12. The royal rebab or Malay fiddle.

This latter peculiarity (of the multiplication of notes) is quite in accordance with the traditions of the king's musical instruments in Malay romances. Thus of Raja Donan's magic flute we are told, "The first time (that he sounded it), the flute gave forth the sounds of twelve instruments, the second time it played as if twenty-four instruments were being sounded, and the third time it played like thirty-six different instruments." No wonder we are told that "the Princesses Che Ambong and Che Muda dissolved in tears, and the music had to be stopped." [55] My informant declared that these objects came into existence of themselves (terjali sendiri), at a spot between the two peaks of a burning mountain (gunong merapi) in the country of Menangkabau in Sumatra. He also averred that "rain could not rot them nor sun blister them," and that any one who "brushed past them" (di-lintas) would fall to the ground; [56] whilst no fewer than seven buffaloes have to be slaughtered before the "moving mountains" (when worn out) can be replaced. [57] An enumeration of the writer's regalia often forms an important part of a letter from one Malay sovereign to another, more especially when the writer wishes to emphasise his importance. [58] But the extraordinary strength of the Malay belief in the supernatural powers of the regalia of their sovereigns can only be thoroughly realised after a study of their romances, in which their kings are credited with all the attributes of inferior gods, whose birth, as indeed every subsequent act of their after life, is attended by the most amazing prodigies. They are usually invulnerable, and are gifted with miraculous powers, such as that of transforming themselves, and of returning to (or recalling others to) life; in fact they have, in every way, less of the man about them and more of the god. Thus it is that the following description of the dress of an old-time Raja falls easily into line with what would otherwise appear the objectless jargon which still constitutes the preamble of many a Malay prince's letters, but which can yet be hardly regarded as mere rhetoric, since it has a deep meaning for those who read it:-- "He wore the trousers called beraduwanggi, miraculously made without letting in pieces; hundreds of mirrors encircled his waist, thousands encircled his legs, they were sprinkled all about his body, and larger ones followed the seams." Then his waistband (kain ikat pinggang) was of "flowered cloth, twenty-five cubits in length, or thirty if the fringe be included; thrice a day did it change its colours--in the morning transparent as dew, at mid-day of the colour of lembayong, [59] and in the evening of the hue of oil." Next came his coat. It was "of reddish purple velvet, thrice brilliant the lustre of its surface, seven times powerful the strength of the dye; the dyer after making it sailed the world for three years, but the dye still clung to the palms of his hands." His dagger was "a straight blade of one piece which spontaneously screwed itself into the haft. The grooves, called retak mayat, [60] started from the base of the blade, the damask called pamur janji appeared half-way up, and the damask called lam jilallah at the point; the damask alif was there parallel with the edge, and where the damasking ended the steel was white. No ordinary metal was the steel, it was what was over after making the bolt of God's Ka'abah (at Meccah). It had been forged by the son of God's prophet, Adam, smelted in the palm of his hand, fashioned with the end of his finger, and coloured with the juice of flowers in a Chinese furnace. Its deadly qualities came down to it from the sky, and if cleaned (with acid) at the source of a river, the fish at the embouchure came floating up dead. "The sword that he wore was called lang pengonggong, [61] 'the successful swooper,' lit. the 'kite carrying off its prey.' "The next article described is his turban, which, among the Malays, is a square handkerchief folded and knotted round the head." "He next took his royal handkerchief, knotting it so that it stood up with the ends projecting; one of them he called dendam ta' sudah (endless love): it was purposely unfinished; if it were finished the end of the world would come. It had been woven in no ordinary way, but had been the work of his mother from her youth. Wearing it he was provided with all the love-compelling secrets. (The names of a number of charms to excite passion are given, but they cannot be explained in the compass of a note)." [62] He wore the Malay national garment--the sarong. It was "a robe of muslin of the finest kind; no ordinary weaving had produced it; it had been woven in a jar in the middle of the ocean by people with gills, relieved by others with beaks; no sooner was it finished than the maker was put to death, so that no one might be able to make one like it. It was not of the fashion of the clothing of the rajas of the present day, but of those of olden time. If it were put in the sun it got damper, if it were soaked in water it became drier. A slight tear mended by darning only increased its value, instead of lessening it, for the thread for the purpose cost one hundred dollars. A single dewdrop dropping on it would tangle the thread for a cubit's length, while the breath of the south wind would disentangle it." Finally, we get a description of the way in which the Raja (S'ri Rama) set out upon his journey. "He adopted the art called sedang budiman, the young snake writhed at his feet (i.e. he started at mid-day when his own shadow was round his feet), a young eagle was flying against the wind overhead; he took a step forward and then two backward, one forward as a sign that he was leaving his country, and two backward as a sign that he would return; as he took a step with the right foot, loud clanked his accoutrements [63] on his left; as he put forth the left foot a similar clank was heard on his right; he advanced, swelling out his broad chest, and letting drop his slender fingers, adopting the gait called 'planting beans,' and then the step called 'sowing spinach.'" [64] In addition to the sanctity of the regalia, the king, as the divine man, possesses an infinite multitude of prerogatives which enter into almost every act of his private life, and thus completely separate him from the generality of his fellow-men. These prerogatives are too numerous to be mentioned in detail, but the following extract from Leyden's translation of the "Malay Annals" will give a general idea of their character and extent:-- "Sultan Muhammed Shah again established in order the throne of his sovereignty. He was the first who prohibited the wearing of yellow clothes in public, not even a handkerchief of that colour, nor curtains, nor hangings, nor large pillow-cases, nor coverlets, nor any envelope of any bundle, nor the cloth lining of a house, excepting only the waist cloth, the coat, and the turban. He also prohibited the constructing of houses with abutments, or smaller houses connected with them; also suspended pillars or timbers (tiang gantong); nor timbers the tops of which project above the roofs, and also summer houses. [65] He also prohibited the ornamenting of creeses with gold, and the wearing anklets of gold, and the wearing the koronchong, or hollow bracelets (anklets?) of gold, ornamented with silver. None of these prohibited articles did he permit to be worn by a person, however rich he might be, unless by his particular licence, a privilege which the raja has ever since possessed. He also forbade any one to enter the palace unless wearing a cloth petticoat [66] of decent length, with his creese in front; [67] and a shoulder-cloth; and no person was permitted to enter unless in this array, and if any one wore his creese behind him, it was incumbent on the porter of the gate to seize it. Such is the order of former time respecting prohibition by the Malayu rajas, and whatever is contrary to this is a transgression against the raja, and ought to incur a fine of five cati. The white umbrella, which is superior to the yellow one, because it is seen conspicuous at a greater distance, was also confined to the raja's person, [68] while the yellow umbrella was confined to his family." [69] A number of other particulars bearing on this subject will be found in other parts of the text, and in the Appendix references are given to other works for additional details, which are too numerous to be recorded here. "At funerals, whether the deceased has been a great or insignificant person, if he be a subject, the use of the Payong (umbrella) and the Puwadi is interdicted, as also the distribution of alms, unless by royal permission; otherwise the articles thus forbidden will be confiscated." "Puwadi is the ceremony of spreading a cloth, generally a white one, for funeral and other processions to walk upon. Should the deceased be of high rank, the cloth extends from the house where the corpse is deposited, to the burial-ground." [70] Similar prohibitions are still in force at the courts of the Malay Sultans in the Peninsula, though a yellow umbrella is now generally substituted for the white, at least in Selangor. A distinction is also now drawn between manufactured yellow cloth and cloth which has been dyed yellow with saffron, the wrongful use of the latter (the genuine article) being regarded as the more especially heinous act. In addition to the royal monopoly of such objects as have been mentioned, Sir W. E. Maxwell mentions three royal perquisites (larangan raja), i.e. river turtles (tuntong) (by which he no doubt means their eggs); elephants (by which he doubtless means elephants' tusks); [71] and the fruit of the "ketiar" from which oil is made by the Perak Malays. He adds, "It used to be a capital offence to give false information to the Raja about any of these. The 'ketiar' tree is said to affect certain localities, and is found in groves not mixed with other trees. In former days, when the fruit was ripe, the whole of the Raja's household would turn out to gather it. It is said to yield a very large percentage of oil." [72] The only tree in Ridley's list [73] whose name at all resembles the "ketiar" is the katiak, which is identified as Acronychia Porteri, Wall (Rutaceæ). A description of the gathering of the eggs of river turtles by the royal party in Perak will be found in Malay Sketches. [74] Besides the above there are not a few linguistic taboos connected with the king's person, such as the use of the words santap, to eat; beradu, to sleep; bersemaiam, to be seated, or to "reside" in a certain place; berangkat, to "progress"; siram, to bathe; g'ring, to be sick; and mangkat, to die; all of which words are specially substituted for the ordinary Malay words when reference is made to the king. [75] Moreover, when the king dies his name is dropped, and he receives the title of "Marhum," the late or "deceased," with the addition of an expression alluding to some prominent fact in his life, or occasionally to the place of his decease. These titles, strange as it may seem, are often the reverse of complimentary, and occasionally ridiculous. [76] It must not be forgotten, too, in discussing the divine attributes of the Malay king, that he is firmly believed to possess a personal influence over the works of nature, such as the growth of the crops and the bearing of fruit-trees. This same property is supposed to reside in a lesser degree in his delegates, and even in the persons of Europeans in charge of districts. Thus I have frequently known (in Selangor) the success or failure of the rice crops attributed to a change of district officers, and in one case I even heard an outbreak of ferocity which occurred among man-eating crocodiles laid at the door of a most zealous and able, though perhaps occasionally somewhat unsympathetic, representative of the Government. So, too, on one occasion when three deaths occurred during a District Officer's temporary absence, the mere fact of his absence was considered significant. I may add that royal blood is supposed by many Malays to be white, and this is the pivot on which the plot of not a few Malay folk-tales is made to turn. [77] Finally, it must be pointed out that the greatest possible importance is attached to the method of saluting the king. In the "Sri Rama" (the Malay Ramayana) we read, even of the chiefs, that-- "While yet some way off they bowed to the dust, When they got near they made obeisance, Uplifting at each step their fingers ten, The hands closed together like the rootlets of the bakong palm [78] The fingers one on the other like a pile of sirih[2] leaves." [79] Equals in rank when saluting one another touch [80] (though they do not shake) each other's hands, but a person of humble birth must not touch hands in saluting a great chief. "A man, named Imam Bakar, was once slain at Pasir Tambang, at the mouth of the Tembeling river. He incautiously touched hands in greeting with a Chief called To' Gajah, and the latter, seizing him in an iron grip, held him fast, while he was stabbed to death with spears." [81] In saluting a great Chief, like the Dato' Maharaja Perba Jelai, the hands are "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." [82] In the king's audience hall the formal salutations are performed in a sitting posture, and in this case, too, the greatest attention is paid to the height to which the hands are raised. The chief twice makes salutation in a sitting posture as he advances, and at the third advance bends over the Sultan's hands, two more salutations being made on his way back to his place. A flagrant infringement of any of the prerogatives of the Sultan, such as those I have described, is certain, it is thought, to prove fatal, more or less immediately. Thus the death of Penghulu Mohit, a well-known Malay headman of the Klang district, in Selangor, which took place while I was in charge of that district, was at the time very generally attributed by the local Malays to his usurpation of certain royal privileges or prerogatives on the occasion of his daughter's wedding. One of these was his acceptance of gift-buffaloes, decorated after the royal fashion, which were presented to him as wedding gifts in his daughter's honour. These buffaloes had a covering of cloth put over them, their horns covered, and a crescent-shaped breast-ornament (dokoh) hung about their necks. Thus dressed they were taken to Mohit's house in solemn procession. [83] It was, at the time, considered significant that the very first of these gift-buffaloes, which had been brought overland from Jugra, where the Sultan lived, had died on arrival, and whatever the cause may have been, it is a fact that Mohit's mother died a day or two after the conclusion of the wedding ceremonies, and that Mohit himself was taken ill almost immediately and died only about a fortnight later. The only person who, in former days, was not in the least affected by the royal taboos which protected the regalia from the common touch was the (now I believe extinct) official who held the post of Court Physician (Maharaja Lela). He, and he alone, might go freely in the royal apartments wherever he chose, and the immunity and freedom which he enjoyed in this respect passed into a proverb, the expression "to act the Court Physician" (buat Maharaja Lela) being used to describe an altogether unwarrantable familiarity or impertinence. The following story (though I tell it against myself) is perhaps the best illustration I can give of the great danger supposed to be incurred by those who meddle with the paraphernalia of royalty. Among the late Sultan's insignia of royalty (in 1897) were a couple of drums (gendang) and the long silver trumpet which I have already described. Such trumpets are found among the kabesaran or regalia of most Malay States, and are always, I believe, called lempiri or nempiri (Pers. nafiri). They are considered so sacred that they can only be handled or sounded, it is believed, by a tribe of Malays called "Orang Kalau," or the "Kalau men," [84] as any one else who attempted to sound them would be struck dead. Even the "Orang Kalau," moreover, can only sound this instrument at the proper time and season (e.g. at the proclamation of a new sovereign), for if they were to sound it at any other time its noise would slay all who heard it, since it is the chosen habitation of the "Jin Karaja'an" or State Demon, [85] whose delight it would be, if wrongfully disturbed, to slay and spare not. [86] This trumpet and the drums of the Selangor regalia were kept by the present Sultan (then Raja Muda, or Crown Prince of Selangor) in a small galvanised iron cupboard which stood (upon posts about three feet high) in the middle of a lawn outside His Highness' "garden residence" at Bandar. His Highness himself informed me that they had once been kept in the house itself, but when there they were the source of infinite annoyance and anxiety to the inmates on account of their very uncanny behaviour! Drops of perspiration, for instance, would form upon the Trumpet when a leading member of the Royal House was about to die (this actually happened, as I was told, at Langat just before the death of Tungku 'Chik, the late Sultan's eldest daughter, who died during my residence in the neighbourhood). Then one Raja Bakar, son of a Raja `Ali, during the rethatching of the house at Bandar, accidentally trod upon the wooden barrel of one of the State Drums--and died in consequence of his inadvertence. When, therefore, a hornet's nest formed inside one of these same drums it was pretty clear that things were going from bad to worse, and a Chinaman was ordered to remove it, no Malay having been found willing to risk his life in undertaking so dangerous an office--an unwillingness which was presently justified, as the Chinaman, too, after a few days' interval, swelled up and died. Both these strange coincidences were readily confirmed by the present Sultan on an occasion when I happened to question the authenticity of the story, and as His Highness is one of the most enlightened and truthful of men, such confirmation cannot easily be set aside. But the strangest coincidence of all was to follow, for not long afterwards, having never seen that portion of the regalia which was in the Raja Muda's charge, I happened to mention to a Malay friend of mine at Jugra my wish to be allowed to examine these objects, and was at once begged not to touch them, on the ground that "no one could say what might follow." But shortly after, having occasion to visit the Raja Muda at his house at Bandar, I took the opportunity of asking whether there was any objection to my seeing these much debated objects, and as His Highness not only very obligingly assented, but offered to show them to me himself, I was able both to see and to handle them, His Highness himself taking the Trumpet out of its yellow case and handing it to me. I thought nothing more of the matter at the time, but, by what was really a very curious coincidence, within a few days' time of the occurrence, was seized with a sharp attack of malarial influenza, the result of which was that I was obliged to leave the district, and go into hospital at headquarters. In a Malay village news spreads quickly, and the report of my indisposition, after what was no doubt regarded as an act of extraordinary rashness, appears to have made a profound impression, and the result of it was that a Malay who probably considered himself indebted to me for some assistance he had received, bound himself by a vow to offer sacrifice at the shrine of a famous local saint should I be permitted to return to the district. Of this, however, I knew nothing at the time, and nothing could have exceeded my astonishment when I found upon my return that it was my duty to attend the banquet which took place at the saint's tomb in honour of my own recovery! [87] Having shown the wide gulf which divides the "divine man" from his fellows, I have still to point out the extent to which certain portions of the human frame have come to be invested with sanctity, and to require to be treated with special ceremonies. These parts of the anatomy are, in particular, the head, the hair, the teeth, the ears, and the nails, all of which I will take in their order. The head, in the first place, is undoubtedly still considered by the Malays to possess some modified degree of sanctity. A proof of this is the custom (`adat) which regulates the extent of the sacrifice to be offered in a case of assault or battery by the party committing the injury. If any part of the head is injured, nothing less than a goat will suffice (the animal being killed and both parties bathed in the blood); if the upper part of the body, the slaughter of a cock (to be disposed of in a similar way) will be held to be sufficient reparation, and so on, the sacrifice becoming of less value in proportion as the injured part is farther from the head. So, too, Mr. Frazer writes: "The ... superstition (of the sanctity of the head) exists among the Malays; for an early traveller reports that in Java people 'wear nothing on their heads, and say that nothing must be on their heads, ... and if any person were to put his hand upon their head they would kill him; and they do not build houses with stories in order that they may not walk over each other's heads.' It is also found in full force throughout Polynesia." [88] From the principle of the sanctity of the head flows, no doubt, the necessity of using the greatest circumspection during the process of cutting the hair. [89] Sometimes throughout the whole life of the wearer, and frequently during special periods, the hair is left uncut. Thus I was told that in former days Malay men usually wore their hair long, and I myself have seen an instance of this at Jugra in Selangor in the person of a Malay [90] of the old school, who was locally famous on this account. So, too, during the forty days which must elapse before the purification of a woman after the birth of her child, the father of the child is forbidden to cut his hair, and a similar abstention is said to have been formerly incumbent upon all persons either prosecuting a journey or engaging in war. Often a boy's head is entirely shaven shortly after birth with the exception of a single lock in the centre of the head, and so maintained until the boy begins to grow up, but frequently the operation is postponed (generally, it is said, in consequence of a vow made by the child's parents) until the period of puberty or marriage. Great care, too, must be exercised in disposing of the clippings of hair (more especially the first clippings), as the Malay profoundly believes that "the sympathetic connection which exists between himself and every part of his body continues to exist even after the physical connection has been severed, and that therefore he will suffer from any harm that may befall the severed parts of his body, such as the clippings of his hair or the parings of his nails. Accordingly he takes care that those severed portions of himself shall not be left in places where they might either be exposed to accidental injury, or fall into the hands of malicious persons who might work magic on them to his detriment or death." [91] Thus we invariably find clippings of the victim's hair mentioned (together with parings of his nails, etc.) as forming part of the ingredients of the well-known wax image or mannikin into which pins are stuck, and which is still believed by all Malays to be a most effective method of causing the illness or death of an enemy. [92] I was once present at the curious ceremony of cutting the hair of a Malay bride, which had all the characteristics of a religious rite, but the detailed account of it will be reserved for a later chapter. [93] The same difficulties and dangers which beset the first cutting of the hair apply, though perhaps in a less degree, to the first paring of the nails (bertobak), the boring of the ears of girls (bertindek telinga), and the filing of the teeth (berasah gigi) of either sex whether at puberty or marriage. One or more of the nails are frequently worn long by Malays of standing, and the women who engage in "nautch" dancing and theatrical performances invariably wear a complete set of artificial nails (changgei). These latter are usually of brass, are often several inches in length, and are made so as to fit on to the tips of the fingers. Occasionally a brass ring with a small peacock, or some such bird, of the same material will be attached to the end of the nail by a minute brass chain. The practice of wearing long nails is sometimes attributed to Chinese influence, but it is hard to see why this particular detail of Malay custom, which is quite in keeping with the general trend of Malay ideas about the person, should be supposed to be derived from China. The borrowing, if any, is much more likely to have been on the part of the Chinese, who undoubtedly imported many Indian ideas along with Buddhism. The custom appears to be followed, moreover, in many places, such as the interior of Sumatra, where Chinese influence is non-existent. In Siam, again, it appears to obtain very strongly; [94] but no reason has yet been shown for supposing that this is anything but an instance of the similarity of results independently arrived at by nations starting with similar premisses. The ear-boring and tooth-filing ceremonies which still not infrequently take place at the age of puberty in both sexes are of no less religious import than the rite of cutting the first lock. The main details of these ceremonies will be described in a later part of this book. [95] To the same category (of sacred things having physical connection with the body) should doubtless be referred such objects as the eyebrows, the saliva, and soil taken from the (naked) footstep, all of which are utilised by the magician to achieve his nefarious ends. (c) The Soul The Malay conception of the Human Soul (Semangat) [96] is that of a species of "Thumbling," "a thin, unsubstantial human image," or mannikin, which is temporarily absent from the body in sleep, trance, disease, and permanently absent after death. This mannikin, which is usually invisible but is supposed to be about as big as the thumb, corresponds exactly in shape, proportion, and even in complexion, to its embodiment or casing (sarong), i.e. the body in which it has its residence. It is of a "vapoury, shadowy, or filmy" essence, though not so impalpable but that it may cause displacement on entering a physical object, and as it can "fly" or "flash" quickly from place to place, it is often, perhaps metaphorically, addressed as if it were a bird. [97] Thus in a charm given in the Appendix we find-- "Hither, Soul, come hither! Hither, Little One, come hither! Hither, Bird, come hither! Hither, Filmy One, come hither!" [98] As this mannikin is the exact reproduction in every way of its bodily counterpart, and is "the cause of life and thought in the individual it animates," it may readily be endowed with quasi-human feelings, and "independently possess the personal consciousness and volition of its corporeal owner." Thus we find the following appeal addressed to the soul in the charm just quoted:-- "Do not bear grudges, Do not bear malice, Do not take it as a wrong, Do not take it as a transgression." These quasi-human attributes of the soul being so complete, it is an easy stretch of the imagination to provide it with a house, which is generally in practice identified with the body of its owner, but may also be identified with any one of its temporary domiciles. Thus in the charm already quoted we read-- "Return to your own House and House-ladder, To your own House-floor, of which the planks have started, And your Roof-thatch 'starred' with holes." The state of disrepair into which the soul's house (i.e. the sick man's body) is described as having fallen, is here attributed to the soul's absence. [99] The completeness of this figurative identification of the soul's "house" with its owner's body, and of the soul's "sheath" or casing with both, is very clearly brought out in the following lines:-- "Cluck! cluck! Soul of this sick man, So-and-so! Return into the Frame and Body of So-and-so, To your own House and House-ladder, to your own Clearing and Yard, To your own Parents, to your own Casing." And this is no mere chance expression, for in another charm the soul is adjured in these words:-- "As you remember your own parents, remember me, As you remember your own House and House-ladder, remember me." [100] The soul "appears to men (both waking and asleep) as a phantom separate from the body of which it bears the likeness," "manifests physical power," and walks, sits, and sleeps:-- "Cluck! cluck! Soul of So-and-so, come and walk with me, Come and sit with me, Come and sleep with me, and share my pillow." [101] It would probably be wrong to assume the foregoing expressions to have always been merely figurative. Rather, perhaps, we should consider them as part of a singularly complete and consistent animistic system formerly invented and still held by the Malays. Again, from the above ideas it follows that if you call a soul in the right way it will hear and obey you, and you will thus be able either to recall to its owner's body a soul which is escaping (riang semangat), or to abduct the soul of a person whom you may wish to get into your power (mengambil semangat orang), and induce it to take up its residence in a specially prepared receptacle, such as (a) a lump of earth which has been sympathetically connected by direct contact with the body of the soul's owner, or (b) a wax mannikin so connected by indirect means, or even (c) a cloth which has had no such connection whatever. And when you have succeeded in getting it into your power the abducted and now imprisoned soul will naturally enjoy any latitude allowed to (and suffer from any mutilation of) its temporary domicile or embodiment. [102] Every man is supposed (it would appear from Malay charms) to possess seven souls [103] in all, or, perhaps, I should more accurately say, a sevenfold soul. [104] This "septenity in unity" may perhaps be held to explain the remarkable importance and persistency of the number seven in Malay magic, as for instance the seven twigs of the birch, and the seven repetitions of the charm (in Soul-abduction [105]), the seven betel leaves, the seven nights' duration of the ceremony, the seven blows administered to the soul (in other magical and medical ceremonies), and the seven ears cut for the Rice-soul in reaping. [106] And, finally, it might explain why the lime-branch which is hung up in the mosquito-curtain (in another form of soul-abduction [107]) is required to possess seven fruits on a single stalk, i.e. to ensure there being a separate receptacle for each one of the seven souls. At the present day the ordinary Malay talks usually of only a single soul, although he still keeps up the old phraseology in his charms and charm-books. For the rest, it would appear that there may be some method in the selection and arrangement of colours. The "lump of earth from the victim's footprint" used in one form of the soul-abduction ceremony [108] is to be wrapped up in three thicknesses of cloth, which must be red, black, and yellow respectively, the yellow being outside. Again (in the ceremony of casting out "the mischief" from a sick man), a white cosmetic is assigned for use in the morning, a red cosmetic for mid-day, and black for sundown. [109] Now in all, I believe, of what are now called the Federated Malay States, and probably in all Malay States whatsoever, yellow is the colour used by royalty, whereas the more exalted and sacred colour, white (with occasional lapses into yellow), has been adopted by Malay medicine-men as the colour most likely to conciliate the spirits and demons with whom they have to deal. Thus the soul-cloth, which, by the way, is always five cubits long (lima hasta), is sometimes white and (much more rarely) yellow, and hence in the first instance just quoted, the yellow cloth, being, next to white, of the colour which is most complimentary to the demons, is the one which is put outside; and in the second instance, for similar reasons, the white cosmetic is to be used first. The working out of this system, however, must await fresh evidence, and all I would do now is to emphasise the importance of colour in such investigations, and to urge the collection of fresh material. [110] (d) Animal, Vegetable, and Mineral Souls Hitherto I have treated of human souls only, but animal, mineral, and vegetable souls will now be briefly discussed. Speaking generally, I believe the soul to be, within certain limits, conceived as a diminutive but exact counterpart of its own embodiment, so that an Animal-soul would be like an animal, a Bird-soul like a bird; however, lower in the scale of creation it would appear that the Tree- or Ore-souls, for instance, are supposed, occasionally at least, to assume the shape of some animal or bird. Thus the soul of Eagle-wood is thought to take the shape of a bird, the soul of Tin-ore that of a buffalo, the Gold-soul that of a deer. [111] It has, however, always been recognised that the soul may enter other bodies besides its own, or even bodies of a different kind to its own, and hence these may be only apparent exceptions to the rule that the soul should be the counterpart of its own embodiment. [112] "Among races within the limits of savagery, the general doctrine of souls is found worked out with remarkable breadth and consistency. The souls of animals are recognised by a natural extension from the theory of human souls; the souls of trees and plants follow in some vague, partial way, and the souls of inanimate objects expand the general category to its extremest boundary." [113] To the Malay who has arrived at the idea of a generally animated Nature, but has not yet learned to draw scientific distinctions, there appears nothing remarkable or unnatural in the idea of vegetation-souls, or even in that of mineral-souls--rather would he consider us Europeans illogical and inconsistent were he told that we allowed the possession of souls to one half of the creation and denied it to the other. Realising this, we are prepared to find that the Malay theory of Animism embraces, at least partially, the human race, [114] animals [115] and birds, [116] vegetation [117] (trees and plants), reptiles and fishes, [118] until its extension to inert objects, such as minerals, [119] and "stocks and stones, weapons, boats, food, clothes, ornaments, and other objects, which to us are not merely soulless, but lifeless," brings us face to face with a conception with which "we are less likely to sympathise." Side by side with this general conception of an universally animate nature, we find abundant evidences of a special theory of Human Origin which is held to account not only for the larger mammals, but also for the existence of a large number of birds, and even for that of a few reptiles, fishes, trees and plants, but seems to lose its operative force in proportion to its descent in the scale of creation, until in the lowest scale of all, the theory of Human Origin disappears from sight, and nothing remains but the partial application of a few vague anthropomorphic attributes. [120] It is, doubtless, to the prevalence of this theory that we owe the extraordinary persistence of anthropomorphic ideas about animals, birds, reptiles, trees, if not of minerals, in Malay magical ceremonies; [121] and it is hard to say which of these two notions--the theory of Human Origin, or the other theory of Universal Animism--is to be considered the original form of Malay belief. The following tale, which is entitled Charitra Megat Sajobang, and is told by Selangor Malays, will serve as an illustration of the idea of Human Origin:-- "There was a married Sakai couple living at Ulu Klang, and they had a son called Megat Sajobang. When he grew up he said to his mother, 'Mother, get me a passage, I want to go and see other countries.' She did so, and he left Ulu Klang; and ten or twelve years later, when he had grown rich enough to buy a splendid ship (p'rahu), he returned with his wife, who was with child, and seven midwives, who were watched over by one of his body-guard with a drawn sword. His mother heard the news of his return, and she made ready, roasting a chika (monkey) and lotong (monkey), and went with his father on board their bark canoe to meet their son. "As they approached they hailed him by his name; but he was ashamed of their humble appearance, and forbade his men to let them on board. Though his wife advised him to acknowledge them, 'even if they were pigs or dogs,' the unfilial son persisted in turning them away. So they went back to the shore and sat down and wept; and the old mother, laying her hand upon her shrivelled breast, said, 'If thou art really my son, reared at my breast, mayest thou be changed into stone.' In response to her prayer, milk came forth from her breast, and as she walked away, the ship and all on board were turned into stone. The mother turned round once more to look at her son, but the father did not, and by the power of God they were both turned into trees of the species pauh (a kind of mango) one leaning seawards and the other towards the land. The fruit of the seaward one is sweet, but that of the landward one is bitter. "The ship has now become a hill, and originally was complete with all its furniture, but the Malays used to borrow the plates and cups, etc., for feast days and did not return them, until at last there were none left."