and any reference to it, gives as much offence as does the whisper of the magic
words 'Rusty buckles' in the ears of the men of a certain cavalry regiment.
When Băginda Ümar ruled in Trĕnggânu there was a Chief named To’ Bĕntâra
Haji, who was one of the monarch's adopted sons, and early in the present reign
the eldest son of this Chief was given the title of Dâto’ Kâya Bîji Dĕrja. At this,
the minds of the good people of Trĕnggânu were not a little exercised, for the
title is one which it is not usual to confer upon a commoner, and Jûsup, the man
now selected to bear It, was both young and untried. He was of no particular
birth, he possessed no book-learning—such as the Trĕnggânu people love—and
was not even skilled in the warrior's lore which is so highly prized by the ruder
natives of Pahang. The new To’ Kâya was fully sensible of his unfitness for the
post, and determined to do all that in him lay to remedy his deficiencies. He
probably knew that, as a student, he could never hope to excel; so he set his heart
on acquiring the ëlĕmu hûlubâlang or occult sciences, which it behoves a
fighting man to possess. In Trĕnggânu there were few warriors to teach him the
lore he desired to learn, though he was a pupil of Tŭngku Long Pĕndêkar, who
was skilled in fencing and other kindred arts. At night-time, therefore, he took to
haunting graveyards, in the hope that the ghosts of the mighty dead—the
warriors of ancient times—would appear to him and instruct him in the sciences
which had died with them.
Women are notoriously perverse, and To’ Kâya's wife persisted in
misunderstanding the motives which kept him abroad far into the night. She
attributed his absences to the blandishments of some unknown lady, and she
refused to be pacified by his explanations, just as other wives, in more civilised
communities, have obstinately disregarded the excuses of their husbands, when
the latter have pleaded that 'business' has detained them.
At length, for the sake of peace and quietness, To’ Kâya abandoned his
nocturnal prowls among the graves, and settled down to live the orderly
domestic life for which he was best fitted, and which he had only temporarily
forsaken when the Sultân's ill-advised selection of him to fill a high post, and to
bear a great name, had interrupted the even tenor of his ways.
One day, his father, To’ Bĕntâra Haji, fell sick, and was removed to the house of
one Che’ Äli, a medicine man of some repute. To’ Kâya was a dutiful son, and
he paid many visits to his father in his sickness, tending him unceasingly, and
consequently he did not return to his home until late at night. I have said that this
was an old cause of offence, and angry recriminations passed between him and