The significance of ominous signs and dreams is a subject which possesses vast ramifications, extending so deeply into every department of the Malay national life, that it will be impossible to do it anything like full justice within the narrow limits of this book. My object will be merely to indicate the main lines on which these two important doctrines of the Malay natural religion appear to have been developed.

Briefly, then, omens may be drawn either from the acts of men or the events of nature. Examples of the ominous import attributed to the acts of man will at once suggest themselves. Thus sneezing is said to be fortunate as tending to drive away the demons of disease;208 yawning is a bad sign, for obvious reasons, if the breath is loudly emitted, but if a quiet yawn occurs when the stomach is craving for food, it imports that it will soon be filled. So too stumbling is a bad omen, especially if the person who stumbles is about to set out on a journey.209 Then, again, “to be long in getting up after a meal is said to be a bad omen. It means that the person, if unmarried, will meet with a bad reception from his or her parents-in-law hereafter. The Malay saying in the vernacular is ‘Lambat bangket deri tampat makan, lambat di-tegur mentuwak.’ Clothes which have been nibbled by rats or mice must not be worn again. They are sure to bring misfortune, and are generally given away in charity. ... When a Malay dinner is served, the younger members of the family sometimes amuse themselves by throwing rice into the pan from which the curry has just been taken, stirring it round in the gravy that remains and then eating it. This is not permitted when one of them is to be married on the following day, as it would be sure to bring rainy weather. It is unlucky for a child to lie on his face (menyehrap), and kick his feet together in the air (menyabong kaki). It betokens that either his father or mother will die. A child seen doing this is instantly rebuked and stopped....

“The evil eye is dreaded by Malays. Not only are particular people supposed to be possessed of a quality which causes ill-luck to accompany their glance (the mal’occhio of the Italians), but the influence of the evil eye is often supposed to affect children, who are taken notice of by people kindly disposed towards them. For instance, it is unlucky to remark on the fatness and healthiness of a baby, and a Malay will employ some purely nonsensical word, or convey his meaning in a roundabout form, rather than incur possible misfortune by using the actual word ‘fat.’ ‘Ai bukan-nia poh-poh gental budak ini?’ (‘Isn’t this child nice and round?’) is the sort of phrase which is permissible.”210

Among omens drawn from natural events are the following:—

“When a star is seen in apparent proximity to the moon, old people say there will be a wedding shortly....

“The entrance into a house of an animal which does not generally seek to share the abode of man is regarded by the Malays as ominous of misfortune. If a wild bird flies into a house it must be carefully caught and smeared with oil, and must then be released in the open air, a formula being recited in which it is bidden to fly away with all the ill-luck and misfortunes (sial jambalang) of the occupier. An iguana, a tortoise, and a snake, are perhaps the most dreaded of these unnatural visitors. They are sprinkled with ashes, if possible, to counteract their evil influence.

“A swarm of bees settling near a house is an unlucky omen, and prognosticates misfortune.”211

So, too, omens are taken either from the flight or cries of certain birds, such as the night-owl, the crow, some kinds of wild doves, and the bird called the “Rice’s Husband” (laki padi).

Passing from the idea of mere omens drawn from fortuitous events we easily arrive at the idea of a conscious attempt on the part of the worshipper to ascertain the divine pleasure with respect to a sacrifice newly offered. This effort of the worshippers becomes crystallised in time into a sub-rite, which yet forms an integral portion of most, if not all, of the more important ceremonies,212 and eventually develops into a special and separate rite called Tilek (divination), of which examples will now be given.

One form of this rite was taught by a Malay of Penang extraction, whose instructions, taken down by me at the time, ran as follows:—

Take a lemon (limau purut), a hen’s egg, a taper made of bees’-wax (lilin lĕbah), four bananas, four Malay (palm-leaf covered) cigarettes, four “chews” of betel-leaf, a handful of parched rice, washed rice, and rice stained with turmeric (saffron), one of the prickles or “thorns” (duri) of a thorn-backed mudfish, a needle with a torn eye (taken out of one of the sets of a “score” in which they are sold—jarum rabit dalam sĕkudi), and a couple of small whips, or rather birches, one of which must be composed of seven, and the other of twelve, leaf-ribs of the “green” cocoa-nut palm (niyor hijau).

Two of the bananas, two cigarettes, two chews of “betel,” half of each of the three kinds of rice, the egg, and the birch of seven twigs, must now be taken outside the house and set down under a tree selected for the purpose. When setting it down the egg must be cracked, the cigarettes lighted, and finally the taper also. On one occasion when I witnessed the performance, the taper, after being taken up between the outstretched fingers of my friend’s two hands, was waved slowly to and fro—first to the right and then to the left; finally it was set down on the ground and began to burn blue, the flame becoming more and more dim until it almost expired. On seeing this the medicine-man exclaimed, “He has promised” (dia mĕngaku), and led the way back to the house, where he proceeded to go through the remainder of the ceremony.

First, he deposited the brazier with incense upon the leaf of a banana-tree, then took the prickle of the fish and thrust it horizontally through the lower end of the lemon, leaving both ends exposed; then he thrust the needle through in a transverse direction, so as to form a cross, the ends of the needle being likewise exposed, and slipped the noosed end of a piece of silken thread of seven different colours over the points thus exposed.

Next he scattered the rice round the censer and fumigated the birch and the lemon, recited a charm as he held the latter in his right hand, recited the charm for the second time213 as he took the birch in both hands, with the upper end close to his mouth and the lower (spreading) end over the brazier, and finally repeated the charm for a third time, suspending, as he did so, the lemon over the brazier by means of the thread held in his left hand and holding the birch in the right.

Everything being ready, he now began to put questions to the lemon into which the spirit was supposed to have entered, rebuking it and threatening it with the birch whenever it failed to answer distinctly and to the point. The conversational powers of this spirit were extremely limited, being confined to two signs signifying “Yes” and “No.” The affirmative was indicated by a pendulum-like swaying of the lemon, which rocked to and fro with more or less vehemence according to the emphasis (as my friend informed me) with which the reply was to be delivered. Negation, on the other hand, was indicated by a complete cessation of motion on the part of the lemon.

When it is required to discover, for instance, the name of a thief, the names of all those who are at all likely to have committed the theft are written on scraps of paper and arranged in a circle round the brazier, when the lemon will at once swing in the direction of the name of the guilty party. The best night for the performance of this ceremony is a Tuesday.

Sir Frank Swettenham’s account of a similar ceremony of which he was an eye-witness will serve as a good illustration of the methods in use for this purpose:—

“It was my misfortune some years ago to be robbed of some valuable property, and several Malay friends strongly advised me to take the advice of an astrologer, or other learned person who (so they said) would be able to give the name of the thief, and probably recover most of the stolen things. I fear that I had no great faith in this method of detection, but I was anxious to see what could be done, for the East is a curious place, and no one with an inquiring mind can have lived in it long without seeing phenomena that are not always explained by modern text-books on Natural Philosophy.

“I was first introduced to an Arab of very remarkable appearance. He was about fifty years old, tall, with pleasant features and extraordinary gray-blue eyes, clear and far-seeing, a man of striking and impressive personality. I was travelling when I met him, and tried to persuade him to return with me, but that he said he could not do, though he promised to follow me by an early steamer. He said he would be able to tell me all about the robbery, who committed it, where the stolen property then was, and that all he would want was an empty house wherein he might fast in solitude for three days, without which preparation, he said, he would not be able to see what he sought. He told me that after his vigil, fast, and prayer, he would lay in his hand a small piece of paper on which there would be some writing; into this he would pour a little water, and in that extemporised mirror he would see a vision of the whole transaction. He declared that, after gazing intently into this divining-glass, the inquirer first recognised the figure of a little old man. That having duly saluted this Jin, it was necessary to ask him to conjure up the scene of the robbery, when all the details would be re-enacted in the liquid glass under the eyes of the gazer, who would there and then describe all that he saw. I had heard all this before, only it had been stated to me then that the medium through whose eyes the vision could alone be seen must be a young child of such tender years that it could have never told a lie! The Arab, however, professed himself not only able to conjure up the scene, but to let me see it for myself if I would follow his directions. Unfortunately, my gray-eyed friend failed to keep his promise, and I never met him again.

“A local Chief, however, declared his power to read the past by this method, if only he could find the truthful child. In this he appeared to succeed, but when, on the following day, he came to disclose to me the results of his skill, he said that a difficulty had arisen, because just when the child (a little boy) was beginning to relate what he saw he suddenly became unconscious, and it took the astrologer two hours to restore him to his normal state. All the mothers of tender-aged and possibly truthful children declined after this to lend their offspring for the ordeal.

“My friend was not, however, at the end of his resources, and, though only an amateur in divination, he undertook to try by other methods to find the culprit. For this purpose he asked me to give him the names of every one in the house at the time the robbery was committed. I did so, and the next day he gave me one of those names as that of the thief. I asked how he had arrived at this knowledge; he described the method, and consented to repeat the experiment in my presence. That afternoon I went with him to a small house belonging to his sister. Here I found the Chief, his sister, and two men whom I did not recognise. We all sat in a very small room, the Chief in the centre with a copy of the Korân on a reading-stand, near to him the two men opposite to each other, the sister against one wall, and I in a corner. A clean, new, unglazed earthenware bowl with a wide rim was produced. This was filled with water and a piece of fair white cotton cloth tied over the top, making a surface like that of a drum.

“I was asked to write the name of each person present in the house when the robbery was committed on a small piece of paper, and to fold each paper up so that all should be alike, and then to place one of the names on the cover of the vessel. I did so, and the proceedings began by the two men placing each the middle joint of the fore-finger of his right hand under the rim of the bowl on opposite sides, and so supporting it about six inches above the floor. The vessel being large and full of water was heavy, and the men supported the strain by resting their right elbows on their knees as they sat cross-legged on the floor and face to face. It was then that I selected one of the folded papers, and placed it on the cover of the vessel. The Chief read a page of the Korân, and as nothing happened he said that was not the name of the guilty person, and I changed the paper for another. This occurred four times, but at the fifth the reading had scarcely commenced when the bowl began to slowly turn round from left to right, the supporters letting their hands go round with it, until it twisted itself out of their fingers and fell on the floor with a considerable bang and a great spluttering of water through the thin cover. ‘That,’ said the Chief, ‘is the name of the thief.’

“It was the name of the person already mentioned by him.

“I did not, however, impart that piece of information to the company, but went on to the end of my papers, nothing more happening.

“I said I should like to try the test again, and as the Chief at once consented we began afresh, and this time I put the name of the suspected person on first, and once more the vessel turned round and twisted itself out of the hands of the holders till it fell on the floor, and I was surprised it did not break. After trying a few more I said I was satisfied, and the ordeal of the bowl was over. Then the Chief asked me whose name had been on the vessel when it moved, and I told him. It was a curious coincidence certainly. I wrote the names in English, which no one could read; moreover, I was so placed that no one could see what I wrote, and they none of them attempted to do so. Then the papers were folded up so as to be all exactly alike; they were shuffled together, and I did not know one from the other till I looked inside myself. Each time I went from my corner and placed a name on the vessel already held on the fingers of its supporters. No one except I touched the papers, and no one but the Chief ever spoke till the séance was over. I asked the men who held the bowl why they made it turn round at that particular moment, but they declared they had nothing to do with it, and that the vessel twisted itself off their fingers against their inclination.

“The name disclosed by this experiment was certainly that of the person whom there was most reason to suspect, but beyond that I learnt nothing.

“Another plan for surprising the secret of the suspected person is to get into the room where that person is sleeping, and after making certain passes to question the slumberer, when he may truthfully answer all the questions put to him. This is a favourite device of the suspicious husband.

“Yet another plan is to place in the hand of a pâwang, magician, or medium, a divining-rod formed of three lengths of rattan, tied together at one end, and when he gets close to the person ‘wanted,’ or to the place where anything stolen is concealed, the rod vibrates in a remarkable manner.”214

A somewhat analogous practice is the ordeal by diving, described by the late Sir W. E. Maxwell as “a method of deciding a disputed point which was occasionally resorted to in Perak in former times. I got the following account of the manner of conducting the ordeal from a Malay chief who saw it carried out once at Tanjong Sanendang near Pasir Sala, in the reign of Sultan Abdullah Mohamed Shah, father of the present Raja Muda Yusuf:—

“The ordeal by diving requires the sanction of the Sultan himself, and must be conducted in the presence of the Orang Besar Ampat, or Four Chiefs of the first rank. If two disputants in an important question agree to settle their difference in this way they apply to the Raja, who fixes a day (usually three days off) for the purpose, and orders that a certain sum of money shall abide the event. This appointment of time and place is the first stage in the proceedings, and is called bertepat janji, and the laying of the bet or deposit of stakes is called bertiban taroh. On the day appointed the parties attend with their friends at the Raja’s balei,215 and there, in the presence of the Court, a krani216 writes down a solemn declaration for each person, each maintaining the truth of his side of the question. The first, invoking the name of God, the intercession of the Prophet, and the tombs of the deceased Sultans of the country, asserts the affirmative proposition, and his adversary with the same solemnity records his denial. This is called bertangkap mangmang or ‘taking up the challenge.’ Each paper is then carefully rolled up by the krani, and is placed by him in a separate bamboo tube; the ends of both are then sealed up. When thus prepared the bamboo tubes are exactly alike, and no one, not even the krani, can tell which contains the assertion and which the denial. Two boys are then selected; one of the bamboos is given to each, and they are led down to the river, where the Raja and Chiefs take up their station, and the people flock down in crowds. Two stakes have been driven into the bed of the river in a pool previously selected, and the boys are placed beside them, up to their necks in water. A pole is placed horizontally on their heads, and on a given signal this is pressed downwards, and the boys are made to sink at the same moment. Each holds on to his post under water and remains below as long as he can. As soon as one gives in and appears above water his bamboo tube is snatched from him and hurled far out into the stream. The victor is led up in triumph to the balei, and the crowd surges up to hear the result. His bamboo is then opened and the winner declared.

“The Perak Malays believe this to be an infallible test of the truth of a cause. The boy who holds the false declaration is half-drowned, they say, as soon as his head is under the water, whereas the champion of the truth is able to remain below until the bystanders drag the post out of the river with the boy still clinging to it. Such is the power of the truth backed by the sacred names and persons invoked!

“The loser is often fined in addition to suffering the loss of his stakes (one-half of which goes to the Raja). He also has to pay the customary fees, namely, $6.25 for the use of the balei, $12.50 to the krani, and $5 to each of the boys.

“This ordeal is not peculiar to Perak. I find a short description of a similar custom in Pegu in Hamilton’s New Accounts of the East Indies (1727). In Pegu, he says, the ordeal by water is managed ‘by driving a stake of wood into a river and making the accuser and accused take hold of the stake and keep their heads and bodies under water, and he who stays longest under water is the person to be credited.’”217

But by far the largest class of divinatory rites consists of astrological calculations based on the supposed values of times and seasons, or the properties of numbers. For the purposes of the native astrologer, exhaustive tables of lucky and unlucky times and seasons have been compiled, which are too long to be all examined here in detail, but of which specimens will be found in the Appendix. Few of them are likely to be original productions, most, if not all, being undoubtedly translated from similar books in vogue either in India or Arabia. Besides these tables, however, use is frequently made of geometrical (and even of natural) diagrams, to the more important parts of which certain numerical values are assigned.218

Perhaps the oldest and best known of the systems of lucky and unlucky times is the one called Katika219 Lima, or the Five Times. Under it the day is divided into five parts, and five days form a cycle220: to each of these divisions is assigned a name, the names being Maswara (Maheswara), Kala, S’ri, Brahma, and Bisnu (Vishnu), which recur in the order shown in the following table or diagram:—

These names are the names of Hindu divinities, Maheswara being Shiva, and constituting with Brahma and Vishnu the so-called Hindu Trinity, while Kala is either another title of Shiva, or stands for Kali, his wife, and S’ri is a general title of all Hindu gods221; but it may be doubted whether this division of time is not of Javanese or Malayan origin, although the importance of the number five is also recognised by the Hindus.222

The same mystic notions of colour and the like are attached to these divisions by the Malays as obtain in the case of the Javanese days of the week: thus Maheswara’s colour is yellow-white (puteh kuning): if you go out you will meet a man of yellow-white complexion, or wearing yellow-white clothes; it is a lucky time for asking a boon from a Raja, or for doing any kind of work; good news then received is true, bad news is false, and so on.

Kala’s colour is a reddish black (hitam merah223); if you go out you will meet a bad man or have a quarrel; it is an unlucky time altogether: the good news one hears turns out untrue, and the bad true; illness occurring at this time is due to a ghost (hantu orang), and the remedy is a black fowl; in cock-fighting a black cock will beat a white one at this time, but when setting him to fight you must not face towards the west, etc.

Similarly S’ri’s colour is white, Brahma’s is red, Vishnu’s is green, and each division has its respective advantages or disadvantages.224

Another version of this system, known as the Five Moments (saʿat), is based on a somewhat similar diagram, but has orthodox Muhammadan names for its divisions, viz. Ahmad, Jibra’il (Gabriel), Ibrahim (Abraham), Yusuf (Joseph), and ʿAzra’il (Azrael).

Its diagram, as will be seen, is not quite the same as that of the Katika Lima, though the general scheme of the two systems corresponds closely.

So in Ahmad’s division if you lose a buffalo or a bullock, it has gone to the southward and will be recovered; good news then received is true, bad news is false; the time is auspicious for any kind of work, for going on a voyage, sailing, or planting, and very profitable for trading; it is a lucky time for going to war, but you must wear white clothes and face southwards by a little east, and pray to God Almighty. Jibra’il’s time is fairly lucky too, being good for planting and profitable for trading, and if gold or silver is lost then, it will be quickly found, but there may be some trouble in getting it back; a lost buffalo or bullock has gone southwards, but will be recovered after some slight trouble; if you go to war at this time you must wear green, but must not face towards the south. Ibrahim’s time is most unlucky, and going out then is sure to involve bloodshed or other misfortune; bad news is true, good is false; things lost then will not be recovered; going to war is ruinous, and if you do go, the only way of safety is to face to the north, but it is best to stay at home altogether at this time.

Yusuf’s time is lucky in some respects, but unlucky in others; in warfare one must face towards the west, and wear yellow. ʿAzra’il’s time is most unlucky; to go to war then is most disastrous; any business pending at this ill-omened time should be postponed to a more favourable occasion.226

Besides these two there is a system in which each of the seven days of the ordinary week is divided into five parts, each of which is characterised by one of the words ampa, bangkei, rezki, and aral (for ʿaradl), symbolical apparently of No Success, Death, Success, and Unforeseen Obstacle.227

Another scheme (Katika Tujoh), based on the Seven Heavenly Bodies, divides each day into seven parts, each of which is distinguished by the Arabic name of one of the Heavenly Bodies.

The first day runs,—

and the times are—early morning (pagi-pagi), morning (tĕngah naik), just before noon (hampir tĕngah hari), noon (tĕngah hari), afternoon (dlohr), late afternoon (ʿasr), and sunset (maghrib).

For the second day the series begins with the Moon, and goes on in the above order to Mercury; and for the third day it begins with Mars; so that each day of the week begins with its appropriate planet in the usual order, which is best seen in the French names Mardi, Mercredi, Jeudi, Vendredi, and the English Saturday, Sunday and Monday.

Each of the seven divisions has its lucky or unlucky characteristics, much as in the systems already described.

Besides these, each day of the week has its own appropriate occupations, according to another system, at times ascertained by measuring the length of one’s shadow. Further, it would appear that some days are unlucky altogether: one account gives seven unlucky days in every month; another asserts that Thursday is unlucky in the months Dhu-’l-hijjah, Muharram, and Safar; Tuesday in Rabiʿ-al-awal, Rabiʿ-al-akhir, and Jumada-’l-awal; Saturday in Jumada-’l-akhir, Rĕjab and Shaʿban; Sunday in Ramadhan, Shawal, and Dhu-’l-kaʿidah; a third specifies twelve other most inauspicious days in every year, viz. the 28th of Muharram, the 10th of Safar, the 14th of Rabiʿ-al-awal, and so on, while for greater convenience a calendar has been drawn up, which is far too long to be reproduced here, but which closely resembles the weather chart illustrated on another page, and gives the whole list of days of the Muhammadan year classified under the heads lucky (baik), somewhat unlucky, very unlucky, and neutral.

Besides this, whole years are lucky or unlucky according as the first of Muharram falls on a Sunday, Monday, etc.; and, moreover, years vary in luck according to the letter they bear in the Cycle of Eight.228

Most of these systems of divination involve the construction of a sort of calendar, and require some degree of astronomical knowledge; but of astronomy properly so-called the Malays have scarcely even a smattering, its place being taken by the, to them, far more important science of astrology. “Their meagre ideas regarding the motions of the heavenly bodies are derived, through the Arabs, from the Ptolemaic system.”229

The seven Heavenly Bodies (Bintang Tujoh), mentioned above, whose motions they believe to be produced by the agency of angels,230 retain their Arabic names,231 and are believed to rule the “seven ominous moments” (Katika Tujoh), which are supposed to depend on the influences of these several sidereal bodies.232

The signs of the Zodiac similarly bear Arabic appellations, the form of divination in which they bear the principal part being called the Twelve Constellations (Bintang Dua-b’las).233

This form of divination is not quite so common as are those of the Five Ominous Times (5-square) and the Seven Heavenly Bodies (7-square), and I have not been able to find out much about the methods of working it, but a copy of one of the diagrams used for the purpose will be found on another page.

According to one view, which is perhaps the prevalent one, every man’s luck is determined by one or other of the zodiacal constellations, and in order to find out which one it is, the following direction is given:—

“Reckon the numerical equivalent of the person’s name and of the name of his mother by the values of the letters according to the system of the Abjad; add the two numerical equivalents together, and divide the total by twelve; if the remainder is 1, his sign is the Ram, if 2, the Bull, and so on.”

Each constellation has a series of characteristics which are supposed to influence the whole life of the person who is subject to it.234

Besides the above, a few of the other constellations are known to possess Malay names, and wherever this is the case, the name given appears usually to be quite original, having no connection with the nomenclature obtaining among nations with which we are more familiar.235

In addition to the above, the Malays possess a curious system by which the lunar month is divided into a number of parts called Rĕjang. According to Newbold, “the twenty-eight Rĕjangs resemble the Nacshatras or lunar mansions of the Hindoos, rather than the Anwa of the Arabs”;236 and it is a priori very probable that they owe their origin to this Hindu system. But by the Malays their application has been generally misunderstood, and their number is usually raised to thirty so as to fit the days of the lunar month. Each of these divisions has its symbol, which is usually an animal, and the first animal in the list is (in almost all versions) the horse. A horse’s head is also the figure of the first of the Hindu Nakshatras, but there seems to be little trace of identity in the remaining figures, which for the sake of comparison are given, side by side with the Malay symbols, in the Appendix. The Malays have embodied this system in a series of mnemonic verses (known as Shaʿir Rĕjang), of which there are several versions, e.g. the Rĕjang of ’Che Busu, the Rĕjang Sindiran Maiat, and others.237

The Rĕjangs are also dealt with at length in prose treatises: one of these, which identifies the Rĕjangs with the days of the lunar month, begins “on the first day of the month, whose rĕjang is a horse, God Almighty created the prophet Adam; this day is good for planting, travelling, and sailing, and trading on this day will be profitable; it is also a good day for a wedding, and on this day it is lucky to be attacked (i.e. in war), but rather unlucky to take the offensive; ... good news received (at this time) is true, bad news is false; property lost (on this day) will soon be recovered; the man who stole it is short of stature, with scanty hair, a round face, a slender figure and a yellow complexion; the property has been placed in a house, ... under the care of a dark man; ... if a child is born on this day it will be extremely fortunate; if one is ill on this day, one will quickly recover; the proper remedy for driving away the evil (tolak bala), is to make a representation of a horse and throw it away towards the (East?)”238 In other respects this system of divination seems to agree in its main features with those which have already been described.

Having mentioned the divisions of the calendar which are chiefly used in divination, it seems desirable, for the sake of completeness, to allude briefly to those that remain.

“The better informed Malays acknowledge the solar year of 365 days, which they term the toun (tahun) shemsiah, but in obedience to their Mohammedan instructors, adopt the lunar year (toun kumriah) of 354 days.”239

This remark is still true, no doubt, of the up-country Malays on the West Coast, but in most districts, and to an extent commensurate with European influence, the solar year is now being gradually introduced.

The same remark applies to the method of reckoning months, a dual system being now in vogue in many places where there is most contact with Europeans. Regarding the native methods the following quotation is to the point:—

“There are three ways of reckoning the months. First, the Arabian, computing thirty days to the first month, and twenty-nine to the second month, and so on alternately to the end of the year.

“Second, the Persian mode, viz. thirty days to each month; and, thirdly, that of Rum, i.e. thirty-one days to the month. The first is in general use. Some few, with greater accuracy, calculate their year at 354 days eight hours, intercalating every three years twenty-four hours, or one day to make up the deficiency, and thirty-three days for the difference between the solar and lunar years.

“But the majority of the lower classes estimate their year by the fruit seasons and by their crops of rice only. Many, however, obstinately adhere to the lunar months, and plant their paddy at the annual return of the lunar month.”

“The Malay months have been divided into weeks of seven days, marked by the return of the Mohammedan Sabbath. Natives who have had intercourse with Europeans divide the day and night into twenty-four parts, but the majority measure the day by the sun’s apparent progress through the heavens, the crow of the cock, etc. The religious day commences at sunset, like that of the Arabs and Hebrews.”

“There are two cycles borrowed from the Arabs, and known only to a few, viz. one of 120 years, the dour240 besar, and the other of eight, dour kechil. The latter is sometimes seen in dates of letters, and resembles the mode adopted by us of distinguishing by letters the different days of the week, substituting eight years for the seven days. The order of the letters is as follows: Alif-ha-jim-za-dal-ba-wau-dal-Ahajazdabuda. The present year (1251) is the year Toun-za.

“In a Malay MS. history of Patani, in my possession, I find the Siamese mode of designating the different years of the cycle by the names of animals adopted.”241

Most if not all these systems of reckoning seem to have been treated by the Malays from the astrological point of view as forming a basis for divination, and these crude notions of the lucky or unlucky nature of certain times and seasons are to some extent systematised by or in some degree mixed up with the idea of the mystic influence of numbers and geometrical figures.

Of the mystic figures used in divination, the first in importance is, no doubt, what has been called the “magic square,” a term applied to “a set of numbers arranged in a square in such a manner that the vertical, horizontal, and diagonal columns shall give the same sums.”

The ordinary form of magic square, which was formerly in use in Europe, is the following; it is occasionally found even among the Malays.

Magic Square of 3.

Magic Square of 5.

Magic Square of 7.

But the form of magic square generally used by the Malays is the same figure reversed.

Magic Square of 3.242

Magic Square of 5.242

Magic Square of 7.242

The ordinary Malay astrologer most likely understands very little of the peculiar properties of a magic square, and consequently he not unfrequently makes mistakes in the arrangement of the figures. I believe, also, that in using the squares for purposes of divination he now usually begins at one corner and counts straight on, the beginning place being almost always distinguished by a small solitary crescent or crescent and star just over the square.243 When coloured squares are introduced, as is the case with several of the 5-squares, the sum of 25 squares is subdivided into five sets or groups of five squares each, a different colour being assigned to each group. These colours would no doubt retain the comparative values usually assigned to them by Malay astrologers. Thus white would be the best of all; yellow, as the royal colour, little, if at all inferior to white; brown, blue, or red would be medium colours; black would be bad, and so on.

Sometimes, again, the names of the five Hindu deities already mentioned will be found similarly arranged, in which case they appear to refer to the divisions of the day, described above under the name of Katika Lima. Besides this class of magic squares, however, there are other kinds which present irregularities, and are not so easily explainable. Some of these violate the fundamental rule of the magic square, which insists that each square shall have an equal number of small squares running each way, and that this number shall be an odd one.

Others exhibit the right number of small squares (3 × 3 or 5 × 5 or 7 × 7), but instead of a subdivision into sub-groups, have merely an arrangement of alternative emblems, such as a bud and a full-blown flower, or the like.

An analysis of the squares whose figures are given in the illustrations shows that the order of the colours, deities, and planets is by no means always the same.

Thus, in the matter of the order of the five colours, we have:—

And in the matter of the order of the Five Deities we find:—

And yet another 5-square containing the names of Deities (Pl. 26, Fig. 2) is composed as follows:—

From Pl. 26, Fig. 2, it would appear that this form of the 5-square is used to ascertain the best time of day to commence an operation, e.g. to start on a journey.

In a 7-square we find the following:—

This 7-square is based on a heptacle in which every alternate day is skipped, thus:—

This form of square is evidently used to ascertain the best day of the week to commence any operation.

Next in importance to the methods of divination by the use of magic squares, come those which depend upon “aspect,” and involve the use of diagrams which I propose to call “aspect-compasses.” Of these the commonest form is a drawing, in which the places usually occupied by the points of the compass are occupied by the names of certain things (usually animals or birds) which are supposed to be naturally opposed to each other. Thus in one of these compass-like figures we find (vide Pl. 25, Fig. 2):—

Another has:—

And a third:—

whilst a fourth has alternately cape and bay.

The way in which these figures were used for divination is very clearly shown by Pl. 25, Fig. 1, which is copied from a figure in one of my (Selangor) charm-books, which had the days of the month, from the 1st to the 30th, written round it in blue ink. Starting from the north aspect, you count round to the left until (allowing one day to each aspect) you arrive at the aspect corresponding to the number of the day of the month upon which you wish to start your journey. If it coincides with an aspect assigned to one of the weaker influences, it will be most imprudent to start on that day. Start on a day assigned to one of the stronger influences, and you will be all right. If the first aspect-compass which you consult is not accommodating enough for your requirements, go on consulting others until you find one which is satisfactory.

Other forms of the compass-figure are used for divining whether if he starts on a certain day the man will get the better of his enemy, or meet with a person (e.g. a slave or a thief) who has run away. In the former case a double circle of human figures is used, the figures of the inner circle representing the person who seeks the information, and those of the outer circle his enemy. The counting is carried out in precisely the same manner as before, and the headless figure in each case represents the man who will lose. In the case of a drawn battle neither party, of course, loses his head.

In the case of an absconder, a single circle of figures is used, the figures pointing towards the centre signifying that the absconding party will return or be caught, and those pointing away from the centre signifying the opposite. In one case (Pl. 25, Fig. 2) there are fourteen human figures arranged in two opposing rows of seven, every alternate figure being headless. In this case you start the counting at the right-hand figure of the bottom row, and count towards the left. Yet another form of divination in which the human figure is made use of, is shown in Pl. 25, Fig. 1; a number of small red circles (which should be alternately dark and light) are drawn at the salient points of the figure, and counted down to the left in order, beginning at the head. All I have yet been able to discover about the villainous-looking individual here portrayed is the fact that he is said to represent one “Unggas Tĕlang,” who was described to me as an “old war-chief” (hulubalang tua) of the Sea-gypsies (Orang Laut) and the Malay pirates.

Figures of dragons (naga) and scorpions (kala) are sometimes used in a similar manner; and there is also an aspect-compass known as the Rajal-al-ghaib or Jinazah Sayidna ʿAli ibn Abu Talib (the body or bier of Our Lord ʿAli, the son of Abu Talib), which, according to this notion, “is continually being carried by angels247 towards the different quarters of the heavens, and must not be faced; for if one faces towards it, one is sure to be defeated in battle or fight.” The aspect to be avoided varies from day to day, turning towards each of the eight points of the ordinary Malay compass three or four times in the lunar month.

The subject of omens in general has been shortly dealt with at the beginning of this section, and also incidentally mentioned in connection with various departments of nature and human life. It would hardly be possible to make a complete or systematic list of the things from which omens are taken. Apart from those depending merely on Times, Seasons, Numbers, and Aspect, which have been already dealt with at quite sufficient length, it may be noted that omens are drawn from earthquakes, thunder, “house-lizards, rats, and other four-footed things,” according to the times at which they are observed, from the colour, smell, and nature of soil (in choosing building-sites), from birds, and, in fact, from a very large variety of matters which cannot be classified under any general head. The lines of the hand are, of course, interpreted among the Malays, as elsewhere, as signs of good and evil fortune. It has not been possible to collect much information on the subject of Malay chiromancy, but for the benefit of European adepts in “palmistry” (as it seems to be usually styled nowadays) it may be worth while mentioning that the Malays attach importance, as an indication of long life (ʿalamat panjang ʿumor),248 to the intersection of the line round the base of the thumb249 with the one which runs round the wrist (simpeian ʿAli), while a broken line across the palm (rĕtak putus) is believed by them to be a sign of invulnerability (tanda pĕnggĕtas, ta’ buleh di-tikam). Upright lines running up the lower joints of the fingers, in the same line as the fingers themselves, are a sign of prospective wealth (ʿalamat ’nak di-panjat dĕ’ duit, tanda orang kaya), and a whorl of circular lines on the fingers (pusat bĕlanak) is a sign of a craftsman (ʿalamat orang tukang).

More important, perhaps, are the omens believed to be derived from dreams, of which there seem to be several different methods of interpretation. According to one system the initial letter of the thing dreamt of determines the luck: thus to dream of a thing beginning with T is very lucky indeed, to dream of a thing beginning with H means that a visitor from a distance is to be expected; N indicates sorrow, L is a hint to give alms to the poor and needy, and so forth. According to another system, a purely arbitrary meaning is put upon the subject-matter of the dream, or, at most, some slight analogy is the basis of the interpretation. Thus to dream of a gale of wind in the early morning is an omen of sorrow, to dream of hail means acquisition of property, to dream of bathing in a heavy shower of rain indicates escape from a very great danger, a dream about mosquitoes, flies, and the like, means that an enemy is coming to the village, to dream about eating jack-fruit (nangka) or plantain (pisang) is an indication of great trouble impending, and so on; an extract from a treatise on this subject is given in the Appendix, and it is impossible to dwell at greater length upon it here. Among Malay gamblers special importance is attached to dreams as an indication of luck in gambling (mimpi paksa or dapat paksa). If the gambler dreams of “sweeping out the gambling farm” (mĕnyapu pajak), i.e. “breaking the bank,” or of running amok in it (mĕngamok pajak), or of bailing out the ocean (mĕnimba lautan), or of the ocean running dry (lautan k’ring), or even of his breeding maggots on his person (badan bĕrulat), he is confident of great good fortune in the near future.

As a specimen of the importance traditionally ascribed to dreams, it seems worth while to give the following popular legend, which also illustrates the type of folk-tales in which hidden treasure plays a great part:—

“Che Puteh Jambai and his wife were very poor people, who lived many generations ago at Pulo Kambiri on the Perak river. They had so few clothes between them that when one went out the other had to stay at home. Nothing seemed to prosper with them, so leaving Pulo Kambiri, where their poverty made them ashamed to meet their neighbours, they moved up the river to the spot since called Jambai. Shortly after they had settled here Che Puteh was troubled by a portent which has disturbed the slumbers of many great men from the time of Pharaoh downwards. He dreamed a dream. And in his dream he was warned by a supernatural visitant to slay his wife, this being, he was assured, the only means by which he could hope to better his miserable condition.

“Sorely disturbed in mind, but never doubting that the proper course was to obey, Che Puteh confided to his wife the commands which he had received, and desired her to prepare for death. The unhappy lady acquiesced with that conjugal submissiveness which in Malay legends, as in the Arabian Nights, is so characteristic of the Oriental female when landed in some terrible predicament. But she craved and obtained permission to first go down to the river and wash herself with lime juice. So taking a handful of limes she went forth, and, standing on the rock called Batu Pembunoh, she proceeded to perform her ablutions after the Malay fashion. The prospect of approaching death, we may presume, unnerved her, for in dividing the limes with a knife she managed to cut her own hand and the blood dripped down on the rocks and into the river; as each drop was borne away by the current, a large jar immediately rose to the surface and floated, in defiance of all natural laws, up-stream to the spot whence the blood came. As each jar floated up Che Puteh’s wife tapped it with her knife and pulled it in to the edge of the rocks. On opening them she found them all full of gold. She then went in search of her husband and told him of the treasure of which she had suddenly become possessed. He spared her life, and they lived together in the enjoyment of great wealth and prosperity for many years. Their old age was clouded, it is believed, by the anxiety attending the possession of a beautiful daughter, who was born to them after they became rich. She grew up to the perfection of loveliness, and all the Rajas and Chiefs of the neighbouring countries were her suitors. The multitude of rival claims so bewildered the unhappy parents that, after concealing a great part of their riches in various places, they disappeared and have never since been seen. Their property was never found by their children, though, in obedience to instructions received in dreams, they braved sea-voyages and went to seek for it in the distant lands of Kachapuri and Jamulepor.

“Several places near Jambai connected with the legend of Che Puteh are still pointed out; at Bukit Bunyian the treasure was buried and still lies concealed. A deep gorge leading down to the river is the ghaut down which Che Puteh’s vast flocks of buffaloes used to go to the river. Its size is evidence of the great number of the animals, and therefore of the wealth of their owner. Two deep pools, called respectively Lubuk Gong and Lubuk Sarunai, contain a golden gong and a golden flute which were sunk here by Che Puteh Jambai. The flute may sometimes be seen lying on one of the surrounding rocks, but always disappears into the depths of the pool before any mortal can approach it. The treasures of Lubuk Gong might before now have passed into human possession, had it not been for the covetousness of the individual selected as their recipient. A Malay of Ulu Perak was told in a dream to go and fish in the pool of the gong and to take a pair of betel-nut scissors (kachip) with him. He was to use the kachip immediately on being told to do so. Next morning he was at the pool early, and at his first cast hooked something heavy and commenced to draw it up. When the hook appeared above water there was a gold chain attached to it. The lucky fisherman then commenced to pull up the chain into his canoe, and hauled up fathoms of it, hand over hand, until the boat could hardly hold any more. Just then a little bird alighted on a branch close by and piped out a couple of notes, which sounded for all the world like kachip. The man heard, but he wanted a little more, and he went on hauling. ‘Kachip,’ said the bird again. ‘Just a very little more,’ thought the fisherman, and he still continued dragging up the chain. Again and again the warning note sounded, but in vain, and suddenly a strong pull from the bottom of the pool dragged back the chain, and before the Malay had time to divide it with his tweezers, the last link of it had disappeared beneath the water.”250