“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.