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| Sibin Aus in 2009 & several years later, perhaps 2014 (Photo by Antares) |
ORANG ASLI FOLK MEDICINE - generically known as jampi - is feared and respected by most “modern” Malays - even regular mosque-goers who drive Proton Wiras and subscribe to the high-tech pseudo-mysticism of full-tilt industrialization. The Chinese have their own sinseh (traditional healers) or access to Thai witch-doctors. Working-class Indians continue to patronize roadside kuil (temples or shrines) for divine intercession, while the middle-class or westernized ones prefer to take their medical problems to private clinics and hospitals.
Sibin Aus is the resident dukun (medicine man) of Kampung Orang Asli Pertak. He once told me that he studied the craft for three years in Pahang before establishing his own practice. Three years doesn't sound like a very long apprenticeship, especially for something as complicated as sorcery - but I felt it wasn't my place to probe further. The fact remains that Sibin is often sought out from afar for a bit of good, old-fashioned Orang Asli jampi.
Recently, I was approached by a corporate-type Malay seeking a magical remedy for his wife's “feminist rebellion” against the patriarchal family order. He didn’t want “counseling” - he wanted the “real stuff” - so I pointed him in Sibin’s direction. After the man left, I was curious to know what the crafty old shaman had prescribed, and how much the bill was. Sibin told me many months later, when he began to accept me as a “colleague” of sorts, that he had given the afflicted husband some Pengasih Rindu (Lover's Yearning), a love potion concocted from tree roots. The bill came to exactly RM88.
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| The High Hut in 1997 (photo by Ahmad Sabki) |
SIBIN HAS an excellent singing voice and usually serves as the chief spirit-caller whenever a sawai (ritual healing) is convened. Nobody in the village seems to take Sibin too seriously, since he is invariably either completely inebriated or recovering from a monstrous hangover. The kids all call him Berk'ot - Smelly or Unwashed - and to Sibin's credit, he never seems to mind.
Awa Anak Lahai, Sibin's long-suffering-but-always-jolly wife, is also a much called-upon traditional healer and sawai singer. Awa likes operating as a trio, along with her inscrutable, feline-faced elder sister, Mak Nai and the celebrated Mak Minah (perhaps the first Orang Asli vocalist to appear on a nationwide live telecast). When they first asked me for a ride to the bus station, I asked them if they were off on a jaunt, and they said they were “on call.” Some poor soul in Rasa (a village about five miles south of Kuala Kubu Baru) had been cursed with an incurable disease, and in desperation a relative had come seeking help from the “Three Witches” of Pertak. I was amazed at the reach of their reputation, and thus was somewhat taken aback when Awa and Minah began coming to me for medical advice!
I realized it was Utat who had recommended my healing prowess to his kinfolk after I had successfully treated his leg sores. (I used a combination of pranic healing and antiseptic cream.) I have since been called upon to perform a few minor “miracles.” Mostly, I have fulfilled the role of resident psychologist, since the Orang Asli have yet to acquire the habit - or perhaps the technical vocabulary - of articulating their emotional tensions, which then manifest as pening (dizziness or headaches), demam (fever), or perut sakit (abdominal pains).
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| Side view of the High Hut (Ahmad Sabki) |
The first time I actually witnessed jampi was when Daharom, the Indonesian caretaker of my former Magick River residence, appeared in the village, complaining of acute pains in his kidneys or liver. He asked if I knew of any dukun (shaman) in the area, and as we were directly in front of Sibin's house, I led him straight to it. Sibin, as usual, had a hangover - but was ready to be of service. I asked if I could stay and watch him in action, and the medicine man immediately agreed.
Sibin's wife collected some embers from the kitchen fire for the kemenyan (incense), while he shuffled into the next room (I suspect, to revive himself with another shot of Old Man Brand Tonic Wine, the Orang Asli favorite when it comes to plonk). When he emerged, Awa had got the kemenyan going nicely, and the small, dark room was filled with the evocative fragrance of burning wood-resin. Sibin began muttering incantations - very rapidly and softly - before smudging himself and his patient with the incense. After a while, Sibin began feeling around Daharom's abdomen with his grubby, stubby fingers before bending down and licking, then sucking at a specific spot. This went on for several minutes.
Finally, the witch-doctor let out a triumphant grunt and spat something into his hand, which he proceeded to show to Daharom and me. I saw several chipped pebbles in Sibin's open palm. He said he had removed the stones from Daharom's kidneys. As Sibin wasn't even wearing a shirt, he couldn't have had the pebbles up his sleeves. Of course, he could easily have hidden them under his tongue after he had taken a swig from his bottle of tonic wine. Then, again, he could just as easily have sucked the stony bits right out of Daharom's innards. Who am I to question the ways of jungle magic?
For his stone-removal service, Sibin demanded only RM22 from Daharom, who complained that the fee was too high. After some haggling, Sibin accepted RM12 in payment. I never found out if Daharom's medical problem was satisfactorily resolved in the long term. If it was, then Sibin's RM22 fee was perhaps a great deal lower than what a western-style doctor might have charged. And if it wasn't... well, Daharom was certainly not the first person on Earth to lose a few bucks to a snake-oil salesman. At least, for his money, he had the dubious pleasure of getting his belly licked and sucked by a drunken and only slightly unwashed dukun.
[Excerpt from TANAH TUJUH ~ Close Encounters with the Temuan Mythos, Silverfish Books, 2007]
