hâti—sickness of liver—that organ, and not the heart, being regarded as the
centre of sensibility. The states of feeling which are described by this phrase are
numerous, complex, and differ widely in degree, but they all imply some
measure of anger, excitement, and mental irritation. A Malay loses something he
values; he has a bad night in the gambling houses; some of his property is
wantonly damaged; he has a quarrel with one whom he loves; his father dies; or
his mistress proves unfaithful; any one of these things causes him 'sickness of
liver.' In the year 1888, I spent two nights awake by the side of Râja Haji Hamid,
with difficulty restraining him from running âmok in the streets of Pĕkan,
because his father had died a natural death in Sĕlângor. He had no quarrel with
the people of Pahang, but his 'liver was sick,' and to run âmok was, in his
opinion, the natural remedy. This is merely one instance of many which might
be cited, and serves to illustrate my contention that âmok is caused, in most
cases, by a condition of mind, which may result from either serious or
comparatively trivial causes, but which, while it lasts, makes a native weary of
life. At such times, he is doubtless to some extent a madman—just as all suicides
are more or less insane—but the state of feeling which drives a European to take
his own life makes a Malay run âmok. All Malays have the greatest horror of
suicide, and I know of no properly authenticated case in which a male Malay has
committed such an act, but I have known several who ran âmok when a white
man, under similar circumstances, would not improbably have taken his own
life. Often enough something trivial begins the trouble, and, in the heat of the
moment, a blow is struck by a man against one whom he holds dear, and the
hatred of self which results, causes him to long for death, and to seek it in the
only way which occurs to a Malay—namely, by running âmok. A man who runs
âmok, too, almost always kills his wife. He is anxious to die himself, and he sees
no reason why his wife should survive him, and, in a little space, become the
property of some other man. He also frequently destroys his most valued
possessions, as they have become useless to him, since he cannot take them with
him to that bourne whence no traveller returns. The following story, for the truth
of which I can vouch in every particular, illustrates all that I have said:
In writing of the natives of the East Coast, I have mentioned that the people of
Trĕnggânu are, first and foremost, men of peace. This must be borne in mind in
reading what follows, for I doubt whether things could have fallen out as they
did in any other Native State, and, at the time when these events occurred, the
want of courage and skill shown by the Trĕnggânu people made them the
laughing stock of the whole of the East Coast. To this day no Trĕnggânu man
likes to be chaffed about the doings of his countrymen at the âmok of Bîji Dĕrja,