Holy Men, Holy Women 6

MARCH 16 — I had spent the night fretting, and texting my friend whose father, Dr P, had helped me with the trip. I felt like I was in a showcase village of Bidayuh culture, I explained. Very Cuti-Cuti Malaysia.

The holy men and women I wanted to meet were not what I had been looking for. There had been quite a number of people visiting Babai and his wife in the night, waiting for the Chairman, but the Chairman never turned up. And who on earth was the Chairman?

My friend was equally intrigued. “Oh dear. I better talk to my father then!”

Dr P was a former doctor who had returned to his Bidayuh roots. Something had happened, and when science could not explain the situation, he turned to his ancestors and the gods.

I was struck by the thought that perhaps, like many people of his generation, turning to faith and rituals was a rite of passage.

Most of our parents grow more observant of their beliefs come a certain age; retirement, no? I had spent the afternoon tailing him around the village, listening to him.

“I am now a social worker, helping my community. When I am willing to let go of this part of me, I will undergo training. To see. To have the sight of the unseen,” he had told me at a small eatery in the village.

The young men of the village. — All pictures by Dina ZamanWe had stopped for a drink, and sat among young Bidayuh men, tattooed and wiry. They looked at me with some curiosity. Perhaps it was not always they met a woman wearing orthodontic braces.

Dr P advised them to be on “… the straight path. Kami tau asal usul kamu.”

The men nodded.

Dr P had a personal mission. He was going to become a healer and also revive the traditional healing and shamanistic beliefs.

“The new religion had killed us. Most of the Bidayuhs are Christian, and a few are Muslim. You know, inter-marriage. Organised religion forbids ‘primitive’ beliefs. But at least, with Christianity, the Bidayuhs can leave the new religion. If they become Muslim, pffhht! They can’t leave Islam!”

I wondered how he would take it if he knew that a popular religious reality show Imam Muda was planning to preach to indigenous people in the country. This was missionary work gone amok. Thank you, Hollywood. We’ll be having marauding young preachers in our jungles vying for the top prize trying to convert the “heathen” Orang Asli.

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Breakfast was luxurious by my hosts’ standards. Their daughter, whom I called Akak, had cooked rice, salted fish and some vegetables. She had sourced halal chicken at the market, to my surprise.

“Akak tanya Babai, adik ni orang apa? China? Melayu? Campur? Lah Islam. Jadi Akak pergi pasar cari ayam halal.”

Babai nodded and waved me over to the living room. Again, a cigarette hung from his mouth.

“Saya… ada banyak cerita tentang adat. Gawai (gawai). Tetapi dalam Bahasa Bidayuh. Dalam Bahasa Melayu, tak ada… perkataan untuk gantinya. Dan kami… kami ada ubat… ada juga bomoh… tetapi saya tak buat. Saya jaga Gawai. Gawai sowa’.”

Sowak?

Babai.“Bukan. Sowa’. Saya tidak boleh tulis. Kamu carilah. Tulis tulis.”

The one who brought down the adat, the traditions of Gawai was Ayang, an ancestral spirit. He could be likened to the Muslim’s Prophet Mohammad, Babai said.

He came to earth to teach the Bidayuh people how to farm and appreciate his treasures. You see, before earth came to be, Ayang planted rice in the heavens.

When earth was created, Ayang came down to teach man how to plant and harvest rice. If the people did not appreciate Ayang, the crops would dwindle.

Babai was in charge of Gawai Sowa. The festival marks the end of the harvest or farming year, which is around the beginning of June. It takes a whole community to celebrate and prepare for Gawai Sowa, and every family would hold an open house.

“Saya pegang beras masuk dalam buluh, kalau ada lebih, saya masuk dalam daun.” He and the other men who had be involved in the ritual would collect a type of bamboo called “abu” so the pogang and sukoi types of rice are cooked in it.

“Ya, semua ini datang dari Ayang, Tuhan kami. Dia besar, macam manusia juga, seorang lelaki, bukan perempuan. Jadi bila kami buat Gawai, kami mesti puja Ayang...” Babai explained.

However, before the ritual is performed, there was the planting of paddy. Babai was tasked to find the right spot in a jungle, to plant rice and to perform rituals.

To do so, “... kita mesti dengar percakapan burung, haiwan. Kerana kalau bunyi tidak betul, kita tidak boleh tanam padi di situ! Kalau kita masih tanam padi di tempat itu, nanti kita sakit. Bunyi burung mustahak.”

If there was an evil spirit in the jungle, he and his friends would perform rituals to appease it so it won’t disturb the harvest and quality of rice. This was what they called Gawai Olan. Planting padi was an intricate matter; there were many Gawais to perform. [1]

Babai stopped talking for a while. He wanted to tell me more about the rituals but it was difficult to do so when I could not speak Bidayuh. Again, he reminded me that they performed all these rituals when there was a purpose. They did pray to their gods, but that was done in private.

He was very worried about the lack of priests and priestesses now. There were only four left in the village — him, another man and two women.

To learn the rituals, there were many things that the students needed to abstain from.

“Banyak pantang larang. Bila kita belajar, mungkin lapan tahun! Tak boleh makan rebung, benda-benda berangin, kena tinggal dalam rumah lapan hari...”

And to become a priest, one would need to learn from an elder. Even to learn this, there would be a Gawai. Two days and nights of rituals so the student is able to learn well.

Christianity's mark on the village.Dukuns needed no rituals or celebrations, Babai said. All the prayers, sutras, oils from spirits — dukuns had all these. But Babai and his friends didn’t do that kind of magic.

“Untuk apa? Kacau orang?”

I sensed that Babai wanted to tell me more but because I wasn’t a Bidayuh, wasn’t one of them, he felt it would be such a shame that the knowledge was passed to an outsider.

The young these days were difficult. They all went to schools now, and now that many had religion, they forgot their roots.

“Adat saya, adat Gawai. Tak ada ugama. Dah semua saya ingat, saya tidak reti tulis! Tuhan kami pun tidak ada surat. Ini cara kami, bercerita. Kami tidak tulis buku. Tetapi... kalau hilang, apa akan jadi kepada orang Dayak?” Babai asked.

It was difficult. The Christians who came told Babai and his people to join the religion, that it was easy to be one. No restrictions, anyone could become a priest, unlike the Bidayuh priests.

There were a few Muslim Bidayuh, too, because of inter-racial marriages but the number was fewer.

“Ada tamu datang nanti. Nanti dia akan bawa kamu jalan-jalan tengok rumah, upacara kita.”

I nodded.

“Saya rasa juga, kamu mesti balik ke sini sekali lagi. Musim Gawai. Boleh tengok macam  mana kita sembahyang kepada Ayang.”

[1] Gawai Sauh is performed just after the burning but before the young shoots are planted. This particular Gawai appeases the spirits and drives away the evil spirits who lingered. Gawai Nuluk is observed before the first hole is made in the ground to plant the young shoots and there is a period of rest before Gawai Kup, which is held when the rice is in ready to be harvested. Gawai Palie’ pu’un is observed after the harvest but the padi is still not out of danger and further prayers are held to appeal to the bad spirits to leave the harvested padi alone. The next stage, Gawai Pinupang is vital as it is a prayer ritual to ask for blessings if the harvested padi is not of a good yield. This ritual is also held to ask for a good harvest and blessings to be bestowed on the community

* The views expressed here are the personal opinion of the columnist.