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Tuan Tata: Song of Uda - Parts One and Two

TUAN TATA : Song of Uda - I by T. Wignesan (Patrick Noone, a British anthropologist, discovered the Ple-Temiar tribe living isolated in the jungle highlands in the State of Perak on the west coast of the Malayan peninsula in the early nineteen-thirties. The tribe was so cut away from civilization that the notion of crime did not exist in their society. The shaman leader of the tribe welcomed « Pat » and gave him his sixteen-year old daughter Anjang in mariage. She was betrothed to Uda, a young Temiar. Unable to bear the separation, Uda murdered Pat - the very first crime in their history. Uda stalked the couple until he espied Pat Noone and Anjang coming down a jungle trail; he then blow-piped a poisoned dart into Pat's eye, and the anthropologist lay writhing in pain until he expired. The Swedish Embassy in Paris refused to grant me asylum as a refugee in Sweden despite being asked by Jean-Paul Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir and André Gorz. When on a State Visit to France, Olaf Palme, the then Swedish Prime Minister, first paid his respects to Sartre before calling on the President at the Elysée Palace. When Pat Noone delivered his speech at the Musée de l'Homme in Paris, after discovering the Ple-Temiar tribe in the thirties, intellectuals of all creeds (including Sartre) flocked to listen to him. I met Doreen, Noone's sister, in 1972 when she was married to André Gorz, editor of Sartre's "Les Temps Modernes". Gorz committed suicide whilst enjoying perfect health at the death-bed of his terminally-condemned wife. A chemical engineer of Austrian Jewish-Catholic parentage, Gorz met Jean-Paul Sartre in Geneva and took to reading his work and worked towards achieving a socialist State. When François Mitterrand ignored him as the incumbent of the Elysée Palace, I think his hopes took a turn for the worse. And hence probably the suicide... Pat Noone's younger brother Richard was the Chief of the Intelligence Services in the old (British) Federation of Malaya where I was growing up as a teenager schoolmaster and newspaper reporter. T. Wignesan) Some dogs bark to warn men of dangers that await them ; Others look on in wonder at those struck by thunder. Anjang now says my Semai blood stains the tall Temiar strains out of the ruwai wherefrom my stricken gunig strays Akob now roves in search of the stiffest bamboo pole high on fuzzy blue mountain tops the eight-foot blowpipe the buloh seworr of Gunung Swettenham four times the length of Akob’s right arm the rightful arm. You cannot imagine No, you cannot know How my gunig prodded me on : ’Once to the right – step back Take a turn and bend your back Cup your hands : thus to the mouth And Watch ! No spirit slips your breath ! Tohat na med : saka senoi selamat ! If only you had come to take notes And weave our dance to applause at the Musée de l’Homme Or sat high on a consecrated Cambridge Chair I, Uda, would have no cause to despair over the shameful hush closing in on our saka For who will know how decrepit I’ve become in Busu’s eyes I, the only rising halak of the tribe ! Listening to you sing – awake nights on the creaking longhouse bamboo floor No coughing tiger kept me up so ! Did not Busu knock your firing-arm down with his stout rokap stave Nor Anjang eye me as a knave : ‘You Shaman, shame, sham-Shaman !’ And if you think I didn’t see When my breath caught up with me The tense vein-wracked hands clutch your poisoned skull And the blurred frenzy of a jealous dart burst from your bleeding eye into your pallid palms In that instant, the straps of the White Man’s Burden snapped and let itself go on my head And had I not heard too in that stand-still instant The growling groaning thunder in the bowels of our ladang And the shameful hush cloak over our stricken saka During those long dreamless nights at Anjang’s side my flanks quivering while Busu tossed brooding Would you not wonder then Why I took the rear of the hunting trail from then on Tohat na med : saka senoi selamat ! No more the gunig rose in my sleep To show me my ritual steps in the chinchem Even the familiar tigers avoided our saka Where a lowly fever stealing from Sankal’s Armpit Up the hedges of constricting bamboo clutches Bent them till they drooped in the mud of our lies for Little Tata’s ears And again, not till the halak Bintang Fear convulsing his accessory guilt had your remains interred and owned you as one of us did we dare whisper again and then only to ourselves shrinking you again within our ruwai though always fearing, always cringeing at the thought of the day when his brothers would come in numbers bearing fire-spitting engines over the sodden earth in search of you « My people… my PEOPLE… Will avenge this dastardly deed… This foul and bloody deed ! » I have not slept these past years And Anjang heaves murmuring in a strange tongue I cannot understand « But then, do not forget you murdered too for someone else’s cause down from 5th Corps at Lasah !» « Remember what you wrote your parents : ‘Now if I become a Temiar by marriage there would be no barriers. I would be party then to their most intimate secrets. TOHAT NA MED: SAKA SENOI SELAMAT !’ » GLOSSARY of Ple-Temiar terms ruwai : group protective soul of the Temiar community. gunig : the guiding soul of the Temiar shaman which often takes the shape of a tiger. buloh seworr : (Malay) the best of the blow-pipe bamboo to be found on the slopes of the high mountains in Ulu Perak. Tohat na med : saka senoi selamat ! : Our Master is well : the Senoi country is safe ! saka : each Temiar community’s agricultural domain. halak : shaman rokap : a tree whose branches are especially tough. ladang : the land on which shifting cultivation is practised. chinchem : the Temiar shaman’s dance learnt in a dream from his gunig (cf.). Copyright ©: T. Wignesan, 1977 (from the collection: tell them i'm gone, 1983)

Copyright © | Year Posted 2021

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