Chapter XXI

Osman looked over at his wife in the chair next to him. She was dressed head to toe in Maryam’s sumptuous fabric, the cream and gold shimmering in the lights strung behind them. He wore cream as well, with Maryam’s songket waistcloth. Though his mother was not completely pleased with the fabric (only because she hadn’t personally selected it), his bride seemed thrilled with it.

While he was no connoisseur of songket himself, despite Maryam’s attempts to educate him, it did appear to be thicker and richer than almost any fabric he’d seen before. He felt he’d acquitted himself well in bringing it back from Kota Bharu, no matter what his mother said. Most importantly, his new wife seemed to agree.

The legalities had been completed, they were officially married, and now they sat in two decorated chairs on a raised dais in the bride’s home for the bersanding, the sitting-in-state. Dressed in their finery, staring straight ahead with their hands flat on their knees, they were fanned by two of their young cousins, also dressed up and very impressed with it.

One of the little girls had to be continually nudged to fan, for she was distracted by the songket skirt she wore, in particular how the gold seemed to wink in and out of existence.

The house was decorated so that hardly any space was bare of either draped tinsel, songket bunting, or twinkling lights strung across the walls. Pictures had been taken which would grace the walls of their house for the rest of their lives together, and now they tried to keep solemn faces, though their friends tried their best to make them laugh. Both Osman and Azrina, his wife, were exhausted, but the wedding night lay ahead of them and they would both admit to a bit of trepidation.

Azrina would be accompanying Osman back to Kota Bharu, where she hoped to find a place as a maths teacher, which she was here in Perak. If the prospect frightened her, she hadn’t said anything to him about it, but maintained an air of good-natured interest and eagerness to follow him on this adventure.

They had hardly spent a moment alone, but Osman thought she looked pretty and smart, and although she took care not to show it, she also had the capacity to take charge, and probably would, once she was settled. They’d be fixing up the police chief’s living quarters, he thought, and she would supervise the decorating. He hoped she and Maryam would like each other.

His mother seemed relieved to have gotten him married to a woman of her choosing; she’d worried he’d be lassoed by a Kelantan girl over whom she would have little influence. This disaster had been averted, and she could rest easier when he returned to the east coast, knowing Azrina would make sure he returned to Perak. She’d done a fine job, if she said so herself. Now that Osman was taken care of, it was time to turn her attentions to her daughters, who would probably be easier or, if not, at least closer.

Osman adjusted his carefully tied headcloth and turned to his new wife, who looked demurely down at her lap. ‘Are you tired?’ he whispered. ‘I am.’

As soon as it was out, he regretted saying anything. What a fatuous comment! She would think him boring and stupid. However, she looked up at him from the corners of her eyes, and he was immediately enchanted. ‘Me too! This is harder than it looks!’ He leaned back in his chair, minimally, now content. This might work out well after all.

*  *  *

A familiar voice called from the bottom of the stairs, a voice nearly drowned out in the cacophony of excited, and aggressive, geese. Mamat looked up from the doves he was carefully feeding and saw Osman and what he surmised was his new wife.

‘Welcome, welcome,’ he cried as he pushed the geese out of the way and escorted them up the stairs. Most of the birds gathered around the bottom of the steps, eyeing the newcomers and honking to each other while flapping their wings, unhappy at being deprived of the chance to intimidate the intruders. Azrina watched the geese carefully from the safety of the porch and wondered how they’d get past them when they left.

Maryam came out of the house already bearing a tray of coffee, followed by Aliza bearing a platter of cookies. Both Maryam and Aliza wore tight, concealing headscarves tied firmly around their heads to ensure there would be no slippage, making them look far more strictly religious than they actually were. Osman was shocked at how thin and pale both Maryam and Aliza looked. Maryam looked fatigued, and Aliza looked like a little girl again, not like the young woman she was rapidly becoming.

‘I’m so glad to meet you,’ Maryam said happily, reaching out both hands in a polite greeting. Aliza smiled and bent over her hand, then shyly retreated behind her mother, peeking out to evaluate Azrina. ‘We’ve thought about you, wondering about the wedding,’ Maryam told them.

‘The songket was beautiful,’ Azrina said, wanting it to be the first thing said lest it get lost in general conversation. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it; everyone said so.’ She smiled at Maryam. ‘Thank you!’

Maryam blushed with pleasure. ‘Oh, it was nothing. After all, this is where we make songket, so I thought Cik Osman should come back with some really excellent cloth.’

‘I don’t think we can even buy cloth like that in Perak,’ Azrina continued. ‘That kind of quality …’

‘That kind of cloth isn’t usually sold elsewhere, just here,’ Maryam said proudly, vaguely waving an arm to encompass the village of Kampong Penambang. ‘It’s woven right here, in this village.’

‘Alamak!’ Azrina bubbled. ‘That’s so exciting. I’m in the centre …’

‘Of the world of songket,’ Maryam finished for her. She turned to Aliza and asked her to get Rubiah. With a shy smile, Aliza hopped down the stairs and trotted off. The geese were silent, continuing to monitor the guests rather than bother Aliza, who had been known to kick them.

‘Are you fixing up your quarters?’ Maryam asked.

‘Oh yes,’Azrina answered confidently. ‘It was so plain! You know how things look when men live alone! Hardly any furniture, hardly any food. It looks like a prison.’

Maryam nodded, and Mamat put a consoling hand on Osman’s shoulder and offered him a cigarette. He refused, as did Azrina, but Maryam took one gladly, and relaxed noticeably. ‘I hope you’ll like it here. I’m sure your being here will make Cik Osman like it more.’

Azrina giggled for a moment and nodded. Maryam thought she saw a flash of something more than a polite and shy new wife. Some strength, and a great deal of intelligence. Osman was lucky.

‘How are you feeling, Mak Cik?’ Maryam heard Osman saying and brought herself back to the conversation.

‘Oh, a little better.’ She wasn’t sure if that was true, but it was the best answer she could give.

‘Has the ceremony already …?’

‘No, in two days.’ She sighed. ‘I really hope it works.’

‘Of course, it will,’ Mamat insisted stoutly. ‘You’re going to feel like yourself again when it’s over.’

‘The ceremony?’ Azrina interjected.

‘A curing ceremony,’ Osman explained. ‘A main puteri.’

Azrina nodded but didn’t really know what that was. They were rarely, if ever, performed in Perak.

‘Should I be there, Mak Cik?’

Maryam wasn’t sure how to answer. ‘I guess so,’ she said doubtfully.

‘Well, not if it’s private.’

‘It isn’t,’ said Mamat. ‘You should come. You never know what might come out.’

‘What do you mean?’ Maryam was suddenly frightened. ‘What would come out?’

‘Nothing should,’ he soothed her. ‘It’s just a figure of speech.’

Maryam didn’t believe him, but wasn’t going to argue in front of Osman’s new wife. So she smiled instead, and gestured towards the cakes, urging them to eat. ‘Ah, here’s Mak Cik Rubiah,’ she announced, watching her cross the yard with Aliza. ‘She can explain all about the cakes. She made them all!’

Maryam wasn’t sure whether she hoped she would fall into trance at the main puteri, to get the most out of the experience, or hoped she would not, to avoid making a fool of herself. She feared it would be impossible to do both, and she dreaded an inconclusive and ineffectual ceremony leaving her in the same pain and unhappiness she now felt. But she also feared a rousing success which would have her friends and family talking forever about how hilarious she was, thinking she was a princess at her age. Either way, she would lose.

She prepared her house for the ceremony, sweeping and resweeping the yard until it was a clean and smooth surface on which Pak Nik Lah (or maybe both of them) could dance. She shuddered. Please don’t let me embarrass myself, she prayed.

The evening of the ceremony arrived. Pak Nik Lah and his musicians were setting up in the yard, while neighbourhood children crouched just outside the hard ground. Pak Nik Lah was dressed in a plain sarong, tied up into the waist so that modesty would not be offended no matter how he moved.

Another sarong was rolled lengthwise and tied around the middle of his chest to provide a handle for his helper should he need to get him under control while he was in trance. The helper, called a tok mindok, would question him while in trance, speaking to the spirits through Pak Nik Lah, and keep the audience entertained with comedy before serious action got underway.

The bomoh was burning incense in a small brazier, sitting quietly before it, murmuring prayers and incantations to ready both himself and the place.

Small bowls of popped rice, flowers, water and coins were arranged around it and were thrown around the yard as offerings for the spirits to come. Coffee, cigarettes and snacks were put out for the troupe. They would be playing most of the night, and neighbours would continuously replenish their supplies in order keep up their strength.

Maryam, watching from a window, felt the preliminaries were going on forever, though the process was actually going much more quickly than she imagined. At last, Pak Nik Lah bent over the incense and cupped the smoke in his hands, then rubbing them up and down on his face. His incantations became slightly louder, and he rocked back and forth as he chanted. He was beginning his trance.

Maryam and her family sat along the edge of the area where the dancing would take place. Everyone tried to sit as close to her as possible, to hold her hand or arm, to show their support and devotion. Mamat sat to one side, urging her to relax and lean back against him, while Malek sat on the other side, holding Aliza in front of him while Malek’s wife, Zahara, held her hand.

All Maryam’s friends from the village, and some from the market, were there, as were all her family and in-laws. Osman and Azrina were sitting farther away, among the neighbours. Osman watched anxiously, constantly looking around to see if anyone looked suspicious.

At this point in the ceremony, the crowd was light-hearted and eager. Nothing threatening, or frightening, had been unleashed, and most of the comedy routines were now being enacted. A few entrepreneurs set up small rickety stalls on the dirt path near the house, where coffee was being served, cigarettes shared, and bags of snacks sold out of large plastic buckets. It was a party.

People stopped to say hello to Maryam and Aliza, wish them luck, express their support. Unlike some main puteri, where the patients were ill, near to unconscious even, Maryam and Aliza, though thinner and paler than usual, were alert and even excited. In fact, they presided as hostesses at a celebration. They were, therefore, much more fun to talk to.

The music started, still soft and led by the rebab, a fiddle-like instrument played by the tok mindok, backed up with drums and gongs. The tunes, droning and repetitive, were trance-inducing on their own. Pak Nik Lah sat facing his helper and interlocutor, his eyes closed, introducing himself as a variety of jinn which then engaged in repartee.The festive air continued, the jokes were funny and based upon Kampong Penambang village gossip (of which, Pak Nik Lah had gotten an earful) and Maryam found her anxiety abating as time passed and no ridiculous antics were required of her.

Imperceptibly now, the atmosphere started to change. The music began to speed up, and the comedy was no longer as uproarious. Pak Nik Lah took longer to answer than he had before, and the questions put to him became more serious. The incense now seemed thicker to Maryam, and Aliza’s eyes had trouble staying opened.

Pak Nik Lah now rose from sitting to adopt a dancer’s pose: down on one knee, his hands curled back and held in front of him.

‘Who are you?’ demanded the helper, and when Pak Nik Lah remained silent, the question was repeated more loudly. Suddenly, Pak Nik Lah was on his feet, dancing with a martial attitude, announcing his name as a spirit who had been spurned, ignored, and therefore had invaded Maryam in order to get the attention he deserved.

He danced around the yard, then danced for a long time in front of Maryam, who began to feel light-headed and sleepy. She watched the bomoh, and then her eyes closed and she was no longer conscious.

The tok mindok kept pressing Pak Nik Lah, demanding the spirit tell them what he wanted, and what would make him leave Maryam and Aliza alone, allowing them to return to the health and energy they’d enjoyed before they were afflicted. There was only silence, and the audience leaned in closer, to hear what this troublesome spirit might demand: scarves or prayers or offerings.

With a sudden roar, Pak Nik Lah leaped back, higher than a man his size had any right to leap, and spoke furiously to his helper. He was the pelesit, he announced, kept in a bottle (as most pelesit were) on a ship, on the sea. A collective gasp arouse from the crowd. This was Murad’s pelsesit, surely!

He needed feeding, he needed attention, he needed offerings. He’d worked hard for his human owners, and they had not given him what he deserved. (Now Pak Nik Lah’s face was fearsome, and some of the smaller children watching began to cry as they scrambled towards their parents’ laps.) He would desert them! Let them see how they fared without his help.

Mamat and Malek exchanged nervous looks. This looked more serious than they had expected. Malek was thankful Aliza was asleep, or entranced, so she wouldn’t receive a further shock. Yi was frightened, but fascinated too, and sat behind his father looking over his shoulder, ready to duck if Pak Nik Lah so much as looked his way.

There were frissons of fear running through the crowd. No one expected a spirit they actually recognized. It was too close to home, though the owner’s name was never mentioned.

Maryam suddenly rose in one swift motion and assumed a warrior’s pose. Mamat sat with open mouth; where had she learned that? She spoke in a loud, clear voice to the pelesit, ordering it to leave her. She danced silat with Pak Nik Lah, a martial arts dance, lunging and dancing back, charging, but never being touched.

She spun on one foot, ending in a high kick which missed the bomoh by millimetres. And behind her now, close, a faithful retainer, was Aliza, dancing like a sprite: so light, so graceful she hardly seemed human.

The pelesit fell back, guided by the tok mindok, now crying for mercy, if Maryam would just do him the favour of some offerings – some flowers, a few coins. He promised to leave them, to leave, in fact, his life of bad deeds and service of selfishness if Maryam would but grant him that.

As gracious in victory as she was fearless in battle, she agreed. She danced once around the circle, followed always by Aliza, who seemed to be floating on the air itself and then sat in front of Mamat before falling back, boneless. Malek caught Aliza in mid-fall, and gathered her up into his arms, inexplicably finding himself in tears.

Everyone agreed it was the best main puteri they had ever seen.