CHAPTER XXVI

After a short journey, we encamped for the night on a gravel bank, still within sound of the cataract’s roar. On our way, we paddled by a jagged rock, about twenty feet high, standing in the middle of the stream. Salleh pointed it out to me, and told me that Kling (a hero of Dyak mythology) had with one blow from his biliong (axe) cut its top in two. On the gravel bed a hut of fresh pale green palm fronds had been run up for me to sleep and bathe in. It was very comfortable, with a bamboo bench, some three feet wide, resting against its leaf walls for me to sleep on. Salleh had hung ferns, flowers, and leafy branches on its walls, and had strewn the floor with sweet-smelling leaves. A large expanse of shingle lay all round the hut, and our two boats were tethered to the shore just below. Camp-fires were soon lit here and there for the crew to boil their evening meal of rice. It was nearly full moon; the water rippled over its gravelly bed and moved the sedges in the river with a musical sound. Some palms in the neighbourhood rustled as though a shower of rain were falling, and the millions of leaves of the forest trees, covering the hills and valleys, gave back to the air in perfumed mists the heat that had beaten on them during the day.

After dinner, rugs were spread on the pebbles for us to sit on. Our friends, the Dyak and Tanjong chiefs, were invited to join us and have their coffee and cigarettes with us. The moon appeared above the trees; mists began to rise, and in the forest near by we heard the little black and white owl crying for the moon. The Sarawak people call it Pung-Gok, and the sound of its two notes, musical and tender, made us feel happy and yet sad. This was the moment for our Dyak and Tanjong friends to tell us some of their legends. “How about the flood?” said Mr. Bampfylde to Salleh. (I think Mr. Bampfylde knew what was to come.) “Oh yes,” replied Salleh, “I know all about the flood. It is a true story and I will tell it you.

“When the world was very old and the people very wicked, the heart of the great god Patara grew sick in heaven. He sent two dragons, man and wife, to the earth, which were so large that they could hook their tails in heaven and hang their heads to the earth. They ate up the paddy all over the world, so that many of the people died of starvation, and after doing all this evil, they hoisted themselves back into heaven by their tails. At that time there were seven Rajahs in the world,—​Rajahs Sinddit, Niuka, Nugu, Amban, Kagjup, Lubah, and Umbar. Rajah Sinddit, the eldest, said to his brothers, ‘We must kill these two dragons, for never in all these years have I been so hungry.’ The brothers inquired how he suggested killing these monsters. ‘With arrows poisoned with upas,’ he said, and they commenced making preparations so as to be in readiness for the dragons’ next visit.

“In a short time they saw from their hiding-place the two dragons letting themselves down from heaven, and beginning again their work of devastation. So the brothers sent showers of poisoned arrows, hitting the dragons every time. The dragons felt rather sick, and hoisted themselves back to heaven: the poison soon began to take effect, and the beasts shook all over and fell to earth. Then the seven Rajahs came forward, followed by the population from their respective countries, and cut the dragons to pieces. Some took pieces of flesh, others portions from their breasts, whilst others filled gourds with blood, each according to his fancy. Some of the Rajahs cooked their portions in bamboos, others in earthenware saucepans. When the flesh began to boil, the fat bubbled over and went into the rivers of the seven countries. The waters immediately began to rise, and the people flew to the hills.

“As the waters of the rivers were not sufficient to flood the world, Patara sent rain which lasted for three years, so that the waters covered the mountains and high places of the earth, and all the people in the world perished, with the exception of one woman, named Suki, who survived in a boat. After a long time, the flood subsided, and Suki was alone in the world, but there were a few animals that had also escaped destruction, these being a dog, a deer, a fowl, a pig, and a cat. These remained with Suki during her peril, but when the waters retreated, they all ran away and she was left sorrowing, for she had not even the animals to speak to.

“Patara, seeing her loneliness, took pity on her, and sent the god of the storms, Antu Ribut, who made her his wife. They had a son, named Sinpang Tinpang, and a daughter. In time the brother and sister married, so as to increase and replenish the world. After many years the people began to get wicked again, and a Rajah of this new population, whose name was Gading, collected an army and went to fight to the edge of the sky. He led his army through forests and valleys, up and down great mountains, until he arrived at a land of fields, where the army slept for the night. The next morning the people saw an enormous mushroom, called Kulat Liman; it was so big that it took seven days to walk round it. The Rajah’s army, who had finished their provisions during their march, waxed hungry at the sight and hacked at the mushroom, cooking and eating the pieces they managed to obtain. When they had eaten their fill, they became very drunk and began to speak in different languages. The Hindoos rolled about in charcoal and thus became black, the Kayans pierced their ears in all directions, the Chinese shaved their heads, the Malays shaved off their every hair, and the Bukitans and Ukits tattooed themselves. Then Kling, the god of war, came down at Patara’s command to confuse them, and all the people commenced to speak in strange languages, so that the army could not be led further, and they all separated into different countries and the world became what it is now.”

Salleh finished his tale quite abruptly. We all thanked him, and his friend Merum told us that he knew a good story about the Rejang, so we lit fresh cigarettes and composed ourselves to listen. He cleared his throat and began—

“The giant Goa is the root of the Rejang tribe. He lived up the river, as far as the Pelagus Sukat rapid, and made the tribe by killing his daughter and a lot of animals and pounding them all up together. When he had finished making the tribe he moved down to the sea-coast to live near the river Igan; as he walked down the Rejang river, he was such a big man that the water only came up to his knees.

“Goa had a son-in-law, named Bessiong, and as his rice farm was much troubled with pigs, he gave Bessiong a valuable spear and told him to kill the animals. Bessiong accordingly went up the river in a canoe to the farming ground, and, seeing a white pig rooting up the paddy, he flung the spear, which struck the pig and broke in two, the animal running away with the spear-head still sticking in its neck. Bessiong could not follow the pig up, and went home to tell his father-in-law. Goa was exceedingly wroth and sent him back to find the spear-head.

“Bessiong returned to the rice farm and managed to track the pig some way by the spots of blood. When these came to an end he looked up and found he had wandered into an unknown country. He roamed about, and at last came to a great village inhabited by a strange people, living in very large houses. Looking into one of the houses, he saw that the people were holding incantations over one of the inmates. When the people, from inside the house, saw the stranger, they called out to him and asked him where he had come from. Bessiong told them, and asked permission to enter the house. This they said he might do if he could doctor, as the Rajah’s daughter was dying and none of their medicine men could save her. Bessiong, agreeing to try and make her well again, was taken to see the patient, who, he was told, was suffering from a wound in the neck. On looking at the wound, he saw the end of his father-in-law’s spear sticking into it. Bessiong said he could cure her, but that he must first go outside to obtain remedies; accordingly he went, and returned in a short time with a piece of bamboo and a cloth. He covered the girl’s head and neck over with the cloth, extracted the spear-head, and slipped it in the bamboo. He then instructed the people to give her certain remedies, and in a short time the wound healed and the girl recovered.

“The Rajah, grateful to Bessiong, gave him his daughter in marriage. They lived together for a year or two, and one day she took her husband down to bathe. She showed him two wells, and confessed that she and her people were a pig tribe. She told him that if they bathed in one of these wells, they were turned into pigs, and were restored to their human form by bathing in the other well. She asked him to dip his leg into the pig well, and when Bessiong did so, it was changed into a pig’s leg. He then dipped it into the other well, when his leg was immediately restored to its original shape. After a time, Bessiong became rather weary of the company of his pig wife, and wished to return to his father-in-law’s village. His wife then warned him that if ever he met a herd of pigs swimming across a river, he must be careful not to kill the middle one, for it would be herself. At the same time, she informed him that she intended to swallow all her jewels and turn into a pig. She cautioned him that if he did happen to kill her, he would die himself.

“After these admonitions, he went back to Goa. One day, when he was on a hunting expedition with his two dogs, he saw a herd of pigs swimming across the river. The ci-devant husband at once recognized his wife, and a longing for wealth took possession of him. He thereupon threw a spear at the middle pig and killed her just as she reached the shore. He ran to the place where she lay, ripped her pig body open, and found all her jewels. But no sooner had he the wealth within his grasp than he died himself as the proper punishment for his treachery. Thus it happens that his tribe is scattered all over the country, and the tribe which Goa manufactured fell to pieces, the remnant being made up by Tanjongs, Kanowits, Bliens, Kejamans, Sekarrangs, etc., all reduced in number.”

This story of the pig lady was evidently a favourite one, for the chiefs listened to every word of the legend as if they had never heard it before, although they appeared to know it so well that, whenever the reciter paused for a second, one or other of the warriors seated round immediately prompted him.

It grew cold. The mists were making themselves felt, they wreathed themselves round the tree-tops and formed into walls over the waters of the river, so that the distant hills became invisible. But the little owl’s voice was still heard crying for the moon. He had flown farther away in his search for higher branches of trees whence he could see his lady love. By and by, the moon itself was lost in the mist, and the little bird lover’s cry was silenced, when the ripple of the water over the pebbles, and the roar of the distant cataract, were the only sounds we heard. I said good-night to my friends and walked off to the hut with Ima, whilst Bertram, Dr. Langmore, and Mr. Bampfylde went to sleep in the boats moored by the river’s side. Salleh accompanied us to the hut, and when I said good-night to him and hoped he would sleep well, he said, “Oh no, Rajah Ranee, I shall not sleep to-night. I shall just doze like a Kijang,[12] with one eye open, so as to be on guard near your hut, ready for any emergency.” A quarter of an hour had not elapsed before I heard Salleh’s snores behind the thin walls of my leafy shelter! Then I fell asleep, and was awakened by wild and very sweet sounds. They were like the silvery tones of a flute, pouring forth triplets of notes, some long, some short, in the minor key. I got up and opened the leafy door. The half-light of dawn lay over the mists, enwrapping the trees and still hiding the river. As they lifted and rent themselves away from the branches of a bush growing near, I saw Salleh standing there, flute in hand. “Is that you, Salleh,” I said, “making that sweet music?” “Yes,” he replied; “it is a tune I play at dawn and sunset, because at these hours it sounds so sweet that it brings tears to my eyes, so I thought you would like me to play it to you.” Well! I thought, I am sorry for those people who imagine our Sarawak natives to be no better than savages.