9. DANCES, SPORTS, AND GAMES
Dance Ceremonies
The following passage is an account of a characteristic Malay dance, the Joget:—
“Malays are not dancers, but they pay professional performers to dance for their amusement, and consider that ‘the better part’ is with those who watch, at their ease, the exertions of a small class, whose members are not held in the highest respect. The spectacle usually provided is strangely wanting in attraction: a couple of women shuffling their feet and swaying their hands in gestures that are practically devoid of grace or even variety—that is the Malay dance—and it is accompanied by the beating of native drums, the striking together of two short sticks held in either hand, and the occasional boom of a metal gong. The entertainment has an undoubted fascination for Malays, but it generally forms part of a theatrical performance, and for Western spectators it is immeasurably dull.[150]
“In one of the Malay States, however, Păhang, it has for years been the custom for the ruler and one or two of his near relatives to keep trained dancing girls, who perform what is called the ‘Jôget’—a real dance with an accompaniment of something like real music, though the orchestral instruments are very rude indeed.
“The dancers, bûdak jôget, belong to the Raja’s household, they may even be attached to him by a closer tie; they perform seldom, only for the amusement of their lord and his friends, and the public are not admitted. Years ago I saw such a dance,[151] and though peculiar to Păhang, as far as the Malay States are concerned, it is probable that it came originally from Java; the instruments used by the orchestra and the airs played are certainly far more common in Java and Sumatra than in the Peninsula.
“I had gone to Păhang on a political mission accompanied by a friend, and we were vainly courting sleep in a miserable lodging, when at 1 A.M. a message came from the Sultan inviting us to witness a jôget. We accepted with alacrity, and at once made our way to the astâna, a picturesque, well-built, and commodious house on the right bank of the Păhang river. A palisade enclosed the courtyard, and the front of the house was a very large hall, open on three sides, but covered by a lofty roof of fantastic design supported on pillars. The floor of this hall was approached by three wide steps continued round the three open sides, the fourth being closed by a wooden wall which entirely shut off the private apartments save for one central door over which hung a heavy curtain. The three steps were to provide sitting accommodation according to their rank for those admitted to the astâna. The middle of the floor on the night in question was covered by a large carpet, chairs were placed for us, and the rest of the guests sat on the steps of the dais.
“When we entered, we saw, seated on the carpet, four girls, two of them about eighteen and two about eleven years old, all attractive according to Malay ideas of beauty, and all gorgeously and picturesquely clothed. On their heads they each wore a large and curious but very pretty ornament of delicate workmanship—a sort of square flower garden where all the flowers were gold, trembling and glittering with every movement of the wearer. These ornaments were secured to the head by twisted cords of silver and gold. The girls’ hair, combed down in a fringe, was cut in a perfect oval round their foreheads and very becomingly dressed behind.
“The bodices of their dresses were made of tight-fitting silk, leaving the neck and arms bare, whilst a white band of fine cambric (about one and a half inches wide), passing round the neck, came down on the front of the bodice in the form of a V, and was there fastened by a golden flower. Round their waists were belts fastened with large and curiously-worked pinding or buckles of gold, so large that they reached quite across the waist. The rest of the costume consisted of a skirt of cloth of gold (not at all like the sârong), reaching to the ankles, while a scarf of the same material, fastened in its centre to the waist-buckle, hung down to the hem of the skirt.
“All four dancers were dressed alike, except that the older girls wore white silk bodices with a red and gold handkerchief, folded corner-wise, tied under the arms and knotted in front. The points of the handkerchief hung to the middle of the back. In the case of the two younger girls the entire dress was of one material. On their arms the dancers wore numbers of gold bangles, and their fingers were covered with diamond rings. In their ears were fastened the diamond buttons so much affected by Malays, and indeed now by Western ladies. Their feet, of course, were bare. We had ample time to minutely observe these details before the dance commenced, for when we came into the hall the four girls were sitting down in the usual[152] Eastern fashion on the carpet, bending forward, their elbows resting on their thighs, and hiding the sides of their faces, which were towards the audience, with fans made of crimson and gilt paper which sparkled in the light.
“On our entrance the band struck up, and our special attention was called to the orchestra, as the instruments are seldom seen in the Malay Peninsula. There were two chief performers: one playing on a sort of harmonicon, the notes of which he struck with pieces of stick held in each hand. The other, with similar pieces of wood, played on inverted metal bowls. Both these performers seemed to have sufficiently hard work, but they played with the greatest spirit from 10 P.M. till 5 A.M.
“The harmonicon is called by Malays chĕlempong, and the inverted bowls, which give a pleasant and musical sound like the noise of rippling water, gambang. The other members of the orchestra consisted of a very small boy who played, with a very large and thick stick, on a gigantic gong, an old woman who beat a drum with two sticks, and several other boys who played on instruments like triangles called chânang. All these performers, we were told with much solemnity, were artists of the first order, masters and a mistress in their craft, and if vigour of execution counts for excellence they proved the justice of the praise.
“The Hall, of considerable size, capable of accommodating several hundreds of people, was only dimly lighted, but the fact that, while the audience was in semi-darkness, the light was concentrated on the performers added to the effect. Besides ourselves, I question whether there were more than twenty spectators, but sitting on the top of the dais, near to the dancers, it was hard to pierce the surrounding gloom. The orchestra was placed on the left of the entrance to the Hall, that is, rather to the side and rather in the background, a position evidently chosen with due regard to the feelings of the audience.
“From the elaborate and vehement execution of the players, and the want of regular time in the music, I judged, and rightly, that we had entered as the overture began. During its performance the dancers sat leaning forward, hiding their faces as I have described; but when it concluded and, without any break, the music changed into the regular rhythm for dancing, the four girls dropped their fans, raised their hands in the act of Sĕmbah or homage, and then began the dance by swaying their bodies and slowly waving their arms and hands in the most graceful movements making much and effective use all the while of the scarf hanging from their belts. Gradually raising themselves from a sitting to a kneeling posture, acting in perfect accord in every motion, then rising to their feet, they floated through a series of figures hardly to be exceeded in grace and difficulty, considering that the movements are essentially slow, the arms, hands, and body being the real performers, whilst the feet are scarcely noticed and for half the time not visible.
“They danced five or six dances, each lasting quite half an hour, with materially different figures and time in the music. All these dances, I was told, were symbolical: one of agriculture, with the tilling of the soil, the sowing of the seed, the reaping and winnowing of the grain, might easily have been guessed from the dancer’s movements. But those of the audience whom I was near enough to question were, Malay-like, unable to give me much information. Attendants stood or sat near the dancers, and from time to time, as the girls tossed one thing on the floor, handed them another. Sometimes it was a fan or a mirror they held, sometimes a flower or small vessel, but oftener their hands were empty, as it is in the management of the fingers that the chief art of Malay dancers consists.
“The last dance, symbolical of war, was perhaps the best, the music being much faster, almost inspiriting, and the movements of the dancers more free and even abandoned. For the latter half of the dance they each held a wand, to represent a sword, bound with three rings of burnished gold which glittered in the light like precious stones. This nautch, which began soberly like the others, grew to a wild revel until the dancers were, or pretended to be, possessed by the Spirit of Dancing, hantu mĕnâri as they called it, and leaving the Hall for a moment to smear their fingers and faces with a fragrant oil, they returned, and the two eldest, striking at each other with their wands, seemed inclined to turn the symbolical into a real battle. They were, however, after some trouble, caught by four or five women and carried forcibly out of the Hall, but not until their captors had been made to feel the weight of the magic wands. The two younger girls, who looked as if they too would like to be “possessed,” but did not know how to accomplish it, were easily caught and removed.
“The bands, whose strains had been increasing in wildness and in time, ceased playing on the removal of the dancers, and the nautch, which had begun at 10 P.M., was over.
“The Raja, who had only appeared at 4 A.M., told me that one of the elder girls, when she became “properly possessed,” lived for months on nothing but flowers, a pretty and poetic conceit.
“As we left the Astana, and taking boat rowed slowly to the vessel waiting for us off the river’s mouth, the rising sun was driving the fog from the numbers of lovely green islets, that seemed to float like dew-drenched lotus leaves on the surface of the shallow stream.[153]”
Plate 18.—Gambor.
Model, showing the performance of the kind of dance called gambor. The suspended figure in the centre is the performer, the musicians sitting on the left. Behind the musicians are to be seen some of the sprays of the bouquet of artificial flowers, etc., which is used to represent a pleasure garden (taman bunga) for the attraction of the dance-spirit. The bird at the top of it is a hornbill.
Page 464.
The religious origin of almost all Malay dances is still to be seen in the performance of such ritualistic observances as the burning of incense, the scattering of rice, and the invocation of the Dance-spirit according to certain set forms, the spirit being duly exorcised again (or “escorted homewards,” as it is called) at the end of the performance.
The dances which have best preserved the older ritual are precisely those which are the least often seen, such as the “Gambor Dance” (main gambor), the “Monkey Dance” (main b’rok), the “Palm-blossom Dance” (main mayang), and the “Fish-trap Dance” (main lukah). These I will take in the order mentioned.
The “Gambor Dance” (lit. Gambor Play) should be performed by girls just entering upon womanhood. The débutante is attired in an attractive coat and skirt (sarong), is girt about at the waist with a yellow (royal) sash, and is further provided with an elaborate head-dress, crescent-shaped pendants (dokoh) for the breast, and a fan. The only other “necessary” is the “Pleasure-garden” (taman bunga), which is represented by a large water-jar containing a bunch of long sprays, from the ends of which are made to depend artificial flowers, fruit, and birds, the whole being intended to attract the spirit (Hantu Gambor). In addition there is the usual circular tray, with its complement of sacrificial rice and incense. Everything being ready, the débutante lies down and is covered over with a sheet, and incense is burnt, the sacrificial rice sprinkled, and the invocation of the spirit is chanted by a woman to the accompaniment of the tambourines. Ere it has ended, if all goes well, the charm will have begun to work, the spirit descends, and the dance commences.
At the end of this dance, as has already been said, the spirit is exorcised, that is, he is “escorted back” to the seventh heaven from whence he came.
The invocations, which are used both at the commencement and the conclusion of the performance, consist of poems which belong unmistakably to the “Panji” cycle of stories; here and there they contain old words which are still used in Java.
The “Monkey Dance” is achieved by causing the “Monkey spirit” to enter into a girl of some ten years of age. She is first rocked to and fro in a Malay infant’s swinging-cot (buayan), and fed with areca-nut and salt (pinang garam). When she is sufficiently dizzy or “dazed” (mabok), an invocation addressed to the “Monkey spirit” is chanted (to tambourine accompaniments), and at its close the child commences to perform a dance, in the course of which she is said sometimes to achieve some extraordinary climbing feats which she could never have achieved unless “possessed.” When it is time for her to recover her senses she is called upon by name, and if that fails to recall her, is bathed all over with cocoa-nut milk (ayer niyor hijau).
The foregoing does not, of course, in any way exhaust the list of Malay dances. Others will be found described in various parts of this book, amongst them the “Henna Dance” (at weddings); the medicine-man’s dance, as performed at the bedside of a sick person; the dance performed in honour of a dead tiger; theatrical dances, and many kinds of sword and dagger dances, or posture-dances (such as the main bĕrsilat, or main bĕrpĕnchak), whether performed for the diversion of the beholders or by way of defiance (as in war). The main dabus is a dance performed with a species of iron spits, whose upper ends are furnished with hoops, upon which small iron rings are strung, and which accordingly give out a jingling noise when shaken. Two of these spits (buah dabus) are charmed (to deaden their bite), and taken up, one in each hand, by the dancer, who shakes them at each step that he takes. When he is properly possessed, he drives the points of these spits through the muscle of each forearm, and lets them hang down whilst he takes up a second pair. He then keeps all four spits jingling at once until the dance ceases. The point of each spit goes right through the muscle, but if skilfully done, draws no blood.[154]
Plate 19.—Pĕdikir.
Model, showing the performance of pĕdikir (a kind of dance) before a newly-married couple. The performers are two girls, who carry fans and wear a peculiar head-dress towards the left of the picture are seated the musicians with tambourines (rĕbana), and on the right some spectators. The bride and bridegroom are seated on the dais, the latter towards the middle of the picture. Near him are seen the marriage-pillows (which are in correct proportion), and overhead the ornamental clothes-rod with clothes. The tree-like object on the left is the sĕtakona: it is the only object out of proportion, being too large. Rolled up in front are the striped hangings used at Malay weddings.
Page 466.
We now come to a class of dances in which certain inanimate objects, that are believed to be temporarily animated, are the performers, and which therefore closely correspond to the performances of our own spiritualists.
The Palm-blossom dance is a very curious exhibition, which I once saw performed in the Langat District of Selangor. Two freshly-gathered sheaves of areca-palm blossom (each several feet in length) were deposited upon a new mat, near a tray containing a censer and the three kinds of sacrificial rice.
The magician (’Che Ganti by name) commenced the performance by playing a prelude on his violin. Presently his wife (an aged Selangor woman) took some of the rice in her hand and commenced to chant the words of the invocation, she being almost immediately joined in the chant by a younger woman. Starting with the words, “Thus I brace up, I brace up the Palm-blossom” (’ku anggit mayang ’ku anggit), their voices rose higher and higher until the seventh stanza was reached, when the old woman covered the two sheaves of Palm-blossom with a Malay plaid skirt (sarong) and the usual “five cubits of white cloth” (folded double), both of which had of course first been fumigated. Then followed seven more stanzas (“Borrow the hammer, Borrow the anvil,” and its companion verses), and rice having been thrown over one of the sheaves of palm-blossom, its sheath was opened and the contents fumigated. Then the old woman took the newly-fumigated sheaf between her hands, and the chant recommenced with the third septet of stanzas (“Dig up, dig up, the wild ginger plant”), as the erect palm-blossom swayed from side to side in time to the music. Finally the fiddle stopped and tambourines were substituted, and at this point the sheaf of blossom commenced to jump about on its stalk, as if it were indeed possessed, and eventually dashed itself upon the ground. After one or two repetitions of this performance, other persons present were invited to try it, and did so with varying success, which depended, I was told, upon the impressionability of their souls, as the palm-blossom would not dance for anybody whose soul was not impressionable (lĕmah sĕmangat).
When the first blossom-sheaf had been destroyed by the rough treatment which it had to undergo, the second was duly fumigated and introduced to the company, and finally the performance was brought to a close by the chanting of the stanzas in which the spirit is requested to return to his own place. The two spoiled sheaves of blossom were then carried respectfully out of the house and laid on the ground beneath a banana-tree.
The Dancing Fish-trap (main lukah) is a spiritualistic performance, in which a fish-trap (lukah) is substituted for the sheaf of palm-blossom, and a different invocation is used. In other respects there is very little difference between the two. The fish-trap is dressed up much in the same way as a “scare-crow,” so as to present a rough and ready resemblance to the human figure, i.e. it is dressed in a woman’s coat and plaid skirt (sarong), both of which must, if possible, have been worn previously; a stick is run through it to serve as the arms of the figure, and a (sterile) cocoa-nut shell (tĕmpurong jantan) clapped on the top to serve as a head. The invocation is then chanted in the same manner and to the same accompaniment as that used for the “Palm-blossom.” At its conclusion the magician whispers, so to speak, into the fish-trap’s ear, bidding it “not to disgrace him,” but rise up and dance, and the fish-trap presently commences to rock to and fro, and to leap about in a manner which of course proves it to be “possessed” by the spirit. Two different specimens of the invocations used will be found in the Appendix.
Buffalo Fights and Cock Fights
“The Malays are passionately addicted to buffalo and cock fighting. Whole poems are devoted to enthusiastic descriptions of these ‘sports of princes,’ and laws laid down for the latter as minute as those of the Hoyleian code.”[155]
“The bulls have been trained and medicined for months beforehand, with much careful tending, many strength-giving potions, and volumes of the old-world charms, which put valour and courage into a beast. They stand at each end of a piece of grassy lawn, with their knots of admirers around them, descanting on their various points, and with the proud trainer, who is at once keeper and medicine-man, holding them by the cord which is passed through their nose-rings. Until you have seen the water-buffalo stripped for the fight, it is impossible to conceive how handsome the ugly brute can look. One has been accustomed to see him with his neck bowed to the yoke he hates, and breaks whenever the opportunity offers; or else in the pâdi fields. In the former case he looks out of place,—an anachronism belonging to a prehistoric period, drawing a cart which seems also to date back to the days before the Deluge. In the fields the buffalo has usually a complete suit of grey mud, and during the quiet evening hour goggles at you through the clouds of flies which surround his flapping ears and brutal nose, the only parts that can be seen of him above the surface of the mud-hole or the running water of the river. In both cases he is unlovely, but in the bull-ring he has something magnificent about him. His black coat has a gloss upon it which would not disgrace a London carriage horse, and which shows him to be in tip-top condition. His neck seems thicker and more powerful than that of any other animal, and it glistens with the chili water, which has been poured over it in order to increase his excitement. His resolute shoulders, his straining quarters,—each vying with the other for the prize for strength,—and his great girth, give a look of astonishing vigour and vitality to the animal. It is the head of the buffalo, however, which it is best to look at on these occasions. Its great spread of horns is very imposing, and the eyes, which are usually sleepy, cynically contemptuous and indifferent, or sullenly cruel, are for once full of life, anger, passion, and excitement. He stands there quivering and stamping, blowing great clouds of smoke from his mouth and nose:—
“With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,
And with circles of red for his eye-socket’s rim.
“The wild joy of battle is sending the blood boiling through the great arteries of the beast, and his accustomed lethargic existence is galvanised into a new fierce life. You can see that he is longing for the battle with an ardour that would have distanced that of a Quixote, and, for the first time, you begin to see something to admire even in the water-buffalo.
“A crowd of Râjas, Chiefs, and commoners are assembled, in their gaily-coloured garments, which always serve to give life and beauty to every Malay picture, with its setting of brilliant never-fading green. The women in their gaudy silks, and dainty veils, glance coquettishly from behind the fenced enclosure which has been prepared for their protection, and where they are quite safe from injury. The young Râjas stalk about, examine the bulls, and give loud and contradictory orders as to the manner in which the fight is to be conducted. The keepers, fortunately, are so deafened by the row which every one near them is making, that they are utterly incapable of following directions which they cannot hear. Malays love many people and many things, and one of the latter is the sound of their own voices. When they are excited—and in the bull-ring they are always wild with excitement—they wax very noisy indeed, and, as they all talk, and no one listens to what any one else is saying, the green sward on which the combat is to take place speedily becomes a pandemonium, compared with which the Tower of Babel was a quiet corner in Sleepy Hollow.
“At last the word to begin is given, and the keepers of the buffaloes let out the lines made fast to the bulls’ noses, and lead their charges to the centre of the green. The lines are crossed, and then gradually drawn taut, so that the bulls are soon facing one another. Then the knots are loosed, and the cords slip from the nose-rings. A dead silence falls upon the people, and for a moment the combatants eye one another. Then they rush together, forehead to forehead, with a mighty impact. A fresh roar rends the sky, the backers of each beast shrieking advice and encouragement to the bull which carries their money.
“After the first rush, the bulls no longer charge, but stand with interlaced horns, straining shoulders, and quivering quarters, bringing tremendous pressure to bear one upon the other, while each strives to get a grip with the point of its horns upon the neck, or cheeks, or face of its opponent. A buffalo’s horn is not sharp, but the weight of the animal is enormous, and you must remember that the horns are driven with the whole of the brute’s bulk for lever and sledgehammer. Such force as is exerted would be almost sufficient to push a crowbar through a stone wall, and, tough though they are, the hardest of old bull buffaloes is not proof against the terrible pressure brought to bear. The bulls show wonderful activity and skill in these fencing matches. Each beast gives way the instant that it is warned by the touch of the horn-tip that its opponent has found an opening, and woe betide the bull that puts its weight into a stab which the other has time to elude. In the flick of an eye—as the Malay phrase has it—advantage is taken of the blunder, and, before the bull has time to recover its lost balance, its opponent has found an opening, and has wedged its horn-point into the neck or cheek. When at last a firm grip has been won, and the horn has been driven into the yielding flesh, as far as the struggles of its opponent render possible, the stabber makes his great effort. Pulling his hind-legs well under him, and straightening his fore-legs to the utmost extent, till the skin is drawn taut over the projecting bosses of bone at the shoulders, and the knots of muscle stand out like cordage on a crate, he lifts his opponent. His head is skewed on one side, so that the horn on which his adversary is hooked is raised to the highest level possible, and his massive neck strains and quivers with the tremendous effort. If the stab is sufficiently low down, say in the neck or under the cheek-bone, the wounded bull is often lifted clean off his fore-feet, and hangs there helpless and motionless ‘while a man might count a score.’ The exertion of lifting, however, is too great to admit of its being continued for any length of time, and as soon as the wounded buffalo regains its power of motion—that is to say, as soon as its fore-feet are again on the ground—it speedily releases itself from its adversary’s horn. Then, since the latter is often spent by the extraordinary effort which has been made, it frequently happens that it is stabbed and lifted in its turn before balance has been completely recovered.
“Once, and only once, have I seen a bull succeed in throwing his opponent, after he had lifted it off its feet. The vanquished bull turned over on its back before it succeeded in regaining its feet, but the victor was itself too used up to more than make a ghost of a stab at the exposed stomach of its adversary. This throw is still spoken of in Pahang as the most marvellous example of skill and strength which has ever been called forth within living memory by any of these contests.
“As the stabs follow one another, to the sound of the clicking of the horns and the mighty blowing and snorting of the breathless bulls, lift succeeds lift with amazing rapidity. The green turf is stamped into mud by the great hoofs of the labouring brutes, and at length one bull owns himself to be beaten. Down goes his head—that sure sign of exhaustion—and in a moment he has turned round and is off on a bee-line, hotly pursued by the victor. The chase is never a long one, as the conqueror always abandons it at the end of a few hundred yards, but while it lasts it is fast and furious, and woe betide the man who finds himself in the way of either of the excited animals.
“Mr. Kipling has told us all about the Law of the Jungle—which after all is only the code of man, adapted to the use of the beasts by Mr. Rudyard Kipling—but those who know the ways of buffaloes are aware that they possess one very well-recognised law. This is, ‘Thou shalt not commit trespass.’ Every buffalo-bull has its own ground; and into this no other bull willingly comes. If he is brought there to do battle, he fights with very little heart, and is easily vanquished by an opponent of half his strength and bulk who happens to be fighting on his own land. When bulls are equally matched, they are taken to fight on neutral ground. When they are badly matched the land owned by the weaker is selected for the scene of the contest.
“All these fights are brutal, and in time they will, we trust, be made illegal. To pass a prohibitionary regulation, however, without the full consent of the Chiefs and people of Pahang would be a distinct breach of the understanding on which British Protection was accepted by them. The Government is pledged not to interfere with native customs, and the sports in which animals are engaged are among the most cherished institutions of the people of Pahang. To fully appreciate the light in which any interference with these things would be viewed by the native population, it is necessary to put oneself in the position of a keen member of the Quorn, who saw Parliament making hunting illegal, on the grounds that the sufferings inflicted on the fox rendered it an inhuman pastime. As I have said in a former chapter, the natives of Pahang are, in their own way, very keen sportsmen indeed; and, when all is said and done, it is doubtful whether hunting is not more cruel than anything which takes place in a Malay cock-pit or bull-ring. The longer the run the better the sport, and more intense and prolonged the agony of the fox, that strives to run for his life, even when he is so stiff with exertion that he can do little more than roll along. All of us have, at one time or another, experienced in nightmares the agony of attempting to fly from some pursuing phantom, when our limbs refuse to serve us. This, I fancy, is much what a fox suffers, only his pains are intensified by the grimness of stern reality. If he stops he loses his life, therefore he rolls, and flounders, and creeps along when every movement has become a fresh torture. The cock, quail, dove, bull, ram, or fish,[156] on the other hand, fights because it is his nature to do so, and when he has had his fill he stops. His pluck, his pride, and his hatred of defeat alone urge him to continue the contest. He is never driven by the relentless whip of stern, inexorable necessity. This it is which makes fights between animals, that are properly conducted, less cruel than one is apt to imagine.”[157]
I will now pass to the subject of cock-fighting, of which the following vivid description is also taken from Mr. Clifford’s In Court and Kampong.[158]
“In the Archipelago, and on the West Coast of the Peninsula, cock-fights are conducted in the manner known to the Malays as bĕr-tâji, the birds being armed with long artificial spurs, sharp as razors, and curved like a Malay woman’s eyebrow. These weapons make cruel wounds, and cause the death of one or other of the combatants almost before the sport has well begun. To the Malay of the East Coast this form of cock-fighting is regarded as stupid and unsportsmanlike, an opinion which I fully share. It is the marvellous pluck and endurance of the birds that lend an interest to a cock-fight—qualities which are in no way required if the birds are armed with weapons other than those with which they are furnished by nature.
“A cock-fight between two well-known birds is a serious affair in Pahang. The rival qualities of the combatants have furnished food for endless discussion for weeks, or even months, before, and every one of standing has visited and examined the cocks, and has made a book upon the event. On the day fixed for the fight a crowd collects before the palace, and some of the King’s youths set up the cock-pit, which is a ring, about three feet in diameter, enclosed by canvas walls, supported on stakes driven into the ground. Presently the Juâra, or cock-fighters, appear, each carrying his bird under his left arm. They enter the cock-pit, squat down, and begin pulling at, and shampooing the legs and wings of their birds, in the manner which Malays believe loosen the muscles, and get the reefs out of the cocks’ limbs. Then the word is given to start the fight, and the birds, released, fly straight at one another, striking with their spurs, and sending feathers flying in all directions. This lasts for perhaps three minutes, when the cocks begin to lose their wind, and the fight is carried on as much with their beaks as with their spurs. Each bird tries to get its head under its opponent’s wing, running forward to strike at the back of its antagonist’s head, as soon as its own emerges from under its temporary shelter. This is varied by an occasional blow with the spurs, and the Malays herald each stroke with loud cries of approval. Bâsah! Bâsah! ‘Thou hast wetted him! Thou hast drawn blood!’ Ah itu dia! ‘That is it! That is a good one!’ Ah sâkit-lah itu! ‘Ah, that was a nasty one!’ And the birds are exhorted to make fresh efforts, amid occasional burst of the shrill chorus of yells, called sôrak, their backers cheering them on, and crying to them by name.
“Presently time is called, the watch being a small section of cocoa-nut in which a hole has been bored, that is set floating on the surface of a jar of water, until it gradually becomes filled and sinks. At the word, each cock-fighter seizes his bird, drenches it with water, cleans out with a feather the phlegm which has collected in its throat, and shampoos its legs and body. Then, at the given word, the birds are again released, and they fly at one another with renewed energy. They lose their wind more speedily this time, and thereafter they pursue the tactics already described until time is again called. When some ten rounds have been fought, and both the birds are beginning to show signs of distress, the interest of the contest reaches its height, for the fight is at an end if either bird raises its back feathers in a peculiar manner, by which cocks declare themselves to be vanquished. Early in the tenth round the right eye-ball of one cock is broken, and, shortly after, the left eye is bunged up, so that for the time it is blind. Nevertheless, it refuses to throw up the sponge, and fights on gallantly to the end of the round, taking terrible punishment, and doing but little harm to its opponent. One cannot but be full of pity and admiration for the brave bird, which thus gives so marvellous an example of its pluck and endurance. At last time is called, and the cock-fighter who is in charge of the blinded bird, after examining it carefully, asks for a needle and thread, and the swollen lower lid of the still uninjured eye-ball is sewn to the piece of membrane on the bird’s cheek, and its sight is thus once more partially restored. Again time is called, and the birds resume their contest, the cock with the injured eye repaying its adversary so handsomely for the punishment which it had received in the previous round, that, before the cocoa-nut shell is half full of water, its opponent has surrendered, and has immediately been snatched up by the keeper in charge of it. The victorious bird, draggled and woebegone, with great patches of red flesh showing through its wet plumage, with the membrane of its face and its short gills and comb swollen and bloody, with one eye put out, and the other only kept open by the thread attached to its eyelid, yet makes shift to strut, with staggering gait, across the cock-pit, and to notify its victory by giving vent to a lamentable ghost of a crow. Then it is carried off followed by an admiring, gesticulating, vociferous crowd, to be elaborately tended and nursed, as befits so gallant a bird. The beauty of the sport is that either bird can stop fighting at any moment. They are never forced to continue the conflict if once they have declared themselves defeated, and the only real element of cruelty is thus removed. The birds in fighting follow the instinct which nature has implanted in them, and their marvellous courage and endurance surpass anything to be found in any other animals, human or otherwise, with which I am acquainted. Most birds fight more or less—from the little fierce quail to the sucking doves which ignorant Europeans, before their illusions have been dispelled by a sojourn in the East, are accustomed to regard as the emblems of peace and purity; but no bird, or beast, or fish, or human being fights so well, or takes such pleasure in the fierce joy of battle, as does a plucky, lanky, ugly, hard-bit old fighting-cock.
“The Malays regard these birds with immense respect, and value their fighting-cocks next to their children. A few years ago, a boy, who was in charge of a cock which belonged to a Râja of my acquaintance, accidentally pulled some feathers from the bird’s tail. ‘What did you do that for? Devil!’ cried the Râja.
“‘It was not done on purpose, Ungku!’ said the boy.
“‘Thou art marvellous clever at repartee!’ quoth the Prince, and, so saying, he lifted a billet of wood, which chanced to be lying near at hand, and smote the boy on the head so that he died.
“‘That will teach my people to have a care how they use my fighting-cocks!’ said the Râja; and that was his servant’s epitaph.
“‘It is a mere boyish prank,’ said the father of the young Râja, when the matter was reported to him, ‘and, moreover, it is well that he should slay one or two with his own hand, else how should men learn to fear him?’ And there the matter ended; but it should be borne in mind that the fighting-cock of a Malay Prince is not to be lightly trifled with.”
Of the form of cock-fighting practised on the West Coast of the Peninsula Newbold writes:—
“The following is a specimen from a Malay MS. on the subject, commencing with remarks on the various breeds of this noble bird:—
“The best breeds of game-cocks are the Biring, the Jalak, the Teddong, the Chenantan,[159] the Ijou, the Pilas, the Bongkas,[160] the Su, the Belurong,[161] and the Krabu.[162]
“The colour of the Biring is red with yellow feet and beak.
“The Jalak is white mixed with black, with yellow feet, and beak also yellow mixed with black.
“The Teddong has black eyes and legs, red and black plumage, and a black beak. It is named from a sort of serpent, whose bite is accounted mortal.
“The Chenantan has white feathers, feet, and beak.
“The Ijou has a greenish black beak, feathers black mixed with white, legs green.
“The Pilas has a black beak, red and black feathers, legs white mixed with black.
“The Bongkas has a yellow beak, white feathers and yellow feet.
“The Su has a white beak with white spots, plumage white and black, legs white with black spots.
“The Belurong has a white beak with red spots, plumage red, white feet.
“The Krabu has a red beak mixed with yellow, red feathers and yellow feet.
“There are two kinds of spurs: first, the Golok Golok, in the form of a straight knife known by this name and in use with the Malays; and, secondly, the Taji Benkok, or curved spur: the last is most in vogue.
“There are various modes of tying on the spur, viz. Salik, or below the natural spur; Kumbar, on a level with it; Panggong, above the spur; Sa ibu Tangan, a thumb’s breadth below the knee joint; Sa Kalinking, a little finger’s breadth; Andas Bulu, close to the feathers under the knee; Jankir, upon the little toe; Sauh wongkang, on the middle toe; Berchingkama, tying the three large toes together with the spur—this is the most advantageous; Golok, binding the little toe and the toe on the left with the spur; Golok di Battang, below the natural spur. It is necessary to observe that the Malays generally use one spur; though two spurs are sometimes given to match a weaker against a stronger bird.
“1. The winner takes the dead bird.
“2. If a drawn battle (Sri) each takes his own.
“3. No person but the holder shall interfere with the cocks after they have been once set to, even if one of them run away, except by the permission of the Juara, or setter-to. Should any person do so, and the cock eventually win the battle, the owners shall be entitled to half the stakes only.
“4. Should one of the cocks run away, and the wounded one pursue it, both birds shall be caught and held by their Juaras. Should the runaway cock refuse to peck at its adversary three times, the wings shall be twined over the back, and it shall be put on the ground for its adversary to peck at; should he too refuse, after it has been three times presented, it is a Sri, or drawn battle. The cock that pecks wins.
“5. The stakes on both sides must be forthcoming and deposited on the spot.
“6. A cock shall not be taken up unless the spur be broken, even by the Juaras.
“When a cock has won his disposition changes.
“A cock is called Cheyma when he chooses round grains of paddy, or fights with his shadow, or spurs or pecks at people.
“The Malays believe in the influence of certain periods in the day over the breeds of cocks. They will not bet upon a bird with black plumage that is matched against one with yellow and white at the period Kutika Miswara; nor against a black one set to with a white one at the period Kutika Kala. Kutika Sri is favourable in this case for the white feathered bird. Kutika Brahma is propitious to a red cock matched against a light grey; and Kutika Vishnu for a green cock.[163]
“I once witnessed a grand contest between two Malayan States at the breaking up of the Ramazan fast. Most of the cock-fighters presented themselves at the Golongan or cock-pit with a game-cock under each arm. The birds were not trimmed as in England, but fought in full feather. The spurs used on this occasion were about two and a half inches long, in shape like the blade of a scythe, and were sharpened on the spot by means of a fine whetstone; large gashes were inflicted by these murderous instruments, and it rarely happened that both cocks survived the battle. Cocks of the same colour are seldom matched. The weight is adjusted by the setters-to passing them to and from each other’s hands as they sit facing each other in the Golongan. Should there be any difference, it is brought down to an equality by the spur being fixed so many scales higher on the leg of the heavier cock, or according to rules adverted to, as deemed fair by both parties. One spur only is used, and is generally fastened near the natural spur on the inside of the left leg. In adjusting these preliminaries the professional skill of the setters-to is called into action, and much time is taken up in grave deliberation, which often terminates in wrangling. The birds, after various methods of irritating them have been practised, are then set to. During the continuance of the battle, the excitement and interest taken by the Malays in the barbarous exhibition is vividly depicted in their animated looks and gestures—everything they possess in the world being often staked on the issue.
“The breed of cocks on the Peninsula more resembles the game-fowl of England than the large lanky breed known in Europe under the term ‘Malay.’ Great attention is paid by natives to the breed and feeding of game-cocks.”[164]
Games
“Gambling of various descriptions, both with dice and with cards, is much in vogue. These, as well as the poe-table, have been introduced by the Chinese, who are even greater adepts than the Malays in all that relates to this pernicious vice.
“Saparaga[165] is a game resembling football, played by ten or twenty youths and men, who stand in a circle, keeping up a hollow ratan ball in the air, which is passed to and fro by the action of the knees and feet—the object being to prevent the ball from touching the ground; it is frequently, however, taken at the rebound. The awkwardness of novices occasions great merriment.
“The Sangheta[166] is a game implicating broken heads; but, properly speaking, is a ‘vi et armis’ mode of arbitration in matters of dispute between two Sukus or tribes. A certain number of men from each tribe turn out and pelt each other with sticks and logs of wood, until one of the parties gives in. The victors in this petty tourney are presumed to have the right on their side.
“The Malays are remarkably attached to singing reciprocal Pantuns, stanzas comprising four alternate rhyming lines, of which notice has been taken elsewhere. Poetical contests in the Bucolic style are often carried on to a great length by means of Pantuns. To music Malays are passionately devoted, particularly to that of the violin. They evince a good ear, and great readiness in committing to memory even European airs. A voyage or journey of any length is seldom undertaken by the better classes without a minstrel.
“Takki Takki[167] are riddles and enigmas, to the propounding and solving of which the females and educated classes of the people are much inclined.
“The games played by children are Tujoh Lobang,[168] Punting, Chimpli, Kechil Krat, Kuboh, etc.”[169]
Of all minor games, top-spinning and kite-flying are perhaps the most popular. The kites are called layang-layang, which means a “swallow,” but are sometimes of great size, one which was brought to me at Langat measuring some six feet in height by about seven feet between the tips of the wings. The peculiarity of the Malay kite is that it presents a convex, instead of a concave, surface to the wind, and that no “tail” is required, the kite being steadied by means of a beak which projects forward at the top of the framework. They are also usually provided with a thin, horizontal slip of bamboo (dĕngong) stretched tightly behind the beak, and which hums loudly in the wind. They are of a great number of different but well-recognised patterns, such as the “Fighting Dragons” (Naga bĕrjuang), the Crescent (Sahari bulan), the Eagle (Rajawali), the Bird of Paradise (Chĕndrawasih), and so forth. A small kind of roughly-made kite is, as is well known, used at Singapore for fishing purposes, but I have never yet met with any instance of their being used ceremonially, though it is quite certain that grown-ups will fly them with quite as much zest as children.
Top-spinning, again, is a favourite pastime among the Malays, and is played by old and young of all ranks with the same eagerness.[170] The most usual form of top is not unlike the English pegtop, but has a shorter peg. It is spun in the same way and with the same object as our own pegtop, the object being to split the top of one’s opponent.
Teetotums are also used, and I have seen in Selangor a species of bamboo humming-top, but was told that it was copied from a humming-top used by the Chinese.
“The game of chess, which has been introduced from Arabia,[171] is played in almost precisely the same manner as among Europeans, but the queen, instead of being placed upon her own colour, is stationed at the right hand of the king. In the Malay game the king, if he has not been checked, can be castled, but over one space only, not over two, as in the English game. The king may, also, before he is checked or moved from his own square, move once, like a knight, either to left or right, and he may also, if he has not moved or been checked, move once over two vacant squares instead of one.” The following are the names of the pieces:—
- 1. Raja, the King.
- 2. Mĕntri (“Minister”), the Queen.
- 3. Têr or Tor, the Castle.
- 4. Gajah (“Elephant”), the Bishop.
- 5. Kuda (“Horse”), the Knight.
- 6. Bidak, the Pawns.[172]
Main chongkak, again, is a game played with a board (papan chongkak) consisting of a boat-shaped block.
In the top of this block (where the boat’s deck would be) are sunk a double row of holes, the rows containing eight holes each, and two more holes are added, one at each end. Each of the eight holes (in both rows) is filled at starting with eight buah gorek (the buah gorek being the fruit of a common tree, also called kĕlichi in Malacca). There are usually two players who pick the buah gorek out of the holes in turn, and deposit them in the next hole according to certain fixed rules of numerical combination, a solitary buah gorek, wherever it is found, being put back and compelled to recommence its journey down the board.
A similar game is, I believe, known in many parts of the East, and was formerly much played even by Malay slaves, who used to make the double row of holes in the ground when no board was obtainable.
The Malay game of Draughts (main dam) is played, I believe, in exactly the same manner as the English game. Backgammon (main tabal), on the other hand, is played in two different ways.
The “Tiger” Game (main rimau), or “Tiger and Goat” Game (main rimau kambing), is a game which has a distinct resemblance to our own “fox and goose,” there being usually four tigers to a dozen of the goats.
Cards
“Cards are called Kĕrtas sakopong. The Malays are fond of card games, but few Europeans have taken the trouble to understand or describe them. The late Sir W. E. Maxwell contributed the following description of daun tiga ’lei to the Notes and Queries of the Journal of the Straits Asiatic Society. It refers to the game in question as played in Perak:—
| “Hearts, | Lĕkoh. | King, | Raja. |
| Diamonds, | Retin. | Queen, | Bandahara |
| Clubs, | Kalalawar. | Knave, | Pekah. |
| Spades, | Sakopong. | Ace, | Sat. |
| To shuffle, | Kiyat, mengiyat. |
| To deal, | Membawa. |
| To cut, | Kĕrat. |
| To sweep the board, make everyone pay, | Mengĕlong. |
“Three cards are dealt out to each player. The highest hand counting by pips is that which contains the greatest number of pips after the tens are deducted. Thus a knave, ten, and nine is a good hand.
“The best hand is three aces, Sat tiga.
“The next best is three court-cards, Kuda; naik kuda.
“The next is nine.
“The next is eight.
“All these four hands are known as tĕrus. A hand of three threes is really a good hand, being nine, but it is considered a propitiation of good luck to throw it down (without exposing it), and announce that one is buta, in the hopes of getting good luck afterwards.
“Each player makes two stakes—kapala and ekor. They may be of equal value, or the ekor may be of greater value than the kapala.
“The kapala must not be of greater value than the ekor; that is called tual ka ujong (tual = bĕrat).
“Or there may be a single stake only, which is called podul.
“Betting between players is called sorong, or tuwi, or sorong tuwi.
“A pool, tuwi tengah.
“The ekor stake is only paid to the dealer if he holds one of the hands called tĕrus, and if a smaller hand is held by a player, then the dealer takes both kapala and ekor (mengĕlong).
“A player who holds thirty exactly (except when he has three court-cards, kuda) is said to be out (buta).
“Any one except the player on the right of the dealer may cut. The player who cuts looks at the bottom card of those that he lifts, and if he thinks it is a lucky cut he accepts it and puts down the card he has lifted (pengĕrat).
“The dealer then puts the rest of the pack on top of the cut, and in his turn lifts a portion of the pack (pengangkat), and looks at the bottom card.
“There are all sorts of names for different cards and combinations of cards of various degrees of luck, and these are quoted by the cutter and dealer, each declaring his confidence in the luck coming to him by reason of the cutting or lifting of a particular card.
“A player does not hastily look at his three cards and learn his fate at once, but he prolongs the excitement by holding his cards tight together, and looking alternately at the outside ones, and last of all at the middle one, sliding out the latter between the two others little by little. Thus it is left uncertain for some time whether a card is an eight or a seven, a nine or a ten.
“A man to whom a court-card, an eight, and an ace is dealt (if the eight is in the middle), on finding that he has eleven by the two outside ones, says, for instance, Handak kaki tiga, and then commences to slide out the middle card, hoping that it is going to be an eight, or at all events a seven (three pips on each side). This particular hand is called lang siput, because it is certain to carry off something.
“A man who has just held a winning hand will say, in expressing a hope of continued good luck, ‘Tĕman handak pisang sarabu, sudah sa-batang sa-batang pula.’ (The plantain called sarabu is one which puts out fruit from every stem of the perdu about the same time, or one immediately after another.)”[173]
The following account of card games as played in Selangor was compiled some years ago by the writer. The names of the cards used in Selangor are these:—
| Hearts, | Lĕkok or Pangkah. |
| Diamonds, | Rĕten (rĕtim), or Chiduk. |
| Clubs, | K’lawer, or Kĕlalawer. |
| Spades, | Dayong Kling, or Sakopong. |
| King, | Raja. |
| Queen, | Proh, or Nyonya. |
| Knave, | Pekak, or Hamba. |
| Ace, | Sat. |
| To shuffle, | Banchoh, or Mĕnggaul. |
| To deal, | Mĕmbagi. |
| To cut, | K’rat. |
| To sweep the board, | Mĕrĕlong, or Mĕngg’long. |
| To pay all round, | Mĕndader chingkeh. |
| A picture or court card, | Angkong, or Kuda. |
| A three, | Jalor (e.g. two threes, dua jalor). |
| A card (ordinary), | Daun. |
| A sequence, | G’lik (Daun sa-g’lik). |
The three most important card games are—(1) main sakopong, (2) main chabut, (3) main tiga ’lei, or pakau.
1. In the game called sakopong all cards from two to six are cast out, and five cards are dealt out to each of the players (who may be from two to four in number); a player leads (turunkan) the card, and the next player has either to follow suit (turunkan daun sagaji) or throw down a card, turning it over (susupkan). If the next player is able to follow suit, whoever plays the highest card of the suit wins. If each player wins a trick it is declared drawn (s’ri), and in this case all stakes are returned.
2. Main chabut is a species of vingt-et-un, and is played with either twenty-one or thirty-one points. If twenty-one points only is the game, court-cards are not counted; but if the game is thirty-one points they are also added in. Two cards are dealt by the dealer (pĕrdi) to each player, who draws (chabut) fresh cards from the bottom of the pack in his turn, and gets as near as possible to thirty-one. If he thinks he cannot safely draw another card (e.g. after twenty-six pips are in his hand) he “passes” (which is called b’lit kĕchil if he stops at twenty-six, twenty-seven, or twenty-eight, and b’lit bĕsar if he stops at twenty-nine or thirty).
If he obtains exactly thirty-one pips he is said to “enter the points” (masok mata); but no player can draw more than seven cards, and if he has, after drawing to the full limit, still failed to obtain as many pips as he wants, he is said to “enter the pack” (masok daun). I may add that the first two cards are called lunas or “keels,” and this may be of various kinds, e.g.:—
- 1. Lunas nikah, i.e. angkong dĕngan sat (a court-card and an ace).
- 2. Kachang di-rendang di-tugalkan, i.e. two aces; a very convenient hand, as the aces may be reckoned as either one or eleven, as occasion may require.
- 3. Lunas sa-glabat, or sagaji ampat-b’las, i.e. angkong dĕngan daun ampat (court-card and four).
- 4. Lunas dua jalor, two threes.
- 5. Ace and two, which is the best of all.
In playing chabut or “casting out,” the tens should be thrown away (di-buang daun puloh). When two players have the same number of pips—e.g. nine and nine or eight and eight—the coincidence is described in the words, Jumpa di jalan, di-adu, kalah, di-chabut, mati. To be “bluffed” is called kĕna ranjau (wounded by a caltrop).
And again, when a player has obtained, let us say, twenty-six pips with six cards, and so has only one more chance, and is afraid to risk it, his position is ridiculed in the phrase, Sa-nepak Ulu Klang, a jest of obviously local coinage.
The phrase Tĕngah tiang (half mast), again, is applied to twenty-five pips held irrespective of the number of cards; and if more than thirty-one are obtained, the player is said to be out (mati, or masok piring).
3. Daun tiga ’lei or Pakau is played here as follows:—
Three cards are dealt by the dealer to each player, and the winner is he who holds the greatest number of pips, with certain exceptions.
| Daun t’rus |  | The best hand is three aces (tiga sat). |
| The next is three threes (tigajalor). | ||
| The next is three tens (tigapuloh). | ||
| The next is three court-cards (tigaangkong or tiga kuda). | ||
| Of other hands the best is a remainder of ninepips left after deducting ten from a hand of nineteen pips. | ||
| The next is a remainder of eight pips,and so on. |
A hand of three threes, it will be observed, is the second best hand in Selangor, whereas in Perak, according to Sir W. E. Maxwell, it is thrown away as the worst.
The stakes, which are deposited in two heaps by each player, are here called kapala or “head,” and buntut (or ekor), the “tail,” respectively; the kapala being generally, though perhaps not always, greater than the ekor in Selangor, instead of the reverse. The latter can only be lost when a player sweeps the board. A single stake, again, is podul (or occasionally tual), but bĕrtuwi is applied to betting between players, and sorong or tokong means to put down a stake before your rival replies with a counter-stake (bĕrteban or topah). A player who holds thirty exactly is not out here—e.g., he may hold a court-card and two tens. To look at the bottom card is mĕnengo’ angkatan.
Sir W. E. Maxwell gives a number of names and phrases applied to particular cards and combinations of cards, to which I may add—
- Two nines and a two—China Keh mĕngandar ayer.
- An eight and an ace (making nine) with a court-card, or a ten and two nines—Sĕmbilang bĕrtĕlor.
- Two court-cards and a nine—Parak hari ’nak siang.
- The four of any suit—Tiang jamban Lĕbai ʿAli.
The explanation of handak kaki tiga, as applied to an eight, appears to be that the eight has three pips on each side. It is also called bĕrisi sa-b’lah. Minta’ pĕnoh (I ask for a full one) means I want a nine (?), and minta’ tombak (I ask for a lance), I want two pips (or three, as the case may be).
Besides the above, there are miniature or bijou cards (chĕki)—e.g. chĕki dua-b’las, chĕki lima-b’las and ’tan or bĕrĕtan daun sambilan, etc., the daun chĕki being distinguished by their borders, e.g. iyu kuching, iyu nyonya, iyu panjang, iyu mĕrak besar, iyu kasut; and again gapet, gapet k’rang, gapet rintek, gapet lichin; babi, babi rintek, babi pusat, babi lichin; kau merah, kau bulat, kau lichin; layer, layer rintek, layer pitis, layer lichin. Six to seven people play these games. A sort of whist is also played from time to time under the name of main trup. At this game a trick is called sapudi; to sweep the board is pukol tani; and the players who get no tricks at all are said to be sold up (kĕna kot).[174]
Children’s Games
I will now give some specimens of the games I have seen played by children:—
“Throwing the Flower across” (champak bunga sa-b’lah) is a game which I have seen thus played by boys.
A handkerchief was twisted up (like a rope) from corner to corner, folded in half, and then tied together at the ends.
Two couples stood facing one another at a few yards’ distance, and at a given signal one of the boys in each couple took his companion up on to his shoulders. The two who were mounted threw the handkerchief across to each other, and back again by turns. When the one failed to catch it, both riders dismounted and offered backs to their late “mounts,” who thus became riders, and threw the handkerchief in their turn. Each time, however, that a catch was made both parties crossed over. When three catches were made in unbroken succession (kĕlerik) the riders had the privilege of being carried across three times before recommencing play.
I should add that a coin was tossed up at the outset of the game to decide who were to start as the riders, and who were to be the ridden.
Main Sesel (or Kachau kueh) bears a strong family resemblance to our own “Hen and chickens.” When I witnessed it, a big boy played the “Paterfamilias” with a string of children at his back, each of whom was holding on to the one in front of him. Presently a “Cakeseller” presented himself, and the following conversation ensued:—
Paterfamilias: Ada kueh? (Have you any cake?)
Cakeseller: Ada. (I have.)
P.F.: Buleh aku b’li? (Can I buy some?)
C.: Buleh. (Yes.)
Here the Cakeseller hands a ball of earth to Paterfamilias, who passes it down the line of children to the youngest child at the end of the row. The conversation then recommenced—
Cakeseller: Aku minta’ duit. (I want my money.)
P.F.: Duit t’ada, anak kunchi tinggal di jamban. (I have got no money, I have mislaid the key.) Kalau mahu ambil budak, ambil yang di-b’lakang. (If you wish to take one of my children, take the last.)
Here a desperate effort was made by the poor Cakeseller to dodge past Paterfamilias and get at the boy, whom he eventually succeeded in carrying off.
Main Tul is a game somewhat resembling our own “Puss in the corner,” but with only one “home.” The “home” consisted of a stake planted upright, and the first “Puss” (orang tul) was selected by a species of divination depending upon repetition of the same formula as is used to select the blind man in Blind Man’s Buff (Main China Buta). There was (as I have said) only one home in this game, from which the players sallied forth to taunt the orang tul, and which they were obliged to touch in order to save themselves when closely pursued.
Main Sĕladang (Wild Bull game) is an excellent game for children with the shoeless feet of the East. A “wild bull” having been selected by repetition of the Ping hilang formula, went upon all fours, and entered into the following conversation between himself and one of the other players specially selected for the purpose. The latter opened negotiations with the clearly non-committal, if not very lucid remark, “Tam tam kul” to which the “Bull” replied, “Buat apa guna bakul” (What are you going to do with your basket?)
Boy: Mĕngisi arang. (To hold charcoal.)
Bull: Buat apa guna arang? (What will you do with the charcoal?)
Boy: Mĕnĕmpa (or masak) lĕmbing. (I shall forge a spear.)
Bull: Buat apa guna lĕmbing? (What use will you make of the spear?)
Boy: Mĕnikam sĕladang. (To stab a bull with.)
Bull (who is getting excited): Buat apa guna di-tikam? (What use will it be to stab him?)
Boy: Mĕngambil hati-nya. (To get his heart.)
Bull (who is now fairly savage): Buat apa guna hati-nya? (What use will you make of his heart?)
Boy: Buat santap Raja Muda. (Get the Crown Prince to partake (of it).)
The Bull at the end of this baiting was ready to “charge” anybody and everything, and did accordingly run at the rest of the players, kicking out with all his might at anybody who came near. As he had to move on all fours he could not go very fast, and the other players took advantage of this to bait him still further by slapping him on the back and jumping over him. Whenever they came near enough he lashed out with his heels, and when he succeeded in kicking another player below the knee, the latter became a Bull in his turn. Much agility is displayed in this game, which is thoroughly enjoyed by the players.
“Blind Man’s Buff” (Main China Buta, or “Blind Chinaman”) is played in exactly the same manner as our own Blind Man’s Buff; one of the party, with bandaged eyes, being required to catch any one who comes near him.
The first blind man—at the commencement of the game—is chosen as follows: the intending players sit down together in a close circle, each of them putting down the tips of their forefingers in the centre of the circle; then somebody who is not playing taps each of them on the head in turn, repeating at each tap a word of the following formula:—
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |
| ping | hilang | patah | paku |
| plate (=piring?) | disappear | break | nail |
| 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 |
| dalam | biling | chhari | aku |
| within | chamber (=bilek?) | search for | me |
| 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 |
| ping | ’dah | ’ning | ’dah |
| got | clear(?) | got |
| 13 |
| hilang. |
| disappear. |
The meaning of this formula (as is the case with so many “nursery” rhymes) is very obscure, several words being unintelligible or at least doubtful. It is, however, the regular formula used for such games and is quite common.[175]
Chan chan siku rembat is a game which I saw played in Selangor as follows:—
The intending players stood in a row, looking straight in front of them, but with their hands behind their backs, whilst another boy, who had a piece of wood in his hand, walked down the line touching their hands and counting as he went the words of the following refrain:—
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |
| chan | chan | siku | rembat |
| 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 |
| buah | lalu | di- | b’lakang |
| the fruit (or ball) | is passing | behind (you) | |
| 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 |
| mata | pĕjam | tangan | lihat |
| your eyes | (are) closed | (but your) hand | sees! |
| 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 |
| siapa | chĕpat | dia | mĕlompat |
| whoever | (is) nimble | (let) him | take the leap. |
The “fruit” (or piece of wood, as the case may be) was left in the palm of one of the boys, and as soon as the reciter came to the end of the rhyme the boy with the token had to jump out of the ranks before he was stopped by the boys on each side of him, each of whom suddenly stretched out his legs for the purpose of tripping up the runaway. When they touched him he lost his turn, but if he succeeded in getting clear without being touched he obtained the privilege of going to the other end of the ground and calling any boy he chose out of the ranks to carry him back again, at the invitation of the late spokesman. On his return he was stopped in front of the ranks with the challenge:—
Q. Datang dĕ’mana? (Whence do you come?)
A. Datang dĕ’ Bali. (I come from Bali.)
Q. Apa di-bawa? (What do you bring?)
A. Bawa kuali. (I bring a cooking-pot.)
Q. Siapa nakhoda? (Who is the master (of the vessel)?)
A. Nakhoda ’Che ʿAli. (’Che ʿAli is the master.)
Q. Mana sampan tunda? (Where is the boat you were towing?)
A. Putus tali. (Parted from the rope.)
Q. Mana pas? (Where is your pass?)
In reply to this last question the pass (i.e. the fruit or piece of wood) was shown and both boys rejoined the ranks, whereupon the game recommenced da capo.
Hantu Musang or “The Pole-cat Fiend,” is a game in which a boy sits down (between two others) with a cloth thrown over his head, the ends of which are twisted up (like rope ends) by the two boys on each side of him; the cloth fits his head like a cap, with a long end at the back and in front. First the boy in front pulls his end of the cloth and then the boy at the back pulls his end, thus causing the boy between them to rock to and fro. This treatment is continued for some time while they repeat the following rhyme:—
| Chok gĕlechok | .... |
| Gali-gali ubi. | A-digging tapioca |
| Mana kayu bongkok | Wherever (there is) knotted timber |
| Disitu musang jadi. | There the pole-cat breeds. |
| Chang gulichang | .... |
| Serak bunga lada | Scatter (?) pepper-blossom. |
| Datang hantu musang | The pole-cat fiend has arrived |
| Ayam sa’ekor t’ada. | And not a fowl is left. |
As soon as this rhyme is finished the two outside boys make off as fast as they can, pursued by the “pole-cat,” who is allowed to give a really good bite (in the arm) to the first person he overtakes.
Main Tunggul.—This game I saw played with four boys a side. A boy was selected to represent the tunggul or stump, and took up his position at a little distance (about half-way between the two parties as they stood facing each other a few yards apart). Up to the stump (tunggul) a boy from each of the sides alternately ran and whispered the name of a boy belonging to the opposite party. This whispering was continued until the names of the two boys selected happened to agree, the tunggul then making a gesture, at which the boys of one of the sides crossed over and carried back on their shoulders the boys belonging to the opposite side.
Kuching (the Cat Game) was a mere guessing game. The “guesser,” or witness (saksi), stood at a little distance with his face turned away whilst another boy was selected to play “puss,” and yet another boy was permitted to twitch him on the ear or wherever else he might prefer. Then the “witness” was told to turn round, and going up to the “cat” he made his guess.
Sorok-sorok is merely the Malay equivalent of our hide-and-seek, with the exception that whereas hide-and-seek may be played by day as well as by night, the game of sorok-sorok should properly be played at night alone.
Fig. 4.—Main Galah Panjang.
Main Galah Panjang.—A square of ground is marked out into four quarters by a cross (as in the accompanying figure), and on it a game not unlike our own “Tom Tiddler’s Ground” is played (by three players on each side). The name means the “Long Pole” game.
Another child’s game is called Sanĕbang, and is played as follows:—
Two players sit down on the floor facing each other and chant the following rhyme, one of them lightly touching the other’s left arm in time to the music:—
| Sanebang sanebu | Sanebang! sanebu! |
| Kuala Sambau | At the mouth of the (river) Sambau |
| Ujan bunut | In the drizzling rain |
| Mandi katong | Bathes the Katong,[176] |
| Sentak pĕlok | Twitch and embrace |
| Tangan Tuan Pŭtri | The Princess’s hand. |
The well-known game called Sapu-sapu ’Ringin I have seen played as follows:—
Two players sit down on the floor opposite each other, with their legs stretched out straight in front of them and their hands in their laps, and join in singing these lines:—
| Sapu-sapu bĕringin, | Brush, brush the banyan-tree, |
| Katimbun dayong-dayong, | A pile of oars lies stacked; |
| Datang ’Che Aji Lĕbai | Here comes ’Che Aji Lĕbai |
| Bawa buaya kudong. | Bringing a maimed crocodile: |
| Kudong kaki, kudong tangan, | Maimed in foot and maimed in hand, |
| Tiada buleh bĕrpulangan. | It can’t go home again. |
Here both players double up one leg under them as they sit; then they repeat the lines just quoted, doubling up the left leg at the end of the recital; then they close the fists and pile them one on each other, the lowest resting on one of the player’s knees, and say—
| Pong along-along | ...... |
| Kĕrinting riang-riang, | Crick-crick (?) (sing) the crickets (?) |
| Kĕtapong kĕbalok | ...... |
| Minyak ʿArab, minyak sapi, | Arabian oil and ghee;[177] |
| Pĕchah tĕlor sa-biji. | Here’s one egg broken. |
Here the lowest fist is flattened out. In the same way each of the four eggs (i.e. fists) is broken till the top is reached, when the four hands are moved up and down on the left knee of one of the players as the chant recommences—
| P’ram p’ram pisang | ... the plantain, |
| Masak sa-biji di-gonggong bari-bari | The fruit-bat seizes a ripe one, |
| Bawa lari, | And takes it away |
| Tĕrbang-lah dia! | As off he flies! |
Here both players raise their hands above their heads; then one player commences to rock to and fro (with arms now folded), the other holding him (or her) by the arms and crying—
| Goyang-goyang Pah Ponggor | Swing, swing, Father Ponggor; |
| Pah Ponggor mati akar! | Father Ponggor, the climbing rattan is dead! |
| Si ʿAli ka padang | Si ʿAli’s gone to the plain, |
| [Di-]tudongkan daun | Sheltered by the leaves, |
| Sa-hari ta’ makan, | With nothing to eat for a day, |
| Ta’ makan sa-tahun. | Nothing to eat for a year. |
Here they hook their little fingers together, and rock their bodies to and fro, singing—
| Angkei-angkei p’riok | ... the cooking-pot, |
| P’riok dĕri Jawa | The cooking-pot from Java; |
| Datang ’Wa’ Si Bagok | Here comes Uncle Bagok |
| Bawa kĕtam sa’ekor: | Bringing a crab. |
| Chepong masok ayer, | A dish (?) to put water in, |
| Chepong masok api, | A dish (?) to put fire in, |
| O nenek, O nenek, | O granny, O granny, |
| Rumah kita ’nak runtoh! | Our house is tumbling down. |
| Reh! Reh! Rum! | . . . . . . |
Finally they sit still with hands clasped on knees, and sing—
| Nuria! Nuria! | . . . . . . |
| Tali timba ’ku | The rope of my bucket, |
| ’Nak ’nimba lubok dalam, | To draw water from a deep hole, |
| Dalam sama tĕngah, | Right in the middle of it, |
| Saput awan tolih mega. | Veiled by the clouds, looking up at (?) the welkin.[178] |
Of minor children’s games the following may be mentioned:—
(1) Tuju (not tujoh,[179]) lobang, which appears to be identifiable with “Koba,” and which is played by throwing coins as near as possible to a hole (or holes?) in the ground.
(2) Chimplek, which is a sort of “heads and tails” game; “heads” being called chaping, and “tails” sim.
(3) Porok, which consists in kicking (with the side of the foot) a small cocoa-nut shell, with the object of hitting a similar shell a few yards off.
This game appears to be identical with what is called main gayau in Selangor, in which, however, a fruit or seed called buah gandu is substituted for the cocoa-nut shell and propelled by the big toe of the player’s foot.
(4) Main sĕremban, which is played with cockle-shells by two girls at a time, each player taking twenty cockle-shells (kulit k’rang) into her lap. Each player in turn has to toss up one of the cockle-shells and catch, simultaneously snatching a fresh shell from the heap. If the girl who is playing fails in either task, she loses to her opponent.