During the days devoted to search for omens in reference to the sites of the rice-fields, and also again in reference to the planting, the Kayans refrain from their usual daily occupations, and neither leave their houses themselves nor allow strangers to enter. These days of seclusion are termed ‘Permantong Padi,’ or ‘Lali Padi,’ and correspond very closely to taboo elsewhere. Permantong is the word among the Kayans in the Baram district in the northwest of the island; but among the Kayans in the valley of the Kapuas River, in Dutch Borneo, it is ‘Pantang;’ both these forms are possibly derived from the Malay word ‘Hantu,’—a Demon or evil Spirit,—with the prefix per and the affix an, both used to form derivative substantives; thus the Malay word in full would be ‘per-hantu-an,’ meaning possessed by Spirits, or, more freely, bewitched. ‘Lali’ is probably a pure Kayan word; its derivation I do not know. Between it and permantong I could discover no shade of difference in meaning.

The work of clearing off the jungle is tedious in the extreme, and, if after all the heavy labour, the crops should fail or be destroyed by monkeys, or by birds, or by a beetle called ‘pangau,’ or by blight, the whole household in their discouragement become convinced that they have committed some act to incur the displeasure of the Spirits; therefore, before this arduous work is begun, it is of prime importance to ascertain the exact temper of the Spirits, by observing the actions of certain birds, mammals, and reptiles, all of which are known to the Kayans as ‘Amau,’ and are supposed to be in the confidence of the unseen Powers. It needs but a close observation of bird, beast, and snake to detect the supernal favourable or unfavourable dispositions.

The experienced husbandmen of the household usually select a patch of jungle, which in their opinion will make a good rice-field if the Spirits be favourable; then each family does its share in clearing off the undergrowth.

During this preliminary stage, when the labour is not as severe as when heavy trees must be felled, the household is not as yet lali; nevertheless, every individual looks out most anxiously for any evil omens. If, on the way to the clearing, a snake called ‘Nipa matei ekoh’ (Dead-tailed snake) is encountered, which has a brilliant red head and a red-tipped tail, or should any one see a deer called ‘Tela-au’ (Cervulus muntjac), or a Civet cat (Arctogale leucotis) called ‘Munin,’ or a Rain bird called by the Kayans ‘Pajan,’ and by the Kenyahs ‘Talajan’ (Platylophus coronatus), they will relinquish the site, and, regardless of the work already done, abandon the place for ever. These four animals are most unfavourable omens when seen near the clearing, and wilfully to disregard their warnings, even at this early stage, not only compromises the abundance and quality of the crops, but also the health, or even the life, of the whole household. Should a man hear a downright warning and yet pay no attention to it, it is natural enough that during the ensuing year he should attribute to this disregard, whatever bad luck or even slight accident might befall him. If on the third day of work on the clearing, the whistle of the Talajan bird is heard near by, the omen is favourable; up to this time it is ill-omened, but now it indicates that the crops will be enormous, and that the rice-houses or granaries must be made of hard, enduring wood, to stand the weight of the rice harvest.

If, during three days, no evil omens have been observed, there is sufficient encouragement therein to proceed to the next stage of felling the heavy timber, and to incite the entire household to co-operate in the search for further requisite auguries.

All the families remain secluded in the long veranda, or in their small private rooms, and sit all day long quite still, smoking and talking; not a soul is allowed to leave the house, or, at most, to go further than the bank of the river, except two men designated as the ‘Laki-Niho,’ (Hawk-men,) whose duty it is to look for a hawk, called ‘Niho.’

While these Hawk-men are engaged in this search, no one must call them by their true names; even an accidental infringement of this rule is punished by a fine of a few beads, or of a coarse china plate. It is the custom of some households for the Laki-Niho not to return to the house during the whole three days’ search for omens; at such times they build in the jungle, near the clearing, a small hut, which they indicate to be permantong, by putting up beside it two poles, called ‘ponkut,’ whereon the bark is stripped into bunches of shavings at intervals down the pole. While living in this hut, members of their own household may communicate with them, if urgent necessity arises, but with strangers, who ought to know from the ponkut, the serious nature of the permantong, they will hold no communication whatever.

Should the hawk be seen on the first day of the search, but not on the two succeeding days, it is unfavourable; nevertheless, they would continue the preparation of the soil, with the expectation, however, of poor crops, which, if from no other cause, would be sure to follow the half-heartedness with which people work when discouraged at the very outset.

On the second day the search is kept up, and if the hawk be now seen, it is favourable, but not completely favourable; if they returned to the house, they would not probably refer to it, lest their chances for the morrow be thereby jeopardised. But should they fail to catch sight of the hawk on the third day, they would accept the omen of the second day, and be fairly well content; the search must be continued, however, until the last chance of the most favourable of omens is gone.

If on the third day’s search, the hawk is again observed, the omen of the second day is rejected, and the omen of the third day is the only one accepted. A small pile of chips is at once set on fire, to inform the hawk, that a blessing is expected on their crops, and the Laki-Niho hurry back to the house to spread the good news. Every one in the house now lights a cigarette or waves a fire-brand, whereby a blessing is invoked on his or her particular rice-farm, and all eagerly watch for the hawk, to see whether or not he sails around without flapping his wings. Should he sail away out of sight without once flapping his wings all are delighted; it means that the clearing of the jungle may now continue prosperously, and that neither attack of enemies nor accident to the workers need be feared. Should the hawk flap his wings, it follows that some men, in felling the jungle, will be badly cut by their axes or perhaps crushed under falling trees. All instantly avert their eyes from the flapping hawk, lest the bird should recognise them in the fields and select them as victims. After they have made their wishes known to the hawk by means of the fire, there is a respite of a day or two in the permantong, and the people are allowed to go out of doors.

After this short respite, the same two Laki-Niho again set out, this time in search of the Talajan bird; and again the people are housed. This search lasts three days also, and on the third day, if successful, they perform the same rite as before with fire and smoke. Next follows a three days’ lookout for the Tela-au deer, which must be not only seen but heard; if it dart off the minute it is seen, without giving its gruff bark, it foretells a misfortune, but to an individual merely, not to the whole household; consequently, but very little attention comparatively is paid to it.

The tedious formalities are now nearly over, and there remain but two more animals to be observed, namely, the Munin and the Makong, (Berenicornis comatus, the white-headed Horn-bill;) these two, also, must utter some sound to show whether or not they are favourable. These are all the omens that must be consulted before the heavy timber can be felled and the rice planted. During each period of three days, all members of the household must remain within the house.

When the felled jungle is become dry, it is burned over, and as soon as the ground is cool they dibble in the grain. From the hour when the real labour of felling the jungle begins, until the seed-planting is finished, no stranger is allowed to enter the house or field; should inadvertence or necessity bring a neighbor within the lali district, he must pay a small offering to atone for the trespass. This offering is known as ‘Usut,’ and is ordinarily a few beads or something of iron, such as a spear-head, or an old knife. The usut is placed in a basket and hung up in the rice-field until it rusts away or disappears. To see that this usut is properly paid, is the duty of the women, who call the custom ‘Toh Lali,’ or Lali of the Spirits. (Once, when on our way down the river from Tama Bulan’s, we stopped at a house, and, finding no one about, walked boldly up the bank, whereupon the head-man hurried down to meet us, and demanded, with considerable persistence, that we should give him a knife. Thinking he was hinting at a present, I searched in the canoe for one of my good hunting-knives. On receiving it, he incontinently thrust it into a basket and sent it off to the rice-fields to be hung up and to rust away. An old table-knife or any bit of old iron would have done as well, but my ignorance cost me a valuable knife, which I am sure was wasted on the Toh.)

The crop is now fairly started. The heaviest part of the task of keeping down the weeds falls to the women, who rise with the sun, and, as soon as the household is fairly awake, start off in rain or shine for the fields, in parties of six or eight, armed with their little, short-handled, lop-sided hoes. Usually they do not eat until they arrive at the scene of their labours; sometimes they halt at a pebbly ‘karangan,’ where dry wood is plenty, and there break their fast, but do not eat again until they return to the house in the evening.

Shortly before the rice is cut, a basket containing pieces of wood, roots, leaves, and strings of beads is carried to the field and left there for three days. This basket of offerings, or charms for the crop, is called the ‘Tigga,’ and after the rice is cut the basket and its contents are placed either on a shelf in the granaries or else on the platform just outside the door.

During the harvesting of the ‘Parai Agit,’ a small patch of rice planted first, and always harvested first, there is a lali of four days, known as the ‘Lamali Parai,’ (lali of the pregnant rice.) Of the Parai Agit no woman must eat; if she does eat of this rice, she will go mad. Reiterated questionings failed to disclose the origin of this belief, and even the reason for planting the Parai Agit itself.

When the rice is all harvested, the household is lali to strangers, and for eight days no one can go off on any expedition nor return to the house from an expedition. No sooner does this lali end, than another begins, while the rice is being stored in the granaries. But as soon as this harvesting is over, a general feast is prepared, and merriment of all sorts makes up for the weariness of the long day’s work. The women don every stitch of their finery and every bead to their name; some even assume men’s clothes, and carry shield, spear, and parang. In the evening, all join in a long procession round the house; guests are invited to participate in the festivities, and ‘jest and youthful jollity’ rule the hour; the brimming cup passes freely, and to the harmonious strains of the kaluri the women ‘trip it as they go,’ or leap in war-dances, in imitation of the men. As a half apology for all this ‘heart-easing mirth,’ they told me that this harvest at least was theirs,—they might not live to see another.

After this festival there follows another lali, known as the ‘Lali Neboko;’ it lasts for ten long days, and is apparently devoted by the women to the resumption of their proper sphere and duties; they make all sorts of cakes out of the new rice, and vie with each other in devising toothsome dishes for their lovers and husbands. During all this lali, no one is permitted to do a stroke of any work that resembles the cultivation of rice; a parang or a billiong, or any tool used in felling the jungle, is a strictly lali article; should any restless creature express a desire for active work, he is scoffed at and scorned as a spoil-sport and kill-joy.

During the Permantong Padi, the large wooden mortars, wherein the rice is husked, are enclosed in bamboo railings, to prevent human beings, and dogs also, from touching them. The store of rice will last but a short time should these mortars be touched by any hands other than those whose duty it is to use them. If a dog in search of food, or of a place to sleep, crawl into one of them, he is straightway caught, and his hair rubbed the wrong way with a cord, which they call a ‘Tali Gamai.’ During this rubbing, the owner of the mortar exorcises the evil Spirit by saying: ‘I stroke this dog thus, because I do not wish my food to disappear on account of this dog. Let my food last until the next year’s crop. One! Two! Three! Four!’ The dog is sure to die, so they say, very soon after this ceremony. These large mortars are fastened to the floor, and when not in use are often used as seats, except during the Permantong Padi, when even the deep hollow in the centre is plugged up, to keep the dogs, which no railing can exclude, from licking it in their search for remnants of rice.

Besides the Permantong Padi, there are many minor permantongs in the daily life of the Kayans; for instance, in a Kayan house it is permantong to whistle after dark. To play the kaluri, or the nose-flute, is allowable, even though thereby the same sound as whistling is produced; whistling summons evil Spirits, and is sure to bring mischief into the house. Some Ibans aver that in old times it was strictly against all rule ever to whistle in the house, even in the daytime.

It is permantong, or lali, for a member of a dead man’s household to give anything to be used in laying out the corpse; cloth or other things necessary for such purposes may be obtained from any other than a member of the same house. When in need of such things, the relatives and friends should ask for them when the patient is moribund, and not after death has put a seal on his lips, preventing him from making the request himself. When the corpse has been laid out for several days, no one, whether a member of the household or not, is willing to sell or give any thing to be placed upon the corpse; it may be placed, however, close by the corpse with perfect propriety, together with cigarettes, which carry messages to dead friends. Dr. Hose told me that on one occasion, while he was talking to Tama Bulan, in his long-house on the Pata River, a message was brought to the Chief from a very sick man, with the request for enough white cloth to make a ‘Bah’ or waist-cloth, wherein to die. Tama Bulan asked whether the message came from the man himself or from his relatives, and showed no inclination to give the cloth until he learned that the man was still alive; then he very willingly produced the number of fathoms desired. He explained afterward, that had the man been dead, and the request come from the relatives, he would not have given the Bah. Had he given it under these circumstances, it would have angered the Spirits, and they would have claimed the giver as the next victim.

When a man is sick and likely to die, no one in the house is allowed to open boxes, or any receptacles whatever, at night, except it be the small tobacco boxes of bamboo which all carry, or the ordinary baskets wherein they keep the sleeping-mats; breach of this law brings death into the room in which the offence was committed.

It is lali to cook inside the house the flesh of deer, buffalo, wild cattle, tiger-cats, many of the smaller mammals, and the large lizard (Veranus,—sometimes as much as six feet long,) and only old and proved warriors may eat the flesh of deer; the timid disposition of the animal enters the souls of youths who are rash enough to eat of it.

Very similar to the search for omens in reference to the rice-fields is the observation of omens preliminary to the search for camphor crystals, (which are found in a tree known to botanists as the Dryobalanops Camphora.) Before setting out for the depths of the jungle where the camphor trees grow, the Kayans first look for a bird known to them as ‘Isit’—a Spider hunter, (Arachnothera longirostris or Anthreptes malaccencis,) and should it be seen flying across their path, from right to left, the omen is not good, there will be poor luck in their search; if it be seen flying in the opposite way, there will be good luck. After they have seen the Spider hunter, they must next look for the common Red Hawk, whose flight must be also from left to right; if its flight be from right to left, their search will be fruitless, or else some heavy calamity will happen to them, and they had far better return home at once. When both these Omen bearers have been seen flying favourably, the Pajan, or Rain Bird, and the Tela-au, or Barking Deer, must be either seen or heard on the right-hand side of the trail; but even when all these omens have been favourably observed, the camphor searchers are not yet free to pursue their quest. For a final omen, they seek for a certain snake, ‘Batang limu,’ (Simotes octolineatus,) and the most strenuous efforts must be made to kill it; should it escape, they may as well return home; they will find no camphor, even though all the other omens have been auspicious.

As soon as they have decided upon the tributary stream, near whose banks they are to direct their search, a rattan is stretched across its mouth, as Jamma explained to me, and as is set forth on page 115 above; on this rattan are hung wooden images and models of parangs, billiongs, spears, and the wooden wedges used in splitting up the trunks of the felled camphor trees; this gives notice to other camphor hunters, or to passing strangers, that the stream is closed and all trespassing forbidden. When they have selected the camphor tree, which they intend to cut down, they build their hut near it, and then, after the first strokes of the axe, if they hear the note of an Omen bird, they give up work for the rest of the day, and sit idle in their hut. But if all omens are favourable, and they find that the tree is likely to prove rich in camphor, they plant near their hut a stake, whereof the outer surface has been cut into curled shavings and tufts down the sides and at the top. (I suggest as possible that these shavings represent the curling tongues of flame which communicate with the unseen Powers.) When the Kayans are collecting camphor, they are under no restrictions as to food, nor are they forbidden to speak to people whom they may meet, although they will not allow strangers to enter their hut. With many other tribes, all communication with strangers is strictly forbidden; the Sibops, for instance, when asked, by people whom they meet, the usual question:—‘Where are you going?’ maintain a stony silence.

When the camphor tree has been felled, the trunk is cut into small pieces, and during this process the searchers are clad in their most showy war-clothes and armed with parang and spear. It is in the crevices of the fibre of the wood that the crystals are found, (a peculiarity of the Borneo camphor,) and the searchers seem to regard the tree as a fallen foe, who can be made to yield his hidden treasure only at the point of sword and spear.

The search for the crystals is tedious work; each piece of wood must be split with the greatest care and examined with minuteness. No camphor is found beyond twenty feet from the root, and trees productive of camphor crystals are always hollow; it is, therefore, probable that no crystals are found unless the tree has been in some way injured. Besides the crystals, there is always an abundance of oil, useful as an embrocation; and there is also usually a quantity of soft camphor, called ‘Kapor Bata,’ not yet crystallised; yellow, resinous crystals are of no value. The blossoms of the tree have a strong smell of camphor, and near its roots is usually found a peculiar luminous fungus.

Many tribes when on an expedition for camphor must not talk among themselves in their own language about their quest, but must use ‘camphor language.’ The Malanau tribes are herein very strict; the crystals will immediately dissolve if any language be used other than the camphor language. The Malanau word for to return is ‘muli,’ but when in the presence of a camphor tree they say ‘beteku;’ to hide in the Malanau language, is ‘palim,’ but when on a camphor hunt they say ‘krian.’ Similarly, all common names for implements and for food are changed. One would expect to find an interesting remnant of an ancient language in this camphor dialect, but it is very doubtful if there be any such remnant there. This curious custom prevails throughout Borneo, and in the Malay Peninsula also; possibly, it was introduced by the Malays to preclude all outside interference in the trading transactions between the natives and themselves.

Among some tribes, when engaged in camphor collecting, the names of Chiefs and of influential men must never be mentioned; should any one violate this rule, the trees are always found camphorless.

Wives dare not touch a comb while their husbands are away collecting this valuable gum; the fibres of the tree will duly reveal abundant spaces where camphor ought to be found; but if a comb has been touched at home, these spaces will prove empty and resemble the spaces between the teeth of a comb.

Husbands are able to discover, by certain knots in the tree, when their wives are unfaithful; and in former days, many women are said to have been killed by jealous husbands on evidence no better than these knots.

The leathery sheath of the leaf-stalk of the Penang palm is used as a plate for food, and it must not be washed during the whole time of an expedition for camphor, for fear that the camphor will dissolve and disappear from the crevices of the tree.

No one is allowed to bathe except at daylight and at nightfall; no song is sung; no deer of any species should be eaten at these times; the collectors are, however, allowed to hunt for smaller game with the blow-pipe.

(The finest camphor is that which is found in large, transparent crystals, about three-quarters of an inch long; this often brings in the up-country bazaars as much as forty or fifty dollars a pound. The chief camphor workers are the Punans, who are either hired as guides and helpers by the Kayans, Kenyahs, Sibops, or Ibans, or else they collect the camphor themselves and barter it with the other natives, who in turn sell it to the Chinese.)

With almost every tribe the name for camphor-hunting is ‘Paji.’