The people of Pahang were ever lawless, warlike folk, and the Malacca Râjas, who seem to have been a mild enough set of people while in their own country, speedily caught the infection from their surroundings. Thus, from one generation to another, various rival claimants to the throne strove for the mastery during successive centuries. The land was always more or less on the rack of civil war, and so to-day the largest State in the Peninsula carries a population of only some four human beings to the square mile.
War was lulled, and peace fell upon Pahang when Bĕndahâra Äli, the father of the present Sultân, came to the throne; but, when he died in his palace among the cocoa-nut trees, across the river opposite to the Pĕkan of to-day, civil war broke out once more with redoubled fury. During the years that he was a fugitive from the land of his birth, Che’ Wan Âhmad, who now bears the high-sounding title of Sultân Âhmad Maätham, Shah of Pahang, made numerous efforts to seize the throne from his brother and nephew, but it was not until the fifth attempt that he was finally successful.
During one of those pauses which occurred in the war game, when Âhmad had once more been driven into exile, and his brother's son Bĕndăhâra Korish reigned in Pahang, the ambitions of Wan Bong of Jĕlai brought him who had cherished them to an untimely and ignoble death.
The Jĕlai valley has, from time immemorial, been ruled over by a race of Chiefs, who, though they are regarded by the other natives of Pahang as ranking merely as nobles, are treated by the people of their own district with semi-royal honours. The Chief of the Clan, the Dâto’ Mahrâja Pĕrba Jĕlai, commonly known as To’ Râja, is addressed as Ungku, which means 'Your Highness,' by his own people. Homage too is done to him by them, hands being lifted up in salutation, with the palms pressed together, as in the attitude of Christian prayer, but the tips of the thumbs are not suffered to ascend beyond the base of the chin. In saluting a real Râja, the hands are carried higher and higher, according to the prince's rank, until, for the Sultân, the tips of the thumbs are on a level with the forehead. Little details, such as these, are of immense importance in the eyes of the Malays, and not without reason, seeing that, in an Independent Native State, many a man has come by his death for carelessness in their observance. A wrongly given salute may raise the ire of a Râja, which is no pleasant thing to encounter; or if it flatter him by giving him more than his due, the fact may be whispered in the ears of his superiors, who will not be slow to resent the usurpation and to punish the delinquent.
At the time of which I write, the then To’ Râja of Jĕlai was an aged man, cursed by the possession of many sons, arrogant folk, who loved war. The eldest, the most arrogant, the most warlike, the most ambitious, and the most evil of these, was Wan Bong. He, the people of the Jĕlai called Che’ Âki, which means 'Sir Father,' because he was the heir of their Dâto’, or Chief, which word in the vernacular literally means a grandfather. He was a man of about thirty-five years of age, of a handsome presence, and an aristocratic bearing. He wore his fine black hair long, so that it hung about his waist, and he dressed with the profusion of coloured silks, and went armed with the priceless weapons, that are only to be seen in perfection on the person of a Malay prince. Into the mind of this man there entered, on a certain day, an idea at once daring and original. Ever since the death of Bĕndăhâra Äli, nearly a decade earlier, Pahang had been racked by war and rumours of war, and, wherever men congregated, tales were told of the brave deeds done by the rival Râjas, each of whom was seeking to win the throne for himself and for his posterity. It was the memory of these things that probably suggested his project to Wan Bong. Che’ Wan Âhmad had fled the country after his last defeat, and Bĕndăhâre Korish, with his sons Che’ Wan Âhman, and Che’ Wan Da, ruled at Pĕkan. To none of the latter did Wan Bong cherish any feeling but hatred, and it occurred to him that now, while they were still suffering from the effects of their fierce struggle with Che’ Wan Âhmad, it would be possible, by a bold stroke, to upset their dynasty, and to secure the broad valleys of Pahang as an inheritance for his father, To’ Râja, for himself, and for their heirs for ever.
Every man in Pahang was, at that time, a soldier; and the people of Jĕlai and Lĭpis were among the most warlike of the inhabitants of the country. All the people of the interior followed Wan Bong like sheep, and he speedily found himself at the head of a following of many thousands of men. For a noble to rise up against his sovereign, with the object of placing his own family upon the throne, was an altogether unheard of thing among the natives of the Peninsula; but the very originality of Wan Bong's plan served to impress the people with the probability of its success. The Râjas at Pĕkan were very far away, while Wan Bong, with unlimited power in his hands, was at their very doors. Therefore the natives of the upper country had no hesitation in selecting the side to which it was most politic for them to adhere.
Wan Bong installed his father as Bĕndăhâra of Pahang with much state, and many ceremonial observances. All the insignia of royalty were hastily fashioned by the goldsmiths of Pĕnjum, and, whenever To’ Râja or Wan Bong appeared in public, they were accompanied by pages bearing betel boxes, swords, and silken umbrellas, as is the manner of Malay kings.
To’ Râja remained in his village of Bûkit Bĕtong, on the banks of the Jĕlai river, and Wan Bong, with his army, speedily conquered the whole of Pahang as far as Kuâla Sĕmantan. Thus more than half the country was his, almost without a struggle; and Wan Bong, flustered with victory, returned up river to receive the congratulations of his friends, leaving Pănglîma Râja Sĕbîdi, his principal General, in charge of the conquered districts.
The Râjas at Pĕkan, however, were meanwhile mustering their men, and, when Wan Bong reached Kuâla Tĕmbĕling, he received the unwelcome intelligence that his forces had fallen back some sixty miles to Tanjong Gâtal, before an army under the command of Che’ Wan Âhman and Che’ Wan Da. At Tanjong Gâtal a battle was fought, and the royal forces were routed with great slaughter, as casualties are reckoned in Malay warfare, nearly a score of men being killed. But Che’ Wan Âhman knew that many Pahang battles had been won without the aid of gunpowder or bullets, or even kris and spear. He sent secretly to Pănglîma Râja Sĭbîdi, and, by promises of favours to come, and by gifts of no small value, he had but little difficulty in persuading him to turn traitor. The Pănglîma was engaged in a war against the ruler of the country, the Khalîfah, the earthly representative of the Prophet on Pahang soil, and the feeling that he was thus warring against God, as well as against man, probably made him the more ready to enrich himself by making peace with the princes to whom he rightly owed allegiance. Be this how it may, certain it is that Pănglîma Râja Sĕbîdi went to Wan Bong, where he lay camped at Kuâla Tĕmbĕling, and assured him that after the defeat at Tanjong Gâtal, the royal forces had dispersed, and that the Pĕkan Râjas were now in full flight.
'Pahang is now thine, O Prince!' he concluded, 'so be pleased to return to the Jĕlai, and I, thy servant, will keep watch and ward over the conquered land, until such time as thou bringest thy father with thee, to sit upon the throne which thy valour has won for him, and for his seed for ever!'