In the meantime Seragunting, tired with his play, came back in search of his mother. She was very fond indeed of him, and he expected her to come to him as soon as he called out to her. But he was disappointed. No one answered his call, and when he looked in the room she was not there. He asked his father where his mother was, and he told him that she had just gone to the well to fetch water, and would soon be back.

But hour after hour passed, and she did not return to the house. So Seragunting began to be anxious, and asked his father to accompany him to the well to look for her. At first his father refused to do so, but when he saw his son crying for his mother, he went with him to the well. They found the water-vessels there, but saw no signs of her.

“Your mother is not here, Seragunting,” said Siu. “Perhaps she has gone to the garden to get some vegetables for our dinner. Let us go back to the house. If your mother is not back early to-morrow morning, we will go and look for her.” So they both returned to the house, taking back with them the water-gourds which Siu’s wife had left at the well.

Early the next morning Seragunting and his father went in search of her. They took with them only a little food, as they expected to find her not very far off. But they wandered the whole day, and saw no signs of her. They spent the night under a large tree in the jungle. Early the next morning they were surprised to find a small bundle of food, wrapped up in leaves, near Seragunting. This food was evidently meant for him alone, as it was not enough for two, but he gave some of it to his father, who ate sparingly of it, so that his son might not be hungry. They wandered on for several days, and every night the same strange thing occurred—a bundle of food was left near Seragunting. Siu suggested to his son that they should return; but Seragunting, who during the journey had grown up into a strong lad, with a will of his own, would not consent to do so, as he was determined to find his mother.

They wandered on for several days, deeper and deeper into the jungle, but could find no signs of her whom they sought. At last they came to the sea-shore. Here they rested for some days, in the hope that some boat might pass. Still, as before, each morning a bundle of food was found by Seragunting. If it were not for this food, they would have long ago died of starvation. On this they managed to live, waiting hopefully to see some boat appear to take them on their journey.

One day as Seragunting was watching, he heard the sound of paddles, and saw in the distance several long boats approaching. He hailed the first, and asked the men in it to take him and his father with them. The boat made for the shore, but the man in the bows recognized the two wanderers, and shouted out: “It is Siu and his son Seragunting; do not let them come into the boat.” The boat went on and left them to their fate. The same thing happened in the case of each of the other boats. As soon as Siu and his son were recognized, no one would help them.

Now these were the boats of the sons-in-law of Singalang Burong: Katupong, Beragai, Bejampong, Papau, Nendak, Kutok, and Embuas. They were not pleased at their sister-in-law marrying a mere mortal like Siu, and so refused to help him and his son.

The next day Seragunting saw what seemed to be a dark cloud come towards him over the sea. As it came nearer, it took the form of a gigantic spider, carrying some food and clothes.

“Do not be afraid,” said the Spider; “I have come to help you and your father. I have brought you food and clothing. When you have eaten and changed your clothes I will take you across the water to the land on the other side. My name is Emplawa Jawa (the Spider of Java). I know your history, and I will lead you to your mother whom you seek.”

After they had eaten and put on the new clothes brought them, the spider told them to go with him across the sea. They were not to be afraid, but to follow his track, not turning to the right hand nor to the left. They obeyed his words. Strange to say, the water became as hard as a sandbank under their feet. For a long time they were out of sight of land, but towards evening they approached the opposite shore, and saw a landing-place where there were a large number of boats. Not far off were several houses, and one longer and more imposing than any of the others. To this house the Spider directed Seragunting, telling him that he would find his mother there. The Spider then left them. As it was late, they did not go up to the house that evening, but spent the night in one of the boats at the landing-place. Among the boats were those belonging to the sons-in-law of Singalang Burong, which had passed Siu and his son as they waited on the sea-shore for some boat to take them across the sea.

When Seragunting and his father woke up next morning, they saw that the road leading up to the house had sharpened pieces of bamboo planted close together to prevent their walking up to it. As they were wondering what they were to do next, a fly came to Seragunting, and said:

“Do not be afraid to walk up. Tread on the spikes that I alight on; they will not hurt you. When you come to the house you will find swords with blades turned upwards fastened to the ladder. Tread on the blades that I alight on, and walk boldly up into the house.”

They did as the fly advised them, and were not hurt. The bamboo spikes crumbled under their feet, and the sword-blades they trod on were blunt and harmless.

The people of the house took no notice of them, and they sat down in the veranda of the house. Then the fly came to Seragunting, and whispered to him: “You must now follow me into the room. Your mother is there, lying in her mosquito curtain. I will point out to you which it is, and you must wake her up and tell her who you are. She will be very pleased to see you. Then when you come out into the veranda and see the sons-in-law of Singalang Burong, you must greet them as your uncles. They will disown you, and pretend that you are no relation of theirs. But do not be afraid. You will be victorious in the end.”

Seragunting followed the fly into the room, and went to the curtain on which it alighted. He called out to his mother, and she awoke and saw with joy her son. She embraced him, and he said to her:

“How is it you went away and left us? We missed you so much, and were so sorry to lose you, that my father and I have been travelling for many days and nights in search of you. Now our troubles are over, for I have found you.”

“My dear son,” she said as she caressed him, “though I left you I did not forget you. It was I who placed the food by you every night. I left your father because he broke the promise he made to me. But you are my own son, and I have been wishing to see you ever since I left your house. It was I who sent the Spider to help you and show you your way here. My love for you is as great as it ever was. We will go out now into the veranda, and I will introduce you to your uncles and aunts, and to your grandfather. They may not welcome you, because they were opposed to my marriage to your father. But do not fear them. We will be more than a match for them all.”

Then she spoke to her husband Siu, whom she was glad to meet again. All three then went out into the veranda, which was now full of people. Seragunting called the sons-in-law of Singalang Burong his uncles, but they refused to acknowledge him as their nephew.

They proposed several ordeals to prove the truth of his words, that he was indeed the grandson of Singalang Burong. In all of these Seragunting came off victorious.

As the men and boys were spinning their tops, they asked Seragunting to join them. He had no top of his own, so he asked his mother for one. She took an egg and uttered some mysterious words over it, and immediately it became a top. This she gave to her son, who went and joined the others in the game. Whenever Seragunting aimed at a top, he always hit it and smashed it. None of the others were a match for him. In a short time all the tops, except that of Seragunting, were broken in pieces.

Then they suggested a wrestling match. Seragunting was quite ready to try a fall with any of them, old or young. Some of their best wrestlers came forward. The first two were overthrown by him so easily, that the others saw it was no use their attempting to wrestle with Seragunting.

As a last trial they proposed that all should go out hunting. Here they hoped to be more fortunate. All the sons-in-law of Singalang Burong took their good hunting dogs with them, confident of success. Seragunting was told that he could have any of the other dogs left in the house. There he saw a few old dogs, weak and useless for hunting. With these he was expected to compete against the others, and if he were not successful, both he and his father were to be killed! Seragunting consented even to such an unfair ordeal as that. He called to him an old sickly-looking dog and gently stroked it. At once it became young and strong! While the others went forth into the jungle with a pack of hounds, Seragunting was only accompanied by one dog. In the evening Katupong, Beragai, Bejampong, and the others all returned unsuccessful. Soon after Seragunting’s dog appeared, chasing a huge boar, which made a stand at the foot of the ladder of the house. Seragunting asked the others to kill the beast if they dared. The spears cast at it glided off and left the beast unharmed. Some of those who were rash enough to go near the animal had a close escape from being torn in pieces by its tusks.

Seragunting, armed with nothing better than a little knife belonging to his mother, walked up to the infuriated animal and stabbed it in a vital part, and it fell down dead at his feet.

After these marvellous feats, all were compelled to admit that Seragunting was a true grandson of the great Singalang Burong. They all acknowledged him as such, and he was taken to his grandfather, who was pleased to see the lad, and promised to help him throughout his life.

But Siu was unhappy in his new home. He could not help thinking of his mother, whom he had left alone, and he was anxious to return to his own people. He begged his wife to accompany him back to his old home, but she refused to do so. It was decided that Siu and his son should stay in the house of Singalang Burong till they had obtained such knowledge as would be useful to them in the future, and that then they were to return to the lower world, bringing with them the secrets they had learnt from those wiser and more powerful than themselves.

All the people of the house were now most kind to Siu and his son, and were most anxious to teach them all they could. They were taken on a war expedition against the enemy, so that they might learn the science and art of Dyak warfare. They were taught how to set traps to catch deer and wild pig. They were shown the different methods of catching fish, and learnt to make the different kinds of fish-trap used by the Dyaks of the present day. They remained in Singalang Burong’s house that whole year so that they might have a complete and practical knowledge of the different stages of paddy-growing.

When the year was ended, Seragunting’s mother took him and Siu to see her father, Singalang Burong, so that they might receive from him his advice, as well as such charms as he might wish to give them before they left to return to the lower world of mortals.

Singalang Burong was sitting in his chair of state, and received them most kindly. He bade them be seated on the mat at his feet, as he had many things to say to them. Then he explained to Siu and his son who he was, and the worship due to him, and they learnt also about the observance of omens, both good and bad.

“I am the Ruler of the Spirit-World,” said Singalang Burong, “and have the power to make men successful in all they undertake. At all times if you wish for my help, you must call upon me and make offerings to me. Especially must this be done before you go to fight against the enemy, for I am the God of War, and help those who pay me due respect.

“You have learnt here how to plant paddy. I will give you some paddy to take away with you, and when you get back to your own country, you can teach men how to cultivate it. You will find rice a much more strengthening article of food than the yams and potatoes you used to live upon, and you will become a strong and hardy race.

“And to help you in your daily work, my sons-in-law will always tell you whether that you do is right or wrong. In every work that you undertake you must pay heed to the voices of the sacred birds—Katupong, Beragai, Bejampong, Papau, Nendak, Kutok, and Embuas. These birds, named after my sons-in-law, represent them, and are the means by which I make known my wishes to mankind. When you hear them, remember it is myself speaking through my sons-in-law for encouragement or for warning. Whatever work you may be engaged in,—farm-work, house-building, fishing, or hunting—wherever you may be you must always do as these birds direct. Whenever you have a feast, you must make an offering to me, and you must call upon my sons-in-law to come and partake of the feast. If you do not do these things, some evil is sure to happen to you. I am willing to help you and to give you prosperity, but I expect due respect to be paid to me, and will not allow my commands to be disobeyed.”

Then Singalang Burong presented them with many charms to take away with them. They were of various kinds. Some had the power to make the owner brave and fortunate in war. Others were to preserve him in good health, or to make him successful in his paddy-planting, and cause him to have good harvests.

Siu and Seragunting then bade their friends farewell and started to return. As soon as they had descended the ladder of the house of Singalang Burong, they were swiftly transported through the air by some mysterious power, and in a moment they found themselves at the bathing-place of their own house.

Their friends crowded round them, glad to see them back safe and well. They were taken with much rejoicing to the house. Friends and neighbours were told of their return, and a great meeting was held that evening. All gathered round the two adventurers, who told them of their strange experiences in the far country of the Spirit Birds. The charms received from Singalang Burong were handed round for general admiration. The new seed, paddy, was produced, and the good qualities of rice as an article of food explained. The people congregated there had never seen paddy before, but all determined to be guided by Siu and Seragunting, and to plant it in future. The different names of the sacred birds were told to the assembled people, and all were warned to pay due respect to their cries.

And so, according to the ancient legend, ended the old primitive life of the Dyak, when he lived upon such poor food as the fruits of the jungle, and any yams and potatoes he happened to plant near his house; the old blind existence, in which there was nothing to guide him; and then began his new life, in which he advanced forward a step, and learnt to have regularly, year by year, his seed-time and harvest, and to know that there were unseen powers ruling the universe, whose will might be learnt by mankind, and obedience to whom would bring success and happiness.

III. Pulang-Gana, and how He came to be Worshipped as the God of the Earth.

Long, long ago, though the Dyaks knew of paddy, and planted it every year, yet they had very poor crops, because they did not know what god owned the land, and as they did not offer him sacrifices he did nothing to help them. In those days there lived together seven brothers and their only sister. The brothers’ names were Bui-Nasi, Belang-Pinggang, Bejit-Manai, Bunga-Jawa, Litan-Dai, Kenyawang, and Pulang-Gana, and the sister’s Puchong-Kempat. They lived on a hill by the side of a broad river. On all sides were wide plains, and beyond them high hills rose in the distance. Most of these plains were covered with thick jungle, and only a few clearings where paddy had been planted could be seen.

Not far from the house the brothers had a garden in which they planted potatoes, yams, sugar-cane, and tapioca; but a porcupine would often come at night and do much damage to the garden. They bade their youngest brother, Pulang-Gana, keep watch, directing him to drive away the animal or kill it if he could. But all his efforts were vain. When he was awake the animal did not come, but as soon as he fell asleep the porcupine would creep in quietly and eat up the potatoes and yams. The elder brothers were not kind to Pulang-Gana. They would not keep watch themselves, but whenever they saw fresh damage done they not only scolded their younger brother, but beat him with sticks.

“He is only lazy,” they said, “and deserves a thrashing. He does nothing but sleep, and is too lazy to wake up at night and drive the porcupine away!”

Poor Pulang-Gana! His was a hard lot indeed!

He determined to keep careful watch one night, and, whatever it cost him, to kill the porcupine, so that his brothers might have no more cause for blaming him. That night he did not sleep at all. The porcupine came just before dawn, when all was still. Pulang-Gana was awake, and went after it, determined to kill it. The animal ran away, and Pulang-Gana followed. The moon was shining brightly, and he had no difficulty in seeing in what direction the animal went. Every now and then the porcupine stopped, but as soon as Pulang-Gana came up it started off again, and he was not able to kill it; so the animal went on, and Pulang-Gana followed, determined not to give up the chase until he had effected his purpose.

The sun was beginning to rise in the east, and still Pulang-Gana pursued the porcupine.

“Sooner or later,” he said to himself, “I must catch it up. The animal is already tired. I will not return home till I have killed it.”

The porcupine now came to the foot of a rocky mountain. Pulang-Gana, thinking the chase would soon be over, hurried on, but before he could reach the animal it had escaped through an opening in the solid rock. The cave into which it had disappeared was large enough for a man to stand upright in, and Pulang-Gana said to himself:—

“Now I have you. Wait till I have a light to show me where you are, and then I will come in and kill you.”

He collected some dry branches, and tied them together for a torch. He found a piece of dry soft wood, and also a short stick of some hard wood, the point of which he sharpened. With the palms of his hands he worked the small stick and drilled a hole in the soft wood. Soon it began to smoke, and with the aid of some dry twigs he blew the fire into a blaze; then he lighted his torch, and hurried into the cave after the porcupine.

He saw the animal a little distance ahead of him, and followed it leisurely. There was no need for haste, as he would be able to kill it easily enough when he drove it to the end of the cave, and it had no means of escape. The cave seemed to extend a great way into the mountain. After a few hours’ walking Pulang-Gana was surprised to come to an opening in the rock, through which the porcupine had evidently escaped. Outside the sun was shining brightly. Pulang-Gana went through this opening, but, though he looked in all directions, he could see no signs of the porcupine.

He was uncertain what he ought to do next. The porcupine had escaped, and there was no chance of his being able to kill it. He did not feel inclined to return to his brothers, because they were all unkind to him. On the other hand, he did not know if this new country in which he found himself was inhabited; and, if inhabited, whether the people would treat him kindly. Looking around, he saw smoke arising some distance off, and guessed that it was a Dyak house. As he was hungry, he decided to make for it, hoping the inmates would be kind to him and give him food.

As Pulang-Gana came nearer, he saw the house was a very long one, inhabited by about one hundred families. He stopped at the bottom of the ladder leading up to the house, and, following the Dyak custom, asked in a loud voice if he might walk up.

“Yes; come up, Pulang-Gana,” said a voice in reply. “We have been expecting you for some time, and will be glad to see you.”

He was surprised that his name should be known in this strange country in which he had never been before. He walked up, and in the long open hall stretching the whole length of the house he saw an old man and a young and beautiful girl.

“Spread out a mat, my daughter,” the old man said, “that Pulang-Gana may sit and rest after his long journey, and you can prepare some food for him. No doubt he is hungry as well as tired.”

She spread out a mat for Pulang-Gana, and then went into the room to get ready a meal for their visitor. Soon after she opened the door of the room and asked him to come in and eat.

The old man, who seemed kind and hospitable, said to him:—

“Go in and have some food. You must be hungry after your long journey. When you have eaten and rested we can have a talk together. I have long wished to meet you and to ask you about yourself and your brothers, and how affairs are in your country.”

Pulang-Gana went into the room, and found a nice meal awaiting him. Being very hungry, he did full justice to it.

That evening, as they sat by the fire, the old man asked him about his people, and if they had good crops of paddy in his country. Pulang-Gana answered that, though his brothers possessed the largest paddy-fields in the country, he never remembered their having a really good harvest. The paddy they obtained was not sufficient to last them the whole year, and they had to fall back on potatoes and sago for food. The old man seemed interested in what his guest said of himself, so Pulang-Gana went on and told him of all his circumstances,—how he lived with his six brothers and only sister, and how unkind his brothers were to him. He also told the old man about the porcupine which did such damage to their garden, and how often he had been scolded and beaten by his brothers for not being able to drive away or kill the animal. He gave an account of his adventures that morning, and how, determined to kill the porcupine, he had followed it through the underground passage under the mountain, and had found himself in this strange country.

“I have heard your story,” said the old man, “and think you are much to be pitied. Your brothers seem to have been very unkind and to have treated you very badly. I would like you to stay with me here, and not return to them. I have no son, and would like you to marry my daughter and live with us. I am getting old, and am not so strong as I used to be, and will be glad of your help.”

“I should like to stay with you very much, for you seem so kind, and are so different to my brothers, and I should like to marry your daughter and spend the rest of my life here. But there is no one to look after our garden, and the porcupine will do much damage to it. My brothers are sure to be angry with me for leaving them, and when they see their garden destroyed through my neglect they are sure to hunt for me, and when they find me they will probably kill me. No; much as I would like to stay, I am afraid I cannot. I must start to return to-morrow. It would have been different if I had succeeded in killing the porcupine; then it would not matter so much if I stayed away some time.”

“You need not trouble yourself about the animal that attacks the vegetables planted in your garden. I can prevent its coming again. That porcupine is not really an animal. One of our slaves here, named Indai-Antok-Genok, is commanded by me to transform herself into a porcupine, and pay visits to that garden. I shall tell her to do so no more, and your brothers’ garden will be safe enough without you to watch it. You must remain here with us. There is nothing for you to fear. If you do not return, your brothers will think that some accident has happened to you, and that you are dead. As they are all so unkind to you, you may be sure they will not trouble to look for you.”

“Well, if that be the case, I will gladly live with you. I was not happy with my brothers, and I am sure I shall be happy here.”

So it was decided that Pulang-Gana should remain in the house of the old man. Some months afterwards he married the daughter, and they lived happily as husband and wife. His wife’s father and mother were kind to him, and so were the other people in the house, and Pulang-Gana was very glad he decided to cast in his lot with them.

Now, this old man who treated Pulang-Gana so kindly was no ordinary mortal. His name was Rajah Shua, and he ruled the spirits who lived in the underground caves of the earth. His wife was quite as powerful as he. She was a goddess, and had power over the animals of the forest, all of which obeyed her. She was known as Seregendah. The daughter that married Pulang-Gana was called Trentom-Tanah-Tumboh, and sometimes Setanggoi-Tanggoi-Buloh.

In process of time Pulang-Gana’s wife gave birth to a girl, who was very much admired by all, and greatly loved by her parents.

When the child was a few years old, she came one day to her father and mother and asked what property they intended to leave her. The mother showed her the valuable jars and brassware that she possessed, all of which were to belong to her child. Then the little girl asked her father what he had to give her. Pulang-Gana had no property to leave to his daughter. Years ago he had come by chance to this house of Rajah Shua, bringing nothing with him, and unless his brothers gave him a share of their father’s property, he would have nothing to leave his daughter. So he told her to be content with what her mother gave her. She would be very rich without anything from him. But she was not satisfied with this reply, and cried because her father said he had nothing to give her.

When Pulang-Gana saw how sad his child was he said to his father-in-law that he would like to pay a visit to his brothers, and ask them for his share of the property, that he might have something to give his daughter. Rajah Shua told him he might go to them, but warned him that probably he would not have a kind reception, and advised him not to be away long, but to return as soon as possible.

Pulang-Gana started on his journey to his old home, wondering how his brothers would receive him after his long absence. He had no difficulty in finding his way, as his father-in-law gave him very definite instructions about his journey. He found that his brothers had built a new house not far from the site of the old one in which he had lived with them years ago. The house seemed very quiet, and he learnt that nearly all the people were away on a tuba-fishing expedition. Only his sister-in-law, the wife of his brother Belang-Pinggang, was at home.

She was very much surprised to see him, and said they had given him up for dead long ago. She told him that the others were away fishing, and that his brother Bui-Nasi, herself, and a little boy were the only members of the family left at home. He would find his brother and the little boy working at the forge making some implements for their work.

Pulang-Gana said he would go to his brother, and he left the house and walked in the direction where he guessed the forge was from the sound of hammering he heard.

“Oh! is that you, Pulang-Gana?” said Bui-Nasi, as soon as he saw him. “Where have you been all these years? We thought that you had met with some accident, and had died long ago.”

Pulang-Gana said little about himself to his brother. He told him how he had lost his way in the jungle years ago, and when he arrived at last at a house the people there persuaded him to stay with them, and he said that he was now married and had a daughter.

“Have you come with your wife to stay with us?” asked Bui-Nasi.

“No,” was the answer; “I have only come on a short visit by myself to ask for my share of the property left us by our father.”

“You have nothing whatever to expect. You left us years ago of your own will, and have been away all this time, and now you have the impudence to come and ask for your share of the property. I advise you to say nothing of this to the others. They will be very vexed with you if you do.”

“I do not ask for much,” said Pulang-Gana. “I will be satisfied with little. But my daughter asked me what I had to give her, so I came here to beg for something, and I should be sorry to return empty-handed.”

“You shall not return empty-handed,” said Bui-Nasi in scorn. “Here is something for you to take back with you. It is all that you will get from us, I can tell you.” With these words he threw Pulang-Gana a clod of earth which he saw lying near. “Now go away, and do not let us see your face again.”

Pulang-Gana put the lump of earth in his bag, and with a heavy heart started to return to his house. So this was the way his brothers treated him! There was nothing to expect from them!

When he arrived at his house, all the family gathered round him. They had heard that he had gone to ask his brothers for his share of the property, and they were anxious to see what he brought back. His little daughter rushed up eagerly to him and said:—

“Father, what have you brought back for me from my uncles? Let me see the nice things they gave you.”

Then Pulang-Gana said sadly: “I received no share of the property from your uncles. They would have nothing to do with me, and drove me away.”

“But did you get nothing at all from them?” asked his father-in-law.

“Yes,” said Pulang-Gana; “my brother Bui-Nasi did give me something, but I am ashamed to tell you what it is. Here it is.” And he took out from his bag the lump of earth his brother had given him, and handed it to his father-in-law.

When Rajah Shua saw what Pulang-Gana had received from his brothers, he said joyfully:—

“They have given you the most valuable gift it is possible to imagine. You are now a person of great importance. The earth is yours. Whoever wishes to plant on it must first make offerings and sacrifices to you, and pray to you to give him a good harvest. It is in your power to make the earth fruitful or barren, and to give mankind a good or a bad harvest as you will.”

A few months after, the brothers of Pulang-Gana, at the advice of Bui-Nasi, decided on the site where they were to plant paddy that year. It was a large forest some distance away from their house. First they cut down the smaller trees, and then they felled the large trees, and when all this work was done they rested for some weeks, waiting for the sun to dry up the timber, so that it might be set on fire and the land be ready for planting on.

One day Pulang-Gana’s father-in-law said to him: “I hear that your brothers have been busy cutting down the trees where they intend to plant paddy this year. As they gave you the earth some time ago to be your share of the property, it is only right that they should ask leave from you before planting on it. Since they have not done so, you must stop them from planting paddy there.”

“How can I prevent them planting paddy where they like?” said Pulang-Gana in dismay. “Is it likely that they will take any notice of anything I say?”

“Yes,” said his father-in-law, Rajah Shua; “they will have to listen to what you say, for I will be on your side, and will help you. I am the god that rules the spirits that live in the underground caves of the earth, and my wife Seregendah has power over the animals and the spirits which inhabit the forests. As your brothers have treated you so unkindly, and have given you no share of the property, and have simply given you a clod of earth to take back with you, my wife and I will punish them and reward you by giving you power over everything that grows on the earth. Before the land is planted, offerings must be made to you, and invocations must be sung to yourself, and myself, and my wife Seregendah. Unless these things be done, the ground will not be fruitful.

“As your brothers have not done anything of the kind, you must teach them a lesson, and prevent them from going on with their work. This evening at dusk you must go to the newly cleared forest and cry aloud: ‘Come here, all you who are the servants of Seregendah and Rajah Shua,’ and name all the wild beasts of the forest. They will come to you in large numbers. Then you must ask them, as well as the invisible spirits, who will be present too, to help you to put up all the trees that have been cut down.”

Pulang-Gana did as his father-in-law advised him. He went at dusk to the part of the jungle where his brothers had been cutting down the trees, and called to the animals in the name of Rajah Shua and of Seregendah, and they came in large numbers and helped him to put up all the trees that had been felled, and the forest appeared just as it had been before any of the trees had been cut down.

The next day Bui-Nasi went early in the morning to see if the fish-traps he had set in the stream had caught any fish, and as he was near the part of the forest where the trees had been cut down by his brothers and himself not long before, he went on to see how things were getting on, and if the felled jungle was dry enough to be burnt.

To his great surprise he found all the trees standing, and no signs of the clearing that had been made. He hurried home and told his brothers what he had seen, and they all returned, accompanied by their friends and followers, and found that what Bui-Nasi had told them was perfectly true. They were all very much surprised, as they had never known such a thing happen before.

“I wonder if this is really the part of the forest which we cleared a few weeks ago,” said one of the brothers. “Perhaps we have mistaken the spot.”

“No,” said Bui-Nasi in reply; “there is no mistake. Here are the whetstones on which we sharpened our axes and hatchets; and here, too, is where we did our cooking for our midday meal.”

They held a consultation as to what was to be done.

“This is very strange,” said Bui-Nasi. “Some enemy, who is helped by powerful spirits, is determined not to let us plant paddy here. Let us try and find out who has made the trees that we have cut down stand upright as before. My advice is that we cut down the jungle anew, and that some of us remain and keep watch here all night. Perhaps we may be able to catch the culprit.”

So the brothers and all their friends and followers set to work, and before the day was ended they had cleared afresh a large stretch of jungle.

Twelve men, with Bui-Nasi at their head, were set to watch, and the others returned home, discussing among themselves what had taken place.

Those that were left by the clearing had not long to wait. Soon after dusk they saw a man come, and, standing on the trunk of a large felled tree, call aloud to the animals of the forest and the invisible spirits around in the name of Rajah Shua and Seregendah to come to his help. The twelve men crept up cautiously behind him and seized him.

“We have you now,” they said as they held him fast. “It is you who have caused us all the trouble of having to cut down this jungle for the second time. Now we intend to kill you, and you will not be able to play your tricks on us any more.”

It was too dark to see who it was, and Bui-Nasi said: “Let us have a light and see what he is like. I am sure he must be as ugly as he is troublesome.”

One of them fetched a light, and to their great surprise they saw their prisoner was Pulang-Gana!

“So it is you, Pulang-Gana!” said his brother in anger. “You are up to your old tricks again. You were too lazy to work before, and would not keep watch over our garden, and you left us without telling us where you were going. And now, after several years’ absence, you come back and disturb us in our work, and by some means or other set up the trees we have had the trouble of cutting down. Though I am your brother, I have no pity for you. As long as you are alive you will give us trouble, so we intend to kill you and be well rid of you.”

He expected Pulang-Gana to be afraid of him, and to plead for his life. But things were very much changed from the old days, when Pulang-Gana was the despised youngest brother, beaten and scolded by the others. Now he was the son-in-law of the gods, and had Rajah Shua and Seregendah to help him, and he was not at all afraid of his brothers, because he knew well they could do him no harm.

He shook off those that held him, and told them to listen to what he had to say. His manner and bearing were very different from that of one who feared them. They stood around him in awe, for they instinctively felt that Pulang-Gana was not to be trifled with, and from what had already taken place they knew that he was aided by powerful spirits.

Then Pulang-Gana spoke:—

“I have good reason for doing what I did. You have no right to cut down this jungle or to plant on this land. You have not asked my leave to do so, and have not paid me the price of the land. Not long ago, you, Bui-Nasi, gave me a clod of earth as my share of the property of our father, and so I have now the right of preventing any from planting on the earth. It is no use you attempting to kill me. Though you are many in numbers, it is impossible for you to kill me, because I am now the god of the earth, and am assisted by Rajah Shua and Seregendah, whose power you know.”

There was silence for a short time, and then Bui-Nasi said:—

“No doubt what you say is true, for no one without supernatural aid could have made the trees that were cut down stand upright and grow. What do you wish us to do, and how are we to obtain your leave to plant on the land?”

Pulang-Gana told them to gather all the people together the next day, and he would tell them what they must do in order to insure their getting good crops of paddy.

That same night messengers were sent in all directions to tell the people in the neighbouring villages to come together the next day, in order that they might learn from Pulang-Gana what they were to do before cutting down the jungle and planting paddy.

The next morning a very large crowd gathered together, and Pulang-Gana said to them:

“You must always remember that I am the god of the earth, and before cutting down the jungle for planting you must make invocations to me, as well as to Rajah Shua and Seregendah, and you must ask me for permission to plant on the piece of land you have chosen. You must also kill some animal—a pig or a fowl—and offer it as a sacrifice to me, and in addition to this some offering of food—rice, or eggs, or potatoes, or fruit—must be made. Then, lastly, you must remember to bury some small offering in the ground. That is the rent you pay me for the use of the land, for all the land belongs to me, and I expect rent to be paid by all who use it.

“And if anything goes wrong in your paddy-fields, and the crops are poor, or, being good, are attacked by insects or wild animals, then you must call upon Rajah Shua and Seregendah and myself to come to your aid, and we will help you.”

Then for the first time did the new ceremonies come into force, and, aided by the higher powers, men were able to obtain much better crops than they had done before. And this is why no Dyak dares to plant paddy without first burying some small gift in the earth, and also making invocations and offerings to Pulang-Gana, Rajah Shua, and Seregendah.

CHAPTER XXIII
SOME CURIOUS CUSTOMS

Trial by ordeal—Diving contests—A diving contest in Krian—A Dyak superstition—Names—Fruit found by the pathway—Circumcision—Fishing and hunting superstition—Madness—Leprosy—Time—Form of greeting.

The practice of referring disputed questions to supernatural decision is not unknown to the Dyaks. They have the trial by ordeal, and believe that the gods are sure to help the innocent and punish the guilty. I have heard of several different methods, which are seldom resorted to nowadays. The only ordeal that I have frequently seen among the Dyaks is the Ordeal by Diving. When there is a dispute between two parties in which it is impossible to get any reliable evidence, or where one of the parties is not satisfied with the decision of the headman of the Dyak house, the Diving Ordeal is often resorted to.

Several preliminary meetings are held by the representatives of both parties to determine the time and place of the match. It is also decided what property each party should stake. This has to be paid by the loser to the victor. The various articles staked are brought out of the room, and placed in the public hall of the house in which each litigant lives, and there they are covered up and secured.

The Dyaks look upon a Diving Ordeal as a sacred rite, and for several days and nights before the contest they gather their friends together, and make offerings and sing incantations to the spirits, and beg of them to vindicate the just and cause their representative to win. Each party chooses a champion. There are many professional divers who for a trifling sum are willing to undergo the painful contest.

On the evening of the day previous to that on which the diving match is to take place each champion is fed with seven compressed balls of cooked rice. Then each is made to lie down on a fine mat, and is covered with the best Dyak woven sheet they have; an incantation is made over him, and the spirit inhabitants of the waters are invoked to come to the aid of the man whose cause is just.

Early the next morning the champions are roused from their sleep, and dressed each in a fine new waist-cloth. The articles staked are brought down from the houses and placed upon the bank. A large crowd of men, women, and children join the procession of the two champions and their friends and supporters to the scene of the contest at the riverside. As soon as the place is reached, fires are lit and mats are spread for the divers to sit on and warm themselves. While they sit by their respective fires, the necessary arrangements are made.

Each party provides a roughly-constructed wooden grating to be placed in the bed of the river for his champion to stand on in the water. These are placed within a few yards of each other, where the water is deep enough to reach the waist, and near each a pole is thrust firmly in the mud for the man to hold on to when he is diving.

The two men are led out into the river, and each stands on his own grating grasping his pole. At a given signal they plunge their heads simultaneously into the water. Immediately the spectators shout aloud at the top of their voices, over and over again, “Lobon—lobon,” and continue doing so during the whole contest. What these mysterious words mean, I have never been able to discover. When at length one of the champions shows signs of yielding, by his movements in the water and the shaking of the pole he is holding to, the excitement becomes very great. “Lobon—lobon,” is shouted louder and more rapidly than before. The shouts become deafening. The struggles of the poor victim who is fast becoming asphyxiated are painful to witness. The champions are generally plucky, and seldom come out of the water of their own will. They stay under water until the loser drops senseless, and is dragged ashore apparently lifeless by his companions. The friends of his opponent, raising a loud shout of triumph, hurry to the bank, and seize and carry off the stakes. The vanquished one, quite unconscious, is carried by his friends to the fire. In a few minutes he recovers, opens his eyes and gazes wildly around, and in a short time is able to walk slowly home. Next day he is probably in high fever from the effects of his dive. When both champions succumb at the same time, the one who first regains his senses is held to be the winner.

I have timed several diving contests, and where the divers are good they keep under water between three and four minutes.

Among some tribes of Dyaks, the champion is paid his fee whether he wins or loses. They say it is not the fault of the diver, but because his side is in the wrong, that he is beaten. Among other tribes, however, no fee is given to the losing champion, so he comes off very poorly indeed.

There are certain cases where diving seems to be the only means of a satisfactory decision. Take the case of the ownership of a durian tree. The tree probably does not bear fruit till fifteen years after it has been planted. Up to that time no one pays any attention to it. When the tree begins to bear fruit two or three lay claim to it. The man who originally planted it is probably dead, and no one knows for certain whom the tree belongs to. In a case like this, no amount of discussion can lead to a satisfactory decision, whereas a diving contest settles the matter to the satisfaction of all parties.

The Dyaks have great faith in the Diving Ordeal, and believe that the gods will always maintain right by making the man who is in the wrong be the loser. In fact, if a Dyak refuses the challenge of a Diving Ordeal, it is equivalent to his admitting that he is in the wrong.

Among the Dyaks of the Batang Lupar diving contests are frequent. Champions are poorly paid for diving, and the losing diver receives nothing at all. Little or nothing is staked, and there is not much attached to the winning or losing of a case except the property in dispute. If the diving contest be about a fruit-tree, the winner becomes the owner of the tree, and the loser is not allowed to make any further claim. In the villages on the Krian River, however, the ordeal by diving is rarely resorted to, and when a diving contest does take place, the stakes are very high indeed.

A remarkable dispute was decided in Krian many years ago. I was told of it by the son of the man who won the case. A girl put out in the sun a petticoat she had woven. It was stolen. Some months after she saw a girl wearing it, and recognized it as her petticoat. She accused the girl of stealing it. The girl declared it was her own, and denied the theft. Both girls belonged to good families. It was decided to resort to the ordeal by diving. The stakes were very high. It was agreed that the losing party should give to the other eight valuable jars.

Each party chose a good champion, and the fee paid him was very high. On the day of the contest a very large crowd from far and near came together to witness it.

The losing party paid to the victors the eight valuable jars as promised, and were reduced to poverty by doing so.

The Dyaks have a curious superstition that if food is offered to a man, and he refuses it, and goes away without at least touching it, some misfortune is sure to befall him. It is said that he is sure to be either attacked by a crocodile, or bitten by a snake, or suffer from the attack of some animal.

When Dyaks have been asked to stay and have a meal, if they do not feel inclined to do so, I have often noticed them touch the food before going away. They say it would be puni not to do so. I have never been able to discover the reason for this curious superstition, but innumerable tales are told of those who have disregarded it, and have paid the penalty by being attacked by some animal.

A curious custom prevails among the Dyaks with regard to names. Parents are no longer known by their names, but as the father or mother of So-and-so. For instance, if the child is born, and named Janting, the father would no longer be known by his own name, but would be called Apai Janting (the father of Janting) and the mother Indai Janting (the mother of Janting).

The names of children are often changed because the Dyaks have a great dislike of mentioning the name of anyone who is dead. So when a man dies, it is usual for his namesakes in his village to have new names given them.

It is considered a terrible crime to mention the name of the father-in-law or mother-in-law. Though a Dyak does not speak of his father and mother by name, still if he were asked their names, he would give them. But if a man were asked the name of his father-in-law or mother-in-law, he would not tell it, but ask some other person present to do so.

The Dyaks will eat fruit that has fallen from any tree, but if they find fruit by the path, they will never touch it. The reason for this is given in the Dyak legend, “Danjai and the Were-Tiger’s Sister” (p. 265).

I remember once walking with some Dyaks, and a man carrying a load of fruit passed us. Farther on we saw some fruit which had evidently dropped from his load, but none of the Dyaks would eat it.

Circumcision is practised among certain Dyak tribes. It is not a religious ceremony, and is not accompanied with the offering of sacrifices or the singing of incantations. All I have been able to learn from such tribes as practise it, is that it has been the custom from ancient days, and so they do it. The cutting of the foreskin is not done with a knife, but with a piece of sharpened bamboo. The custom is by no means universal among the Sea Dyaks.

When going out fishing or hunting it is considered most unfortunate to mention the name of any fish or bird, or to talk of any animal which it is hoped to secure. One evening I was out shooting wild pig, and was sitting in a dug-out, which was paddled up a stream by three Dyaks. I said in fun: “There will be plenty of room to put a pig here behind me if we manage to shoot one.” The Dyaks all looked horrified, and I was told that saying such a thing as that meant with them the certainty of failure. As it happened, we succeeded in killing a wild pig, and brought it back that evening in the boat. There was much discussion among the people in the Dyak house, and they were surprised at our success after what I had said.

Madness is looked upon by the Dyaks as possession by some evil spirit. All they can do for it is to call the witch-doctors in to sing their incantations, and exorcise the evil spirit. If no good result follows, and the man is still a violent lunatic, a large wooden cage (bubong) is made, and the man is kept in it. This is only done in the case of dangerous and violent madmen. Harmless lunatics and idiots are allowed their freedom.

Leprosy is not unknown among the Dyaks, and occasionally cases of it are met with. There used to be a village in the Krian where there were several suffering from leprosy. When the disease is so far advanced as to make it unsafe to let them live with others in the long Dyak house, a separate little hut is put up for them at some distance away. I remember seeing a poor woman who lived by herself in this way. The people from the house would often go and see her, and take her food and water, but sometimes she would be left for days. She told me that once her fire went out, and as no one came to see her for two days, she was unable to cook any food, and had to live as best she could during that time. It must have been a lonely, unhappy life she led, and one can imagine such an one longing for death to end her troubles.

The Dyaks mark the time by the position of the sun. A man will tell you at what hour you may expect him by saying something of this kind, “I shall come to-morrow when the sun is there,” pointing to the part of the sky where the sun will be.

The usual form of greeting when Dyaks meet is, “Kini ka nuan?” (“Where are you going?”), or, “Ari ni nuan?” (“Where have you come from?”).

CHAPTER XXIV
THE FUTURE OF THE SEA DYAK IN SARAWAK

The Sea Dyak—Work—Bad times—Cheerfulness—The view from within—The Sea Dyak’s future—Mission work among them—Government—Development in the immediate future.

There are occasions when one who has lived among a people like the Dyaks, and has learnt to know and to love them, looks forward into the coming years and tries to picture what is in store for them. Those who have read the preceding pages will be able to form some idea of the Dyaks as they are, and know their manner of life, and to a certain extent, I hope, their modes of thought. In this chapter I shall say something of the probable future of the Sea Dyak in Sarawak. Let me first recall some features of the home life of the average Dyak at the present day.

He marries at an early age, and lives in a long Dyak village house with his wife and children. His wife since her marriage has grown into a tired-looking, untidy woman, very different from the bright merry girl of ten years ago. How can she help it? She has four children to look after, and the youngest is still an infant, who needs a great deal of her attention. She has to fetch the water required, and do the cooking for the family. She has to attend to the drying and pounding of the paddy, and convert it into the rice for their daily food. In addition to all this, there is the worry and commotion connected with having to move the household for some months each year to the little hut put up in their paddy-farm some little distance away.

The Sea Dyak has year after year to grow as much paddy as possible. He rises on work-days early in the morning, partakes of his frugal meal of rice and salt, or rice and salt fish, varied, if he be very lucky, by a piece of wild pig’s flesh or venison, which he has received as a gift or bought from some hunting friend. His wife bundles up for him his midday meal in the spathe of the Penang palm, and he goes off to his work, returning home late in the evening.

There are days when he does not go to work on his paddy-farm, but spends his time in getting firewood or mending things in his room, or in sitting about in the common veranda chatting with his friends.

When the paddy has grown a little, and the time for weeding draws near, the family remove to the little hut put up in the paddy-field. In the weeding the Sea Dyak is helped by his wife, the younger children being left in charge of the elder for the greater part of the day, while their parents are at work. When the weeding has been done, the family return to the long Dyak house for a month or so; then they go back to their hut to watch the ripening paddy and guard it against attacks of birds and beasts.

Paddy-planting is the chief occupation of every Sea Dyak, but he has plenty of time for other things, and his life is not quite so monotonous as may be supposed. The actual work of paddy-planting, and things connected with it, such as the building of farm-huts and the getting ready of farming implements, takes up seven or perhaps eight months of the year. The Sea Dyak has, therefore, a certain amount of time during which he can visit his friends, make boats, or hunt for jungle produce.

On certain occasions the Sea Dyaks muster in great force. At a feast a large number of them appear dressed in such finery as they possess, and they eat more than is good for them, and drink enough bad Dyak tuak (spirit) to make them very sick and to give them a bad headache for the next few days. At a large tuba-fishing crowds of them congregate with their hand-nets and fish-spears, and a pleasant sort of picnic is spent, attended, if they are fortunate, with the procuring of much fish.

The Sea Dyak has his bad times. When he has had a bad crop, he has to think of some means of raising money—not for luxuries in dress and food, but for the plain necessaries of rice and salt upon which many Dyaks have to live for several months in the year. On these occasions he will work for some Chinaman at the nearest bazaar for a low wage, or sell firewood to them for whatever they will give. If he possess such things, he sells some old brass gun or gong to buy food for his family. If he be reduced to borrowing paddy from his neighbours, he will have to pay back the following year double the amount he has received.