" He was the mildest manner'd man
That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat." Byron—Don Juan.
[45]
To begin to
understand the Malay you must live in his country, speak his language, respect
his faith, be interested in his interests, humour his prejudices, sympathise
with and help him in trouble, and share his pleasures and possibly his risks.
Only thus can you hope to win his confidence. Only through that confidence, can
you hope to understand the inner man, and this knowledge can therefore only
come to those who have the opportunity and use it.
So far the means
of studying Malays in their own country (where alone they are seen in their
true character) have fallen to few Europeans, and a very small proportion of
them have shewn an inclination to get to the hearts of the people. There are a
hundred thousand Malays in Perak and some more in other parts of the Peninsula;
and the white man, whose interest in the race is strong enough, may not only
win confidence but the devotion that is ready to give life itself in the cause
of friendship. The Scripture says:— " there is no greater thing than
this," and in the end of the Nineteenth Century that is a form of
friendship all too rare. Fortunately this is a thing you cannot buy, but to
gain it is worth some effort.
The real Malay is a short,
thickset, well-built man with straight black hair, a dark brown complexion,
thick nose and lips, and bright intelligent eyes. His disposition is generally
kindly, his manners
THE REAL MALAY |
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are polite and easy. Never
cringing, he is reserved with strangers and suspicious, though he does not shew
it. He is courageous and trustworthy in the discharge of an undertaking; but he
is extravagant, fond of borrowing money, and very slow in repaying it. He is a
good talker, speaks in parables, quotes proverbs and wise saws, and is very
fond of a good joke. He takes an interest in the affairs of his neighbours and
is consequently a gossip. He is a Muhammadan and a fatalist, but he is also
very superstitious. He never drinks intoxicants, he is rarely an opium smoker.
But he is fond of gambling, cock-fighting and kindred sports. He is by nature a
sportsman, catches and tames elephants, is a skilful fisherman, and thoroughly
at home in a boat. Above all things, he is conservative to a degree, is proud
and fond of his country and his people, venerates his ancient customs and
traditions, fears his Rajas and has a proper respect for constituted
authority—while he looks askance on all innovations and will resist their
sudden introduction. But if he has time to examine them carefully and they are
not thrust upon him, he is willing to be convinced of their advantage. At the
same time he is a good, imitative, learner, and, when he has energy and
ambition enough for the task, makes a good mechanic. He is, however, lazy to a degree,
is without method or order of any kind, knows no regularity even in the hours
of his meals, and considers time as of no importance. His house is untidy, even
dirty, but, he bathes twice a day and is very fond of personal adornment, in
the shape of smart clothes.
A Malay is
intolerant of insult or slight; it is something that to
THE REAL MALAY |
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him should be wiped out in blood.
He will brood over a real or fancied stain on his honour until he is possessed
by the desire for revenge. If he cannot wreak it on the offender, he will
strike out at the first human being that comes in his way, male or female, old
or young. It is this state of blind fury, this vision of blood, that produces
the amok. The Malay has often been called treacherous. I question whether he
deserves the reproach. He is courteous and expects courtesy in return, and he
understands only one method of wiping out personal insults.
The spirit of
the clan is also strong in him. He acknowledges the necessity of carrying out,
even blindly, the orders of his hereditary chief, while he will protect his own
relatives at all costs and make their quarrel his own.
In his youth,
the Malay boy is often beautiful, a thing of wonderful eyes, eyelashes and
eyebrows, with a far-away expression of sadness and solemnity, as though he had
left some better place for a compulsory exile on earth. Unlike the child of
Japan, he never looks as if his nurse had forgotten to wipe his nose. He is
treated with elaborate respect, sleeps when he wishes, and sits up till any
hour of the night if he so desires, eats when he is hungry, has no toys, is
never whipped, and hardly ever cries.
Until he is
fifteen or sixteen, this atmosphere of a better world remains about him. He is
often studious even, and duly learns to read the Koran in a language he does
not understand.
Then, well then
from sixteen to twenty-five or later, he is to be avoided. He takes his
pleasure, sows his wild oats like youths
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[48]
of a higher civilization, is extravagant,
open-handed, gambles, gets into debt, runs away with his neighbour's wife, and
generally asserts himself. Then, follows a period when he either adopts this
path and pursues it, or, more commonly, he weans himself gradually from an
indulgence that has not altogether realized his expectation—and if, under the
advice of older men, he seeks and obtains a, position of credit and usefulness
in society from which he begins at last to earn some profit, he will from the
age of forty probably develop into an intelligent man of miserly and rather
grasping habits with some one little pet indulgence of no very expensive kind.
The Malay girl
child is not usually so attractive in appearance as the boy, and less
consideration is shewn to her. She runs wild till the time comes for investing
her in a garment, that is to say when she is about five years old. From then,
she is taught to help in the house and kitchen, to sew, to read and write,
perhaps to work in the padi field, but she is kept out of the way of all strange
menkind. When fifteen or sixteen, she is often almost interesting; very shy,
very fond of pretty clothes and ornaments, not uncommonly much fairer in
complexion than the Malay man, with small hands and feet, a happy smiling face,
good teeth, and wonderful eyes and eyebrows—the eyes of the little Malay boy.
The Malay girl is proud of a wealth of straight, black hair, of a spotless
olive complexion, of the arch of her brow,—"like a one-day-old
moon"—of the curl of her eyelashes, and of the dimples in cheek or chin.
Malays, though
Muhammadans by profession, though they would, individually, suffer crucifixion
sooner than deny their faith,
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[49]
are not very bigoted, and not
very strict in the observance of religions forms and ceremonies. Unmarried
girls are taught to avoid all men except those nearly related to them. Until
marriage, it is considered unmaidenly for them to raise her eves or take any
part or interest in their surroundings when men are present. This leads to an
affectation of modesty which, however overstrained, deceives nobody.
After marriage,
a woman gets a considerable amount of freedom which she naturally values. In
Perak a man, who tries to shut his womankind up and prevent their intercourse
with others and a participation in the fetes and pleasures of Malay society, is
looked upon as a jealous, ill-conditioned person.
Malays are
extremely particular about questions of rank and birth, especially when it
comes to marriage, and misalliances, as understood in the West, are with them
very rare.
The general
characteristics of Malay women, especially those of gentle birth, are powers of
intelligent conversation, quickness in repartee, a strong sense of humour and
an instant appreciation of the real meaning of those hidden sayings which are
hardly ever absent from their conversation. They are fond of reading such
literature as their language offers, and they use uncommon words and
expressions, the meanings of which are hardly known to men. For the telling of
secrets, they have several modes of speech not understanded of the people.
They are
generally amiable in disposition, mildly—sometimes fiercely—jealous, often
extravagant and, up to about the age of forty, evince an increasing fondness
for jewellery and smart clothes. In
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these latter days, they are
developing a pretty taste for horses, carriages, and whatever conduces to
luxury and display, though, in their houses, there are still a rugged
simplicity and untidiness, absolutely devoid of all sense of order.
A Malay is
allowed by law to have as many as four wives, to divorce them, and replace
them. If he is well off and can afford so much luxury, he usually takes
advantage of the power to marry more than one wife, to divorce and secure successors,
but he seldom undertakes the responsibility of four wives at one time. The
woman on her part can, and often does, obtain a divorce from her husband.
Written conditions of marriage " settlements " of a kind, are common
with people in the upper classes and the law provides for the custody of
children, division of property, and so on. The ancient maiden lady is an
unknown quantity, so is the Malay public woman; and, as there is no society
bugbear, the people lead lives that are almost natural. There are no drunken
husbands, no hobnailed boots, and no screaming viragoes,—because a word would
get rid of them. All forms of madness, mania, and brain-softening are extremely
rare.
Some idea of
what Malays are in their own country may best be conveyed by taking the reader
in imagination through some scenes of the Perak Malays' life. The tiger, for
instance, is not deliberately sought, if he kills a buffalo a spring gun is set
to shoot him when he returns for his afternoon meal, but sometimes the tiger
comes about a village and it is necessary to get rid of so dangerous a visitor.
Let me try to put the scene before you.
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[51]
But how describe
an Eastern dawn ? Sight alone will give a true impression of its strange
beauty. Out of darkness and stillness, the transition to light—intense
brilliant light—and the sounds of awakened life, is rapid .and complete, a
short half hour or less turning night into tropical day. The first indication
of dawn is a grey haze, then the clouds clothing the Western hills are shot
with pale yellow and in a few minutes turn to gold, while- Eastern ranges are
still in darkness. The light spreads to the Western slopes, moves rapidly
across the valleys and suddenly the sun, a great ball of fire, appears above
the Eastern hills. The fogs, which have risen from the rivers and marshes and
covered the land, as with a pall, rise like smoke and disappear, and the whole
face of the land is flooded with light, the valleys and slopes of the Eastern
ranges being the last to feel the influence of the risen sun.
That grey
half-light which precedes dawn is the signal for Malays to be stirring. The
doors are opened and, only half awake and shivering in the slight breeze made
by the rising fog, they leave their houses and make for the nearest stream,
there to bathe and fetch fresh water for the day's use. A woman dressed in the
" sarong," a plaid skirt of silk or cotton, and a jacket, walks
rapidly to the river carrying a long bamboo and some gourds which, after bathing,
she fills and begins to walk home through the wealth of vegetation that clothes
the whole face of the country. She follows a narrow path up from the bed of the
clear stream, the jungle trees and orchards, the long rank grasses and tangled
creepers almost hiding the path. Suddenly, she stops spell-
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[52]
bound, her knees give way under
her, the vessels drop from her nerveless hands and a speechless fear turns her
blood to water, for (here, in front of her, is a great black and yellow head
with cruel yellow eyes and a half open mouth shewing a red tongue and long
white teeth. The shoulders and fore feet of the tiger stand clear of the thick
foliage and a hoarse low roar of surprise and anger comes from the open month.
An exceeding great fear chains the terrified woman to the spot and the tiger,
thus faced, sulkily and with more hoarse grumbling slowly draws back into the
jungle and disappears, Then, the instinct of self preservation returns to the
woman and, with knees still weak and a cold hand on her heart, she stumbles,
with what speed she may, back to the river, down the bank and to the friendly
shelter of the nearest dwelling. It takes little time to tell the story and the
men of the house, armed with spears and krises and an old rusty gun, quickly
spread the news throughout the 'kampong' as each cluster of huts and orchards
is called. Every one arms himself with such weapons as he possesses, the boys
of sixteen or seventeen climb into trees from which they hope to see and be
able to report the movements of the beast. The men, marshalled by the 'ka tua
kainpong,' the village chief, make their plans for surrounding the spot where
the tiger was seen, and word is sent by messenger to the nearest Police Station
and European officer. Whilst all this is taking place, the tiger, probably
conscious that too many people are about, leaves his lair and stealthily creeps
along a path which will lead him far from habitations, But, as he does so, he
passes under a tree where sits one of
THE REAL MALAY |
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the young watchmen, and the boy,
seizing his opportunity, drops a heavy spear on the tiger as he passes and
gives him a serious wound. The beast, with a roar of pain, leaps into the
jungle carrying the spear with him; and, after what he considers a safe
interval, the boy climbs down, gets back to the circle of watchers, and reports
what has occurred. For a long time, there is silence, no one caring to go in
and seek a wounded tiger—but this monotony is broken rudely and suddenly by a shot
on the outskirts of the wide surrounding ring of beaters where a young Malay
has been keeping guard over a jungle track. Instantly the nearest rush to the
spot only to find the boy badly wounded, after firing a shot that struck the
tiger but did not prevent him reaching and pulling down the youth who fired it.
Hardly has a party carried the wounded man to shelter, than news arrives that,
in trying to break the ring at another, point, the tiger has sprung upon the
point of a spear held in rest by a kneeling Malay, and, the spear, passing
completely through the beast's body, the tiger has come down on the man's back
and killed him. The old men say it is because, regardless of the wisdom of
their ancestors, fools now face a tiger with spears unguarded, whereas in the
olden time it was always the custom to tie a crosspiece of wood where blade
joins shaft to prevent the tiger 'running up the spear' and killing his
opponent. The game is getting serious now and the tiger has retired to growl
and roar in a thick isolated copse of bushes and tangled undergrowth from which
it seems impossible to draw him, and where it would be madness to seek him.
By this time,
all the principal people in the neighbourhood have
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been collected. The copse is
surrounded and two elephants are ridden at the cover, in the hope of driving
the wounded tiger from his shelter. A vain hope, for, when the huge beasts get
inconveniently near to him, the tiger with a great roar springs on to the
shoulder of the nearest elephant and brings him to his knees. The terrified
occupants of the howdah are thus deposited on the ground, but lose no time in
picking themselves up and getting away. The elephant with a scream of terror
whirls round, throwing off the tiger with a broken tooth, and, accompanied by
his fellow, rushes from the place and will not be stopped till several miles
have been covered and the river is between them and the copse.
Severe maladies
want desperate and heroic remedies. After a short consultation, a young Malay
Chief' and several of his friends, armed only with spears, express their
determination to seek the tiger where he lies. They immediately put the plan
into execution. Shoulder to shoulder and with spears in rest, they advance to
the copse. They have not long to wait in doubt for the wounded and enraged
beast, with open mouth and eyes blazing fell purpose, charges straight at them.
There is the shock of flesh against steel, an awful snarling and straining of
muscles and the already badly wounded tiger is pinned to the ground and dies
under the thrusts of many spears. The general result of a tiger hunt, under
such circumstances, is the death or serious injury of one or two of the
pursuers.
Now come to a
Malay picnic. Again, it is early morning, the guests have been invited
overnight and warned to come on their elephants and bring " rice and
salt." By the time the sun is well up
THE REAL MALAY |
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there are fifty or sixty people,
(of whom about half are women) mounted on twelve or fifteen elephants, and some
boys and followers are prepared to walk. The word is given to make for a great
limestone hill rising abruptly out of the plain, for, close round the foot of
this rock, eating its way into the unexplored depths of sub-aqueous caves, flows
a clear mountain-bred stream and, in the silent pools which lie under the
shadow of the cliff, are the fish which, with the rice and salt, will make the
coming feast. The road lies through six or seven miles of open country and
virgin forest, and it is 9 or 10 a. m. before the river is reached, the
elephants hobbled, and the men of the party ready for business. In days gone
by, the method would have been to " tuba
" the stream above a pool, but this poisoning of the water affects the
river for miles, and dynamite, which is not nearly so destructive, is
preferred. The plan is to select a large and deep pool round which the men
stand ready to spring in, while the women make a cordon across the shallow at
its lower end, ready to catch the fish that escape the hands of the swimmers.
Two cartridges of dynamite with a detonator and a piece of slow match are tied
to a stone and thrown into the deepest part of the pool, there is an explosion
sending up a great column of water, and immediately the dead fish come to the
surface and begin to float down stream. Twenty men spring into the pool and
with shouts and laughter struggle for the slippery fish ; those which elude the
grasp of the swimmers are caught by the women. It will then be probably
discovered that no very big fish have been taken ; and, as it is certain that
some at least should be there, the boldest and best divers will search the
bottom of the pool and even look into the
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water-filled caves of the rock
that there rises sheer out of the stream. Success rewards this effort and, from
the bed of the pool, some sixteen or eighteen feet deep, the divers bring up,
two at a time, great silvery fish weighing ten to fifteen pounds each. There is
much joy over the capture of these " Kla " and " tengas," the
best kinds of fresh water fish known here, and, if the total take is not a
large one, the operation will be repeated in another and yet another pool until
a sufficient quantity of fish have been secured and everyone is tired of the
water. There is a general change of wet garments for dry ones, no difficult
matter, while, long before this, fires have been made on the bank, rice is
boiling, fish are roasting in split sticks, grilling, frying, and the hungry
company is settling itself in groups ready for the meal. It is a matter of
honour that no plates should be used, so everyone has a piece of fresh green
plantain leaf to hold his rice and salt and fish, while nature supplies the
forks and spoons. Whether it is the exercise, the excitement or the coldness of
the two hours' bath that is most responsible for the keen appetites is not
worth enquiry, but thorough justice is done to the food ; and if you. reader,
should ever be fortunate enough to take part in one of these picnics, you will
declare that you never before realized how delicious a meal can be made of such
simple ingredients. Some one has smuggled in a few condiments and they add
largely to the success of the Malay ' bouille-abaisse,' but people affect not
to know they are there and you go away assured that rice and salt did it all.
That is part of the game.
And now it is
time to return, the sun has long pinned the meridian and there is a mile or two
of forest before getting into the open
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country. The timid amongst the
ladies feign alarm (Malays are sensible people who take only the young to
picnics and leave the old to mind the houses) and a desire to get. away at
once, but there are others who know what is in store for them. The elephants
are brought up and each pannier is found to be loaded with jungle fruit, large
and small, ripe and unripe, hard and soft, but generally hard as stones.
Everyone knows the meaning of this and, as the elephants kneel down to take
their riders, you may observe that usually two men sit in front, two women
behind, and the latter are anxious about their umbrellas and shew a tendency to
open them here where, in the gloom of the forest, they are not needed. The
first two or three elephants move off quickly, and, having turned a corner in
the path, disappear. It is necessary to proceed in Indian file, and as the next
elephant comes to this corner he and his company are assailed by a perfect
shower of missiles (the jungle fruit) from the riders of the first section of
elephants who are slily waiting here to surprise those behind. The attack is
returned with interest and the battle wages hot and furious. The leaders of the
rear column try to force their way past those who dispute the path with them,
and either succeed or put the enemy to flight only to find a succession of
ambuscades laid for them, each resulting in a deadly struggle, and so, throughout
the length of the forest, the more venturesome pushing their way to the front
or taking up an independent line and making enemies of all comers, until, at
last, the whole party clears the jungle and, taking open order, a succession of
wild charges soon gets every
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one into the fray and, the supply
of ammunition having run out, there is nothing left but to count the damage
done.
It is
principally in broken umbrellas which have been used as shields, but some
garments are stained, and there may be a few bruises treated with much good
humour, and, by the time the party has straightened its dishevelledness, it is
found that the miles of otherwise tedious journey have been passed and everyone
is home ere the lengthening shadows suddenly contract and tell the sun has set.
One afternoon,
in last year, a foreign Malay named Lenggang, who made a living by hawking in a
boat on the Perak River, left Bota with his usual cargo and $100 which his
cousin, the son of the Penghulu, had been keeping for him. He was alone in the
boat and dropped down stream saying he would call at some of the villages that
line at intervals the banks of the river. The next day this man's dead body,
lying partly under a mosquito curtain, was discovered in the boat as it drifted
past the village of Pulau Tiga, The local headman viewed it but saw nothing to
arouse his suspicions, for the boat was full of valuables and a certain amount
of money, while nothing in the boat seemed to have been disturbed and there
were no marks of violence on the corpse which was duly buried.
When the matter
was reported enquiries were made but they elicited nothing. Some months later
the relatives of the dead man appeared at Teluk Anson, and said they had good
reason to believe that he had met with foul play, indeed that he had been
murdered at a place called Lambar—a few miles below Bota and above Pulau
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Tiga. An intelligent Malay
Sergeant of Police proceeded to the spot, arrested a number of people, who
denied all knowledge of the affair, and took them to Teluk Anson. Arrived
there, these people said they were able to give all the necessary information if
that would procure their release, as they had only promised to keep their
mouths shut so long as they themselves did not suffer for it.
The details of
the story as told in evidence are as follows, and they are very characteristic
of the Malay :—
It appears that
the hawker duly arrived in his boat at Lambar, and there tied up for the night
to a stake, about twenty feet from the bank of the river. Shortly afterwards a
Malay named Ngah Prang, stopped three of his acquaintances walking on the bank,
asked them if they had seen the hawker's boat, and suggested that it would be a
good thing to rob him. They said they were afraid, and some other men coming up
asked one of those to whom the proposal had been made what they were talking
about, and, being told, advised him to have nothing to do with the business and
the party dispersed.
That evening, at
8 p.m. several people heard cries of " help, help, I am being killed
" from the river, and five or six men ran out of their houses down to the
bank, a distance of only fifty yards, whence they saw, in the brilliant
moonlight, Ngah Prang and two other men in the hawker's boat, the hawker lying
flat on his back while one man had both hands at his throat, another held his
wrists, and the third his feet; but it is said that those on the bank heard a
noise of rapping as though feet were kicking or hands beating
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quickly the deck of the boat. It
only lasted for a moment and then there was silence.
As those who had
been roused by the cries came down the bank they called to the men in the boat,
barely twenty feet away, and lighted at their work by the brilliance of an
Eastern moon, to know what they were doing ; they even addressed them by their
names, but they gave no answer, and, getting up from off the hawker, untied the
boat, one taking a pole and another the rudder and disappeared down the river.
The hawker did not move. He was dead.
The witnesses of
this tragedy appear then to have returned to their homes and slept peacefully.
Several of them naively remarked that they heard the next day that the hawker
had been found dead in his boat, and it appears that when one of these
witnesses, on the following day, met one of the murderers, he asked him what he
was doing in Lenggang's boat, and the man replied that they were robbing him,
that he held the hawker by the throat, the others by the hands and feet, but
that really they had got very little for their trouble. Meanwhile the three
murderers told several of the eyewitnesses of the affair that, if they said
anything, it would be the worse for them, and nothing particular occurred till
a notice was posted in the Mosque calling upon any one who knew anything about
Lenggang's death to report it to the village Headman. Then Ngah Prang, who
apparently was the original instigator of the job, as so often happens, thought
he would save himself at the expense of his friends, and actually went himself
to make a report, and, meeting on the way one of the eye-witnesses going on a
similar errand, he per-
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suaded him to give a qualified
promise to help in denying Ngah Prang's complicity while convicting the others.
Needless to say
that, from the moment the fresh disclosure was made and communicated to the
Police, resulting in the arrest of a number of those who had actually witnessed
the crime, every smallest detail was gradually brought to light, the hawker's
property, even his own clothes, gradually recovered, the money stolen from him
traced and no single link left wanting in a chain of evidence strong enough to
convict and hang the guilty men. That indeed was the result.
I have told the
story of this crime, which is devoid of sensational incident, because it will
give some idea of the state of feeling in a real Malay kampong of poor
labouring people far from any outside influence. The man murdered was a Malay,
the idea that he was worth something which could be obtained by the
insignificant sacrifice of his life seems to have at once suggested that
Providence was putting a good thing in the way of poor people, and those who
were not afraid determined that the opportunity was not to be lost. The murder
is discussed practically in public, it is executed also in public, in the
presence of a feebly expostulating opposition and then every one goes to bed.
The only further concern of the community in the matter is as to how much the
murderers got. For them the incident ends there, and, if anyone has any qualms
of conscience, they are silenced by the threats of the men who so easily
throttled the hawker. It is only when enquiries are pushed and things are
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made generally unpleasant for
everyone that the truth is unwillingly disclosed, and the penalty paid.
The Malays of
Perak occasionally indulge themselves in a form of amusement which, I believe,
is peculiar to them. Though of ancient origin, it is not well known even here,
and, as new sensations are the desire of our time, I offer it to the jaded
pleasure-seekers of the West.
Given a fine
sunny morning, (and that is what most mornings are in Perak,) you will drive
four or five miles to the appointed place of meeting, and there find a crowd of
one or two hundred Malay men, women, and children, who have been duly bidden to
menglunchor " and to take part in the picnic which forms a recognised
accompaniment to the proceedings. A walk of a couple of miles along a shady
jungle path brings the pleasure seekers to the foot of a spur of hills, whence
a clear mountain stream leaps down a succession of cascades to fertilize the
plain. There is a stiff climb for several hundred feet until the party gains a
great granite rock in the bed of the stream, large enough to accommodate a much
more numerous gathering. In a "spate" this rock might Lie covered,
but now the water flows round it and dashes itself wildly over the falls below.
Up-stream, however, there is a sheer smooth face of granite, about sixty feet
long, inclined at an angle of say 45°, and, while the main body of water finds
its way down one side of this rock and then across its foot, a certain
quantity, only an inch or two deep, flows steadily down the face. The depth of
water here can be increased at will by bamboo troughs, leading out of the great
pool
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which lies at the head of the
waterfall. At the base of the rock, is an inviting ljnn not more than four feet
deep. On either side, the river is shut in by a wealth of jungle foliage
through which the sun strikes at rare intervals, just sufficiently to give the
sense of warmth and colour. It is delightfully picturesque with all these
people in their many-coloured garments, grouped in artistic confusion, on bank
and rock. They only sit for a brief rest after the climb, to collect wood, make
fires and get the work of cooking started, and you will not be left long in
doubt as to the meaning of meng-lunchor. It is to slide and the game is to
" toboggan " down this waterfall into the lynn at its base. A crowd
of little boys are already walking up the steep, slippery rock. They go to the
very top, sit down in the shallow water with feet straight out in front of them
and a hand on either side for guidance, and immediately begin to slide down the
sixty feet of height, gaining, before they have gone half way, so great a speed
that the final descent into the pool is like the fall of a stone. They succeed
each other in a constant stream, those behind coming on the top of those who
have already reached the lynn. But now the men, and lastly the women, are drawn
to join the sliders and the fun becomes indeed both fast and furious. The women
begin timidly, only half way up the slide, but soon grow bolder, and mixed
parties of four, six, and eight in rows of two, three, or four each, start
together and, with a good deal of laughter and ill directed attempts at mutual
assistance, dash wildly into the pool which is almost constantly full of a
struggling, screaming crowd of young people of both sexes. If you understand
the game, the slide is a graceful progress, but, if you
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don't, if you fail to sit erect,
if you do not keep your feet together, above all if you lose your balance and
do not remain absolutely straight on the slide, then your descent will be far
from graceful, it may even be slightly painful and the final plunge into the
lvnn will be distinctly undignified. It is well to leave your dignity at home,
if you go to meng-lunchor with a Malay party, for those who do not weary
themselves with tobogganing become absolutely exhausted with laughing at the
sliders. The fascination of the thing is extraordinary and, to read this poor
description, you would think it impossible that any sane person would spend
hours in straggling up a steep and slippery rock to slide down it on two inches
of water; and, having gained a starting velocity, leap into a shallow pool
where half a dozen people will be on you before you can get out of the way. And
yet I will guarantee that, if your joints are not stiff with age and you are
not afraid of cold water, or ridicule, or personal damage (and you will admit
none of those things) you would meng-lunchor with the best of them, nor be the
first to cry ' hold, enough.'
It is usual for
the men, when sliding down the rock, to sit upon a piece of the thick fibre of
the plantain called ' upei.' It is perhaps advisable, but the women do not seem
to want it. It is surprising that there are so few casualties and of such small
importance—some slight abrasions, a little bumping of the heads, at most the
loss of a tooth, will be the extent of the total damage, and with a little care
there need be none at all.
By 1 p. m.,
everyone will probably be tired, dry garments are donned, and a very hungry
company does ample justice to the meal.
THE REAL MALAY |
About Perak
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An hour will be
spent in smoking and gossip and, as the shadows begin to lengthen, a long
procession will slowly wend its way back, down the slippery descent, across the
sunny fields, and through the forest, to the trysting-place where all met in
the morning and whence they now return to their own homes.
Mention has been
made of the Malay " Amok,' and. as what, with our happy faculty for
mispronunciation and misspelling of the words of other languages, is called
"running amuck" is with many English people their only idea of the
Malay, and that a very vague one, it may be of interest to briefly describe
this form of homicidal mania. Meng-amok is to make a sudden, murderous attack,
and though it is applied to the onslaught of a body of men in war time, or
where plunder is the object and murder the means to arrive at it. The term is
more commonly used to describe the action of an individual who, suddenly and
without apparent cause, seizes a weapon and strikes out blindly, killing and
wounding all who come in his way, regardless of age or sex, whether they be
friends, strangers, or his own nearest relatives,
Just before
sunset on the evening of the 11th February, 1891, a Malay named Imam Mamat
(that is Mamat the priest) came quietly into the house of his brother-in-law at
Pasir Garam on the Perak River, carrying a spear and a golok, i.e. a sharp,
pointed cutting knife. The Imam went up to his brother-in-law. took his hand
and asked his pardon. He then approached his own wife and similarly asked her
pardon, immediately stabbing her fatally in the abdomen with the golok. She
fell, and her brother, rushing to assist her, received a
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About Perak
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mortal wound in the heart. The
brother-in-law's wife was in the house with four children, and they managed to
get out before the Imam had time to do more than stab the last of them, a boy,
in the back as he left the door. At this moment, a man, who had heard the
screams of the women, attempted to enter the house, when the Imam rushed at him
and inflicted a slight wound, the man falling to the ground and getting away.
Having secured two more spears which he found in the house, the murderer now
gave chase to the woman and her three little children and made short work of
them. A tiny girl of four years old and a boy of seven were killed, while the
third child received two wounds in the back; a spear thrust disposed of the
mother—all this within one hundred yards of the house. The Imam now walked down
the river bank where he was met by a friend named Uda Majid, rash enough to
think his unarmed influence would prevail over the other's madness. He greeted
the Imam respectfully, and said “You recognise me, don't let there be any
trouble." The Imam replied " Yes I know you, but my spear does
not," and immediately stabbed him twice. Though terribly injured. Uda
Majid wrested the spear from the Imam who again stabbed him twice, this time in
lung and windpipe, and he fell. Another man coming up ran unarmed to the
assistance of Uda Majid, when the murderer turned on the new-comer and pursued
him; but, seeing Uda Majid get up and attempt to stagger away, the Imam went
back to him and, with two more stabs in the back, killed him. Out of the six
wounds inflicted on this man three would have proved fatal. The murderer now
rushed along the river bank and was twice seen to wade far
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About Perak
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out into the water and return.
Then, he was lost sight of. By this time the news had spread up stream and
down, and every one was aware that there was abroad an armed man who would
neither give nor receive quarter.
For two days, a
body of not less than two hundred armed men under the village chiefs made
ceaseless but unavailing search for the murderer. At 6 p. m. on the second day,
Imam Mamat suddenly appeared in front of the house of a man called Lasam who
had barely time to slam the door in his face and fasten it. The house, at that
moment, contained four men, five women, and seven children, and the only weapon
they possessed was one spear.
Lasam asked the
Imam what he wanted, and he said he wished to be allowed to sleep in the house.
He was told he could do so if he would throw away his arms, and to this the
Imam replied by an attempt to spear Lasam through the window. The latter,
however, seized the weapon and, with the help of his son, wrested it out of the
Imam's hands, Lasam receiving a stab in the face from the golok. During this
struggle, the Imam had forced himself half way through the window, and Lasam,
seizing his own spear, thrust it into the thigh of the murderer who fell to the
ground. In the fall, the shaft of the spear broke off leaving the blade in the
wound.
It was now pitch
dark, and, as the people of the house did no know the extent of the Imam's
injury or what lie was doing, a man went out by the back to spread the news and
call the village Headman. On his arrival the light of a torch shewed the Imam
lying on the
THE REAL MALAY |
About Perak
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ground with his weapons out of
reach, and the Headman promptly pounced upon him and secured him.
The Imam was
duly handed over to the Police and conveyed to Teluk Anson, but he died from
loss of blood within twenty-four hours of receiving his wound.
Here is the
official list of the killed and wounded—
Killed.
Alang Rasak,
wife of Imam Maniat, aged 33
Bilal Abu,
brother-in-law of do ... „ 35
Ngah Intan, wife
of Bilal Abu ... „ 32
Puteh, daughter
of Bilal Abu .., „
4
Mumin, son of
Bilal Abu ... „ 7
Uda Majid ... . 35
Wounded
Kasim, son of
Bilal Abu ... aged 14
Teh, daughter of
Bilal Abu ... , 6
Mat Sah .......... 45
Lasam
It is terrible
to have to add that both the women were far advanced in pregnancy.
Imam Mamat was a
man of over forty years of age. of good repute with his neighbours, and I never
heard any cause suggested why this quiet, elderly man of devotional habits
should suddenly, without apparent reason, develope the most inhuman instincts
and brutally murder a number of men, women, and children, his nearest relatives
and friends. It is however quite possible that the man
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was suffering under the burden of
some real or fancied wrong which, after long brooding, darkened his eyes and
possessed him with this insane desire to kill.
An autopsy was performed on the murderer's body
and the published report of the Surgeon says:—"I hereby certify that I
" this day made a postmortem examination of the body of Imam "
Mahomed and find him to have died from haemorrhage from a " wound on the
outer side of right thigh ; the internal organs were " healthy except that
the membranes of the right side of brain were " more adherent than
usual,"
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