# Life in Java/Volume 1/Chapter 10

CHAPTER X.
ROUTE TO MADIOEN—DADUP TREE, A SUBSTITUTE FOR ROPE—THE CUPPOO—TALES OF PONTIANA, THE NATIVE EVIL SPIRIT—ARRIVAL AT MADIOEN—A DILEMMA—VILLAGE WEDDING—THE WAKSIE—THE LENGTH OF TIME A JAVANESE MARRIAGE MAY CONTINUE—SITUATION OF MADIOEN—NUMBER OF JAVA SPARROWS.
CHAPTER X.
When we left for Madioen, our Rees-Wagen had to be transported across the river on a raft, the horses being conveyed over in boats and attached to the carriage on the opposite side. We were again unfortunate in our horses, or rather large-sized ponies, some of which were so obstinate and vicious that it appeared to us as though they were scarcely broken in. Two or three times we seemed in imminent danger of capsizing, and, in one instance, the four front ponies leaped over the low embankment which separated us from a field, and was but a few yards from a deep ditch. Had our Rees-Wagen been a carriage of light construction, probably the result would have been far from pleasant; but fortunately it was too cumbrous to ​follow the freaks of the young animals, and so, instead of going over the bank, it came to a dead halt before it, giving us a violent jolt by the suddenness of the check. This occasioned a momentary panic and a short detention, some portions of the harness being broken; but, when all was once more ready for a start, the coucer, who seemed determined to make up for lost time, lashed the refractory beasts so unmercifully that they started off like an express train, carrying us rapidly through dense forests of teak and dadup, the bark of which latter tree, by the way, is often used as a substitute for rope.
As we approached the second station, Patjie, we had before us, in a direct line, the range of the Pundan mountains, which separate Madioen from the province of Kembang. We also caught sight of Ngabull, or Ngebell, one of the same range, but partially hidden by the high peaks of Leiman and Dorawaddy. At this post I saw a few broken ​statues, two of which had heads like those of tigers, with a leaf above and on each side of two large staring eyes. These leaves, which are called jayang-patie, or archomawan, are supposed by the natives to have been used by the deities as topengs, or masks, and were brought from the forest of Kamal, through part of which we had already driven.
After passing this post, we entered sombre jungles of Teak and Kasamby, the latter not unlike the Verengen, and held in great veneration by the natives, who were showering flowers and burning incense under some of them. The Cuppoo, or common cotton tree, is likewise very common here, growing to the height of fifty and sixty feet, and with but few leaves on the branches, from which hang the pods, about four inches in length and one and a half in thickness. When ripe, these pods become quite hard and dark, generally splitting from top to bottom, and showing the raw cotton ​which runs in parallel lines like rows of pearls. This cotton is known as Cappas. The tree is frequently seen in cemeteries, and is said to be the favourite resort of the Poontiana, an evil spirit whose name signifies child-destroyer. According to the belief of the natives, the Poontiana possesses the power of transmuting itself into any shape or form it pleases. There are several stories connected with this spirit, which is said to appear most frequently in the guise of a female. One or two of these are worth mentioning.
A syce, or groom, was walking his horse up and down, to cool it after a drive, when he was startled by seeing a large black dog close to his heels. With an aversion peculiar to Mahomedans, he endeavoured to frighten the animal away; but instead of taking to flight as he expected, it grew bolder, and, to his great disgust, began licking the calves of his legs. Irritated at the animal, he turned round and kicked it, but; to his astonishment, it ​instantly vanished, and the figure of a young woman appeared in its place. Although in a state of great trepidation at such an unexpected event, such was his curiosity that he ventured to touch her hand, and, to his amazement, felt that it was cold as death. Terror-stricken, he left the horse to find its way to the stables, and, trembling in every limb, rushed home, where he was pronounced to be ghost-seized, and a native doctor was sent for. He lay many days in a dangerous state from ague fits, his friends and relatives perfuming the house with incense and prepared herbs, and going through a variety of rites and ceremonies to drive away the evil spirit.
Another story I have heard is of a nurse, who slept with a little child in a part of the house close to a Cuppoo tree. One night, as she lay with her charge by her side, she heard the cries of a cat, and the mocking laugh of a woman, followed by the plaintive wails of a child. The baboo remained ​in tremulous silence for some minutes, until roused to action by the sensation that the child was going from her side. Instinctively she grasped it in her arms, and approaching the window, poured forth a string of abusive incantation which silenced the Poontiana for that night. Still, so terrified was the woman, and so frequently was this nightly visit repeated, that, in her superstitious fear for herself and the child, she insisted on the destruction of the Cuppootree, which accordingly was cut down.
It is seldom you see one of these trees without a tuft of hair nailed to the bark, as a charm against the evil effects of the Poontiana.
After Balongchoap—the last post before reaching the town of Madioen—we turned southward, skirting a branch of the river Solo; and, passing through a pretty country, entered a neat avenue leading to the town whither we were bound.
​We passed a small battery, powder magazine, and some Government offices to the right; and a little further, on the opposite side, we drew up at the house of the Resident, to whom I had a letter of introduction from a friend at Surabaya, who, when he handed me the letter, accompanied it with these warning words: "Mind you try to reach Madioen before one p.m., as everyone goes to sleep there after breakfast!" Unfortunately, however, though we left Kedirie at half-past five, the vicious ponies had delayed our journey so much, that it was now between two and three, and I hesitated at first whether to call at that hour or not, but finally decided to send my servant with the letter. He soon returned to the carriage, accompanied by an opus, who told us we could not see the Resident or any of his family then, as all were in bed fast asleep, and would not be up before four. To wake any member of the family ​prior to that time might lose the man his place.
"Give the Resident the letter as soon as he awakes," said I.
We were now in some difficulty to know where to put up, for I had depended on the Resident's kindness in directing us to a quiet lodging, as Madioen has no hotel of any kind. The coucer was no less puzzled than ourselves as to what we ought to do.
"Surely," said we, " there must be some place where we can go and wait till the Resident awakes. How do gentlemen manage when they come here without a surat tangan (hand-letter)?"
A lucky thought at last dawned upon the coucer' s mind. He remembered that there was a house known as the société, whither he proposed at once to drive us; a proposition which, of course, in our circumstances, we were very glad to accede to.
​The societé is a small, low house, containing one large billiard room and two small dormitories, for the convenience of country subscribers, who occasionally pay a visit to the town. On reaching it we could not see a soul; but on inquiry of the coucer, learned that the schoolmaster who lived opposite would tell us how we could be accommodated. Accordingly I sent Drahman to apprize that functionary of the awkward dilemma in which we found ourselves; and in a few minutes our servant returned, accompanied by the master himself, who most kindly invited us to his own house, where we were introduced to his wife, and most hospitably entertained.
Towards evening the Resident's secretary called upon us, to present the Resident's apologies for not being able to see us, as he was suffering from ophthalmia, and consequently could not venture out. lie, however, very civilly asked us to stay with himself while we remained in Madioen—an invitation ​which we gladly accepted; and thanking the worthy schoolmaster and his wife for their kindness, we entered the carriage of the secretary, and drove to his residence, where we were very comfortable, and soon made ourselves quite at home.
Next day we took a pleasant drive through the Chinese campong to the Ponorogo road; and on our return passed through a native village, where they were celebrating a wedding. Being anxious to see something of the ceremony, we told the coucer to stop whilst we alighted. We accordingly entered by the gate before the house, within which a number of people were assembled, who welcomed us with smiles of approbation. One man, advancing from the rest, signified to Drahman his wish to conduct us through the principal rooms. On either side of the front room, on white Samarang mats, were seated the elders of the village, priests, various friends, relations, and acquaintances, ​all squatted cross-legged. Cups of tea, á la Chinoise, that is, without milk or sugar, were placed on handsome trays before each guest, as well as betel nuts, cakes, a quantity of rokos, and other native delicacies.
On threading our way through the mass of human beings attracted by the ceremony, we waved our hands, saying, "Tabéy, tabéy"—equivalent to our salutation of good day—which they all gladly returned. I was told that they considered our coming to see the wedding as a lucky omen. Followed by several of the guests, we entered another room, which was very gaudily decorated, and furnished with a low bed, the curtains of which were of white calico, ornamented with lace, gold, silver, beads, and coloured bits of silk. At the foot of this bed was a platform, raised about half a foot from the ground, on which was spread a spotless white mat, with several bronze trays containing cakes, &c.
​Whilst we were inspecting this apartment, we were startled by the din of voices, followed by the sound of music, which, from its peculiar character, was too near to be agreeable. " The bride is come," said Drahman. The crowd was so great that it was some minutes before we could catch a glimpse of her. Our curiosity was at length gratified, while they were pouring water upon her small, naked feet. After this ceremony an elderly man who, I was informed, was one of her relatives, carried her in his arms to the inner room, and placed her on the platform, where she sat down on the left side of the bridegroom, who had followed her in. She had a rather pleasing expression, but was much disfigured by a yellow dye with which her face, neck, shoulders, and arms were covered, and which effectually concealed her blushes.
Her dress was very simple, consisting solely of a long sarong, of fine batek, passing under both arms ​and across the chest, so that, though her shoulders were quite naked, her bosom was modestly covered. This garment reached nearly down to the young bride's ankles, and was confined round the waist by a silver "pinding." Her hair was arranged in the usual Javanese style, with the addition that on the knot at the back of the head rested a kind of crown made of beads and flowers.
On the left side of the girl sat an old, haggardlooking woman, the Waksie, or bridesmaid, on whose shoulders, according to the wedding etiquette of the Javanese, rests no small share of responsibility. Before the marriage is arranged, she acts as a go-between, to settle matters for all parties, though it does not always follow that she becomes the bridesmaid on the occasion; but as the natives have a superstitious belief that ill-luck will surely fall upon the young pair, unless everything is done with becoming propriety, a woman of this profession is very frequently selected to act as Waksie. ​She is expected to adorn the bride in the most attractive manner, so as to please her husband and the assembled guests; and she superintends all the ceremonies during the celebration of the wedding. The Waksie now before us, we must say to her credit, was most indefatigable in her attention to her charge, fanning her with a scarf—fans not being in general use amongst the Javanese—and assisting her to betel-nut, &c, very frequently.
The bridegroom, like his bride, was yellow-washed down to the waist; his eyebrows were blackened, and painted to a point; he wore a variegated batek sarong, fastened round the waist by a bright silk scarf, through the folds of which glittered the gilt hilt of a kriss. His hair fell on his back in long thick masses, whilst a conical-shaped kind of hat, made of some material resembling patent leather, was placed on the top of his head. On one side of him was seated his ​Waksie, or best man, a boy dressed very much like himself.
I was told that the parents of the young couple were absent, as, according to the usual custom in this country, their presence is not expected at the wedding ceremony.
As we were returning to the carriage, I questioned Drahman concerning Javanese weddings and courtings, and was surprised to learn that the man and woman we had just seen were not yet married, though, according to the rites of the Mahomedan creed, they had been legally allied for nearly a whole week. The young couple were as yet only passing through a probational period, during which they live apart. Among the princes and the wealthy this separation sometimes continues three months, during which time the bridegroom meets his bride every afternoon, in the presence of a number of friends invited on such occasions, for whose entertainment music ​is provided. When food is set before them, it is the duty of the sposo to feed his sposa with rice before all the people. After the meal, of which they generally partake heartily, fingerbowls are handed round, that each of the guests may wash his hands; after which the never-to-beforgotten betel-nut, &c, is distributed. All goes on merrily till midnight, when the bridegroom conducts his bride to her bed, drawing the curtains aside, and assisting her in. When he has seen her comfortably settled, he closes the curtains, and tucks them in, so as to exclude the mosquitoes; after which, retiring with the guests, he is not permitted to see his bride again until the middle of next day.
This temporary separation is instituted for two reasons: the first, that the lovers may have some time for a novel kind of courtship, as previous to their marriage they are frequently complete strangers to each other, all necessary arrangements ​having been previously made between the parents by the officious old person before alluded to. The second, but the most important reason—in their eyes—is that if either party should feel dissatisfied with the other, the Imam, or high-priest, may be able to divorce them while they still stand to each other only in the relation of an eligible youth and maiden. What, however, seems somewhat unfair, is that if the objection exists solely on the part of the woman, be her reasons ever so valid and cogent, she must defray all the expenses of the betrothal festivities.
Madioen, seen from any point of view in the suburbs, appears to be situated in the centre of a circle of mountains, which look like gigantic towers, from which an aggressive host might be successfully repulsed. Of these, the Pundun mountains are seen to the north; the broken-edged Patjitan, like an enormous saw, to the south; the volcanic ​Lawoe to the west—on a spur of which some ancient ruins are still to be seen; and lastly, to complete the circle, the Whelis Lieman and others figure on the eastern side of the town.
In the Werengen trees, which studded the grounds of our host, were congregated myriads of Java sparrows. Neither before nor since have I seen such a number of those pretty little birds collected in one spot; and the noise they made was perfectly astounding. Before five in the morning they began to twitter; and then, as if by one consent, all deserted the tree to seek food in the paddy fields. The branches looked quite dotted with nests; for, like our common birds, they build quite close to the house, and breed as prolifically.
The impression generally prevalent among bird-fanciers, that a Java sparrow is incapable of singing, is erroneous. We have tried the experiment, and ​found that if the cock bird is placed in a room by himself, he will, after a short time, begin to whistle softly, but very melodiously.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.