420 Part V: Southeast Asia
and nearby countryside. The body is washed and dressed in the deceased’s fin-
est clothes, and the hair is combed and oiled. Men get busy constructing a spe-
cial throne on which the finely dressed corpse is seated, surrounded by
heirlooms preserved for such special occasions. These often include colorful
glass beads of great age and rarity, some having reached central Borneo
through trade from Venice via Brunei in previous centuries. There, held in
place by thongs on the mortuary throne and honored by all the family’s mem-
bers and wealth, the deceased spends the first few days of afterlife.
And what of the soul? This is the great concern of the Berawan. The
corpse, which will quickly begin to decay in the tropical heat, is not feared, but
the soul, newly dead, presumably dismayed, and possibly angry and vengeful,
is of great concern. It must ultimately sever its connections to its human com-
munity and make its way to the ancestors, but this must be aided by the ritual
actions of the still-living community. The spouse of the dead person is most
vulnerable to the soul of the deceased. The spouse is secluded in a tiny room-
like space made of mats, too small to lie down in, with only a single aperture
through which all that can be seen is the corpse. Thus, while the wake goes
on—drinking and gambling and socializing of the entire community—the liv-
ing spouse is secluded in a miserable condition intended to evoke pity in the
still-hovering soul and is fed small amounts of the worst food and unable to
bathe. Meanwhile, other spirits may be lurking, eager to get into the body of a
living person, where they could cause havoc. One’s death can cause an acci-
dent in the forest or further deaths. Souls can slip out of bodies in illness and in
deep sleep, and get stuck outside the body, unable to return. These are the great
dangers during the period just after death while the deceased’s soul still hovers
dangerously nearby.
Partly to prevent these dangers, and also out of love for a lost member of the
community, the corpse is treated as if to deny that it is dead at all. It is talked to,
offered food and cigarettes, and occasionally spoon fed (Metcalf 1991:45).
After a day or two, before the body gets “drippy” from decomposition (and
smelly, too), it must be stored for the next stage of processing into an ancestor.
It is laid in a coffin made by felling and hollowing out a large tree or by fitting
it into one of the large jars acquired by trade and generally used to make rice
wine. The jar will have to be sliced open at the “shoulders” so the body can be
inserted, knees up, head bent down, and then resealed with resin. This “jar
burial” has been practiced since ancient times in Southeast Asia (see photo of
the Plain of Jars in chapter 10); evidence of jar burials has been found in sites as
ancient as the Niah Caves on the Sarawak coast, containing burnt wood and
human remains and dated at 1225 B.C.E. (Harrisson 1974).
The use of jars for making rice wine suggests an interesting metaphor con-
necting processing of wine and processing of an ancestor. Wine is made by fer-
mentation of rice; the liquids produced in the fermentation process are allowed
to drip through a hole at the bottom of the jar, and this fluid is the wine that is
drunk copiously, especially at wakes. In the past, corpses were allowed to