed. Occasionally a battle in which ten or twelve figures join takes place, and for hours will the Malays look on at such scenes.

“The show concludes with an exhibition of various animals—deer, horses, tigers, crocodiles, etc., also birds and fishes. The figures are perforated to represent the eyes, shape of the dress, etc.

“At the back of the shed, concealed by the sheet, sit the musicians, who keep up an incessant din on drums and cymbals.”

The puppets for these shadow-plays are usually cut out of deer-skin (not buffalo hide) and it is worth remarking that they are all considered to be more or less animated; a stringent propitiatory ceremony has to be performed in their honour, incense being burnt and rice scattered about, just as in the Ma’yong ceremony already described.

The present writer, while in Selangor, bought from a Kelantan Malay named ’Che ʿAbas, a performer of shadow-plays, his entire stock-in-trade, including not only his musical instruments (amongst which were some curious drums called gĕdu and gĕdombak), but also his candle (with its shade), the rice used for the ceremony, and his entire stock of shadow-pictures, all of which are now in the Cambridge Museum.

The following classification of the more important kinds of theatrical performances, which was drawn up for the present writer by ’Che Hussein of Penang, the actor of whom mention has already been made, may be of interest, and will serve to indicate briefly their several characteristic features, though it does not profess to be absolutely exhaustive:—

Classification of Theatrical Performances known to Malays of the Peninsula

Name of Performance and Reputed Place of Origin Instruments. Dress. No. of Performers. Place of Performance, etc. Names of Stories Represented.

1 Lĕkun or Lakun (Kedah and Siam). Gĕndang bĕsar, gong, gambang dua-b’las, kromong (or mong-mong), anak ayam, breng-breng, sĕrunei, cherek. Head-dress: kĕchobong, chawat (sayap layang-lay-ang), sabok, bimpau, sap suang, g’lang, g’lang kana (= kena), changgei, saluar. 100 to 200 (in choruses) all females, except the musicians. Indoors, with proper scenery and dresses (masks). S’ri Rama, Dewa Matahari, Sendrong, Prak Jusin.

2 Mĕndura (Siam). Gĕdombak, gĕdu, sĕrunei, cherek, mong, breng-breng anak ayam; but not gĕndang, rĕbab, or gong. Same as in the Lĕkun. About 10 to 15 good performers; all male, including the Princess. Out doors; no scenery. S’ri Rama, Lak Kenawan, Timun Muda, Iprat, Prak Jusin, Pran Bun, Sendrong, Dewa Matahari.

3 Ma’yong (Siam). Rĕbab (yang bĕtuah), gĕndang (2), gong (2), gĕdombak (2), gĕdu-gĕdu (1), b’reng-b’reng (1); mong-mong (2), sĕrunei (1), anak ayam (2), cherek (10–20). Head-dress: tanjak (sapu tangan), g’rak gĕmpa, sabok, bimpau g’lang, changgei, saluar, sarong, baju, topeng (pran). 10 to 20 (15 is the average), both male and female. Out doors; no scenery, which is, however, described by the performers. Panggong and langit-langit are all that is required. Dewa Sri Rama, Dewa Muda, Dewa Pĕchi, Gambar Lilin, Batak Puteh, Siamang Gila, Raja Gondang, Gajah Dang Daru, Bijak Laksana, Raja Muda sama Puyuh, Pran Bun, Timun Muda, Lak Kenawan, Iprat, Putri Duab’las, Dewa Bisnu, Solong Sakti, Putri Bongsu, Mĕgat Gembang Sultan Kĕchil Bongsu diʿAlam, Bongsu Kĕchil S’riʿAlam, Bujang Lempawi.

4 Wayang Kun (Siam). Gong, gĕndang, kromong, anak ayam, b’reng-b’reng, gambang dua-b’las, sĕrunei; but not cherek or rĕbab.

Different airs (lagu) from those used in the Lĕkun.

Same as in the Lĕkun, except that the kĕchobong is not used, but a sort of ornamental sampul or songko’ with artificial flowers, g’rak gĕmpa. Females wear jambangan, a made-up head-dress, also sambok, sap suang, chawat, saluar; but not g’lang or changgei. 30 to 40, both male and female. Indoors; no scenery. Same as in the Lĕkun.

5 Mek Mulong (Siam?) Same as in the Ma’yong, but the rĕbana is used instead of the rĕbab, gĕndang, and b’reng-b’reng. Same as in the Ma’yong. 8 to 15, males and females. Out doors; a panggong, as in the Ma’yong. Malim Bongsu, Awang Salamat.

6 Bangsawan Parsi Indra Sabor (Persia?) Biola, kĕchapi, gĕndang (dul), gong, etc., as in the Mĕndu. Persian in character. 30 to 50, all males except 2 or 3 females. Indoors; sevenfold langit langit, and tabir; wires are used in some performances to enable performers impersonating Dewas, etc. to fly. Lela Majnun, Sap Jafri, Raja Gelepam, etc.

7 Mĕndu (Pontianak). Gĕndang (dul), gong, b’reng-b’reng, biola, kĕchapi, piano (or argin, i.e. concertina), sam dyen (Chinese), resembling the rĕbab; chên-chên (cymbals), and gĕndang singa. Same as in the Wayang China, i.e. Chinese in character: a baju tĕratei, a small jacket without sleeves; head-dress: mahkota (bulu kuang), beard and whiskers. Pahla-wans are distinguished by a koh sah (decoration on the fore-head); socks are worn. 20 to 50 Malays acting Malay stories, but in Chinese dress; both male and female. Indoors; the same rough scenery as in Chinese theatres; there are small theatres for the Mĕndu at Singapore, Penang, and Malacca. Saifu-’l-Yazan, Siti Zubeidah, Ken Tabohan, ʿAbdul Muluk, Bĕstamam, Mara Karma, Bidasari, Dewa Mĕndu di Negri Langkadura, etc., most, if not all, being war-like themes.

8 Wayang Makau (China). The same as in the Mĕndu. Chinese in character. 20 to 50, male and female. Indoors. Siti Zubeidah, and also Chinese subjects.

9 Wayang Kulit (Java) [but the stories are Javanese, Malay, Siamese and Chinese]. Various. According to the nationality represented. — Indoors. Chekil Wanam Pati, Jarang K’lena, Misa Perbu Jaya, Misa Kiamang, Lalat Hijau, Kalang Bongkang, Panji Samerang, K’ra Amas, Iran Kasuma, etc.

11. War and Weapons

Such charms as might be used in time of war, or in case of danger from wild beasts or other enemies, are partly what may be called “defensive” and partly “offensive” in character.

The Malays who use them pray, on the one hand, for a supernatural appearance wherewith to scare their enemies and protect themselves, and on the other for supernatural powers to assist in the destruction of their foes.

Thus, one of their charms runs:—

“Let me face the Seven Suns,
But let not my enemies face me.
Ha! I am a Tiger and thou art a Dog.”

The use of such charms is supplemented in various ways: thus a champion (pĕnglima) will sometimes draw a line in front of him, which he believes his enemy will be unable to pass; this is done by simply scraping the ground with the right foot and threatening the foe with a dire curse if he attempts to cross it.

“Push and you die, step across and your leg shall break.
I apply the charm of the Line called the Swollen Corpse.”

According to another method of gaining martial vigour and immunity in fighting, you take a wick as long as the short span between your thumb and first finger (sa-jĕngkal tĕlunjok), and after passing it over your body upwards (di-naikkan) thrice, take it between your two hands and try and turn it round while you repeat the charm. The ceremony must take place at the time of full moon, and if you do not succeed in turning it the first time, you can try again at the next full moon, and so on up to three full moons. At night, if you succeed you will (according to the Malay account) see the vision of a man, a sign, it is to be supposed, that the charm has been effectual, and that the prayer has been heard.

The charm begins as follows:—

“In the name of God, the merciful, the compassionate!
May this nerve of stone pierce stone,
Pierce stone and split stone,
Pierce planks and go right through them,
Pierce water and dry it up,
Pierce the earth and make a hole in it,
Pierce the grass and wither it,
Pierce mountains and cause them to fall,
Pierce the heavens that they may fall,” etc.

The charm concludes with the following magnificent boast:—

“Of Iron am I, and of Copper is my frame,
And my name is ‘Tiger of God.’”

In a somewhat similar charm, a warrior prays that he may be

“Fenced with Hell-fire up to the eyes;”

and another expresses the wish that his enemies may be

“Ground to powder like tin-ore after washing.”

In actual warfare a number of rules are laid down, the observance of which is supposed to be necessary in order to achieve success. As in several other pursuits, there is, of course, a “taboo” language of war (bhasa pantang p’rang), of which the following are examples:—

• Dagger (k’ris) = pisau (lit. knife).
• Bullet (pĕluru sĕnapang) = kumbang puteh (lit. white beetle).
• Ball of swivel-gun (pĕluru lela) = kumbang hitam (lit. black beetle).
• Stockade (kubu) = batang mĕlintang (lit. transverse trunk), or balei mĕlintang.
• Cannon (mĕriam) = batang kabu-kabu (lit. cotton-tree trunk), or batang buloh (lit. trunk of bamboo).
• Cannon-ball = buah niyor (lit. cocoa-nut).

When a man is out in the wars his pillows and sleeping-mat at home have to be kept rolled up. If any one else were to use them the absent warrior’s courage would fail, and disaster would befall him (tĕr-tentu-lah kachau hati tuan-nya yang di p’rang itu, datang-lah mara). His wife and children must not have their hair cut (ta’ buleh potong rambut atau bĕrandam) during his absence, nor may he himself. Strict chastity must be observed in a stockade, or the bullets of the garrison will lose their power (pĕluru jinak di kubu-nya), and it is also forbidden to abuse or mock at the enemy, or even at their weapons.

Bullets are frequently, if not always, “charmed” before being used, and their efficacy is supposed to be increased thereby. The Orang Kaya Pahlawan, a chief of some local notoriety in recent times, claimed to be invulnerable (kĕbal) to the extent that nothing but a silver bullet would hurt him.

The following legendary tale illustrates a somewhat similar idea:—The assailant, one Magat Terawis, an unknown warrior who had joined the Sultan’s investing army, had four bullets, on each of which were inscribed the words: “This is the son of the concubine of the Raja of Pagar-ruyong; his name is Magat Terawis; wherever his bullet falls he will become a Chief.”

“Magat Terawis levelled his matchlock and fired, and his bullet struck Tan Saban’s leg. The skin was hardly broken, and the bullet fell to the ground at the chief’s feet; but, on taking it up and reading the inscription, he knew that he had received his death-wound. He retired to his house, and, after ordering his flag to be hauled down, despatched a messenger to the opposite camp to call the warrior whose name he had read on the bullet. Inquiries for Magat Terawis were fruitless at first, for no one knew the name. At length he declared himself, and went across the river with Tan Saban’s messenger, who brought him into the presence of the dying man. The latter said to him, ‘Magat Terawis, thou art my son in this world and the next, and my property is thine. I likewise give thee my daughter in marriage, and do thou serve the Raja faithfully in my place, and not be rebellious as I have been.’ Tan Saban then sued for the Sultan’s pardon, which was granted to him, and the marriage of his daughter with Magat Terawis was permitted to take place. Then Tan Saban died, and was buried with all the honours due to a Malay chief.”

The national and favourite weapon of the Malays is the k’ris, a short dagger usually with an undulating or wavy blade set in a handle of peculiarly carved pattern, as to the probable origin of which some allusion has already been made, and furnished with a sheath which is generally of wood and quite plain, but sometimes of metal chased, hammered, and set with gems in the most elaborate and lavish style. The blade is quite different in appearance from the steel or iron blades to which we are accustomed, being prepared in a peculiar way by a process of “damasking” which produces a variety of designs on the roughened surface. To the shape of these designs much importance is attached, as will appear from the following passage extracted from Newbold’s British Settlements in the Straits of Malacca:—

“Translation of Malayan MS. on Krises and Process of Damasking

“Fasl I.—On the Pamur, or Damasking of Krises

“If the damasking of a kris only reach within a finger’s breadth of the point, and if it reach the edge, it is inauspicious for combat. Should the damask not be even with the point, a stab made with such a kris would err; but if even, then the kris will never deviate, although its possessor lose strength to thrust; still, by the grace of God, it will hit the mark should he cast it at his adversary. If it be damasked on both sides, it is good; but not so should the damask be separated at intervals.

“If the damask on the point be that of Alif besar (a damask running in the shape of the Arabian letter Alif), the kris is good for combat; but it is not lucky to wear such a weapon while trading, nor one in which the damask runs from the pangkal (the stem which runs into the handle), to the tali.

“If it possess the Alif damask near the handle, the middle, and point, it is very auspicious for commercial transactions; men cannot resist the force of the possessor’s arguments; should it be worn whilst planting, the crop will be fruitful. The possessor will be irresistible in fight, nor can any person thwart his wishes.

“If the kris (called Tuah) have the pamur kutilang, or the bird’s-eye damask, at its point and stem, it becomes entitled to the appellation Manikam di Ujong Gala (the ruby at the end of the pole). The possessor of such a kris is most lucky. If the damask be that of battu ampar, and reach to the ganja (the lower part of the blade immediately above the ikat tali), it ensures the safety of the wearer.

“Fasl II.—On the Blade of the Kris

“If the blade of the kris be split in the direction of the tali tali (the silk and ratan appendage by which the kris is fastened in the girdle), you cannot return an adversary’s thrust with it. If the betala be cracked to the ikat tali (or bottom welt), it is not auspicious. Should the point of the kris be split, it is a sign that it requires blood; if this want be not gratified, the possessor becomes sick.

“Fasl III.—On the Badik, or Sendrik

“If the blade of the badik be damasked all over to its edge, it is lucky to wear while trading or dividing property. If the back bear the damask Alif, it is also good for trading with, or for combat, by God’s assistance. If the blade have the pamur gunong, or mountain damask, it softens the hearts of men, and is good for trading and warlike excursions. If the lines of damask be of equal breadth from the pangkal to the tali, and straight, it is auspicious.

“Should the belly of the blade be veined, it is lucky to trade, and good for making a stab with, as the possessor’s antagonist will not be able to return the thrust. If the damask be that called pamur kait (or the damask like a hook), it is auspicious.

“Should the back of the blade be damasked and streaked, it is good; and also, if it has the pamur belanga in one or two places only, and on its back. If the damask run waving from the top to the bottom of the back, it is very auspicious.

“How to damask krises.—Place on the blade a mixture of boiled rice, sulphur, and salt beat together, first taking the precaution to cover the edges of the weapon with a thin coat of virgin wax. After this has remained on seven days, the damask will have risen to the surface; take the composition off, and immerse the blade in the water of a young cocoa-nut, or the juice of a pineapple, for seven days longer, and wash it well with the juice of a sour lemon. After the rust has been cleared away, rub it with warangan (arsenic) dissolved in lime juice; wash it well with spring water; dry, and anoint it with cocoa-nut oil.

“Fasl IV.—Measurement of Krises

“Measure the kris with a string below its aring (a jutting out of the blade near its bottom) to its point; cut the string and fold it trebly; cut off one of the trebles, and with the remaining two measure up the blade of the kris, then make a mark how far the string reaches. Measure the blade across at this mark, and find how many times its breadth is contained in two-thirds of its length; cut the string into as many pieces. These form the sloca, or measure, of which the kris consists. If none of the string remain over, the blade is perfect, if a minute portion remain, it is less perfect, but if half the breadth remain, or more, it is chelaka, unlucky.”

Newbold adds:—

“The krises most preferred are those of the kinds termed Simpana, Cherita, and Sapokal. The kris panjang is worn generally by the Malayan aristocracy and bridegrooms. I have seen some beautiful specimens of this weapon in Rumbowe, worn by the chiefs of that state. The blades resembled that of a long, keen poniard of Damascus steel; the handles of ebony, covered with flowered gold, and sheaths richly ornamented with the same metal; they are used in the execution of criminals. Malays do not prize their krises entirely by the quantity of gold with which they may be inlaid, but more for their accurate proportions agreeably to the measurement which is laid down in their treatises on this subject; the damask on the blade; the antiquity and a certain lucky quality that they may possess either from accurate proportions, the damask, the having shed human blood, or from supernatural endowment, like the famous sword “Excalibur.” This property is termed betuah, which signifies literally exempt from accident, invulnerable. The reverse is termed chelaka, ill-omened. They believe the betuah in some cases imparts invulnerability to the possessor of such a kris, which is handed down as an heirloom from father to son, and honoured as something divine. The kris is, as with the Javanese, an indispensable article in dress on particular occasions, and there are numerous regulations regarding the wearing of it. The Undang Undang Malacca contains strict injunctions, which are observed to this day, against a person of inferior birth wearing a kris ornamented with gold.”

Besides the mode above described, several other methods of measuring the k’ris are also in vogue. They differ in various matters of detail, and will be found in the Appendix.

The measurement of one-edged weapons is effected as follows:—

Measure the length of the weapon from hilt to point, and fold the string so measured in two. Measure off this half-length from the hilt and see how often the breadth of the blade is contained in the whole length of the string. Each time, however, that the edge is reached, the string must be marked or dented, and the long end wrapped round and round the blade, so that the measurement of each breadth is consecutive to the preceding breadth, the portion of the string which is stretched across the back of the blade not being counted.

This method is called ukor mata sa-b’lah, and is used by Sumatran Malays, especially in Menangkabau.

Spearheads can also be measured:—

Measure off the length of the spearhead and fold the string in two; see how often the breadth is contained in the half of the string; if the blade is a good one, it must be five and a half times (tĕngah anam). This is called ukor orang Perak or ukor tĕngah anam.

Another superstition connected with weapons is described as follows by Sir Frank Swettenham. It illustrates the magic powers attributed to the Pawang in so many departments of nature and life, but does not seem to have any special object or meaning.

“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.”

The subject of this section, more perhaps than any of the others, has lost its former importance, and become almost a matter of merely historical interest. In the Malay Peninsula, at least in the States which are under British protection, offensive weapons are seldom worn now-a-days except on State occasions and for purely ceremonial purposes; and warfare, it may be hoped, is now a thing of the past. In spite of the halo of romance thrown round it in native writings, Malay warfare (in modern times, at least) has never been anything but the barest and most bloodthirsty piracy by sea, and the merest “bushwhacking” and stockade-fighting on land; its final suppression, even if in some degree it should involve a slackening of fibre in the Malay character, is not a matter for regret. With it will disappear much of the curious lore that surrounded it, and indeed a good deal of it must have been lost already. Little has been said here of the methods of divination used in warfare which take up so much space in Malay treatises on the subject; success in war is held to depend on a great number of minute observances, and to be capable of being foretold by careful attention to omens and signs. But the divination applied in warfare does not seem to differ in principle from that which is used in all the other avocations of life, and a sufficient idea of its nature will be gathered from the account given in the next section.

12. Divination and the Black Art

Omens and Dreams

The significance of ominous signs and dreams is a subject which possesses vast ramifications, extending so deeply into every department of the Malay national life, that it will be impossible to do it anything like full justice within the narrow limits of this book. My object will be merely to indicate the main lines on which these two important doctrines of the Malay natural religion appear to have been developed.

Briefly, then, omens may be drawn either from the acts of men or the events of nature. Examples of the ominous import attributed to the acts of man will at once suggest themselves. Thus sneezing is said to be fortunate as tending to drive away the demons of disease; yawning is a bad sign, for obvious reasons, if the breath is loudly emitted, but if a quiet yawn occurs when the stomach is craving for food, it imports that it will soon be filled. So too stumbling is a bad omen, especially if the person who stumbles is about to set out on a journey. Then, again, “to be long in getting up after a meal is said to be a bad omen. It means that the person, if unmarried, will meet with a bad reception from his or her parents-in-law hereafter. The Malay saying in the vernacular is ‘Lambat bangket deri tampat makan, lambat di-tegur mentuwak.’ Clothes which have been nibbled by rats or mice must not be worn again. They are sure to bring misfortune, and are generally given away in charity. ... When a Malay dinner is served, the younger members of the family sometimes amuse themselves by throwing rice into the pan from which the curry has just been taken, stirring it round in the gravy that remains and then eating it. This is not permitted when one of them is to be married on the following day, as it would be sure to bring rainy weather. It is unlucky for a child to lie on his face (menyehrap), and kick his feet together in the air (menyabong kaki). It betokens that either his father or mother will die. A child seen doing this is instantly rebuked and stopped....

“The evil eye is dreaded by Malays. Not only are particular people supposed to be possessed of a quality which causes ill-luck to accompany their glance (the mal’occhio of the Italians), but the influence of the evil eye is often supposed to affect children, who are taken notice of by people kindly disposed towards them. For instance, it is unlucky to remark on the fatness and healthiness of a baby, and a Malay will employ some purely nonsensical word, or convey his meaning in a roundabout form, rather than incur possible misfortune by using the actual word ‘fat.’ ‘Ai bukan-nia poh-poh gental budak ini?’ (‘Isn’t this child nice and round?’) is the sort of phrase which is permissible.”

Among omens drawn from natural events are the following:—

“When a star is seen in apparent proximity to the moon, old people say there will be a wedding shortly....

“The entrance into a house of an animal which does not generally seek to share the abode of man is regarded by the Malays as ominous of misfortune. If a wild bird flies into a house it must be carefully caught and smeared with oil, and must then be released in the open air, a formula being recited in which it is bidden to fly away with all the ill-luck and misfortunes (sial jambalang) of the occupier. An iguana, a tortoise, and a snake, are perhaps the most dreaded of these unnatural visitors. They are sprinkled with ashes, if possible, to counteract their evil influence.

“A swarm of bees settling near a house is an unlucky omen, and prognosticates misfortune.”

So, too, omens are taken either from the flight or cries of certain birds, such as the night-owl, the crow, some kinds of wild doves, and the bird called the “Rice’s Husband” (laki padi).

Passing from the idea of mere omens drawn from fortuitous events we easily arrive at the idea of a conscious attempt on the part of the worshipper to ascertain the divine pleasure with respect to a sacrifice newly offered. This effort of the worshippers becomes crystallised in time into a sub-rite, which yet forms an integral portion of most, if not all, of the more important ceremonies, and eventually develops into a special and separate rite called Tilek (divination), of which examples will now be given.

One form of this rite was taught by a Malay of Penang extraction, whose instructions, taken down by me at the time, ran as follows:—

Take a lemon (limau purut), a hen’s egg, a taper made of bees’-wax (lilin lĕbah), four bananas, four Malay (palm-leaf covered) cigarettes, four “chews” of betel-leaf, a handful of parched rice, washed rice, and rice stained with turmeric (saffron), one of the prickles or “thorns” (duri) of a thorn-backed mudfish, a needle with a torn eye (taken out of one of the sets of a “score” in which they are sold—jarum rabit dalam sĕkudi), and a couple of small whips, or rather birches, one of which must be composed of seven, and the other of twelve, leaf-ribs of the “green” cocoa-nut palm (niyor hijau).

Two of the bananas, two cigarettes, two chews of “betel,” half of each of the three kinds of rice, the egg, and the birch of seven twigs, must now be taken outside the house and set down under a tree selected for the purpose. When setting it down the egg must be cracked, the cigarettes lighted, and finally the taper also. On one occasion when I witnessed the performance, the taper, after being taken up between the outstretched fingers of my friend’s two hands, was waved slowly to and fro—first to the right and then to the left; finally it was set down on the ground and began to burn blue, the flame becoming more and more dim until it almost expired. On seeing this the medicine-man exclaimed, “He has promised” (dia mĕngaku), and led the way back to the house, where he proceeded to go through the remainder of the ceremony.

First, he deposited the brazier with incense upon the leaf of a banana-tree, then took the prickle of the fish and thrust it horizontally through the lower end of the lemon, leaving both ends exposed; then he thrust the needle through in a transverse direction, so as to form a cross, the ends of the needle being likewise exposed, and slipped the noosed end of a piece of silken thread of seven different colours over the points thus exposed.

Next he scattered the rice round the censer and fumigated the birch and the lemon, recited a charm as he held the latter in his right hand, recited the charm for the second time as he took the birch in both hands, with the upper end close to his mouth and the lower (spreading) end over the brazier, and finally repeated the charm for a third time, suspending, as he did so, the lemon over the brazier by means of the thread held in his left hand and holding the birch in the right.

Everything being ready, he now began to put questions to the lemon into which the spirit was supposed to have entered, rebuking it and threatening it with the birch whenever it failed to answer distinctly and to the point. The conversational powers of this spirit were extremely limited, being confined to two signs signifying “Yes” and “No.” The affirmative was indicated by a pendulum-like swaying of the lemon, which rocked to and fro with more or less vehemence according to the emphasis (as my friend informed me) with which the reply was to be delivered. Negation, on the other hand, was indicated by a complete cessation of motion on the part of the lemon.

When it is required to discover, for instance, the name of a thief, the names of all those who are at all likely to have committed the theft are written on scraps of paper and arranged in a circle round the brazier, when the lemon will at once swing in the direction of the name of the guilty party. The best night for the performance of this ceremony is a Tuesday.

Sir Frank Swettenham’s account of a similar ceremony of which he was an eye-witness will serve as a good illustration of the methods in use for this purpose:—

“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 gray-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 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 gray-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 every one 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 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 fore-finger 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 the 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 somewhat analogous practice is the ordeal by diving, described by the late Sir W. E. Maxwell as “a method of deciding a disputed point which was occasionally resorted to in Perak in former times. I got the following account of the manner of conducting the ordeal from a Malay chief who saw it carried out once at Tanjong Sanendang near Pasir Sala, in the reign of Sultan Abdullah Mohamed Shah, father of the present Raja Muda Yusuf:—

“The ordeal by diving requires the sanction of the Sultan himself, and must be conducted in the presence of the Orang Besar Ampat, or Four Chiefs of the first rank. If two disputants in an important question agree to settle their difference in this way they apply to the Raja, who fixes a day (usually three days off) for the purpose, and orders that a certain sum of money shall abide the event. This appointment of time and place is the first stage in the proceedings, and is called bertepat janji, and the laying of the bet or deposit of stakes is called bertiban taroh. On the day appointed the parties attend with their friends at the Raja’s balei, and there, in the presence of the Court, a krani writes down a solemn declaration for each person, each maintaining the truth of his side of the question. The first, invoking the name of God, the intercession of the Prophet, and the tombs of the deceased Sultans of the country, asserts the affirmative proposition, and his adversary with the same solemnity records his denial. This is called bertangkap mangmang or ‘taking up the challenge.’ Each paper is then carefully rolled up by the krani, and is placed by him in a separate bamboo tube; the ends of both are then sealed up. When thus prepared the bamboo tubes are exactly alike, and no one, not even the krani, can tell which contains the assertion and which the denial. Two boys are then selected; one of the bamboos is given to each, and they are led down to the river, where the Raja and Chiefs take up their station, and the people flock down in crowds. Two stakes have been driven into the bed of the river in a pool previously selected, and the boys are placed beside them, up to their necks in water. A pole is placed horizontally on their heads, and on a given signal this is pressed downwards, and the boys are made to sink at the same moment. Each holds on to his post under water and remains below as long as he can. As soon as one gives in and appears above water his bamboo tube is snatched from him and hurled far out into the stream. The victor is led up in triumph to the balei, and the crowd surges up to hear the result. His bamboo is then opened and the winner declared.

“The Perak Malays believe this to be an infallible test of the truth of a cause. The boy who holds the false declaration is half-drowned, they say, as soon as his head is under the water, whereas the champion of the truth is able to remain below until the bystanders drag the post out of the river with the boy still clinging to it. Such is the power of the truth backed by the sacred names and persons invoked!

“The loser is often fined in addition to suffering the loss of his stakes (one-half of which goes to the Raja). He also has to pay the customary fees, namely, $6.25 for the use of the balei, $12.50 to the krani, and $5 to each of the boys.

“This ordeal is not peculiar to Perak. I find a short description of a similar custom in Pegu in Hamilton’s New Accounts of the East Indies (1727). In Pegu, he says, the ordeal by water is managed ‘by driving a stake of wood into a river and making the accuser and accused take hold of the stake and keep their heads and bodies under water, and he who stays longest under water is the person to be credited.’”

But by far the largest class of divinatory rites consists of astrological calculations based on the supposed values of times and seasons, or the properties of numbers. For the purposes of the native astrologer, exhaustive tables of lucky and unlucky times and seasons have been compiled, which are too long to be all examined here in detail, but of which specimens will be found in the Appendix. Few of them are likely to be original productions, most, if not all, being undoubtedly translated from similar books in vogue either in India or Arabia. Besides these tables, however, use is frequently made of geometrical (and even of natural) diagrams, to the more important parts of which certain numerical values are assigned.

Perhaps the oldest and best known of the systems of lucky and unlucky times is the one called Katika Lima, or the Five Times. Under it the day is divided into five parts, and five days form a cycle: to each of these divisions is assigned a name, the names being Maswara (Maheswara), Kala, S’ri, Brahma, and Bisnu (Vishnu), which recur in the order shown in the following table or diagram:—

Morning. Forenoon. Noon. Afternoon. Evening.

(pagi) (tĕngah naik) (tĕngah hari) (tĕngah turun) (pĕtang)

(1st day) Maswara Kala S’ri Brahma Bisnu

(2nd day) Bisnu Maswara Kala S’ri Brahma

(3rd day) Brahma Bisnu Maswara Kala S’ri

(4th day) S’ri Brahma Bisnu Maswara Kala

(5th day) Kala S’ri Brahma Bisnu Maswara

These names are the names of Hindu divinities, Maheswara being Shiva, and constituting with Brahma and Vishnu the so-called Hindu Trinity, while Kala is either another title of Shiva, or stands for Kali, his wife, and S’ri is a general title of all Hindu gods; but it may be doubted whether this division of time is not of Javanese or Malayan origin, although the importance of the number five is also recognised by the Hindus.

The same mystic notions of colour and the like are attached to these divisions by the Malays as obtain in the case of the Javanese days of the week: thus Maheswara’s colour is yellow-white (puteh kuning): if you go out you will meet a man of yellow-white complexion, or wearing yellow-white clothes; it is a lucky time for asking a boon from a Raja, or for doing any kind of work; good news then received is true, bad news is false, and so on.

Kala’s colour is a reddish black (hitam merah); if you go out you will meet a bad man or have a quarrel; it is an unlucky time altogether: the good news one hears turns out untrue, and the bad true; illness occurring at this time is due to a ghost (hantu orang), and the remedy is a black fowl; in cock-fighting a black cock will beat a white one at this time, but when setting him to fight you must not face towards the west, etc.

Similarly S’ri’s colour is white, Brahma’s is red, Vishnu’s is green, and each division has its respective advantages or disadvantages.

Another version of this system, known as the Five Moments (saʿat), is based on a somewhat similar diagram, but has orthodox Muhammadan names for its divisions, viz. Ahmad, Jibra’il (Gabriel), Ibrahim (Abraham), Yusuf (Joseph), and ʿAzra’il (Azrael).

Its diagram, as will be seen, is not quite the same as that of the Katika Lima, though the general scheme of the two systems corresponds closely.

Sunrise. Forenoon. Noon. Afternoon. Sunset.

(k’luar mata hari) (tĕngah naik) (tĕngah hari) (tĕngah turun) (waktu maghrib)

(1st day) Ahmad Jibra’il Ibrahim Yusuf ʿAzra’il

(2nd day) Jibra’il Ibrahim Yusuf ʿAzra’il Ahmad

(3rd day) Ibrahim Yusuf ʿAzra’il Ahmad Jibra’il

(4th day) Yusuf ʿAzra’il Ahmad Jibra’il Ibrahim

(5th day) ʿAzra’il Ahmad Jibra’il Ibrahim Yusuf

So in Ahmad’s division if you lose a buffalo or a bullock, it has gone to the southward and will be recovered; good news then received is true, bad news is false; the time is auspicious for any kind of work, for going on a voyage, sailing, or planting, and very profitable for trading; it is a lucky time for going to war, but you must wear white clothes and face southwards by a little east, and pray to God Almighty. Jibra’il’s time is fairly lucky too, being good for planting and profitable for trading, and if gold or silver is lost then, it will be quickly found, but there may be some trouble in getting it back; a lost buffalo or bullock has gone southwards, but will be recovered after some slight trouble; if you go to war at this time you must wear green, but must not face towards the south. Ibrahim’s time is most unlucky, and going out then is sure to involve bloodshed or other misfortune; bad news is true, good is false; things lost then will not be recovered; going to war is ruinous, and if you do go, the only way of safety is to face to the north, but it is best to stay at home altogether at this time.

Yusuf’s time is lucky in some respects, but unlucky in others; in warfare one must face towards the west, and wear yellow. ʿAzra’il’s time is most unlucky; to go to war then is most disastrous; any business pending at this ill-omened time should be postponed to a more favourable occasion.

Besides these two there is a system in which each of the seven days of the ordinary week is divided into five parts, each of which is characterised by one of the words ampa, bangkei, rezki, and aral (for ʿaradl), symbolical apparently of No Success, Death, Success, and Unforeseen Obstacle.

Another scheme (Katika Tujoh), based on the Seven Heavenly Bodies, divides each day into seven parts, each of which is distinguished by the Arabic name of one of the Heavenly Bodies.

The first day runs,—

(1) Shams (2) Zuhrah (3) ʿUtarid (4) Kamar

Sun Venus Mercury Moon

(5) Zuhal (6) Mushtari and (7) Mirrikh

Saturn Jupiter Mars

and the times are—early morning (pagi-pagi), morning (tĕngah naik), just before noon (hampir tĕngah hari), noon (tĕngah hari), afternoon (dlohr), late afternoon (ʿasr), and sunset (maghrib).

For the second day the series begins with the Moon, and goes on in the above order to Mercury; and for the third day it begins with Mars; so that each day of the week begins with its appropriate planet in the usual order, which is best seen in the French names Mardi, Mercredi, Jeudi, Vendredi, and the English Saturday, Sunday and Monday.

Each of the seven divisions has its lucky or unlucky characteristics, much as in the systems already described.

Besides these, each day of the week has its own appropriate occupations, according to another system, at times ascertained by measuring the length of one’s shadow. Further, it would appear that some days are unlucky altogether: one account gives seven unlucky days in every month; another asserts that Thursday is unlucky in the months Dhu-’l-hijjah, Muharram, and Safar; Tuesday in Rabiʿ-al-awal, Rabiʿ-al-akhir, and Jumada-’l-awal; Saturday in Jumada-’l-akhir, Rĕjab and Shaʿban; Sunday in Ramadhan, Shawal, and Dhu-’l-kaʿidah; a third specifies twelve other most inauspicious days in every year, viz. the 28th of Muharram, the 10th of Safar, the 14th of Rabiʿ-al-awal, and so on, while for greater convenience a calendar has been drawn up, which is far too long to be reproduced here, but which closely resembles the weather chart illustrated on another page, and gives the whole list of days of the Muhammadan year classified under the heads lucky (baik), somewhat unlucky, very unlucky, and neutral.

Besides this, whole years are lucky or unlucky according as the first of Muharram falls on a Sunday, Monday, etc.; and, moreover, years vary in luck according to the letter they bear in the Cycle of Eight.

Most of these systems of divination involve the construction of a sort of calendar, and require some degree of astronomical knowledge; but of astronomy properly so-called the Malays have scarcely even a smattering, its place being taken by the, to them, far more important science of astrology. “Their meagre ideas regarding the motions of the heavenly bodies are derived, through the Arabs, from the Ptolemaic system.”

The seven Heavenly Bodies (Bintang Tujoh), mentioned above, whose motions they believe to be produced by the agency of angels, retain their Arabic names, and are believed to rule the “seven ominous moments” (Katika Tujoh), which are supposed to depend on the influences of these several sidereal bodies.

The signs of the Zodiac similarly bear Arabic appellations, the form of divination in which they bear the principal part being called the Twelve Constellations (Bintang Dua-b’las).

This form of divination is not quite so common as are those of the Five Ominous Times (5-square) and the Seven Heavenly Bodies (7-square), and I have not been able to find out much about the methods of working it, but a copy of one of the diagrams used for the purpose will be found on another page.

According to one view, which is perhaps the prevalent one, every man’s luck is determined by one or other of the zodiacal constellations, and in order to find out which one it is, the following direction is given:—

“Reckon the numerical equivalent of the person’s name and of the name of his mother by the values of the letters according to the system of the Abjad; add the two numerical equivalents together, and divide the total by twelve; if the remainder is 1, his sign is the Ram, if 2, the Bull, and so on.”

Each constellation has a series of characteristics which are supposed to influence the whole life of the person who is subject to it.

Besides the above, a few of the other constellations are known to possess Malay names, and wherever this is the case, the name given appears usually to be quite original, having no connection with the nomenclature obtaining among nations with which we are more familiar.

In addition to the above, the Malays possess a curious system by which the lunar month is divided into a number of parts called Rĕjang. According to Newbold, “the twenty-eight Rĕjangs resemble the Nacshatras or lunar mansions of the Hindoos, rather than the Anwa of the Arabs”; and it is a priori very probable that they owe their origin to this Hindu system. But by the Malays their application has been generally misunderstood, and their number is usually raised to thirty so as to fit the days of the lunar month. Each of these divisions has its symbol, which is usually an animal, and the first animal in the list is (in almost all versions) the horse. A horse’s head is also the figure of the first of the Hindu Nakshatras, but there seems to be little trace of identity in the remaining figures, which for the sake of comparison are given, side by side with the Malay symbols, in the Appendix. The Malays have embodied this system in a series of mnemonic verses (known as Shaʿir Rĕjang), of which there are several versions, e.g. the Rĕjang of ’Che Busu, the Rĕjang Sindiran Maiat, and others.

The Rĕjangs are also dealt with at length in prose treatises: one of these, which identifies the Rĕjangs with the days of the lunar month, begins “on the first day of the month, whose rĕjang is a horse, God Almighty created the prophet Adam; this day is good for planting, travelling, and sailing, and trading on this day will be profitable; it is also a good day for a wedding, and on this day it is lucky to be attacked (i.e. in war), but rather unlucky to take the offensive; ... good news received (at this time) is true, bad news is false; property lost (on this day) will soon be recovered; the man who stole it is short of stature, with scanty hair, a round face, a slender figure and a yellow complexion; the property has been placed in a house, ... under the care of a dark man; ... if a child is born on this day it will be extremely fortunate; if one is ill on this day, one will quickly recover; the proper remedy for driving away the evil (tolak bala), is to make a representation of a horse and throw it away towards the (East?)” In other respects this system of divination seems to agree in its main features with those which have already been described.

Having mentioned the divisions of the calendar which are chiefly used in divination, it seems desirable, for the sake of completeness, to allude briefly to those that remain.

“The better informed Malays acknowledge the solar year of 365 days, which they term the toun (tahun) shemsiah, but in obedience to their Mohammedan instructors, adopt the lunar year (toun kumriah) of 354 days.”

This remark is still true, no doubt, of the up-country Malays on the West Coast, but in most districts, and to an extent commensurate with European influence, the solar year is now being gradually introduced.

The same remark applies to the method of reckoning months, a dual system being now in vogue in many places where there is most contact with Europeans. Regarding the native methods the following quotation is to the point:—

“There are three ways of reckoning the months. First, the Arabian, computing thirty days to the first month, and twenty-nine to the second month, and so on alternately to the end of the year.

“Second, the Persian mode, viz. thirty days to each month; and, thirdly, that of Rum, i.e. thirty-one days to the month. The first is in general use. Some few, with greater accuracy, calculate their year at 354 days eight hours, intercalating every three years twenty-four hours, or one day to make up the deficiency, and thirty-three days for the difference between the solar and lunar years.

“But the majority of the lower classes estimate their year by the fruit seasons and by their crops of rice only. Many, however, obstinately adhere to the lunar months, and plant their paddy at the annual return of the lunar month.”

“The Malay months have been divided into weeks of seven days, marked by the return of the Mohammedan Sabbath. Natives who have had intercourse with Europeans divide the day and night into twenty-four parts, but the majority measure the day by the sun’s apparent progress through the heavens, the crow of the cock, etc. The religious day commences at sunset, like that of the Arabs and Hebrews.”

“There are two cycles borrowed from the Arabs, and known only to a few, viz. one of 120 years, the dour besar, and the other of eight, dour kechil. The latter is sometimes seen in dates of letters, and resembles the mode adopted by us of distinguishing by letters the different days of the week, substituting eight years for the seven days. The order of the letters is as follows: Alif-ha-jim-za-dal-ba-wau-dal-Ahajazdabuda. The present year (1251) is the year Toun-za.

“In a Malay MS. history of Patani, in my possession, I find the Siamese mode of designating the different years of the cycle by the names of animals adopted.”

Most if not all these systems of reckoning seem to have been treated by the Malays from the astrological point of view as forming a basis for divination, and these crude notions of the lucky or unlucky nature of certain times and seasons are to some extent systematised by or in some degree mixed up with the idea of the mystic influence of numbers and geometrical figures.

Of the mystic figures used in divination, the first in importance is, no doubt, what has been called the “magic square,” a term applied to “a set of numbers arranged in a square in such a manner that the vertical, horizontal, and diagonal columns shall give the same sums.”

The ordinary form of magic square, which was formerly in use in Europe, is the following; it is occasionally found even among the Malays.

Magic Square of 3.

8 1 6

3 5 7

4 9 2

Magic Square of 5.

17 24 1 8 15

23 5 7 14 16

4 6 13 20 22

10 12 19 21 3

11 18 25 2 9

Magic Square of 7.

30 39 48 1 10 19 28

38 47 7 9 18 27 29

46 6 8 17 26 35 37

5 14 16 25 34 36 45

13 15 24 33 42 44 4

21 23 32 41 43 3 12

22 31 40 49 2 11 20

But the form of magic square generally used by the Malays is the same figure reversed.

Magic Square of 3.

6 1 8

7 5 3

2 9 4

Magic Square of 5.

15 8 1 24 17

16 14 7 5 23

22 20 13 6 4

3 21 19 12 10

9 2 25 18 11

Magic Square of 7.

28 19 10 1 48 39 30

29 27 18 9 7 47 38

37 35 26 17 8 6 46

45 36 34 25 16 14 5

4 44 42 33 24 15 13

12 3 43 41 32 23 21

20 11 2 49 40 31 22

The ordinary Malay astrologer most likely understands very little of the peculiar properties of a magic square, and consequently he not unfrequently makes mistakes in the arrangement of the figures. I believe, also, that in using the squares for purposes of divination he now usually begins at one corner and counts straight on, the beginning place being almost always distinguished by a small solitary crescent or crescent and star just over the square. When coloured squares are introduced, as is the case with several of the 5-squares, the sum of 25 squares is subdivided into five sets or groups of five squares each, a different colour being assigned to each group. These colours would no doubt retain the comparative values usually assigned to them by Malay astrologers. Thus white would be the best of all; yellow, as the royal colour, little, if at all inferior to white; brown, blue, or red would be medium colours; black would be bad, and so on.

Sometimes, again, the names of the five Hindu deities already mentioned will be found similarly arranged, in which case they appear to refer to the divisions of the day, described above under the name of Katika Lima. Besides this class of magic squares, however, there are other kinds which present irregularities, and are not so easily explainable. Some of these violate the fundamental rule of the magic square, which insists that each square shall have an equal number of small squares running each way, and that this number shall be an odd one.

Others exhibit the right number of small squares (3 × 3 or 5 × 5 or 7 × 7), but instead of a subdivision into sub-groups, have merely an arrangement of alternative emblems, such as a bud and a full-blown flower, or the like.

An analysis of the squares whose figures are given in the illustrations shows that the order of the colours, deities, and planets is by no means always the same.

Thus, in the matter of the order of the five colours, we have:—

In Plate 26, Fig. 1,

1–5 brown (? red).

6–10 yellow.

11–15 white.

16–20 black.

21–25 white.

and in another figure,

1–5 white.

6–10 black (red is substituted by mistake in No. 9).

11–15 red.

16–20 blue (17 is made black by mistake).

21–25 yellow.

And in the matter of the order of the Five Deities we find:—

In Plate 26, Fig. 1, and in another figure,

1–5 Brahma (Brahma). 1–5 Bĕsri (S’ri).

6–10 Bisnu (Vishnu). 6–10 Kala.

11–15 Maswara (Maheswara). 11–16 Maswara (Maheswara).

16–20 S’ri (17 is called Kala by mistake). 16–20 Bisnu (Vishnu).

21–25 Kala (23 and 24 are called S’ri by mistake). 21–25 Brahma.

And yet another 5-square containing the names of Deities (Pl. 26, Fig. 2) is composed as follows:—

1–5 Bisnu (Vishnu).

6–10 Brahma.

11–15 Maswara (Maheswara).

16–20 [a diagonal cross].

21–25 [a small circle].

From Pl. 26, Fig. 2, it would appear that this form of the 5-square is used to ascertain the best time of day to commence an operation, e.g. to start on a journey.

In a 7-square we find the following:—

1–7 Shams (Sun); Sunday (1).

8–14 Mirrikh (Mars); Tuesday (2).

15–21 Mushtari (Jupiter); Thursday (3).

22–28 Zuhal (Saturn); Saturday (4).

29–35 Kamar (Moon); Monday (5).

36–42 Ketab (Mercury); Wednesday (6).

43–49 Zahari (Venus); Friday (7).

This 7-square is based on a heptacle in which every alternate day is skipped, thus:—

This form of square is evidently used to ascertain the best day of the week to commence any operation.

Next in importance to the methods of divination by the use of magic squares, come those which depend upon “aspect,” and involve the use of diagrams which I propose to call “aspect-compasses.” Of these the commonest form is a drawing, in which the places usually occupied by the points of the compass are occupied by the names of certain things (usually animals or birds) which are supposed to be naturally opposed to each other. Thus in one of these compass-like figures we find (vide Pl. 25, Fig. 2):—

The Bird [sic] (N.) opposed to the Fowl (S.)

The Crocodile (N.E.)

opposed

to

the

Fish (S.W.)

The Rat (E.)

opposed

to

the

Cat (W.)

The Tiger (S.E.)

opposed

to

the

Stag (N.W.)

Another has:—

The Kite (N.) opposed to the Fowl (S.)

The Crocodile (N.E.)

opposed

to

the

Fish (S.W.)

The Rat (E.)

opposed

to

the

Cat (W.)

The Tiger (S.E.)

opposed

to

the

Stag (N.W.)

And a third:—

The New Moon (N.) opposed to the Kite (S.)

The Cat (N.E.)

opposed

to

the

Rat (S.W.)

The Crocodile (E.)

opposed

to

the

Fish (W.)

The Stag (S.E.)

opposed

to

the

Tiger (N.W.)

whilst a fourth has alternately cape and bay.

The way in which these figures were used for divination is very clearly shown by Pl. 25, Fig. 1, which is copied from a figure in one of my (Selangor) charm-books, which had the days of the month, from the 1st to the 30th, written round it in blue ink. Starting from the north aspect, you count round to the left until (allowing one day to each aspect) you arrive at the aspect corresponding to the number of the day of the month upon which you wish to start your journey. If it coincides with an aspect assigned to one of the weaker influences, it will be most imprudent to start on that day. Start on a day assigned to one of the stronger influences, and you will be all right. If the first aspect-compass which you consult is not accommodating enough for your requirements, go on consulting others until you find one which is satisfactory.

Other forms of the compass-figure are used for divining whether if he starts on a certain day the man will get the better of his enemy, or meet with a person (e.g. a slave or a thief) who has run away. In the former case a double circle of human figures is used, the figures of the inner circle representing the person who seeks the information, and those of the outer circle his enemy. The counting is carried out in precisely the same manner as before, and the headless figure in each case represents the man who will lose. In the case of a drawn battle neither party, of course, loses his head.

In the case of an absconder, a single circle of figures is used, the figures pointing towards the centre signifying that the absconding party will return or be caught, and those pointing away from the centre signifying the opposite. In one case (Pl. 25, Fig. 2) there are fourteen human figures arranged in two opposing rows of seven, every alternate figure being headless. In this case you start the counting at the right-hand figure of the bottom row, and count towards the left. Yet another form of divination in which the human figure is made use of, is shown in Pl. 25, Fig. 1; a number of small red circles (which should be alternately dark and light) are drawn at the salient points of the figure, and counted down to the left in order, beginning at the head. All I have yet been able to discover about the villainous-looking individual here portrayed is the fact that he is said to represent one “Unggas Tĕlang,” who was described to me as an “old war-chief” (hulubalang tua) of the Sea-gypsies (Orang Laut) and the Malay pirates.

Figures of dragons (naga) and scorpions (kala) are sometimes used in a similar manner; and there is also an aspect-compass known as the Rajal-al-ghaib or Jinazah Sayidna ʿAli ibn Abu Talib (the body or bier of Our Lord ʿAli, the son of Abu Talib), which, according to this notion, “is continually being carried by angels towards the different quarters of the heavens, and must not be faced; for if one faces towards it, one is sure to be defeated in battle or fight.” The aspect to be avoided varies from day to day, turning towards each of the eight points of the ordinary Malay compass three or four times in the lunar month.

The subject of omens in general has been shortly dealt with at the beginning of this section, and also incidentally mentioned in connection with various departments of nature and human life. It would hardly be possible to make a complete or systematic list of the things from which omens are taken. Apart from those depending merely on Times, Seasons, Numbers, and Aspect, which have been already dealt with at quite sufficient length, it may be noted that omens are drawn from earthquakes, thunder, “house-lizards, rats, and other four-footed things,” according to the times at which they are observed, from the colour, smell, and nature of soil (in choosing building-sites), from birds, and, in fact, from a very large variety of matters which cannot be classified under any general head. The lines of the hand are, of course, interpreted among the Malays, as elsewhere, as signs of good and evil fortune. It has not been possible to collect much information on the subject of Malay chiromancy, but for the benefit of European adepts in “palmistry” (as it seems to be usually styled nowadays) it may be worth while mentioning that the Malays attach importance, as an indication of long life (ʿalamat panjang ʿumor), to the intersection of the line round the base of the thumb with the one which runs round the wrist (simpeian ʿAli), while a broken line across the palm (rĕtak putus) is believed by them to be a sign of invulnerability (tanda pĕnggĕtas, ta’ buleh di-tikam). Upright lines running up the lower joints of the fingers, in the same line as the fingers themselves, are a sign of prospective wealth (ʿalamat ’nak di-panjat dĕ’ duit, tanda orang kaya), and a whorl of circular lines on the fingers (pusat bĕlanak) is a sign of a craftsman (ʿalamat orang tukang).

More important, perhaps, are the omens believed to be derived from dreams, of which there seem to be several different methods of interpretation. According to one system the initial letter of the thing dreamt of determines the luck: thus to dream of a thing beginning with T is very lucky indeed, to dream of a thing beginning with H means that a visitor from a distance is to be expected; N indicates sorrow, L is a hint to give alms to the poor and needy, and so forth. According to another system, a purely arbitrary meaning is put upon the subject-matter of the dream, or, at most, some slight analogy is the basis of the interpretation. Thus to dream of a gale of wind in the early morning is an omen of sorrow, to dream of hail means acquisition of property, to dream of bathing in a heavy shower of rain indicates escape from a very great danger, a dream about mosquitoes, flies, and the like, means that an enemy is coming to the village, to dream about eating jack-fruit (nangka) or plantain (pisang) is an indication of great trouble impending, and so on; an extract from a treatise on this subject is given in the Appendix, and it is impossible to dwell at greater length upon it here. Among Malay gamblers special importance is attached to dreams as an indication of luck in gambling (mimpi paksa or dapat paksa). If the gambler dreams of “sweeping out the gambling farm” (mĕnyapu pajak), i.e. “breaking the bank,” or of running amok in it (mĕngamok pajak), or of bailing out the ocean (mĕnimba lautan), or of the ocean running dry (lautan k’ring), or even of his breeding maggots on his person (badan bĕrulat), he is confident of great good fortune in the near future.

As a specimen of the importance traditionally ascribed to dreams, it seems worth while to give the following popular legend, which also illustrates the type of folk-tales in which hidden treasure plays a great part:—

“Che Puteh Jambai and his wife were very poor people, who lived many generations ago at Pulo Kambiri on the Perak river. They had so few clothes between them that when one went out the other had to stay at home. Nothing seemed to prosper with them, so leaving Pulo Kambiri, where their poverty made them ashamed to meet their neighbours, they moved up the river to the spot since called Jambai. Shortly after they had settled here Che Puteh was troubled by a portent which has disturbed the slumbers of many great men from the time of Pharaoh downwards. He dreamed a dream. And in his dream he was warned by a supernatural visitant to slay his wife, this being, he was assured, the only means by which he could hope to better his miserable condition.

“Sorely disturbed in mind, but never doubting that the proper course was to obey, Che Puteh confided to his wife the commands which he had received, and desired her to prepare for death. The unhappy lady acquiesced with that conjugal submissiveness which in Malay legends, as in the Arabian Nights, is so characteristic of the Oriental female when landed in some terrible predicament. But she craved and obtained permission to first go down to the river and wash herself with lime juice. So taking a handful of limes she went forth, and, standing on the rock called Batu Pembunoh, she proceeded to perform her ablutions after the Malay fashion. The prospect of approaching death, we may presume, unnerved her, for in dividing the limes with a knife she managed to cut her own hand and the blood dripped down on the rocks and into the river; as each drop was borne away by the current, a large jar immediately rose to the surface and floated, in defiance of all natural laws, up-stream to the spot whence the blood came. As each jar floated up Che Puteh’s wife tapped it with her knife and pulled it in to the edge of the rocks. On opening them she found them all full of gold. She then went in search of her husband and told him of the treasure of which she had suddenly become possessed. He spared her life, and they lived together in the enjoyment of great wealth and prosperity for many years. Their old age was clouded, it is believed, by the anxiety attending the possession of a beautiful daughter, who was born to them after they became rich. She grew up to the perfection of loveliness, and all the Rajas and Chiefs of the neighbouring countries were her suitors. The multitude of rival claims so bewildered the unhappy parents that, after concealing a great part of their riches in various places, they disappeared and have never since been seen. Their property was never found by their children, though, in obedience to instructions received in dreams, they braved sea-voyages and went to seek for it in the distant lands of Kachapuri and Jamulepor.

“Several places near Jambai connected with the legend of Che Puteh are still pointed out; at Bukit Bunyian the treasure was buried and still lies concealed. A deep gorge leading down to the river is the ghaut down which Che Puteh’s vast flocks of buffaloes used to go to the river. Its size is evidence of the great number of the animals, and therefore of the wealth of their owner. Two deep pools, called respectively Lubuk Gong and Lubuk Sarunai, contain a golden gong and a golden flute which were sunk here by Che Puteh Jambai. The flute may sometimes be seen lying on one of the surrounding rocks, but always disappears into the depths of the pool before any mortal can approach it. The treasures of Lubuk Gong might before now have passed into human possession, had it not been for the covetousness of the individual selected as their recipient. A Malay of Ulu Perak was told in a dream to go and fish in the pool of the gong and to take a pair of betel-nut scissors (kachip) with him. He was to use the kachip immediately on being told to do so. Next morning he was at the pool early, and at his first cast hooked something heavy and commenced to draw it up. When the hook appeared above water there was a gold chain attached to it. The lucky fisherman then commenced to pull up the chain into his canoe, and hauled up fathoms of it, hand over hand, until the boat could hardly hold any more. Just then a little bird alighted on a branch close by and piped out a couple of notes, which sounded for all the world like kachip. The man heard, but he wanted a little more, and he went on hauling. ‘Kachip,’ said the bird again. ‘Just a very little more,’ thought the fisherman, and he still continued dragging up the chain. Again and again the warning note sounded, but in vain, and suddenly a strong pull from the bottom of the pool dragged back the chain, and before the Malay had time to divide it with his tweezers, the last link of it had disappeared beneath the water.”

Charms, Talismans, and Witchcraft

While by divination and by inferences from omens and dreams, Malays attempt to ascertain the course of fate, so by charms of the nature of amulets and talismans they sometimes endeavour to influence its direction or modify its force. Charms of the nature of invocations have been dealt with already under different headings in connection with a variety of matters, and it will only be necessary to refer here to a few miscellaneous ones of a less elaborate character. It should be observed that some charms are directly effective or protective, like amulets or talismans, while others are supposed to work only by influencing the volition of another mind. Under the latter head come the great mass of love-charms, charms for securing conjugal fidelity, or for compelling the revelation by another person of his or her secret thoughts, and the like, of which Malay books of magic are full; while under the former come sundry recipes of a more or less medicinal nature for the purpose of curing various diseases, of increasing physical power or virility, or of protecting the person against evil influences, natural or supernatural. In most of these cases the modus operandi is of the simplest character; the charm consists usually of a short Arabic prayer or a few letters and figures, sometimes quite meaningless and conventional, sometimes making up one or more of the sacred names (Allah, Muhammad, ʿAli, etc.). These charms are written on paper or cloth and worn on the person; sometimes they are written on the body itself, especially on the part to be affected; occasionally they are written on a cup which is then used for drinking purposes. Such prescriptions are infinite in number, and are to be found in Malay charm-books, wedged in amongst matter of a more strictly medical kind; in fact, it would be quite correct to say that letter-charms (rajah, ʿazimat) and sacred names have their place in the Malay Pharmacopœia side by side with spices, herbs, roots, and the like. But such charms are also used for many other purposes: “to ward off demons (sheitan), to make children feed at the breast properly, to prevent them from crying and from going into convulsions, to prevent the rice-crops from being devoured by pigs, rats, and maggots,” are consecutive instances of the charms contained in a page of one of the numerous Malay treatises on these matters. It would, from the nature of the case, be utterly impossible to exhaust this endless subject, and it is not necessary to dwell upon it at greater length, as the details of the charms used (of which a few are quoted in the Appendix) do not as a rule offer any features of general interest.

Far more interesting is that form of the Black Art which attempts to “abduct,” or in some way “get at” another person’s soul, whether (as in the case of the ordinary love-charm), in order to influence it in the operator’s favour, or, on the other hand, with a view to doing the victim some harm, which may take the form of madness, disease, or even death.

These results can be arrived at by a variety of methods: in some of them the influence works entirely without contact, in others there is some sort of contact between the victim and the receptacle into which his soul is to be enticed. A few specimens of the methods employed will conclude this part of the subject; they are necessarily somewhat of a miscellaneous character; but it will be seen that they are really only different applications of the same general principle, the nature of which has already been indicated in the section on the Soul.

The following is an instance of direct contact between the soul receptacle and its owner’s body—

“Take soil from the centre of the footprint (hati-hati tapak) of the person you wish to charm, and ‘treat it ceremonially’ (di-puja) for about three days.

“The ‘ceremonial treatment’ consists in wrapping it up in pieces of red, black, and yellow cloth (the yellow being outside), and hanging it from the centre of your mosquito-curtain with parti-coloured thread (pĕnggantong-nya bĕnang pancharona). It will then become (the domicile of) your victim’s soul (jadi sĕmangat). You must, however, to complete the ceremony, switch it with a birch of seven leaf-ribs taken from a ‘green’ cocoa-nut (pĕnyembat-nya lidi niyor hijau tujoh ’lei) seven times at sundown, seven times at midnight, and seven times at sunrise, continuing this for three days, and saying as you do so:—

“‘It is not earth that I switch,
But the heart of So-and-so.’

(Bukan-nya aku mĕnyembat tanah,
Aku mĕnyembat hati Si Anu).

“Then bury it in the middle of a path where your victim is sure to step over it (supaya buleh di-langkah-nya), and he will certainly become distraught. The only taboo in connection with it is that you should let no one share your sleeping-mat.” The soul-receptacle in this case is the lump of earth taken from the centre of the victim’s footprint. It is said to actually “become (the victim’s) soul,” but no doubt this is merely figurative, though it completely proves the identification of the soul with its receptacle in the Malay mind. The object of the birching is not self-evident, but may be intended to dispel evil influences, and so purify it for the incoming soul.

Another way of obtaining the required result is to scrape off some of the wood of the floor from the place where your intended victim has been sitting. Having secured this, take some of the soil from his or her footprint and mix them both together with wax from a deserted bees’ comb, moulding the figure into his or her likeness. Fumigate it with incense, and “beckon” to the soul by waving a cloth (lambei sĕmangat) every night for three nights successively, reciting this charm:—

“‘OM!’ shout it again and again!
Stupid and dazed
Be the heart of Somebody,
Thinking of me.
If you do not think of me,
The forty-four angels shall curse you.”

Another method is as follows:—

Take parings of nails, hair, eyebrows, saliva, etc. of your intended victim (sufficient to represent every part of his person), and make them up into his likeness with wax from a deserted bees’ comb. Scorch the figure slowly by holding it over a lamp every night for seven nights, and say:—

“It is not wax that I am scorching,
It is the liver, heart, and spleen of So-and-so that I scorch.”

After the seventh time burn the figure, and your victim will die.

The description of the next ceremony is taken word for word from a charm-book which I obtained from a Langat Malay (named ’Che Indut), and which is still in my possession. As it illustrates several new points about these wax figures, and as such charms are exceedingly rare and all but impossible to obtain, I here give a word for word translation of the whole text, the original Malay version of which will be found in the Appendix:—

“This refers to making images to harm people. You make an image to resemble a corpse out of wax from an empty bees’ comb, and of the length of a footstep. If you want to cause sickness, you pierce the eye and blindness results; or you pierce the waist and the stomach (lit. the waist) gets sick, or you pierce the head and the head gets sick, or you pierce the breast and the breast gets sick. If you want to cause death, you transfix it from the head right through to the buttocks, the ‘transfixer’ being a gomuti-palm twig; then you enshroud the image as you would a corpse, and you pray over it as if you were praying over the dead; then you bury it in the middle of the path (which goes to) the place of the person whom you wish to charm, so that he may step across it. This refers to when you want to bury the image—

“Peace be to you! Ho, Prophet ’Tap, in whose charge the earth is,
Lo, I am burying the corpse of Somebody,
I am bidden (to do so) by the Prophet Muhammad,
Because he (the corpse) was a rebel to God.
Do you assist in killing him or making him sick:
If you do not make him sick, if you do not kill him,
You shall be a rebel against God,
A rebel against Muhammad.
It is not I who am burying him,
It is Gabriel who is burying him.
Do you too grant my prayer and petition, this very day that has appeared,
Grant it by the grace of my petition within the fold of the Creed La ilaha,” etc.

There are, as I have said, several new points to be got from this charm. You must make the image resemble a corpse; you must make it of the length of the footstep (doubtless that of the intended victim); you must pierce the part which you want to affect; if you want to kill your man, you must transfix him from the head downwards with the twig of a gomuti-palm (that is to say, with one of the black splinters used as pens by the Malays); you must wrap the image in a shroud, and read the burial service over it; and, finally, in order to absolve yourself from blood-guiltiness, you shift the burden of your crime on to the shoulders of the Archangel Gabriel!!!

There are, of course, many slight variations of the actual ceremony. Sometimes the wizard, during the insertion of the pins into the image, exclaims:—

“It is not wax that I slay
But the liver, heart, and spleen of So-and-so.”

And then, after “waving” the figure in the smoke of the incense, and depositing it in the centre of a sacrificial tray (anchak), he invites the spirits to banquet upon his victim’s body:—

“I do not banquet you upon anything else,
But on the liver, heart, and spleen of So-and-so.”

When the ceremony is over the image is buried in the usual way in front of the victim’s door-step.

Another method is described as follows:—

“Make the wax figure in the usual way and with the usual ingredients. At sundown take parched rice, with white, black, green, and yellow (saffron) rice, a “chew” of betel-leaf, a wax taper and an egg—this latter as the representative of a fowl (ʿisharat ayam). Burn incense, and recite this charm:—

“Peace be with you, O Earth Genie,
Bull-shaped Earth-spirit, Earth-demon, Bull-shaped World-spirit.
Come hither, come down, I pray you, and accept the banquet I offer.
I have a something that I want you for,
I want to give you an order,
I want to get you to aid me

And assist me in causing the sickness (as the case may be), of Somebody.

or madness

or death

If you do not accept the banquet I offer
You shall be a rebel to God,” etc.

This is a charm for sowing dissension between husband and wife (pĕmbĕnchi):—

Make two of the wax figures in the ordinary way, but taking care that one resembles the husband and the other the wife. Sit down with your legs stretched out before you, and hold the figures face to face while you repeat the charm thrice, and at the end of each repetition breathe upon their heads. Then lay the man upon the ground on your right side close to your thigh, but looking away from it; and the woman at the side of the left thigh in a similar position, so that they both look away from each other. Then burn incense and recite the same charm twenty-two times over the man and twenty-two times over the woman. Now put them back to back, and wrap them up in seven thicknesses of the leaves of tukas, and tie them round with thread of seven colours wrapped seven times round them, repeat the charm and bury them. Dig them up after seven days and see if they are still there. If you find them the charm has failed, but if not, it will work, and they will assuredly be divorced. The charm runs as follows:—

“’Ndit marangan ’ndit!
Angkau Fatimah kambing,
Si Muhammad harimau Allah;
Kalau Fatimah tĕntangkan Muhammad,
Sapĕrti kambing tĕntang harimau.
Muhammad sabĕnar-bĕnar hulubalang,
Harimau Allah di-atas dunia.
Dĕngan bĕrkat” d. s. b.

Which, so far as it is intelligible, appears to mean:—

. . . . . . . . . .
“Thou, Fatimah, art a goat;
Muhammad is God’s tiger.
If Fatimah is face to face with Muhammad,
She will be as a goat facing a tiger.
Muhammad in very truth is the Chief,
The Tiger of God upon earth.
By the grace of,” etc.

The following is a clear example of soul abduction without contact:—

The simplest way, perhaps, of abducting another person’s soul is to go out, when the sun clears (matahari mĕncharak, at sunrise?), or when the newly-risen moon looks red, and standing with the big toe of the right foot resting on the big toe of the left, to make a trumpet of your right hand and recite the appropriate charm through this improvised speaking-trumpet thrice. At the end of each recital you blow through the hollowed fist. The charm runs as follows:—

“‘OM.’ I loose my shaft, I loose it and the moon clouds over,
I loose it, and the sun is extinguished,
I loose it, and the stars burn dim.
But it is not the sun, moon, and stars that I shoot at,
It is the stalk of the heart of that child of the congregation, So-and-so.
Cluck! cluck! soul of So-and-so, come and walk with me,
Come and sit with me,
Come and sleep and share my pillow.
Cluck! cluck! soul,” etc.

A second method is to beat your own shadow, ceremonially; according to this method you take a cane (of rattan or rotan sĕga), in length as long as your body, fumigate it with incense and recite a charm over it seven times, striking your own shadow with the cane once after each recital. Repeat this at sundown, midnight, and early morning, and sleep under a coverlet made of five cubits of white cloth, and the soul you wish for will assuredly come to you. The following is the charm, a very curious one:—

“Ho! Irupi, Shadowy One,
Let the Queen come to me.
Do you, if Somebody is awake,
Stir her and shake her, and make her rise,
And take her breath and her soul and bring them here,
And deposit them in my left side.
But if she sleep,
Do you take hold of the great toe of her right foot
Until you can make her get up,
And use your utmost endeavours to bring them to me.
If you do not, you shall be a rebel to God,” etc.

Another method of abducting another person’s soul is as follows:—

“Take a lime branch which has seven limes on a single stalk, and suspend it from the top of your mosquito-curtain on three successive nights. When you suspend it recite the charm already given (beginning ‘Om! shout it again and again!’).”

The following ceremony is one in which the soul of another person is abducted without any direct contact between the soul-receptacle, which in this case is a head-cloth, and the soul-owner. The directions are as follows:—

“Go out on the fourteenth night of the lunar month (full moon) and two successive nights; seat yourself on a male ant-hill (busut jantan) facing the moon, burn incense, and repeat the charm:—

“I bring you a (betel-) leaf to chew,
Dab the lime on to it, Prince Ferocious,
For Somebody, Prince Distraction’s daughter, to chew.
Somebody at sunrise be distraught for love of me,
Somebody at sunset be distraught for love of me.
As you remember your parents, remember me,
As you remember your house and house-ladder, remember me.

When thunder rumbles, remember me,
When wind whistles, remember me,
When the heavens rain, remember me,
When cocks crow, remember me,
When the dial-bird tells its tales, remember me,
When you look up at the sun, remember me,
When you look up at the moon, remember me,
For in that self-same moon I am there.
Cluck! cluck! soul of Somebody come hither to me,
I do not mean to let you have my soul,
Let your soul come hither to mine.”

Here wave the end of your head-cloth (puncha detar) in the direction of the moon seven times every night for three successive nights. Then take the turban (detar) home and place it under your pillow (for the three nights). If you want to use it by day, burn incense, and say:—

“It is not a turban that I carry in my girdle but the soul of Somebody.”

At sundown, when the sun is hovering on the brink of the horizon (matahari ayun tĕrmayun), chew betel, and spit out (sĕmborkan) the chewed leaf thrice. Then stand opposite the door, looking if possible towards the west, burn incense, and repeat this charm:—

“Nur Mani is your name,
Si Pancha Awalis my name;
By the grace of my using the prayer called ‘Kundang Maya Chinta Bĕrahi’
Concentrate your thoughts on me,
Be enamoured of me,
Be distraught for love of me,
Distraught both by day and by night,
Distraught seven times in the day,
And distraught seven times in the night.
Come back to your home,
Come back to your palace.”

Although this looks at first sight not unlike a love-charm, the last two lines show that it is really intended to induce a wandering soul (sĕmangat riang) to return to its owner. In fact, the wizard who gave me this charm told me that it was taboo to let any one pass during the whole evening, when this charm was used, between the light and the patient.

It seems possible, however, that it might be used on occasion, and mutatis mutandis, as a love charm as well.

The following ceremony is professedly a species of divination (tilek or pĕnilek), but as it is clearly only another form of soul-abduction I give it here. The instructions are as follows:—

“First take some wax from a deserted bees’ comb and make a wax taper out of it as well as you can; stick it upon the rim of a white cup, and repeat this charm, when you will be able to see the person you wish to affect in the taper’s flame (buleh di-tengo’ orang-nya didalam puchok api). The charm runs as follows:—

“I know the origin from which you sprang,
From the glitter of the White Blood.
Come down then to your mother,
Stemming both ebb and flood tides,
Cluck! cluck! souls of Somebody,
Come all of you together unto me.
Whither would ye go?
Come down to this house and house-ladder of yours.
This solitary taper is your house and house-ladder,
Since already the liver, stomach, heart, spleen, and great maw
Of all of you have been given into my care,
So much the more have the body and life
Of all of you been given into my care.
Grant this by the grace of my use
Of the prayer called divination by (secret) cognizance (tilek maʿrifat) of Somebody.

“Next you take a fathom’s length of thread, with seven strands, and seven colours running through the strands (bĕnang tujoh urat, tujoh warna mĕlintang bĕnang), and a pen made of a splinter of the sugar-palm (puchok kabong), and draw a portrait of the person you wish to charm (mĕnulis gambar orang itu). When the portrait is finished you suspend it from the end of a pole by means of the parti-coloured thread, and make fast the lower end of the pole to the branch of a tree, fixing it at an angle, so that the portrait may hang free and be blown to and fro without ceasing by every breath of wind. This will cause her heart to love you.”

It will be noticed that a general similarity underlies these several methods of soul-abduction in spite of their apparent variety, and the diversity of the objects in view in the different cases. On this point it is impossible to enlarge here: the purpose of this book has been primarily to collect authentic specimens of the various magic practices in vogue among the Malays of the Malay Peninsula, and to indicate the nature of the beliefs on which these practices are based, leaving it for others to draw from them such inferences and to make such comparisons as may throw further light on the subject. It has not been deemed desirable to anticipate such inferences and comparisons here; but, without trespassing beyond the scope of the present work, it may be noticed that there is a special appropriateness in concluding it with the above account of the various methods of soul-abduction. From them, taken together with what has already been said on the subject, a fairly complete idea can be gathered of the Malay conception of the Soul; and it is hardly too much to say that this conception is the central feature of the whole system of Malay magic and folklore, from which all the different branches with their various applications appear to spring.

The root-idea seems to be an all-pervading Animism, involving a certain common vital principle (sĕmangat) in Man and Nature, which, for want of a more suitable word, has been here called the Soul. The application of this general theory of the universe to the requirements of the individual man constitutes the Magic Art, which, as conceived by the Malays, may be said to consist of the methods by which this Soul, whether in gods, men, animals, vegetables, minerals, or what not, may be influenced, captured, subdued, or in some way made subject to the will of the magician.

It would, however, probably be a mistake to push this analysis too far; for side by side with the theory of a universe animated by souls, which by the use of the appropriate words and forms can be cajoled or threatened, there are the ideas of Luck and Ill-luck, and the notion, strong in Muhammadans all over the world, of a preordained course of events. Sometimes, presumably in extreme cases, there is no escape from this destiny: if a man is fated to die at a certain time, die he must, whatever he may do. But to a great extent ill-luck can be avoided if one knows how; though we cannot stop it, we need not expose ourselves to its influence. Thus a particular hour may be unlucky for the doing of a certain act; but if we know that it is so, we need not incur the danger.

There are, therefore, for a Malay three alternatives, it would seem: viz. Charms, for occasions where moral pressure can be brought to bear; Divination, to assist in detecting dangers which in the ordinary course must come but can be avoided; and, finally, Islām (Resignation), when he has to meet the inevitable, whether it be regarded as the course of Fate or the eternal purpose of God.