I shall now proceed to describe the ceremony of invoking the Tiger Spirit for the purpose of obtaining his assistance in expelling a rival spirit of less power.

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:—

A number of rhymed stanzas follow which will be found in the Appendix.

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.

This refreshment concluded, he drew from his girdle a bezoar or talismanic stone (batu pĕnawar), and proceeded to rub it all over the patient’s neck and shoulders. Then, facing about, he put on a new white jacket and head-cloth which had been placed beside him for his use, and girding his plaid (sarong) about his waist, drew from its sheath a richly-wrought dagger (k’ris) which he fumigated in the smoke of the censer and returned to its scabbard.

He next took three silver 20-cent pieces of “Straits” coinage, to serve as batu buyong, or “jar-stones,” and after “charming” them dropped each of the three in turn into one of the water-jars, and “inspected” them intently as they lay at the bottom of the water, shading, at the same time, his eyes with his hand from the light of the tapers. He now charmed several handfuls of rice (“parched,” “washed,” and “saffron” rice), and after a further inspection declared, in shrill, unearthly accents, that each of the coins was lying exactly under its own respective taper, and that therefore his “child” (the sick man) was very dangerously ill, though he might yet possibly recover with the aid of the spirit. Next, scattering the rice round the row of jars (the track of the rice thus forming an ellipse), he broke off several small blossom-stalks from a sheaf of areca-palm blossom, and making them up with sprays of champaka into three separate bouquets, placed one of these improvised nosegays in each of the three jars of water. On the floor at the back of the row of jars he next deposited a piece of white cloth, five cubits in length, which he had just previously fumigated. Again drawing the dagger already referred to, the Pawang now successively plunged it up to the hilt into each of the three bouquets (in which hostile spirits might, I was told, possibly be lurking). Then seizing an unopened blossom-spathe of the areca-palm, he anointed the latter all over with “oil of Celebes,” extracted the sheaf of palm-blossom from its casing, fumigated it, and laid it gently across the patient’s breast. Rapidly working himself up into a state of intense excitement, and with gestures of the utmost vehemence, he now proceeded to “stroke” the patient with the sheaf of blossom rapidly downwards, in the direction of the feet, on reaching which he beat out the blossom against the floor. Then turning the patient over on to his face, and repeating the stroking process, he again beat out the blossom, and then sank back exhausted upon the floor, where he lay face downwards, with his head once more enveloped in the folds of the sarong.

A long interval now ensued, but at length, after many convulsive twitchings, the shrouded figure arose, amid the intense excitement of the entire company, and went upon its hands and feet. The Tiger Spirit had taken possession of the Pawang’s body, and presently a low, but startlingly life-like growl—the unmistakable growl of the dreaded “Lord of the Forest”—seemed to issue from somewhere under our feet, as the weird shrouded figure began scratching furiously at the mat upon which it had been quietly lying, and then, with occasional pauses for the emission of the growls, which had previously startled us, and the performance of wonderful cat-like leaps, rapidly licked up the handfuls of rice which had been thrown upon the floor in front of it. This part of the performance lasted, however, but a few minutes, and then the evident excitement of the onlookers was raised to fever pitch, as the bizarre, and, as it seemed to our fascinated senses, strangely brute-like form stooped suddenly forward, and slowly licked over, as a tigress would lick its cub, the all but naked body of the patient—a performance (to a European) of so powerfully nauseating a character that it can hardly be conceived that any human being could persist in it unless he was more or less unconscious of his actions. At all events, after his complete return to consciousness at the conclusion of the ceremony, even the Pawang experienced a severe attack of nausea, such as might well be supposed to be the result of his performance. Meanwhile, however, the ceremony continued. Reverting to a sitting posture (though still with shrouded head), the Pawang now leaned forward over the patient, and with the point of his dagger drew blood from his own arm; then rising to his feet he engaged in a fierce hand-to-hand combat with his invisible foe (the spirit whom he had been summoned to exorcise). At first his weapon was the dagger, but before long he discarded this, and laid about him stoutly enough with the sheaf of areca-palm blossom.

Presently, however, he quieted down somewhat, and commenced to “stroke” the sick man (as before) with the sheaf of palm-blossom, beating out the blossom upon the floor as usual at the end of the operation. Then sitting down again and crooning to himself, he partook of betel-leaf, faced round towards the patient and stooped over him, muttering as he did so, and passing his hands all over the prostrate form. Next he turned once more to the jars and again plunged his dagger into each of them in turn (to make sure that the evil spirit was not lurking in them), and then drawing his head-cloth over his head so as to completely hide his face, he once more took his seat beside the patient, stooping over him from time to time and crooning charms as he did so.

Finally he clapped his hands, removed his head-cloth, “stroked” the patient over and flicked him with the corners of it, and then shrouding himself once more in the sarong, lay down at full length in a state of complete exhaustion. A pause of about ten minutes’ duration now followed, and then with sundry convulsive twitchings the Pawang returned to consciousness and sat up, and the ceremony was over.

The following description of a ceremony similar to the one just described is taken from Malay Sketches:—

“The bĕr-hantu is, of course, a survival of præ-Islam darkness, and the priests abominate it, or say they do; but they have to be a little careful, because the highest society affects the practice of the Black Art.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I ascertained that each Malay State has its own special Spirits, each district is equally well provided, and there are even some to spare for special individuals. In this particular State there are four principal Jin; they are the Jin ka-râja-an, the State Spirit—also called Junjong dŭnia udâra, Supporter of the Firmament; Mâia udâra, the Spirit of the Air; Mahkôta si-râja Jin, the Crown of Royal Spirits; and S’tan Ali.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So ended the séance.

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

“The King did not die, after all—on the contrary, I was sent for twice again because he was not expected to live till the morning, and yet he cheated Death—for a time.”143

The ceremony called Mĕngalin, or the “sucking charm” ceremony, is one which is very curious, and deserves to be described in some detail.

First of all you perform the ceremony called “Driving out the Mischief” (buang badi) from the sick man (vide supra) in or to drive away all evil spirits (mĕnolak sakalian chĕkĕdi atau hantu). Then wrap the patient up in a white or black cloth, and taking a ball of (kneaded) dough (tĕpong pĕngalin), eggs and saffron, repeat the suitable charm, and roll it all over the skin of the patient’s body in order to draw out all poisonous influences (mĕnchabut sagala bisa-bisa). Then if you find inside the ball of dough after opening it an infinitesimally small splinter of bone, or a few red hairs, you will know that these belong to the evil spirit who has been plaguing the patient. The charm to be used when rolling the ball of dough over the skin runs as follows:—

A second charm of great length follows, the object of which is to drive out the evil spirit in possession of the man.

An example of this form of cure as practised by Malay medicine-men is referred to by Mr. Clifford, who, in speaking of his punkah-puller, Umat, says:—

“It was soon after his marriage that his trouble fell upon Umat, and swept much of the sunshine from his life. He contracted a form of ophthalmia, and for a time was blind. Native Medicine Men doctored him, and drew sheaves of needles and bunches of thorns from his eyes, which they declared were the cause of his affliction. These miscellaneous odds and ends used to be brought to me at breakfast-time, floating, most unappetisingly, in a shallow cup half-full of water; and Umat went abroad with eye-sockets stained crimson, or black, according to the fancy of the native physician. The aid of an English doctor was called in, but Umat was too thoroughly a Malay to trust the more simple remedies prescribed to him, and though his blindness was relieved, and he became able to walk without the aid of a staff, his eyesight could never really be given back to him.”144

In the above connection I may remark that, whether from the working of their own imaginations or otherwise, those who were believed to be possessed by demons certainly suffered, and that severely. H.H. Raja Kahar, the son of H.H. the late Sultan of Selangor, was attacked by a familiar demon during my residence in the Langat District, and shortly afterwards commenced to pine away. He declared that the offending demon was sitting in his skull, at the back of his head, and that it dragged up and devoured everything that he swallowed. Hence he refused at length to eat any sort of solid food, and gradually wasted away until he became a mere skeleton, and went about imploring people to take a hatchet and split his skull open, in order to extract the demon which he believed it to contain. Gradually his strength failed, and at length I learned from H.H. the Sultan (then Raja Muda) that all the Malays in the neighbourhood had assembled to wail at his decease. As we strolled among the cocoa-nut palms and talked, I told him of the many miraculous cures which had attended cases of faith-healing in England, and suggested, not of course expecting to be taken seriously, that he should try the effect of such a cure upon his uncle, and “make believe” to extract some “mantises” from the back of his head. To my intense astonishment some days later, I learned that this idea had been carried out during my temporary absence from the district, and that the Muhammadan priest, after cupping him severely, had shown him seven large mantises which he pretended to have extracted from the back of his head. The experiment proved extraordinarily successful, and Raja Kahar recovered at all events for the time. He declared, however, that there were more of these mantises left, and eventually suffered a relapse and died during my absence in England on leave. For the time, however, the improvement was quite remarkable, and when Said Mashahor, the Pĕnghulu of Kerling, visited him a few days later, Raja Kahar, after an account of the cure from his own point of view, declared that nobody would now believe that he had been so ill, although “no fewer than seven large mantises” had been “extracted from his head.”

I now give a specimen of the ceremonies used for recalling a wandering soul by means of a dough figure or image (gambar tĕpong). It is not stated whether any of the usual accessories of these figures (hair and nails, etc.) are mixed with the dough, but an old and famous soul-doctor (’Che Amal, of Jugra) told me that the dough figure should be made, in strictness, from the ball of kneaded dough which is rolled all over the patient’s body by the medicine-man during the “sucking-charm” ceremony (mĕngalin). The directions for making it run as follows:—

Make an image of dough, in length about nine inches, and representing the opposite sex to that of the patient. Deposit it (on its back) upon five cubits of white cloth, which must be folded up small for the purpose, and then plant a miniature green umbrella (made of cloth coated thickly with wax, and standing from four to five inches in height) at the head of the image, and a small green clove-shaped taper (of about the same height) at its feet. Then burn incense; take three handfuls each of “parched,” “washed,” and “saffron” rice, and scatter them thrice round the figure, saying as you do so:—

The statement that this dough image should represent the opposite sex to that of the patient should be received with caution, and requires further investigation to clear it up. My informant explained that the “Flying Paper” (krĕtas layang-layang) referred to the soul-cloth, and the “cup” to the image, but if this explanation is accepted, it is yet not unlikely that a real cup was used in the original charm. The “drunken stars” he explained as referring to the parched rice scattered on his left, and the full moon to the eyes of the image. Arguing from the analogy of other ceremonies conducted on the same lines, the wandering soul would be recalled and induced to enter the so-called cup (i.e. the dough image), and being transferred thence to the soul-cloth underneath it, would be passed on to the patient in the soul-cloth itself.

Another way to recall a soul (which was taught me by ’Che ʿAbas of Kelantan) is to take seven betel-leaves with meeting leaf-ribs (sirih bĕrtĕmu urat), and make them up into seven “chews” of betel. Then take a plateful of saffron-rice, parched rice, and washed rice, and seven pieces of parti-coloured thread (bĕnang pancharona tujoh urat) and an egg; deposit these at the feet of the sick man, giving him one end of the thread to hold, and fastening the other end to the egg.

The soul is then called upon to return to the house which it has deserted, is caught in a soul-cloth, and passed (it is thought) first of all into the egg, and thence back into the patient’s body by means of the thread which connects the egg with the patient. The charm runs as follows:—

Another way of recalling the soul is as follows:—

Put some husked rice in a rice-bag (sumpit) with an egg, a nail, and a candle-nut; scatter it (kirei) thrice round the patient’s head, and deposit the bag behind his pillow (di kapala tidor), after repeating this charm:—

When three days have expired, gather up the rice again and put it all back into the bag. If there is a grain over throw it to the fowls, but if the measure falls short repeat the ceremony.

Again, in order to recall an escaping soul (riang sĕmangat) the soul-doctor will take a fowl’s egg, seven small cockle-shells (kulit k’rang tujoh kĕping), and a kal146 of husked rice, and put them all together into a rice-bag (sumpit). He then rubs the bag all over the skin of the patient’s body, shakes the contents well up together, and deposits it again close to the patient’s head. Whilst shaking them up he repeats the following charm:—

At the end of three days he measures the rice; if the amount has increased, it signifies that the soul has returned; if it is the same as before, it is still half out of the body; if less, the soul has escaped and has not yet returned. In this case the soul is expected to enter the rice and thus cause its displacement.

Another method, not of recalling the soul, but of stopping it in the act of escaping, is to take a gold ring, not less than a maiam147 in weight, an iron nail, a candle-nut (buah k’ras), three small cockle-shells, three closed fistfuls of husked rice (b’ras tiga gĕnggam bunyi), and some parti-coloured thread. These articles are all put in a rice-bag, and shaken up together seven times every morning for three days, by which time the soul is supposed to be firmly reseated in the patient’s body; then the rice is poured out at the door “to let the fowls eat it.” The ring is tied to the patient’s wrist by means of a strip of tree-bark (kulit t’rap), and it is by means of this string that the soul is supposed to return to its body. When the shaking takes place the following charm must be recited:—

In conclusion, I will give a quotation from Malay Sketches, which is perhaps as good an example as could be given of the way in which the Black Art and the medical performances that in their methods closely resemble it, are regarded by many respectable Malays:—

“One evening I was discussing these various superstitions with the Sultan of Perak, and I did not notice that the spiritual teacher of His Highness had entered and was waiting to lead the evening prayer. The guru, or teacher, no doubt heard the end of our conversation, and was duly scandalised, for the next day I received from him a letter, of which the following is the translation:—

“‘First praise to God, the Giver of all good, a Fountain of Compassion to His servants.

“‘From Haji Wan Muhammad, Teacher of His Highness the Sultan of Perak, to the Resident who administers the Government of Perak.

“‘The whole earth is in the hand of the Most High God, and He gives it as an inheritance to whom He will of His subjects. The true religion is also of God, and Heaven is the reward of those who fear the Most High. Salvation and peace are for those who follow the straight path, and only they will in the end arrive at real greatness. No Raja can do good, and none can be powerful, except by the help of God, the Most High, who is also Most Mighty.

“‘I make ten thousand salutations. I wish to inquire about the practice of bĕr-hantu, driving oneself mad and losing one’s reason, as has been the custom of Rajas and Chiefs in this State of Perak; is it right, according to your religion, Mr. Resident, or is it not? For that practice is a deadly sin to the Muhammadan Faith, because those who engage in it lose their reason and waste their substance for nothing; some of them cast it into the water, while others scatter it broadcast through the jungle. How is such conduct treated by your religion, Mr. Resident; is it right or wrong? I want you in your indulgence to give me an answer, for this practice is very hard on the poor. The Headmen collect from the rayats, and then they make elaborate preparations of food, killing a buffalo or fowls, and all this is thrown away as already stated. According to the Muhammadan religion such proceedings lead to destruction.

“‘I salute you many times; do not be angry, for I do not understand your customs, Mr. Resident.

“‘(Signed) Haji Muhammad Abu Hassan.’”149