The theory of the Creation most usually held by Peninsular Malays is summarised in the following passage, quoted (in 1839) by Lieutenant Newbold from a Malay folk-tale:—

“From the Supreme Being first emanated light towards chaos; this light, diffusing itself, became the vast ocean. From the bosom of the waters thick vapour and foam ascended. The earth and sea were then formed, each of seven tiers. The earth rested on the surface of the water from east to west. God, in order to render steadfast the foundations of the world, which vibrated tremulously with the motion of the watery expanse, girt it round with an adamantine chain, viz. the stupendous mountains of Caucasus, the wondrous regions of genii and aerial spirits. Beyond these limits is spread out a vast plain, the sand and earth of which are of gold and musk, the stones rubies and emeralds, the vegetation of odoriferous flowers.

“From the range of Caucasus all the mountains of [2]the earth have their origin as pillars to support and strengthen the terrestrial framework.”1

The Mountains of Caucasus are usually called by Malays Bukit Kof (i.e. Kaf), or the Mountains of Kaf (which latter is their Arabic name). These mountains are not unfrequently referred to in Malay charms, e.g. in invocations addressed to the Rice-Spirit. The Mountains of Kaf are to the Malays a great range which serves as a “wall” (dinding) to the earth, and keeps off both excessive winds and beasts of prey. This wall, however, is being bored through by people called Yajuj and Majuj (Gog and Magog), and when they succeed in their task the end of all things will come. Besides these mountains which surround the earth there is a great central mountain called Mahameru (Saguntang Maha Biru, or merely Saguntang-guntang).2 In many Malay stories this hill Mahameru is identified with Saguntang-guntang on the borders of Palembang in Sumatra.

The account which I shall now give, however, differs considerably from the preceding. It was taken down by me from an introduction to a Malay charm-book belonging to a magician (one ʿAbdul Razzak of Klang in Selangor), with whom I was acquainted, but who, though he allowed me to copy it, would not allow me either to buy or borrow the book:3—

“In the days when Haze bore Darkness, and Darkness Haze, when the Lord of the Outer Silence Himself was yet in the womb of Creation, before the existence of the names of Earth and Heaven, of God and Muhammad, of the Empyrean and Crystalline [3]spheres, or of Space and Void, the Creator of the entire Universe pre-existed by Himself, and He was the Eldest Magician. He created the Earth of the width of a tray and the Heavens of the width of an umbrella, which are the universe of the Magician. Now from before the beginning of time existed that Magician—that is, God—and He made Himself manifest with the brightness of the moon and the sun, which is the token of the True Magician.”

The account proceeds to describe how God “created the pillar of the Kaʿbah,4 which is the Navel of the Earth, whose growth is comparable to a Tree, ... whose branches are four in number, and are called, the first, ‘Sajeratul Mentahar,’ and the second ‘Taubi,’ and the third, ‘Khaldi,’ and the fourth ‘Nasrun ʿAlam,’ which extend unto the north, south, east, and west, where they are called the Four Corners of the World.”

Next we read that the word of God Almighty came in secret to Gabriel, saying, “Take me down the iron staff of the ‘Creed’ which dangles at the gate of heaven, and kill me this serpent Sakatimuna.”5 Gabriel did so, and the serpent brake asunder, the head and forepart shooting up above the heavens, and the tail part penetrating downwards beneath the earth.6 The rest of the account is taken up with a description, that need not here be repeated, of the transformation of all the various parts of the serpent’s anatomy, which [4]are represented as turning with a few exceptions into good and evil genii.

The most curious feature of the description is perhaps the marked anthropomorphic character of this serpent, which shows it to be a serpent in little more than name. It seems, in fact, very probable that we have here a reminiscence of the Indian “Naga.”7 Thus we find the rainbow (here divided into its component parts) described as originating from the serpent’s sword with its hilt and cross-piece (guard), grass from the hair of its body, trees from the hair of its head, rain from its tears, and dew from its sweat.

Another account, also obtained from a local magician, contains one or two additional details about the tree. “Kun,” said God, “Payah8 kun” said Muhammad, and a seed was created.

“The seed became a root (lit. sinew), the root a tree, and the tree brought forth leaves.

“‘Kun,’ said God, ‘Payah kun,’ said Muhammad; ... Then were Heaven and Earth (created), ‘Earth of the width of a tray, Heaven of the width of an umbrella.’”

This is a curious passage, and one not over-easy to [5]explain; such evidence as may be drawn from analogy suggests, however, that the “Earth of the width of a tray, and Heaven of the width of an umbrella,” may be intended to represent respectively the “souls” (sĕmangat) of heaven and earth, in which case they would bear the same relation to the material heaven and earth as the man-shaped human soul does to the body of a man.

“Most Malays,” says Newbold, “with whom I have conversed on the subject, imagine that the world is of an oval shape, revolving upon its own axis four times in the space of one year; that the sun is a circular body of fire moving round the earth, and producing the alternations of night and day.”

To this I would add that some Malays, at least, whom I questioned on the subject (as well as some Sakais9 under Malay influence), imagined the firmament to consist of a sort of stone or rock which they called Batu hampar, or “Bed rock,” the appearance of stars being caused (as they supposed) by the light which streams through its perforations.

A further development of the Malay theory of the earth declares it to be carried by a colossal buffalo upon the tip of its horns.10 When one horn begins to tire the buffalo tosses it up and catches it upon the tip of the other, thus causing periodical earthquakes. [6]This world-buffalo, it should be added, stands upon an island in the midst of the nether ocean.11 The universe is girt round by an immense serpent or dragon (Ular Naga), which “feeds upon its own tail.”

The Malay theory of the tides is concisely stated by Newbold:12—

“Some Malays ascribe the tides to the influence of the sun; others to some unknown current of the ocean; but the generality believe confidently the following, which is a mere skeleton of the original legend. In the middle of the great ocean grows an immense tree, called Pauh Jangi,13 at the root of [7]which is a cavern called Pusat Tassek, or navel of the lake. This is inhabited by a vast crab, who goes forth at stated periods during the day. When the creature returns to its abode the displaced water causes the flow of the tide; when he departs, the water rushing into the cavern causes the ebb.”

Mr. Clifford gives a slightly different explanation:—

“The Pusat tasek, or Navel of the Seas, supposed to be a huge hole in the ocean bottom. In this hole there sits a gigantic crab which twice a day gets out in order to search for food. While he is sitting in the hole the waters of the ocean are unable to pour down into the under world, the whole of the aperture being filled and blocked by the crab’s bulk. The inflowing of the rivers into the sea during these periods are supposed to cause the rising of the tide, while the downpouring of the waters through the great hole when the crab is absent searching for food is supposed to cause the ebb.”

Concerning the wonderful legendary tree (the [8]Pauh Janggi) the following story was related to me by a Selangor Malay:—

“There was once a Selangor man named Haji Batu, or the Petrified Pilgrim, who got this name from the fact that the first joints of all the fingers of one hand had been turned into stone. This happened in the following manner. In the old days when men went voyaging in sailing vessels, he determined to visit Mecca, and accordingly set sail. After sailing for about two months they drifted out of their course for some ten or fifteen days, and then came to a part of the sea where there were floating trunks of trees, together with rice-straw (batang padi) and all manner of flotsam. Yet again they drifted for seven days, and upon the seventh night Haji Batu dreamed a dream. In this dream one who wore the pilgrim’s garb appeared to him, and warned him to carry on his person a hammer and seven nails, and when he came to a tree which would be the Pauh Janggi he was to drive the first of the nails into its stem and cling thereto. Next day the ship reached the great whirlpool which is called the Navel of the Seas,14 and while [9]the ship was being sucked into the eddy close to the tree and engulfed, Haji Batu managed to drive the first nail home, and clung to it as the ship went down. After a brief interval he endeavoured to drive in the second nail, somewhat higher up the stem than the first (why Haji Batu could not climb without the aid of nails history does not relate), and drawing himself up by it, drove in the third. Thus progressing, by the time he had driven in all the seven nails he had reached the top of the tree, when he discovered among the branches a nest of young rocs. Here he rested, and having again been advised in a dream, he waited. On the following day, when the parent roc had returned and was engaged in feeding its young with an elephant which it had brought for the purpose, he bound himself to its feathers with his girdle, and was carried in this manner many hundreds of miles to the westward, where, upon the roc’s nearing the ground, he let himself go, and thus dropping to the earth, fell into a swoon. On recovering consciousness he walked on till he came to a house, where he asked for and obtained some refreshment. On his departure he was advised to go westward, and so proceeded for a long distance until he arrived at a beautifully clear pool in an open plain, around which were to be seen many stone figures of human beings. The appearance of these stone figures rendering him suspicious, he [10]refrained from drinking the water, and dipped into it merely the tips of his fingers, which became immediately petrified. Proceeding he met a vast number of wild animals—pigs, deer, and elephants—which were fleeing from the pursuit of a beast of no great size indeed, but with fiery red fur. He therefore prudently climbed into a tree to allow it to pass. The beast, however, pursued him and commenced to climb the tree, but as it climbed he drove the point of his poniard (badik) into its skull, and killed it. He then robbed it of its whiskers, and thereafter, on his reaching a town, everybody fled from him because of the whiskers which had belonged to so fierce a beast. The Raja of that country, begging for one of them, and giving him food, he presented him with one of the whiskers in payment. After paying his way in a similar manner at seven successive villages, the Petrified Pilgrim at length reached Mecca.”

“Bores,” or “eagres,” at the mouths of rivers, and floods15 due to heavy rain, are conceived to be caused by the passage of some gigantic animal, most probably a sort of dragon, as in the case of landslips, which will be mentioned later.

This animal, whose passage up rivers is held to cause the tidal wave or bore, is called Bĕnă in Selangor. It is a matter of common report among [11]Malays at Jugra, on the Selangor coast, that a bore formerly “frequented” the Langat river, near its mouth. This was anterior to the severance of the narrow neck of land16 at Bandar that divided the old channel of the Langat river from the stream into which the waters of the Langat now flow, forming the short cut to the sea called the Jugra Passage. In the days when the bore came up the river the Malays used to go out in small canoes or dug-outs to “sport amongst the breakers” (main gĕlombang), frequently getting upset for their pains. Eventually, however (I was told), the bore was killed by a Langat Malay, who struck it upon the head with a stick! It is considered that this must be true, since there is no bore in the Langat river now!

Eclipses (Gĕrhana) of the sun or moon are considered to be the outward and visible sign of the devouring of those bodies17 by a sort of gigantic dragon (rahu)18 or dog (anjing). Hence the tumult [12]made during an eclipse by the Malays, who imagine that if they make a sufficient din they will frighten the monster away.

The following is an excellent description of a lunar eclipse from the Malay point of view:—

“One night, when the Moon has waxed nearly to the full, Pĕkan resounds with a babel of discordant noise. The large brass gongs, in which the devils of the Chinese are supposed to take delight, clang and clash and bray through the still night air; the Malay drums throb and beat and thud; all manner of shrill yells fill the sky, and the roar of a thousand native voices rises heavenwards, or rolls across the white waters of the river, which are flecked with deep shadows and reflections. The jungles on the far bank take up the sound and send it pealing back in recurring ringing echoes till the whole world seems to shout in chorus. The Moon which bathes the earth in splendour, the Moon which is so dear to each one of us, is in dire peril this night, for that fierce monster, the Gĕrhâna,19 whom we hate and loathe, is striving to swallow her. You can mark his black bulk creeping over her, dimming her face, consuming her utterly, while she suffers in the agony of silence. How often in the past has she served us with the light; how often has she made night more beautiful than day for our tired, sun-dazed eyes to look upon; and shall she now perish without one effort on our part to save her by scaring the Monster from his prey? No! A thousand times no! So we shout, and clang the gongs, and beat the drums, till all the animal world joins in the tumult, and even inanimate nature lends its voice to swell the [13]uproar with a thousand resonant echoes. At last the hated Monster reluctantly retreats. Our war-cry has reached his ears, and he slinks sullenly away, and the pure, sad, kindly Moon looks down in love and gratitude upon us, her children, to whose aid she owes her deliverance.”20

The “spots on the moon”21 are supposed to represent an inverted banyan tree (Bĕringin songsang), underneath which an aged hunchback is seated plaiting strands of tree bark (pintal tali kulit t’rap) to make a fishing-line, wherewith he intends to angle for everything upon the earth as soon as his task is completed. It has never been completed yet, however, for a rat always gnaws the line through in time to save mankind from disaster, despite the vigilance of the old man’s cat, which is always lying in wait for the offender.22 It is perhaps scarcely necessary to add that when the line reaches the earth the end of the world will come.

“Bujang (‘single,’ ‘solitary,’ and hence in a secondary sense ‘unmarried’) is a Sanskrit word bhujangga, ‘a dragon.’ ‘Bujang Malaka,’ a mountain in Pêrak, is said by the Malays of that State to have been so called because it stands alone, and could be seen from the sea by traders who plied in old days between the Pêrak river and the once flourishing port [14]of Malacca. But it is just as likely to have been named from some forgotten legend in which a dragon played a part. Dragons and mountains are generally connected in Malay ideas. The caves in the limestone hill Gunong Pondok, in Pêrak, are said to be haunted by a genius loci in the form of a snake who is popularly called Si Bujang. This seems to prove beyond doubt the identity of bujang with bhujangga.23 The snake-spirit of Gunong Pondok is sometimes as small as a viper, and sometimes as large as a python, but he may always be identified by his spotted neck, which resembles that of a wood-pigeon (tekukur). Landslips on the mountains, which are tolerably frequent during very heavy rains, and which, being produced by the same cause, are often simultaneous with the flooding of rivers and the destruction of property, are attributed by the natives to the sudden breaking forth of dragons (naga), which have been performing religious penance (ber-tapa)24 in the mountains, and which are making their way to the sea.”25

So, too, many waterfalls and rocks of unusual shape are thought to owe their remarkable character to the agency of demons. This, however, is a subject which will be treated more fully later on.

“Palangi, the usual Malay word for the rainbow, means ‘striped.’ The name varies, however, in different localities. In Pêrak it is called palangi minum26 (from a belief that it is the path by which spirits descend to the earth to drink), while in Penang it is known as [15]ular danu (‘the snake danu’). In Pêrak, a rainbow which stretches in an arch across the sky is called bantal (‘the pillow ’), for some reason that I have been unable to ascertain.27 When only a small portion of a rainbow is visible, which seems to touch the earth, it is called tunggul (‘the flag’),28 and if this is seen at some particular point of the compass—the west, I think—it betokens, the Pêrak Malays say, the approaching death of a Raja. Another popular belief is that the ends of the rainbow rest upon the earth, and that if one could dig at the exact spot covered by one end of it, an untold treasure would be found there. Unfortunately, no one can ever arrive at the place.”29

“Sunset is the hour when evil spirits of all kinds have most power.30 In Pêrak, children are often called indoors at this time to save them from unseen dangers. Sometimes, with the same object, a woman belonging to the house where there are young children, will chew kuniet tĕrus (an evil-smelling root), supposed to be much disliked by demons of all kinds, and spit it out at seven different points as she walks round the house.

“The yellow glow which spreads over the western sky, when it is lighted up with the last rays of the dying sun, is called mambang kuning (‘the yellow deity’), a term indicative of the superstitious dread associated with this particular period.”31 [16]

A common feature in Malay romances and legends is a description of the supernatural development of a young child in the interior of some vegetable production, usually a bamboo.

Sir W. E. Maxwell has pointed out the fact of the existence, both in Malay and Japanese legends, of the main features of this story, to which he assigns a Buddhistic origin. He tells the story as follows:—

“The Raja of the Bamboo.—Some years ago I collected a number of legends current among Malayan tribes having as their principal incident the supernatural development of a prince, princess, or demi-god in the stem of a bamboo, or tree, or the interior of some closed receptacle.1 I omitted, however, to mention that this very characteristic Malay myth occurs in the “Sri Rama,” a Malay prose hikayat,2 which, as its [17]name betokens, professes to describe the adventures of the hero of the Râmâyana.

“Roorda van Eysinga’s edition of the Sri Rama opens with an account of how Maharaja Dasaratha sent his Chief Mantri,3 Puspa Jaya Karma, to search for a suitable place at which to found a settlement. The site having been found and cleared, the narrative proceeds as follows:—

“‘Now there was a clump of the bĕtong4 bamboo (sa’rumpun buluh bĕtong), the colour of which was like gold of ten touch (amas sapuloh mutu), and its leaves like silver. All the trees which grew near bent in its direction, and it looked like a state umbrella (payong manuwangi5). The Mantri and people chopped at it, but as fast as they cut down a branch on one side, a fresh one shot forth on the other, to the great astonishment of all the Rajas, Mantris, and warriors. Puspa Vikrama Jaya hastened back to King Dasaratha and laid the matter before him. The latter was greatly surprised, and declared that he would go himself the next day and see the bamboo cut down. Next day he set out on a white elephant, attended by a splendid train of chiefs and followers, and on reaching the spot ordered the bamboo clump to be cut down. Vikrama Puspa Jaya pointed it out, shaded by the other forest trees. The king perceived that it was of very elegant appearance, and that an odour like spices and musk proceeded from it. He told Puspa Jaya Vikrama to cut it down, and the latter drew his sword, which was as big as the stem of a cocoa-nut tree, and with one stroke cut down one of the bamboos. But immediately a fresh stem shot forth on the other side, and this happened [18]as often as a stroke was given. Then the king grew wroth, and getting down from his elephant he drew his own sword and made a cut with it at the bamboo, which severed a stem. Then, by the divine decree of the Dewatas, the king became aware of a female form in the bamboo clump seated on a highly ornamented platform (gĕta), her face shining like the full moon when it is fourteen days old, and the colour of her body being like gold of ten touch. On this, King Dasaratha quickly unloosed his girdle and saluted the princess. Then he lifted her on to his elephant and took her to his palace escorted by music and singing.’”6

I myself have heard among the Selangor Malays similar legends to the above, which, as already pointed out, are common in Malay romances. A parallel myth is described in the following words:—

“Now, the Perak river overflows its banks once a year, and sometimes there are very great floods. Soon after the marriage of Nakhodah Kasim with the white Semang,7 an unprecedented flood occurred and quantities of foam came down the river. Round the piles of the bathing-house, which, in accordance with Malay custom, stood in the bed of the river close to the bank in front of the house, the floating volumes of foam collected in a mass the size of an elephant. Nakhodah Kasim’s wife went to bathe, and finding this island of froth in her way she attempted to move it away with a stick; she removed the upper portion of it and disclosed a female infant [19]sitting in the midst of it enveloped all round with cloud-like foam. The child showed no fear, and the white Semang, carefully lifting her, carried her up to the house, heralding her discovery by loud shouts to her husband. The couple adopted the child willingly, for they had no children, and they treated her thenceforward as their own. They assembled the villagers and gave them a feast, solemnly announcing their adoption of the daughter of the river and their intention of leaving to her everything that they possessed.

“The child was called Tan Puteh, but her father gave her the name of Teh Purba.8 As she grew up the wealth of her foster-parents increased; the village grew in extent and population, and gradually became an important place.”9

The usual story of the first creation of man, however, appears to be a Malay modification of Arabic beliefs.

Thus we are told that man was created from the four elements—earth, air, water, and fire—in a way which the following extract, taken from a Selangor charm-book, will explain:—

The magician who dictated the above account stated that when Azrael stretched forth his hand to take the Heart of the Earth, the Earth-spirit caught hold of his middle finger, which yielded to the strain, and thus became longer than the rest, and received its Malay name of the “Devil’s Finger” (jari hantu). [21]

A parallel account adds that the Heart of the Earth was white, and gives a fuller description of the interview between Azrael and his formidable antagonist, the Earth. After saluting the latter in the orthodox Muhammadan fashion, Azrael explains his mission, and is met by a point-blank refusal. “I will not give it,” said the Earth (referring to its Heart), “forasmuch as I was so created by God Almighty, and if you take away my Heart I shall assuredly die.” At this brusque, though perhaps natural retort, the archangel loses his temper, and rudely exclaims that he “will take the Earth’s Heart whether it will or no.” Here Azrael “gave the Earth a push with his right hand and his left, and grasping at the Heart of the Earth, got hold of it and carried it back to the presence of God.” God now summons Gabriel and orders him to mould (lit. forge) the image of Adam. Then Gabriel took the lump of earth which was the Earth’s Heart and mixed it first with water to soften it, then, as it was too soft, with fire to harden it, and when the image was made, obtained life from God to put into it.11 [The breaking of the first image which [22]was made, and the making of the second, are here omitted]. Finally, the creation of “our Lady” Eve and the birth of her first-born are described, the latter occasion being accompanied by a thick darkness, which compelled Adam to take off his turban and beat the child therewith in order to dispel the evil influences (badi) which had attended its birth.12

The following extract (from a Malay treatise quoted by Newbold) fairly describes the general state of Malay ideas respecting the constitution of the human body:—

“Plato, Socrates, Galen, Aristotle, and other philosophers affirm that God created man of a fixed number of bones, blood-vessels, etc. For instance, the skull is composed of 5½ bones, the place of smell and sense of 7 bones, between this and the neck are 32 bones. The neck is composed of 7 bones, and the back of 24 bones; 208 bones are contained in the other members of the body. In all there are 360 bones and 360 blood-vessels in a man’s body. The brains weigh 306 miscals, the blood 573. The total of all the bones, blood-vessels, large and small, and gristles, amounts to 1093; and the hairs of the head to six lacs and 4000. The frame of man is divided into 40 great parts, which are again [23]subdivided. Four elements enter into his composition, viz. air, fire, earth, and water. With these elements are connected four essences—the soul or spirit with air, love with fire, concupiscence with earth, and wisdom with water.”13

In dealing with this branch of the subject I will first take the case of the kings and priestly magicians who present the most clearly-marked examples of personal sanctity which are now to be found among Malays, and will then describe the chief features of the sanctity ascribed to all ranks alike in respect of certain special parts of the ordinary human anatomy. The theory of the king as the Divine Man is held perhaps as strongly in the Malay region as in any other part of the world, a fact which is strikingly emphasised by the alleged right of Malay monarchs “to slay at pleasure, without being guilty of a crime.” Not only is the king’s person considered sacred, but the sanctity of his body is believed to communicate itself to his regalia, and to slay those who break the royal taboos. Thus it is firmly believed that any one who seriously offends the royal person, who touches (even for a moment) or who imitates (even with the king’s permission) the chief objects of the regalia,14 or who wrongfully makes use [24]of any of the insignia or privileges of royalty, will be kĕna daulat, i.e. struck dead, by a quasi-electric discharge of that Divine Power which the Malays suppose to reside in the king’s person,15 and which is called “Daulat” or “Royal Sanctity.” Before I proceed, however, to discuss this power, it will be best to give some description of the regalia in which it resides:—

Of Malacca Newbold says: “The articles of Malay regalia usually consist of a silasila, or book of genealogical descent, a code of laws, a vest or baju, and a few weapons, generally a kris, kleywang, or spear.”16

“The limbing is a sort of lance; the tombak bandrang a spear of state, four or seven of which are usually carried before the chiefs in the interior of the Peninsula. The handle is covered with a substance flowing from it like a horse-tail, dyed crimson, sometimes crimson and white; this is generally of hair.”17

So in Leyden’s translation of the Malay Annals (1821) we read—

“My name is Bichitram Shah, who am raja.... This is the sword, Chora sa mendang kian (i.e. mandakini), and that is the lance, Limbuar (i.e. limbuara); this is the signet, Cayu Gampit, which is employed in correspondence with rajas.”18

“The Chora sa medang kian (i.e. mandakini) is the [25]celebrated sword with which Peramas Cumunbang killed the enormous serpent Sicatimuna, which ravaged the country of Menangkabowe about the beginning of the twelfth century.”19

Of the Perak regalia we read: “Tan Saban was commanded by his mistress to open negotiations with Johor, and this having been done, a prince of the royal house of that kingdom, who traced his descent from the old line of Menangkabau, sailed for Perak to assume the sovereignty. He brought with him the insignia of royalty, namely, the royal drums (gandang nobat), the pipes (nafiri), the flutes (sarunei and bangsi), the betel-box (puan naga taru), the sword (chora mandakini), the sword (perbujang), the sceptre (kayu gamit), the jewel (kamala), the surat chiri, the seal of state (chap halilintar), and the umbrella (ubar-ubar). All these were enclosed in a box called Baninan.”20

In Selangor the regalia consisted of the royal instruments of music—(the big State Drum or naubat, beaten at the king’s coronation; the two small State Drums (gĕndang); the two State Kettle-drums (langkara); the lĕmpiri or State Trumpet, and the sĕrunei or State Flute—to which perhaps a bangsi should be added, as in the Perak list)—which were seldom, if ever, moved, and the following articles which were carried in procession on state occasions:21— [26]

• 1. The royal Betel-box.
• 2. The Long K’ris—a kind of rapier used for Malay executions.
• 3. The two royal Swords; one on the right hand and one on the left (all of the articles mentioned hitherto being carried in front of the Sultan).
• 4. The royal “Fringed” Umbrella (payong ubor-ubor), carried behind the right-hand sword-bearer.
• 5. The royal “Cuspadore,” carried behind the left-hand sword-bearer.
• 6. The royal Tobacco-box, carried at the Sultan’s back.
• 7. The eight royal tufted Lances (tombak bĕndrang or bandangan), whose bearers were followed by two personal attendants, the latter of whom attended, besides, to anything that was broken or damaged; so that the procession numbered seventeen persons in all.22

Of the Pahang regalia I have not been able to obtain a list with any pretensions to completeness, but from a remark by Mr. Clifford (the present Resident) in one of his books, they would appear to be essentially the same as those of the other Federated States.23

A list of the Jĕlĕbu regalia (given me by Ungku Said Kĕchil of Jĕlĕbu) ran as follows:—

• 1. A single-bladed Sword (pĕdang pĕmanchor).
• 2. The Long K’ris (k’ris panjang, pĕnyalang), used for executions.
• 3. The royal Lances (tombak bĕndrang).
• 4. The royal Umbrella (payong kabĕsaran).
• 5. The royal Standard and Pennants (tunggul ular-ular). [27]
• 6. The royal Ceiling-cloth and Hangings (tabir, langit-langit dewangga).
• 7. The “Moving Mountains” (gunong dua bĕrangkat), perhaps the names of two peaked pillows.
• 8. The royal Drums (gĕndang naubat); said to be “headed” with the skins of lice (kulit tuma) and to emit a single chord of twelve tones when struck (dua-b’las bunyi sakali di-pukol).

• 9. The royal Trumpet (lĕmpiri or nĕmpiri).		Each of these was also said to emit a single chord of twelve notes.
  10. The royal Gong.
  11. The royal Guitar (kĕchapi).

• 12. The royal rĕbab or Malay fiddle.

This latter peculiarity (of the multiplication of notes) is quite in accordance with the traditions of the king’s musical instruments in Malay romances. Thus of Raja Donan’s magic flute we are told, “The first time (that he sounded it), the flute gave forth the sounds of twelve instruments, the second time it played as if twenty-four instruments were being sounded, and the third time it played like thirty-six different instruments.” No wonder we are told that “the Princesses Che Ambong and Che Muda dissolved in tears, and the music had to be stopped.”24

My informant declared that these objects came into existence of themselves (tĕrjali sĕndiri), at a spot between the two peaks of a burning mountain (gunong mĕrapi) in the country of Menangkabau in Sumatra. He also averred that “rain could not rot them nor sun blister them,” and that any one who “brushed past them” (di-lintas) would fall to the ground;25 whilst no fewer than seven buffaloes have to be slaughtered [28]before the “moving mountains” (when worn out) can be replaced.26

An enumeration of the writer’s regalia often forms an important part of a letter from one Malay sovereign to another, more especially when the writer wishes to emphasise his importance.27 [29]

But the extraordinary strength of the Malay belief in the supernatural powers of the regalia of their sovereigns can only be thoroughly realised after a study of their romances, in which their kings are credited with all the attributes of inferior gods, whose birth, as indeed every subsequent act of their after life, is attended by the most amazing prodigies.

They are usually invulnerable, and are gifted with miraculous powers, such as that of transforming themselves, and of returning to (or recalling others to) life; in fact they have, in every way, less of the man about them and more of the god. Thus it is that the following description of the dress of an old-time Raja falls easily into line with what would otherwise appear the objectless jargon which still constitutes the preamble of many a Malay prince’s letters, but which can yet be hardly regarded as mere rhetoric, since it has a deep meaning for those who read it:—

“He wore the trousers called bĕraduwanggi, miraculously made without letting in pieces; hundreds of mirrors encircled his waist, thousands encircled his [30]legs, they were sprinkled all about his body, and larger ones followed the seams.”

Then his waistband (kain ikat pinggang) was of “flowered cloth, twenty-five cubits in length, or thirty if the fringe be included; thrice a day did it change its colours—in the morning transparent as dew, at mid-day of the colour of lembayong,28 and in the evening of the hue of oil.”

Next came his coat. It was “of reddish purple velvet, thrice brilliant the lustre of its surface, seven times powerful the strength of the dye; the dyer after making it sailed the world for three years, but the dye still clung to the palms of his hands.”

His dagger was “a straight blade of one piece which spontaneously screwed itself into the haft. The grooves, called rĕtak mayat,29 started from the base of the blade, the damask called pamur janji appeared half-way up, and the damask called lam jilallah at the point; the damask alif was there parallel with the edge, and where the damasking ended the steel was white. No ordinary metal was the steel, it was what was over after making the bolt of God’s Ka’abah (at Meccah). It had been forged by the son of God’s prophet, Adam, smelted in the palm of his hand, fashioned with the end of his finger, and coloured with the juice [31]of flowers in a Chinese furnace. Its deadly qualities came down to it from the sky, and if cleaned (with acid) at the source of a river, the fish at the embouchure came floating up dead.

“The sword that he wore was called lang pĕngonggong,30 ‘the successful swooper,’ lit. the ‘kite carrying off its prey.’

“The next article described is his turban, which, among the Malays, is a square handkerchief folded and knotted round the head.”

“He next took his royal handkerchief, knotting it so that it stood up with the ends projecting; one of them he called dĕndam ta’ sudah (endless love): it was purposely unfinished; if it were finished the end of the world would come. It had been woven in no ordinary way, but had been the work of his mother from her youth. Wearing it he was provided with all the love-compelling secrets. (The names of a number of charms to excite passion are given, but they cannot be explained in the compass of a note).”31

He wore the Malay national garment—the sarong. It was “a robe of muslin of the finest kind; no ordinary weaving had produced it; it had been woven in a jar in the middle of the ocean by people with gills, relieved by others with beaks; no sooner was it finished than the maker was put to death, so that no one might be able to make one like it. It was not of the fashion of the clothing of the rajas of the present day, but of those of olden time. If it were put in the sun it got damper, if it were soaked in water it became drier. A slight tear mended by darning only increased [32]its value, instead of lessening it, for the thread for the purpose cost one hundred dollars. A single dewdrop dropping on it would tangle the thread for a cubit’s length, while the breath of the south wind would disentangle it.”

Finally, we get a description of the way in which the Raja (S’ri Rama) set out upon his journey.

“He adopted the art called sedang budiman, the young snake writhed at his feet (i.e. he started at mid-day when his own shadow was round his feet), a young eagle was flying against the wind overhead; he took a step forward and then two backward, one forward as a sign that he was leaving his country, and two backward as a sign that he would return; as he took a step with the right foot, loud clanked his accoutrements32 on his left; as he put forth the left foot a similar clank was heard on his right; he advanced, swelling out his broad chest, and letting drop his slender fingers, adopting the gait called ‘planting beans,’ and then the step called ‘sowing spinach.’”33

In addition to the sanctity of the regalia, the king, as the divine man, possesses an infinite multitude of prerogatives which enter into almost every act of his private life, and thus completely separate him from the generality of his fellow-men.

These prerogatives are too numerous to be mentioned in detail, but the following extract from Leyden’s translation of the “Malay Annals” will give a general idea of their character and extent:— [33]

“Sultan Muhammed Shah again established in order the throne of his sovereignty. He was the first who prohibited the wearing of yellow clothes in public, not even a handkerchief of that colour, nor curtains, nor hangings, nor large pillow-cases, nor coverlets, nor any envelope of any bundle, nor the cloth lining of a house, excepting only the waist cloth, the coat, and the turban. He also prohibited the constructing of houses with abutments, or smaller houses connected with them; also suspended pillars or timbers (tiang gantong); nor timbers the tops of which project above the roofs, and also summer houses.34 He also prohibited the ornamenting of creeses with gold, and the wearing anklets of gold, and the wearing the koronchong, or hollow bracelets (anklets?) of gold, ornamented with silver. None of these prohibited articles did he permit to be worn by a person, however rich he might be, unless by his particular licence, a privilege which the raja has ever since possessed. He also forbade any one to enter the palace unless wearing a cloth petticoat35 of decent length, with his creese in front;36 and a shoulder-cloth; and no person was permitted to enter unless in this array, and if any one wore his creese behind him, it was incumbent on the porter of the gate to seize it. Such is the order of former time respecting prohibition by the Malayu rajas, and whatever is contrary to this is a transgression against the raja, and ought to incur a fine of five cati. The white [34]umbrella, which is superior to the yellow one, because it is seen conspicuous at a greater distance, was also confined to the raja’s person,37 while the yellow umbrella was confined to his family.”38

A number of other particulars bearing on this subject will be found in other parts of the text, and in the Appendix references are given to other works for additional details, which are too numerous to be recorded here.

“At funerals, whether the deceased has been a great or insignificant person, if he be a subject, the use of the Payong (umbrella) and the Puwadi is interdicted, as also the distribution of alms, unless by royal permission; otherwise the articles thus forbidden will be confiscated.” “Puwadi is the ceremony of spreading a cloth, generally a white one, for funeral and other processions to walk upon. Should the deceased be of high rank, the cloth extends from the house where the corpse is deposited, to the burial-ground.”39

Similar prohibitions are still in force at the courts of the Malay Sultans in the Peninsula, though a yellow umbrella is now generally substituted for the white, at least in Selangor.

A distinction is also now drawn between manufactured yellow cloth and cloth which has been dyed yellow with saffron, the wrongful use of the latter (the genuine article) being regarded as the more especially heinous act.

In addition to the royal monopoly of such objects [35]as have been mentioned, Sir W. E. Maxwell mentions three royal perquisites (larangan raja), i.e. river turtles (tuntong) (by which he no doubt means their eggs); elephants (by which he doubtless means elephants’ tusks);40 and the fruit of the “kĕtiar” from which oil is made by the Perak Malays. He adds, “It used to be a capital offence to give false information to the Raja about any of these. The ‘kĕtiar’ tree is said to affect certain localities, and is found in groves not mixed with other trees. In former days, when the fruit was ripe, the whole of the Raja’s household would turn out to gather it. It is said to yield a very large percentage of oil.”41

The only tree in Ridley’s list42 whose name at all resembles the “kĕtiar” is the katiak, which is identified as Acronychia Porteri, Wall (Rutaceæ).

A description of the gathering of the eggs of river turtles by the royal party in Perak will be found in Malay Sketches.43

Besides the above there are not a few linguistic taboos connected with the king’s person, such as the use of the words santap, to eat; bĕradu, to sleep; bĕrsĕmaiam, to be seated, or to “reside” in a certain place; bĕrangkat, to “progress”; siram, to bathe; g’ring, to be sick; and mangkat, to die; all of which words are specially substituted for the ordinary Malay words when reference is made to the king.44 Moreover, when the king dies his name is [36]dropped, and he receives the title of “Marhum,” the late or “deceased,” with the addition of an expression alluding to some prominent fact in his life, or occasionally to the place of his decease. These titles, strange as it may seem, are often the reverse of complimentary, and occasionally ridiculous.45

It must not be forgotten, too, in discussing the divine attributes of the Malay king, that he is firmly believed to possess a personal influence over the works of nature, such as the growth of the crops and the bearing of fruit-trees. This same property is supposed to reside in a lesser degree in his delegates, and even in the persons of Europeans in charge of districts. Thus I have frequently known (in Selangor) the success or failure of the rice crops attributed to a change of district officers, and in one case I even heard an outbreak of ferocity which occurred among man-eating crocodiles laid at the door of a most zealous and able, though perhaps occasionally somewhat unsympathetic, representative of the Government. So, too, on one [37]occasion when three deaths occurred during a District Officer’s temporary absence, the mere fact of his absence was considered significant. I may add that royal blood is supposed by many Malays to be white, and this is the pivot on which the plot of not a few Malay folk-tales is made to turn.46

Finally, it must be pointed out that the greatest possible importance is attached to the method of saluting the king.

In the “Sri Rama” (the Malay Ramayana) we read, even of the chiefs, that—

Equals in rank when saluting one another touch49 (though they do not shake) each other’s hands, but a person of humble birth must not touch hands in saluting a great chief. “A man, named Imam Bakar, was once slain at Pasir Tambang, at the mouth of the Tĕmbĕling river. He incautiously touched hands in greeting with a Chief called To’ Gajah, and the latter, seizing him in an iron grip, held him fast, while he was stabbed to death with spears.”50

In saluting a great Chief, like the Dato’ Maharaja Pĕrba Jĕlai, the hands are “lifted up in salutation with the palms pressed together, as in the attitude of Christian prayer, but the tips of the thumbs are [38]not suffered to ascend beyond the base of the chin. In saluting a real Râja, the hands are carried higher and higher, according to the prince’s rank, until, for the Sultân, the tips of the thumbs are on a level with the forehead. Little details such as these are of immense importance in the eyes of the Malays, and not without reason, seeing that in an Independent Native State many a man has come by his death for carelessness in their observance.”51

In the king’s audience hall the formal salutations are performed in a sitting posture, and in this case, too, the greatest attention is paid to the height to which the hands are raised. The chief twice makes salutation in a sitting posture as he advances, and at the third advance bends over the Sultan’s hands, two more salutations being made on his way back to his place.

A flagrant infringement of any of the prerogatives of the Sultan, such as those I have described, is certain, it is thought, to prove fatal, more or less immediately.

Thus the death of Pĕnghulu Mohit, a well-known Malay headman of the Klang district, in Selangor, which took place while I was in charge of that district, was at the time very generally attributed by the local Malays to his usurpation of certain royal privileges or prerogatives on the occasion of his daughter’s wedding. One of these was his acceptance of gift-buffaloes, [39]decorated after the royal fashion, which were presented to him as wedding gifts in his daughter’s honour. These buffaloes had a covering of cloth put over them, their horns covered, and a crescent-shaped breast-ornament (dokoh) hung about their necks. Thus dressed they were taken to Mohit’s house in solemn procession.52 It was, at the time, considered significant that the very first of these gift-buffaloes, which had been brought overland from Jugra, where the Sultan lived, had died on arrival, and whatever the cause may have been, it is a fact that Mohit’s mother died a day or two after the conclusion of the wedding ceremonies, and that Mohit himself was taken ill almost immediately and died only about a fortnight later.

The only person who, in former days, was not in the least affected by the royal taboos which protected the regalia from the common touch was the (now I believe extinct) official who held the post of Court Physician (Maharaja Lela). He, and he alone, might go freely in the royal apartments wherever he chose, and the immunity and freedom which he enjoyed in this respect passed into a proverb, the expression “to act the Court Physician” (buat Maharaja Lela) being used to describe an altogether unwarrantable familiarity or impertinence.

The following story (though I tell it against myself) is perhaps the best illustration I can give of the great danger supposed to be incurred by those who meddle with the paraphernalia of royalty. Among the late Sultan’s insignia of royalty (in 1897) were a couple of [40]drums (gĕndang) and the long silver trumpet which I have already described. Such trumpets are found among the kabĕsaran or regalia of most Malay States, and are always, I believe, called lĕmpiri or nĕmpiri (Pers. nafiri). They are considered so sacred that they can only be handled or sounded, it is believed, by a tribe of Malays called “Orang Kalau,” or the “Kalau men,”53 as any one else who attempted to sound them would be struck dead. Even the “Orang Kalau,” moreover, can only sound this instrument at the proper time and season (e.g. at the proclamation of a new sovereign), for if they were to sound it at any other time its noise would slay all who heard it, since it is the chosen habitation of the “Jin Karaja’an” or State Demon,54 whose delight it would be, if wrongfully disturbed, to slay and spare not.55

Plate 1.—Some of the Selangor Regalia.

Models, representing part of the regalia of H.H. the Sultan of Selangor—two small drums, the tufted (cowtail) lances, the trident, the k’ris (dagger) called B’rok Bĕrayun, and the sacred trumpet (lĕmpiri).

Page 40.

This trumpet and the drums of the Selangor regalia were kept by the present Sultan (then Raja Muda, or Crown Prince of Selangor) in a small galvanised [41]iron cupboard which stood (upon posts about three feet high) in the middle of a lawn outside His Highness’ “garden residence” at Bandar. His Highness himself informed me that they had once been kept in the house itself, but when there they were the source of infinite annoyance and anxiety to the inmates on account of their very uncanny behaviour!

Drops of perspiration, for instance, would form upon the Trumpet when a leading member of the Royal House was about to die (this actually happened, as I was told, at Langat just before the death of Tungku ’Chik, the late Sultan’s eldest daughter, who died during my residence in the neighbourhood). Then one Raja Bakar, son of a Raja ʿAli, during the rethatching of the house at Bandar, accidentally trod upon the wooden barrel of one of the State Drums—and died in consequence of his inadvertence. When, therefore, a hornet’s nest formed inside one of these same drums it was pretty clear that things were going from bad to worse, and a Chinaman was ordered to remove it, no Malay having been found willing to risk his life in undertaking so dangerous an office—an unwillingness which was presently justified, as the Chinaman, too, after a few days’ interval, swelled up and died. Both these strange coincidences were readily confirmed by the present Sultan on an occasion when I happened to question the authenticity of the story, and as His Highness is one of the most enlightened and truthful of men, such confirmation cannot easily be set aside. But the strangest coincidence of all was to follow, for not long afterwards, having never seen that portion of the regalia which was in the Raja Muda’s charge, I happened to mention to a Malay friend of mine at Jugra my wish to be allowed to [42]examine these objects, and was at once begged not to touch them, on the ground that “no one could say what might follow.” But shortly after, having occasion to visit the Raja Muda at his house at Bandar, I took the opportunity of asking whether there was any objection to my seeing these much debated objects, and as His Highness not only very obligingly assented, but offered to show them to me himself, I was able both to see and to handle them, His Highness himself taking the Trumpet out of its yellow case and handing it to me. I thought nothing more of the matter at the time, but, by what was really a very curious coincidence, within a few days’ time of the occurrence, was seized with a sharp attack of malarial influenza, the result of which was that I was obliged to leave the district, and go into hospital at headquarters. In a Malay village news spreads quickly, and the report of my indisposition, after what was no doubt regarded as an act of extraordinary rashness, appears to have made a profound impression, and the result of it was that a Malay who probably considered himself indebted to me for some assistance he had received, bound himself by a vow to offer sacrifice at the shrine of a famous local saint should I be permitted to return to the district. Of this, however, I knew nothing at the time, and nothing could have exceeded my astonishment when I found upon my return that it was my duty to attend the banquet which took place at the saint’s tomb in honour of my own recovery!56

Having shown the wide gulf which divides the [43]“divine man” from his fellows, I have still to point out the extent to which certain portions of the human frame have come to be invested with sanctity, and to require to be treated with special ceremonies. These parts of the anatomy are, in particular, the head, the hair, the teeth, the ears, and the nails, all of which I will take in their order.

The head, in the first place, is undoubtedly still considered by the Malays to possess some modified degree of sanctity. A proof of this is the custom (ʿadat) which regulates the extent of the sacrifice to be offered in a case of assault or battery by the party committing the injury. If any part of the head is injured, nothing less than a goat will suffice (the animal being killed and both parties bathed in the blood); if the upper part of the body, the slaughter of a cock (to be disposed of in a similar way) will be held to be sufficient reparation, and so on, the sacrifice becoming of less value in proportion as the injured part is farther from the head. So, too, Mr. Frazer writes: “The ... superstition (of the sanctity of the head) exists among the Malays; for an early traveller reports that in Java people ‘wear nothing on their heads, and say that nothing must be on their heads, ... and if any person were to put his hand upon their head they would kill him; and they do not build houses with stories in order that they may not walk over each other’s heads.’ It is also found in full force throughout Polynesia.”57

From the principle of the sanctity of the head flows, no doubt, the necessity of using the greatest circumspection [44]during the process of cutting the hair.58 Sometimes throughout the whole life of the wearer, and frequently during special periods, the hair is left uncut. Thus I was told that in former days Malay men usually wore their hair long, and I myself have seen an instance of this at Jugra in Selangor in the person of a Malay59 of the old school, who was locally famous on this account. So, too, during the forty days which must elapse before the purification of a woman after the birth of her child, the father of the child is forbidden to cut his hair, and a similar abstention is said to have been formerly incumbent upon all persons either prosecuting a journey or engaging in war. Often a boy’s head is entirely shaven shortly after birth with the exception of a single lock in the centre of the head, and so maintained until the boy begins to grow up, but frequently the operation is postponed (generally, it is said, in consequence of a vow made by the child’s parents) until the period of puberty or marriage. Great care, too, must be exercised in disposing of the clippings of hair (more especially the first clippings), as the Malay profoundly believes that “the sympathetic connection which exists between himself and every part [45]of his body continues to exist even after the physical connection has been severed, and that therefore he will suffer from any harm that may befall the severed parts of his body, such as the clippings of his hair or the parings of his nails. Accordingly he takes care that those severed portions of himself shall not be left in places where they might either be exposed to accidental injury, or fall into the hands of malicious persons who might work magic on them to his detriment or death.”60

Thus we invariably find clippings of the victim’s hair mentioned (together with parings of his nails, etc.) as forming part of the ingredients of the well-known wax image or mannikin into which pins are stuck, and which is still believed by all Malays to be a most effective method of causing the illness or death of an enemy.61 I was once present at the curious ceremony of cutting the hair of a Malay bride, which had all the characteristics of a religious rite, but the detailed account of it will be reserved for a later chapter.62

The same difficulties and dangers which beset the first cutting of the hair apply, though perhaps in a less degree, to the first paring of the nails (bĕrtobak), the boring of the ears of girls (bĕrtindek tĕlinga), and the filing of the teeth (bĕrasah gigi) of either sex whether at puberty or marriage. One or more of the nails are frequently worn long by Malays of standing, and the women who engage in “nautch” dancing and theatrical performances invariably wear a complete set of artificial nails (changgei). These latter are usually of brass, are often several inches in length, and are made so [46]as to fit on to the tips of the fingers. Occasionally a brass ring with a small peacock, or some such bird, of the same material will be attached to the end of the nail by a minute brass chain. The practice of wearing long nails is sometimes attributed to Chinese influence, but it is hard to see why this particular detail of Malay custom, which is quite in keeping with the general trend of Malay ideas about the person, should be supposed to be derived from China. The borrowing, if any, is much more likely to have been on the part of the Chinese, who undoubtedly imported many Indian ideas along with Buddhism. The custom appears to be followed, moreover, in many places, such as the interior of Sumatra, where Chinese influence is non-existent. In Siam, again, it appears to obtain very strongly;63 but no reason has yet been shown for supposing that this is anything but an instance of the similarity of results independently arrived at by nations starting with similar premisses.

The ear-boring and tooth-filing ceremonies which still not infrequently take place at the age of puberty in both sexes are of no less religious import than the rite of cutting the first lock. The main details of these ceremonies will be described in a later part of this book.64

To the same category (of sacred things having physical connection with the body) should doubtless be referred such objects as the eyebrows, the saliva, and soil taken from the (naked) footstep, all of which are utilised by the magician to achieve his nefarious ends. [47]

The Malay conception of the Human Soul (Sĕmangat)65 is that of a species of “Thumbling,” “a thin, unsubstantial human image,” or mannikin, which is temporarily absent from the body in sleep, trance, disease, and permanently absent after death.

This mannikin, which is usually invisible but is supposed to be about as big as the thumb, corresponds exactly in shape, proportion, and even in complexion, to its embodiment or casing (sarong), i.e. the body in which it has its residence. It is of a “vapoury, shadowy, or filmy” essence, though not so impalpable but that it may cause displacement on entering a physical object, and as it can “fly” or “flash” quickly from place to place, it is often, perhaps metaphorically, addressed as if it were a bird.66

Thus in a charm given in the Appendix we find—

As this mannikin is the exact reproduction in every way of its bodily counterpart, and is “the cause of life and thought in the individual it animates,” it may readily be endowed with quasi-human feelings, and “independently possess the personal consciousness and volition of [48]its corporeal owner.” Thus we find the following appeal addressed to the soul in the charm just quoted:—

These quasi-human attributes of the soul being so complete, it is an easy stretch of the imagination to provide it with a house, which is generally in practice identified with the body of its owner, but may also be identified with any one of its temporary domiciles. Thus in the charm already quoted we read—

The state of disrepair into which the soul’s house (i.e. the sick man’s body) is described as having fallen, is here attributed to the soul’s absence.68 The completeness of this figurative identification of the soul’s “house” with its owner’s body, and of the soul’s “sheath” or casing with both, is very clearly brought out in the following lines:—

And this is no mere chance expression, for in another charm the soul is adjured in these words:— [49]

The soul “appears to men (both waking and asleep) as a phantom separate from the body of which it bears the likeness,” “manifests physical power,” and walks, sits, and sleeps:—

It would probably be wrong to assume the foregoing expressions to have always been merely figurative. Rather, perhaps, we should consider them as part of a singularly complete and consistent animistic system formerly invented and still held by the Malays. Again, from the above ideas it follows that if you call a soul in the right way it will hear and obey you, and you will thus be able either to recall to its owner’s body a soul which is escaping (riang sĕmangat), or to abduct the soul of a person whom you may wish to get into your power (mĕngambil sĕmangat orang), and induce it to take up its residence in a specially prepared receptacle, such as (a) a lump of earth which has been sympathetically connected by direct contact with the body of the soul’s owner, or (b) a wax mannikin so connected by indirect means, or even (c) a cloth which has had no such connection whatever. And when you have succeeded in getting it into your power the abducted and now imprisoned soul will naturally enjoy any latitude [50]allowed to (and suffer from any mutilation of) its temporary domicile or embodiment.71

Every man is supposed (it would appear from Malay charms) to possess seven souls72 in all, or, perhaps, I should more accurately say, a sevenfold soul.73 This “septenity in unity” may perhaps be held to explain the remarkable importance and persistency of the number seven in Malay magic, as for instance the seven twigs of the birch, and the seven repetitions of the charm (in Soul-abduction74), the seven betel leaves, the seven nights’ duration of the ceremony, the seven blows administered to the soul (in other magical and medical ceremonies), and the seven ears cut for the Rice-soul in reaping.75

And, finally, it might explain why the lime-branch which is hung up in the mosquito-curtain (in another form of soul-abduction76) is required to possess seven fruits on a single stalk, i.e. to ensure there being a separate receptacle for each one of the seven souls.

At the present day the ordinary Malay talks usually of only a single soul, although he still keeps up the old phraseology in his charms and charm-books. For the rest, it would appear that there may be some method in the selection and arrangement of colours.

The “lump of earth from the victim’s footprint” used in one form of the soul-abduction ceremony77 is to [51]be wrapped up in three thicknesses of cloth, which must be red, black, and yellow respectively, the yellow being outside. Again (in the ceremony of casting out “the mischief” from a sick man), a white cosmetic is assigned for use in the morning, a red cosmetic for mid-day, and black for sundown.78

Now in all, I believe, of what are now called the Federated Malay States, and probably in all Malay States whatsoever, yellow is the colour used by royalty, whereas the more exalted and sacred colour, white (with occasional lapses into yellow), has been adopted by Malay medicine-men as the colour most likely to conciliate the spirits and demons with whom they have to deal. Thus the soul-cloth, which, by the way, is always five cubits long (lima hasta), is sometimes white and (much more rarely) yellow, and hence in the first instance just quoted, the yellow cloth, being, next to white, of the colour which is most complimentary to the demons, is the one which is put outside; and in the second instance, for similar reasons, the white cosmetic is to be used first.

The working out of this system, however, must await fresh evidence, and all I would do now is to emphasise the importance of colour in such investigations, and to urge the collection of fresh material.79 [52]

Hitherto I have treated of human souls only, but animal, mineral, and vegetable souls will now be briefly discussed. Speaking generally, I believe the soul to be, within certain limits, conceived as a diminutive but exact counterpart of its own embodiment, so that an Animal-soul would be like an animal, a Bird-soul like a bird; however, lower in the scale of creation it would appear that the Tree- or Ore-souls, for instance, are supposed, occasionally at least, to assume the shape of some animal or bird. Thus the soul of Eagle-wood is thought to take the shape of a bird, the soul of Tin-ore that of a buffalo, the Gold-soul that of a deer.80 It has, however, always been recognised that the soul may enter other bodies besides its own, or even bodies of a different kind to its own, and hence these may be only apparent exceptions to the rule that the soul should be the counterpart of its own embodiment.81

“Among races within the limits of savagery, the general doctrine of souls is found worked out with remarkable breadth and consistency. The souls of animals are recognised by a natural extension from the theory of human souls; the souls of trees and plants follow in some vague, partial way, and the [53]souls of inanimate objects expand the general category to its extremest boundary.”82

To the Malay who has arrived at the idea of a generally animated Nature, but has not yet learned to draw scientific distinctions, there appears nothing remarkable or unnatural in the idea of vegetation-souls, or even in that of mineral-souls—rather would he consider us Europeans illogical and inconsistent were he told that we allowed the possession of souls to one half of the creation and denied it to the other.

Realising this, we are prepared to find that the Malay theory of Animism embraces, at least partially, the human race,83 animals84 and birds,85 vegetation86 (trees and plants), reptiles and fishes,87 until its extension to inert objects, such as minerals,88 and “stocks and stones, weapons, boats, food, clothes, ornaments, and other objects, which to us are not merely soulless, but lifeless,” brings us face to face with a conception with which “we are less likely to sympathise.”

Side by side with this general conception of an universally animate nature, we find abundant evidences of a special theory of Human Origin which is held to account not only for the larger mammals, but also for the existence of a large number of birds, and even for that of a few reptiles, fishes, trees and plants, but seems to lose its operative force in proportion to its descent in the scale of creation, until in the lowest scale of all, the theory of Human Origin disappears [54]from sight, and nothing remains but the partial application of a few vague anthropomorphic attributes.89 It is, doubtless, to the prevalence of this theory that we owe the extraordinary persistence of anthropomorphic ideas about animals, birds, reptiles, trees, if not of minerals, in Malay magical ceremonies;90 and it is hard to say which of these two notions—the theory of Human Origin, or the other theory of Universal Animism—is to be considered the original form of Malay belief.

The following tale, which is entitled Charitra Mĕgat Sajobang, and is told by Selangor Malays, will serve as an illustration of the idea of Human Origin:—

“There was a married Sakai couple living at Ulu Klang, and they had a son called Mĕgat Sajobang. When he grew up he said to his mother, ‘Mother, get me a passage, I want to go and see other countries.’ She did so, and he left Ulu Klang; and ten or twelve years later, when he had grown rich enough to buy a splendid ship (p’rahu), he returned with his wife, who was with child, and seven midwives, who were watched over by one of his body-guard with a drawn sword. His mother heard the news of his return, and she made ready, roasting a chika (monkey) and lotong (monkey), and went with his father on board their bark canoe to meet their son.

“As they approached they hailed him by his name; but he was ashamed of their humble appearance, and forbade his men to let them on board. Though his wife advised him to acknowledge them, ‘even if they [55]were pigs or dogs,’ the unfilial son persisted in turning them away. So they went back to the shore and sat down and wept; and the old mother, laying her hand upon her shrivelled breast, said, ‘If thou art really my son, reared at my breast, mayest thou be changed into stone.’ In response to her prayer, milk came forth from her breast, and as she walked away, the ship and all on board were turned into stone. The mother turned round once more to look at her son, but the father did not, and by the power of God they were both turned into trees of the species pauh (a kind of mango) one leaning seawards and the other towards the land. The fruit of the seaward one is sweet, but that of the landward one is bitter.

“The ship has now become a hill, and originally was complete with all its furniture, but the Malays used to borrow the plates and cups, etc., for feast days and did not return them, until at last there were none left.” [56]

“The accredited intermediary between men and spirits is the Pawang;1 the Pawang is a functionary of great and traditional importance in a Malay village, though in places near towns the office is falling into abeyance. In the inland districts, however, the Pawang is still a power, and is regarded as part of the constituted order of society, without whom no village community would be complete. It must be clearly understood that he has nothing whatever to do with the official Muhammadan religion of the mosque; the village has its regular staff of elders—the Imām, Khatib, and Bilal—for the mosque service. But the Pawang is quite outside this system, and belongs to a different and much older order of ideas; he may be regarded as the legitimate representative of the primitive ‘medicine-man’ or ‘village-sorcerer,’ and his very existence in these days is an anomaly, though it does not strike Malays as such. [57]

“Very often the office is hereditary, or at least the appointment is practically confined to the members of one family. Sometimes it is endowed with certain ‘properties’ handed down from one Pawang to his successor, known as the kabĕsaran, or, as it were, regalia. On one occasion I was nearly called upon to decide whether these adjuncts—which consisted, in this particular case, of a peculiar kind of head-dress—were the personal property of the person then in possession of them (who had got them from his father, a deceased Pawang), or were to be regarded as official insignia descending with the office in the event of the natural heir declining to serve! Fortunately I was spared the difficult task of deciding this delicate point of law, as I managed to persuade the owner to take up the appointment.

“But quite apart from such external marks of dignity, the Pawang is a person of very real significance. In all agricultural operations, such as sowing, reaping, irrigation works, and the clearing of jungle for planting, in fishing at sea, in prospecting for minerals, and in cases of sickness, his assistance is invoked. He is entitled by custom to certain small fees; thus, after a good harvest he is allowed, in some villages, five gantangs of padi, one gantang of rice (bĕras), and two chupaks of ĕmping (a preparation of rice and cocoa-nut made into a sort of sweetmeat) from each householder. After recovery from sickness his remuneration is the very modest amount of tiga wang baharu, that is, 7½ cents.

“It is generally believed that a good harvest can only be secured by complying with his instructions, which are of a peculiar and comprehensive character.

“They consist largely of prohibitions, which are [58]known as pantang. Thus, for instance, it is pantang in some places to work in the rice-field on the 14th and 15th days of the lunar month; and this rule of enforced idleness, being very congenial to the Malay character, is, I believe, pretty strictly observed.

“Again, in reaping, certain instruments are proscribed, and in the inland villages it is regarded as a great crime to use the sickle (sabit) for cutting the padi; at the very least the first few ears should be cut with a tuai, a peculiar small instrument consisting of a semicircular blade set transversely on a piece of wood or bamboo, which is held between the fingers, and which cuts only an ear or two at a time. Also the padi must not be threshed by hitting it against the inside of a box, a practice known as banting padi.

“In this, as in one or two other cases, it may be supposed that the Pawang’s ordinances preserve the older forms of procedure and are opposed to innovations in agricultural methods. The same is true of the pantang (i.e. taboo) rule which prescribes a fixed rate of price at which padi may be sold in the village community to members of the same village. This system of customary prices is probably a very old relic of a time when the idea of asking a neighbour or a member of your own tribe to pay a competition price for an article was regarded as an infringement of communal rights. It applies to a few other articles of local produce2 besides padi, and I was frequently assured [59]that the neglect of this wholesome rule was the cause of bad harvests. I was accordingly pressed to fine transgressors, which would perhaps have been a somewhat difficult thing to do. The fact, however, that in many places these rules are generally observed is a tribute to the influence of the Pawang who lends his sanction to them.”3

“The Pawang keeps a familiar spirit, which in his case is a hantu pŭsaka, that is, an hereditary spirit which runs in the family, in virtue of which he is able to deal summarily with the wild spirits of an obnoxious character.”4

The foregoing description is so precise and clear that I have not much to add to it. There are, however, one or two points which require emphasis. One of these is that the priestly magician stands in certain respects on the same footing as the divine man or king—that is to say, he owns certain insignia which are exactly analogous to the regalia of the latter, and are, as Mr. Blagden points out, called by the same name (kabĕsaran). He shares, moreover, with the king the right to make use of cloth dyed with the royal colour (yellow), and, like the king, too, possesses the right to enforce the use of certain ceremonial words and phrases, in which respect, indeed, his list is longer, if anything, than that of royalty.

He also acts as a sort of spirit-medium and gives oracles in trances; possesses considerable political influence; practises (very occasional) austerities; observes some degree of chastity, and appears quite sincere in his conviction of his own powers. At least he always has a most plausible excuse ready to account for his [60]inability to do whatever is required. An aged magician who came from Perak to doctor one of H.H. the Sultan’s sons (Raja Kahar) while I was at Langat, had the unusual reputation of being able to raise a sandbank in the sea at will; but when I asked if I could see it done, he explained that it could only be done in time of war when he was hard pressed by an enemy’s boat, and he could not do it for the sake of mere ostentation! Moreover, like members of their profession all the world over, these medicine-men are, perhaps naturally, extremely reticent; it was seldom that they would let their books be seen, much less copied, even for fair payment, and a Pawang once refused to tell me a charm until I had taken my shoes off and was seated with him upon a yellow cloth while he repeated the much-prized formula.

The office of magician is, as has been said, very often hereditary. It is not so always, however, there being certain recognised ways in which a man may “get magic.” One of the most peculiar is as follows: “To obtain magical powers (ʿelmu) you must meet the ghost of a murdered man. Take the midrib of a leaf of the ‘ivory’ cocoa-nut palm (pĕlĕpah niyor gading), which is to be laid on the grave, and two more midribs, which are intended to represent canoe-paddles, and carry them with the help of a companion to the grave of the murdered man at the time of the full moon (the 15th day of the lunar month) when it falls upon a Tuesday. Then take a cent’s worth of incense, with glowing embers in a censer, and carry them to the head-post of the grave of the deceased. Fumigate the grave, going three times round it, and call upon the murdered man by name:— [61]

Here take the first midrib, fumigate it, and lay it upon the head of the grave, repeating ‘Kur Allah’ (‘Cluck, cluck, God!’) seven times. You and your companion must now take up a sitting posture, one at the head and the other at the foot of the grave, facing the grave post, and use the canoe-paddles which you have brought. In a little while the surrounding scenery will change and take upon itself the appearance of the sea, and finally an aged man will appear, to whom you must address the same request as before.”

“Although officially the religious centre of the village community is the mosque, there is usually in every small district a holy place known as the kramat,6 at which vows are paid on special occasions, and which is invested with a very high degree of reverence and sanctity. [62]

“These kramats abound in Malacca territory; there is hardly a village but can boast some two or three in its immediate neighbourhood, and they are perfectly well known to all the inhabitants.

“Theoretically, kramats are supposed to be the graves of deceased holy men, the early apostles of the Muhammadan faith, the first founders of the village who cleared the primeval jungle, or other persons of local notoriety in a former age; and there is no doubt that many of them are that and nothing more. But even so, the reverence paid to them and the ceremonies that are performed at them savour a good deal too much of ancestor-worship to be attributable to an orthodox Muhammadan origin.

“It is certain, however, that many of these kramats are not graves at all: many of them are in the jungle, on hills and in groves, like the high places of the Old Testament idolatries; they contain no trace of a grave (while those that are found in villages usually have grave-stones), and they appear to be really ancient sites of a primitive nature-worship or the adoration of the spirits of natural objects.

“Malays, when asked to account for them, often have recourse to the explanations that they are kramat jin, that is, “spirit”-places; and if a Malay is pressed on the point, and thinks that the orthodoxy of these practices is being impugned, he will sometimes add that the jin in question is a jin islām, a Muhammadan and quite orthodox spirit!

“Thus on Bukit Nyalas, near the Johol frontier, there is a kramat consisting of a group of granite boulders on a ledge of rock overhanging a sheer descent of a good many feet; bamboo clumps grow on the place, and there were traces of religious rites having [63]been performed there, but no grave whatever. This place was explained to me to be the kramat of one Nakhoda Hussin, described as a jin (of the orthodox variety), who presides over the water, rain, and streams. People occasionally burned incense there to avert drought and get enough water for irrigating their fields. There was another kramat of his lower down the hill, also consisting of rocks, one of which was shaped something like a boat. I was informed that this jin is attended by tigers which guard the hill, and are very jealous of the intrusion of other tigers from the surrounding country. He is believed to have revealed himself to the original Pawang of the village, the mythical founder of the kampong of Nyalas. In a case like this it seems probable that the name attached to this object of reverence is a later accretion, and that under a thin disguise we have here a relic of the worship of the spirit of rivers and streams, a sort of elemental deity localised in this particular place, and still regarded as a proper object of worship and propitiation, in spite of the theoretically strict monotheism of the Muhammadan creed. Again, at another place the kramat is nothing but a tree, of somewhat singular shape, having a large swelling some way up the trunk. It was explained to me that this tree was connected in a special way with the prospects of local agriculture, the size of the swelling increasing in good years and diminishing in bad seasons! Hence it was naturally regarded with considerable awe by the purely agricultural population of the neighbourhood.

“As may be imagined, it is exceedingly difficult to discover any authentic facts regarding the history of these numerous kramats: even where there is some evidence of the existence of a grave, the name of the [64]departed saint is usually the one fact that is remembered, and often even that is forgotten. The most celebrated of the Malacca kramats, the one at Machap, is a representative type of the first class, that in which there really is a grave: it is the one place where a hardened liar respects the sanctity of an oath, and it is occasionally visited in connection with civil cases, when the one party challenges the other to take a particular oath. A man who thinks nothing of perjuring himself in the witness-box, and who might not much mind telling a lie even with the Korān on his head, will flinch before the ordeal of a falsehood in the presence of the Dato’ Machap.”7

After explaining the difference between beneficent spirits and the spirits of evil, Mr. Blagden continues: “Some time ago one of these objectionable hantus (spirits of evil) had settled down in a kĕrayong tree in the middle of this village of Bukit Sĕnggeh, and used to frighten people who passed that way in the dusk; so the Pawang was duly called upon to exorcise it, and under his superintendence the tree was cut down, after which there was no more trouble. But it is certain that it would have been excessively dangerous for an ordinary layman to do so.

“This point may be illustrated by a case which was reported to me soon after it occurred, and which again shows the intimate connection of spirits with trees. A Javanese coolie, on the main road near Ayer Panas, cut down a tree which was known to be occupied by a hantu. He was thereupon seized with what, from the description, appears to have been an epileptic fit, and showed all the traditional symptoms of demoniac [65]possession. He did not recover till his friends had carried out the directions of the spirit, speaking through the sufferer’s mouth, it seems, viz., to burn incense, offer rice, and release a fowl. After which the hantu left him.

“In many places there are trees which are pretty generally believed to be the abodes of spirits, and not one Malay in ten would venture to cut one down, while most people would hardly dare to go near one after dark. On one occasion an exceptionally intelligent Malay, with whom I was discussing the terms on which he proposed to take up a contract for clearing the banks of a river, made it an absolute condition that he should not be compelled to cut down a particular tree which overhung the stream, on the ground that it was a ‘spirit’ tree. That tree had to be excluded from the contract.”8

The following description, by Sir W. Maxwell, of a Perak kramat may be taken as fairly typical of the kramat, in which there really is a grave:—

“Rightly or wrongly the Malays of Larut assign an Achinese origin to an old grave which was discovered in the forest some years ago, and of which I propose to give a brief description. It is situated about half-way between the Larut Residency and the mining village of Kamunting. In the neighbourhood the old durian trees of Java betoken the presence of a Malay population at a date long prior to the advent of the Chinese miner. The grave was discovered about twenty years ago by workmen employed by the Mĕntri of Perak to make the Kamunting road, and it excited much curiosity among the Malays at the [66]time. The Mĕntri and all the ladies of his family went on elephants to see it, and it has been an object of much popular prestige ever since.

“The Malays of Java were able from the village tradition to give the name and sex of the occupant of this lonely tomb, ‘Toh Bidan Susu Lanjut,’ whose name sounds better in the original than in an English translation. She is said to have been an old Achinese woman of good family; of her personal history nothing is known, but her claims to respectability are evinced by the carved head and foot stones of Achinese workmanship which adorn her grave, and her sanctity is proved by the fact that the stones are eight feet apart. It is a well-known Malay superstition that the stones placed to mark the graves of Saints miraculously increase their relative distance during the lapse of years, and thus bear mute testimony to the holiness of the person whose resting-place they mark.

“The kramat on the Kamunting road is on the spur of a hill through which the roadway is cut. A tree overshadows the grave and is hung with strips of white cloth and other rags (panji panji) which the devout have put there. The direction of the grave is as nearly as possible due north and south. The stones at its head and foot are of the same size, and in every respect identical one with the other. They are of sandstone, and are said by the natives to have been brought from Achin. In design and execution they are superior to ordinary Malay art, as will be seen, I think, on reference to the rubbings of the carved surface of one of them, which have been executed for me by the Larut Survey Office, and which I have transmitted to the Society with this paper. The extreme measurements of the stones (furnished from [67]the same source) are 2′ 1″ × 0′ 9″ × 0′ 7″. They are in excellent preservation, and the carving is fresh and sharp. Some Malays profess to discover in the three rows of vertical direction on the broadest face of the slabs the Mohammedan attestation of the unity of God (La ilaha illa-lla) repeated over and over again; but I confess that I have been unable to do so. The offerings at a kramat are generally incense (istangi or satangi) or benzoin (kaminian); these are burned in little stands made of bamboo rods; one end is stuck in the ground and the other split into four or five, and then opened out and plaited with basket work so as to hold a little earth. They are called sangka; a Malay will often vow that if he succeeds in some particular project, or gets out of some difficulty in which he may happen to be placed, he will burn three or more sangka at such and such a kramat. Persons who visit a kramat in times of distress or difficulty, to pray and to vow offerings, in case their prayers are granted, usually leave behind them as tokens of their vows small pieces of white cloth, which are tied to the branches of a tree or to sticks planted in the ground near the sacred spot. For votary purposes the long-forgotten tomb of Toh Bidan Susu Lanjut enjoys considerable popularity among the Mohammedans of Larut; and the tree which overshadows it has, I am glad to say, been spared the fate which awaited the rest of the jungle which overhung the road. No coolie was bold enough to put an axe to it.”9

Mr. George Bellamy, writing in 1893, thus described the kramat at Tanjong Karang in the Kuala Selangor district:— [68]

“The kramat about which I am now writing is a very remarkable one. It is situated on the extreme point of land at the mouth of the river Selangor, close to where the new lighthouse has been erected. A magnificent kayu ara (a kind of fig-tree) forms a prominent feature of the tanjong (point or cape), and at the base of this tree, enveloped entirely by its roots, is an oblong-shaped space having the appearance of a Malay grave, with the headstones complete.... To this sacred spot constant pilgrimages are made by the Malays, and the lower branches of the tree rarely lack those pieces of white and yellow cloth which are always hung up as an indication that some devout person has paid his vows. The Chinese also have great respect for this kramat, and have erected a sort of sylvan temple at the foot of the tree.” Mr. Bellamy tells how one Raja ʿAbdullah fell in love with a maiden named Miriam, who disappeared and was supposed to have been taken by the spirits (though she was really carried off by an earlier lover named Hassan). Raja ʿAbdullah died and was buried at the foot of the fig-tree. Mr. Bellamy concludes: “If you ever happen to see a very big crocodile at the mouth of the Selangor river, floating listlessly about, be careful not to molest it: it is but the buaya kramat, which shape the spirit of Raja ʿAbdullah sometimes assumes. When walking along the pantai (shore), if you chance to meet a very large tiger let him pass unharmed. It is only Raja ʿAbdullah’s ghost, and in proof thereof you will see it leaves no footmarks on the sand. And when you go to see the new lighthouse at Tanjong Kramat, you may perhaps come face to face with a very old man, who sadly shakes his head and disappears. [69]Do not be startled, it is only Raja ʿAbdullah.”10

In No. 2 of the same volume of the Selangor Journal Mr. Bellamy refers to another kramat—that of ’Toh Kĕtapang—which he appears to localise in Ulu Selangor.

It is by no means necessary to ensure the popularity of a kramat or shrine that the saint to whose memory it is dedicated should be a Malay. The cosmopolitan character of these shrines is attested in the following note which I sent to the Selangor Journal11 about the shrines in the Ulu Langat (Kajang) district of Selangor:—

“The chief kramats in the district are ‘Makam ’Toh Sayah’ (the tomb of a Javanese of high repute); ‘Makam Said Idris,’ at Rekoh, Said Idris being the father of the Pĕnghulu of Cheras; ‘Makam ’Toh Janggut’ (a ‘Kampar’ man), on the road to Cheras; and ‘Makam ’Toh Gerdu or Berdu,’ at Dusun Tua, Ulu Langat. ’Toh Berdu was of Sakai origin.”

I have never yet, however, heard of any shrine being dedicated to a Chinaman, and it is probable that this species of canonisation is confined (at least in modern times) to local celebrities professing the Muhammadan religion, as would certainly be the case of the Malays and Javanese mentioned in the foregoing paragraph, and quite possibly too in the case of the Sakai.

It is true that Chinese often worship at these shrines—just as, on the same principle, they employ Malay magicians in prospecting for tin; but there appear to be certain limits beyond which they [70]cannot go, as it was related to me when I was living in the neighbourhood, that a Chinaman who had, in the innocence of his heart, offered at a Moslem shrine a piece of the accursed pork, was pounced upon and slain before he reached home by one of the tigers which guarded the shrine.

The shrine of ’Toh Kamarong is one of the most celebrated shrines in the Langat district, the saint’s last resting-place being guarded by a white elephant and a white tiger, the latter of which had been a pet (pĕmainan) of his during his lifetime. In this respect it is exactly similar to the shrine of ’Toh Parwi of Pantei in Sungei Ujong, which is similarly guarded, both shrines having been erected on the seashore, it is said, in the days when the sea came much farther inland than it does at present. The fame of ’Toh Kamarong filled the neighbourhood, and it is related that on one occasion an irate mother exclaimed, of a son of hers who was remarkable for his vicious habits, “May the ’Toh Kramat Kamarong fly away with him.” Next day the boy disappeared, and all search proved fruitless, until three days later ’Toh Kamarong appeared to her in a dream, and informed her that he had carried the boy off, as she had invited him to do, and that if she were to look for his footprints she would be able to discover them inside the pad-tracks of a tiger one of whose feet was smaller than the rest, and which was then haunting the spot. She did so, and discovered her son’s footprints exactly as the saint had foretold. This Ghost-tiger, which no doubt must be identified with ’Toh Kamarong’s “pet,” used to roam the district when I was stationed in the neighbourhood, and both I and, I believe, the then District Engineer (Mr. Spearing), saw this tiger’s [71]tracks, and can vouch for the fact that one footprint was smaller than the rest. This curious feature is thought by the local Malays at least, to be one of the specially distinctive marks of a rimau kramat, or Ghost-tiger, just as the possession of one tusk that is smaller than the other is the mark of a Ghost-elephant.12

Closely connected with the subject of shrines is that of high places, such as those spots where religious penance was traditionally practised. One of these sacred spots is said to have been situated upon the “Mount Ophir” of Malacca, which is about 4000 feet high, and on which a certain legendary Princess known as Tuan Pŭtri Gunong Ledang is said to have dwelt, until she transferred her ghostly court to Jugra Hill, upon the coast of Selangor.13

Such fasting-places are usually, as in Java, either solitary hills or places which present some great natural peculiarity; even remarkable trees and rocks being, as has already been pointed out, pressed into the service of this Malay “natural religion.”

The main divisions of the magico-religious ceremonies of the Malays are prayer, sacrifice, lustration, fasting, divination, and possession.

Prayer, which is defined by Professor Tylor as “a request made to a deity as if he were a man,” is still in the unethical stage among the Malays; no request [72]for anything but personal advantages of a material character being ever, so far as I am aware, preferred by the worshipper. The efficacy of prayer is, however, often supposed to be enhanced by repetition.

“As prayer is a request made to a deity as if he were a man, so sacrifice is a gift made to a deity as if he were a man.... The ruder conception that the deity takes and values the offering for itself, gives place, on the one hand, to the idea of mere homage as expressed by a gift, and, on the other, to the negative view that the virtue lies in the worshipper depriving himself of something prized.”14

A general survey of the charms and ceremonies brought together in this volume will, I think, be likely to establish the view that the Malays (in accordance with the reported practice of many other races) probably commenced with the idea of sacrifice as a simple gift, and therefrom developed first the idea of ceremonial homage, and later the idea of sacrifice as an act of abnegation. Evidences of the original gift-theory chiefly survive in the language of charms, in which the deity appealed to is repeatedly invited to eat and drink of the offerings placed before him, as a master may be invited to eat by his servants. The intermediate stage between the gift and homage theories is marked by an extensive use of “substitutes,” and of the sacrifice of a part or parts for the whole. Thus we even find the dough model of a human being actually called “the substitute” (tukar ganti), and offered up to the spirits upon the sacrificial tray; in the same sense are the significant directions of a magician, that “if the spirit craves a human victim a cock may be substituted” and the [73]custom of hunters who, when they have killed a deer, leave behind them in the forest small portions of each of the more important members of the deer’s anatomy, as “representatives” of the entire carcase. In this last case the usual “ritualistic change may be traced from practical reality to formal ceremony.” “The originally valuable offering is compromised for a smaller tribute or a cheaper substitute, dwindling at last to a mere trifling token or symbol.”15

This homage-theory will, I believe, be found to cover by far the greater bulk of the sacrifices usually offered by Malays, and the idea of abnegation appears to be practically confined to votal ceremonies or vows (niat), in which the nature and extent of the offering are not regulated by custom, but depend entirely upon the wealth or caprice of the worshipper, there being merely a tacit understanding that he shall sacrifice something which is of more than nominal value to himself.

Of the manner in which offerings are supposed to be received by the deity to whom they are offered it is difficult to obtain very much evidence. I have, however, frequently questioned Malays upon this subject, and on the whole think it can very safely be said that the deity is not supposed to touch the solid or material part of the offering, but only the essential part, whether it be “life, savour, essence, quality” or even the “soul.”

It will perhaps be advisable, in order to avoid repetition, to describe a few of the special and distinctive sub-rites which form part of many of the more important ceremonies, such as (in particular), rites performed at shrines, the rite of burning incense, the scattering [74]of (or banqueting upon) sacrificial rice, and the application of the “Neutralising” Rice-paste (tĕpong tawar).

Of the rites performed at shrines, Mr. Blagden says: “The worship there, as with most other kramats, consists of the burning of incense, the offering of nasi kunyet (yellow rice), and the killing of goats; but I also noticed a number of live pigeons there which illustrate the practice, common in Buddhist countries, of releasing an animal in order to gain ‘merit’ thereby.” At a shrine on the Langat river I have seen fowls which had (I was told) been similarly released.

Mr. Blagden’s remarks apply with equal force to the services performed at the shrines of Selangor, and I believe also of other States. It should, however, I think, be pointed out that the nasi kunyit (yellow rice) is, usually at all events, eaten by those who take part in the service. At a ceremony which was held on one occasion after my recovery from sickness, and in which, by request, I took part,16 incense was burnt, and Muhammadan prayers chanted, after which the usual strip of white cloth (five cubits in length) was laid upon the saint’s grave (the saint being the father of the present Sultan of Selangor), and the party then adjourned to a shelter some twenty or thirty yards lower down the hill, where, first the men, and then the women and children, partook of the flesh of the slaughtered goat and the saffron-stained rice (pulut). After the meal the Bilal (mosque attendant, who was present with the Malay headman and the local priest of the mosque), returned to the tomb, and making obeisance, recited a Muhammadan prayer, craving permission [75]to take the cloth back for his own use, which he presently did. These Bilals are needy men and live upon the alms of the devout, so I suppose he thought there was no reason why the saint should not contribute something to his support.

The burning of incense is one of the very simplest, and hence commonest, forms of burnt sacrifice. Some magicians say that it should be accompanied by an invocation addressed to the Spirit of Incense, which should be besought, as in the example quoted below, to “pervade the seven tiers of earth and sky respectively.” It would appear that the intention of the worshipper is to ensure that his “sacrifice of sweet savour” should reach the nostrils of the gods and help to propitiate them, wherever they may be, by means of a foretaste of offerings to follow. This invocation, however, is not unfrequently omitted, or at least slurred over by the worshipper, in spite of the contention of the magicians who use it, that “without it the spell merely rises like smoke which is blown away by the wind.” The following is one form of the invocation in question:—

The direction taken by the fumes of the incense is observed and noted for the purpose of divination; this feature of the rite will be noticed under the heading of Medicine.19

Another form of sacrifice consists in the scattering of rice. The sacrificial rice (Oryza sativa) used in the ceremonies is always of the following kinds: firstly, parched rice (b’ras bĕrtih); secondly, washed rice (b’ras basoh); thirdly, saffron-stained rice (b’ras kunyit, i.e. rice stained with turmeric);20 and, finally, a special kind of glutinous rice called pulut (Oryza glutinosa), which is also very generally used for sacrificial banquets.

Of these, the parched rice is generally used for strewing the bottom of the sacrificial tray (anchak) when the framework has been covered with banana leaves, but the offerings have not yet been deposited within it.

The washed and saffron rice are generally used for scattering either over the persons to be benefited by the ceremony, or else upon the ground or house-floor.

With reference to the selection of rice for this purpose, it has been suggested that the rice is intended to attract what may be called the “bird-soul” (i.e. the soul of man conceived as a bird) to the spot, or to [77]keep it from straying at a particularly dangerous moment in the life of its owner.

The pulut or glutinous rice is the kind of rice generally used for sacrificial banquets, e.g. for banquets at “high places,” etc.

Lustration is generally accomplished either by means of fire or of water. The best examples of the former are perhaps the fumigation of infants, and the api saleian or purificatory fire, over which women are half-roasted when a birth has taken place, but these being special and distinctive ceremonies, will be described with others of the same nature in Chapter VI.

One of the forms of lustration by water, however, appears rather to take the place of a sub-rite, forming an integral portion of a large class of ceremonies, such as those relating to Building, Fishing, Agriculture, Marriage, and so forth. Hence it will be necessary to give a general sketch of its leading features in the present context.

The ceremony of lustration by water, when it takes the form of the sub-rite referred to, is called “Tĕpong Tawar,” which properly means “the Neutralising Rice-flour (Water),” “neutralising” being used almost in a chemical sense, i.e. in the sense of “sterilising” the active element of poisons, or of destroying the active potentialities of evil spirits.

The rite itself consists in the application21 of a thin paste made by mixing rice-flour with water: this is taken up in a brush or “bouquet” of leaves and applied to the objects which the “neutralisation” is intended to protect or neutralise, whether they be the [78]posts of a house, the projecting ends of a boat’s ribs (tajok p’rahu), the seaward posts of fishing-stakes (puchi kelong), or the forehead and back of the hands of the bride and bridegroom.

The brush must be first fumigated with incense, then dipped into the bowl which contains the rice-water, and shaken out almost dry, for if the water runs down the object to which it is applied it is held to “portend tears,” whereas if it spreads equally all round (benchar) it is lucky. The composition of the brush, which is considered to be of the highest importance, appears to vary, but only within certain limits. It almost invariably, in Selangor, consists of a selection of leaves from the following plants, which are made up in small bouquets of five, seven, or nine leaves each, and bound round with ribu-ribu (a kind of small creeper), or a string of shredded tree bark (daun t’rap).

The following is a list of the leaves generally used:—

1. Leaves of the grass called sambau dara, which is said to be the symbol of a “settled soul” (ʿalamat mĕnĕtapkan sĕmangat), and which hence always forms the core of the bouquet.22

2. The leaves of the sĕlaguri, which appears to be “a shrub or small tree with yellow flowers (Clerodendron disparifolium, Bl., Verbenaceæ; or Sida rhombifolia, L., Malvaceæ, a common small shrub in open country),”23 which is described as one of the first of shrubs (kayu asal), and is said to be used as a “reminder of origin” (pĕringatan asal). [79]

3. The leaves of the pulut-pulut (the exact identity of which I have not yet ascertained, but which may be the Urena lobata, L., one of the Malvaceae), which is said to be used for the same purpose as the preceding.

4. The leaves of the gandarusa (Insticia gandarusa, L., Acanthaceæ), a plant described as “often cultivated and half-wild—a shrub used in medicine.”

The selection of this plant is said to be due to its reputation for scaring demons (ʿalamat mĕnghalaukan hantu). So great is its efficacy supposed to be, that people who have to go out when rain is falling and the sun shining simultaneously—a most dangerous time to be abroad, in Malay estimation,—put a sprig of the gandarusa in their belts.

5. The leaves of the gandasuli (which I have not yet been able to identify, no such name appearing in Ridley’s plant-list, but which I believe to be a water-side plant which I have seen, with a white and powerfully fragrant flower).24 It is considered to be a powerful charm against noxious birth-spirits, such as the Langsuir.

6. The leaves of the sapanggil (which is not yet identified).

7. The leaves of the lĕnjuang merah, or “the common red dracæna” (Cordyline terminalis, var. ferrea, Liliaceæ).25 This shrub is planted in graveyards, and occasionally at the four corners of the house, to drive away ghosts and demons.

8. The leaves of the sapĕnoh (unidentified), a plant with big round leaves, which is always placed outside the rest of the leaves in the bunch. [80]

9. To the above list may be perhaps added the satawar, sitawar or tawar-tawar (Costus speciosus, L., Scitamineæ, and Forrestia, spp. Commelinaceæ); and

10. The satĕbal (Fagræa racemosa, Jack., Loganiaceæ).

Leaves of the foregoing plants and shrubs are made up, as has been said, in small sets or combinations of five, seven, or even perhaps of nine leaves a piece. These combinations are said to differ according to the object to which the rice-water is to be applied. It is extremely unlikely, however, that all magicians should make the same selections even for the same objects—rather would they be likely to make use of such leaves on the list as happen to be most readily available. Still, however, as the only example of such differentiation which I have yet been able to obtain, I will give the details of three separate and distinctive combinations, which were described to me by a Selangor magician:—

(1) For a wedding ceremony		sambau dara		tied round with a string of shredded tree-bark.
		sĕlaguri
		pulut-pulut
		sapanggil
		sapĕnoh
(2) For blessing fishing-stakes		gandarusa		tied with the creeper ribu-ribu.
		sĕlaguri
		sapanggil
		lĕnjuang merah
		sapĕnoh
(3) For the ceremony of taking the rice-soul		lĕnjuang merah		tied with ribu-ribu.
		sĕlaguri
		pulut-pulut
		sapanggil
		sapĕnoh

Further inquiry and the collection of additional material will no doubt help to elucidate the general principles on which such selections are made. [81]

Short rhyming charms are very often used as accompaniments of the rite of rice-water, but appear to be seldom if ever repeated aloud. The following is a specimen, and others will be found in the Appendix:26—

Other not less important developments of the idea of lustration by water are to be found in such ceremonies as the bathing of mother and child after a birth and the washing of the floor (basoh lantei) upon similar occasions, the bathing of the sick, of bride and bridegroom at weddings, of corpses (mĕruang),27 and the annual bathing expeditions (mandi Safar), which are supposed to purify the persons of the bathers and to protect them from evil (tolak bala).

Fasting, or the performance of religious penance, which is now but seldom practised, would appear to have been only undertaken in former days with a definite object in view, such as the production of the state of mental exaltation which induces ecstatic visions, the acquisition of supernatural powers (sakti), and so forth.

The fast always took place, of course, in a solitary spot, and not unfrequently upon the top of some high and solitary hill such as Mount Ophir (Gunong Ledang), on the borders of Malacca territory. Frequently, however, much lower hills, or even plains which possessed some remarkable rock or tree, would be selected for the purpose.

Such fasting, however, did not, as sometimes with [82]us, convey to the Malays the idea of complete abstinence, as the magicians informed me that a small modicum of rice contained in a kĕtupat (which is a small diamond-shaped rice-receptacle made of plaited cocoa-nut leaf) was the daily “allowance” of any one who was fasting. The result was that fasts might be almost indefinitely prolonged, and the thrice-seven-days’ fast of ’Che Utus upon Jugra Hill, on the Selangor coast,28 is still one of the traditions of that neighbourhood, whilst in Malay romances and in Malay tradition this form of religious penance is frequently represented as continuing for years.

Finally, I would draw attention to the strong vein of Sympathetic Magic or “make believe” which runs through and leavens the whole system of Malay superstition. The root-idea of this form of magic has been said to be the principle that “cause follows from effect.”

“One of the principles of sympathetic magic is that any effect may be produced by imitating it.... If it is wished to kill a person, an image of him is made and then destroyed; and it is believed that through a certain physical sympathy between the person and his image, the man feels the injuries done to the image as if they were done to his own body, and that when it is destroyed he must simultaneously perish.”29

The principle thus described is perhaps the most important of all those which underlie the “Black Art” of the Malays. [83]

A careful investigation of the magic rites and charms used by a nation which has changed its religion will not unfrequently show, that what is generally called witchcraft is merely the débris of the older ritual, condemned by the priests of the newer faith, but yet stubbornly, though secretly, persisting, through the unconquerable religious conservatism of the mass of the people.

“There is nothing that clings longer to a race than the religious faith in which it has been nurtured. Indeed, it is impossible for any mind that is not thoroughly scientific to cast off entirely the religious forms of thought in which it has grown to maturity. Hence in every people that has received the impression of foreign beliefs, we find that the latter do not expel and supersede the older religion, but are engrafted on it, blent with it, or overlie it. Observances are more easily abandoned than ideas, and even when all the external forms of the alien faith have been put on, and few vestiges of the indigenous one remain, the latter still retains its vitality in the mind, and powerfully colours or corrupts the former. The actual religion of [84]a people is thus of great ethnographic interest, and demands a minute and searching observation. No other facts relating to rude tribes are more difficult of ascertainment, or more often elude inquiry.”1

“The general principle stated by Logan in the passage just quoted receives remarkable illustration from a close investigation of the folk-lore and superstitious beliefs of the Malays. Two successive religious changes have taken place among them, and when we have succeeded in identifying the vestiges of Brahmanism which underlie the external forms of the faith of Muhammad, long established in all Malay kingdoms, we are only half-way through our task.”

“There yet remain the powerful influences of the still earlier indigenous faith to be noted and accounted for. Just as the Buddhists of Ceylon turn in times of sickness and danger, not to the consolations offered by the creed of Buddha, but to the propitiation of the demons feared and reverenced by their early progenitors, and just as the Burmese and Talaings, though Buddhists, retain in full force the whole of the Nat superstition, so among the Malays, in spite of centuries which have passed since the establishment of an alien worship, the Muhammadan peasant may be found invoking the protection of Hindu gods against the spirits of evil with which his primitive faith has peopled all natural objects.”2

“What was the faith of Malaya seven hundred years ago it is hard to say, but there is a certain amount of evidence to lead to the belief that it was a form of Brahmanism, and that, no doubt, had succeeded the original spirit worship.”3 [85]

The evidence of folk-lore, taken in conjunction with that supplied by charm-books and romances, goes to show that the greater gods of the Malay Pantheon, though modified in some respects by Malay ideas, were really borrowed Hindu divinities, and that only the lesser gods and spirits are native to the Malay religious system. It is true that some of these native gods can be with more or less distinctness identified with the great powers of nature: the King of the Winds (Raja Angin) for instance; “Mambang Tali Harus,” or the god of mid-currents (the Malay Neptune); the gods of thunder and lightning, of the celestial bodies, etc.; but none of them appear to have the status of the chief gods of the Hindu system, and both by land and water the terrible Shiva (“Batara Guru” or “Kala”) is supreme. Yet each department of nature, however small, has its own particular godling or spirit who requires propitiation, and influences for good or evil every human action. Only the moral element is wanting to the divine hegemony—the “cockeyed,” limping substitute which does duty for it reflecting only too truthfully the character of the people with whom it passes as divine.

I will first take, in detail, the gods of Hindu origin. “Batara (or Bĕtara) Guru” is “the name by which Siva is known to his worshippers, who constitute the vast majority of the Balinese, and who probably constituted the bulk of the old Javanese.”4

In the magic of the Peninsular Malays we find Vishnu the Preserver, Brahma the Creator, Batara Guru, Kala, and S’ri simultaneously appealed to by the Malay magician; and though it would, perhaps, be rash, [86](as Mr. Wilkinson says), to infer solely from Malay romances or Malay theatrical invocations (many of which owe much to Javanese influence), that Hinduism was the more ancient religion of the Malays, there is plenty of other evidence to prove that the “Batara Guru” of the Malays (no less than the Batara Guru of Bali and Java) is none other than the recognised father of the Hindu Trinity.5

Of the greater deities or gods, Batara Guru is unquestionably the greatest. “In the Hikayat Sang Samba (the Malay version of the Bhaumakavya), Batara Guru appears as a supreme God, with Brahma and Vishnu as subordinate deities. It is Batara Guru who alone has the water of life (ayer utama (atama) jiwa) which brings the slaughtered heroes to life.”6

So to this day the Malay magician declares that ’Toh Batara Guru (under any one of the many corruptions which his name now bears7) was “the all-powerful [87]spirit who held the place of Allah before the advent of Muhammadanism, a spirit so powerful that he could restore the dead to life; and to him all prayers were addressed.”

Mr. Wilkinson, in the article from which we have already quoted, deals with another point of interest, the expression sang-yang, or batara, which is prefixed to guru. After pointing out that yang in this case is not the ordinary Malay pronoun (yang, who), but an old word meaning a “deity,” he remarks, that so far as he has been able to discover, it is only used of the greater Hindu divinities, and not of inferior deities or demi-gods. Thus we find it applied to Shiva and Vishnu, but never to the monkey-god Hanuman, or a deity of secondary importance like Dermadewa. Such inferior divinities have only the lesser honorific “sang” prefixed to their names, and in this respect fare no better than mere mortals (such as Sang Sapurba and Sang Ranjuna Tapa) and animals (such as, in fables, Sang Kanchil, Mr. Mousedeer; and Sang Tikus, Mr. Rat).

“The expression batara is also limited to the greater Hindu divinities (except when used as a royal title), e.g. Batara Guru, Batara Kala, Batara Indra, Batara Bisnu, etc. Thus the expressions sang-yang and batara are fairly coincident in their application.8 But there are a few deities of whom [88]the honorific sang-yang is used, but not batara, e.g. sang-yang tunggal, ‘the only God,’ sang-yang sokma, etc.

“Thus batara would seem to be limited in use to the actual names of Hindu deities as distinct from epithets describing those deities. “Batara Guru” would seem to be an exception—the only one—to this rule, and to point to the fact that the original meaning of guru had been lost sight of, and that the expression had come to be regarded only as a proper name.”

Occasionally, as is only to be expected, the Malays get mixed in their mythology, and of this Mr. Wilkinson gives two examples, one of the identification of Batara Guru (Shiva) with Brahma (Bĕrahmana), and another of the drawing of a distinction between “Guru” (Shiva) and “Mahadewa,” which latter is only another name for the same divinity.

Such slips are inevitable among an illiterate people, and should always be criticised by comparison with the original Hindu tenets, from which these ideas may be presumed to have proceeded. [89]

Mr. Wilkinson quotes an extraordinary genealogy representing, inter alia, “Guru as the actual father of the Hindu Trinity,” and also of “Sambu” (whom he cannot identify), and “Sĕri, who is the Hindu Sri, the goddess of grain, and, therefore, a deity of immense importance to the old Javanese and Malays.”

On this I would only remark that Sambu (or Jambu) is the first portion of the name almost universally ascribed to the Crocodile-spirit by the Peninsular Malays.9

It would be beyond the scope of this work to attempt the identification of Batara Guru (Shiva) with all the numerous manifestations and titles attributed to him by the Malays, but the special manifestation (of Shiva), which is called “Kala,” forms an integral part of the general conception, whether among the [90]Malays or Hindus, and is, therefore, deserving of some attention.

The Malay conception of Batara Guru seems to have been that he had both a good and a bad side to his character. Though he was “Destroyer” he was also “Restorer-to-life,”10 and it would appear that these two opposite manifestations of his power tended to develop into two distinct personalities, a development which apparently was never entirely consummated. This, however, is not the only difficulty, for on investigating the limits of the respective spheres of influence of Batara Guru and Kala, we find that the only sphere, which is always admitted to be under Kala’s influence, is the intermediate zone between the respective spheres of influence of Batara Guru (as he is called if on land, “Si Raya” if at sea) and a third divinity, who goes by the name of “’Toh Panjang Kuku,” or “Grandsire Long-Claws.”

Now Hindu mythology, we are told, knows next to nothing of the sea, and any such attempt as this to define the respective boundaries of sea and land is almost certain to be due to the influence of Malay ideas. Again, the intermediate zone is not necessarily considered less dangerous than that of definitely evil influences. Thus the most dangerous time for children to be abroad is sunset, the hour when we can “call it neither perfect day nor night”; so too a day of mingled rain and sunshine is regarded as fraught with peculiar dangers from evil spirits, and it would be quite in keeping with such ideas that the intermediate zone, whether between high and low water-mark, or between the clearing and primeval [91]forest, should be assigned to Kala, the Destroyer. In which case the expression “Grandsire Long-Claws” might be used to signify this special manifestation of Shiva on land, possibly through the personality of the Tiger, just as the Crocodile-spirit appears to represent Shiva by water.11

We thus reach a point of exceptional interest, for hunting, being among the old Hindus one of the seven deadly sins, was regarded as a low pursuit, and one which would never be indulged in by a god. Yet I was repeatedly told when collecting charms about the Spectre Huntsman that he was a god, and, explicitly, that he was Batara Guru. This shows the strength of the Malay influences which had been at work, and which had actually succeeded in corrupting the character, so to speak, of the supreme god of this borrowed Hindu Trinity.12

The Batara Guru of the Sea, who by some magicians, at all events, is identified with Si Raya (the “Great One”), and, probably wrongly, with the God of Mid-currents13 (Mambang Tali Harus), is of a much milder character than his terrestrial namesake or compeer, and although sickness may sometimes be [92]ascribed to the sea-spirit’s wrath, it is neither so sudden nor so fatal as the sickness ascribed to the wanton and unprovoked malice of the Spectre Huntsman, or Spirit of the Land.

Fishermen and seafarers, on the other hand, obtain many a favour from him, and even hope to make friends with him by means of simple sacrifices and charms.

Si Raya (or Madu-Raya) is said to have a family, his wife’s name being Madu-ruti, and his children “Wa’ Ranai,” and “Si Kĕkas” (the scratcher), all of whom, however, have their own separate spheres of influence. The “Great One” himself (Madu-Raya) rules over the sea from low-water mark (at the river’s mouth) out to mid-ocean; and if his identity with “’Toh Rimpun ʿAlam” is accepted,14 his place of abode is at the navel of the seas, within the central whirlpool (Pusat Tasek), from the centre of which springs the Magic Tree (Pauh Janggi), on whose boughs perches the roc (garuda) of fable, and at whose foot dwells the Gigantic Crab, whose entrance into and exit from the cave in which he dwells is supposed to cause the displacement of water which results in the ebb and flow of the tide.15

The only other divinities (of the rank of “Mambangs”) which are of any importance are the “White divinity,” who dwells in the Sun, the “Black divinity,” who dwells in the Moon, and the “Yellow divinity,” who dwells in the Yellow Sunset-glow, which latter is always considered most dangerous to children.

When there is a decided glow at sunset, any one who sees it takes water into his mouth (di-kĕmam ayer) [93]and dislodges it in the direction of the brightness, at the same time throwing ashes (di-sĕmbor dĕngan abu) saying:—

This is done “in order to put out the brightness,” the reason that it must be put out being that in the case of any one who is not very strong (lĕmah sĕmangat) it causes fever.

The “Jins” or “Genii,” generally speaking, form a very extensive class of quite subordinate divinities, godlings, or spirits, whose place in Malay mythology is clearly due, whether directly or indirectly, to Muhammadan influences, but who may be most conveniently treated here as affording a sort of connecting link between gods and ghosts. There has, it would appear, been a strong tendency on the part of the Malays to identify these imported spirits with the spirits of their older (Hindu) religion, but the only Genie who really rises to the level of one of the great Hindu divinities is the Black King of the Genii (Sang Gala16 Raja, or Sa-Raja Jin), who appears at times a manifestation of Shiva Batara Guru, who is confounded with the destructive side of Shiva, i.e. Kala. This at least would appear to be the only theory on which we could explain the use of many of the epithets or attributes assigned to the King of the Genii, who is at one time called “the one and only God”; at another, “Bĕntara (i.e. [94]Batara), Guru, the Genie that was from the beginning,” and at another, “the Land Demon, the Black Batara Guru,” etc.

The following is a description of this, the mightiest of the Genii:—

So far as can be made out from the meagre evidence obtainable, the spirit thus described is identifiable with the Black King of Genii, who dwells in the Heart of the Earth, and whose bride, Sang Gadin (or Gading), presented him with seven strapping Black Genii as children.18

Plate 2.—Spirits.

Models of the White and Black Genii (Jin Puteh and Jin Hitam)

Page 94.

Altogether there are one hundred and ninety of these (Black?) Genii—more strictly, perhaps, one hundred and ninety-three, which coincides curiously with the number of “Mischiefs” (Badi), which reside in “all living things.” The resemblance, I may add, does not end here; for though the Genii may do good, and the “Badi” do not, both are considered able to do infinite harm to mortals, and both make choice of the same kind of dwelling-places, such as hollows in the hills, solitary patches of primeval forest, dead parasites on trees, etc. etc.

As to the origin of these Genii, one magician told me that all “Jins” came from the country “Ban [95]Ujan,” which may possibly be Persia;19 other magicians, however, variously derive them from the dissolution of various parts of the anatomy of the great snake “Sakatimuna,” of the “First Great Failure” to make man’s image (at the creation of man); from the drops of blood which spirted up to heaven when the first twins, Abel and Cain (in the Malay version Habil and Kabil) bit their thumbs; from the big cocoa-nut monkey or baboon (bĕrok bĕsar), and so on.

The theory already mentioned, viz. that the Black King of the Genii gradually came to be identified with Kala, and later came gradually to be established as a separate personality, appears to be the only one which will satisfactorily explain the relations subsisting between the Black and White Genii, who are on the one hand distinctly declared to be brothers, whilst the White Genie is in another passage declared to be Maharaja Dewa or Mahadewa, which latter is, as we have already seen, a special name of Shiva.

This White Genie is said to have sprung, by one account, from the blood-drops which fell on the ground when Habil and Kabil bit their thumbs; by another, from the irises of the snake Sakatimuna’s eyes (bĕnih mata Sakatimuna), and is sometimes confused with the White Divinity (’Toh Mambang Puteh), who lives in the sun.

The name of his wife is not mentioned, as it is in the case of the Black Genie, but the names of three of his children have been preserved, and they are Tanjak [96]Malim Kaya, Pari Lang (lit. kite-like, i.e. “winged” Skate), and Bintang Sutan (or Star of Sutan).20

On the whole, I may say that the White Genie is very seldom mentioned in comparison with the Black Genie, and that whereas absolutely no harm, so far as I can find out, is recorded of him, he is, on the other hand, appealed to for protection by his worshippers.

A very curious subdivision of Genii into Faithful (Jin Islām) and Infidel (Jin Kafir) is occasionally met with, and it is said, moreover, that Genii (it is to be hoped orthodox ones) may be sometimes bought at Mecca from the “Sheikh Jin” (Headman of Genii) at prices varying from $90 to $100 a piece.21 [97]

Besides these subdivisions, certain Genii are sometimes specifically connected with special objects or ideas. Thus there are the Genii of the royal musical instruments (Jin Nĕmfiri, or Lĕmpiri, Gĕndang, and Naubat), who are sometimes identified with the Genii of the State (Jin Karaja’an), and the Genii of the Royal Weapons (Jin Sĕmbuana), both of which classes of Genii are held able to strike men dead. The only other Genie that I would here specially mention is the Jin ʿAfrit (sometimes called Jin Rafrit), from whom the “White Man” (a designation which is often specially used in the Peninsula as a synonym for Englishman) is sometimes said to have sprung, but who belongs in Arabian mythology to a higher class than the mere Genii. Before leaving the subject of Genii, I must, however, point out the extremely common juxtaposition of the Arabic word “Jin” and the Malay “Jĕmbalang.” From the frequency with which this juxtaposition occurs, and from the fact that the two appear to be used largely as convertible terms, we might expect to find that Jin and Jĕmbalang were mere synonyms, both applicable to similar classes of spirits. The process is not quite complete, however, as although the expression Jĕmbalang Tunggal (the only Jĕmbalang), is found as well as Jin Tunggal, the higher [98]honorific Sang Raja or Sa-Raja is never, so far as I am aware, prefixed to the word “Jĕmbalang,” though it is frequently prefixed to “Jin.” Of the other members of the Malay hierarchy who owe their introduction to Muhammadan influences, the only ones of importance are angels (Mala’ikat), prophets (Nabi), and headmen (Sheikh).

I will take them in this order.

Of the angels, unquestionably the most important are Azrael (ʿAzra’il or ʿIjrail), Michael (Mika’il), Israfel (Israfil, Ijrafil, or Serafil), and Gabriel (Jibra’il or ’Jabra’il, often corrupted into Raja Brahil). There can be no doubt that the foregoing are meant for the names of a group of four archangels, the name of Israfel corresponding to Abdiel, who generally occupies the fourth place in our own angelic hierarchy.

Their customary duties are apportioned among the four great angels as follows:—

Azrael is, as with us, the angel of death, who “carries off the lives of all creatures”; Israfel is “lord of all the different airs” in our body; Michael is the “giver of daily bread”; and Gabriel is a messenger or “bringer of news.”

Sometimes, again, a White Angel (Mala’ikat Puteh) is mentioned, e.g. as being in “charge of all things in the jungle,” but what his specific duties are in this connection does not transpire.

In an invocation addressed to the Sea-spirit, however, we find four more such angels mentioned, all of whom hold similar charges:—

[99]

No doubt the names of many more of the subordinate angels might be collected, as we are repeatedly told that they are forty-four in number.

Of the prophets (Nabi) there are an indefinite number, the title being applied to many of the more prominent characters who figure in our own Old Testament (as well as in the Korān), but who would not by ourselves be considered to possess any special qualifications for prophetic office. Among the more famous of these I may mention (after Muhammad and his immediate compeers) the prophet Solomon (sometimes considered—no doubt owing to his unrivalled reputation for magical skill—as the king of the Genii, whose assistance the hunter or trapper is continually invoking); the prophet David, celebrated for the beauty of his voice; and the prophet Joseph, celebrated for the beauty of his countenance. Besides these (and others of the same type), there is a group of minor prophets whose assistance is continually invoked in charms; these are the prophet Tap (Tĕtap or Kĕtap?), “lord of the earth;” the prophet Khailir (Khaithir or Khizr), “lord of water;” the prophet Noah, “lord of trees;” and the prophet Elias, “planter of trees.”

Khizr is often confounded with Elias. He discovered and drank of the fountain of life (whence his connection with water), and will consequently not die till the last trump.

Next to the prophets comes the “Sultan” (Sultan), or “King” (Malik), both of which Arabic titles, however, are somewhat rarely used by Malay magicians. Still we find such expressions as Sa-Raja (Sang-Raja?) Malik (King of Kings) applied to Batara Guru. [100]

Next to these royal honorifics comes the title of “Headman” or “Sheikh.”

There are, it is usually stated, four of these Sheikhs who are “penned” (di-kandang) in the Four Corners of the Earth respectively, and whose names are ʿAbdul Kadir, ʿAbdul Muri, a third whose name is not mentioned, and ʿAbdul ʿAli.22

Sometimes they are called “Sheikh ʿAlam” (or Si Putar ʿAlam), and are each said to reside “within a ring-fence of white iron.” Hence we obtain a perfectly intelligible meaning for the expression, “Ask pardon of the Four Corners of the World,” i.e. of the Sheikhs who reside therein, though the phrase sounds ridiculous enough without such explanation.

The only other Arabic title which is perhaps worth noticing here23 is that of “Priest” (Imām), which we find somewhat curiously used in an invocation addressed to the sea-spirit. “Imām An Jalil is the name of the ‘Priest of the Sea.’”

In the invocation addressed to the Sea-spirit we find the expression:—

“Jungle-chief of the World is the name of the Old Man of the Sea.”

There can, however, be little doubt that this “Old Man of the Sea” is a mere synonym for Batara Guru.

A set of expressions to which special reference should perhaps be made consists of the titles used by the wild jungle tribes (Sakais), the use of which [101]is important as confirming the principle that the “Autochthones” are more influential with the spirits residing in their land than any later arrivals can be, whatever skill the latter may have acquired in the magic arts of the country from whence they came.

“Abdullah bin Abdul Kadir, Munshi, in his Autobiography, has an interesting passage on the beliefs of the Malays on the subject of spirits and demons, beliefs which are much more deeply-rooted than is generally supposed. He does not, however, differentiate between national customs and beliefs, and those which have come in with the Muhammadan religion. And indeed it is not easy to do so. Here, everything is classed under the generic term sheitan, which is Arabic, and we find the rakshasa of Hindu romances and the jin and ʿefrit of the Arabian Nights in the company of a lot of Indo-Chinese spirits and goblins, who have not come from the West like the others:—

“I explained to Mr. M. clearly the names of all the sheitan believed in by Chinese and Malays; all ignorance and folly which have come down from their ancestors in former times, and exist up to the present day, much more than I could relate or explain. I merely enumerated the varieties, such as hantu, sheitan,24 polong,25 pontianak, penanggalan,26 jin,27 pelisit,28 mambang,29 hantu pemburu,30 hantu rimba, jadi-jadian,31 [102]hantu bengkus,32 bota, gargasi, raksaksa,33 nenek kabayan,34 himbasan,35 sawan,36 hantu mati di-bunoh,37 bajang,38 katagoran, sempak-kan, puput-kan,39 ʿefrit,40 jemalang,41 terkena,42 ubat guna.43 Besides all these there are ever so many ilmu-ilmu (branches of secret knowledge), all of which I could not remember, such as gagak,44 penundok,45 pengasih,46 kebal,47 kasaktian,48 tuju,49 ʿalimun,50 pendĕras,51 perahuh,52 chucha,53 pelali,54 perangsang,55 and a quantity of others. All these are [103]firmly believed in by the people. Some of these arts have their professors (guru) from whom instruction may be got. Others have their doctors, who can say this is such and such a disease, and this is the remedy for it, and besides these there are all those arts which are able to cause evil to man. When Mr. M. heard all this he was astonished and wondered, and said, ‘Do you know the stories of all these?’ I replied, ‘If I were to explain all about them it would fill a large book, and the contents of the book would be all ignorance and nonsense without any worth, and sensible persons would not like to listen to it, they would merely laugh at it.’”56

To the foregoing the following list of spirits and ghosts may be added.

The Hantu Kubor (Grave Demons) are the spirits of the dead, who are believed to prey upon the living whenever they get an opportunity. With them may be classed the “Hantu orang mati di-bunoh,” or “spirits of murdered men.”

“The Hantu Ribut is the storm-fiend that howls in the blast and revels in the whirlwind.”57

The Hantu Ayer and Hantu Laut are Water and Sea-spirits, and the Hantu Bandan is the Spirit of the Waterfall, which “may often be seen lying prone on the water, with head like an inverted copper (kawah),” where the water rushes down the fall between the rocks.

The Hantu Longgak58 is continually looking up in [104]the air. Those who are attacked by him foam at the mouth.

The Hantu Rimba (Deep-forest Demon), Hantu Raya59 (“Great” Demon), Hantu Dĕnei (Demon of Wild-beast-tracks), the Hantu-hantuan (Echo-spirits), and I think the Hantu Bakal, are all spirits of the jungle, but are perhaps somewhat less localised than the large class of spirits (such as the Malacca-cane, gharu, gutta, and camphor-tree spirits) which are specially associated with particular trees.

The Hantu B’rok is the Baboon Demon (the B’rok being what is generally called the “cocoa-nut monkey,” a sort of big baboon); it is sometimes supposed to take possession of dancers, and enable them, whilst unconscious, to perform wonderful climbing feats.

The Hantu Bĕlian, according to many Selangor Malays, is a tiger-spirit which takes the form of a bird. This bird is said to be not unlike the raquet-tailed king-crow (chĕnchawi), and to sit on the tiger’s back; whence it plucks out the tiger’s fur and swallows it, never allowing it to fall to the ground.60

The Hantu Songkei61 is the spirit who so often interferes with the toils for catching wild animals and snares for wildfowl (yang kachau jaring dan rachik). He is described as being invisible below the breast, [105]with a nose of enormous length, and eye-sockets stretched sideways to such an extent that he can see all round him.

The following charm is recited in order to “neutralise” his evil influence:—

Giants are called Bota (Bhuta), Raksasa, and Gargasi (gasi-gasi or gĕgasi), or sometimes Hantu Tinggi (“Tall Demons”), the first two of these names being clearly derivable from a Sanskrit origin.

In addition to those enumerated we may add the various classes of “good people,” such as the Bidadari [106](or Bĕdiadari) or Pĕri (fairies and elves), which are of foreign origin, and the “Orang Bunyian,” a class of Malay spirits about whom very little seems known. The latter appear to be a race of good fairies, who are so simple-minded that they can be very easily cheated. Thus it is always said of them, that whenever they come into a hamlet, as they may occasionally do, to buy anything, they always pay without bargaining whatever price is asked, however exorbitant it may be. I have been told of their existence at Kapar village (near Klang in Selangor), at Jugra, where it was said they might formerly be heard paddling their boats upon the river when no boat was visible, and elsewhere.

Besides these there are several kinds of bloodsucking (vampire) demons, which are mostly Birth-spirits; and also certain incubi, such as the Hantu Kopek, which is the Malay equivalent of our own “night-mare.” [107]