The following passage is an account of a characteristic Malay dance, the Joget:—

“Malays are not dancers, but they pay professional performers to dance for their amusement, and consider that ‘the better part’ is with those who watch, at their ease, the exertions of a small class, whose members are not held in the highest respect. The spectacle usually provided is strangely wanting in attraction: a couple of women shuffling their feet and swaying their hands in gestures that are practically devoid of grace or even variety—that is the Malay dance—and it is accompanied by the beating of native drums, the striking together of two short sticks held in either hand, and the occasional boom of a metal gong. The entertainment has an undoubted fascination for Malays, but it generally forms part of a theatrical performance, and for Western spectators it is immeasurably dull.150

“In one of the Malay States, however, Păhang, it has for years been the custom for the ruler and one or two of his near relatives to keep trained dancing girls, who perform what is called the ‘Jôget’—a real dance with an accompaniment of something like real music, though the orchestral instruments are very rude indeed.

“The dancers, bûdak jôget, belong to the Raja’s household, they may even be attached to him by a closer tie; they perform seldom, only for the amusement of their lord and his friends, and the public are not admitted. Years ago I saw such a dance,151 and though peculiar to Păhang, as far as the Malay States are concerned, it is probable that it came originally from Java; the instruments used by the orchestra and the airs played are certainly far more common in Java and Sumatra than in the Peninsula.

“I had gone to Păhang on a political mission accompanied by a friend, and we were vainly courting sleep in a miserable lodging, when at 1 A.M. a message came from the Sultan inviting us to witness a jôget. We accepted with alacrity, and at once made our way to the astâna, a picturesque, well-built, and commodious house on the right bank of the Păhang river. A palisade enclosed the courtyard, and the front of the house was a very large hall, open on three sides, but covered by a lofty roof of fantastic design supported on pillars. The floor of this hall was approached by three wide steps continued round the three open sides, the fourth being closed by a wooden wall which entirely shut off the private apartments save for one central door over which hung a heavy curtain. The three steps were to provide sitting accommodation according to their rank for those admitted to the astâna. The middle of the floor on the night in question was covered by a large carpet, chairs were placed for us, and the rest of the guests sat on the steps of the dais.

“When we entered, we saw, seated on the carpet, four girls, two of them about eighteen and two about eleven years old, all attractive according to Malay ideas of beauty, and all gorgeously and picturesquely clothed. On their heads they each wore a large and curious but very pretty ornament of delicate workmanship—a sort of square flower garden where all the flowers were gold, trembling and glittering with every movement of the wearer. These ornaments were secured to the head by twisted cords of silver and gold. The girls’ hair, combed down in a fringe, was cut in a perfect oval round their foreheads and very becomingly dressed behind.

“The bodices of their dresses were made of tight-fitting silk, leaving the neck and arms bare, whilst a white band of fine cambric (about one and a half inches wide), passing round the neck, came down on the front of the bodice in the form of a V, and was there fastened by a golden flower. Round their waists were belts fastened with large and curiously-worked pinding or buckles of gold, so large that they reached quite across the waist. The rest of the costume consisted of a skirt of cloth of gold (not at all like the sârong), reaching to the ankles, while a scarf of the same material, fastened in its centre to the waist-buckle, hung down to the hem of the skirt.

“All four dancers were dressed alike, except that the older girls wore white silk bodices with a red and gold handkerchief, folded corner-wise, tied under the arms and knotted in front. The points of the handkerchief hung to the middle of the back. In the case of the two younger girls the entire dress was of one material. On their arms the dancers wore numbers of gold bangles, and their fingers were covered with diamond rings. In their ears were fastened the diamond buttons so much affected by Malays, and indeed now by Western ladies. Their feet, of course, were bare. We had ample time to minutely observe these details before the dance commenced, for when we came into the hall the four girls were sitting down in the usual152 Eastern fashion on the carpet, bending forward, their elbows resting on their thighs, and hiding the sides of their faces, which were towards the audience, with fans made of crimson and gilt paper which sparkled in the light.

“On our entrance the band struck up, and our special attention was called to the orchestra, as the instruments are seldom seen in the Malay Peninsula. There were two chief performers: one playing on a sort of harmonicon, the notes of which he struck with pieces of stick held in each hand. The other, with similar pieces of wood, played on inverted metal bowls. Both these performers seemed to have sufficiently hard work, but they played with the greatest spirit from 10 P.M. till 5 A.M.

“The harmonicon is called by Malays chĕlempong, and the inverted bowls, which give a pleasant and musical sound like the noise of rippling water, gambang. The other members of the orchestra consisted of a very small boy who played, with a very large and thick stick, on a gigantic gong, an old woman who beat a drum with two sticks, and several other boys who played on instruments like triangles called chânang. All these performers, we were told with much solemnity, were artists of the first order, masters and a mistress in their craft, and if vigour of execution counts for excellence they proved the justice of the praise.

“The Hall, of considerable size, capable of accommodating several hundreds of people, was only dimly lighted, but the fact that, while the audience was in semi-darkness, the light was concentrated on the performers added to the effect. Besides ourselves, I question whether there were more than twenty spectators, but sitting on the top of the dais, near to the dancers, it was hard to pierce the surrounding gloom. The orchestra was placed on the left of the entrance to the Hall, that is, rather to the side and rather in the background, a position evidently chosen with due regard to the feelings of the audience.

“From the elaborate and vehement execution of the players, and the want of regular time in the music, I judged, and rightly, that we had entered as the overture began. During its performance the dancers sat leaning forward, hiding their faces as I have described; but when it concluded and, without any break, the music changed into the regular rhythm for dancing, the four girls dropped their fans, raised their hands in the act of Sĕmbah or homage, and then began the dance by swaying their bodies and slowly waving their arms and hands in the most graceful movements making much and effective use all the while of the scarf hanging from their belts. Gradually raising themselves from a sitting to a kneeling posture, acting in perfect accord in every motion, then rising to their feet, they floated through a series of figures hardly to be exceeded in grace and difficulty, considering that the movements are essentially slow, the arms, hands, and body being the real performers, whilst the feet are scarcely noticed and for half the time not visible.

“They danced five or six dances, each lasting quite half an hour, with materially different figures and time in the music. All these dances, I was told, were symbolical: one of agriculture, with the tilling of the soil, the sowing of the seed, the reaping and winnowing of the grain, might easily have been guessed from the dancer’s movements. But those of the audience whom I was near enough to question were, Malay-like, unable to give me much information. Attendants stood or sat near the dancers, and from time to time, as the girls tossed one thing on the floor, handed them another. Sometimes it was a fan or a mirror they held, sometimes a flower or small vessel, but oftener their hands were empty, as it is in the management of the fingers that the chief art of Malay dancers consists.

“The last dance, symbolical of war, was perhaps the best, the music being much faster, almost inspiriting, and the movements of the dancers more free and even abandoned. For the latter half of the dance they each held a wand, to represent a sword, bound with three rings of burnished gold which glittered in the light like precious stones. This nautch, which began soberly like the others, grew to a wild revel until the dancers were, or pretended to be, possessed by the Spirit of Dancing, hantu mĕnâri as they called it, and leaving the Hall for a moment to smear their fingers and faces with a fragrant oil, they returned, and the two eldest, striking at each other with their wands, seemed inclined to turn the symbolical into a real battle. They were, however, after some trouble, caught by four or five women and carried forcibly out of the Hall, but not until their captors had been made to feel the weight of the magic wands. The two younger girls, who looked as if they too would like to be “possessed,” but did not know how to accomplish it, were easily caught and removed.

“The bands, whose strains had been increasing in wildness and in time, ceased playing on the removal of the dancers, and the nautch, which had begun at 10 P.M., was over.

“The Raja, who had only appeared at 4 A.M., told me that one of the elder girls, when she became “properly possessed,” lived for months on nothing but flowers, a pretty and poetic conceit.

“As we left the Astana, and taking boat rowed slowly to the vessel waiting for us off the river’s mouth, the rising sun was driving the fog from the numbers of lovely green islets, that seemed to float like dew-drenched lotus leaves on the surface of the shallow stream.153”

The religious origin of almost all Malay dances is still to be seen in the performance of such ritualistic observances as the burning of incense, the scattering of rice, and the invocation of the Dance-spirit according to certain set forms, the spirit being duly exorcised again (or “escorted homewards,” as it is called) at the end of the performance.

The dances which have best preserved the older ritual are precisely those which are the least often seen, such as the “Gambor Dance” (main gambor), the “Monkey Dance” (main b’rok), the “Palm-blossom Dance” (main mayang), and the “Fish-trap Dance” (main lukah). These I will take in the order mentioned.

The “Gambor Dance” (lit. Gambor Play) should be performed by girls just entering upon womanhood. The débutante is attired in an attractive coat and skirt (sarong), is girt about at the waist with a yellow (royal) sash, and is further provided with an elaborate head-dress, crescent-shaped pendants (dokoh) for the breast, and a fan. The only other “necessary” is the “Pleasure-garden” (taman bunga), which is represented by a large water-jar containing a bunch of long sprays, from the ends of which are made to depend artificial flowers, fruit, and birds, the whole being intended to attract the spirit (Hantu Gambor). In addition there is the usual circular tray, with its complement of sacrificial rice and incense. Everything being ready, the débutante lies down and is covered over with a sheet, and incense is burnt, the sacrificial rice sprinkled, and the invocation of the spirit is chanted by a woman to the accompaniment of the tambourines. Ere it has ended, if all goes well, the charm will have begun to work, the spirit descends, and the dance commences.

At the end of this dance, as has already been said, the spirit is exorcised, that is, he is “escorted back” to the seventh heaven from whence he came.

The invocations, which are used both at the commencement and the conclusion of the performance, consist of poems which belong unmistakably to the “Panji” cycle of stories; here and there they contain old words which are still used in Java.

The “Monkey Dance” is achieved by causing the “Monkey spirit” to enter into a girl of some ten years of age. She is first rocked to and fro in a Malay infant’s swinging-cot (buayan), and fed with areca-nut and salt (pinang garam). When she is sufficiently dizzy or “dazed” (mabok), an invocation addressed to the “Monkey spirit” is chanted (to tambourine accompaniments), and at its close the child commences to perform a dance, in the course of which she is said sometimes to achieve some extraordinary climbing feats which she could never have achieved unless “possessed.” When it is time for her to recover her senses she is called upon by name, and if that fails to recall her, is bathed all over with cocoa-nut milk (ayer niyor hijau).

The foregoing does not, of course, in any way exhaust the list of Malay dances. Others will be found described in various parts of this book, amongst them the “Henna Dance” (at weddings); the medicine-man’s dance, as performed at the bedside of a sick person; the dance performed in honour of a dead tiger; theatrical dances, and many kinds of sword and dagger dances, or posture-dances (such as the main bĕrsilat, or main bĕrpĕnchak), whether performed for the diversion of the beholders or by way of defiance (as in war). The main dabus is a dance performed with a species of iron spits, whose upper ends are furnished with hoops, upon which small iron rings are strung, and which accordingly give out a jingling noise when shaken. Two of these spits (buah dabus) are charmed (to deaden their bite), and taken up, one in each hand, by the dancer, who shakes them at each step that he takes. When he is properly possessed, he drives the points of these spits through the muscle of each forearm, and lets them hang down whilst he takes up a second pair. He then keeps all four spits jingling at once until the dance ceases. The point of each spit goes right through the muscle, but if skilfully done, draws no blood.154

We now come to a class of dances in which certain inanimate objects, that are believed to be temporarily animated, are the performers, and which therefore closely correspond to the performances of our own spiritualists.

The Palm-blossom dance is a very curious exhibition, which I once saw performed in the Langat District of Selangor. Two freshly-gathered sheaves of areca-palm blossom (each several feet in length) were deposited upon a new mat, near a tray containing a censer and the three kinds of sacrificial rice.

The magician (’Che Ganti by name) commenced the performance by playing a prelude on his violin. Presently his wife (an aged Selangor woman) took some of the rice in her hand and commenced to chant the words of the invocation, she being almost immediately joined in the chant by a younger woman. Starting with the words, “Thus I brace up, I brace up the Palm-blossom” (’ku anggit mayang ’ku anggit), their voices rose higher and higher until the seventh stanza was reached, when the old woman covered the two sheaves of Palm-blossom with a Malay plaid skirt (sarong) and the usual “five cubits of white cloth” (folded double), both of which had of course first been fumigated. Then followed seven more stanzas (“Borrow the hammer, Borrow the anvil,” and its companion verses), and rice having been thrown over one of the sheaves of palm-blossom, its sheath was opened and the contents fumigated. Then the old woman took the newly-fumigated sheaf between her hands, and the chant recommenced with the third septet of stanzas (“Dig up, dig up, the wild ginger plant”), as the erect palm-blossom swayed from side to side in time to the music. Finally the fiddle stopped and tambourines were substituted, and at this point the sheaf of blossom commenced to jump about on its stalk, as if it were indeed possessed, and eventually dashed itself upon the ground. After one or two repetitions of this performance, other persons present were invited to try it, and did so with varying success, which depended, I was told, upon the impressionability of their souls, as the palm-blossom would not dance for anybody whose soul was not impressionable (lĕmah sĕmangat).

When the first blossom-sheaf had been destroyed by the rough treatment which it had to undergo, the second was duly fumigated and introduced to the company, and finally the performance was brought to a close by the chanting of the stanzas in which the spirit is requested to return to his own place. The two spoiled sheaves of blossom were then carried respectfully out of the house and laid on the ground beneath a banana-tree.

The Dancing Fish-trap (main lukah) is a spiritualistic performance, in which a fish-trap (lukah) is substituted for the sheaf of palm-blossom, and a different invocation is used. In other respects there is very little difference between the two. The fish-trap is dressed up much in the same way as a “scare-crow,” so as to present a rough and ready resemblance to the human figure, i.e. it is dressed in a woman’s coat and plaid skirt (sarong), both of which must, if possible, have been worn previously; a stick is run through it to serve as the arms of the figure, and a (sterile) cocoa-nut shell (tĕmpurong jantan) clapped on the top to serve as a head. The invocation is then chanted in the same manner and to the same accompaniment as that used for the “Palm-blossom.” At its conclusion the magician whispers, so to speak, into the fish-trap’s ear, bidding it “not to disgrace him,” but rise up and dance, and the fish-trap presently commences to rock to and fro, and to leap about in a manner which of course proves it to be “possessed” by the spirit. Two different specimens of the invocations used will be found in the Appendix.