Malay Magic Being an introduction to the folklore and...

In the autumn of 1896 (in the Kuala Langat District of Selangor) the brother of my Malay collector ʿUmar happening to fall ill of some slight ailment, I asked and obtained permission to be present at the ceremony of doctoring the patient. The time fixed for the commencement of the ceremony (which is usually repeated for three consecutive nights) was seven o’clock on the following evening. On reaching the house at the time appointed I was met by ʿUmar, and ascending the house-ladder, was invited to seat myself upon a mat about two yards from the spot where the medicine-man was expected to take up his position. Having done so, and looking round, I found that there were in all nine persons present (including myself, but exclusive of the Pawang, his wife, or the patient), and I was informed that although it is not necessary for the same persons to be present on each of the three nights, the greatest care must be taken to see that the number of persons present, which should never, in strictness, be an even number, does not vary from night to night, because to allow any such variation would be to court disaster. Hence I myself was only enabled to be present as a substitute for one of the sick man’s relatives who had been there on the preceding night.142

The accompanying diagram shows (approximately) the relative positions of all who were present. In one corner of the room was the patient’s bed (sleeping-mat) and mosquito curtain with a patchwork front, and in a line parallel to the bed stood the three jars of water, each decorated with the sort of fringe or collar of plaited cocoa-nut fronds called “centipedes’ feet” (jari ’lipan), and each, too, furnished with a fresh yam-leaf covering to its mouth. A little nearer to me than the three water-jars, but in the same line, stood a fairly big jar similarly decorated, but filled with a big bouquet of artificial “flowers” and ornaments instead of the water. These flowers were skilfully manufactured from plaited strips of palm-leaf, and in addition to mere “flowers” represented such objects as rings, cocoa-nuts, centipedes, doves, and the like, all of which were made of the plaited fronds referred to. This invention was intended (I was informed) to represent a pleasure-garden (taman bunga), and indeed was so called; it was (I believe) intended to attract the spirit whom it was the object of the ceremony to invoke. In front of the three jars stood, as a matter of course, a censer filled with burning embers, and a box containing the usual accessories for the chewing of betel. Everything being now ready, the medicine-man appeared and took his seat beside the censer, his wife, an aged woman, whose office was to chant the invocation, to her own accompaniment, taking her seat at the same time near the head of the patient’s sleeping-mat.

Presently she struck up the invocation (lagu pĕmanggil), and we listened in rapt attention as the voice, at first weak and feeble with age, gathered strength and wailed ever higher and shriller up to the climax at the end of the chant. At the time it was hard to distinguish the words, but I learnt from her afterwards that this was what she sang:—

Meanwhile the medicine-man was not backward in his preparations for the proper reception of the spirit. First he scattered incense on the embers and fumigated himself therewith, “shampooing” himself, so to speak, with his hands, and literally bathing in the cloud of incense which volumed up from the newly-replenished censer and hung like a dense gray mist over his head. Next he inhaled the incense through his nostrils, and announced in the accents of what is called the spirit-language (bhasa hantu) that he was going to “lie down.” This he accordingly did, reclining upon his back, and drawing the upper end of his long plaid sarong over his head so as to completely conceal his features. The invocation was not yet ended, and for some time we sat in the silence of expectation. At length, however, the moment of possession arrived, and with a violent convulsive movement, which was startling in its suddenness, the “Pawang” rolled over on to his face. Again a brief interval ensued, and a second but somewhat less violent spasm shook his frame, the spasm being strangely followed by a dry and ghostly cough. A moment later and the Pawang, still with shrouded head, was seated bolt upright facing the tambourine player. Then he fronted round, still in a sitting posture, until he faced the jars, and removed the yam-leaf covering from the mouth of each jar in turn.

Next he kindled a wax taper at the flame of a lamp placed for the purpose just behind the jars, and planted it firmly on the brim of the first jar by spilling a little wax upon the spot where it was to stand. Two similar tapers having been kindled and planted upon the brims of the second and third jars, he then partook of a “chew” of betel-leaf (which was presented to him by one of the women present), crooning the while to himself.