No man can say how ancient is this custom, nor yet the beginnings in which it
had its origin. Does it date back to a period when huts and garments, even of
bark, were newly acquired things, and when the Sâkai suffered both ungladly
after the manner of all wild jungle creatures? Did they, in those days, cast aside
their bark loin clothes, and revel once more in pristine nakedness, and in the
green things of the forest, on all occasions of rejoicing? We can only speculate,
and none can tell us whether we guess aright. But year after year, in a hundred
camps throughout the broad Sâkai country, the same ceremony is performed, and
the same ancient chant goes up through the still night air, on the day which
marks the bringing home of the harvest. The Malays call this practice bĕr-
jĕrmun, because they trace a not altogether fanciful resemblance between the
sheds stuffed with jungle and the jĕrmun or nest-like huts which wild boars
construct for their shelter and comfort. But although the Malays, as a race,
despise the Sâkai, and all their heathenish ways, on the occasion of which I
write, Kria, a man of their nation, was present, and taking an active part in the
demon-worship of the Infidels.
What was he doing here, in the remote Sâkai camp, herding naked among the
green stuff with the chanting jungle people? He was a Malay of the Malays, a
Muhammadan, who, in his sane moments, hated all who prayed to devils, or
bowed down to stocks and stones, but, for the moment, he was mad. He had
come up stream a few weeks before to barter with the forest dwellers, and the
flashing glance from a pair of bright eyes, set in the pale yellow face of a slender
Sâkai girl, had blinded him, and bereft him of reason. Life no longer seemed to
hold anything of good for him unless Chêp, the Bird, as her people called her,
might be his. In the abstract he despised the Sâkai as heartily as ever, but, for the
sake of this girl, he smothered his feelings, dwelt among her people as one of
themselves, losing thereby the last atom of his self-respect, and finally consented
to risk his soul's salvation by joining in their superstitious ceremonies. Yet all
this sacrifice had hitherto been unavailing, for Chêp was the wife of a Sâkai
named Ku-îsh, or the Porcupine, who guarded her jealously, and gave Kria no
opportunity of prosecuting his intimacy with the girl.
On her side, she had quickly divined that Kria had fallen a victim to her charms,
and, as he was younger than Ku-îsh, richer, and, moreover, a Malay, a man of a
superior race, she was both pleased and flattered. No one who knows what a
Sâkai's life is, nor of the purely haphazard manner in which they are allowed to
grow up, would dream of looking for principle in a Sâkai woman, or would
expect her to resist a temptation. The idea of right and wrong, as we understand