The Heritage of Traditional Malay Literature: A Historical Survey of Genres, Writings, And Literary Views 9067182141, 9789067182140

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THE HERITAGE OF TRADITIONAL MALAY LITERATURE

To my students Zhenya, Jelani, Ben, and Sarah with gratitude for their tolerance and patience

VERHANDELINGEN VAN HET KONINKLIJK INSTITUUT VOOR TAAL-, LAND- EN VOL KEN KUNDE

214

VLADIMIR BRAGINSKY

THE HERITAGE OF TRADITIONAL MALAY LITERATURE A historical survey of genres, writings and literary views

KITLV Press Leiden

2004

Published by: KITLV Press Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde (Royal Netherlands Institute of Southeast Asian and Caribbean Studies) P.O. Box 9515 2300 RA Leiden The Netherlands website: www.kitIv.nl e-mail: [email protected]

KITLV is an institute ofthe Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences (KNAW)

ISBN 90 6718 214 1 © 2004 Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission from the copyright owner. Printed in the Netherlands

Contents Preface Introduction

xi 1

Traditional Malay literature: the past and the present 1 Historical surveys of traditional Malay literature in the context of Malay literary studies: a historiographical review 4 Theoretical problems in the study of traditional Malay literature in its dynamics 15 Between orality and literacy: the traditional Malay text and the tasks of Malay philology 22 Ideological medium and impetuses for the evolution of traditional Malay literature 30 Notes 35 Old Malay literature I

The system of genres in old Malay literature; A reconstruction Typological basis of the reconstruction: the choice of a model for the reconstruction of old Malay literature 49 The canon, commentaries, and functional genres 53 Genres of the non-functional sphere 65 Hikayat Seri Rama (the 'Tale of Seri Rama') 67 Origins of Malay fine literature 71 The interaction between spheres of the literary system 75 Notes 77

Early Islamic literature II

The problem of early Islamic Malay literature and its genre system The time of composition of Sejarah Melayu (the 'Malay annals') 92 The time of composition of Hikayat raja Pasai (the 'Tale of the rajas of Pasai') 103 Data from chronicles about the composition of Malay literature in the late fourteenth to early sixteenth centuries 112 Panji-romances in the composition of early Islamic literature 119 The genre system of the early Islamic period 126 Notes 131

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47

85 91

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III The major works of the early Islamic period Tales about heroes of Sanskrit epics and purana 143 Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya (the 'Tale of the war of the victorious Pandawa'), Hikayat Pandawa lima (the 'Tale of the five Pandawa'), Hikayat Pandawa jaya (the 'Tale of the victorious Pandawa') 144 Hikayat Sang Boma (the 'Tale of Sang Boma') 152 Panji-romances 156 Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati (the 'Tale of Cekel Waneng Pati') 164 Hikayat Panji Kuda Semirang (the 'Tale of Panji Kuda Semirang'), Hikayat Andaken Penurat (the 'Tale of Andaken Penurat'} 172 Tales of the Middle Eastern origin 175 Hikayat Iskandar Zulkarnain (the 'Tale of Iskandar the Two-Homed') 176 Hikayat Amir Hamzah (the 'Tale of Amir Harnzah') 178 Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah (the 'Tale of Muhammad Hanafiyah') 180 Historicalliterature 183 Hikayat raja Pasai (the 'Tale of the rajas of Pasai') 183 Sejarah Melayu (the 'Malay annals') 186 Notes 198 Classical literature IV Self-awareness of Malay literature in the classical period; A reconstruction The perception of inspiration: the receptive stage of a creative process 211 A general description of the receptive stage in prefaces 211 Divine Mercy 212 The Light of Muhammad and the Prophet Muhammad's intercession 214 Components of the creative process at the receptive stage 215 Psychology of the creative act as a dynamic unity 222 The creation of the literary work: the agentive stage of the creative process 228 The expression of the hidden (meaning) through the manifest (words) 229 Arabic science of eloquence and Malay doctrine of the expression of meaning: a comparison 239 The concept of the beautiful in classical Malay literature 243 The origin of the beautiful 243 Immanent properties of the beautiful 247 The psychology of perception of beauty 249 The doctrine of the 'beautiful word' and its functions 252 Beauty in general and the beauty of the literary work 252 A piece of literature as soother of the soul 254 A piece of literature as a bearer of benefits 258

143

203 207

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Elements of Hindu-Muslim synthesis in Malay literary self-awareness 260 Malay literary aesthetics vis-a-vis Muslim and Hindu-Javanese aesthetics 260 What was borrowed and what was rejected: the synthesis of two literary aesthetics 264 Conclusions: classical Malay literature as a system 267 From the examination of the creative process to the discovery of a literary system 267 Classical Malay literature as an anthropomorphic system 274 Notes 280 V The genre system of classical Malay literature The origin, varieties and evolution of the syair 301 The origin of the kitab and hidayat 314 Genre structures of Malay literature in the classical period 316 The composition of classical Malay literature: the sphere of beauty 319 Fantastic adventure narratives (hikayat) of the synthetic type 319 The time of the emergence of synthetic hikayat 324 Romantic and allegorical syair 330 Poetics of hikayat and syair in the sphere of beauty 331 The sphere of benefit 339 The literature of edifying mirrors 339 Poetics of framed hikayat and edifying mirrors 341 Malay historiography and its evolution 344 The sphere of spiritual perfection 354 Commentaries on the Qur'an (tafsir) 355 Literature of the kitab 356 Hagiographic hikayat 358 Sufi literature, the poetics of Sufi allegOries 359 Religious-mystical poetry 363 The emergence of the notion of individual authorship 364 Conclusion: genre system and literary synthesis 368 Notes 375

301

VI Prose works of the classical period 385 Fantastic adventure hikayat 385 Hikayat Indraputra (the 'Tale of Indraputra') 385 Hikayat Isma Yatim (the 'Tale of Isma the Orphan') 400 Hikayat Maharaja Ali (the 'Tale of Maharaja Ali') 404 Framed tales 415 Hikayat Bayan Budiman (the 'Tale of the Wise Parrot') 416 Hikayat Bakhtiar (the 'Tale of Bakhtiar') 423 Edifying mirrors 431 Taj as-salatin (the 'Crown of sultans') by Bukhari al-Jauhari 431 Bustan as-salatin (the 'Garden of sultans') by Nuruddin ar-Raniri 449 Historicalliterature 453

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Salasilah Kutai (the 'Kutai genealogy') 453 Hikayat Patani (the 'Tale of Patani') 456 Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa (the 'Tale of Merong Mahawangsa') 459 The historico-heroic epic 465 Hikayat Hang Tuah (the 'Epic of Hang Tuah') 465 Notes 478 VII Poetry of the classical period Pantun 492

491

Romantic syair 503 Syair Ken Tambuhan (the 'Poem of Ken Tambuhan') 507 Syair Bidasari (the 'Poem of Bidasari') 511 Syair Selindung Delima (the 'Poem of Selindung Delima'), Syair Yatim Nestapa (the 'Poem of the Unfortunate Orphan') 528 Syair Putri Akal (the 'Poem of the Ingenious Princess'), Syair Sultan Abd al-Muluk (the 'Poem of Sultan Abd al-Muluk') 539 Syair Sinyor Kosta (the 'Poem of Sinyor Kosta') 547 Syair Raja Mambang Jauhari (the 'Poem of the King Mambang Jauhari') 557 Historical syair 565 Syair perang Mengkasar (the 'Poem of the Makasar war') 568 Allegorical syair 578 Syair Ikan Terubuk (the 'Poem of the Shad') 580 Syair Burung Pungguk (the 'Poem of the Owlet') 583 Notes 587 VIII

Muslim hagiography and Sufi literature 599 Hagiographic tales about the Prophet Muhammad 600 Sufi hagiographies 612 Hikayat Rabi'ah (the 'Tale of Rabi'ah (al-Adawiyah)'), Hikayat Abu Yazid al-Bistami (the 'Tale of Abu Yazid al-Bistami') 613 Hikayat Sultan Ibrahim ibn Adham (the 'Tale of Sultan Ibrahim ibn Adham') 615 Hamzah Fansuri 617 Sufi prose in Aceh of the seventeenth century 642 Syamsuddin of Pasai 642 Nuruddin ar-Raniri 645 Abd ar-Rauf of Singkel 648 Sufi prose of the eighteenth-the nineteenth century 651 Syihabuddin and Abd as-Samad of Palembang and the school of Riau 651 Daud ibn Abdullah al-Fatani 655 Sufi poetry in Aceh of the late sixteenth-the seventeenth century 658 Hasan Fansuri and Abd aI-Jamal 658 Syair Bahr an-Nisa (the 'Poem of the Sea of Women') 662 Syair martabat tujuh (the 'Poem of the seven grades of Being') by Syamsuddin of Pasai 669

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Poems by Abd ar-Rauf of Singkel and his disciple Mansur 672 Sufi poems of the boat 676 Sources of boat symbolism in Malay Sufi literature 677 Syair perahu 1 (the 'Poem of the boat 1') 681 Syair perahu 2 (the 'Poem of the boat 2') 688 Sufi poetry and rhythmical prose about birds 695 Poems about the Pure Bird (Burung Pingai) by Hamzah Fansuri 696 Hikayat and andai-andai of Si Burung Pingai in rhythmical prose 699 Poems about the conversation of birds 706 Indigenous basis of the works about birds 711 Sufi plot-based allegories in the form of fantastic adventure hikayat 715 Hikayat Syah Mardan (the 'Tale of Syah Mardan') 717 Hikayat Indraputra (the 'Tale of Indraputra') as a Sufi allegory 727 Notes 742 Concluding remarks

763

Bibliography

777

Index

853

Preface The idea of writing this book was originally conceived in Moscow in 1974, and almost ten years later its Russian version (Y. Braginsky 1983) appeared. That version, however, was, only the 'first draft' of the book, fairly incomplete in the sources used and still 'raw' in many respects. The author became gradually more and more aware of this during his one year sojourn at the Netherlands Institute for Advanced Studies in the Humanities and Social Sciences (NIAS, Wassenaar) in 1992-1993, and in particular after he moved to the United Kingdom and took up duties at the School of Oriental and African Studies of the University of London in late 1993. The access thus gained to a plethora of previously unavailable manuscripts, text-editions and studies, as well as the author's own researchers during the decade that had passed since the publication of the 'first draft', made a thorough revision of it a necessity. Fortunately, the chance to make such a revision arose quite soon. First, work on the book The system of classical Malay literature (Y. Braginsky 1993a) allowed the author to reconsider substantially and further elaborate on the conceptual foundations of the 'first draft'. Later, the preparation for publication of an Indonesian version of it (Yang indah, berfaedah dan kamal, V. Braginsky 1998) provided the author with an opportunity to rework, or even entirely rewrite, a number of its sections (Chapters IV-VI and VIII and Conclusion in the present book). Finally, in the course of the author's work on this English edition, Introduction and Chapters I-III and VII have also undergone a similar transformation. As a result, the study, which is now offered to the reader, is not so much a version of what was published in 1983 as essentially a new book, completely revised and almost twice as long. Despite its considerable length, this historical survey of Malay literature from the seventh to the nineteenth centuries was designed, from the very beginning, as a book that could be read as a whole, not only consulted for references: it is based on a specific theoretical approach which, after being foreshadowed in the Introduction, imbues its entirety, and has a definite, historically unfolding 'plot' running through it. Generic peculiarities of the book, or to be more precise its generic syncre-

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tism, are determined by the state of Malay literary studies in recent times. On the one hand, as many conceptual problems of this field have still remained insufficiently elaborated or not elaborated at all, and the approach chosen required at least a tentative solution of them, the author had to offer such solutions and substantiate them in the very process of writing the book. This caused the inclusion of theoretical chapters and sections in it. On the other hand, as the conversancy of readers with the 'matter' of Malay literature is frequently absent, and literary analyses of individual writings are few, the author had to incorporate extensive sections of a descriptive and analytical nature into the book. These include summaries of a number of works, literary-historical and philological characterizations of these, analyses of their poetics and translations of fairly long passages from them. The author himself usually made the translations, and the references after them point to the source of the Malay original (such is, for instance, the case with translations from Hamzah Fansuri). When, however, the translations were made by other scholars, this is easily recognizable from the relevant references. The above explains not only the generic syncretism, but also the style of exposition adopted in this study. It is perhaps closer to the style of the original research than to the style of scholarly works summing up what has already been done in the field, more common in surveys of literary history of this kind. Nonetheless, a description of the state-of-art in the study of traditional Malay literature also occupies an important place in the book. The author's approach to the factual material included in his book was 'intensive' rather than 'extensive'. In other words, he tried to show traditional Malay literature in its historical dynamics on the basis of a certain set of representative works examined at some length, rather than to describe superficially the greatest possible number of them. Moreover, the reader will easily find information of the latter kind in the catalogues of manuscripts and 'histories' of Malay literature (see Introduction to this book). When deciding which works should be included and analysed, the author was guided not only by preferences more or less established among students of this literature, but also by the assessment given to these works by the Malay tradition itself, which is reflected in the number of extant manuscripts of them. Although far from being absolute, this criterion seems to be not totally useless in the absence of something better. Although intended primarily to be read as an integral work, this book does not disregard the interests of those readers who wish to use it as a reference book. It is precisely for this reason that it contains a lot of information not only about the literary works, which are discussed in it at length, but also about many other writings. Reference materials about them can be found, in particular, in Chapter V (mostly about prose works) and in a few introductory sections of Chapter VII (mostly about poetical works). Along

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xiii

with this, a wealth of reference data is presented in notes, the number of which increased several times in comparison with the Russian 'prototype' of this study. Among other things, the notes include information on the history of the study of traditional Malay literature and major centres of and journals related to this study, on catalogues of Malay manuscripts and general bibliographies of Malay texts and literary researchers, on editions and translations of individual pieces and scholarly works specially devoted to an examination of them. The majority of titles of these editions and background literature can be found in the Bibliography of the book, also considerably reworked and enlarged. The detailed Contents and Index allow for easy orientation in this mass of reference materials. Throughout the book the spelling of Malay has been adapted as much as possible to the present-day, official MalaYSian/Indonesian orthography, also for words deriving from Sanskrit, Arabic and Persian. In this orthography, 'c' is similar to English 'ch', 'j' to 'j', 'sy' to 'sh', 'ny' to 'ny' (in 'canyon'), 'y' to 'y' (in 'you') and 'kh' to 'the sound made by a mild clearing of the throat' (Echols and Shadily 1970:xvi). However, where the words refer directly to writings in those foreign languages, they are spelt in accordance with international scholarly usage, although, for the sake of simplicity, without diacritical dots and signs for long vowels. Besides, in Sanskrit words' sh' stands for both'!?' and's'. The proper transcription of the foreign words (names and titles of writings) follows, in brackets, the simplified one in the Index. Unfortunately, strict application of the above-mentioned principles sometimes proved to be impossible. The original titles of literary and scholarly works are italicized and, if in Malay and other Asian languages, are quoted without the English article; translations of titles are given in single quotes, with the article. In works with Arabic titles written in Arabic and Persian, as well as in Arabic names of non-Malay-writing authors, the Arabic definite article is always transcribed in the form al-. However, in works with Arabic titles written in Malay and in Arabic names of Malay-writing authors, the letter lam ('I') in the transcription of the definite article changes, if this is required by the following consonant (for instance, Tuhfat ar-raghibin, Nuruddin ar-Raniri, Abd as-Samad). In many cases this helps to determine whether the work in question was written in Malay and whether a particular author wrote in Malay. This book could neither have been written nor have seen the light of day without financial support granted to the author by the British Academy in 1995, the International Institute for Asian Studies (lIAS) in Leiden in 2000 and 2002, and the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS) of the University of London in 2002. The author is sincerely grateful to the administration of all these institutions, as well as to the KITLV Press and personally to its director Harry Poeze, who undertook to publish his book.

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During the several decades that passed before this book took its present and, God permit, final shape, the author repeatedly resorted to the disinterested, friendly help and advice of many scholars. Unfortunately, as the Russian poet Alexander Pushkin used to say, paraphrasing the words by his Persian brother-in-penmanship Sa'di: 'some of them have gone, and some are far away'. Although it is impossible to list all their names here, the author's gratitude to them is boundless. Nevertheless, the author deems it his pleasant duty to express his gratitude at least to some of them: first of all to Stuart Robson, not only the editor of his book's imperfect English, but also its scholarly editor who pointed to its many flaws and suggested how they might be removed. The author is also grateful to his old friend Alexander Rubakin, who gave him invaluable help in the translation of some sections of this book that were originally written in Russian, and thus spared him the time to revise them. He is particularly thankful to A. Teeuw who kindly spent much time editing the conceptual summary of this book and made possible its publication in 1993 and who has always remained an example of the true scholar for the author, consistent in his well-weighed views, yet tolerant and open to new ideas. The author is also grateful to his friends and colleagues who provided him with unavailable materials, discussed with him a great range of issues related to this book, generously shared their knowledge with him and gave him moral support: to the late Petrus Voorhoeve, Denys Lombard and Boris Parnickel, to Natalia Chalisova, Henri Chambert-Loir, Dmitry Frolov, Kamal Abdullah (Kemala), Gijs Koster, Henk Maier, Nigel Phillips, Natalia Prigarina, Rosemary Robson-McKillop, Ilia Smirnov, Wim Stokhof and many others. Words of special gratitude go to the School of Oriental and African Studies of the University of London, which honoured the author with a professorship, and especially to all the members of the Department of Languages and Cultures of South-east Asia, the friendly atmosphere of which helped him to complete this work. The author is proud that, just as the first history of traditional Malay literature in English by Winstedt, his book, the second historical survey of Malay literature in this language, has been also revised and finalized in the precincts of SOAS by a fellow of this School. And -last but not least - the author cannot fail to express his thankfulness to his wife Sed a and his children Mitya and Katya, who all those years had patiently shared him with this book, which brought them nothing but new ordeals at every next stage of its transformation.

Introduction They built neither pyramids of copper, Nor tombstones of bronze for themselves [... ], But they left their heritage in their writings, In the exhortations that they composed. (from the ancient Egyptian 'Praise to the scribes')

Traditional Malay literature: the past and the present Literature, or 'the deed of the reed pen' (pekerjaan kalam) as its creators sometimes called it, is the most valuable part of the cultural heritage of the Malays who inhabit the Malay Peninsula, East Sumatra, some areas of Kalimantan (Borneo) and other islands of the Malay Archipelago. The earliest vestiges of Malay literature are preserved in inscriptions carved on stone steles with characters of South Indian origin, l and the later works, mostly anonymous, in some 8,000-10,000 manuscripts in Jawi,2 the Arabic script adapted to the Malay language.3 Unlike their Javanese neighbours, who, having assimilated Hinduism and Buddhism, created magnificent architectural and sculptural monuments as well as remarkable bas-reliefs, the Malays, also familiar with the great religious doctrines of India, could boast only modest achievements in the visual arts. It was precisely literature that formed the heart of their cultural tradition. If in Javanese culture at the height of its fame the whole Universe, and even literature itself, was understood as a beautiful temple, Malay culture during its heyday saw the Universe as a book, a work of literature. The Creator called the world into being by writing it with the Sublime Pen on the Guarded Tablet. The eternal ideas of all that exists, which were concealed in the divine Knowledge, were symbolized by letters, and Malay authors liked to quote the verse of the great Arab thinker and poet, Ibn al-' Arabi: We were Lofty Letters yet unmoved, Attached to our Abode in the Highest Peaks. 4

Humanity was also seen as a kind of book, on whose body and in whose

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soul the whole wisdom of the Universe was recorded with mysterious signs. Literature, too, was not just the creation of a scribe but was itself a scribe imprinting words on the 'sheet of memory', thereby shaping human personality. On the evidence of the script of Malay manuscripts, the bulk of traditional literature was created after the conversion of the Malays to Islam between the late thirteenth and the early sixteenth century. Even so, traditional writings not infrequently reflected original features of oral Malay literature and the literary experience of the Hindu-Buddhist period covering the first centuries AD up to the mid-fourteenth century. The significance of literature was not limited to its being the foundation of Malay culture. Like the Malay language, which had for centuries been both the means of communication within a certain ethnic group, and a vehicle of trade, culture and religious communication among the linguistically varied population of the Archipelago,S the literature created in this language served as a medium through which literatures of the Archipelago could' communicate'. Moreover, it provided access, not only to the Malay literary experience itself, but also to foreign literatures, in particular Indian and Arabico-Persian, and by doing so connected Malay readers with other 'worlds of letters'. The important role which Malay states played in international and interinsular trade, at least from the fifth century (Wolters 1967), allows us to presume that traditional Malay literature may have been bifunctional, ethnic and inter-ethnic at the same time, as early as the Hindu-Buddhist period. The significance of its inter-ethnic function increased dramatically with the beginning of the dissemination of Islam throughout the Archipelago, when Malay became one of the international languages of this religion. From that time, works in Malay were written all over the vast area from Malacca to the Moluccas. Contributions to Malay literature was made not only by inhabitants of the insular world and the Malay Peninsula, but also by foreigners, primarily by Muslim missionaries and preachers. As a result, traditional Malay, or rather Malay-language, literature became a common heritage of the peoples of modem Malaysia, Indonesia, Brunei, Singapore and a part of southern Thailand. In this respect it is similar to classical Arabic and Persian literatures, also a shared legacy of a number of Near Eastern and Middle Eastern peoples, from which in the modem era have derived several national literatures, and which still serve as their common foundation. 6 The heritage of traditional Malay literature determined largely the peculiarities of the formation of modem Malaysian and Indonesian literatures and their physiognomy. But this is not all. Having been 'buried' at least twice,? it nonetheless remains a living and vigorous factor which in various forms continues to influence the literary situation in contemporary Malaysia and Brunei and, to a lesser degree, in Singapore and Indonesia. 8

Introduction

3

The best confirmation of the vitality of traditional Malay literature is probably the fact that modern and contemporary poets and writers of all these countries have turned to it more than once or twice, drawing inspiration from traditional works. Sejarah Melayu (the 'Malay annals') in its genuinely modern reworking by Muhammad Haji Salleh, Fatimah Busu and Zaihasra; Hikayat Hang Tuah (the 'Epic of Hang Tuah') completely reconsidered and recreated by Amir Hamzah, Usman Awang and Ali Aziz; the poetical structure and imagery of pantun, transformed beyond recognition and, nevertheless, recognizable in verses by Rustam Effendi, Amir Hamzah, the' obscure poets' and Latiff Mohidin; magical incantations transfigured by Usman Awang and Sutarji Kalzum Bahri; symbolic Sufi poetry in particular interpretations by Sutarji, Abdul Hadi and Kemala - such are only a few examples taken at random. For literature is always polysemic. It is always ready to reveal to the reader a new facet of its meaning, hidden or unnoticed before, and to resume a dialogue with him. And while this dialogue of literature with more and more generations of its interlocutors continues, any rumour of its death 'is exaggerated'. As M. Bakhtin put it: 'Literary works break the boundaries of their age, they live within the ages, that is in the great time; moreover, their life there is frequently [... ] more intensive and vigorous than it was before, in their modernity' (Bakhtin 1979:331). The concept of traditional literature as a living heritage, discussed again and again, found, for example, a characteristic expression in the words of the Malaysian literary critic Hamdan Hasan. Having emphasized that traditionalliterature mirrored all the aspects of the life of the Malays: their ideals, national character, cast of mind and beliefs, he wrote: 'I believe that modern Malay literature cannot fail to preserve its connections with classical Malay literature. This means that in the process of its development modern Malay literature should not reject positive elements of classical literature.' (Hamdan Hassan 1980:24.) Ten years later the Indonesian scholar Sulastin Sutrisno (1991:48) expressed essentially the same opinion: To its heirs, classical Malay literature is a philosophy of life. In every literary expression, both oral and written, long and short, one of the basic elements of literary activity that enriches the spirit is made explicit. Literary works are not a dead thing, because they are kept alive in a variety of perspectives [... ], intimacy with ancient literature has opened up a new horizon for the development of both language and modem literature.

It is precisely as the common heritage of the past, still significant for a

number of literatures of the region, that traditional Malay literature is comprehended in this study. This approach, coupled with the author's attempt to consider both functions of Malay literature, ethnic and inter-ethnic, deter-

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature

mines two peculiarities of the book. First, it does not contain a special chapter about the oral Malay tradition, as the latter can hardly be viewed as a part of the common legacy of the peoples of the Archipelago. The only exception made is the pantun, the oral and the written genre at the same time. Yet the reader will find in this book a fair amount of information about oral literature, scattered over the sections in which it is required. Second, the period of the transition from traditional to modern literature is also left outside the scope of the book. Although similar to some extent in future Malaysian and Indonesian literatures, it reveals considerable peculiarities in each of them, and the works created in this period, with only a few exceptions, can hardly be considered as a part of their common heritage. Therefore, the object of this study is written Malay literature which is examined from roughly the seventh century, when there appear the first, rather vague data about it, up to the second half of the nineteenth century, when the first germs of the future modern literatures begin to emerge within the Malay literary tradition. Malay literature of the time discussed in this book is usually called classical. However, for a number of reasons the author uses the term 'classical literature' in a more restricted sense, applying it to only one, specific period in its evolution, whereas Malay literature throughout the whole span of time defined above is normally called 'traditional' and more rarely 'medieval'.

Historical surveys of traditional Malay literature in the context of Malay literary studies: a historiographical review The Europeans knew about Malay literature roughly in the early seventeenth century, when the first manuscripts of Malay writings appeared in the collections of British and, somewhat later Dutch, bibliophiles and gatherers of exotic Oriental objects. Among these manuscripts we find copies of Hikayat Seri Rama (the 'Tale of Seri Rama't Hikayat Bayan Budiman (the 'Tale of the Wise Parrot'), several religio-mystical and narrative writings from Aceh and some other writings. 9 One century later, there appeared the earliest European works in which the authors mentioned some pieces of Malay literature and made an attempt to assess their merits. One of these was the five-volume work by the Dutch missionary F. Valentijn, Oud en nieuw Oost-Indie (the 'Old and new East Indies', 1724-26), and the other, the Malay grammar by the Swiss scholar G.H. Werndly (1736), to which a list of sixty-nine Malay writings was appended with comments. The beginning of the scholarly study of Malay literature falls in the late eighteenth- early nineteenth century, when, alongside other consequences, the expansionist policy of colonial powers in Asian and African countries

Introduction

5

brought about a closer acquaintance of the Europeans with their civilizations)O Among the factors conducive to the study of Malay literature, and incidentally research into Asian literatures generally, there were a keenness on 'orientalism' and 'the wisdom of the East' so characteristic for the Epoch of Enlightenment, the discovery of the comparative method in philology, and the flourishing of Romanticism, with its deep interest in exotic traditions, that exerted an enormous influence on European spiritual culture and scholarship. It was precisely at that time that the pioneer works of such British scholars as J. Crawfurd (1820), J. Leyden (1808, 1821), W. Marsden (1811, 1812, 1830, 1886), and T.S. Raffles (1817, 1818) appeared. The significance of Raffles' activity was particularly great. The LieutenantGovernor of Java from 1811 to 1816 and the founder of Singapore, he was, for his time, a brilliant connoisseur of Malay and Javanese cultures and an outstanding collector, who, according to his secretary Abdullah bin Abdul Kadir Munsyi, managed to gather more than three hundred Malay manuscripts. Although the greater part of them was destroyed by the fire on the ship Fame, on Raffles' return voyage, eighty manuscripts brought by him to Britain earlier (before 1816) and now kept in the Royal Asiatic Society constitute one of the most valuable collections of traditional Malay literary works (Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:xxvii-xxviii, 133-43). In the late eighteenth-nineteenth centuries, special journals intended to publish papers on Indonesia and Malaya were established first in Batavia (Jakarta) and then in Leiden and Singapore)1 Needless to say, they also stimulated the development of literary research. The same period also saw the appearance of the first centres of Malay studies, institutionalized to varying degrees, in the Netherlands Indies, the Straits Settlements, Britain, Holland and France. The contribution made to the study of traditional Malay literature by nineteenth century scholars largely consisted of collecting manuscripts, their systematization and cataloguing,12 the preliminary description of individual writings and the summarizing of their contents, as well as the publication of selected works and anthologies, mostly for the purpose of language tuition. An important role at this initial stage of familiarization with the material was played by the Dutch Malayists P.P. Roorda van Eysinga, J. Brandes, AF. von Dewall, H.c. Klinkert, G.K. Niemann, C.A van Ophuijsen, G.J. Pijnappel, C. Snouck Hurgronje, H.N. van der Tuuk; the British J.R. Logan, W. Maxwell, W.G. Shellabear, O. Blagden; the French A Dozon, E. Dulaurier, P. Favre; the Swiss R. Brandstetter, and the others.13 The theoretical level of the majority of these scholars' works was fairly low. Among their main flaws, even if easily understandable in terms of the scholarship of that time, there was, on the one hand, an obvious exaggeration of the significance of Indian and Arabic borrowings in Malay literature

6

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

and, on the other, the evaluation of Malay literature, medieval in its type, in accordance with European aesthetic norms of the nineteenth century. As a result, Malay historical writings were assessed as 'naIve fairy-tales' useless for the historian, since mythical and real elements were chaotically intermingled in them. Malay belletristic narratives were similarly characterized as an assemblage of empty and depressingly monotonous works. The rare positive evaluations were no better grounded than negative ones, as they proceeded from the same anachronistic criteria. For instance, an enthusiasm for Syair Ken Tambuhan (the 'Poem of Ken Tambuhan', see Chapter VII), which in its incomplete recension finishes with the tragic death of both lovers, finds its explanation in an accidental coincidence of this denouement with ideals and tastes of the Age of Romanticism. 14 The Handleiding bij de beoefening der Maleische taal en letterkunde ('Introduction to the study of Malay language and literature') by J.J. de Hollander was the only book written in the nineteenth century in which the author made an attempt to offer his reader a general survey of traditional Malay literature. Published in 1845 and after that re-issued six times during a period of less than fifty years, this book clearly mirrored both the systematizing tendency and theoretical weaknesses of Malay literary studies of its time. The literary section of De Hollander's work included five chapters of a general nature which discussed the history of the Malays, the Malay language and the periodization of Malay literature. The latter was artlessly reduced to only two periods: pre-European and European. After that, there followed brief definitions of various genres and an annotated list of 398 pieces of Malay literature known to the author. The cataloguing and initial sorting-out of traditional Malay writings continued in the early twentieth century too, so that by its first decades all major collections of Malay manuscripts, kept in Batavia, Leiden, London, Paris, Berlin and so on, had been described. This allowed Malayists to form a fairly complete idea of the genuine scope and importance of Malay literature. The contribution of P.S. van Ronkel, one of the most prominent of Dutch Malayists, to this work was especially substantial. Along with the compilation of a number of catalogues (for instance, Van Ronkel1909, 1921a), he also published numerous valuable articles, notes and editions of Malay texts, which in particular helped in clarifying some problems of Tamil, Persian and Arabic influences on the Malay language and literature (for a bibliography of his works, see Bingkisan budi 1950). Monographic researches into individual writings and authors (mostly doctoral theses defended at Leiden University), which began to be published from the end of the nineteenth century, deepened knowledge of traditional Malay literature. These books usually contained a serious philological and historicoliterary analysis of the works in question, as well as editions of them provided

Introduction

7

with detailed summaries. To the number of such publications belong the books by: Van Ronkel, W. Rassers, W. Stutterheim and P. van Leeuwen on Malay narrative literature; D. Rinkes, G. Pijper and J. Doorenbos on religio-mystical works; and A. Cense, c.A. Mees and T. Rusconi on Malay historical writings in prose and verse. Among the works of British scholars of the 1900s-1930s, quite a few books and articles by the famous lexicographer RJ. Wilkinson, Blagden and, particularly, RO. Winstedt deserve special mention. A great contribution to Malay literary studies was also made by H. Djajadiningrat and RM.Ng. Poerbatjaraka, the first Indonesian scholars educated in the Netherlands (for works by all these scholars, see the Bibliography). During the first three decades of the twentieth century the study of traditional Malay literature made such progress that by the end of the 1930s the general survey of it by De Hollander had lost any scholarly value. In 1937 the book by C. Hooykaas, Over Maleische literatuur ('About Malay literature'), which fairly comprehensively summed up new materials, came to take its place (for the second edition, see C. Hooykaas 1947). In the first, introductory chapter the author outlined general contours of Malay cultural history and, having emphasized the impact of the Hindu-Buddhist and the Islamic tradition on it, stated that the writing of a genuine history of traditional Malay literature was impossible. He saw three main reasons for this: the majority of traditional Malay works are undated, composed by anonymous authors, and regularly intermingle elements borrowed from both traditions that had influenced Malay culture and literature. After that C. Hooykaas went on to a genre-by-genre description of Malay literature. His book consisted of two sections. In the first of them (Chapters 2-12) the scholar discussed largely original Malay works: folkloric riddles, parallelistic pantun quatrains, 'comforting tales' (cerita penglipur lara) and so on, as well as written poetry (syair), historical writings and the heroic epic of Hang Tuah. The second section (Chapters 13-21) was devoted to Malay adaptations of a number of works that came from foreign literatures: written fantastic adventure narratives (hikayat), Malay versions of Mahabharata and Ramayana, 'framed' tales (Hikayat Bayan Budiman and the like), Muslim epics of Arnir Hamzah (the Prophet Muhammad's uncle) and Iskandar Zulkarnain (Alexander the Great), 'edifying mirrors for kings' and so on. Each chapter of this book - a popular introduction to traditional Malay literature - represented a compact, vividly and informatively written essay on a particular genre or work, not infrequently containing subtle observations which have not lost their significance up to the present time. Even so, it is difficult not to agree with B.B. Parnickel's remark that 'the book was lacking in the author's original conception; C. Hooykaas not so much considered and reconsidered the conclusions drawn by his predecessors as simply retold them' (Parnicke11966:9). The extensive and detailed review by the German scholar H. Overbeck

8

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

(1938), a profound connoisseur of Malay literature (on him, see Kratz 1979), was a valuable addition to Hooykaas' book. Apart from particular comments of various kinds, the review also raised a number of questions of a conceptual nature. It touched upon such issues as peculiar features of traditional Malay literature brought about by a specific way of life and the national character of the Malays; effects of the changing political situation on literature and the use of the latter as a means of politico-cultural propaganda (for instance, on the greatness of Majapahit); an adequate assessment of traditional Malay writings which would consider the tasks set by their authors themselves, and so on. Besides, Overbeck offered an interesting, although somewhat questionable, classification of Malay literary genres. C. Hooykaas' survey of traditional Malay literature can be viewed as the second step towards the creation of a synthesizing work, intended to trace its transformation and continuity over the centuries. The next step in this direction Was made by R.O. Winstedt, the most prominent British Malayist of the twentieth century, whose work published in 1939 was the first study ever to bear the title of a history of Malay literature. Original Malay studies by Winstedt, that preceded the composition of his literary history, were amazingly multisided. Malay linguistics and history, ethnology and folklore, religion and traditional law systems, art and, last but not least, literature - such was the scope of his scholarly interests that found their expression in an equally amazing number of publications (on Winstedt's life and works, see Bastin 1964, Zainal Abidin bin Ahmad 1964). Winstedt's studies in the field of literature include about twenty editions of various traditional works and anthologies of excerpts from them and almost four dozen papers devoted to all kinds of writings. By mastering the matter of traditional Malay literature with such completeness, Winstedt often managed to form more penetrating and precise judgements about individual works than their special, monographic, but isolated examination would have allowed. In addition he happily combined the erudition of a scholar with a taste for the aesthetic side of literature, even if in the spirit of Romanticism, and a genuine love for the subject of his study. However that may be, one cannot fail to notice that Winstedt's work - rich in systematized and as far as possible chronologized material, full of stimulating remarks on the history and philology of particular writings and, by and large, creating an image of Malay literature much more adequate than before - is by no means free from serious, primarily theoretical, shortcomings. A history of classical Malay Literature by Winstedt is based on the conception of three stages in the evolution of Malay literature. Although not formulated explicitly anywhere in the book, this conception occurs in it literally at every turn. The first stage is the period of autochthonous, or indigenous, development of pre-written Malay literature, reminiscences of which are still

Introduction

9

preserved in folkloric works. The second stage is the period of Indian and Javanese influences on written and oral Malay literature; Winstedt views Javanese influence as similar to Indian in many respects and associates everything aesthetically valuable in traditional Malay letters with both of them. The third stage is the period of the Muslim (Arab-Persian) influence, with which, at least after the mid-seventeenth century, the scholar connects the decline of Malay literature postulated by him. Between the stages of IndoJavanese and Muslim influences Winstedt places the vaguely defined period of transition 'from Hinduism to Islam', which roughly corresponds to the epoch of the Malacca sultanate (the fifteenth to early sixteenth century). In his opinion, it was precisely in this epoch that Malay literature reached the peak of its development, being enriched with works standard in both their content and their style of language: Malay versions of Sanskrit epics and early narratives of Muslim heroes, the most exquisite' framed' and fantastic adventure romances combining Hindu and Islamic elements, and the most famous romantic poems. This conception of literary development also determines the structure of Winstedt's book. It begins with five chapters devoted to the first two stages and the period of transition, continues with six chapters in which mainly different writings of Islamic literature are discussed, and finishes with a chapter about Abdullah bin Abdul Kadir Munsyi, a forerunner of modern literature, and a chapter on traditional poetry, which falls outside the general structure of the book to some extent. The most vulnerable spot in Winstedt's conception is his periodization based on influences that come to replace each other in the course of literary history. Needless to say, the contribution of Indian and Javanese, Persian and Arabic literatures to the development of Malay literature was indeed considerable. However, the most significant factors in its evolution were internal rather than external. They represented dynamic processes of selective appropriation and subsequent adaptation, re-shaping and transfiguration of what was appropriated and its indigenization, rather than a simple, static borrowing. These processes, in their turn, were motivated by needs of Malay society itself, by the direction of its historical development and by its cultural norms and tastes. Exaggerating the role of influences and simplifying the nature of literary interactions, Winstedt on the one hand failed to see a close link between literary evolution and the history of the Malay world, particularly its social and ideological history, and on the other hand for the same reason did not pay due attention to the integrality of Malay works, considering them a mere aggregate of heterogeneous elements traceable to different literatures that had exerted an influence on them. Another substantial flaw of Winstedt's study, partly related to those mentioned above, is that he ignores the fact that traditional Malay literary

10

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

works are as much integral as they are interrelated entities, the sum total of which represents a kind of system that transforms itself and develops not without certain regularities. This becomes particularly clear when we tum to Winstedt's treatment of the problem of genres. Not only is the question of generic interactions passed over in silence in his book, but the scholar writes virtually nothing on the origin of genres and especially their evolution. As a result, traditional Malay literature is represented by Winstedt as a certain assemblage of isolated writings, by and large static. Finally, we cannot fail to notice that Winstedt's approach to Malay literary works is purely 'external'. From the standpoint of a European educated at the tum of the twentieth century, he resolutely passes quite subjective judgements on them, based largely on his personal taste. The ideas inherent in the Malay tradition itself about the tasks set in writings of different kinds, about the ways and principles of literary composition and perception, about salient features of Malay aesthetic and ethical conceptions and the religious grounds underpinning them - all this remains outside the scope of his book. Consequences of this approach are especially perceptible in the chapters devoted to the Islamic period and in the obvious overestimation of literary achievements from the Malacca epoch, which were indeed not insignificant. Assessing Islam largely as a factor that was not conducive to the development of Malay letters, Winstedt does not allow that works of high standards could have been composed in the period of deep Islamization (the late seventeenth to nineteenth centuries). Therefore, he unjustifiably dates many writings of this period to the Malacca epoch, 'the spacious days of the fifteenth century', when Indian and Javanese influences were strong: the only and most subjective ground for this date being that later the 'sensuous perfume' of such works was, allegedly, 'quenched in the desert of Muslim puritanism' (Winstedt 1991: 30, 132). As we shall see, the days of Malacca were indeed favourable, but were not the only time for the creation of fine pieces of Malay literature Summing up, one cannot but agree with R. Jones (1984:142) that 'in the context of his [Winstedt's] time what he achieved was staggering [... ] and much still remains to be superseded by better work'. It is true that both conceptual shortcomings and factual errors in Winstedt's History of classical Malay Literature are numerous enough. However, they largely reflect theoretical horizons and factual knowledge of pre-war and, to a great extent, post-war students of Malay literature in general. Many new facts have became known and many earlier conceptions have been reconsidered since Winstedt's times. Even so, this British scholar's book, although now apparently obsolete, still remains a useful historical survey of traditional Malay literature 'in the absence of anything better'. This shows how right Jones is, when he writes that 'it is now up to us as his [Winstedt's] successors to build further on the invaluable foundation which he laid' (Jones 1984:142-3). The

Introduction

11

only amendment that seems appropriate here is that the future builders of historically-focused researches into traditional Malay literature will have to restructure large sections of Winstedt's foundation before they can raise further the height of the walls that rest upon it. Although complaints about exceedingly slow progress are not uncommon in the works of students of traditional Malay literature, it is difficult to deny that in the post-war period, particularly in the last two or three decades, the study of this literature has made big steps forward. Among many factors that have been conducive to this we can mention: an increase in the number of professional researchers well trained in philology and literary scholarship; the education of specialists in literature in the universities of Brunei, Malaysia, Indonesia and Singapore after gaining independence; the establishment of new centres of Malay studies in Australia, Japan, USA, USSR (Russia), and countries of the Malay-Indonesian world itself;15 the foundation of new, specialized journals intended for papers on this field,16 and the initiation of projects and series designed for the edition and examination of traditional literary works. The creation of the series Bibliotheca Indonesica in the Netherlands (Leiden), the first volume of which appeared in 1968, stimulated the quality of editions and translations of Malay-Indonesian writings. Unfortunately, the number of traditional Malay works edited in this series is comparatively small. Many more traditional writings, however, were published between 1960 and 2000 in Malaysia (by Dewan Bahasa, Fajar Bakti and some others and in the series Karya agung ('Masterpieces')) and Indonesia (mostly in the framework of the 'Project for the Development of Indonesian and Regional Languages and Literatures'17). Although leaving a lot to be desired from a philological point of view, these publications helped to create a much more complete picture of traditional Malay literature than had been possible earlier. The number of translations of traditional Malay writings also increased.18 Progress in adjacent fields of scholarship was an important prerequisite for the development of Malay literary studies. Historico-sociological researches by J. van Leur and B. Schrieke, issued in English translation in the 1950s, and more recent publications by the historians L. Andaya, J. de Casparis, K.R. Hall, J. Kathirithamby-Wells, D. Lombard, P.-Y. Manguin, M.A.M. Meilink-Roelofsz, A. Milner, Muhammad Yusoff Hashim, A. Reid, B. Watson-Andaya, O. Wolters and others were particularly important in this respect. Their works clarified substantially the socio-economic, political and cultural background against which traditional Malay literature evolved. Among the most stimulating works of the 1950s-90s, in which traditional Malay narrative prose was examined in both descriptive and conceptual aspects, we can mention the books and articles by Abdul Rahman Kaeh, Achadiati Ikram, Baroroh Baried, A. Bausani, V.1. Braginsky, c.c. Berg, L.

12

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

Brakel, H. Chambert-Loir, L.V. Goryayeva, P. de Josselin de Jong, Kassim Ahmad, Muhammad Haji Salleh, B.B. Parnickel, J.J. Ras, 5.0. Robson, S.W. Rujiati Mulyadi, Siti Hawa Haji Salleh, Sulastin Sutrisno, A. Sweeney, and A. Teeuw. A considerable contribution to the study of traditional poetry was made by Abu Hasan Sham, Harun Mat Piah, G.L. Koster, V. MathesonHooker, C. Skinner, and A. Teeuw; to the study of historical literature, by T. Iskandar, Ismail Hussein, P. de Josselin de Jong, E.U. Kratz, V. MathesonHooker; Muhammad Yusoff Hashim, J.J. Ras, R. Roolvink, M. Taib Osman, A. Teeuw, and O. Wolters. Important works on Malay Islamic, particularly Sufi, literature were published by V.1. Braginsky, M. van Bruinessen, Daudy, G.W.J. Drewes, A. Johns, R. Jones, Syed Muhammad Naguib al-Attas, Shaghir bin Abdullah, Tudjimah, P. Voorhoeve and other authors (see Bibliography). A remarkable feature of contemporary researches into Malay literature is a growing interest in theoretical problems. This, in its tum, leads to the supplementing of the diachronic, historical approach to literary phenomena incidentally, somewhat improved since the time of Winstedt's history - with the synchronic approach, its task being an examination of the structure and functions of writings. First tangible in the works of the pre-war students of Malay and Javanese literatures, influenced by ideas of the Leiden school of cultural anthropology, this approach manifested itself in post-war studies particularly clearly. Although both pre- and post-World War II proponents of the synchronic approach proceeded from the concept of the integral nature of a literary piece, they understood this phenomenon differently. Formerly, the structural unity of the work was explained largely by the interpretation of all its components, including those borrowed, in the spirit of indigenous mythological archetypes or patterns of autochthonous social organization (for instance, Rassers 1922, 1959). Now, more and more often scholars see reasons for the integral nature of the work in the aesthetic and ideological goals pursued by their creators. This is particularly characteristic for literary studies by A. Teeuw, with their emphasis on the synchronic analysis of the structure of the literary piece, establishing the functions of its constituent elements within this structure, and the function of the piece as a whole in the framework of traditional Malay literature and culture (Teeuw 1966a, 1976, 1992a). The synthesis of new data accumulated by both diachronic and synchronic studies allowed researchers to move on to the analysis of the origin of literary genres and their history and to come closer to an understanding of traditional Malay literature as a systemic unity (Brakel 1970, 1979b; V. Braginsky 1993a). This, in its tum, helped scholars to see more clearly the role that the changing historical and religious situation in the Malay world had played in the development of its literature, to begin a reconsideration of the significance of Islam in the literary evolution,19 and pay more attention to the

Introduction

13

details of Malay poetics and the literary views of the creators of traditional Malay literature. 2o The further elaboration of these problems and a raising of new theoretical questions are found in a number of works by A. Sweeney about the oral tradition of the Malays and elements of orality in their written compositions (see below), as well as in books and papers by V. Braginsky, H. Chambert-Loir, A. Ikram, G. Koster, H. Maier, Muhammad Haji Salleh, Noriah Taslim, B. Parnickel, Siti Hawa Haji Salleh, Sulastin Sutrisno and others (see Bibliography). In the post-war years there appeared several general surveys of traditional Malay literature, compiled by both European and Malaysian and Indonesian authors.21 However, all these works reproduced again and again, although not without some variations and additions, the concept and facts that had been already expounded in the book by Winstedt. Besides, all of them were brief and bore a largely popular character. The best among such short surveys were sections on traditional Malay literature in Parnickel's 'Introduction to a literary history of Nusantara in the ninth-nineteenth centuries' (Parnickel 1980),22 a book which was intended to reveal common features in the historical development of all literatures of the insular world, which were viewed in their interrelation and interaction. This task determined the place which traditional Malay literature occupied in the book: in his description of its history the author had to limit himself to only the most important literary phenomena of the sixteenth-nineteenth centuries and did not provide a detailed presentation of literary developments at all its stages. Among more voluminous works on Malay literary history, two books deserve special mention. One of them is an expanded, two-volume version of Sejarah kesusastraan Melayu klasik ('A history of classical Malay literature') by Liaw Yock Fang (1991-93), rich in material, considering a number of recent studies, yet, like its earlier, shorter version of 1975, excessively dependent on Winstedt's concepts. The other is Kesusasteraan klasik Melayu sepanjang abad ('Classical Malay literature through the ages'), a book by Teuku Iskandar (1995), also abounding in the factual material, though debatable in many respects. Especially interesting is this scholar's striving to describe the history of traditional Malay literature as a process, evolving in the framework of local literary centres, or literary schools. This approach seems promising, although the number of these schools, their interplay and succession, are still to be presented with a greater completeness and accuracy. Be that as it may, neither of these books portrays the evolution of traditional Malay literature, with its changes and continuity, in a clear and sound theoretical perspective, just as neither of them analyses traditional Malay writings from a literary point of view, paying due attention to their structure and function, poetics and aesthetics. In Malaysia, the most detailed, recent survey of traditional Malay litera-

14

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

ture was written by the team of leading literary scholars headed by Harun Mat Piah (for its second, expanded edition, see Harun Mat Piah et al. 2002). Intended to present a genuinely Malay view of the literary heritage, this book demonstrates the growing interest in theoretical problems and pays much attention to how literature reflects traditional ideas and beliefs of the Malay society, its system of values and ethical norms, its conception of government, as well as it treats at some length a number of literary conventions. Similarly to the above-mentioned Indonesian studies, this survey is rich with new data, particularly of literature of the Malay Peninsula in the late nineteenth to early twentieth century and literature of Brunei. One of the most interesting chapters of the book is devoted to virtually unexamined treatises on traditional Malay sciences. The authors of the survey think that they can effectively avoid the flaws of Winstedt's conception by rejecting historical approach to traditional Malay literature, and therefore they suggest, as an alternative, their model of its generic description. However, paradoxically enough in view of the approach suggested, one of the main principles of their model is a kind of erosion of the borderline between oral and written as well as verse and prose genres. Taken together, these propositions result in a well-known 'synchronistic indistinctness' in generic descriptions, which sometimes is further aggravated by a rather chaotic composition of individual chapters. Another paradox of the survey is that, while emphatically denying the 'Orientalist' approach by Winstedt, the authors, despite their reconsideration of the role of influences in Malay litrature, not only reproduce fairly accurately the overall structure of the British scholar's book, but also use his ill-defined categories (for instance, his vague division of works into Hindu, Hindu-Muslim and Muslim). Regrettably little has also been done in the survey to correct such obvious errors of Winstedt as his underestimation of the significance of Islamic stimuli to the development of all Malay genres and Malay ideas of literature, his disregard for generic interlinks and particularly for problems of the Malay poetics which determine the integrality of literary works and consequently their message, national traits and aesthetic value. All this makes us recall the words of E.u. Kratz that recent '''alternative'' models [of traditional Malay literature] commonly show an unacknowledged semblance to those criticised, and reveal ideological blinkers comparable to those they set out to correct' (Kratz 1996b:243). Therefore, as we have already mentioned, the work by Winstedt, valuable in its time though substantially antiquated at present, still remains the only detailed historical overview of traditional Malay literature. Only 'patched' here and there in its counterparts by Indonesian and Malaysian authors, it has no replacement in Western scholarship. In this context the words of Teeuw (1977:343) about fresh attempts 'at

Introduction

15

synthesis [of the extant data], however provisional it may be', the elaboration of 'a theoretical framework, however preliminary' and the study of the 'literariness' of Malay and other literatures of the Archipelago, seem more than justified.23 Virtually the same ideas were expressed by Johns (1976:309), who criticized the small number of editions and translations of Malay writings and emphasized that research into Malay literature is fraught with theoretical problems concerning both the clarification of the 'organizing principles' of the literary process and the study of Malay literature not only in historical and cultural perspectives, but from a literary viewpoint proper. If his criticism is somewhat, though far from completely, antiquated by now, the emphasis on theoretical problems still continues to retain its actuality.

Theoretical problems in the study of traditional Malay literature in its dynamics In an attempt to find the 'organizing principles' of the evolution of traditional Malay literature and to see it in its 'literariness', we shall have to turn to at least three important groups of theoretical questions. The first group comprises questions concerned with the problem of tracing, during the course of the history of Malay literature, an inherently motivated evolutionary process and, if such a process can be discovered, of locating its sources and impetuses. One difficulty is the anonymous character of most medieval Malay works, most of which are also undated; moreover, the textual traditions fluctuated and were relatively unstable. As a result, researchers as a rule deal not with the process evolving in time, isolated moments of which are marked by a number of historically concrete pieces of literature, but with same synchronic layer characterizing the state of Malay literature at the time when scholars became acquainted with the first collections of manuscripts (Goryayeva 1979a:18).

Reconstructing the diachronic process on the basis of such a synchroniC inventory is not an easy task. Frequently researchers, for all the ingenuity of their methodology and despite the most scrupulous attention to the philological problems involved, must content themselves with plausible hypotheses. The creation of a literary history is made even more difficult since the literature of the pre-Muslim period is, as yet, totally unexplored. No samples of literature from this period exist, and its reconstruction is necessarily based on secondary data. The modern scholar can have only a vague idea of the early Muslim stage of Malay literature, and this situation has not improved, and possibly even become worse, over the last thirty to forty years. Such losses considerably reduce the chronological framework within which the evolution of Malay literature can be examined. Researchers tend to confine

16

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

themselves to the period from the seventeenth to the nineteenth centuries. In view of the slow development of medieval literatures in general, it would be unreasonable to expect, a priori, a radical transformation of the literature during such a brief time-span, especially since the last 150 years of the period were marked by ever-increasing stagnation caused by European colonial expansion. The attempt to reconstruct the pre-Muslim and early Muslim stages in the history of Malay literature is meant to supply a perspective which may help to elucidate the changes brought about from the sixteenth to the nineteenth centuries. The development of Malay literature was preconditioned by the inner structure of the society which created it. However, social factors affect the literary process indirectly, through an intermediate domain which the Russian literary scholar P.N. Medvedev (probably a pseudonym of M. Bakhtin) called the 'ideological environment' or 'ideaological medium'. This he sees as a sum or combination of ideological phenomena, surrounding [us] by a close circle [... ] of things-symbols of various types and categories, such as words in the most diverse forms of their realization, spoken, written, etcetera, religious symbols and creeds, works of art, and so on and so forth.

Being the' outward expression of a given community's social awareness', the ideological medium includes culturally and temporally unique interpretations of the form, nature and function of social existence, which in turn affect social activity, including the creation of literature (Medvedev 1928:24). It is quite natural that the central, structuring role in the medieval ideological medium was played by religion. Each of the significant changes in the sphere of religion experienced by the Malay world has lent special hues to the entire ideological medium in which Malay literature was produced and read. Understanding the history of medieval Malay literature, however, is not merely naming the changes in the course of the literary process and determining trends and prerequisites. Such facts are embedded in contextual networks, and these present a second group of problems. Literary history studies the development of a system, which, in the case of traditional Malay literature, represents a sum total of generic structures opposing each other and, nevertheless, interrelated and hierarchically arranged. The generic structure, of which several varieties exist, is a typal category, reflecting the homogeneity of a certain group of works. It appears to be relatively stable at any given time, but at the same time is susceptible to historical change. The homogeneity of works of a certain generic structure is conditioned above all by the clarity of the function which it fulfils. It is exactly this property which dominates in medieval literatures, where the set of generic structures as a rule is determined less by literary than by sociocultural functions, or by both together.

Introduction

17

A thorough discussion of the extremely complex theory of generic structures, which as yet is far from definitively elaborated, would be out of place in this book. 24 Nevertheless, it seems useful to define here the concept of 'genre' and generic terminology which the reader will encounter in it. Genre structures include first and foremost simple genres or genres per se: the comparatively stable literary models formed historically which are characterized by the unity of their functions (socio-cultural, artistic) and a standard 'set' of themes and motifs (sometimes of characters, too) that determines the content of works. This content is likewise presented in a variety of sufficiently homogeneous compositional and stylistic patterns. Specific features of the genre, which more often than not are easily recognizable (moreover, the title of the work itself may contain necessary indications of the genre), serve as a signal arousing expectations of a definite kind on the part of the reader or listener (audience). Examples of simple genres in traditional Malay literature are: 'fantastic adventure hikayat (prose narrative)', 'historical syair (poem)', 'edifying mirror (hidayat), and so on (see Chapter V). Besides simple genres of the above kind, there exist composite genres within which the simple genres are combined in conformity with certain rules and in a certain sequence. A typical example of a composite genre would be the Arab panegyrical qasidah. Among specimens of traditional Malay writings belonging to composite genres we find Hikayat raja Pasai (the 'Tale of the rajas of Pasai') which combines simple genres of 'historical chronicle' and 'heroic epic', Bustan as-salatin (the 'Garden of sultans') in which 'universal chronicle' is followed by 'edifying mirror' and some others (see Chapters III, VI). Finally, in some cases one and the same formal structure can be used for the expression of thematically different contents (an example of such a structure is the Persian qasidah, and especially the ghazal). 'Content-free' genre structures of this kind can be termed genre forms or genre moulds. However, even at times when traditional poetics, like the Malay one, use mostly this last kind of 'genre mould', the sphere of literary practice sometimes knows cases of the 'restoration' of real genres, which is achieved by the interaction of a genre form with a specific content, namely particular topoi, subjects and plots. Such is, for instance, the transformation of the genre form of hikayat into genres of 'hagiographical hikayat', 'fantastic adventure hikayat', 'historical hikayat' 'romantic syair' and so on. However, this process is not necessarily registered by literary doctrines, Malay in particular. Consequently, genre structure is that category in which the spiritual tradition of creative work combines - for the sake of the ends it pursues - that which is due to be expressed (content) with the expression itself. A genre structure may be viewed as a sort of ultimately generalized 'work' which is nevertheless 'transparent' and not 'filled' with any concrete subject matter, and which, at the same time, determines the shape of the future' filling' and

18

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

the rules according to which it will occur. That is why belonging to a certain genre structure is vital for the very existence of a traditional literary work. According to the Weltanschauung of medieval traditions, with its emphasis on the principles of 'authority' and the 'right', or the 'proper' ('normative', 'canonical'), in all spheres of human activity (V. Braginsky 20Olb:41-56), each domain of culture descends from the Absolute, the Highest Authority, and, in the right way, ascends back to It. Any such domain represents, therefore, a hierarchical structure. In the same manner, traditional literature (the primary goal of which is to lead the reader up a specific 'ladder' of purposes, see Chapter IV) is a hierarchical system of generic structures, a kind of association of them, which Likhachev (1986:57) has felicitously compared to the 'associations of plants in botany'. Interpreting the history of Malay literature as the development of a structuralized object requires systemic analysis. This method enables one to reveal regularities in the interactions between separate genres within a framework of genre systems and the equally regular transformation of these genres in relation to structural changes in the ideological medium. The real evolution of medieval literatures manifests itself in the disappearance and modification of some genres, and in the creation of others, under the influence of changing ideological factors, resulting in the partial or complete restructuring of the literary system. To reconstruct the historical stages in the development of a literary system, which appears as a coherent constellation of phenomena having a particular social function, it is necessary to explore not only literary works, but also any evidence of the concepts of literature characteristic of the tradition under consideration. The idea of the importance of such an 'inside' approach to the history of literature has been formulated in the works of the Russian orientalist and comparatist N.!. Konrad. Noting the dependence of the composition, or' set-up', of each literature in different ages on the' doctrines of its essence, its tasks and types' (that is, on its self-awareness), he related this to the doctrine of literature as an element of its history. It is simply impossible to disregard this element: the material itself urgently reminds us that the history of literature is at the same time the history of its literary doctrines'. (Konrad 1966:450.)

This postulate determines the author's approach to traditional Malay literature and demands particular attention to manifestations of its self-awareness and the possibility of its reconstruction from the available evidence. The final, third, group of questions, closely connected with the preceding ones, deals with the problem of revealing the integrated character and artistic value of the literary works being researched. The present author's approach to selecting these works was 'intensive' rather than 'extensive'. In other words, he strove to reveal evolutionary processes in traditional Malay litera-

Introduction

19

ture on the basis of a certain set of sufficiently representative writings rather than to describe the greatest possible number of them, all the more so as the latter task has already been fulfilled to a degree in the above-mentioned literary histories of Liaw Yock Fang, T. Iskandar and in the book of Harun Mat Piah and his team of Malaysian scholars. At the same time, the issue of the author's primary concern in the analysis of the works selected was their integral meaning and changes in it that took place in the course of time, either in the work itself or in its 'successors' within a particular genre. This, naturally, presupposes a certain initial meaning of the work in question, defining which the author, together with Teeuw, shared the idea, 'heretical' for contemporary literary criticism, that the Malay writer was well-aware of what his work 'said or what it referred to, or even [... J what was meant' (Teeuw 1991:226). To this the present author deemed it necessary to add one more, no less 'heretical' idea: due to the normative nature of traditional literature and its poetics, not only did the Malay writer know 'what was meant', but the Malay audience also understood what he meant in a given composition much more uniformly than contemporary readers do with regard to contemporary pieces of literature. In his analyses of the integral meaning of Malay writings the author primarily proceeded from the plain and simple structuralist methodology of Yu.M. Lotman, who defined the text of a literary work ('the artistic text') in the following brief formula: 'The artistic text is an intricately built meaning: all elements of it are meaningful' (Lotman 1970:19). What is particularly important is that not any meaning is implied here, but the meaning 'intricately built', a certain mental configuration structuralized throughout. Within the structural configuration in question, and only within it, all linguistic elements (phonemes, morphemes, words, syntactical constructions), which now correlate with or oppose each other in a particular way uncommon for natural language, gain additional semantic connotations alien to them before. By virtue of this the integral structure of a literary work is capable of conveying the meaning, which is completely beyond the reach of everyday speech in its scope and exactitude, its refinement and richness in nuances. As a matter of fact, any poetics is, in the end, a sum total of rules for building such a structure. But this is not all there is to it. The holistic meaning of the work is born not only inside, but also - simultaneously as a rule - outside this structure. This is to say, it emerges in the relation of the latter, on the one hand, to extra-textual elements (religiOUS and cultural ideas and norms, literary conventions and devices of a particular period, and so on) and, on the other hand, to the corresponding expectations of the audience. To put it differently and in more recent terminology, it is born in the relation of the semantic structure to the intertext in the broadest sense of the word. The meaning of a work changes

20

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

and is transformed, also within this structure (as a result of a reinterpretation of its semantic elements) and, at the same time, outside it (as a result of changes in the intertext}.25 This approach to the piece of literature is characteristic not only for the contemporary structural-semiotic trend in literary scholarship. Its major ideas were well-known long before, for instance, to Sanskrit theoreticians of the ninth-eleventh centuries, with their doctrine of the 'aesthetic emotion' (rasa), its 'indirect expression' (dhvani) and the 'conformity' (auchitya) of all elements of the literary work to its intricately structuralized aesthetic emotion, a synthesis of thought and feeling (Warder 1970-74; De 1976). In Muslim rhetoric and poetics a similar approach was elaborated by 'Abd al-Qahir al-Jurjani (the eleventh century) in his doctrine of nazm, a mental configuration structured in a complex way and finely nuanced. In 'the best and most beautiful manner' nazm is embodied in the piece of literature through tamthil, an indirect method of expression, which is capable of evoking the simultaneous response of both the intellect and the emotion of the reader.26 It seems that the teaching of 'Abd al-Qahir in scholastic versions by later commentators was not altogether unknown to Malay literati (see Chapter IV), so this can serve as an additional argument in favour of the structural approach to traditional Malay literature. However, on the scale of this book, a complete structuralist analysis of the whole body of works discussed in it would be too cumbersome and would require too much space. For this reason, the author chose the way of presenting an 'abridged' structural analysis of them, which is based on Yu. Tynyanov's concept of the 'constructive factor'. According to this concept, various elements which form the literary work are essentially unequal in significance and subordinate to the main' constructive factor'. It is precisely the latter that ensures the integrality of the work's structure by muffling the 'sound' of one element and amplifying the 'sound' of the other (Tynyanov 1924). In traditional Malay literature, the function of the 'constructive factor' is performed in one writing by a specific form of its compositional arrangement, in another, by a particular emphasis on the importance of descriptions in it, in still another, by peculiar features of its euphonic organization and so on. Be that as it may, in all cases the semantic' dominant' of the work seems to find its embodiment in the 'constructive factor', for which reason the latter is the focus of the author's attention in virtually all the analyses of the book. Since the object of this study is traditional literature, the structuralist approach accepted in it was supplemented and to some extent corrected by a kind of 'historico-semantic hermeneutics'. The latter proceeds from the conception that, in the course of history, different types of literature replace each other. Their taxonomy accepted in this book includes: the pre-reflective traditional (ancient) type, which precedes the creation of literary doctrines; the

Introduction

21

reflective traditional (medieval) type, in which these doctrines coexist with literary practice and regulate it; and, finally, the reflective non-traditional (contemporary) type. The above terminology, which occurs not infrequently in historico-typological studies of the Russian school of comparative literature (for more details, see Chapter I and V. Braginsky 200lb), is not essential and may vary from one scholar to another. What is more important, however, is the fundamental tenet of this method, according to which literatures of a certain type specific for a certain epoch are regarded as having differences of principle, in particular in the sphere of the generation of meaning by the writer and of its understanding by the reader. Sharing this view, the author did not deem it possible to resort in his analysis of traditional writings to methods of those schools of contemporary literary criticism which were formed, mainly or exclusively, on the basis of studying works of contemporary literature. At the same time, the application of methods of structuralism and literary hermeneutics to these writings seems quite justifiable. This is because reflective traditional literatures, of which an early stage is represented, inter alia, by Malay literature, are normally 'structuralist' in their comprehension of what the literary work is, and 'hermeneutic' in their readings of it. Therefore, literary works are viewed in this book as holistic, aesthetically significant phenomena, of which a historically reconsidered semantic integrality finds its expression in a definite poetical (in a broader sense of the word) form. This determines the special attention paid to their poetics, which are studied with traditional Malay views of them being taken into account. As this book intends to be a historically-focused survey not so much of the written Malay tradition as a whole, but primarily of Malay literature, that is its aesthetically marked writings, such an accent seems only natural. Even so, what is implied in this book is not only the study of individual works in isolation, but also the examination of the interaction between them, as far as this is possible. The most usual forms of such interaction are borrowing, adaptation, rearrangement and reinterpretation of certain structural elements of an older writing or their constellations in later writing. Fairly frequently, however, we encounter such a form of interaction as polemics of one work with another, older than or contemporary to the latter, a kind of 'war of books' (see, for instance, Chapter II and VI). In such cases not so much a direct criticism takes place as arranging a new structure from narrative motifs and images from the work being challenged, which is reminiscent of the latter, yet opposite to it in its semantics. The study of all these forms of interaction between pieces of literature sometimes allows us both to catch a glimpse of literary life as it really was, and to trace the gradual formation of the intertext of traditional Malay literature. In conclusion, the development of traditional literature is understood by

22

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

the author as the evolution of literary (generic) systems that come to replace each other in the course of history. This evolution is motivated directly by ideological factors ('the ideological medium'), and indirectly - through the intermediary of the latter - by internal social factors. The literary systems in question comprise writings integral in their semantics and poetics, which are analysed, when possible, not only from 'outside' but also from 'inside', that is, with the traditional literary 'self-awareness' of the Malays in mind.

Between orality and literacy: the traditional Malay text and the tasks of Malay philology As has already been noted above, the last decades were marked by a considerable growth of interest in theoretical problems of traditional Malay literature. The most significant theoretical contribution to their study was undoubtedly the works by Amin Sweeney on the element of orality in the Malay tradition. Proceeding from the fact that Malay literature was intended for collective hearing, or the oral-aural strategy of perception, rather than for individual 'eye-reading', this scholar revised from this angle all the aspects of traditional literature: its methods of presentation, composition and the' consumption' of the literary work. According to him, in the sphere of presentation, the oral-aural strategy caused the well-known instability and variability of the text in Malay literature. This instability was engendered both by the principles of the performance of the work and by the author's intention to take into consideration the expectations of his changing audiences and a specifically oral, direct type of 'feed-back' on the part of his readers/listeners. All this could not fail to lead to variations in the text. In the sphere of composition, the same strategy conditioned the formulaic character of verbal expression and its schematic nature on all levels: from the plot as a whole to a separate episode, an individual description or a narrative passage. Finally, in the sphere of ' consumption', the oral-aural strategy required special devices of poetics such as repetitions and parallelisms, which were also characteristic for all the levels of the work and primarily designed to help the reader /listener in its perception (Sweeney 1980a, 1987). Sweeney's concepts caused far-reaching changes in the understanding of the nature of the text in traditional Malay literature. Before, this understanding proceeded mainly from the stemmatic method of classical philology, which explained variations as corruption of a text in the course of its transmission and tended - more often than not unsuccessfully - to restore it to its original form. After the publication of works by Sweeney and a number of his followers, the text of Malay writings appeared before the researcher as ' a

Introduction

23

bundle' or 'a corpus' (Behrend's term) of variants, the 'corruption' of texts in many cases turned out to be their creative transformation, and traditional Malay literature as a whole found a place somewhere between the poles of the oral and the written. Unfortunately, as happens only too often, in his later works Sweeney more emphasized the role of the oral component in traditional Malay literature than strived to establish a balance between the elements of 'orality' and 'literacy' in it and, thus, to reveal the character of traditional Malay literature as a specific though integral phenomenon. For instance, he claimed that it was none other than Western philologists who turned 'the Malay performance into Malay literature' (Sweeney 1994:327). Nevertheless, the concept of Malay literature is no more an invention of Western or any other scholars than the concept of medieval European literatures, especially at an early stage of their existence, while the borderline between oral literature proper and written literature is no less definite than that between handwritten and printed literatures. Along with oral features, traditional Malay literature displays clear features of its belonging to written tradition. First of all, even a superficial acquaintance with any Malay text, published with variae lectiones - be it a hikayat,27 a syair28 or, especially, a kitab - reveals a stability which is much greater than that expected from oral works. When comparing different manuscripts of written Malay texts, we regularly find sufficiently long passages which run without variations or varying within limits that do not affect their meaning. Proudfoot aptly designates this type of variation as 'white noise', a term borrowed from informatics (Proudfoot 1984). The intention to reproduce the text as accurately as possible was no less characteristic for Malay copyists than the tendency to improve and embellish it (Voorhoeve 1964). Needless to say, in the long run this tendency may have led to the creation of a new recension of the work, in which its meaning, as it had been presented in preceding copies, did undergo considerable changes. However, this was not at all specific for 'orally-oriented' Malay literature either. Mutatis mutandis, the transformation of an old work into a new one through a number of variations introduced into the former resembles what is found in the undoubtedly written literatures of the Arabs and the Persians. There, transformations of this kind were regulated by the teaching about 'borrowings' (sariqa) aimed at improving and embellishing semantic elements (rna'ani) of a predecessor's work, and by the doctrine of 'imitationcompetition' (nazira), in the course of which the poet had to reproduce the theme, the metre and the rhymes of his predecessor, and yet to create a new and original work. Similar phenomena were most characteristic for literatures of the medieval type generally. Unfortunately, even the data already accumulated pertaining to the problem of the variability and stability of the text in Malay written literature and

24

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

the different types of variations that occur in it have not been duly generalized so far. Nevertheless, it is obvious even now that, along with variations that the scribe simply did not view as such ('white noise') and those caused by an individual scribe's preference for either reproducing or improving the text copied, there was a third factor which heightened or, on the other hand, limited the admissable degree of variability in the process of copying. What is meant here is the position of the genre to which a particular work belonged in the generic hierarchy of Malay literature in particular, and of Islamic literatures generally. Among other things, the position that genres in which particular writers composed their works occupied in the literary system determined the category, or rather categories, of traditional Malay authorship (see below and Chapter V). This, in turn, imposed specific restrictions (either externally or internally) on the scribe who copied works by authors from different categories, or permitted him a greater licence in copying them. However that may have been, Proudfoot seems to be completely right when he refuses to accept the idea that Malay scribes 'were congenitally incapable of copying accurately or were invariably disinclined to do so' (Proudfoot 1984:92). The very fact that Malay copyists entertained the idea that texts, even if of particular genres, can and must be copied accurately or as accurately as possible, testifies to the importance of the written component in traditional Malay literature. The same is also confirmed by the difference of principle between an oral improvisation of the text as such, and its oral performance in the form of reading it from a book (V. Braginsky 2002b). Finally, another important question is whether or not the oral component in traditional Malay literature was additionally enhanced as a result of secondary folklorization' in the second half of the nineteenth century, when traditional Malay literature went beyond the bounds of court scriptoria and began to be copied in a more democratic milieu, in particular for commercial lending libraries. 29 It is exactly to that later time that the bulk of Malay manuscripts which have reached us is dated. Although one cannot overestimate the importance of the formulaic method of expression and the schematic mode of composition in both oral and written literature, the role which they play in each of them is also substantially different. It is not fortuitous that Lotman classed both folklore and medieval literature as based on the' aesthetics of identity', in which beauty is understood as conformity to a certain normative paradigm repeated, albeit with variations, from one work to another (Lotman 1970:349-53). In oral literature the use of formulae and schemata was brought to life by the technical need for a smooth, uninterrupted improvisation of the narrative recited. Without them, the improvisation and, consequently, the very existence of works, would have been impossible. Although written literature inherited the principles of the use of formuI

Introduction

25

lae and schemata from the oral tradition, it was the specific Weltanschauung of traditional culture, rather than technical necessity that conditioned their preservation. As we have already mentioned, central to this Weltanschauung is the concept of the Absolute, the ultimate authority, all-creating, all-pervading, and endowing all with meaning. Each element of the Universe, be it the cosmos, humanity, culture or literature, occupies a definite position in Its correct, hierarchical order and, in tum, is correctly and hierarchically constructed. This idea of an all-pervasive correctness or propriety (sometimes described as 'canonicity'), traceable to the Absolute, underlies the normative poetics of traditional literatures (for more details, see V. Braginsky 200lb: 25-31,41-56). In tum, this normative poetics, concerned with the correct and proper transmission of literary mastership from one generation to another, cannot fail to act through a system of certain formulae and schemata by its very nature. This is what led to their preservation in written, chirographic literature. At the same time, changes in 'material' (the oral word for written) and in the manner of the existence of literature, its new modus vivendi so to speak, which requires no formulae or schemata as technical means, led to a considerable transformation of the latter. Usually schemata of written literature are more diverse and flexible than their oral counterparts, and formulae contract, become more succinct and no longer occupy so much verbal space. Both schemata and formulae are not infrequently aestheticized and begin to function as a means of literary expressiveness. Playing on their transformation and fusion, embellishment and recombination, authors demonstrate their literary inventiveness and mastership, so valued in that more refined cultural milieu, where written literature functions. 3D Unfortunately, like many other problems of poetics, differences between formulae and schemata in the oral and the written form of traditional Malay literature have not been studied so far. At the same time, the existence of such differences is evidenced, for instance, by such a typical topos as the description of a beautiful lady, simpler in oral cerita penglipur lara and more refined in the written Hikayat Andaken Penurat (the 'Tale of Andaken Penurat') or the Syair Bidasari (the 'Poem of Bidasari') (see Chapters III and VII). Finally, an important phenomenon in the development of written Malay literature is the emergence of its literary self-awareness: a sum-total of ideas concerning the creation of a literary work, principles governing its effect on the reader / listener, its functions and poetics, fixed in written form in one way or another (see Chapter IV). Although essentially Islamic, Malay literary self-awareness also reflected and absorbed certain elements of the preceding, Hindu-Buddhist, period. A remarkable element of the Malay conception of literature is what may be called a 'ritual of the written composition' (see Chapter IV). The major elements of this 'ritual', which oppose it to oral improvisation, are as follows:

26

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

the compulsory solitude of the writer whose only interlocutor is God, in contrast to the work of the oral narrator who improvises in the presence of a large audience, its reactions affecting his improvisation; the necessity of hard, careful and thorough pondering on the future literary work in the process of its creation ('The written composition is not easy / [You have to] sit deep in thought, [only] looking up and down'31 (Antologi 1980:20)), in contrast to the oral narrator's 'spontaneous' and continuous improvisation; the possibility of correcting the text, in contrast with the oral narrator's improvisation which permits no correction. It goes without saying that in practice the work of a Malay writer showed

enough features in common with that of the oral storyteller; nevertheless, his work can by no means be reduced to it completely. The above notes do not pursue the aim of polemizing with Sweeney, whose contribution to the revision of the earlier, outdated ideas of traditional Malay literature is difficult to overestimate and whose main tenets the present author shares completely. However, striving to take into account the oral component of Malay literature, the author did not deem it possible to go into an assessment of its importance as far as Sweeney sometimes did. This was countered by the stable sense of the importance of the written component of Malay literature which, in addition, grew historically as its Islamization progressed. It is this sense that engendered the desire to counterbalance the approach emphasizing the oral element with an approach emphasizing the written one. It seems that in the framework of the study of Malay literature as a whole, both approaches are mutually complementary and can be reconciled in an integrated theory, the outlines of which are gradually appearing. This theory should take into account the ideal concept of Malay literature (its self-awareness) and the real literary practice; the role of Islam in Malay literature and the role of its pre-Islamic, oral substratum and the milieu in which certain features of the later continued to be preserved; the court and the religious context in which traditional Malay writers worked; the written mode of literary 'production' and the oral mode of literary 'consumption'; the formulaic expression and schematic composition of oral literature and their particular manifestations in written literature, as well as many other factors. The book by G.L. Koster, Roaming through seductive gardens; Readings in Malay narrative (1997), interesting theoretically, might be regarded as one of the first steps towards the creation of this integrated theory. Its author makes a quite successful attempt to combine the oral and written components of Malay literature - or rather of different groups of its narrative genres - within the framework of one structural model, based on a number of interrelated oppositions.

Introduction

27

Koster singles out two mutually opposed functions of narrative genres: 'soothing', designed to entertain the reader, leading him away from the troubles of life to a mysterious and beautiful world of fiction, and 'profitable', designed to instruct the reader in correct (from the Islamic point of view) behaviour in the real world. Each function is related to a definite type, or rather mask, of the author, whom Koster tentatively calls daZang and dagang. The former personifies the 'soothing' function of literature (typical of wayang stories, Panji romances, and so on) and its' force of orality', while the latter represents 'profitable' literature and its 'force of literacy'. Both daZang and dagang, although in opposite ways, reflect the commemorative nature of traditional Malay literature, or the fact that it is to remind the reader / listener that in all his actions he must follow wisdom and God's guidance. Dagang is associated with remembrance (mengingatkan) of God and action in conformity with reality (mengadakan), which means with the religiously and culturally sanctioned order of things. DaZang, on the contrary, is associated with memories of the former religion (mengenangkan) and with soothing by means of seductive beauty that brings the reader/listener to lose himself in the world of fantasies and illusions which only mimic reality (mengada-ada). The opposing forces of orality and literacy, related respectively to the 'soothing' and the 'profitable', and to daZang and dagang, are brought into unity by 'The Idea of the Book', which is the concept of the production of meaning which, if it is supposed to be valid, must obviously point back to and be authorized by the codified unassailable Truth, or Source. Thus, the model proposed by Koster is as follows (I - interrelation, (-> - opposition): 'The Idea of the Book' The soothing I DaZang I Illusion I Orality

(-> (-> (-> (->

The profitable I Dagang I Truth I Literacy

The introduction of the orality(->literacy opposition into the model of traditional Malay literature, and the differentiation in his theory (even if not always in Malay reality, V. Braginsky 2002b:50-1) between two types of traditional authors/narrators, are the most valuable components of Koster's study. As for the rest, it is rather close to the model which as early as 1983 was proposed by the present author (Y. Braginsky 1983:161-238, 1993a). The differences pertain mainly to the terminology applied to the same phenom-

28

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

ena. To Koster's 'soothing' and 'profitable' functions, in the present author's works correspond the function of consolation and a combination of two functions, those of benefit and spiritual perfection. The absence of the latter in Koster's study is explained both by the strictly dichotomic nature of his model and by the fact that he does not study religious literature per se. To the 'Idea of the Book' corresponds the concept of 'self-awareness of Malay literature', while the concept of 'commemorative nature' of Malay literature, sanctioned by the codified unassailable Truth, is parallel to the notions of recorded Revelation and the all-embracing 'correctness' or 'canonicity' of literature, sanctioned by it. The main disadvantage of Koster's model is that it fails to take into account the hierarchy of literary functions which existed in Malay literary self-awareness. As we shall see, the supreme position in the literary system was occupied by the function of 'spiritual perfection' inherent in religio-mystical works. It was followed by the function of 'benefit' and, on the lowest level, by the function of 'consolation' (see Chapter IV). If the hierarchical principle (fundamental in any medieval-type literature, including Malay) had been duly considered, Koster's model could have described Malay literature as a real unity, preserving at the same time all its advantages. In its present form, notwithstanding 'The Idea of the Book' integrating the oral and written components of literature, this model remains somewhat ambiguous, reflecting insufficiently the unity of both components of Malay literature. Be that as it may, it will be possible to solve the problem of interaction between the oral and written principles in traditional Malay literature only when old 'stemmatic' philology - so eloquently, though not without polemical extremes, criticized by Sweeney - gives way to a new philology or, at least, to serious efforts to create the latter. For it is precisely the absence of a sound philological basis that is the major obstacle in the study of Malay literature. This new philology should become a science of the history of the text, rather than a mere manual on its editing. It will have to regard traditional Malay writings not as grotesque half-written and half-oral hybrids, but as integral phenomena, creative variations within these texts and their types of authorship being specific to a definite stage in literary evolution. This stage - the early epoch of manuscripts - will reveal a continuous and strong influence of the oral indigenous tradition on the one hand, and of the more mature Arab-Persian written tradition on the other. The study of the stability and variability of texts, or to put it differently, their transformation in the course of time, should become an important task of the new philology. This will require, on the one hand, a classification of the types of variation, the establishment of the factors which cause them and the degree of variability characteristic for various domains of literature and various literary genres. On the other hand, it will be necessary to identify those

Introduction

29

relatively stable semantic units which, despite the fact of variability, continue to ensure self-identity of individual writings as integral semantic structures, as well as those limits of variability beyond which this self-identity is apparently violated. In other words, this implies a clarification of the question of when variations lead to the creation of a semantic structure so different from the original one that it can be regarded as a new recension of the writing, or even a separate, new work. It is obvious that, in the study of stability / variability of the text, any significant results can be achieved only with a comprehensive analysis of a large body of manuscripts, whereas today even the experience accumulated by students of Malay philology in a number of extant critical editions has still not been duly summed up and generalized. In the course of this analysis, it will be necessary to reject the idea that corruption of the text in the process of copying it is the only explanation for its variability and, on reconsidering classical methods of philology and establishing where exactly they are still applicable, to pay adequate attention to copying as a creative process, and consequently to the traditional Malay understanding of authorship. Neither the complete differentiation of the author and the copyist, nor attempts at their complete identification, which are growing in persistence, can help to resolve the latter problem. Needless to say, transformations of the text are none other than a succession of historical states. Accordingly, the study of their transformations will require us to establish, even if tentatively, the dates of these states, and this has always been a stumbling block for Malay philology. Nevertheless, even the problem of dating is not altogether hopeless. Its solution might be promoted by the comparative study of a large number of texts by means of both a more precise use of old philological methods and the elaboration of new, particularly statistical, methods,32 as well as by the creation of various kinds of concordances that may help us to identify specific word-usages of different ages. 33 An important role in the solution of the problem of dating is to be played by such auxiliary philological sciences as codicology (see, for instance, Jones 1988) and paleography, as well as by the historical study of the Malay language and the historical stylistics of Malay literature, if they manage finally to take the form of scientific disciplines. And - last but not least - a new Malay philology, as a science of the early stage in the epoch of manuscripts, will not be able to develop successfully while remaining isolated from the general context of the comparative study of medieval writing traditions and the data accumulated by the corresponding schools of philology. At the same time, as a science of transformation of semantically integral works, it will not achieve any significant results without co-operation with literary scholarship, a fact to which Teeuw (1991) rightly drew attention in his excellent lecture about the text.

30

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

The task of the creation of a new Malay philology is undoubtedly difficult. Although the first steps in this direction have already been made,34 it can be brought to completion only by teams of scholars, both Western and those for whom the Malay language in one of its forms is mother-tongue. Without this discipline any study of traditional Malay literature will have no firm footing, while any historical survey of traditional Malay literature will have a merely preliminary character, being not entirely useless but far from definitive.

Ideological medium and impetuses for the evolution of traditional Malay literature Now we shall attempt to characterize in more detail the religious and cultural factors that caused the evolution of Malay literature. As is well known, the complex political structures ('empires') which appeared in the course of Malay history consisted of kinds of confederations of city-states. These city-states varied greatly with respect to social system and level of cultural development and were only loosely joined (Wolters 1970:8-18). Economically, they depended on the international trade that passed through their ports. These ports played a key role in one of the most important stretches of the trade route leading from the countries of the Mediterranean region, past India, to China. The basis for the prosperity of these states was formed by taxes and duties levied on foreign merchants, rather than by revenues from the commercial activities of local merchants, the supreme ruler himself included. These taxes and duties were received by the royal treasury and then redistributed among the local aristocracy and officials. The power and wealth of the state thus directly depended on the number of foreign merchant ships visiting. That number, in turn, depended on the location, organization and efficiency of the ports, on the safety of navigation, on the control of piracy in their waters and on their ability to impede navigation in the waters of rival states. Thus, the very existence of Malay states throughout their history depended on the successful fulfilment of administrative and military functions which could only be brought about under conditions of a sufficiently high degree of state centralization. Otherwise, the intense competition between individual city-states would have created chaos on sea routes, making navigation extremely difficult and decreasing or even seriously damaging the trade volume in the region. Therefore, each time international political situation made the trade prospects favourable for the Malay world, there always emerged a leading state which, through war and/ or diplomacy, restored the relatively centralized confederation. In the fifth century this leading role was played by a state which the Chinese chronicles called Kan-t' o-li; in the seventh century it was succeeded by the empire of Shrivijaya; in the fifteenth century a major part of the Malay world was united under the rule

Introduction

31

of Malacca, and ultimately, in the seventeenth century, the leading role was played alternately by the sultanates of Aceh on the north coast of Sumatra and Johor in the south of the Malay Peninsula and adjacent islands.35 The economic system described above and the type of political and social organization of the medieval Malay society it produced were extremely stable over many centuries. Only the final establishment of European domination over the trade routes in the eighteenth century undermined this organization. Therefore it is not surprising that the socio-economic situation was not, in itself, a dynamic force in the evolution of Malay culture. However, the relatively static nature of the social and economic phenomena described relates closely to the extremely important role played in the East by ideological and religious changes. The history of the Malay world forms a good example. The economic need for centralization in the Malay world, along with the difficulties of maintaining permanent control from one centre over isolated dependencies which geographically were quite fragmented, made it important to curb centrifugal trends, to strengthen the power of the overlord as head of the confederation and especially to elevate his charismatic significance. By force of arms alone, without realizing the vital importance of unity and without the conscious consolidation of power around the 'elevated' overlord, even the relatively centralized 'empire' could not have endured. Thus, the importance of ideology in the Malay maritime 'empires' was no less than in the agrarian 'empires' such as those of the Javanese and the Khmer. It is no accident that the absolute loyalty of a vassal to his sovereign forms a leitmotif in many Malay writings, from the epigraphical remains of the seventh century (the Telaga Batu inscription) to the chronicles from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries (Hikayat raja Pasai, Sejarah Melayu) and many works of the seventeenth century, such as Hikayat Hang Tuah, Taj as-salatin (the 'Crown of sultans'), the Malay version of Hikayat Bakhtiar and others. From a comparative point of view, in Javanese literature, this theme did not occupy such a prominent place in any of the periods mentioned. The basis for the ruler's ideologically 'elevated' position throughout Malay history was the belief that the ruler was the focus of a magic power ensuring the prosperity of the state and its defence against internal disturbances and foreign invasions (Heine-Geldern 1942). It stands to reason that, as the religious situation in the Malay world evolved, the charismatic foundation of this concept of power acquired different symbolic expressions. Trade links with India, which apparently went back as far as the last centuries BC, acquainted the Malays with India's political and religious systems. This acquaintance became even more profound during periods when the ancient Malay states were visited by Indian exponents of cultural and religious traditions who belonged to the Brahmanic caste. Of equal importance were Malay voyages to India and, later on, Malay scholars studying in the

32

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

great educational centres of India (Nalanda, Negapatnam and others) (Bosch 1961, Chatterji 1967:61). With respect to the early Malay-Indian connections in the first centuries AD, one should take into account that in the Malay world the Indians did not encounter primitive communities but found early state formations which by that time had achieved a rather high degree of development as a result of internal socio-economic evolution. The need to establish ideological institutions and, most importantly, an ideological system centred on the' elevated' ruler, encouraged the assimilation of Sanskrit culture, in particular Buddhism and Hinduism, and made brahmans and Buddhist monks welcome visitors to the courts of local rulers, where they were seen as the exponents of 'colossal magical, ritualistic power', in the words of the Dutch historian Van Leur (1955:97), who also observed: The initiative for the coming of Indian civilization emanated from the Indonesian ruling groups, or was at least an affair of both the Indonesian dynasties and the Indian hierocracy. [... ] The Indian priesthood was called eastwards - certainly because of its wide renown - for the magical, sacral legitimation of dynastic interests and the domestication of subjects, and probably for the organization of the ruler's territory into a state. (Van Leur 1955:103-4.)

The two-phase process of assimilating the culture of India, notably its religious doctrines, took more than a thousand years. Indianization proper, that is, the assimilation of Indian doctrines and concepts, which to a large degree determined the ideological form of the social and cultural life of the Malay states, was followed by their evolving Malayization, that is, the selection and adjustment of the assimilated elements to local cultural traditions. This Malayization became more and more intensive in the course of time. An example of such selective assimilation and adaptation can be found in the predominant role, in the Malay world, of Mahayana Buddhism and syncretistic Hindu-Buddhist cults with a strong admixture of Tantrism, these cults and practices being quite close to the magical beliefs of the Malays. However, in spite of the ever-intensifying Malayization of Indianized culture, both Mahayana Buddhism and Hinduism, throughout their dominant period, remained the religions of the Malay elite. They had little influence on the animistic beliefs of the people, functioning primarily as royal cults aimed at strengthening the ruler's charisma. This fused secular and sacral power and concentrated it in the person of the deified monarch (the cult of dewaraja, dharmaraja). The thirteenth and fourteenth centuries were a turning point in the history of Southeast Asia. In the political sphere, this period was characterized by the disintegration of the powerful Indianized empires, and the emergence of mono-ethnic states. In the ideological sphere it was marked by the decline

Introduction

33

of the aristocratic religions, which were replaced by religions characterized by broad proselytizing both at the level of the courts and among the common people (Coedes 1968:33, 369). For the Malays, this religion was Islam. The prerequisites for the Islamization of the Malay world also arose from the commercial character of the Malay states and their traditional links with India. The expansion of trade and the demand for the valuable local raw materials led to a growth in the number of cities and the development of a new, provincial elite, as well as to the increasing importance of urban middle strata engaged in trade and crafts. These two social groups were but loosely connected with the refined Indianized culture of the metropolitan aristocracy. It is quite probable that their influence gradually Malayized the Indianized culture of the central elite. As the provincials in their turn presumably experienced an 'urban rupture' with the values and beliefs of archaic society, they proved to be particularly responsive to the more dynamic, egalitarian spirit of Islam, its clear dogmas, the universally comprehensible character of its preaching, and its doctrine of an intimately personal link with the Creator, which was established without a mediator. On the other hand, the wars successfully waged by the Muslim sultans in India in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries and the conquest of Bengal, Gujarat and the Deccan states, with which the Malay world had had trade ties of long standing, could not but make a strong impression on the Malay rulers and aristocracy. Firstly, these conquests greatly increased the importance of Muslim trade in the Malay world and made the leading role of certain states in this trade dependent on their ability to attract Muslim merchants to their ports. As is evident in the case of the north Sumatran principalities, the adoption of Islam was probably the best solution to this problem (Wolters 1970: 159-63). Secondly, Islam's triumph over Buddhism and Hinduism in India had intensified its ideological (or more precisely magic) attractiveness for Malay ruling circles, the more so as Islam could be used to justify their political and cultural independence in the struggle against the Hindu-Javanese empire of Majapahit and Buddhist Siam, under whose vassalage the Malay states had come in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Finally, the activity of Muslim preachers themselves, following the age of the crusades and the creation of powerful and ramified Sufi orders, had intensified considerably. The latter factor is particularly important, for it was in their Sufi form that the ideas of Islam could be perceived as having correspondences with ideas already familiar to the elite and present in Malay popular culture. This was all the more important as the exponents of Sufism (which, contrary to Hinduism and Buddhism could be propagated by numerous merchants) had already successfully developed an extremely skilful and efficient system of preaching oriented toward both the court and the common people in India.

34

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

The combination of these factors - economic, political, social and ideological- brought about the adoption of Islam by the Malay world. However, the path from initial, superficial conversion to a really thorough Islamization of Malay culture was quite long, taking approximately three to four centuries. Malay chronicles unanimously assert that their Islamization began with the conversion to Islam of the ruler of the state concerned (Jones 1979). Although not necessarily reliable, these assertions have great cultural significance, as they represent the canonized expression of the Malay view of their Islamization. The adoption of Islam by a ruler fitted neatly with his need to strengthen, with a new symbolic form, his old charismatic status and ideological 'elevation', so important in the struggle against centrifugal tendencies. At the same time, the ruler's conversion served as a significant incentive for the conversion of his subjects. Having established itself as the religion of the Malay states, Islam in due course began to reveal the immanent properties which distinguished it from its predecessors in the Archipelago, for example its integral, unified sacred text, the Qur' an, its clearly formulated dogmas and, no less important, its greater democracy and proselytizing spirit (AI-Attas 1972:28-32). Muslim spiritual tutors and preachers (ulama), themselves coming from the middle strata, directed themselves equally to the Malay aristocracy and to the masses. Their ability to employ symbols similar to those of Malay folk traditions gave them access to the common people (V. Braginsky 1975a, 1975b: 92-102, 1988a and Chapter VIII). While the relationship between ruler and ulama resembled the earlier ties between ruler and priest, the ulama were much more independent, and this eventually dissolved the former fusion of secular and sacral power. The strengthening of the position of the ulama gave Malay culture a second focus: one was articulated as a complex interaction of traditions espoused by the court, which still preserved many vestiges of Hindu-Buddhist culture, and the other by Islam. The role of the latter in Malay culture, covering every field of social life, was constantly growing, gradually transforming the values of the court aristocracy. Thus, Islam did not become a new aristocratic religion in the Malay world. It permeated the life of the city-states, from the palaces to the districts inhabited by merchants and craftsmen, gradually infiltrating all levels of Malay culture. This ideological evolution underpinned the development of Malay literature, which reflected all its stages: the adoption of Buddhism and Hinduism and their syncretization, the Malayization of Indianized culture, the initial Islamization during which the external adoption of the new religion played a dominant role, and its subsequent deepening (on the two stages of Islamization see AI-Attas 1970:191-2). Accordingly, ideological factors underlie the periodization of the Malay literary process from the seventh to the

Introduction

35

nineteenth century, as described in this study. By taking into account linguistic and literary factors in addition, one can discern three major periods in the history of traditional Malay literature: the old Malay period, or the period of literary developments in the Indianized states of Sumatra and the Malay Peninsula, covering the seventh until the first half of the fourteenth centuries; the early Islamic period, from the second half of the fourteenth to the first half of the sixteenth century; and the classical period dated to the second half of the sixteenth until the first half of the nineteenth century, this period being the time when Muslim literary self-awareness formed in traditional Malay literature and when most of its major works were created. Notes

For inscriptions in old Malay and literature about them, see De Casparis 1975 (and a bibliography there) as well as below, Chapter I. In 1974, Ismail Hussein was aware of about 5,000 Malay manuscripts extant; however, since that time a great number of new manuscripts have been collected, particularly in Malaysia and Indonesia. The present rough estimate is based on the research by Chambert-Loir and Fathurahman (1999), which includes data on the number of manuscripts in different collections.

2

For Malay writing systems and paleography, see De Casparis 1975. Alongside the Jawi script that was used throughout the Malay world, in South Sumatra we find about 150 writings mainly on bark and bamboo, composed in South Sumatran literary Malay, but written in the Rencong and Lampung syllabic scripts traceable, in the end, to Indian writing systems. The earliest among these works is a version of Hikayat Nur Muhammad (the 'Tale of the [Prophetic) Light of Muhammad') kept in the Bodleian library and dated to the beginning of the seventeenth century (Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:105). The bulk of extant Malay writings in the Rencong and Lampung scripts, however, date from the eighteenth to the twentieth centuries. About these scripts and literature written in them, see V. Braginsky 1988a; Chambert-Loir and Fathurahman 1999:195-202; Durie 1996; Van Hinlopen Labberton 1932; Jaspan 1964; Voorhoeve 1940, 1955c:18 (also about some earlier studies), 1971. A great number of texts in Rencong and Lampung were transliterated by Voorhoeve. His transliterations are kept in the Leiden University Library as MS Cod. Or. 8447; for a description of the transliteration project of Voorhoeve and Jaspan and a list of texts in the above composite manuscript, see Iskandar 1999, 1:529-48. 3

4 See, for example, Hamzah Fansuri in his Asrar al-arifin and Al-muntahi (AI-Attas 1970:252-3, 337,372,456) or Abd ar-Rauf of Singkel in his Daqa'iq al-huruf(Johns 1955:1-2).

For the history and religious and cultural functions of Malay, see AI-Attas 1972; Asmah Hj. Omar 1991; Collins 1996; Robson 2002; Teeuw 1959. Judging from epigraphic vestiges, as early as the seventh century the Malay language had already possessed a supra-dialectal, specifically written form. Malay writings composed between the fourteenth and the nineteenth century

36

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

largely show a kind of literary, supra-dialectal form of Malay too, even if sometimes with slight modifications and the addition of some local words (Teeuw 1959). On Malay as a mediating language, see Roolvink 1975; Parnickel1977.

First by the German Malayist H. Overbeck in the 1920s (Kratz 1979:17) and then by the British scholar R.O. Winstedt in 1939, whose poetic epitaph to it was: 'For the modem Malay his old literature, to use the simile from the Panji tales, has become dead as the leather puppets of the shadow-play when the lights of the theatre have been extinguished' (Winstedt 1991:ix-x). 7

About the impact of traditional Malay literature on the modem literatures of Malaysia and Indonesia, see, among others, Ahmad Kamal Abdullah 1988; V. Braginsky 1977, 1989, 1993c, 2001b:297-303; Johns 1979b; De Josselin de Jong 1965; Kassim Ahmad 1964; Kukushkin 1994; Kukushkina 1990,1993,2000; Sulastin Sutrisno 1991; Tiwon 1999; Umar Yunus 1970.

8

The oldest Malay manuscripts of the seventeenth-eighteenth century are kept mainly in the Bodleian Library (Oxford) and the Cambridge University Library (Van Ronke11896; Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:103-4,111-2; Robson 2000:93-5) as well as in the Leiden University Library (Wieringa 1998a:15-7, 26-7, 33-4 and following). A considerable collection of Malay manusCripts (about 60) was gathered by the Dutch officer of French extraction Isaac de Saint-Martin before 1696 (De Haan 1900); later, what remained of his collection found its way to the General Secretariat in Batavia (for a list of manuscripts kept there, see Voorhoeve 1980) and most probably disappeared during the first half of the nineteenth century (Voorhoeve 1964:266). For two other old lists of manuscripts by Valentijn (1724-26) and Wemdly (1736), see Mulyadi 1994:30-3. 9

A history of the study of traditional Malay literature - and incidentally of the study of Malay in general - has not been written so far. The works by Teeuw and Emanuels (1961), Ismail Hussein (1974b), Kratz (1996b) and Siti Hawa Haji Salleh (1997:73-139) can, however, be viewed as preliminary sketches of its history, in which the latter is discussed from different viewpoints (linguistic, ideological, philological and literary proper). Data on British scholars and their researches can be found in the works by Jones (1984) and V. Braginsky (2002a). On Dutch studies, see C. Hooykaas 1949; Voorhoeve 1955c:15-20; Teeuw and Emanuels 1961 (with a list of earlier overviews on this topic, pp. 8-9); Boland and Farjon 1983:3-56 (Dutch Islamologists and anthropologists mentioned by them also contributed to or influenced the development of literary studies). See also the series Studies in the history of Leiden University, in particular its fifth volume (Otterspeer 1989) and in it the articles by De Josselin de Jong and Vermeulen 1989 (what was said about the book by Boland and Farjon is, mutatis mutandis, applicable to it too) and Poeze 1989. For studies in France, see Sokoloff (1948), Teeuw and Emanuels 1961:19-20; in Germany, Kratz 1979, 1981a; in Italy, Bausani 1971 and Santa Maria 1980; in Indonesia, Sutrisno 1986b and Mulyadi 1991; in Russia, V. Braginsky 1993d and Ogloblin 1990. Malaysian reserches are among other topics touched upon in the paper by Muhammad Haji Salleh and Harun Mat Piah (1987) and in the book by Siti Hawa Haji Salleh (1997:90-5).To the best of my knowledge there are no special overviews of the study of traditional Malay literature in Australia and the USA. For more information on studies of traditional Malay literature written at different periods, see also note 13 about their bibliographies. 10

11 The earliest Dutch periodical about the Malay-Indonesian world and its literature in particular was Verhandelingen van het Bataviaasch Genootschap van Kunsten en Wetenschappen which began to be published in Batavia in 1779 and was published up to 1950. In the nineteenth century, it was followed by Tijdschrift voor Nederlandsch-Indie (1838-1902), Tijdschrift voor lndische Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde (1852-1955), Koloniale Studien (1916-1941) and some others. As their counterparts published in the Netherlands we can mention Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde (Leiden, 1852-the present), lndische Gids (Amsterdam, 1879-1941), Koloniaal Tijdschrift (1911-

Introduction

37

1942). For these journals, their authors and contents, see Boland and Farjon 1983:22-6; The and Van der Veur 1973; Telkamp 1977; Van Doom 1979 and indices to Bijdragen. The first British Malayist periodical, The Journal of the Indian Archipelago and Eastern Asia, was published in Singapore by J.R. Logan from 1847 to 1858 (Jones 1984:134-5); in 1878, also in Singapore, was established Journal of the Straits Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society (from 1923-63 Malayan Branch, from 1963 until the present Malaysian Branch); for the contents of the journal see indices (until 1980). 12 The scholarly cataloguing of Malay manuscripts began around the 1840-50s, and by the 1920s all the major collections had been described relatively completely, see Greentree and Nicholson 1910; Niemann 1871; Van Ronke11896; Van der Tuuk 1849, 1866 (for the British collections); Juynboll1899 and Van Ronkel1921a (for the collection of the Leiden University Library); Van Ronkel1909 (for the Bataviaasch Genootschap collection); Cabaton 1912 (for the collection of the Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris); Snouck Hurgronje 1889 (originally extant in manuscript form, this catalogue was published by Kratz in 1989b) and Overbeck 1926c (for the German collections). For a general catalogue of European, Indonesian and Malaysian collections, based mostly on the pre-World War II catalogues, see Howard 1966. The cataloguing also continued in the post-World War II period and particularly in recent times, when new catalogues came to replace some of the old ones, see Voorhoeve (1973; the collection of the Bibliotheque Nationale), Behrend (1998; the collection of the National Library of Indonesia) which, inter alia, provides information about the post-Ronkel acquisitions; new catalogues of the Leiden University Library by Wieringa (1998a) and by Iskandar (1999). Along with this, a number of catalogues of the earlier unknown or newly-created collections appeared, see Pearson 1971 (for American collections); V. Braginsky and Boldyreva 1990 (for the collection in St. Petersburg); Miller 1982 (for the Australian collections); Ibrahim Ismail and Osman Bakar 1992 as well as the series Bibliografi Manuskrip published by the National Library of Malaysia (for the Malaysian collections); Abdullah and Al-Fairussy 1980 and Ali 1993 (for a rich collection in Tanoh Abee, Aceh) and so on. The catalogues of Malay manuscripts are numerous; for a complete list of them, see Chambert-Loir and Fathurahman 1999. For an overview of manuscript studies, see Kratz 1996b:250-2, 255-8. A general idea of Malay manuscripts and their illumination can be gleaned from the richly illustrated works by Gallop and Arps 1991:59-72; Proudfoot and Hooker 1996; Wieringa 1998a (with photographs of pages from about 200 manuscripts).

13 The reader will find a number of works by the scholars enumerated here and below in the bibliography of this book, which lays no claim to completeness and lists only the publications that were directly mentioned in its main text and notes. For extensive bibliographies of studies on traditional Malay literature, see Almanak 1972; Ismail Hussein 1978a; Ismail Hussein and Kalthum Ibrahim 1990 (the updated and extended re-edition of the former); Kratz 1996b:258-79. Additional information can be found in the books Perpustakaan Universiti Malaya 1980 and Djubaedah Mustafa 1981 as well as in The and Van der Veur 1973 and the Indices to Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde, Journal of the Malayan (Malaysian) Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society, Archipel and some other journals (see also note 11). Information on the study of traditional literature of Brunei (about this literature, see Awang 1986) and Minangkabau literature closely related to Malay literature, can be found in the papers by, respectively; Kratz (1996c:224-34) and Phillips (1996:291-308). For a bibliography of bibliographies on Malay and Indonesian studies, see Kemp 1990.

For the influence of Romanticism on the study of traditional Malay literature, see Sweeney 1987:17-43.

14

15 For instance, at: the University of Sydney, the Australian National University and Monash University (Australia); SOAS, University of Kent (Canterbury, until 1991) and University of Hull

38

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

(until 2002) (Britain); Berlin, Hamburg and KOin Universities (Germany); EFEO, EHESS and INALCO (France); Cornell University, University of California and several other universities of the USA; Moscow and Leningrad (St Petersburg) Universities and Institute of Oriental Studies (USSR/ Russia). In Brunei, traditional Malay literature is studied at Universiti Brunei and Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka Brunei; in Indonesia, at Universitas Indonesia Oakarta), Universitas Gadjah Mada (Yogyakarta) and a few universities in Sumatra; in Malaysia, at Universiti Malaya (Kuala Lumpur), Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia (Bangi), Universiti Sains (Penang) and Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka (Kuala Lumpur); in Singapore, at Singapore National University and Nanyang University (Institute of National Education). This list is far from being exhaustive. 16 Among them are: Review of Indonesian and Malaysian Affairs (issued from 1967) in Australia; Pangsura (from 1993) in Brunei. Archipel (from 1971) in France, Dewan Bahasa (from 1957), Dewan Sastera (from from 1971) and Jurnal Filologi Melayu (from 1992) in Malaysia; Excerpta Indonesica (from 1970, publishes abstracts of recent articles on Indonesia) and European Newsletter of Southeast Asian Studies (from 1991; publishes information on this field from all over Europe) in the Netherlands; Journal of Southeast Asian Studies (from 1970) in Singapore; Indonesia Circle (from 1973, from 1997, Indonesia and the Malay World) in UK; Indonesia (from 1966) in USA. All these periodicals continue to be issued. Journals intended specially or inter alia for the publication of papers on traditional Malay and Indonesian literatures, such as, for instance, Medan Bahasa (from 1951), Madjalah Ilmu-i/mu Sastra Indonesia (from 1963), Bahasa dan Kesusasteraan (from 1967), Manusia Indonesia (from 1967), Bahasa dan Sastra (from 1975) and so on, proved to be fairly shortlived, and at present there is no special periodical for publications of this kind in Indonesia. In Russia, too, there is no special journal on Malay-Indonesian studies; its function is fulfilled to some extent by the series of occasional collections Malaysko - Indoneziyskie Issledovaniya (MalayIndonesian Researches), of which 12 issues were published between 1977 and 1999. 17

Proyek Pembinaan Bahasa dan Sastra Indonesia dan Daerah.

For editions of Malay texts, see Ismail Hussein 1978b and Kratz 1996b:279-290. Translations of traditional Malay works are enumerated in the bibliography by Chambert-Loir 1975 (287 entries). To this should be added the list of translations into Russian in the book by V. Braginsky and Diakonova (1999:465-6), containing translations of and from some three dozen written traditional pieces, and the list in Kratz 1996a:441-4, containing some translations published since Chambert-Loir's work (it does not include, however, Drewes 1977; Maier 1978; Goudie 1989; Mulyadi 1983 (in fact, a long summary of 70 pages) and some other writings mentioned elsewhere). Therefore, at present some 100 traditional Malay works of all genres are available in translations into European languages, complete or partial and of varying quality. 18

19

Al-Attas 1970, 1972; Johns 1961,1975,1976; Roolvink 1971,1975.

See, for instance, the works by V. Braginsky (1979, 1993a, 1993e, 1994); Koster and Maier (1985); Koster (1997); Muhammad Haji Salleh (1989, 1991a, 2000), and Taslim (1993).

20

Bausani 1970; Brakel1976a; Gonda 1947; Samad Ahmad 1957-58; Stiller 1971; Taib Osman 1974; and others.

21

Its original title in Russian is Vvedeniye v literaturnuyu istoriyu Nusantary, IX-XIX vv. This book is now available in an abridged translation into Malay (ParnickeI1995).

22

Teeuw (1977:343). The first attempts at this new synthesis were made in the above mentioned book by Parnickel (1980) and such works of the 1980s-90s as V. Braginsky 1983, 1993a; Chambert-Loir 1994b; Proudfoot and Hooker 1996. 23

Introduction

39

For different approaches to the concept of' genre' in their relation to Malay literary studies, see Koster 1997:97-9.

24

These ideas were substantially elaborated in the hermeneutic and receptive-aesthetic schools of literary scholarship (Iser 1978; Ricoeur 1976, 1981; Jauss 1982), which paid much attention to the formation of the meaning 'in between' the structure of the literary work and the intertext, the emergence of different codes for its interpretation and, consequently, different levels {'horizons') of the reader's expectation.

25

26

Abd al-Qahir al-Jurjani 1978; Ritter 1954; Kudelin 1983:150-63; Khalafallah 1963:1038-40.

27

Chambert-Loir 1980; Ikram 1980; Proudfoot 1984.

28

Skinner 1964; Ant%gi 1980; Drewes and Brake11986.

29

Chambert-Loir 1984, 1991; Kratz 1977; Iskandar 1981.

For the transformation of formulaic expressions after the transition from oral literature to written literature, see a special Russian collection Grintser et al. 1978. Examining the applicability of the theory by Parry and Lord to written epic works, many authors of this collection draw attention to a greater diversity of formulae in the written works, as well as the aesthetic significance of written formulae and the role of individual authorship in the change of their structure and function (see, especially, articles by Meletinsky, Kudelin and Serebryaniy). One more example, quite a remarkable one, though taken from two different literatures, can be added here: long standard descriptions of the dawn and sunrise which, varying in only one or two words, are repeated again and again in the oral Malay Seri Rama (Maxwell 1886); and the literally hundreds of sunrises described in the written epic Shah-nama by the great Persian poet Firdawsi, none of which repeats the others. Such was the result of the aestheticizing of formulae and the purely aesthetic play on them! 30

31 That is, raising the eyes from the page only to bend over it again. The Malay original: 'Mengarang bukannya mudah / duduk berfikir tunduk tengadah'. And this is another, even more eloquent example: 'Hamba mengarang tunduk tengadah / Duduk di balai tiada berpindah / Mencahari akal di dalam dada / Kalam dan dawat ternan bermadah'. (I wrote looking up and down / Sitting on the veranda and going nowhere / Seeking [the proper] thoughts in my soul/And [only] the reed-pen and ink were my interlocutors) (Hikayat Indra Nata, MS. Leiden Cod. Or. 3170, p. 100).

See, for instance, a statistical study of the evolution of the Malay syair, which reveals regularities in historically changeable types of rhyming and sets of most frequently used rhymes (V. Braginsky 1991, forthcoming a).

32

The first attempt to produce such concordances is the most useful Malay Concordance Project by Proudfoot on the Internet.

33

See, for instance, Jones, 1974b, 1980, 1988; Kratz 1981b; Proudfoot 1984; Robson 1988; Teeuw 1991; Mulyadi 1994, and others. 34

See Wolters 1967, 1970, 1979 (an important review of some new studies on Shrivijayan history); Meilink-Roelofsz 1962; Lombard 1967; Andaya 1978.

35

Old Malay literature The earliest data on the islands of gold, jewels, valuable kinds of wood and aromatic resins, situated somewhere near the eastern confines of the inhabitable world, are contained in the ancient Indian writings: Jataka, Ramayana, Vayupurana and Arthashastra (Wheatley 1961:177-84). Sometimes Indians called these islands Yavadvipa, Malayadvipa or Karpuradvipa. However, usually they bore the names of Suvarnadvipa (Sanskrit: the Golden Island) or Suvarnabhumi (the Golden Land), in which scholars recognize Sumatra, or Sumatra and Java, or the general reference to the Malay Peninsula and islands of the western part of the Malay Archipelago. The milk, fire and emerald-green seas - most perilous, stormy, although beautiful too - which separate Suvarnabhumi from India, were expressively described by the Buddhist poet Arya Shura in his Jatakamala (the 'Garland of jataka'): The sea we now behold has yet another appearance. Its waters have the green shine of emeralds and resemble a splendid meadow; they are adorned with foam as lovely as waterlilies. Which sea is this again? (Speyer 1895:130.)

The first centuries AD were marked by considerable changes in the life of the Malay world. It was the time when the first states appeared in the territory of half-legendary Suvarnadvipa. Their economy was based on transit trade and, to a lesser degree, on agriculture; the Indian concept of power and Indian religious doctrines formed their ideological basis. Sanskrit was the sacred language and the language of aristocratic culture. Indianization gave a more or less complete shape to the autochthonous process of the formation of a stratified society among Malays; it transformed considerably its spiritual life in which new religious doctrines coexisted with the indigenous cult of ancestors (primarily the ancestors of the monarch, now deified); it also created a fairly deep gap between the civilization of the elite in coastal cities and the archaic popular culture of the interior areas. Indian influence on the Malay world was not homogeneous either. On the one hand, the absorption of Indian religions (Buddhism and Hinduism), Indian concepts of state and law, and Indian art and literature by the nascent Southeast Asian aristocracy and clergy brought about the formation

42

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

of a 'high', elitist culture, displaying a bookish, scholastic knowledge of the Indian tradition rather than its perception in the course of direct practical contacts. This is testified to, for instance, by the fact that the Malay language was considerably influenced by Sanskrit and only to a lesser extent by Prakrits or Tamil; that the familiarity of the Malays with the concept of four varna was coupled with their virtual ignorance of the system of castes (jati); that local architecture and sculpture were undoubtedly influenced by canons described in Indian theoretical treatises, shilpashastra, while data on direct contacts with Indian sculptors and architects and on the knowledge of their technological devices are very scarce. This allows the hypothesis that the decisive role in the creation of the elite culture of the Malays was played by a small group of brahmans living at local courts, as well as by Malay clerics and culture-makers who got their education in India (Bosch 1961). On the other hand, constant encounters with Indian merchants, craftsmen, preachers and storytellers made possible the penetration of some Indian elements, particularly the richest stock of plots and motifs of Indian folklore, into Malay popular culture and folk-literature. The two cultural spheres remained separated rather strictly for a long time, but the process of their interaction did take place nevertheless, and by the end of the HinduBuddhist period (the thirteenth-fourteenth centuries) the local substratum had transformed the Indianized culture of the local elite, after appropriating in its turn a number of salient features of the latter.! The first Indianized city-states (nagara) appeared in the north of the Malay Peninsula, in the vicinity of the Isthmus of Kra - the ancient trading path connecting the Gulf of Bengal and the Gulf of Siam - or somewhat farther to the south. About the second century such nagara as Langkasuka, Kedah and a few others already existed in that area. In the fifth and sixth centuries, city-states known in Chinese sources as Chih-t'u (the Red-Earth Kingdom) and Tan-tan emerged in the territory of the contemporary Malaysian states of Kelantan and Trengganu. Such city-states were situated either on the sea coast or in the estuary of navigable river and were surrounded by a stockade or stone walls with towers and gates. The planning of these cities, as in other regions of Southeast Asia, reproduced the structure of the Buddhist or Hindu cosmos. The harmony between the microcosm (the city) and the macrocosm (the Universe) thus established was designed to ensure the prosperity of a nagara. In the centre of a city there towered a temple, the state palladium, which symbolized the axis of the world, Mount Meru. In the close vicinity of the temple was the Coedes 1968:33, 369. On the different aspects of Indianization of the Malay world and Southeast Asia in general, see also Christie 1970; Mabbett 1977; Hall 1985:48-77; Hagesteijn 1989: 45-7, 79-87, 93-8.

Old Malay literature

43

palace of the ruler - devaraja, the bearer of charismatic power and a Sanskrit title or name: Shri Parameshvara, Bhagadatta, Gautama. In conformity with the cardinal and auxiliary directions of the cosmic model, the residences of the brahman ministers were situated, grouped around the palace. The latter also bore Sanskrit titles of sardhakara (assistant), dhanada (the dispenser of blessings), nayaka (advisor). Outside the aristocratic area started the quarters of artisans serving the court. Judging by all the evidence, temples were the only stone structures in such cities. Not only houses of common people, but even palaces of rulers and the nobility were built of wood and were covered with straw or palm leaves. Densely populated living quarters alternated with gardens and parks (Wheatley 1964:51-8). The message of the Chinese envoy who visited the Lion City, the capital of the king of Chih-t'u in the seventh century adds a number of picturesque details to the above generalized description. [The city] has triple gates more than a hundred paces apart. On each gate are paintings of spirits in flight, bodhisattvas and other immortals, and they are hung with golden flowers and light bells. Several tens of women either make music or hold up golden flowers and ornaments. Four men, dressed in the manner of chin-kang 2 giants on the sides of Buddhist pagodas, stand at the gate. [... ] All the buildings in the royal palace consist of multiple pavilions with the doors on the northern side. The king sits on a three-tiered couch facing north, and is dressed in rose-coloured cloth, with a chaplet of gold flowers and a necklace of varied jewels. [... ] To the rear of the king's coach there is a wooden shrine inlaid with gold, silver and five perfumed woods, and behind the shrine is suspended a golden light [a disc with golden rays]. [... ] Several hundred brahmans sit in rows facing each other on the eastern and western sides. [... ] It is the custom to worship the Buddha, but greater respect is paid to the brahmans. (Wheatley 1961:27-8.)

The cremation rite widely spread among inhabitants of Chih-t'u, corresponding to the Indian one in every detail, testifies to the profound Indianization of the state. It is noteworthy that, after the ruler of Chih-t'u died, his remains, unlike the remains of ordinary mortals, were 'placed in golden vessels and kept in the sanctuary'. This is one of the first records about burial temples and the posthumous cult of kings in Southeast Asia. Interesting information about the court culture of Chih-t'u is also contained in the description of the reception arranged for the envoys, in which not only four kinds of cakes -'yellow, white, purple and red' - are mentioned, but also Indian music and even a kind of local writing, 'a golden copy of a leaf of the plant to-La with a relief inscription on it', which was handed to the Chinese as a present. Almost simultaneously with nagara of the Malay Peninsula, Indianized citystates emerged in Sumatra. In the fifth and sixth centuries the state Kan-t' o-li Those who 'can injure, but cannot be injured' (Wheatley 1961:27).

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature

(possibly, Sanskrit: Gandhari) dominated in the island. In the seventh century it was replaced by Shrivijaya with the capital in South Sumatra, near Palembang. The rise of Shrivijaya is testified to by its king Jayanasha's five inscriptions in the old Malay language, which, along with epigraphic vestiges of Cham in southern Vietnam, are the oldest texts in Austronesian languages (Coedes 1930; Ferrand 1932; De Casparis 1956:15-46). Most of these inscriptions contain threats to those who show recalcitrance to the king and promise prosperity to the loyal ones. The excerpts from the inscription found in Kota Kapur (the island of Bangka) are a typical example: Success! [... ] O! you all the divinities who have gathered and who protect [this] province (kadatuan) of Shrivijaya; you also, Tandrum luah (?) and all the divinities with whom begin all the formulas of imprecation! When in the interior of all the lands [subject to this province] people rebel [... ], conspire with rebels, give ear to the rebels, admit the rebels, are not deferential, are not submissive, are not loyal to me and to those who are invested by me with the charge of datu, such people, authors of those actions, be killed by the imprecation; that an expedition [directed against them] be put on the field under the conduct of the datu of Shrivijaya, and that they be chastised, together with their clan and their family. Further, that all their bad actions [such as] troubling the spirit of the people, making them ill, making them mad, making use of formulas, poisons [... ], hemp [... ], philters, subjecting others to their will, etcetera, [that these actions] be deprived of success and recoil on those who are guilty of these bad actions, and also that they be afflicted by the imprecation .... But if the people are submissive, are loyal to me and to those who have been invested by me with the charge of the datu, that there be benediction on their enterprises as well as on their clan and their family; success, ease, health, absence of calamities, abundance for their country [... ]. (Nilakanta Sastri 1949a:116.)

At the peak of its rise (the eighth-twelfth century) Shrivijaya controlled the straits of Sunda and Malacca and portages on the Isthmus Kra, dominating all sea routes from the Middle East and India to China and enjoying a kind of trade monopoly. Shrivijaya included: . - Old civilized nagara of the Malay Peninsula, of which the greatest, Kedah, became a kind of northern capital of the empire; although some of these nagara could be Mon in their population and some could be Malay, it is the incorporation in the Malay empire of Shrivijaya that explains their relevance for Malay political and cultural history; - Sumatran nagara, in particular Malayu and north Sumatran principalities rich in natural resources, which stretched like a dotted line from Lamuri in the north to Lampung in the south and further along the southeast coast; - Relatively primitive settlements scattered along the east coast of Sumatra and nearby islands, which were populated by the 'maritime' Malays, the most loyal subjects of the ruler of Shrivijaya, who made up the navy, his main military force.

Old Malay literature

45

Besides, in the period of the greatest expansion, Shrivijaya brought the west Java state of Tarumanagara and Malay principalities in Borneo under its control. Arab geographers and travellers of the ninth and tenth centuries admired the wealth and might of maharaja of Zabag (Shrivijaya) who possessed innumerable islands, vast, populous and full of diverse wonders (see Tibbetts 1979): When the cocks of this country crow at sunrise', wrote one of Arab authors, 'they answer one another over stretches extending uo to one hundred parasangs [six to seven hundred kilometres] and more, because the villages are contiguous and follow on one another without interruption (Coedes 1968:131).

For all the exaggerations, this description reflects vividly the impressions of a traveller who found himself in a populous country and, moreover, it closely coincides with some contemporary ideas of the Shrivijayan type of urban agglomeration. Far from being compact, as in most of the cities, that agglomeration represented a kind of network of separate settlements and their relatively dense clusters, which we~tuated fairly close to each other, sometimes at the confluences of the main river's tributaries, and occupied a vast territory. In the area closest to the sea the network grew in density, turning into an extensive group of settlements which included the royal compound, the focus, as it were, for the whole loose agglomeration (Wolters 1979:21). Probably it is precisely this fortified compound, or palace, that is implied in a Chinese source of the thirteenth century. With considerable exaggeration again, it tells of a brick wall of a few tens of li (several kilometres) in perimeter, which surrounded the capital-city of Shrivijaya (Hirth and Rockhill 1911:60). Although the capital of Shrivijaya, Palembang, might have been similar to a degree to the cities of the Malay Peninsula, houses on piles, mentioned in the same source, that rose above the water of canals and meandering rivulets and could be reached only in boats, added character to its part situated beyond the walls. The legendary treasury of Shrivijaya's rulers was also situated in the capital. It represented an artificial lake connected with the sea, into which, as rumours held it, the maharaja threw ingots of gold every day, which shone in rays of the sun during the ebb. An important part in the life of the capital, the most significant trading sea-port of Southeast Asia at that time, was played by foreign merchants, the cosmopolitan composition of their community being vividly expressed in the famous story of Shrivijaya pet-parrots who could allegedly speak Arabic, Persian, Indian and Greek. Although ruins of Buddhist and Hindu temples, discovered near Palembang (Manguin 1993:25-33), do not allow a conclusion about large-scale construction activities in the city, Shrivijaya sculpture and temple ensembles in the valley of the Batang Hari River (southeast Sumatra) and in Padang Lawas (northwest Sumatra), are evidence of high skill of Shrivijaya craftsmen who

46

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

combined Indian canons and Malay artistic traditions in a peculiar manner (Schnitger 1937:5-10, 16-37). In addition, another Arab author described a Buddhist temple somewhere in the interior of eastern Sumatra: He [the king] shows much respect to Buddha. This word buddha signifies temple in the Indian language. That of the king is very beautiful and is covered externally with marble. Inside and all around Buddha, can be seen idols made of white marble, the head of each adorned with golden crowns. The prayers in these temples are accompanied by songs, which take place with much pomp and order. Young and beautiful girls [devadasi?] execute dances and other pleasing games, before the people who pray or are in the temple. (Tibbetts 1979:53.)

In spite of great political disturbances of the tenth and eleventh centuries - the war with the Javanese state of Mataram and the devastating raid by the Tamil king, Rajendra Chola - Shrivijaya managed to preserve its dominating position in the seas of the western part of the Archipelago for some more time. However, its capital was transferred to the territory of Malayu (Dharmashraya), which formerly had been under the control of Palembang (Wolters 1966). Nevertheless, in the thirteenth-fourteenth centuries, the empire's gradual disintegration began. In the 1280s Malayu became a dependent territory of the Javanese state of Singasari and a little time later, like Palembang, it became a vassal of Majapahit, the most powerful empire in the history of the Archipelago. At about the same time the Thai state of Sukhothai, which was in its prime, annexed Shrivijaya's possessions in the Malay Peninsula. A decade later Muslim influence made itself felt in Sumatra, and in 1292 Marco Polo wrote that the population of the north Sumatran principality of Perlak, who were idolaters (Hindu or Buddhists) before, had been converted to the faith of Muhammad. 3 As a result, in the end of the fourteenth century the political and cultural situation in Sumatra largely resembled the one, which a century later became typical for a considerable part of the insular world and which is known best of all from the example of fifteenth-century Java. In the northern, coastal region of Sumatra, Muslim trading ports, Perlak, Samudra and Pas ai, grew ever stronger, while in the interior of the island, in the mountains of the Minangkabau area, the state of Malayu - a fragment of the once powerful Indianized empire - lived its last years under the rule of the king Adityavarman, a fervent Tantrist. For the history, religion and culture of Shrivijaya - apart from the older studies by Ferrand, Coedes, Damais (their relevant works have been recently republished in English translation, see Coedes and Damais 1992), Nilakanta Sastri and some other scholars which are quoted above and in Chapter I - see also Wolters 1967,1970,1979; Hall 1976, 1985; De Casparis 1983; Manguin 1987, 1993; Nik Hassan Shuhaimi 1990; Wisseman Christie 1995 (with an extensive bibliography); and a special bibliography of Shrivijayan studies by Manguin (1989).

CHAPTER I

The system of genres in old Malay literature A reconstruction

A high level of development reached by the folklore of peoples of the Malay Archipelago, by Malay folklore in particular (Parnickel 1980:11-30), and cultural ties with India were the prerequisites for the engendering of Malay written literature. It is noteworthy, however, that, although the number of works on Indo-Malay contacts amounts to many dozens (see Manguin 1989), the problem of Malay literature1 in the period of Indianized states in Sumatra and the Malay Peninsula, when these contacts were especially intensive, has not been given anything like the attention it deserves. However, this situation has a natural explanation: the extant information about old Malay literature is so fragmentary and scarce that some scholars have been inclined to doubt whether it ever existed. 2 1t is indeed true that despite the fact that Shrivijaya was the most powerful empire in the area in the Malay Middle Ages, politically, economically and culturally, no literary works from that period are known. However, there are many arguments to support the suggestion that a well-developed tradition of writing must have existed in Shrivijaya. First of all, Shrivijaya was clearly one of the main centres of Buddhism, and according to Tibetan sources, even its main centre in the eleventh century (Chatterji 1967:62-3). The Chinese pilgrim I-ching (the seventh century) notes that there are more than a thousand monks in Shrivijaya, and he advises his countrymen who want to travel to India to stop first at Shrivijaya and to study with the scholars there, in order to prepare themselves for their further study in India (Takakusu 1896:xxxiv). Great Buddhist scholars are known to have resided in Shrivijaya. In the sixth century, the outstanding representative of the Dignaga school, Dharmapala from Kafici, taught in Sumatra (Nilakanta Sastri 1949a:38-9); he was followed in the next century by Shakyakirti, one of the seven great Buddhist preachers. In the eleventh century, Dharmakirti was the head of the Buddhist sangha in Shrivijaya. In Tibetan writings he is called the greatest scholar of his time. He was the teacher of Atisha, who himself spent twelve years as a student in Shrivijaya (Chatterji 1967:62-3). At the time the great centres of Buddhism in the Malay Peninsula were Chaiya and

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature

Kedah, both of which for a long time were in Shrivijaya's political and economic spheres of influence. Buddhist statues, which were objects of worship in Shrivijaya and Kedah were known as far as Nepal and were represented in a Nepalese manuscript, which was illustrated with miniatures. It is difficult if not impossible to believe that in such a leading centre of Buddhism there were only inscriptions, and no written works on ordinary writing material. This idea of ordinary writing materials having been used is also supported by internal data provided by research on Malay documents themselves. For instance, there are special characteristics of the language and spelling of the oldest existing Malay manuscripts (sixteenth to seventeenth centuries), which can only be explained in the context of the old Malay language and its epigraphic orthography; altogether, 'there is reason enough therefore to assume that clear traces of an older literary Malay have been preserved' (Teeuw 1959:152). No less important are the results of paleographic studies of inscriptions on stone from Java, Bali and the Malay area. They show that while inscribing letters on stone steles, the carvers copied them from texts which had been written on palm leaves (pohon tal) with sharp pen-knives (stilos) or fine brushes. In this process, the carvers accurately reproduced all particular features of the letters as they found them in the original texts (De Casparis 1975:4-5). Needless to say, this method of carving proves the existence of texts written on perishable materials - a prerequisit of the existence of literature - alongside the texts inscribed on stone steles. Moreover, with this method of carving in mind, we can explain noticeable changes in the script of epigraphic vestiges, separated by long chronological gaps, by the latent development of this script in the lost texts written on perishable materials. Therefore, the evolution of the epigraphic script between the eleventh and the fourteenth century, interpreted in terms of a long tradition of writing on palm leaves (or bamboo) (De Casparis 1975:56-8, 72), also confirms the possibility of existence of old Malay literature. Finally, the existence of an old Malay literature is also suggested by references in Chinese sources, which mention 'books between boards' (perhaps similar to Balinese Ion tar), which were presented by the king of Shrivijaya to the Chinese emperor (Groeneveldt 1960:65), and the use in Shrivijaya, among others in official acts, and later also in fifteenth century Malacca, of 'foreign' or 'Indian letters'.3 It is also noteworthy that in a ninth-century Arab source an 'Annals of Shrivijaya' is mentioned (Ferrand 1932:32-4). This evidence is supplemented by epigraphic data from Sumatra which mention clerks and poets (De Casparis 1956:32, 37; H. Kern 1917c:271), and by an old Malay poem written in Sanskrit upajati metre (Marrison 1955; Stutterheim 1934), which was carved on a tombstone in the thirteenth century. All the evidence noted here leads to the conclusion that

I The system of genres in old Malay literature

49

both on the ground of internal evidence furnished by Malay literature and on the ground of general considerations and comparison with Java we may assume that the Malay literary tradition must be older [than the manuscripts preserved], and that even in pre-Moslem times there must have been an important Malay literature. (Teeuw 1959:151.)

Of course, not every work of this Malay literature need have been written in old Malay, as will be explained below. The study of Indo-Malay literary contacts and the reconstruction of literature of the Shrivijaya period on the basis of those echoes and reminiscences that could persist in works of the Islamic period are complicated by prolonged ties between Malay and Javanese literatures which grew in intensity around the fourteenth century and continued long after that time. In the Islamic period Javanese literature preserved plots and imagery of its Hindu-Buddhist past better than Malay literature. Taking into account its role as an intermediary, one sometimes finds it difficult to decide whether a certain fact of a Malay writing is a reflection of its own heritage of the old Malay period or a secondary phenomenon caused by Javanese influence in the Muslim period. In spite of these difficulties, Malay studies cannot evade the problem of the reconstruction of literature of the Indianized Malay states. Its solution, albeit tentative, is indispensable not only for the provisional understanding of how the Indian material was transformed by local cultural codes specific to different social milieus, but also for the filling up of the more than sevencentury-long gap in the history of Malay literature. Otherwise, the examination of early Islamic and classical Malay literature of the fourteenth-nineteenth centuries loses its correct perspective, as some evolutionary processes, which had begun as early as the old Malay period reached their fruition after the conversion of the Malay world to Islam. The present chapter is, in fact, the first attempt to outline, by way of reconstruction, the genre composition of old Malay literature. The reconstruction is based on both the typology of medieval literatures, particularly literatures of medieval Southeast Asia, and on the synthesis of data accumulated by Malay studies. It goes without saying that the conclusions to which the author comes are more often than not preliminary and hypothetical.

Typological basis of the reconstruction: the choice of a model for the reconstruction of old Malay literature The study of the typology of medieval literatures, which has advanced considerably during the past decades,4 has allowed us to establish a number of their universal characteristics. First of all, the concept of literature in the Middle Ages includes practically all written works. The centre around which

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature

the works functioning in society are grouped is the Canon of sacred texts. The latter determines the Weltanschauung of the culture concerned, the place of human beings in it, the teleology of their activities, and the fundamentals of ethics, aesthetics, and so on. The other texts are regarded as being related to the Canon and, depending on the proximity of this relation, form a number of concentric circles, the value of which within the literary system decreases centrifugally. Therefore, it is quite natural that the core of medieval literature was formed by works belonging to functional genres (religious, ritual, historical, genres of official epistolography, royal edicts, practical accounts, and so on), which are closely related to the Canon and are devoid of aesthetic intention, but which, due to the syncretic world perception typical of medieval culture, often include an expressly aesthetic component. As for the literary, that is non-functional, genres in the modern sense of the word, these are more remote from the Canon and nearer to the folklore shared by popular and elite culture. This leads to the appearance of intermediary (or mixed) forms in this cultural borderland.5 Literary culture of the Middle Ages which, typologically, represents a kind of superstructure resting on the folklore tradition, enters into rather complicated relations with the latter, which are largely different from those characteristic for modern times. In particular, since the system of literature, organized by the religious Canon, fails to satisfy all the needs of a society in the word, medieval folklore functions not only in popular culture, but also in the culture of the elite, where it serves 'vacant' domains, thus complementing written literature. The sphere of the functioning of folklore, which is wider than in later epochs, and the incorporation of certain folkloric institutions (for instance, the institution of professional storytellers) into the high culture, facilitates the movement of works from oral to written literature and back. A salient feature of medieval literatures is their bilingualism (or sometimes multilingualism). Part of texts embracing, as a rule, central spheres of the literary system was created in the supra-ethnic, sacred language of one or another religion (for instance, in Latin, Classical Chinese, Sanskrit, Arabic). The other part, usually closer to the periphery, was written in the language of a particular ethnic group. In the history of the literature of a specific people, the borderline between the spheres of use of the sacral and the ethnic language may shift. The bilingualism of medieval literatures calls for a great caution in the use of some terms of contemporary literary criticism, such as 'borrowing', 'translation' and the like, because many works written in the sacral, supraethnic language were considered to be a common heritage of all the bearers of a given tradition, a part of their literary systems. The nature of the interrelation between sacral and ethnic languages in old Malay literature (incidentally, it probably explains the disappearance of high Shrivijayan literature after the conversion of the Malays to Islam) can

I The system of genres in old Malay literature

51

be understood by means of the typology of the literary traditions of the socalled 'old peoples' in Southeast Asia (Mon, Khmer, Cham and Javanese), as the Malays also belong to this group. None of the 'old peoples' of Southeast Asia (with the exception of the Javanese) have preserved the literary heritage from the time of their highest cultural and national development. A reconstruction of the history of their literary cultures is possible mainly through epigraphic data. Even if unable to provide exhaustive information about the composition and evolution of the written traditions in question, these data, nevertheless, show a number of common features which allow us to assume the existence of a parallelism, also chronological, in the development of not only epigraphic monuments, but also literary works which may have been created in these traditions. 6 The first inscriptions, with a few exceptions written in Sanskrit, appeared in Southeast Asia in the third to the fifth centuries. In the sixth and seventh centuries inscriptions appeared in indigenous languages: Mon, Khmer, Malay and Cham,7 and - at the beginning of the ninth century - also in Javanese. This is the period of the formation of epigraphic bilingualism, with a rather clear-cut distinction of functional spheres. The Sanskrit (or sometimes Pali) inscriptions contain hymns to gods, panegyrics to rulers and aristocrats, royal genealogies and the like. They are composed in verse, in the refined rhetorical style of kavya, and betray a good knowledge of the nuances of Sanskrit prosody and imagery, as well as a familiarity with religious and philosophical literature and belles-lettres in Sanskrit. Not infrequently such inscriptions, especially in Khmer and Cham, are genuine extensive poems (up to two hundred and more lines) in stone. As far as the inscriptions in the ethnic languages are concerned, they are almost exclusively in prose, seldom having any artistic intent, and represent mostly the texts of a practical and juridical nature. Among them we find lists of donations to temples, documents certifying the right of land ownership and the exemption from taxes, royal decrees, and so on. The oppositions, Sanskrit/Pali versus an ethnic language, and ornate poetry versus non-ornate prose, which can be observed in epigraphic materials and which run parallel to the opposition 'text with aesthetic component' versus 'text of purely practical import', may to some extent be extrapolated for the literary systems of the 'old peoples' of Southeast Asia (again excepting the Javanese). Towards the end of the eleventh century, ethnic languages begin gradually to expand into the sphere previously occupied by Sanskrit. Thus, the French scholar P. Mus (1931:194) notes that the style of narrative parts of Cham inscriptions becomes more natural and fluent at that time, the knowledge of Sanskrit deteriorates markedly in the twelfth century, and by the thirteenth century the Cham language has ousted it almost completely. Similar phenom-

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature

ena are also observed in epigraphic monuments in the Mon language. While the earliest inscriptions in Old Mon are of a practical nature, a number of texts of the late eleventh to twelfth centuries show an elaborated literary style (Luce 1969:53-4) and can be considered works of literature and not merely specimens of epigraphy (Duroiselle and Blagden 1919-36:75). Yet, judging by scarce extant studies, neither the 'old peoples' of Indo-China nor the Malays had developed a tradition of inscriptions in verse in ethnic languages before the fourteenth or fifteenth century, although Khmer and Cham literatures of a later period consisted largely of poetical works (Coedes 1931; Mus 1931). As has been mentioned above, the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries saw drastic changes in Southeast Asia. The classic Indianized empires were declining and disintegrating, finally becoming incorporated into and partly replaced by the states of the 'young peoples': the Burmese and the Thai. The meaning and the historico-economic bases of these changes have not as yet been fully explored. In the cultural sphere they were characterized by the local cultural substratum's growing pressure on the Sanskritized civilization of the elite and by the disappearance of the bearer of this civilization, the refined Indianized aristocracy with its cult of the deified king (devaraja), and Mahayana Buddhism and Hinduism, and finally by the expansion of universal, proselytizing religions: Theravada Buddhism on the continent and Islam on the Malay Peninsula and in the insular region (Coedes 1968:33, 369). Such cultural transformations must have had decisive effects on literary development, as evidenced by the brief 'period of apprenticeship' of the 'young peoples' and their creation of literary cultures in their respective languages, which, to a certain extent, continued the literature of the corresponding 'old people'. Suffice it to recall the cultural functions of the Mon language in Pagan in the twelfth century (Duroiselle and Blagden 1919-36: 73; Luce 1969) or the analogous role of the Khmer language at the Sukhothai court in the fourteenth century. Malay literature from the fourteenth century onwards enables us to trace how the sphere of use of an 'old people's' ethnic language expanded under new conditions. This shifting border between sacral and ethnic languages raises doubts concerning the possibility of reconstructing old Malay literature on the basis of the Old Javanese pattern. Old Javanese literature is the only surviving literature of an 'old people' of Southeast Asia dating from the period of the classic Indianized states, and the conditions on the non-Islamized island of Bali, while favourable for its preservation, do not fully explain this fact. Java lived through no fewer political and social cataclysms than other regions of Southeast Asia, yet the most important Old Javanese poems, such as Ramayana, Bharatayuddha, Arjunawiwaha and Arjunawijaya, survived not only in Balinese but also in Javanese manuscripts. 8 Inscriptions in Javanese begin to appear in the ninth century - later than the epigraphy in local languages

I The system of genres in old Malay literature

53

of other' old peoples' of Southeast Asia - but at least one of them is written in kavya style in the same ninth century. The literary works of the next two centuries (particularly Old Javanese Ramayana) demonstrate an intensive process of transfer of literary functions from Sanskrit to Old Javanese, and the poem Arjunawiwaha, which was the first typically Old Javanese literary work, was composed as early as the first half of the eleventh century.9 Although bilingualism persisted in Old Javanese culture, the great majority of its literary works were composed in the Old Javanese language. Neither Indo-China nor the Malay world provides analogies of such an early and drastic shift of the boundary between the linguistic spheres in literary systems. Therefore, it would seem that the 'continental model' with Sanskrit as the linguistic medium (compare Gonda 1952:52) is more acceptable as a model for the reconstruction of old Malay literature than is the Old Javanese model, which is based on the ethnic language. These typological considerations relate only to the outlines of the old Malay literary system: the Canon and the distinction between functional and non-functional spheres, and its inherently bilingual character. It is the syntheSiS of factual data accumulated in the development of Malay studies, however, that makes possible the reconstruction of the genres used in these spheres.

The canon, commentaries, and functional genres Chinese Buddhist pilgrims, for whom Shrivijaya was an important port of call on their way to India, left important evidence of the Buddhist literary culture and scholarship in this country. In particular I-ching (the seventh century), mentioning more than a thousand Buddhist monks living in the capital, wrote: 'They examine and study all possible subjects exactly as in Madhyadesha (India); their rules and ceremonies are identical with those in India'.1° This note by an author who spent many years both in India and in Shrivijaya and who knew perfectly the systems of education in the two countries is of a great interest to us. The description of Buddhist education in India made by the same I-ching (and a little later by Hsuan-tsang) shows that Indian monasteries were centres not only of religious but also of secular sciences. Among the books studied there were canonical writings of various schools of Buddhism, including Buddhist philosophy and logic, as well as Panini's grammar with commentaries by Patanjali, grammatical treatises by Bhartrihari, and classical Sanskrit literature and art (see Mookerji n.d.:23948). I-ching's statement 'all possible subjects exactly as in Madhyadesa' probably points to a similar set of works being studied in Shrivijaya. Needless to say, the remarks on Shrivijayan literature found in the writ-

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ings by I-ching, who was mainly preoccupied with the collecting of sacred texts, are somewhat one-sided. However, we learn from them that in Kedah there existed a Sanskrit version of the Buddhist Canon, Tripitaka (about it, see Nariman 1923:7-10); he also mentions Mahayana sutra and shastra, including Asanga's Yogacaryabhumishastra, in Sumatra (Chavannes 1894:125, 77). When citing in his 'Notes about famous monks who sought the Law in western countries' the names of many Chinese pilgrims who studied Sanskrit and Sanskrit literature in Shrivijaya, I-ching wrote that virtually all of them had learnt the local language (K'un-Iun) before beginning to read 'a great many Sanskrit books' (Chavannes 1894:63-4, 158-9, 183). This again seems to support the hypothesis that religious literature in old Malay existed in Shrivijaya, all the more so, since in an inscription of king Jayanasha from Talang Tuwo dated 684 AD we find a prayer (pranidhana) in the old Malay language. The inscription announces the foundation, in the vicinity of Palembang, of a public park named Sriksetra, in which different kinds of bamboo, coconut-palms, areca-palms, sugar-palms' and other trees bearing edible fruits' are planted, and 'other gardens with the dams, tanks and all good works' are arranged. In his prayer the king expresses the hope that the effects of his meritorious action will redound to all the creatures: That there arise among them the thought of Bodhi and love of the Three Jewels [Buddha, Dharma and Sangha], and that they be not separated from the Three Jewels. And also [that they practise] continually liberality, the observance of precepts, patience; that there grow among them energy, application and knowledge of all the diverse arts; that they have a concentrated spirit, possess knowledge, memory, intelligence. And further that they be firm in their opinions, have the diamond body of the Mahasattva, unequalled power, victory and also memory of their former births. [... ] That they be recipients of the marvellous stone (cintamani), have mastery over births, karma, klesha [obstacles on the way to the 'true self], and that finally they obtain the complete and supreme Illumination. (Nilakanta Sastri 1949a:114-5.)

However, it seems more probable that what I-ching really meant was the use of the local language as the medium of instruction for the study of Sanskrit and, possibly, for commenting upon Buddhist texts. The way these studies were conducted may be seen from the Old Javanese 'textbooks' of Sanskrit (kritabasa - abbreviation of Sanskritabhasha), which demonstrate a well-developed pedagogico-didactic culture; from glossaries of Sanskrit synonyms and imagery, serving as aids for poets (for instance the Amaramala translated in Java at an early date); and from religious treatises such as Sang Hyang Kamahayanikan in which every Sanskrit stanza is followed by an Old Javanese paraphrase (Gonda 1952:105-17). Finally, I-ching wrote that Buddhacarita by the great Ashvaghosha was no less popular in the islands of the South Sea (for I-ching it implied first

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of all Sumatra which he visited} than in India itself (Takakusu 1896:165). Composed in the first century AD, Buddhacarita is the earliest example of kavya - ornate Sanskrit epic - 'in its fully developed form' (Warder 1970-74, 1I:144). The poem falls into four equal parts of seven cantos each: the birth and youth of the Buddha till his renunciation of the world and retreat to the forest for the life of an ascetic; his spiritual quest, study with numerous teachers, victory over Mara - the Evil One, the Tempter - and the attainment of Enlightenment; the Buddha's preaching, through which the truths of Buddhism become available to all beings, and the conversion of the rulers and peoples of many countries; the Parinirvana of the Buddha, his cremation and the enshrinement of his ashes. ll In spite of its primarily ethical and edifying nature, Buddhacarita is a work of art to no lesser degree than a religious writing, and its author is probably even more of a poet than a monk. He depicts, with a great refinement and full mastery of the kavya poetics, not only doctrinal and political discussions, but also grandiose battles (such as the one against Mara and his host of demons), pleasures of love sports, royal palaces, lovely parks and secluded hermitages. The most famous among these descriptions is found in Canto 3 which narrates of how the king, the Buddha's father, trying to divert his son's thoughts from the renunciation of the world, arranged a pleasure trip to a park for him: Then with a befitting retinue he [the prince, the future Buddha] reached the road which was scattered with brilliant bouquets of flowers, Hung with garlands, with trembling bunting, like the Moon with a constellation in the sky. Very slowly he entered the Royal Way which was as if strewn with halves of blue waterlilies, As he was being looked at by the citizens all around, their eyes expanded wide with curiosity. (Warder 1970-74, 11:154-5.)

When the news spreads that the prince is heading to the park, the women of the city hasten from their chambers to the roofs of the houses and to the windows, hindered by their girdles which fall off, and rush forward with the greatest haste pressing on and pushing each other, frightening by the clank of their waistbands and the ring of their ornaments the birds on the roofs. The faces of the beauties, charming as lotus, gleaming out of the windows appear, as if the walls of the houses were really decorated with lotus flowers. (Nariman 1923:32.)

Remarkably, descriptions similar to this, albeit frequently not so refined, occur in some Old Javanese poems and Malay literary works of the Islamic era, in which they became one of the loci communes. Although through a

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number of mediating writings, these descriptions, in the end, are traceable precisely to Buddhacarita. The architecture of temples and especially their reliefs are an important source of information on the literature of Southeast Asian peoples, but scant data are provided by the reliefs of ancient Malay temples. Unlike Khmer and Javanese rulers, kings of Shrivijaya concentrated mostly on political and economic problems and paid less attention to the patronage of the temple architecture and sculpture (Coedes 1968:134). That is why an important role in the reconstruction of old Malay literature is played by the reliefs of Javanese temples, especially those of the celebrated Borobudur, erected under the Shailendra dynasty (the eighth to ninth centuries) which had both Javanese and Sumatran branches. Regardless of whether we interpret the Shailendra period as a Javanese period in Sumatran history (Stutterheim 1929) or as a Sumatran period in Javanese history (Krom 1919), which found new, although also rather uncertain confirmations, in the inscription of Dapunta Selendra from Kedu (Buchari 1966), it is evident that there was a close connection between the dynasty of the Javanese Shailendras and the royal family of Shrivijaya, and, even more importantly, that the cultural and religious life of both states was primarily oriented towards Nalanda University, the largest centre of Mahayana Buddhism.12 This supports the assumption that Buddhist works current in Java in the Shailendra period were also known in the aristocratic milieu of Shrivijaya. The numerous bas-reliefs of Borobudur demonstrate an acquaintance on the part of their creators with such Sanskrit works as Karmavibhanga and Gandavyuha. The former, by explaining the causes and effects of human deeds on the basis of the law of karma, expounds the prospects opening before the ones who firmly follow the precepts of Buddhism and before those who ignore them (Krom 1927, 1:79-80; Fontein 1989). The latter - one of the most authoritative Buddhist texts, so-called 'nine dharma' - tells about young Sudhana, who in his search for enlightenment wandered from one country to another. In vain Sudhana listened to instructions of many spiritual masters and discussed the Buddhist doctrine with goddesses and kings, bankers and manufacturers of perfumery, men and women of every social rank. Only by the favour of Boddhisattva Manjushri, did he, in the end, gain full and perfect knowledge from the holy Samantabhadra (Krom 1927, 11:2-6). In Borobudur we also encounter a series of one hundred and twenty reliefs representing episodes of Lalitavistara, another work from the 'nine dharma' group, in such detail that, as remarked by a researcher, they were carved' as if the artists were working with the text of Lalitavistara in his hand' (Nariman 1923:26). Lalitavistara (the 'Exhaustive narrative of the sport of the Buddha', around the second-fourth century AD), which is considered a sutra, is, never-

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theless, basically a biography of the Buddha. However, it differs radically from Buddhacarita by its fantastic nature and 'extravagant imagery' (Nariman 1923:20). In Lalitavistara, the Buddha appears surrounded by twelve thousand monks and thirty-two thousand Boddhisattva. When he meditates, a stream of light issues forth from his head penetrates heaven and produces a great commotion among the gods who throw themselves at his feet. For his incarnation he chooses the womb of Queen Maya, not only for her incomparable beauty and virtues, but also because she possesses the strength of ten thousand elephants. Gods build a palace of jewels in her womb for him to abide in, and his body shines from that palace so gloriously that its light extends for many miles. When he is born 'lotus flowers are strewn under his every step and the new born child announcing his greatness takes seven steps towards each of the six cardinal points' (Nariman 1923:21-2). A quotation from Lalitavistara in Adityavarmana's inscription from Bukit Gombak confirms its popularity in Sumatra until the fourteenth century. Especially noteworthy, however, is the fact that another series of 135 reliefs illustrates all the thirty-four stories of Jatakamala (the 'Garland of jataka') by Arya Shura, which, alongside Ashvaghosha's poem, is artistically one of the greatest kavya (to be more precise, campu - a mixed genre of prose and poetry) in Buddhist literature.13 This work, of which the main purport is 'the deliverance of the world tormented by suffering, lacking either a protector and defender or a leader, full of misfortunes' (Volkova 1962:15), has, as its main hero, the noble Boddhisattva, the future Buddha, who is full of love and compassion for all living creatures. It is hardly fortuitous that Arya Shura's 'garland' begins with a famous story about the Boddhisattva who sacrificed his body to feed a young tigress, exhausted, hungry and ready to devour her young (Speyer 1895:2-8). The author of Jatakamala 'met all the requirements which, according to classical Indian poetics, works written in the genre of kavya should satisfy. We find here the hero endowed with lofty moral and intellectual qualities, plots borrowed from historical traditions [... ], descriptions of the sea, mountains, the rise of the sun and of the moon, sports in water, gardens and woods, travels, battles and victories and so on, which are considered compulsory in a work of this genre.' (Volkova 1962:18-9.) Multifarious and expressive are comparisons resorted to by Arya Shura. For instance, A lion with its blood-stained jaws, paws and mane is compared with a dark cloud lit by the glimmer of the sunset; banks of a lake are decorated with a gold thread woven by fingers of waves from the pollen of lotuses and waterlilies; lotuses do not sleep, caressed by the shining moon and resembling fragments of the crescent in the shade of trees. {Volkova 1962:21-2.}

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Surprising is also the masterful phonetic arrangement of Jatakamala typical not only for its poetical sections, but also for its prose. Both in the poetry and prose of the work the so-called yamaka, or repeated combinations of homonymic syllables, occur especially frequently (Volkova 1962:22-3).14 Incidentally, this device was also characteristic for the earliest Javanese kakawin-poems, which were the closest to their Sanskrit model (for instance, for the above-mentioned 'epigraphical kakawin' of the ninth century and the Old Javanese Ramayana).15 Alongside the complete Jatakamala, the representation of some other jataka and avadana - narratives of great moral achievements, close to jataka, which are, at the same time, sermons about the law of karma - also occur among Borobudur's reliefs. By depicting the stories of Maitrakanyaka and Surupa from Avadanashataka (the 'One hundred avadana') and,particularly, a beautiful tale of the prince Sudhana and the princess Manohara from Divyavadana (the 'Divine avadana')16 (Krom 1927, 1:231-311, 396-478; Nariman 1923:47-57), they witness to these works probably also being known in the Shailendra era. 17 The suggestion that jataka could have been popular once in the Malay world is confirmed not only by Borobudur's reliefs, but also by their echo in folklore and literature of the Islamic period (in the cycle of tales about the mouse-deer, pelanduk, and in some writings of a historical and fictional nature, see Winstedt 1991:7-8,114; Pavolini 1898). However, in some cases the influence of jataka can be better explained by fairly late Thai-Malay literary ties. As an example the story about the cannibal king from Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa (the 'Tale of Merong Mahawangsa') can be quoted, which echoes a similar episode from Sutasomajataka (see Chapter VI).1 8 Finally, on the walls of the Javanese temples Mendut and Sojiwan, also the Buddhist candi of the Shailendras, we find reliefs depicting scenes from Paficatantra or some other edifying collection of animal stories similar to Paficatantra. M. Klokke (1993:114-24) who studied the reliefs showed convincingly that they are markedly different from animal reliefs based on plots from jataka. Therefore, we can assume that the Sanskrit Paficatantra may have been not totally unknown to Malay men of letters in the old Malay period. According to epigraphic data, in Sumatra generally and in Shrivijaya in particular, not only Sanskrit kavya were studied, but also original works in Sanskrit and in the same genre of kavya were created by local authors, mainly hymns to gods and panegyrics to deified rulers, which, like in Java, were probably performed during ceremonies (see Pigeaud 1960-63, IV:333-4). The earliest royal panegyric in Sanskrit, which also includes a kind of auto-panegyric of the king, was composed in Shrivijaya in the late seventh century along with inscriptions in old Malay (De Casparis 1956:6-10). On two fragments of hardened clay from Palembang, probably belonging to one and the same block, several lines (in Vipula, Anushtubh, Shardulavikridita and Sragdhara metres) are found, in which the king of Shrivijaya himself tells

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about his victory over the army of rebellious subjects. As De Casparis suggests, in the first fragment the king says that old examples show that insurgents 'were brought to grief by the [real] lords of the earth' [.. .], so that now when an insurgent leads 'an army consisting of the king's proper slaves' up against him, he need not refrain from action, for it is certain [... ] that the insurgents will be wiped out.

In the second fragment he mentions the flight or surrender of rebels 'at the approach of my army' and probably his entering their fortress. The inscription ends up with the panegyric to the victorious king: the poet says that, as the king is away, he must praise him, now invisible, with beautiful words, like the one 'trying to glorify the sun during an eclipse:

Possibly, the tradition of writing panegyrics existed even earlier, as is attested by the style of an epistle of the ruler of Kan-t' o-li, the predecessor of Shrivijaya, to the emperor of China, which has been preserved in the 'History of the Liang Dynasty' (Groeneveldt 1960:61-2). Be that as it may, the most characteristic and artistically perfect example of a panegyric to the ruler is the inscription on side A of the famous Ligor stele of 775 AD, which begins with the following verses: His wide spread glory, the inexhaustible sources of which are [his] prudence, modesty, valour, learning, equanimity, forbearance, firmness, liberality, intelligence, compassion and the like, has completely eclipsed the radiance of the glory of the lesser kings of the world, as the light of the moon during the autumn [does] the rays of the stars. He is the receptacle of virtues and is also, through [his] lustre that outshines [even] the [snowy] peaks of the Himalaya, [the support] of the virtuous and highly celebrated men in the world, [he is] like the ocean grand, a destroyer of evil [and a repository] of multitudinous gems as well as [the abode] of the Nagas with their hoods haloed by the streaks of the lustre of the gems. Whosoever have fled to him with hearts consumed by the multitudinous flames of the fire of poverty, have attained perfect ease in the same manner as the elephants [are refreshed, which], when the fierce sun is burning, [resort to] a pleasant lake with pure, serene and perennial water reddened by the pollen of the lotus flowers. The virtuous people in the world, having from all sides turned to him, who is endowed with virtues like Manu, display a greater beauty, as mangoes, kesaras and other lordly trees on the approach of the spring season [do]. (Nilakanta Sastri 1949a:123-4.)

The author of the Ligor stele 19 not only displays his mastery of the elaborate system of Sanskrit imagery and various stylistic devices, but also uses all the four kinds of metre described in Indian treatises on poetics (Gonda 1952: 102).

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The genre of a panegyric to the ruler survived until the fourteenth century, and its latest examples written in rather correct meters but, according to H. Kern, in 'barbarous Sanskrit' (H. Kern 1917b:252) are found in Adityavarman's inscriptions from Bukit Gombak and Kubur Raja (H. Kern 1917b:271; Chatterji 1967:197). Hymns to gods of the Mahayanic pantheon are not found in early epigraphic records of Sumatra and the Malay Peninsula. However, praises to Tara carved on the stele from Kalasan on the order of one of the Javanese Shailendras, as well as a eulogy to Tantric deities Matangini and Matanginisha and to their sacred erotic dance in Adityavarman's poetical inscription confirm the idea that such hymns could ~xist (Nilakanta Sastri 1949a:122; Chatterji 1967:193-5). Here is a typical excerpt from this Adityavarman's eulogy: In the golden residence adorned by the heavenly damsels, in the midst of devadaru

trees having the scent of lotus, rendered beautiful with the pastimes of birds and elephants, while Matanginisha was [sporting] in the divine lake. Matanginisha, who is the lord of all the sons of Diti [Daitya], gods and vidyadharas and also that of the heavenly damsels enjoying dancing to the accompaniment of the humming of bees, is in the enjoyment of particular exuberance of spirits(?) and moves gracefully. He, who removes the lonliness of Matangini, who keeps the company of [gandharvas like] Haha, Huhu, who in beauty, prosperity and goodness of heart is like the full-moon, has, after putting off the form of Jina [the Buddha], come down on this earth for [the benefit of] the world under the name of Udayavarmagupta the leader of all the rulers on this earth. (Chatterji 1967:193-5.)

Epigraphic texts of the fourteenth century also contain a brief Sanskrit poem from Surowoso describing Adityavarman's bloody Tantric sacrifice in an allegorical form. In this poem, the ground for burning corpses is likened to a high kingly throne, and the heap of bodies burning on the funeral pyre to myriads of flowers spreading indescribable fragrance all around. 2o To conclude, both in the writings of Indian authors briefly outlined above and in the poetical panegyrics and hymns of their Malay colleagues, the prototypes, even if rather distant and not always immediate, are encountered for such major topoi of the later Malay literature as the representation of battle and amorous scenes, the portrayal of powerful kings, and the description of marvellous palaces, ponds and gardens. Epigraphic data allow the hypothesis of the existence of juridical literature in Shrivijaya. The mention of Manu on the Ligor stele may be indicative of familiarity with Manusmriti (the 'Laws of Manu') well-known in Southeast Asia (Coedes 1968:254), while some inscriptions, especially the one from Telaga Batu, which contains a long list of crimes against the throne and of persons who might commit such crimes (De Casparis 1956:42-6), show that

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Shrivijaya juridical works could have been written not only in Sanskrit but also in the old Malay language. Besides, given that the sea trade was the basis of Shrivijaya's economy, it seems rather unlikely that a code of maritime laws, similar to the later Malaccan code (Winstedt and De Josselin de Jong 1956), was lacking in Shrivijaya. Possibly the pursuit by the fleet of Shrivijaya of foreign trading ships which tried to avoid visiting its port and thus evade paying tolls, described in a Chinese account (Hirth and Rockhill 1911:62), was namely the punishment for the offence against an article of such a code. Writings by Chinese and Arab authors allow us to form an idea of one more functional genre of Shrivijayan literature, its historiography. One of the prerequisites for the early emergence of historical writings in the Malay world was most probably the predominantly Buddhist orientation of old Malay culture. In Buddhism, with its institution of church and pronounced missionary spirit, historiography, which grew necessarily from the tradition of commentaries, cannot but playa much more important role than in Hinduism. In order to facilitate a chronological orientation, commentators on sacred texts, who at first concentrated on religious history per se (the Buddha's life, the dissemination of his doctrine), included, in their writings, genealogies of Magadha's kings and dates of their reigns, information about their relationships with the Buddhist sangha, and so on. It was precisely these notes that subsequently made up the core of political history. Both lines, religious and political, interlaced in Buddhist chronicles, a genre that existed in all countries of Buddhist culture: Sri Lanka, Tibet, Burma, Thailand, and Cambodia. Over time, the chronicles absorbed local myths and legends, narratives of heroic deeds of rulers and all kinds of noteworthy events. Another prerequisite for the development of Shrivijayan historiography was, in all likelihood, the existence of court chanceries and archives in Malay states. The archive of Funan, a maritime state in Cambodia that conquered a considerable part of the Malay Peninsula, was mentioned by the Chinese envoy who visited it in the third century AD (Pelliot 1903:254). There are also epigraphic data about Shrivijaya's chancery in which documents of state importance, among them copies of royal inscriptions on stone, were kept. 21 The earliest and, for the time being, the only mention of Shrivijaya's historiography was found in the notes by an Arab author of early tenth century, Abu Zayd. 22 With reference to the 'Annals of Zabag (Shrivijaya)', he tells about the crazy desire of the young Khmer king to see the head of the maharaja of Zabag on a plate, the sudden attack on the land of the Khmers launched by the maharaja who had learnt about it, the capture of the capital and the execution of the reckless king whose embalmed head was handed to his heir as an admonition. It is true that this story can hardly be regarded as a genuine description of a historical event (Coedes 1968:93). Nonetheless, a certain historical

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basis underlying it is quite likely. Probably, one of expeditions of Jayanasha, a ruler of Shrivijaya in the seventh century, was aimed against Cambodia (Coedes 1964:23-32). Malay attacks on the states of Indo-China, including the kingdom of the Khmers, in the ninth century were mentioned in epigraphic monuments which also tell of the destruction of temples by 'men living on food more horrible than cadavers' (Coedes 1968:91). According to epigraphic data of Sri Lanka, wars with Cambodia continued also in the tenth century (Paranavitana 1966b:205-12). Remarkably, even the verisimilitude of the episode about the beheaded Khmer king finds support, albeit rather vague, in one of the Khmer inscriptions (Coedes 1968:101-2). The excerpt from the 'Annals of Zabag', of which the plot somewhat resembles the episode from Sejarah Melayu about the capture of the ruler of Samudra (a north Sumatran state) on the orders of the Siamese king (Situmorang and Teeuw 1958:65-8), also evokes certain associations with the style of Malay historical narratives of the Islamic era. For instance in the 'Annals of Zabag', just like in Sejarah Melayu, the essentially military episode - the assault on the country of the Khmers (Ferrand 1922:34-5) in one case, and the flight of the king of Palembang after the fall of his city (Situmorang and Teeuw 1958:30-6; Wolters 1970: 91, 121-7) in another - are depicted deliberately as the king's sea-journey for pleasure. The end of the tale about the victory over the Khmers, in which the maharaja of Zabag is glorified ('And when the news about it reached the ears of the kings of India and China, the Maharaja of Zabag rose in their eyes'), also somewhat resembles the eulogy to the greatness of Malacca and its raja from Sejarah Melayu: And from below the wind to above the wind countries the news spread that Malacca is a great and prosperous city and that her raja is a descendant of Iskandar Zulkarnain, the offspring of Nusyirwan Adil, the ruler of East and West. And a great many of kings visited Malacca to present themselves before Muhammad Syah. (Situmorang and Teeuw 1958:90.)

Such endings of narratives about important historical events are typical for Malay chronicles.23 However, it is not quite clear whether these resemblances reflect the stylistic similarity of Malay Muslim chronicles to the earlier ,Annals of Zabag' or they should be explained by the fact that the fragment of the 'annals' was retold by a Muslim (Arab) author. No less difficult is the problem of whether the overt didacticism of the episode from the 'the Annals of Zabag', somewhat excessive for later Malay chronicles, is a result of its original Buddhist tendency or of the Muslim rendering of the episode. The description of the functional sphere of Shrivijayan literature will remain incomplete without at least a brief review of scanty information about its creators. The most representative figures in the functional sphere of old Malay lit-

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erature, as may also be determined on the basis of its generic composition, were court historiographers-panegyrists, of the type of the Old Javanese kawi or later the Javanese pujangga, whose activity was considered sacral,24 The kawi's most important function was the use of the magic power of the word to strengthen the charisma of the deified ruler (devaraja), which ensured prosperity of his state. According to ideas current in the societies which believed in the supernatural power of the word and literary works ('literary magic'), the magic strengthening of the king could be achieved by means of either the direct attribution of certain qualities to him or the identification of the king with gods and heroes whose incarnation he allegedly was or with whom he established a mystical union. The former practice can be illustrated by the panegyric of the Ligor stele, while the latter, by the likening of Shrivijaya's queen, Tara, to Paulomi, Rati, Parvati and Tara in the inscription from Nalanda (Chatterji 1967:160-1). Another example of the same method is a hidden identification of Adityavarman and his spouse with Mahayana deities, Matanginisha and Matangini (Chatterji 1967: 95-6). Obviously such historiographers-panegyrists (of whom, in fact, there may have been different categories) are referred to in one of Adityavarman's inscriptions: Benevolence, compassion, peaceful disposition, joy for other people's happiness, readiness to help [all] creatures - such are your virtues. o king! You are the king of good faith who will remain in works of poets. (H. Kern 1917c:271.)

The memory of such court functionaries has been preserved in the famous story from Sejarah Melayu about the descent of the ancestor of the Malay kings, Sang Suparba (in another recension, Sang Utama), on the the top of the Mount Seguntang Mahameru in the vicinity of Palembang (Situmorang and Teeuw 1958:24; Winstedt 1938a:56). This story contains, inter alia, the episode about how the king's magical bull,25 silvery white in colour, spewed foam from which 'came forth a man whose name was Bat'. Bat glorified the king in a panegyric, accorded him the title Seri Teri Buana ('the radiance of the three worlds') and sanctioned his marriage with Wan Sendari, the daughter of a local chieftain. The panegyric of Bat, contained in the earliest recension of Sejarah MeZayu, is written in very corrupt Sanskrit and cannot fail to evoke reminiscences of old Malay poems known from the epigraphy: Hail to his Highness the Sri Maharaja, ruler of the whole Suvarnabhumi, whose diadem is adorned with the happiness of strength and victory... adornment of the three worlds ... law... gone for protection [... ] throne [... ] sunrise of valour jewel [... ] with gods and demons [... ] to the time of the dissolution of the Universe, the coronal wreath of the righteous king, the king, the supreme lord. 26

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In the Malay world no title corresponding to bat has been found to exist; however, in India, from time immemorial, bhat were epic story-tellers and bards, who sometimes served at royal courts and for whom in all religious and quasi-religious gatherings and feasts, at marriages, shraddhas and solemn assemblies, it has ever been the practice [... ] to recite long strings of verses in praise of the host, his ancestors, his caste and his country (Mitra 1877:44).

For instance, in Gujarat - a region of India which had maintained close trade relations with Malay states for many centuries and played an important role in their Islamization - bhat constituted a professional caste of bards and panegyrists laying claims to a semi-divine origin (Maxwell 1881:90-3). The Indian historian Abu'l-Fadl wrote that, according to a tradition, bhat originated from the spine of Mahadeo (Shiva), while carun, members of another professional Gujarati caste functionally similar to bhat, believed that they had been created from sweat on the forehead of Mahadeo who subsequently entrusted his bull, Nandi, with taking care of them. This tradition also evokes associations with the story from Sejarah Melayu. The duty of Gujarati bhat included the writing of the so-called wye, genealogies of noble families, which contained poems extolling their members. Since the wye were important documents certifying the rank of their owners, bhat, who travelled from one patron to another, were to register marriages, deaths, births and other important events in their patrons' family life. Therefore, the functions of bhat were similar to those of the Bat from Sejarah Melayu and, by and large, to the role of the above-mentioned panegyrists-historiographers and Old Javanese kawi. 27 Evidently, in the chronicle, the term bat is a substitute for the title of Shrivijayan court poets. The appearance of such a substitute term, preserving links with Indian culture, may be explained by the later association of Gujarat with Islam, so convenient for the author of the Malay text, who himself was a Muslim. It may not be accidental that the only attribute of the Bat mentioned in a later version of Sejarah Melayu is a huge turban. 28 Other bearers of old Malay literary culture, who were concerned mostly with its practical aspects, were scribes, the kayastha mentioned in the Telaga Batu inscription (De Casparis 1956:32, 20). The range of a kayastha's functions is not quite clear. In India the term kayastha was used to denote representatives of a special professional caste comprising children of a kshatriya father and a shudra mother who fulfilled various bureaucratic functions of clerks, court scribes, compilers of various documents, and the like (Kosambi 1968:148, 174; Luniya 1960:200). From the fourth century Sanskrit was often used in court documentation, the range of the kayastha's duties included the knowledge of this language. There were special specimens of epistles, verdicts, and so on to facilitate their work. 29

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It is possible that kayastha performed certain sacral functions in Java. 3D In the Shrivijayan inscription from Telaga Batu, the term 'kayastha' is included in the list of secular functionaries. It is noteworthy, however, that in that inscription, just as in Javanese epigraphic monuments, the term kayastha stands side by side with the term 'sthapaka', the architect-sculptor, who, in Java, was mentioned first among the clerics well-versed in the Veda (Poerbatjaraka 1952:62-3) and who was a priest giving instructions to carvers rather than a sculptor properly speaking (De Casparis 1956:37). The epigraphic data show that the social position of kayastha in Shrivijaya was rather high (De Casparis 1956:32, 20; compare Stutterheim 1934:87), and it cannot be altogether excluded that, with their knowledge of Sanskrit (Groeneveldt 1960:63; Chatterji 1967:46), they were not only the compilers of routine documentation, but also composed more refined messages, such as the above-mentioned letter by the ruler of the Malay state of Kan-t'o-li to the Chinese emperor. The following excerpt gives an idea of its style: His [the emperor's] people are harmonious and good, they have been renovated by the true law and the happiness resulting from this is pervading everywhere; just as a mountain covered with snow, of which the water flows down on all sides: fresh and clear all the rivulets are filled with it, they meander in every direction, but dutifully bring it to the sea. (Groeneveldt 1960:61.)

Monasteries of Shrivijaya, which, by their position in the social system, performed a function of a sui generis intermediary between the elite and the popular domain of culture, were important centres of Sanskrit literature and learning. However, although monasteries were still built in Sumatra as late as the fourteenth century,31 we have virtually no information about scholarly and literary activities of Shrivijayan monks since the times of I-ching.

Genres of the non-functional sphere The type and the purpose of compositions comprising the functional sphere of old Malay literature testify to their being written works. It is more difficult to reconstruct the form, which was assumed by works in the Malay language in the non-functional sphere. We cannot rule out, of course, the possibility that narrative pieces belonging to it began to be committed to writing as early as the old Malay period, or at least in its end, when the role of local elements in Malay culture grew considerably. It is more likely, however, that in the pre-Islamic era they functioned in an oral form. Be that as it may, the consideration of oral works within the framework of a description of the literary system is justified by the fact that folklore supplemented literature in the Middle Ages and that folkloric works were current

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in the sphere of high culture, which was the custodian of written traditions (Likhachev 1973:46). Moreover, since even in subsequent periods Malay literature constituted a kind of oral-theatrical-written continuum, the border between oral and written genres was frequently indistinct, and certain works easily crossed it from both sides. Perhaps the most significant work, of which the study throws light on the nature of the non-functional sphere of old Malay literature, is the Malay version of Ramayana, which, under the title of Hikayat Seri Rama (the 'Tale of Seri Rama), has been preserved in manuscripts of the Muslim epoch.32 Along with it, possibly already in the old Malay period, the non-functional sphere included some fiction works similar in their type of narration and compositional structure to such later, also Arabographic, writings as Hikayat Marakarma (the 'Tale of Marakarma'), Hikayat Parang Puting (the 'Tale of Parang Puting'), Hikayat Langlang Buana (the 'Tale of Langlang Buana').33 To the same sphere probably belonged counterparts of the two episodes resembling complete pieces of literature, which are found in the oldest Islamic Malay chronicle, Hikayat raja Pasai (the 'Tale of the rajas of Pasai'; Hill 1960; Jones 1999) composed in the late fourteenth-early fifteenth centuries (see Chapter II). The first of them tells about the heroic exploits of the prince Tun Braim Bapa, and the second about the love of the Majapahit princess for Tun Braim Bapa's brother, Abd al-Jalil. The maturity of the narrative style of both episodes allow us to consider them as a result of a long evolution of the epic tradition, which had begun long before the conversion of Pasai to Islam. Besides, the story of Tun Beraim Bapa shows that the non-functional sphere of old Malay literature possibly contained not only fantastic adventure compositions, but also epic narratives based on a conflict between a devoted vassal and his unjust and ungrateful suzerain. Finally, it is not unlikely that in the late fourteenth century (see Chapter II) the non-functional sphere could have included a certain variety of romances of Javanese origin about Panji, a wandering knight and a conqueror of women's hearts.

Hikayat Seri Rama (the 'Tale of Seri Rama') The complete text of Hikayat Seri Rama differs from Valmiki's Sanskrit epic most markedly in the story that opens it (Winstedt 1944; Barrett 1963). In this story, the monstrous giant (raksasa) Siranchak (corrupted from Sanskrit

Hiranyakashipu, or Hiranyaksha, one of Vishnu's door-guards who had been doomed by a curse to be born as a demon three times) meets a young beautiful girl and becomes infatuated with her, but as soon as he tries to embrace her, she disappears. Siranchak guesses that it was Mahabisnu (Vishnu) who appeared before

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him in the form of the girl, swears to take revenge on him and begins to practise asceticism to obtain, from the supreme deity (Great and Most Glorious God), the supernatural powers necessary for the war against Mahabisnu. After withdrawing to the forest, Siranchak seduces the wives of the hermit Begawan Bisparupan. To punish Siranchak, Mahabisnu defeats him and hurls him below the seventh layer of the earth. Having returned to heaven, Mahabisnu declares that after twelve years of ascetic life Siranchak will return to the earth and will fight with him. Therefore Mahabisnu, ready to engage in ascetic exploits too, descends to the earth, riding on the Golden Peahen who will become his wife Sita Dewi in the next incarnation, accompanied by celestial beings (his future commanders) and the dragon Naga Puspa Pertala Seganda Dewa (which is to turn into a miraculous arrow). However, before that, at Mahabisnu's request, the Great and Most Glorious God turns a flower of the campaka into Mahabisnu's brother and companion, Kisna Dewa (would-be Laksamana). The two brothers are destined to be born into the family of the powerful king, Dasarata Maharaja. In the meantime, Siranchak complains bitterly of his fate in the infernal spheres and dreams only of his vengeance. He cuts off one of his heads, makes a violin from his head, fingers and arm, and plays on it for twelve years, for which the Great and Most Glorious God, enchanted by his performance, returns him to the earth. Siranchak sets off in search of his brothers and sisters and is going to be born together with them in the family of king Bermaraja, as the future demon Rawana. King Bermaraja, the ruler of Indrapura, has seven sons one of whom, named Citrabaha, is a great warrior. The king sends him to fight against the raksasa Dati Kuacha. He defeats the raksasa and marries his daughter who gives birth to a son, Rawana, whom she has borne for one hundred years. Bermaraja exiles Rawana from his country for his cruel temper and sends him to the Mount Serendib (Lanka) in a boat. Rawana sends three lotus flowers to his parents; they eat them, and Citrabaha's wife gives birth to Rawana's brothers, Kumbakarna and Bibisanam, and his sister, Sura Pandaki. Having settled on Mount Seremdib, Rawana practises austere asceticism again, hanging on a tree with his head down. Twelve years afterwards, having pitied him, Allah sends to Rawana the Prophet Adam who inquires from him what he wants. Rawana requests him to bestow on him the power over four worlds: the city of celestial beings, the ocean, the underworld and the earth, and is granted this on the condition that he will rule them justly. He has sons by princesses of three worlds: Indra Jata, Patala Maharani and Gangga Mahasura. Rawana founds the city of Lankapuri on the earth (on the Island of Lanka) and empowers himself in it. All the kings of the earth recognize his power. Only the city of Indrapura, Biruhasa, Lagur Katagina, the capital of the kingdom of the monkeys, and Ispaha Boga ruled by Dasarata Maharaja reject his suzerainty (Barrett 1963:532-43). Then follows the story of the birth of Rama (an avatara of Mahabisnu) and Sita. From that place the story follows the usual plot of Ramayana more closely and tells of Rama's test in his art of archery, his marriage to Sita, the abduction of Sita by Rawana, the battle of Rama and his allies (monkeys) with the demon, and his victory over him. (Hikajat Seri Rama 1953; Ikram 1980.)

Apart from Hikayat Seri Rama, of which about twenty manuscripts have been preserved (Brakel 1980:147-51), there exists another, quite different writ-

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ten version of the Malay Ramayana, Hikayat Maharaja Rawana (the 'Tale of Maharaja Rawana', Overbeck 1933); the version similar to the latter, Hikayat Maharaja Wana, which is performed in the Malay shadow theatre, wayang Siam (Sweeney 1972:69-127); a short oral narrative version published by Maxwell (1866); and some others. An examination of the manuscripts of the Hikayat Seri Rama has shown that its original proto-version had its origin not in the classical Ramayana of Valmiki, but in popular, oral versions, widely spread over east, west and southwest India. 34 This can be confirmed by a great number of narrative motifs of diverse origin, which were assimilated by the Malay tale (Zieseniss 1928:107-14; Barrett 1963). Therefore, the process of the formation of this work testifies to a connection, not so much with the Sanskritized elitist culture, but rather with the budding popular culture related to the Indian quarters in Malay city-states. One of the early stages of the evolution of the oral proto-version has been preserved in the reliefs carved on the walls of the Javanese temple Prambanan. 35 The complete version of Hikayat Seri Rama quoted above could not have appeared before the thirteenth century, because it contains the episode about Siranchak, which owes its origin to the Sanskrit work Bhagavatapurana, composed in the thirteenth century. Although the oldest manuscript of the hikayat (MS. Laud Or. 291) dates from the first third of the seventeenth century, its popularity in Malacca in the fifteenth century (see Chapter II) perhaps allows the hypothesis that the version known at present was committed to writing between the thirteenth and fifteenth centuries. The assumption about a single written prototype to which, in one way or another, all the extant copies of Hikayat Seri Rama can be traced, was substantiated in the philological study of the work carried out by Brakel. In his opinion, the oral proto-version of the hikayat which had persited in the repertoire of the shadow play (wayang) at least until the thirteenth century, 'was recorded in writing, in the shape of a purana(?) or a lakon(?) or possibly a combination of both', which 'served as the prototype of Hikayat Seri Rama, when in the second half of the fourteenth century the latter was created in Pasai' (Brakel 1980: 159). The Pasai tale of Rama was a classical hikayat with' a fixed structure, replete with a division into chapters and quotations from Persian' .36 Evidently, the dominant role of Buddhism in old Malay states accounts for the fact that, of the two great Indian epics, it was namely the Ramayana that exercised profound and lasting influence on Malay literature and folklore. Its influence is particularly obvious in the traditional historiography of the Islamic period and in fantastic adventure tales (hikayat). National versions of the Ramayana enjoyed great popularity in virtually all the Buddhist countries (Sri Lanka, Tibet, Mongolia, Burma, Thailand, Cambodia, and others, see

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Raghavan 1975; Grintser 1982), whereas in predominantly Hindu Javanese culture the impact of the Mahabharata proved to be stronger. It can be suggested that, on the one hand, the greater attractiveness of the Ramayana for Malay Buddhists was related to an identification of the Buddha with Rama in Dasharatha-jataka ('I was Rama-pandita at that time') which shows a number of significant parallels with Hikayat Seri Rama (Stutterheim 1925,1:105-8), as well as to the Hindu tradition of the Buddha as an avatara of Vishnu (Martine 1952:69). On the other hand, the appropriation of Hindu motifs by the hikayat was primarily facilitated by syncretic nature of Malay and Javanese Tantric Buddhism. Judging by the Javanese treatise Sang Hyang Kamahayanikan (Chatterji 1967:98), it included the Hindu triad of gods in its system as early as the tenth century and, in addition, it was particularly influential in Sumatra precisely in the twelfth-fourteenth centuries (see Schnitger 1937; Moens 1924). Interestingly, vague echoes of Tantrism can be traced in the Malay Ramayana itself (as well as in some later hikayat), notably, in the episode of Rama's descent to hell and in the mention of Candrahasa, Rawana's magical sword (Ziesennis 1928:99).37 Besides, the thirteenth-fourteenth centuries were the period of intense Javanese influence on the Malay world which not only became drawn into the political orbit of the Javanese Majapahit empire, but also found itself under the profound affect of Javanese culture.38 In particular, it is in this period that Javanese tales about Panji might have become known in Malay literature, as the story of a Majapahit princess from Hikayat raja Pasai testifies to. Cultural contacts with Java reinforced Hindu elements, which existed in the old Malay tradition itself, but had been pushed to the periphery before that time. This stimulated the introduction of Hindu motifs into the proto-version of Hikayat Seri Rama and the growth of its authority in Malay literature. At the same time, the erosion of high Sanskritized civilization under the pressure of diverse forms of budding popular culture (originating from both Malay and Indian quarters of trading cities of Shrivijaya) was also stimulated by influences coming from Majapahit, where a similar process had presumably gone even further. Suffice it to recall of a vogue for poetry in the 'folk style' at the court of Hayam Wuruk (a Majapahit king of the fourteenth century), a strong influence of the local tradition on architecture, sculpture and temple reliefs in the Majapahit era (and even earlier), various theatrical shows and performances by storytellers at the feasts in Majapahit's capital (see Pigeaud 1960-63, IV:135, 514), the compilation of mythological compendia (Tantu Panggelaran, Korawashrama) and works with an obvious local tinge, and so on. Characteristically, it was not so much Buddhism as such, which must have seemed an alien and rather abstract religion of the elite to the ordinary mentality, as Hinduism and cults of the Hindu-Buddhist 'coalition' (Gonda's term) that influenced the formation of a more popular, mixed variety of Malay

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culture and literature at the end of the old Malay period. Their mythology (not infrequently, rather close to the indigenous) was more powerful than that of Buddhism, and, consequently, their Weltanschauung proved to be more 'visual', 'plastic' and 'narrative', hence more easily understandable. It is interesting, however, that in both traditions, Javanese (the kakawin Ramayana) and Malay (the proto-version of Hikayat Seri Rama), the tale about Rama was the first literary work per se in the ethnic language. Nevertheless, their differences are also obvious: in Java this tale, in the form of kakawin, marks the early transformation of the Old Javanese language into the language of high aristocratic culture, whereas in the Malay world it is a forerunner of the above-mentioned urban culture, more popular and mixed, which is to become the foundation of the civilization of Islamic Malay sultanates.39 A comparison of textual data on the Malay Hikayat Seri Rama with materials from the living stage tradition of the shadow play in Kelantan (Sweeney 1972: especially 263, 272) suggests certain hypotheses concerning the nature of texts in the non-functional sphere of old Malay literature. Judging by the Kelantan tradition, the Malays regarded the Rama cycle as a kind of 'tree' or rather 'tree trunk', with a relatively stable core and a flexible periphery: the 'branches', 'leaves' and' flowers' being stories about the later or less significant adventures of the main heroes and their descendants. Unlike the epic 'trunk', these stories did not lay claims to historical reliability and were frequently 'invented', or rather construed, by individual dalang (puppeteers). Sometimes 'invented' stories were' canonized' and, having become a common possession of puppeteers, assumed a more stable form (Sweeney 1972:264-72). Such a construction was preconditioned by the existence, on the one pole of the tradition, of a corpus of narrative motifs, constantly augmented by the dalang from different oral and written sources (see the absorption of motifs, diverse in their origin, by the major plot of Hikayat Seri Rama). On another pole, there existed a set of compositional techniques and schemes which allowed the dalang to add coherence to his material, thus organizing it into an integral whole (Sweeney 1972:263). These schemes developed historically when additional generic and thematic restrictions were superimposed on the single compositional structure of the primordial'monomyth' (Grintser 1974:282-4) which could be differently interpreted in its social, natural, agricultural and other aspects (see below). Even after the 'erosion' of the original sacral semantics of the 'monomyth', the schemes 'retained' the memory of its structure, which facilitated their mutual identification. For instance, the use of tales about Panji in the shadow plays based on the Ramayana required only insignificant changes in their plots and the identification of heroes who were functionally akin to each other (Sweeney 1972: 264-8). All the more so, as in the Malay tradition of professional story tell-

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ers Ramayana was transformed into a romantic story, thus actualizing the potential of its classical version. In their turn, the motifs of Hikayat Seri Rama migrated equally freely to other stories. For instance, the episode about the golden peacock which abducted the prince Indraputra and brought him to the garden of the old woman Nenek Kebayan, a flower-seller (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:8-9), is most likely traceable to the story of the golden peacock (a transformation of Garuda?) that brought Mahabisnu to the earth and landed him in a garden amidst the jungle, where he practised asceticism before rebirth as Rama (Barrett 1963:536-7). The same golden peacock reappears in Hikayat Langlang Buana (1913:73-5) and other Malay hikayat. Variations within the text, the inclusion of new motifs (Kelantanese dalang borrowed their material from both the repertoire of oral storytellers and written hikayat), the inversion of motifs in established plots, as well as their fusion and repetition, allowed almost unlimited possibilities for the development of Malay narrative prose. Consequently, individual works were identical in compositional structure and yet their plot clusters varied, in the 'swarming' tradition. Even after having been fixed in writing (for instance from the repertoire of the teacher), these clusters did not always attain a state of final stability (Sweeney 1972:49-54). The same phenomenon can be also observed in the manuscript tradition of Hikayat Seri Rama and other works of this genre. A scribe almost invariably was also a co-author to some degree. 4o

Origins of Malay fine literature The philological study of Hikayat Seri Rama helps us to find a point of departure for the reconstruction, even if tentative and conjectural, of the type of works which formed the belles-lettres (or, for the lack of a better term, 'fine literature') in the old Malay period, or at least at the end of that period. Fine literature implies here literature proper, more or less in its current understanding, that is, a sum total of works written with an articulate aesthetic intention. However, for the further examination, we should bear in mind that such terms as 'fine literature' and 'non-functional sphere' generally, on the one hand, and 'functional sphere', on the other, are quite conventional and relative when applied to a number of medieval literatures, including traditional Malay literature over all its periods. Firstly, as we have seen, many genres of the non-functional sphere could have an aesthetic dimension. Secondly, most of the works, which could be reckoned among belleslettres on the basis of modern criteria, were considered by their readers and creators as to some extent functional, since all of them performed at least an edifying function. Moreover, the notion of 'aesthetics' in medieval literatures was specific enough and, as a result, the aesthetic component saturated the

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literary system in now higher, now lower concentrations (see V. Braginsky 200lb:29-31, Chapter IV). Old Malay fine literature was rooted in folklore from where a prototype of would-be classical hikayat with their characteristic 'morphological type' (Goryayeva 1979a:132) originated. It was this prototype that later served as the foundation on which external influences were superimposed. As it seems, Hikayat Marakarma, Hikayat Langlang Buana and Hikayat Parang Puting preserve some salient features of the prototype better than other hikayat of the Islamic period. Judging by these works, the fantastic adventure 'protohikayat', in spite of the diversity of narrative motifs, might have had a rather simple and, more importantly, stable and uniform structure, traceable to the primordial' monomyth'. This 'monomyth' was the Malay variant of the widely spread Indonesian myth of the sacral cosmic marriage of the male and the female principles associated with the sun and the water (and in the next generation, of their son with the princess found in the hollow bamboo stem, symbolizing the earth) (see Ras 1968:93-7, 1973:448-54). Thanks to this marriage of elements the unity and orderliness of the Universe was ensured. At the social level, this myth gave a sacred account of the first human couple, of the tests and trials of initiation they had to bear, and of the ultimate union of man and woman which resulted in the founding of the first settlement, the life of which was based on the established law (Rassers 1959:2-4). In the natural, or agrarian, aspect, the same myth was interpreted as the tale of the eternal turnover of deaths and rebirths of the plants and the alternation of dry and rainy seasons (compare ParnickeI1974a:340-55). The content, structure and functions of this myth were reconstructed early in the twentieth century, with many typical misrepresentations of the mythological school, as 'the myth of Panji' (Rassers 1922). Later, this reconstruction was considerably changed and improved, particularly on the basis of parallels with the mythology of the Ngaju Dayaks of southern Kalimantan (Ras 1973:445-54). Dayak parallels also help to reconstruct the historical roots of the central theme of traditional Malay fine literature, notably the theme of the path or, rather, wanderings of the main hero. As was already noted by V.Ya. Propp (1946), in narrative traditions all over the world this theme was traceable to the concept of the posthumous journey of the soul to the country of the dead. Some Malay narratives of the sixteenth-seventeenth centuries show that, although the semantics of the theme of wanderings was radically reinterpreted in the Hindu-Buddhist and Islamic epochs (see Chapter VIII), its representation in them still reveals a number of parallels with the journey of the soul in shamanistic traditions. Interesting examples of such parallels can be found if we compare the

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'records'· on one of the papan turay ('writing boards') of Than lemambang, bards singing ritual songs (see Nikulina 1972:34-6},41 with an episode from Hikayat Indraputra (the 'Tale of Indraputra'). In Hikayat Indraputra (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:93-103), like in the 'description' on the papan turay, the way to the country of the dead lies first through a valley where beautiful flowers grow. Then Indraputra surmounts eight hills with birds of specific species on each of them. Similarly to Indraputra, the soul of a dead person mounts eight hills on which trees of various species grow (various species of birds are also mentioned in papan turay, but they live on the tops of mountains, closer to the country of the dead). Just as in Hikayat Indraputra, one of the hills, in papan turay, issues loud musical sounds and another hill shines 'like heat-lightning at sunset', and so on. Eventually, after being carried over the last, eighth hill by a jinn, Indraputra reaches a seashore and finds there princes sailing in their boats. Similarly, in the Than country of the dead, situated beyond the hills, the river Manday flows, and souls of the dead continue their journey, sailing in a boat down the river. Remarkably, the two narratives coincide not only in their general 'topography', but also in many details. In Java the evolution of the primordial myth brought to life tales about Panji, while in the Malay world not unsimilar evolution may have led to the appearance of the earliest oral fantastic narratives, predecessors of tales told by 'comforters of sorrow' (cerita penglipur lara), that is by professional rural storytellers. Even in their present form these tales have preserved a number of archaic features that occur in the epics of the Malay-Indonesian peoples, which were not affected by either Hindu or Islamic influences. These features include: the connubial theme as the core of the plot; the hero endowed with magic powers from his birth; the image of old Nenek Kebayan - a mediator between the celestial and the terrestrial worlds and a female shaman of sorts; the no less ancient motif of the building of a miraculous ship, accompanied by special magic rites; the geographical and ethnological realism of the narrative (see Goryayeva 1979a: 85, 97, 100-2, 121-2, 134-5). Noteworthy is also the fact that the above-mentioned hikayat of the Islamic period (Hikayat Marakarma and others) demonstrate 'in their morphological type a number of important similarities to the tales of 'comforters of sorrow', thus being, in a sense, an intermediary link between this genre of cerita penglipur lara and the genre of classical hikayat' (Goryayeva 1979a:132). Under the influence of the Hindu-Buddhist concept of the chain of rebirths, the structural pattern of these tales, which is traceable to the primordial myth, was reinterpreted as an account of the descent into the world of a divine or semi-divine hero, of his incarnation, life and exploits (Bausani 1979: 46-50). A typical compositional structure of old Malay narratives appears to have been bipartite, with the first part presenting an account of the hero's life (or heroes' lives) during the preceding incarnation, and the second part

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narrating events in their present life. This structure - analyzed by Bausani on the basis of Hikayat Sang Bama (the 'Tale of Sang Boma', see Chapter III) and well-known from Javano-Malay theatrical compositions - is also preserved in Hikayat Seri Rama, Hikayat Marakarma, Hikayat Langlang Buana and a few other writings of the Islamic era. For instance, misfortunes of Marakarma,42 once' a celestial being, Angkasa Dewa, who always waited on Batara Guru [Shiva]' (Inon Shaharuddin 1985: 1-2) began after he, cursed by Indra, had to be born on earth. The hero of Hikayat Parang Puting was born to the daughter of a celestial king who was slandered and banished to the earth (Winstedt 1922:62). Indra Bumaya, the protagonist of Hikayat Langlang Buana, was, in his previous incarnation, a king of celestial beings. 43 It is namely the incarnation, the heritage of the Hindu-Buddhist past that aroused a particular discontent among copyistMuslims. The oldest manuscript of Hikayat Seri Rama (1633) is a characteristic example: after excluding from the work the whole first part, its copyist found it necessary to warn that he had omitted' all that was not good' (Barrett 1963: 543). Contrary to classical hikayat (see Chapter V), the fantastic adventure tales of the old Malay period probably had plots with a 'multi-lead' structure, in which individual episodes were linked together by the 'constant presence of the main personages and [... ] a common line of development' of the plot (Goryayeva 1979a:72), and by a multi-level, vertically organized model of space, similar to that of the relatively archaic cerita penglipur lara (see Goryayeva 1979a:72, 105). At least such a 'multi-lead' construction of the plot and the multi-level model of space is characteristic for Hikayat Marakarma and other typologically ancient hikayat mentioned above. Finally, we can assume that hypothetical proto-hikayat of the late old Malay period reproduced the Sanskrit imagery, or probably its Old Javanese version, more faithfully than later writings. A certain idea of this can be formed from the description of a battlefield in Hikayat Marakarma, which reveals fairly close parallels to those in Sanskrit Kathasaritsagara (the 'Ocean of Stories') by Somadeva, or in Bharatayuddha, the Old Javanese kakawin based on a part of the Mahabharata, and in its Malay successor, Hikayat Pandawa jaya (the 'Tale of the victorious Pandawa', see Chapter III). In Hikayat Marakarma we read: Then dust filled the air, darkness enveloped the clear sky, so that nothing could be seen [... J Heaps of dead bodies similar to hills, rose on the battlefield, and the heads of commanders rolled on it like wooden balls. Shields of the fallen floated in the sea of blood like boats. When they collided with corpses of elephants, they sank, engendering sadness in the hearts of all who saw it. (DisseI1897:111.)

In Kathasaritsagara we find the following description:

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The field of battle seemed like a lake, the full-blown lotuses of which were the faces of many heroes; on those the shower of discuses descended [... ] and so ruined the kingly swans. The combat appeared, with the severed heads of heroes flying up and down, like a game of ball, with which Death was amusing himself. When the arena of combat was cleared from the obscuring dust by the sprinkling of bloody drops, there took place on it the single combats of furious champions. (Tawney and Penzer 1968, IV:108.)

Also in Bharatayuddha: Darkness produced by dust that rose [as high as the sky] filled [the soul] with awe and covered everything around. At last dust saturated with blood settled, and it became light again. When darkness was dispelled, [it seemed] that blood flooded all around as if it were a sea. The mustaches of dead warriors lying on the ground looked like seaweed; dead bodies of elephants and horses resembled cliffs, and arms scattered around the battlefield were like pandanus thickets. (Poerbatjaraka and C. Hooykaas 1926:65.)

The motif of floating and sinking shields is also found in Bharatayuddha (Poerbatjaraka and C. Hooykaas 1926:65).

The interaction between spheres of the literary system It seems likely that the functional and the non-functional spheres of old

Malay literature, which were, to a certain extent, related to the elite and popular forms of culture respectively, were connected with each other, although rather loosely, and therefore shared some characteristics that became stronger towards the end of the period. Several channels for this connection can be surmised. Buddhist monasteries and 'brotherhoods' of Hindu hermits may have been one of such channels: Javanese literature of the Majapahit period contains enough facts corroborating their role as mediators (Pigeaud 196063, IV:484-7; Zoetmulder 1974:159). Other important link was probably the practice of presentation of literary works at various feasts by two performers. One of them recited the original text and the other translated it into the vernacular verse by verse. Still attested to in Java and Bali (Pigeaud 1967:176), this practice could also have existed in monasteries of Shrivijaya and at the courts of its rulers, thus facilitating the penetration of Buddhist and Hindu plots, motifs and images into popular culture. Mediating functions could also have been carried out by various kinds of theatre. One of these theatrical performances, which were somehow connected with the cult of Amoghapasha, is mentioned in an inscription of Adityavarman (Schnitger 1937:9). Finally, the role of professional storytellers who lived at or were invited to the court was no less, if not more, important too. The institution of court storytellers was well known in ancient and medi-

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eval India and in Java. Their recitation at a great religious feast is mentioned in the Old Javanese poem Nagarakertagama: Every performance that might please the people the King held: See the storytellers [widu amacangahl and masked dancers taking turns with all kinds of singers every day. (Robson 1995:73; compare Pigeaud 1960-63, III:78.)

The repertoire of Javanese storytellers consisted mainly of diverse narratives about the events of olden times (Pigeaud 1960-63, IV:120, 514). Therefore, it is a little wonder that influences of their tradition are felt in Old Javanese historiography, for instance, in the chronicle Pararaton (Pigeaud 1960-63, IV:120). Unfortunately, data on a similar institution in Shrivijaya are lacking; however, not only Indian and Javanese parallels, but also some mentions in Malay literature of Muslim times allow the hypothesis that it probably existed there too. For instance, the heroine of Syair Ken Tambuhan (the 'Poem of Ken Tambuhan'), when explaining her coming late to the queen, says: I was listening to Ken Penglipur so long That my eyelids closed, and I fell asleep. She is unusually skillful in speech And knows plenty of stories and tales. (Teeuw 1966b:8.)

These mentions permit us to assume that, if oral narratives of 'consollers of sorrow' were performed by rural story-tellers, then hikayat - written works of a similar kind - appeared not infrequently after such oral narratives were committed to writing (Overbeck 1938:308). This assumption is further corroborated both by invariable references to the process of narration contained in hikayat, including epic episodes of Hikayat raja Pasai, and by the widespread practice of reading hikayat aloud before the audience, a kind of 'narration by a book'. Judging by such examples of the genre of hikayat as Hikayat Seri Rama, Hikayat Marakarma, Hikayat Langlang Buana, and others, a part of the repertoire of court storytellers of the Islamic era might be traced to the repertoire of their predecessors in the old Malay period. The system of old Malay literature as reconstructed above can be presented as a system of four concentric circles with their radii gradually increasing in length: I. The Buddhist canon (in Sanskrit). II. Commentaries and works adjacent to the Canon. 1. In Sanskrit: commentaries, educational texts, Indian Buddhist trea-

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tises and poems (Karmavibhanga, Gandavyuha, Lalitavistara, Buddhacarita, Jatakamala). 2. In Malay: commentaries, educational writings (?). III. The functional sphere. 1. In Sanskrit: local religious poetry (hymns to gods, panegyrics to deified rulers), juridical treatises (Manusmriti). 2. In Malay: juridical writings (of the type of the inscription from Telaga Batu), historical works (the' Annals of Shrivijaya' (?)). IV. The non-functional sphere: 1. In Sanskrit: Pancatantra. 2. In Malay: heroic and epic tales (of the type represented by the story about Tun Beraim Bapa), the proto-version of Hikayat Seri Rama, fantastic adventure works (of the type of Hikayat Marakarma, Hikayat Langlang Buana, Hikayat Parang Puting), tales about Panji.44 In all likelihood, it is precisely this structure of old Malay literature that conditioned its decline into oblivion in the Islamic era. The written works, which in principle could have survived, belonged mainly to the functional sphere, with its Buddhist background, and were the first to be replaced after the Malays embraced Islam. Since these works were written mostly in Sanskrit and not in the local language, they left practically no traces in the subsequent tradition, unlike writings in the Old Javanese language, which influenced the literature of Islamized Java considerably. Works of the non-functional sphere, which functioned mainly in the oral form, partly disappeared and partly, having been transformed, became part of Malay folklore and Malay classical literature, where they merged with elements of Javanese works that were close to them in their spirit.

Notes The term 'old Malay literature' is used in this chapter to denote the literature of Malays of the pre-Islamic era (Islam began to spread in the Malay world from the late thirteenth century). The term 'Shrivijayan literature', derived from the name of Shrivijaya, probably the greatest state in Malay history (the seventh-thirteenth century), is used sometimes as its synonym. Materials for this reconstruction are still so scarce that one has to regard all the reconstructed Malay literature of the period of Indianized states indiscriminately, as a kind of an integral whole. Unfortunately, the author sees no alternative to this preliminary approach at present. Such doubts were, for instance, expressed by Russell Jones, who supported the view of some Malaysian scholars that Malay literature only appeared with the advent of Islam, finding it rather improbable that 'before the arrival of Islam and Moslem-made paper there was any tradition in the Malay world of writing on palm-leaf or similar materials' Oones 1986:139). There are five important problems with this argument: 2

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1. Jones presents no substantial criticism of opposing arguments (such as the Buddhist and, consequently, written character of old Malay culture; palaeographical data; the spread of syllabic alphabets among a number of Sumatran ethnic groups as early as the thirteenth-fifteenth century (see Hinloopen Labberton 1932; Iskandar 1995:24-9). 2. Jones mentions only seventh-century old Malay inscriptions, whereas the epigraphic vestiges from Sumatra and the Malay Peninsula both in old Malay and in Sanskrit are much more numerous, cover a vast territory and date from the fourth or fifth up to the fourteenth century (for a bibliography, see Manguin 1989, particularly p. 111). Furthermore the epitaph from Minye Tujoh (1380) was written in a script of Indian origin from the same region where in this period the Malay Arabographic (Jawi) tradition originated. 3. Jones practically ignores the data provided by Chinese and Arab sources concerning written texts in the Malay world. 4. When drawing parallels between Malay and Javanese writing traditions on the one hand, and west and east Indian traditions on the other, Jones tends to forget that both west and east Indian traditions originate from writings on palm leaves. 5. The linguistic data cited by Jones - one stemming from Sanskrit (baca), two being autochthonous (tu/is, surat) and another three deriving from Arabic (lea/am, dawat, kertas) - testify to one tradition being superseded by another, rather than to a single written tradition. In fact, Jones's article is a valuable study of such a supersession. For some ideas about the existence of old Malay literature and its language, see Parnickel1977: 91-3, 1980:36-8. 3 Hirth and Rockhill 1911:60-4 note 7. The clerk of Admiral Cheng-ho, Ma-Huan, who visited Java at the beginning of the fifteenth century, in the time of Majapahit, notes that the books of the people from Malacca closely resemble those of Java (probably in the sense that both were written in similar letters, originally from India, and on some kind of /ontar leaves) (Wheatley 1961:323). Another Chinese source from 1537 mentions that Indian letters were used in Malacca (Groeneveldt 1960:126). This piece of information corresponds well with data about the shift of the cultural tradition from Palembang (the ancient capital of Shrivijaya) to Malacca (Wolters 1970:128-35).

The typological analysis of medieval literature offered below is based mainly on the works by Konrad (1966), Likhachev (1973:15-61), Riftin (1974), Rozhdestvensky (1979:73-103), V. Braginsky (200lb); for the description of the principles of the typological method, one of the methods of comparative literature, see V. Braginsky 2001b:1-24.

4

The suggested concept of a religious Canon as the centre of a literary system, built on the model of concentric circles, is only implicitly present in the above-mentioned works of Konrad, Likhachev and the other scholars (see note 4); it has been elaborated in detail in the book of the present author (V. Braginsky 2001b:37-64). Instead of a unitary typology of medieval literatures as suggested by Konrad and Likhachev, this book presents a dual typology: one for literatures (Chinese, Sanskrit and Arabic) shaping 'literary zones' (Sino-Far-Eastern, Indo-South-Asian, Arabico-Muslim), and the other for literatures joining or incorporating the zones (together with, for instance, Vietnamese, Bengali, Turkish and Urdu literatures Malay belongs to the latter type). In contrast to the latter ('integrated literatures'), a salient feature of the 'zone-shaping literatures' is the existence of belles-lettres (a totality of aesthetically marked works), as a clearly distinct category within the written tradition as a whole and fully realized within the framework of literary 'self-awareness', with an independently created original literary theory (poetics) as a corollary. Thus, the idea that medieval literatures include all written texts is applicable only to 'integrated literature' such as old Malay. For the epigraphic data and the materials on early Southeast Asian literatures utilized below, see Coedes 1964, 1968; Kumar Sarkar 1968; Majumdar 1927, 1944, 1953; Mus 1931; Duroi-

6

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selie and Blagden 1919-36; Halliday 1930; Luce 1969; Pigeaud 1967; Zoetmulder 1974; Sarkar 1971; De Casparis 1950, 1956. 7 The first inscription in this language appeared in Champa simultaneously with the earliest inscriptions in Sanskrit (the fourth century); then, however, the Cham language was not used in epigraphic monuments until the sixth century (Coedes 1968:48, 70).

Noteworthy is the fact that the earliest manuscript in the Old Javanese language, dated the fourteenth century and containing the kakawin Kunjarakarna is not of the Balinese origin but comes from Ceribon in West Java (see Van der Molen 1983). 9

See Gonda 1952:107-17; De Casparis 1956:283; Zoetmulder 1974:87-94, 226-30, 237-43.

10 Takakusu 1896:xxxiv. I-ching's information about Shrivijayan monks and monasteries is further corroborated by epigraphic data, in particular by a fragmentary inscription from the Palembang area dated the late seventh century, which mentions either the foundation of or the visit paid to a vihara (monastery) by an unnamed king of Shrivijaya, most probably Jayanasha (De Casparis 1956:14). 11

For English translations of Buddhacarita, see Cowell 1927; Johnston 1935-36.

12

See Coedes 1968:91-3; 107-9; De Casparis 1950:99; Chatterji 1967:45.

13 For more details on Buddhist sources of reliefs of Borobudur, the relationship between these sources and reliefs, and the scenario of the reliefs, or a specific local version of the literary works used by the carvers who produced the reliefs, see Bernet Kempers 1988. 14

For more details on Jatakamala, see also Nariman 1923:41-4; Warder 1970-74, II:247-61.

15

See De Casparis 1956:285-6; C. Hooykaas 1958; Zoetmulder 1974:230.

16 Divyavadana (circa the third century AD), one of the most authoritative works in the genre of avadana, is a combination of simple Sanskrit prose with some passages in verse (gatha). Among its numerous narratives particularly impressive are those about a woman who cut off her breast to feed a hungry mother ready to eat her child; about an untouchable woman (candala) whom the Buddha cured of her paSSionate love for his disciple and, having rejected all caste prejudices, made a nun; or about the dramatic conversion to Buddhism of Mara himself by the holy man, Upagupta (see Nariman 1923:53-9).

The reliefs which illustrate Karmavibhanga are on the originally covered base of Borobudur; Gandavyuha in second gallery, chief wall; Lalitavistara on the first gallery, chief wall, top series; Jatakamala on the first gallery, balustrade, top series; other jataka and avadana on the first gallery, chief wall, lowest series, first gallery, balustrade, top series, and second gallery, balustrade (Krom 1927). For the translations of Lalitavistara and Jatakamala, see, respectively, Mitra 1881-86; Foucaux 1892 and Speyer 1895. The reliefs in question are described in detail, analysed and compared with their literary sources in the works by Krom (1927), Hikata Ryusho (1958) and Fontein (1967). All the reliefs of the Lalitavistara series were published by Krom (1926); the recent photographs of selected reliefs from other series, can be found, inter alia, in the books by Soekmono (1990:110-50), Miksic and Tranchini (1990:61-145), and Nou (1996:218-331). 17

18 Some descriptions contained in oral folk-tales (the so-called cerita penglipur lara) also evoke

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associations with Buddhist writing. They are found, for instance, in Raja Donan, Raja Ambong, Hikayat Raja Muda (the 'Tale of Raja Muda') (Winstedt 1958d:1-2). 19 Grammatical errors in this panegyric (Gonda 1952:102) and the use of an archaic variant of the kawi script in it (De Casparis 1975:31-2) allow the hypothesis that the author of the poem on the stele was a local of Ligor. 20 Chatterji 1967:95-6. About Adityavarman (reigned in 1347-1374) see, in particular, De Casparis 1989; for editions and translations of the inscriptions left by this king, see H. Kern 1917a, VI:217-21, 249-76, VII:139-44, 163-76; Chatterji 1967:193-5. From the relatively numerous inscriptions of Adityavarman we learn that he was an adherent of Kalacakra, a branch of Vajrayana. Tantric rituals (probably influenced by Shivaite Tantrism too) performed by Adityavarman, who identified himself with Bhairava, as well as by members of his family and his courtiers, included, inter alia, sexo-yogic practices, drinking wine, ritual laughter and bloody sacrifices on cremation grounds (see Moens 1924:558-79; Schnitger 1937:8-10,1964:86-97).

De Casparis 1956:4-5. De Casparis (1975:5) remarks that juridical documents on perishable materials were written in such royal chanceries to be later transferred by carvers to stone.

21

Ferrand 1932:32-5. In 1968 at the International conference on Asian history in Kuala Lumpur, the eminent Sri Lankan scholar, S. Paranavitana, who had studied Ceylon-Malay ties for a long time (Paranavitana 1966a), announced his discovery of Sri Lankan epigraphical sources, which mention a Shrivijayan chronicle of the eleventh century, Suvarnapuravansha, and outlined its contents (Paranavitana 1968). However, as the main principles of Paranavitana's reconstruction of Shrivijaya-Sri Lanka political and religious relations, in particular his identification of toponyms and reading of badly damaged inscriptions, were strongly criticized by Paranavitana's colleague, R.A.L.H. Gunawardana (1967), this discovery undoubtedly requires thorough checking, which is beyond the expertise of the author. For this reason, it is not discussed in the present book. 22

See, for instance, Situmorang and Teeuw 1958:163 or Ras 1968 where, at the end of one of the stories, we find the following description of the Nagara Dipa (Banjar) ruler's greatness: '[ ... ] the king of Sukadana, the king of Sambas, the heads of Batang Lawai and Kota Waringin, the king of Pasir, the districts of Kutai and Karasikan and the head of Barau had all recognized the overlordship of Maharaja Suryanata in Nagara Dipa. Even the king of Majapahit - although Majapahit was admittedly a great power with many vassal-states - regarded Maharaja Suryanata with reverence, as on account of their descent the latter and his spouse could not be compared with the kings of other countries. That is why the king of Majapahit had such great respect for him.' (Ras 1968:326-8). The glorification of the greatness of Banjar and its king concludes many episodes in this chronicle, being a compositionally important formula (Ras 1968:326-8, 255, 262, 290, 322, 442). Remarkably, the narrative about the prosperity of Nagara Dipa and a great number of merchants, who hurried to its haven after the Chinese emperor, in answer to the gifts of its king, had sent craftsmen to carve the statues of deities in Nagara Dipa (Ras 1968:254-62), strongly resembles the story about the prophetic dream of the king of Kan-to-li from the 'History of the Liang Dynasy'. In that dream the king saw a Buddhist priest who told him that his 'country would be prosperous and happy and the foreign merchants would visit it in numbers increased a hundred-fold', if the king sent gifts and showed reverence to the emperor of China. The king sent an envoy with precious gifts and a painter to China; the painter made a portrait of the emperor, and, when the king received it, he 'mounted this picture on a precious frame and honoured it more and more every day' (Groeneveldt 1960:60-1). Possibly this story of the kings dream and his embassy to emperor reflects to some extent the style of old Malay writings, in particular, chronicles.

23

Berg 1938a, 1938b:13-89. As many scholars (Bosch, Pigeaud, Damais, De Casparis, Zoetmulder, and others) have shown convincingly, Berg's ideas on 'literary magic' and the pujangga

24

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as its priest became, over time, increasingly far-fetched. These ideas seem to be more acceptable when corrections and reservations by Zoetmulder (1974:165-73) are taken into account. According to another recension, the cow which belonged to two women who were the first to encounter Sang Utama (Winstedt 1938a:56).

25

Brown 1952:25. For another version of this formula of enthronement (so-called ciri-formula) from a later, so-called long recension of Sejarah Melayu (see Chapter 11), see Samad Ahmad 1979:22,331.

26

For instance, kawi not infrequently accompanied kings on military expeditions (Zoetmulder 1974:249). Similarly, bhat also followed troops, singing, on the march and before battles, songs which were intended to fill warriors with belligerent spirit and incite them to imitate the exploits of their ancestors (Maxwell 1881:92-3).

27

'Destar terlalu besar' (Teeuw and Situmorang 1952:24). For more details about bat and the origin (probably from Bengal) of his panegyric, the future ciri-formula, see Van Ronkel 1921b, 1922b.

28

Kosambi 1968:174. The satire on kayastha, written by the outstanding Indian poet Kshemendra, testifies to the fact that, at least in Kashmir of the eleventh century, representatives of the higher ranks of this 'estate' occupied important positions as 'chief administrators in the sphere of internal affairs' and were in charge of military and religious matters (Serebryakov 1971:287).

29

In the inscription of the ninth century from Kedu (Stutterheim 1934:87) this term is found in the list of officials who were present at the ceremony of granting a field to some funeral temple, after the priest-astrologer (jataka) and the inspector of temples (marhyang), but before the priest's assistant (upakalpa). 30

Thus, for instance, one of the inscriptions issued by Adityavarman tells about the founding of 'a magnificent vihara equipped with all that one's heart may wish. No one must violate the calm of the sacred structure; curses will befall him who has disobeyed the injunction, and blessed be the guardian of the temple: (Schnitger 1937:8.) 31

For the manuscripts (no less than twenty) of Hikayat Seri Rama and their interrelation, see Ikram 1980, Brakel 1980:147-52; for the editions and summaries of the work, see Roorda van Eysinga 1843; Shellabear 1915; Winstedt 1944; Hikajat Seri Rama 1953; Barrett 1963; Ikram 1980. There are a partial translation-paraphrase of Hikayat Seri Rama into German by Overbeck (1926a) and its complete translation into Russian by Mervart (1961). 32

Winstedt 1991:36; Liaw Yock Fang 1991-93, 1:160-7; Goryayeva 1979a:19-20, 72, 143. For the latest editions and studies of these works, see also Abu Bakar 1985 and Inon Shaharuddin 1983,1985 (Hikayat Marakarma, alias Hikayat Si Miskin); Jamilah Haji Ahmad 1980 (Hikayat Parang Puting); Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1991 (Hikayat Langlang Buana).

33

P.A. Grintzer, who compared numerous non-Indian versions of Ramayana, notes that they reveal a striking similarity to one another and that, in the final analysis, they are traceable to one common version different from Valmiki's Ramayana. This original version is 'characteristic of its more archaic features [than in the poem by Valmikil and folkloric traits'. Grintser (1982: 80) believes that 'a thorough and exhaustive analysis of correspondences between Indian and non-Indian versions of the tale of Rama will allow us to reconstruct the content of this version 34

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more reliably and to establish the ways of its penetration from India into neighbouring Asian countries with a greater accuracy then now'. Not so long ago, R. Jordaan expressed a fairly well grounded assumption that the process of syncretization of Hinduism and Buddhism had begun as early as the Central Javanese period, in the era of the Shailendras. Besides, he believes that the relationship between the Buddhist dynasty of Shailendra and the Hindu dynasty of Sanjaya was peaceful enough (previously it was considered quite hostile). Jordaan also supposes that the Hindu candi of Prambanan with its reliefs based on plots from Ramayana was built at the end of the eighth-the beginning of the ninth century, in the period of reign of the Shailendras and even with their assistance (Jordaan 1996:23-45). In another work (Jordaan 1995:5-7), he substantiates his assumption that in Java of Shailendra times there existed a certain Buddhist version of Ramayana, on which the scenario for the corresponding reliefs of candi Prambanan was based. If the ideas of Jordaan are correct, we cannot rule out that this Buddhist version of Ramayana was known to Malay literati in Shrivijaya too, all the more if we take into account the close ties between the Shailendras of Java and Sumatra and the wide spreading of Ramayana in Buddhist countries (see below). 35

Brakel 1980:150. Brakel's hypothesis about the written Pasai prototype and further textual history of Hikayat Seri Rama seems to be the most convincing explanation of this complicated problem so far. At the same time, it is difficult to agree with his apparent tendency to view Malay writings based on Ramayana and on Mahabharata as if they had an identical textual history. The Malay origin of Javanese versions of Rama-tales which is assumed by Brake!, the influence of Ramayana on the Malay dynastic myth of the origin, dated to the Hindu-Buddhist era (BrakeI1980:152-3), and especially the obvious preference for Ramayana in Buddhist countries - all this presupposes the existence of an oral 'proto-version' of this epic as early as the old Malay period. On the contrary, the inscriptions of the fifth and ninth centuries in which heroes of Mahabharata are mentioned (see Chapter III) are hardly a sufficient basis for such a hypothesis. It is precisely for this reason that the Malay Ramayana is discussed in this chapter, albeit with some reservations, whereas writings based on Mahabharata, in the chapter on Malay literature of the early Islamic period. 36

For English translations of the important works on the Malay Ramayana by Stutterheim and Zieseniss mentioned above, see Stutterheim 1989; Zieseniss 1963.

37

Compare Parnickel 1980:83-4. Pigeaud believed that in the epoch of Majapahit Hindu merchants from Java who conducted trade with Sumatra may have combined merchant functions with those of religious preachers (Pigeaud 1960-63, IV:38). Nagarakertagama tells of Javanese Buddhist monasteries founded in South Sumatra, in particular in Lampung (Pigeaud 1960-63, IV: 256-7). Incidentally, the only Sumatran Shaiva inscription comes from Lampung (Damais 1962: 289-310).

38

Revealing in this respect is the stylistic comparison of excerpts of a similar content from the Old Javanese kakawin Ramayana and the Malay Hikayat Seri Rama carried out by Stutterheim (1925,1:113-8).

39

A profound analysis of the 'orality' of traditional Malay literature has been carried out by Sweeney (1980a, 1987). He expounds a theory about the 'oral-written' character of this literature in general. As the reader will notice, in the present book its written aspect is accentuated. This aspect is connected first and foremost with the general Islamic cultural context. While accepting most of Sweeney's arguments, the present author considered it important to counterbalance Sweeney's approach by emphasizing the written aspect of this literature (for more details, see Introduction to this book).

40

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The detailed analysis of this papan turay by Nikulina is based on the publications: Harrison 1965; Harrison and Sandin 1966.

41

!non Shaharuddin 1985; Disse11897. The continuation of the story of Marakarma narrating the fortunes of his descendants is contained in manuscripts St. Petersburg LO IVRAN V 2506, S 1967, D 450 (V. Braginsky and Boldyreva 1990:164-5, 167-8, 173); for their summary and analysis, see Goryayeva 1979b, Goriaeva 2001 (with a list of manuscripts of Hikayat Marakarma generally).

42

Hikajat Langlang Boeana {1913:1-2}. There are also new Malaysian editions of this work by Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor (1991) and its complete translation into Russian by V. Braginsky (1987).

43

44 While studying differences between the reliefs of Candi Mendut and Candi Borobudur, M. Klokke came to the following remarkable conclusion: 'In contrast to what one would expect, the Tantri [Paficatantra] reliefs on Candi Mendut and Candi Sojiwan, which are both Buddhist temples, illustrate the worldly Paticatantra themes and not the specifically Buddhist jataka themes. They contain lessons on how to succeed in life, and knowledge of these stories was conceived of as standing at the basis of a successful and prosperous life [... ] As such Mendut is contrasted with Borobudur, which is directed towards the transcendental world. Instead of the worldly Tantri type of stories represented on Candi Mendut, on Borobudur we find the moralistic jataka, which illustrate Buddhist virtues such as self-sacrifice, unselfish helpfulness and generosity, which eventually lead to the attainment of ultimate truth. [... ] Since Candi Mendut and Candi Borobudur are thought to belong together both architecturally and religiously, I assume that the difference in sphere between the jataka reliefs on Candi Borobudur and the Tantri reliefs on Candi Mendut was created on purpose, in accord with the different concepts which the two candi express: (Klokke 1993:133.) This conclusion partly confirms our conception of old Malay literature as an integral system, of which the hierarchy is dependent on the function of particular works or (which is the same) on the degree of their proximity to the centre of the system, that is to the corpus of texts of the religious Canon.

Early Islamic literature The disintegration of Shrivijaya favoured the rise of its former north Sumatran dependencies, which now became sovereign principalities. A number of relatively large nagara, such as Lamuri and Barus (Fansur), emerged in northern Sumatra as early as the Hindu-Buddhist period. In the thirteenth century the maritime states of Perlak, Samudra, Pasai, Pedir and Aru (Haru) began to playa dominant role in this part of the island. Maintaining close trading relations with Gujarat, Bengal and the Coromandel Coast of India, they, in the course of time, were converted to Islam by merchants and preachers from these countries. It seems likely that the first Muslim trading settlements appeared in Sumatra as early as the seventh-tenth centuries, but several centuries passed before the new religion began to be spread among the Malays. At the early stage of Islamization, both the unity and the proselytizing spirit of foreign Muslim communities and prolonged sojourns by Muslim Indian merchants in Sumatran nagara played an equally important role in the process. During their stay they learnt the Malay language and customs, married Malay women, made friends with and found patrons among the old local nobility, and thus gradually attained influential positions at the court. Even more significant, however, was the fact that by the thirteenth-fourteenth centuries the prerequisites for embracing Islam had matured in Sumatran city-states (as in the Malay world generally). The basis of elitist Indianized culture had already largely been undermined there by that time, while the budding popular culture of the middle strata vitally needed a new ideological foundation (see Introduction),1 The famous Arab traveller Ibn Battuta, who in 1345-46 visited Samudra that together with Pasai had formed a kind of a dual state twenty years before that, described the flourishing city whose ruler, an ardent Muslim, waged incessant wars against the 'infidels', engaged eagerly in conversaFor various opinions about Islamization and its effects on the Malay world and Southeast Asia in general, see Fatimi 1963; Drewes 1968; Al-Attas 1969; Hall 1977; Hooker 1983; Gordon 2001, and also the bibliographies by Boland and Farjon (1983) and Horvatich (1993).

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tions with Shafi'ite theologians and on Fridays walked to the mosque on foot, humbly dressed in simple clothing (Gibb 1957:273-6). Even the defeat inflicted by Majapahit in the 1350s failed to shatter the economic potential of Pasai. During the following century it, as before, remained a major port of call for Muslim merchants who, trying to avoid a risky journey into the interior of the Archipelago, continued to meet in Pasai with their Javanese partners (Wolters 1970:158). Pasai also retained equally high prestige as the oldest Malay centre of theological and literary activities. 2 Yet it was not the kings of Pasai who were destined to revive the bygone glory of Shrivijaya. This ambitious project was initiated by Parameshvara, the Iskandar Syah of Sejarah Melayu. In the 1390s he, the ruler of Palembang and a distant successor of maharaja of the great empire, made an attempt to rid of Majapahit's suzerainty and, striving to consolidate his charismatic power, proclaimed himself an incarnation of Avalokiteshvara - the Boddhisattva of Diamond Rays. The Javanese did not hesitate to retaliate: in a year or two Palembang was devastated and Parameshvara had to flee from the city in haste. However, the 'sea-Malays' (primarily, the ruler of Bintan who possessed a powerful fleet) did not leave him without their support, and after a brief period of his rule in Singapore, from where Parameshvara was banished by the raja of Pahang or Patani, a Siamese vassal, he managed to found a new capital city, Malacca, in the south of the Malay Peninsula (Wolters 1970:108-35). The protection of an emperor of the Ming China saved Malacca from a new Thai invasion (Groeneveldt 1960:130-1). In 1436 Parameshvara's grandson married a princess of Pasai, accepted Islam and styled himself Sultan Muhammad Syah. Thus he managed to attract some of the Muslim merchants, who formerly preferred Pasai, and Javanese traders to the more conveniently situated harbour of Malacca. From now on the growth of Malacca as a trading port and her rise as an Islamic centre were inseparable from each other. Malacca gained the fame of' the second Mecca' and the process of Islamization of the insular world was intensified conspicuously. In the fifteenth century large parts of Sumatra and the Malay Peninsula were Islamized; in the sixteenth and by the beginning of the seventeenth century practically all the cities in the coastal zone of the Archipelago were converted to Islam. The old Shrivijayan court ceremonial was restored in Malacca, although not without certain modifications, the administrative system was ordered, and new penal and maritime codes were introduced. The fleet of the 'seaMalays' ensured safety of trade and navigation. In the middle of the fifteenth century Malacca switched to a policy of extensive conquests and during a period of fifty years subdued part of the Malay Peninsula and a number of east Sumatran principalities, thus imposing her domination on both coasts 2

On the history of Samudra-Parai, see Hill (1970:7-24); Coedes (1968:231); Alves (1991, 1994).

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of the Strait of Malacca, just as Shrivijaya had done in the past. This added to Malacca the specific lustre of an imperial capital and turned it into that 'city made for merchandise' which unfolded before the Portuguese in the early sixteenth century and, still earlier, before thousands of Gujarati, Tamil, Chinese, Arab and Indonesian merchants, whose ships cast anchor to the south of the estuary of the Malacca River. Long rows of storehouses stretched along the northern bank of the river, in the fenced area called Upih, which was guarded at night by watchmen ringing their small bells. Not far from the storehouses a chain of the famous city bazaars began, and still farther, separated by gardens and parks with tanks, the kampung (quarters) of foreign merchants who settled together according to their ethnic identity. These kampung, among which the most populous were those of the Javanese, the Chinese and the Tamil and south Indians (Keling), were scattered both in Upih and in the areas of Ilir and Sabak on the southern bank of the river, behind the present St. Paul's Hill. The core area of the city was situated on St. Paul's Hill and around it, also on the southern bank near the river mouth. It included, first of all, the sultan's palace built on the top of the hill and the main mosque. According to Sejarah Melayu, the palace presented an impressive sight. [It] had seventeen bays, each interspace between pillars being eighteen feet with pillars in circumference the span of a man's arms; the roof had seven tiers with seven pinnacles. Between were cupolas, and every cupola was furnished with a dormer-window, its roof at right angles and terminating in flying crockets, all of them carved. Between the spires was trelliswork with pendent and pyramidal decoration. All the spires were gilded and their tops were of red glass, so that in sunlight they gleamed like fire. All the walls had eaves and inset were large Chinese mirrors that flashed in the sun like lightning dazzling the sight. (Brown 1952:86-7.)

On the lower slopes of the hill clustered houses on piles of the nobility and Malay immigrants, which were 'constructed like storeyed pavillions' (Ma Huan 1970:110). Eredia, the Portuguese author of the early seventeenth century, tells briefly about the entertainments of Malaccan nobles, which had hardly changed in less than one hundred years: The nobles [... ] spend their time in pastimes and recreations, in music and cockfighting, a royal sport in which they stake much money [... ] Young girls called rajavas (?) are dancers and singers: they have soft, sweet voices, and dance and sing in harmony with the sounds of drums or rabanas: they are higly appreciated by the Malayo nobles and are to be found at all the merry-makings and royal feasts and solemn banquets [... ] Very few of them [of the nobles] have any inclination for the arts and sciences; and even those who are of a more inquiring turn of mind, content themselves with learning to read and write and to study Arabic with the masters from Mecca who proceed to the south. (Mills 1930:39.)

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The core area was enclosed by a palisade and connected with the northern part of Malacca by a wooden bridge on which the sultan ordered the main market of the city to be arranged - 'more than twenty bridge-pavilions', so that' all the trading in every article takes place on this bridge' (Ma Huan 1970:109). This kind of city planning (Wheatley 1961:311), with its clear distinction between the core and peripheral areas, was typical for Malay cities of the Islamic period (compare Lombard 1967:44-8). On the whole, its layout was similar, to some extent, to that which was observed as early as the HinduBuddhist period. However, after a partial transformation, conditioned by the requirements of the new religion, it also corresponded well to the ideal model of the Islamic city, Middle-Eastern or Indian, with its three 'circles' Oohns 1976:310): -

The ruler's residence with neighbouring administrative buildings and barracks; - The central complex including mosques, religious schools and bazaars; - Separate clusters of houses inhabited by merchants and artisans of different ethnic groups, surrounding the central complex. Unlike medieval European cities which were isolated from the feudal castle both territorially and culturally, the Malay cities, like Middle Eastern ones, included the 'feudal castle' - to be more precise, the palace - into their structure. This had, in fact, the same consequences for Malay urban culture as for Arab-Muslim civilization, which were summed up by an Arabist as follows: On the one hand, the urban culture [ ... J became more refined under the influence of the court. On the other, the presence of the omnipotent amir or caliph in the

medieval Arab city prevented the city folks of various estates from becoming a potent force, shattered the patriarchal basis of the urban society and deprived it of 'social optimism' without which the old medieval world outlook could not be lived out and a new one could not be formed. (Filshtinsky 1971:86.)

In accordance with the diverse needs, tastes and cultural idiosyncrasies of the inhabitants of the three' circles' of the city, there came into being literary works also variegated in nature. At royal courts historical chronicles were composed as well as heroic epics and love-and-adventure tales designed for cultivating valour and courtly manners among the aristocratic youth. In the milieu of religious teachers, or ulama, either local or visiting, there were written hagiographic works and treatises on all the branches of Islamic knowledge. At the same time it was not uncommon to come across ulama among the authors of writings in 'aristocratic' genres, both romantic and historical (compare Johns 1976:312). Unfortunately next to nothing is known about the literature of the 'third

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estate', so to speak, of the cosmopolitan Malay cities. Though it is far from clear what kinds of literary works, if any, directly originated from their quarters, numerous data testify to a certain familiarity there with the written literature alongside the oral literature which was widespread at those times even at royal courts. Malay works tell not only of princes or princesses reading alone (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:132) or in a circle of courtiers (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:152-3), but also of the majlis, a literary assembly of either the king and nobles (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:1) or the common townsfolk. Although information about the latter is fairly late, in some form they could have enjoyed popularity much earlier. At such assemblies a book, or to be more precise a manuscript, passed from the first reciter to the second, then to the third, and so on (Hikayat anak pengajian:2-3; V. Braginsky 2002b:44-5). There also existed a special institution of professional manuscript-reciters who found admirers for their art in bazaars and were frequently invited to private houses. How free and easy the atmosphere at such assemblies was, is shown by curious additions to the manuscripts intended to be read there (Khalid Hussain 1964:248). They entreat the reader not to chew betel-leaves while reading aloud, otherwise a valuable manuscript will be stained with red saliva. Such additions show vividly the reading habits of the townsfolk as well as the concerns of copyists and owners of manuscripts: The author [of an addition] repeats his points of concern several times [... ] and reading it we can clearly visualise his male and female customers sitting close to the oil-lamp, bending over the manuscript, talking about the story while rolling it up and opening it again, holding it tight to the breast submerged deeply into text and conversation and plainly forgetting such trivialities as the fears expressed by the owner. (Kratz 1977:4.)

At the same time, the recitation of folkloric poems and narratives and the performance of theatrical plays in either Malay or Arab, Indian and Javanese quarters, enriched Malay literature with new plots and topics, motifs and images. As a result of the relatively high social mobility characteristic of Malay cities, as well as the important mediating role played by religious teachers in social intercourse, those plots and motifs were able to reach such centres of scribal activity as the palace, the school or the religious establishment and be committed to writing, reworked, polished, and embellished there. The stratification of Malay literature described here existed during the entire Islamic epoch. However, historico-cultural traditions - the background of literary development - as well as the ideological problems which literature faced differed considerably in the early Islamic and classical periods. The coming of Islam put an end to the Hindu-Buddhist cult of the deified king. New dynasties were related to the milieu of merchants and craftsmen closer than their predecessors were, and consequently knew popular culture

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better than they did and often patronized it (compare Pigeaud 1967:77). At the same time, as is demonstrated by the history of Pasai (Hill 1960:13-4), Malacca (Tyurin 1980:44-5), and Banjarmasin (Ras 1968:156), the role played by the old Indianized aristocracy still remained rather significant and their cultural habits, traditions and preferences could not fail to exert a considerable influence on the nascent early Islamic literature of the Malays. The emergence of early Islamic literature in Pasai and Malacca coincided with the first of the two stages of Islamization of the Malay world (AI-Attas 1970:191-2). This stage - the' conversion of the body' as AI-Attas puts it - was characterized by a relatively superficial familiarization with the fundamentals of the new religion (the Qur'an, Hadith) and in particular with the precepts of the Islamic law (syariat). Hence, the popular preaching and Islamic jurisprudence (fiqh) played the predominant part at that time. At the next stage of Islamization - that of the 'conversion of the soul' - corresponding to the classical period in the history of Malay literature, a greater importance would be attached to the vertical, in-depth growth of Islam rather than to its horizontal expansion. Consequently, Muslim theology and Sufi mysticism would become its focus. The first decade of the sixteenth century was the period of the highest political and cultural prosperity of the Malacca sultanate. Malacca became one of the largest centres of the world trade with a population of about forty (one hundred according to Pires) thousand people and a four thousand strong' corps' of merchants from the entire East. However, this was also the last decade of its independence. On 24 August 1511, after two tumultuous attacks, it was captured by the army of the Portuguese governor of India, Alfonso d' Albuquerque, who took advantage of feuds at the court and the absence of the main forces of the 'sea-Malays' in the vicinity of the city. The fall of Malacca marked the beginning of European expansion in the Malay world. 3

3 Sources (indigenous, Chinese, Arab and Portuguese) on the history of Malacca are fairly numerous; for their survey, see Muhammad Yusoff Hashim (1992a:3-14). For general historical studies of Malacca, apart from older works (for instance, Wilkinson 1935; Winstedt 1935), see Wheatley 1961:306-26; Meilink Roelofsz 1962; Wolters 1970; Watson-Andaya and Andaya 1982; Sandhu and Wheatley 1983; Hashim 1992a (with an extensive bibliography).

CHAPTER II

The problem of early Islamic Malay literature and its genre system The expansion of Islam in the Malay world entailed serious changes in the entire system of medieval Malay culture and, consequently, in literature. Nevertheless, it is difficult to assess how far these changes progressed at the early stage of Islamization, in the fourteenth-sixteenth centuries, because Malay studies do not possess sufficiently reliable data about the composition of literature at that time. The reason is that the earliest Malay manuscripts date from the turn of the· sixteenth century at the earliest, while the above-mentioned anonymity of the majority of literary works and their bearing no indication of date impede the attribution of some of them to the early Islamic period. If we add to this high degree of variability of written texts as a consequence of their being either edited or copied inaccurately, which was characteristic for traditional Malay literature before the introduction of the printing press (see Introduction), and an insufficient development of methods allowing philologists to date literary works on the basis of their internal features, for instance linguistic or stylistic, then the difficulties facing the student of early Islamic literature will become quite obvious. To overcome these difficulties, students of Malay literature have usually used various external data, from the date of the Persian or Arabic originals, when the corresponding Malay works, such as, for instance, Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah (the 'Tale of Muhammad Hanafiyah') were translations, to the mention (or otherwise) of datable realia in them, for instance, firearms (Van Ronkel 1895:113; Brakel 1979b:18-20). The mention of titles of literary works in traditional Malay chronicles was also one of such external data, since not infrequently the chronicles, by their very nature, are more easily datable. For example, Winstedt's views about the composition of Malay literature in the Malacca era were largerly based on the literary data encountered in the earliest recension of Sejarah Melayu (the 'Malay annals'), the most important local chronicle, the creation of which he dated not later than 15351536 (Winstedt 1938a:27-34). The views of Winstedt were also conditioned to a considerable degree by his beliefs that another historical work, Hikayat raja

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Pasai (the 'Tale of the rajas of Pasai'), was written in the fourteenth century (Winstedt 1991:109). However, in the 1960s the Dutch scholars, A. Teeuw and R. Roolvink, challenged the dates of these chronicles suggested by Winstedt. Teeuw (1964b:229-34) admitted that the current state of Malay philology did not allow us to determine the time of composition of Hikayat raja Pasai, while Roolvink attributed the earliest version of Sejarah Melayu to the beginning of the seventeenth century (Roolvink 1967:310). The ideas of the Dutch scholars received wide recognition (see, for instance Johns 1975; Parnickel 1980:1335), and, as a result, the outline of Malay literature in the late fourteenth-early fifteenth centuries, vague as it had been, lost any certainty (Johns 1976:312). Fresh efforts and new approaches to the material were (and most definitely, still will be) required in order to restore at least the former degree of clarity. That this is possible has been demonstrated by stimulating studies by Brakel about Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah and the origin of the genre of hikayat in Malay literature (Brake11975, 1977, 1979b). Be that as it may, neither the old method of dating, based on the study of historical works, seems to be exhausted so far, nor the new dates suggested by Teeuw and Roolvink appear to be convincing enough. In any case, the differences between the views of Winstedt and of his Dutch opponents deserve closer scrutiny and testify to the fact that the composition of early Islamic literature in the Malay world still remains an important problem to be faced by students of Malay literature. As in the case of the old Malay period, inadequate knowledge of the early Islamic period impairs the establishment of a chain of succession in traditional Malay literature and the study of its evolution, which, in its turn, distorts the picture of the literary process as a whole. A rather lengthy digression into the domain of Malay philology is therefore necessary in order to outline the way toward the solution of this problem. 1 The time of composition of Sejarah Melayu (the 'Malay annals') Sejarah Melayu (alias Sulalat as-salatin the 'Chain (or Genealogy) of sultans') was one of the first Malay works with which European scholars familiarized themselves. It was published more than once and was translated into English, Dutch and French, partially or completely, as early as the nineteenth century.2 Until 1938 the chronicle was believed to have been composed in 1612 in the sultanate of Johor during the rule of Sultan Allauddin Riayat Syah. The main argument in favour of this was the preface to Sejarah Melayu which, in its most popular edition by Shellabear (1967) as well as in the editions by Abdullah bin Abdul Kadir Munsyi (Situmorang and Teeuw 1958) and Dulaurier (1849), stated that the work had been composed in 1612 by (or

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rather under the supervision of} the bendahara (chancellor) of Johor, Tun Seri Lanang. 3 At the assembly of the nobles he learnt about a 'Malay history brought from Goa' and later was commissioned by the sultan to edit this history, so that it would serve as edification for posterity. However, in 1938 Winstedt·recognized in one of the manuscripts of the chronicle (Raffles Malay 18) a copy of that very 'history brought from Goa' - the earliest recension of Sejarah Melayu - which had been edited anew and augmented in 1612. The British scholar believed that the text of the chronicle contained in Raffles Malay 18 should be dated circa 1536. Winstedt's major arguments in favour of this date and the priority of Raffles Malay 18 to Shellabear's recension are as follows (Winstedt 1938a: 27-34). -

-

-

-

In the manuscript Raffles Malay 18 the narration ends with the story about

the events of 1535, which provides a certain ground for its dating by itself. Besides, unlike the preface to Shellabear's recension, the preface to the manuscript is quite organic to it and contains neither interpolations nor the mention of an assembly of nobles and a 'history brought from Goa'; The logical sequence of chapters and separate sections, as well as the inner logic and consistency of a number of stories, is considerably clearer and more correct in Raffles Malay 18 than in Shellabear's recension; Unlike Shellabear's recension, Raffles Malay 18 contains only brief genealogies of noble families. In particular, the genealogy of the family of bendahara reaches only the grandson of bendahara Seri Maharaja, executed in 1510, whose son was sufficiently grown up to occupy a prominent official position as early as 1509; Unlike Shellabear's recension, Raffles Malay 18 shows no tendency to glorify sultans of the Malacca dynasty and their bendahara at all costs, or to emphasize their family ties. For instance, in Raffles Malay 18 Sultan Mansur Syah's successor is his son by his Javanese wife, Raja Raden; in Shellabear's recension, it is his son Husain by a woman from the bendahara clan, who was not even mentioned in Raffles Malay 18. There was no need for such distortions in Malacca, but they were badly needed in Johor of 1612 due to a growing significance of the bendahara and a very weak dynastic link between the sultans of Johor and their Malacca predecessors. For the same reason Shellabear's recension lacks any mention, made in Raffles Malay 18, of the legitimate senior branch of the Malacca dynasty, which ruled in Perak. Political reasons also account for the fact that, unlike Raffles Malay 18, many mentions of conflicts with the Portuguese with whom Johor concluded a friendship treaty in 1610 are missing in Shellabear's recension; The broad literary erudition of the author of Raffles Malay 18, his know-

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ledge of a number of foreign languages and his use of Pasai, Tamil, Javanese, Minangkabau and Cham traditions can be explained if we consider him a Malaccan, but they would hardly be explicable if he lived 'in a petty refugee court up the Johor river' (Winstedt 1991:112); The style of the stories about the last ruler of Malacca, Sultan Mahmud Syah, betrays a contemporary of the events described in the author of Raffles Malay 18. Needless to say, he could not ascribe to the sultan his legendary proposals to the queen-sorceress from Mount Ledang. In fact, while in Shellabear's recension Sultan Mahmud Syah himself proposes to her, in Raffles Malay 18 this is ascribed to his grandfather, Sultan Mansur Syah.

In Winstedt's opinion, the original recension of Sejarah Melayu, preserved in the manuscript Raffles Malay 18 (henceforth Winstedt's recension4 ), was composed by a chronicler who was Sultan Mahmud Syah's contemporary, who survived the capture of Malacca by the Portuguese and who brought his work on the chronicle up to the year 1535. Then Sejarah Melayu was brought to the Portuguese headquarters in the East, the city of Goa in India, from where it was subsequently brought back to Johor and edited in 1612 to meet the requirements of the new political situation. To this can be added that, as c.A. Gibson-Hill (1956:185) remarked, 'The Portuguese attempts round 1610-12 to establish friendly relations with the Malay court, with the object of preventing their forming a firm alliance with the Dutch, provide at least a reasonable explanation of why the manuscript was brought back from Goa'. The question of the location of Goa from which the 'Malay history' had been brought continued to be discussed subsequently (Linehan 1947; GibsonHill 1956). W. Linehan suggested that the Goa mentioned in Sejarah Melayu was 'one of two localities in Pahang' (Gua on the river Jelai north of Kuala Lipis or the Kota Gelanggi group of caves - gua in Malay) and emphasized the importance of the Malacca-Pahang-Johor relationships reflected in the chronicle. 5 Gibson-Hill, on the contrary, added some fresh arguments in favour of Winstedt's localization of Goa. He believed that an early recension of Sejarah Melayu, the original of Raffles Malay 18 which finishes abruptly with the description of the Portuguese attack on Johor in 1535, was captured during the second attack in 1536 and taken to Goa probably by the initiator of that attack, Dom Esteviio de Gama, who returned to Portuguese India in 1539 and was its governor in 1540-42. Thus, the copy of the chronicle found its way to the Government Archives in Goa, where the Portuguese historian Diogo do Couto - the keeper of the Archives from between 1595 and 1604 until 1616 - got acquainted with it. The evidence of Do Couto's familiarity with Sejarah Melayu is that the story of Iskandar Syah, the unjust punishment of his concubine and the fall of Singapore in his Asia, which closely follows the

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Malay chronicle, is radically different from accounts given by all the other Portuguese historians (Pires, 0' Albuquerque, Barros and Eredia) as well as Van Linschoten who was in Goa in 1583-89. 6 Besides, Do Couto mentions only one Portuguese attack on Johor in 1535-36, which is at variance with historical reality, but in complete agreement with Sejarah Melayu in its recension Raffles Malay 18 {Gibson-Hill 1956:188). In 1939 Winstedt briefly though clearly expounded his understanding of the evolution of Sejarah Melayu in his History of Malay literature, and it determined the views of Malayists for the next several decades. However, in 1967 Winstedt's conception was re-considered radically in the article about different recensions of the chronicle by R. Roolvink (1967). In his article, Roolvink drew attention to genealogical lists of Malay rulers, which contained the dates of their enthronements and deaths and sometimes mentioned the important events that happened during their reign. These genealogical lists were known to such early Dutch students of the Malay world as P. van der Vorm and F. Valentijn and later to E. Netscher. Roolvink managed to find the manuscript of one of the genealogical lists (Cor. Or.3199 (3)) which he regarded as being close to those which were in Van der Vorm's and Valentijn's possession, because it contained identical 'names and whole phrases' (Roolvink 1967:304). Roolvink suggested that a list of that kind, named Sulalat as-salatin (the 'Genealogy of sultans') had served as a basis for the future Sejarah Melayu. After absorbing historical and other stories and losing the mention of dates, it gradually evolved into the chronicle, well known at present in a number of copies (formerly Sulalat assalatin was only regarded as the original title of the chronicle itself which, in the early decades of the nineteenth century, was given the name of Sejarah Melayu by its first publisher Abdullah bin Abdul Kadir Munsyi and of the 'Malay annals' by its first translator, John Leyden). According to Roolvink, the first stage of the evolution of the genealogical list into the chronicle is the short text of twenty-five pages preserved in the manuscript Maxwell 105. Serving as a kind of prologue to the genealogy of the sultans of Perak, this text is undoubtedly related to Winstedt's version of Sejarah Melayu (Roolvink 1967:306-7, 311). The second stage in the evolution of the chronicle is represented by Winstedt's recension itself. The latter, so Roolvink believed, appeared exactly in the year 1612, which was mentioned in its preface. Afterwards one of the copies of Winstedt's recension somehow finds its way to the city of Goa in Sulawesi, not in Portuguese India as Winstedt assumed. About 1720 this copy (or its copy) was brought from that Goa to the Sultanate of Johor and edited in Riau, at the court of the Buginese yamtuan muda ('viceroys') who by that time had become influential in the Malay world. As a result of two subsequent revisions of Winstedt's recension, car-

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ried out by the Buginese viceroys, two recensions of Sejarah Melayu emerged: 'short' (published by Abdullah bin Abdul Kadir Munsyi, henceforth Abdullah's recension) and 'long' (found in Dulaurier's edition and partly in Shellabear's 'hybrid' text in which the last sections of the 'long' recension are added to the' short' recension; now the 'long' recension is available in the editions by Samad Ahmad (1979) and Mutiara (1993)). Therefore, Roolvink rejects the date of the earliest recension of Sejarah Melayu (1536), suggested by Winstedt, as well as the proposed date of composition of Shellabear's text (1612) and, consequently, of Abdullah's recension, as the latter is included in the former. Further, he shifts the evolution of the chronicle itself to a considerably later epoch. Accordingly, he does not raise the question of the Johor revision of 1612, since Goa, in his view, is a city in Sulawesi. The evolution of Sejarah Melayu described by Roolvink is extremely simple: it is a history of its constant expansion from a genealogical list of two or three pages to an extensive chronicle of several hundred pages. It is difficult to say what exactly in Roolvink's conception seemed so convincing to the majority of Malayists that they accepted it so readily and unreservedly:? was it the simplicity of the suggested scheme which spared them the necessity of revising the date (1612) found in the preface to Winstedt's recension, or the strict and comprehensive classification of all the known manuscripts of Sejarah Melayu? Be that as it may, the fact was overlooked that Roolvink's understanding of the development of Sejarah Melayu posed more new problems than it resolved old ones. In fact, if examined closely, the Dutch scholar's arguments prove to be rather vulnerable. First of all, when studying the genealogical lists, Roolvink did not pay special attention to either their differences or the dates of rule mentioned in them. Netscher (1854a) published three such lists: his own, Valentijn's and the one that belonged to the Buginese viceroys of Riau (henceforth the Riau list). A comparison of the list published by Roolvink (henceforth the Kinglist) with those published by Netscher shows that it is identical to the Riau list and only reaches a later date. It is noteworthy that Valentijn's and Netscher's lists are similar in their dates, but differ considerably from the Riau list and the Kinglist. 8 The peculiarities of Netscher's list will be discussed in particular later. The other genealogical lists witness to the fact that there were at least two traditions of dating the rule of the Singapore-Malacca dynasty: the Riau list/the Kinglist and Valentijn's list respectively. Contrary to Roolvink's opinion, the Riau list/ the Kinglist tradition, which he rediscovered could not evolve into Winstedt's recension of the chronicle, because the periods of reign differ radically in the lists and in the recension. At the same time, the tradition represented in Valentijn's list on the whole shows the same periods as Winstedt's recension, but, in our opinion, both the evolution of Winstedt's recension

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from Valentijn's list and the evolution of Valentijn's list from Winstedt's recension are equally plausible. It is sufficient to know only one date in the history of the dynasty to calculate the rest from the periods of reign contained in Winstedt's recension. For instance, according to Winstedt's recension the capture of Malacca by the Portuguese falls in the thirtieth year of Sultan Mahmud Syah's rule (Winstedt 1938a:215). For some reason, at the time when the Riau list was composed the Malays believed that this event took place in 1506, not in 1511 when it really happened (Netscher 1854a:150). If we assume that only because of a copyist's error the period of Sultan Alauddin's rule lasted for thirty-three years in Winstedt's recension (most probably this is a case of dittography) and that it was equal to thirty years in the archetype of the manuscript (we find thirty years in Netscher's and Valentijn's lists and twenty-nine years in the Riau list and the Kinglist), then other calculated dates of rule will differ from those in Valentijn's list only by one year. Such a deviation does not seem unusual when Hegira dates are converted to those of the Christian era, all the more so as Winstedt's recension contains no mention of the month in which one ruler was replaced by the other. Valentijn's list as well as the Riau list/the Kinglist contains at least identical sets of the sultans' names which also correspond to Winstedt's recension; Netscher's list differs in this respect by introducing Raja Besar Muda and Raja Tengah instead of one Sultan Megat. The same is also found in Abdullah's recension and in the 'long' recension. This modification can perhaps be explained by the fact that Netscher compiled his list from either of these recensions and then inserted the dates from some other sources; another possibility is that he drew his information from a third tradition of genealogical lists, that was adjusted to Abdullah's and the 'long' recensions. Anyway, it is clear that, before considering the genealogical lists with dates as prototypes of Sejarah Melayu, we must study the history of the genealogical lists themselves, not rejecting a priori the possibility of their secondary origin from a chronicle which contained only the periods of reign, and provide an explanation of how, when and why different dates and periods of rule were ascribed to the same sultans. When weighing the possibility of secondary, calculated dates of rule, we should not overlook the interest in dates which Malay historiography showed in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, primarily as a consequence of its deeper Islamization (see Chapter V), but perhaps not without the Buginese influence either (Noorduyn 1965). Many chronicles of that time, for instance, Tuhfat an-nafis (the 'Precious gift') by Raja Ali Haji (Matheson-Hooker 1991a) with its Malacca prologue, contain dates. It is this interest that could induce the chroniclers to calculate the dates of the sultans' rule if they did not know its chronology. An analogy to this hypothetical process may be found in the

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attempts by the Javanese poet Ranggawarsita to date pedantically the events of Java's mythological and epic history (Pigeaud 1967:170). No more convincing are Roolvink's arguments in favour of his conjecture that the genealogical list which allegedly served as the prototype of Sejarah Melayu was entitled Sulalat as-salatin and that it was precisely this list (or lists) that was implied by Van der Vorm, Valentijn and Netscher. No one of the authors referred to by him provides grounds for the assurance that the genealogical list used by him and the work bearing the title of Sulalat as-salatin are identical, since either is invariably mentioned in a particular section of their works. That the genealogical list and the chronicle could be two different works is testified to by the recommendation of Van der Vorm to study Sulalat as-salatin for 'anyone interested in the Malay language' (Roolvink 1967:308), which makes little sense if what is meant is a work of two or three pages made up of a limited number of constantly repeated phrases. Besides, Van der Vorm writes that Sulalat as-salatin is concluded by the coming of the Portuguese, while all the known genealogical lists continue further and mention the names of sultans who ruled two or three centuries later. The words on the basis of which Roolvink came to the conclusion that Netscher's list bore the title of Sulalat as-salatin may refer only to the set of sultans' names drawn up by him. Mentioning the corrected dates of their rule, Netscher refers to oral information, received from Raja Ali and Raja Abdullah of Riau, as well as to the data provided by a number of sources the names of which he does not specify (Netscher 1854a:149). As has been noted above, it is not ruled out that Netscher's list of the rulers' names, which includes names absent in other genealogical lists, could have been based on one source, a chronicle, and dated by the other sources, among which was probably a genealogical list (or lists). This spares us the necessity of assuming that Netscher used the chronicle Sulalat as-salatin, which contained the dates of rule, which rightly seemed very unlikely to Roolvink. Besides, while relating the content of the three copies of Sulalat as-salatin at his disposal, Netscher quotes some genealogical information found in Abdullah's and the 'long' recensions of the chronicle, but lacking in both Valentijn's list and the Riau list/ the Kinglist tradition. 9 Finally, as has already been mentioned, Netscher's set of the rulers' names does not correspond to the sets of either Valentijn's list or the Riau list and the Kinglist, but to that of Abdullah's and the 'long' recensions. Even more important is, perhaps, the fact that Bustan as-salatin (the 'Garden of sultans') - composed by the Gujarati theologian Nuruddin arRaniri between 1638 and 1641, long before the works by Van der Vorm and Valentijn - contains, in section 12 of chapter 2, an unambiguous statement that the title Sulalat as-salatin refers to the chronicle (Nuruddin ar-Raniri:5). Roolvink's arguments that the second stage in the formation of Sejarah

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Melayu was a brief 'chronicle of the Maxwell 105 type' do not seem sufficiently convincing either. The alternative opinion, once expressed by Winstedt, that the manuscript Maxwell 105 contains an abridged version of the manuscript Raffles Malay 18, has never been disproved by Roolvink. On the contrary, this opinion can be corroborated by a number of copies of Sejarah Melayu, both abridged and complete, which are continued by genealogies or chronicles of local dynasties tracing their origin to the SingaporeMalacca ruling house. Roolvink himself mentions two such works: the Siak and Palembang versions of Sejarah Melayu. Tuhfat an-nafis and the history of the Singapore-Malacca-Johor-Pahang rulers, briefly related in Bustan assalatin with the same legitimizing purpose as that of Maxwell 105, also may be regarded as typologically similar works. It is little wonder that the Perak chronicler prefaced the history of his sultanate precisely by abridgement of Winstedt's recension of Sejarah Melayu, since only this recension did not conceal the facts that a branch of the Malacca dynasty was still ruling in Perak and that precisely this branch was senior. Fresh arguments in favour of a secondary nature of Maxwell 105 in relation to Winstedt's recension were provided by Wolters (1970:184-6, 248) who demonstrated that sometimes the author of Maxwell 105 omitted details, the absence of which made his narration incomprehensible, yet testified to his familiarity with a more complete version. This has been recently proved by A. Ceridwen who, in her detailed study of Maxwell 105, convincingly showed that the latter is an abbreviation of Raffles Malay 18 or a text similar to it (Ceridwen 2001:41-3). Finally, the very idea of the evolution of Sejarah Melayu from a genealogical list is hardly very promising. First of all, this idea is too general, because all Malay chronicles, regardless of whether it is possible to find a genealogical list corresponding to each of them or otherwise, invariably has a genealogical structure, which, also invariably, includes narrative elements (compare Teeuw 1976:15-6). Further, Roolvink made no attempt to explain why the chronicle had lost the dates after absorbing narrative elements. To this can be added that Sejarah Melayu - far from being a mere conglomeration of stories and anecdotes which are only superficially ordered by a 'network' of the periods of rule - is an integrated work based on an integral political conception and characterized by a coherent compositional structure (see Chapter III) which, nevertheless, allows for a further augmentation. As Teeuw (1976:17) remarked only too aptly, no question of the integrality of Sejarah Melayu was ever raised by Roolvink, and, judging by all the evidence, it is virtually impossible to raise it within the framework of his mechanistic conception of the evolution of the chronicle from a genealogical list by means of its mere expansion. Demonstrated above was the possibility of an opposite process - the evolution of the genealogical list from a chronicle containing the periods of reign.

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However, it seems more probable that in Malay historiography, just as in many other historical traditions, including that of the Islamic world (Rosenthal 1968), both genres emerged, developed and existed side by side, each of them fulfilling its specific function. Within the framework of its doctrine of legitimacy, the chronicle provided for a general comprehension of the fortunes of the country and the dynasty and played a certain edifying role; the genealogical list functioned as a legitimizing document par excellence, and naturally did not claim to contain generalizations or pose historiosophic problems. Evidently, the interrelation between these two genres in the Malay tradition resembled, by and large, what was observed in Javanese historiography, namely that between its genealogies and lists of events dated with chronograms (sangkala), on the one hand, and chronicles (babad), on the other. As T.G.T. Pigeaud (1967:157) wrote about them: Neither the older Universal Histories nor the babads of the Mataram dynasty should be considered merely as results of amplifying statements of sangkala lists. Probably in Javanese literature, especially in the Islamic period, but also earlier, a (more exact) tradition of chronograms and a (more elaborate) tradition of tales on mythology and history coexisted. They exercised influence one upon the other.

While alternative hypotheses may be suggested with regard to the prototypes of Sejarah Melayu postulated by Roolvink (genealogical lists, the manuscript Maxwell 105), it is simply impossible to accept his statement that only one extensive version of the chronicle (Winstedt's recension) existed before the 1720s. This statement can be disproved by a comparison of Winstedt's recension as well as Abdullah's and the 'long' recensions of the chronicle with the Malacca-Johor-Pahang section of Bustan as-salatin.1 0 In spite of the brevity of this section, its source is definitely traceable to an extensive chronicle rather than to a genealogical list. This is testified to both by Nuruddin ar-Raniri's reference to the work by bendahara Paduka Raja (Tun Seri Lanang) and by several stories coinciding literally or almost literally in Bustan as-salatin and in Abdullah's and the 'long' recensions (the story about Raja Suran's expedition against China and the craftiness of the Chinese; the story of Raja Suran's visit to the subaquatic kingdom; the description of Bijayanegara). Another trait of Bustan as-salatin, which cannot but draw attention, is the absence in it of both the dates and the references to the duration of reigns of the rulers from the Malacca dynasty. It is difficult to suppose that Nuruddin ar-Raniri - who was well-versed in the Islamic historical tradition and who invariably indicated the years of rule and sometimes even the months and the days of the enthronement of the Aceh sultans (Iskandar 1966) - could have omitted the dates of the Malacca-Johor-Pahang rulers, or would not have tried to calculate them according to the duration of their reign, if the latter had been

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mentioned in his source (as we have seen, it could have been done easily), or would not have indicated at least this duration in his book. Most probably, Nuruddin ar-Raniri was dealing with a complete text of the chronicle, in which neither dates nor periods of reigning were indicated. According to Roolvink's conception, there was only one, Winstedt's recension of the chronicle at the time of the composition of Bustan as-salatin (circa 1640). However, the fact that this was not the recension used by Nuruddin ar-Raniri is proved not only by the above considerations but also by the results of our comparison of Bustan as-salatin with the recensions of Winstedt and of Abdullah. ll The comparison shows that the Gujarati sheikh's work displays all the salient features of Abdullah's and the 'long' recensions and only once (in a peculiar description of the descent of the founder of Malay dynasties on Mount Seguntang and his subsequent enthronement) coincides with Winstedt's recension. Nuruddin ar-Raniri noted that his data had been borrowed from 'the extensive book (kitab masirat) Sulalat as-salatin', written by bendahara Paduka Raja and dated '1201 (AH=AD 1612), the month Rabi' al-Awwal, Hari Ahad (Sunday)' (Nuruddin ar-Raniri:5). In Winstedt's recension the date is '1201, Rabi' al-Awwal12 (13 May 1612), Hari Ahad'. Thus, in both cases the day of the week is identical, Sunday, which corresponds exactly to Rabi' al-Awwal 12 in 1612. According to Winstedt (1938a:34), other copies give the wrong day of the week. Just as in Bustan as-salatin, in Winstedt's recension the bendahara is mentioned as the author of the chronicle, although without an indication of his name.12 A number of conclusions follow from the above. Contrary to Roolvink's opinion, two, not only one, extensive recensions of the chronicle existed around 1640. Since it is highly improbable that one and the same person, the bendahara, could mention one and the same day as the date of composition of two substantially different and politically opposite recensions of Sejarah Melayu (let alone compose or even begin to compose them on one and the same day), it should be assumed that one of the recensions was written earlier than the other. In our opinion, only Winstedt's recension, which, as was proved by Winstedt and recognized unanimously by all the students of Malay literature including Roolvink, contains the oldest of the extant texts of the chronicle, could be the earlier one. Still open is the question of the appearance of the date 1612 in the preface to Winstedt's recension. Various explanations may be offered in this connection. We will refer only to one of them, which were suggested by Winstedt. He wrote that, because Raffles Malay 18 was the 'history from Goa' belonging to Raja Bongsu (the prospective Sultan Abdullah), [... J in taking a copy of it, the revising editor may merely have noted his instructions and their date in the preface and he would then proceed to write in another

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Other solutions are by no means ruled out either. Incidentally, no copy of either Abdullah's recension or the 'long' recension, which Roolvink dates to the eighteenth century, contains the date suggested by him. The question of what exactly the text used by Nuruddin ar-Raniri contained needs further study. As the comparison reveals, apart from the above point of coincidence between Bustan as-sa latin and Winstedt's recension, the work by the Gujarati theologian features several points peculiar only to it. It is not quite clear whether these peculiarities were the result of research by Nuruddin ar-Raniri himself, of his use of another historical work along with a source similar to Abdullah's and the 'long' recensions, of the distortion by copyists of the original text of Bustan as-salatin, or of an intermediary recension of Sejarah Melayu from which Abdullah's and the 'long' recensions evolved. No matter what the solution to these questions may be, it is obvious that at present Winstedt's conception of the recension of 1536 edited in Johor in 1612 remains the most convincing reconstruction of the textual history of Sejarah Melayu. Roolvink never refuted the principal arguments in favour of this conception; more than that, he did not even discuss them, which is only natural, because he dated Winstedt's recension to 1612. Be that as it may, the above study of Bustan as-salatin restores the significance and validity of Winstedt's arguments. The fact that around 1640 there existed two recensions of Sejarah Melayu, established in the course of the study, also weakens markedly Roolvink's assumption about the Sulawesi origin of the 'history from Goa', because it is impossible to speak of a significant Buginese influence on the Malay World at that time, let alone of a court of Buginese 'viceroys' where Sejarah Melayu could be edited. Besides, the insertion about the 'history from Goa', which is found in the preface to Abdullah's and the 'long' recensions, is made in such a way that it can hardly be referred to the beginning of the eighteenth century. On the one hand, it 'exposes' itself clearly by its mention of Goa which in the eighteenth century was immediately understood as a city in Sulawesi; on the other, it 'disguises' itself as a text written exactly in 1612 (the date of the work and the bendahara's genealogy reaching approximately this date obviously bear witness to it). However, if we accept that the reference in the preface really implies 1612 and the Portuguese Goa (contrary to the opinion of Linehan (1947:114), this name is found in Winstedt's recension several times without any qualifier like tanah 'land' or negeri 'city'; Winstedt 1938a:182, 191, and so on), this contradiction will disappear automatically.

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Therefore, we have enough reasons to return to Winstedt's position, developed and additionally substantiated by Gibson-Hill, in this respect too. This, however, by no means belittles the role of the Buginese 'viceroys' in the process of further editing and interpolating the text of Sejarah Melayu, especially its 'long' recension found in most of the extant manuscripts.13 Thus, although many problems of the textual history of Sejarah Melayu still remain unsolved, nothing at present prevents us from accepting Winstedt's conception at least on the following points: -

-

The oldest extant (Winstedt's) recension of Sejarah Melayu was composed around 1536 by an author who could have lived in Malacca before its capture by the Portuguese and who still remembered well enough the life of the Malacca court milieu; In 1612 a manuscript of this version was brought to Johor from some Goa (after all, it is not so important whether it was Portuguese Goa, Goa in Pahang or even in Sulawesi of 161214), copied and edited there; Consequently, this oldest recension reflects the Malacca stage rather than the Johor stage in the history of Malay culture and literature.

The time of composition of Hikayat raja Pasai (the 'Tale of the rajas of Pasai') No less complicated is the question of the dating of another important source on the early Islamic history and literature of the Malays, Hikayat raja Pasai (the 'Tale of the rajas of Pasai'). At least since 1938, when Winstedt published his article about this work (Winstedt 1938b:24-30), it has enjoyed the reputation of being the oldest of Malay chronicles, composed around the fifteenth century. IS Winstedt provided the following arguments to support his dating.

- Hikayat raja Pasai is concluded by the episode of the conquest of Pasai by Majapahit circa 1350 (1360 may have been a more correct date; see below), and therefore it is unlikely that it was written earlier. - The earliest recension of Sejarah Melayu contains a considerable part of Hikayat raja Pasai in the form of a paraphrase which sometimes reproduces its extant text almost exactly (six examples are listed in the above-mentioned article by Winstedt (1938b:24-5); the list may be further extended). This means that the hikayat was created before 1536. - Hikayat raja Pasai could have hardly been composed after 1524 when Aceh conquered Pasai and included it into its territory. The point is that the authors of Malay chronicles usually wrote them to 'to please a court and it is incredible that any author would have the stimulus or even the courage

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to begin a history of Pasai after 1524; for, after that date, its history could only be written discreetly as a chapter in the annals of Aceh' (Winstedt 1991:109). It very unlikely that the author of Sejarah Melayu, that contains passages on Pasai, received a copy of Hikayat raja Pasai after the capture of Malacca by the Portuguese in 1511.

Therefore, in Winstedt's opinion, Hikayat raja Pasai was composed between 1350 and 1511. This early dating of the chronicle can also be confirmed by a number of archaic linguistic forms, as the British scholar has noted. In 1954 Roolvink examined Hikayat raja Pasai and published an interesting article about it. He was inclined to accept the date suggested by Winstedt (roughly the fifteenth century) and even offered a new argument to support it: no forms of the Malacca court language, which had been introduced in the mid-fifteenth century and became widespread in the later literature, could be found in the hikayat (Roolvink 1954:6). Nevertheless, Roolvink expressed some doubts on whether the author of Sejarah Melayu had used the written text of Hikayat raja Pasai known nowadays or an oral version of it. In his opinion, a careful comparison of the two works might dispel the doubts caused by a number of differences between the hikayat and Sejarah Melayu (Roolvink 1954:3). This comparison was carried out independently by A.H. Hill (1960) and A. Teeuw (1964b). Both scholars established the same facts but interpreted them differently. The relationship between the two chronicles proved to be much more complicated than Winstedt believed, when he called the chapters of Sejarah Melayu corresponding to Hikayat raja Pasai a mere paraphrase, and the Malacca chronicler a plagiarist. It is true that considerable sections of these works are very close to each other, if not identicaP6 Yet, although similar in general (the narration in the Pasai chronicle is, however, more detailed, which is only natural), Hikayat raja Pasai and Sejarah Melayu also reveal farreaching differences both in the events described and in their interpretations, and sometimes even stand in clear opposition to each other. Particularly remarkable is the fact that at least three times the author of Sejarah Melayu replaces the Pasai version of events, which in the hikayat serves to show Pasai in a favourable light, with his version that can only denigrate Pasai, whereas the same events in their favourable version are described by him as happening not in Pasai but in Malacca. 17 Thus, Sejarah Melayu partly coincides with Hikayat raja Pasai, sometimes provides a shorter description of events than the Pasai chronicle and sometimes opposes the latter directly. Both researchers noted this fact, but, as it seems, only Hill interpreted it correctly. Hill believed that the textual similarity between Hikayat raja Pasai and

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Sejarah Melayu allows for a conclusion that the author of the Malacca chronicle used a written text of the hikayat, similar (or even almost identical, in our opinion) to that which was found in its manuscript of 1814. As for radical changes of Hikayat raja Pasai that are encountered in Sejarah Melayu, they were consciously made by the Malacca chronicler who tried to belittle the significance of Pasai and demonstrate Malacca's superiority. It is precisely to achieve this goal that he ascribed glorious moments of the Pasai history to Malacca and substituted them in the history of Pasai itself with disgraceful episodes, thus making the contrast between the two countries sharper. Therefore, the differences between the chronicles are indicative of a phenomenon typical of Malay historiography and literature, which could be called the 'war of books', rather than of a different version of Hikayat raja Pasai, whether written or oral, being used by the author of Sejarah Melayu (see also Chapter VI). Teeuw, who also noted that Sejarah Melayu and Hikayat raja Pasai are in a kind of opposition to each other prefers, nonetheless, a different explanation for their discrepancies. He believes that the Malacca chronicler had a great respect for Pasai: in one passage he mentions Pasai in the list of the most powerful states of the post-Majapahit but pre-Malacca era; in another, he represents Pasai as the equal of Malacca and Aru, the great powers' of the Archipelago in his eyes. Pasai warriors help the Malacca fleet in the battle against Makasar pirates, and their commander proves to be more courageous than the Malacca admiral. In the search for a solution to theological problems, the Malacca sultans resort to the help of Pasai scholars. All this, according to Teeuw, makes conscious discrediting of Pasai in the Malacca chronicle rather improbable. Teeuw attempts to demonstrate that the origin of Hikayat raja Pasai from Sejarah Melayu is no less probable than the reverse. Hikayat raja Pasai offers a panegyric portrayal of events, full of literary conventions, whereas Sejarah Melayu is characterized by a much more vivid and realistic style of narration. This may testify to a greater historicity of the Malacca chronicle and raises doubts about the priority of the hikayat with regard to it. Since Teeuw believes that a certain recension of Sejarah Melayu may have been composed around 1450, then Hikayat raja Pasai, written to glorify Pasai, could appear as a kind of answer to its Pasai chapters. This invalidates Winstedt's argument that Hikayat raja Pasai could not be written after 1524, and therefore it predates the earliest recension of Sejarah Melayu of 1536. Finally, Teeuw points out that the author of the hikayat mentions neither Malacca, nor early Malay history, nor Iskandar Zulkarnain, the common ancestor of Malay ruling houses. This discloses the author's lack of knowledge of Sejarah Melayu. At the same time, Sejarah Melayu is silent about both the tale of the Pasai prince Tun Beraim and the account of the conquest of I

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Pasai by Majapahit. The scholar believes that these episodes would certainly have been included in the Malacca chronicle, if its author had had a copy of Hikayat raja Pasai, similar to that which is known at present. Thus, Teeuw comes to the conclusion that a direct link between Sejarah Melayu and Hikayat raja Pasai is exceedingly doubtful. Rather, both these works reflect two parallel versions of the north Sumatra historical tradition, which can be traced back to a common source only in a remote retrospective. To conclude: Teeuw notes (after Roolvink) a heterogeneity of Hikayat raja Pasai and assumes that this chronicle is no more than either an incomplete fragment of a larger whole, or even a mere collection of stories and legends borrowed from various sources, which was compiled after 1524 outside the confines of Pasai. Teeuw's arguments do not sound sufficiently convincing. The point is that he virtually does not take into account that constant polemic, open or hidden, which the author of Sejarah Melayu carries on with great art and subtlety. The chronicle creates the impression that, for instance, the'respectful' list of the insular' great powers', mentioned by Teeuw, is quoted only to show that in the end Malacca becomes their equal or even excels them. How exactly Malacca triumphs over Majapahit, which opens the list will be shown later (see this chapter, below). The superior forces of Aru are defeated in the times of the sultan of Malacca, Alauddin Riayat Syah. Even China, for which Sejarah Melayu shows at least no less respect than for Pasai, is humiliated for her unwillingness to recognize Malacca's equality (see Chapter III). Such is the general tone of the chronicle. At the same time, the disapproval of the excessive claims of Pasai by the Malacca chronicler is quite obvious. This disapproval is apparent not only in those episodes of Sejarah Melayu, in which Pasai sultans demand 'homage' (sembah, the sign of superiority), not simply 'salutation' (salam, the sign of equality) from royal envoys of Malacca (compare Teeuw 1964b:231), but also in the story of the deposed ruler of Pasai (Winstedt 1938a:133). Restored to his throne only after the intervention of Mansur Syah, the sultan of Malacca, whose army defeated the far greater forces of Pasai insurgents, he nevertheless proved to be too arrogant to recognize the sultan's sovereignty. This threw the bendahara - incidentally, the favourite hero of the chronicler - into a rage, since he took such recognition for granted. As a result, the ruler of Pasai was deprived of Malacca's support and lost his throne again immediately. The desire of the author of Sejarah Melayu to belittle the role of Pasai and a high status of the Pasai dynasty is quite understandable historically. During the first third of the fifteenth century Pasai was Malacca's major trade competitor (for more details, see Wolters 1970:158-62), and the oldest and therefore most respected Muslim centre in the Malay world which played the role to which Malacca laid more and more insistent claims. However, in spite of

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all the attempts to interfere in the struggle for the throne of Pasai, Malacca was never able to make this state her vassal. Besides, the unruly succession of kings and numerous regicides characteristic for Pasai, of which the above episode is an example,18 could not cause any approval in the Malacca chronicle with its ideology of unbreakable loyalty to the monarch, no matter whether he was just or otherwise {see Chapter III}. The other two pieces of evidence of respect for Pasai mentioned by Teeuw are also questionable. It is very likely that the Pasai commander was portrayed as more courageous than the laksamana {admiral} of Malacca not out of respect for Pasai, but because of the characteristic tendency of the chronicler to underrate the laksamana's merits in order to emphasize the bendahara's excellence. Later, it was precisely in the Pasai campaign that their mutual opposition manifested itself especially clearly. As concerns the story of the Pasai theologians who were asked to solve difficult religious problems, it also proves very little, especially after Roolvink {1965} noted the apparent mockery in the Palembang recension of Sejarah Melayu at the answer received, which throws new light on this episode in other recensions too. All this makes a deliberate discrediting of Pasai in the Malacca chronicle quite likely. The stylistic differences between Sejarah Melayu and Hikayat raja Pasai are not suggestive of anything either. It is only natural that the Pasai author of Hikayat raja Pasai who created a chronicle to glorify his native country preferred a more conventional, panegyrical style, while the Malacca author of Sejarah Melayu who did not pursue such an objective remained faithful to his favourite vivid and humorous manner of narration. The historicity of the greater part of the Pasai episodes in Sejarah Melayu, mentioned by Teeuw, is also still waiting for further proof.1 9 Be that as it may, even in medieval literatures the choice of the narrational style was dependent, to a certain extent, on the erudition, predilections and idiosyncrasies of the author. With this in mind, we should not overlook either that specific place which the style of Sejarah Melayu occupies in Malay literature. When establishing which particular source was used by the author of the Malacca chronicle, we should, first of all, find out whether he was familiar with those parts of the extant Hikayat raja Pasai which are not expounded in his work. All the researchers single out three parts in the Pasai chronicle. The first part contains a description of the founding, Islamization and early history of Pasai; the second, of the tragic fate of the prince Tun Braim Bapa, killed by his father Sultan Ahmad; the third part tells of the capture of Pasai by Majapahit and of Majapahit conquests in the Archipelago {Roolvink 1954: 4; Hill 1960:32-5; Teeuw 1964b:233-4}. The events of the second and third parts of Hikayat raja Pasai are not described in Sejarah Melayu, but it is hardly possible to say with certainty, as Teeuw did, that the author of Sejarah Melayu knew nothing about them. Several points suggest the opposite, as it seems:

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature The ethical and political conception pervading the Hikayat raja Pasai, which becomes clear only in the unity of the first two parts of the chronicle, is very close to the one typical for Sejarah Melayu. This determines not only their ideological similarity, but also a resemblance in their overall structure; Sejarah Melayu not only mentions Sultan Ahmad of Pasai,one of the protagonists of the second part of Hikayat raja Pasai, but also even quotes his father's deathbed injunctions, which serve as a link between the two parts. Both in Sejarah Melayu and in Hikayat raja Pasai such injunctions, although specific each time, seem to foreshadow the future course of events because, if not followed by the heirs, they result in a subsequent conflict. Thus, in Sejarah Melayu, the founder of the Samudra-Pasai dynasty, when instructing his sons, warns them against avidity and the pursuit of the wives and daughters of their subjects and calls upon them to live in concord with each other and avoid quarrels. In spite of the warning, one of them abducts the concubine of his brother, which results in the death of his faithful minister, while the offender finds himself in captivity (Winstedt 1938a:78-9). Instructing Sultan Ahmad, his father teaches him to be attentive to his subjects' supplications, consult his ministers on all matters, not be quick in execution, and avoid injustice (Hill 1960:73-4). In the second part Sultan Ahmad violates precisely these precepts. The injunctions of Sultan Ahmad's father, reproduced in Sejarah Melayu with considerable exactitude, may testify to the fact that the Malacca chronicler used a copy of Hikayat raja Pasai, which contained the second part of the work; While boasting of his strength, one of the characters of Sejarah Melayu utters virtually the same words as the prince Tun Beraim Bapa in the second part of Hikayat raja Pasai ('if it was Malaka I was fighting, the whole of Malaka [would be no match for me]; if it was Pasai, the whole of Pasai [would be no match for me]');20 The servant who runs after Sultan Mahmud riding his horse, carrying his master's betel-bowl and not falling behind him even one step, is surprisingly reminiscent of one of Tun Beraim Bapa's commanders who, with the prince's parasol in his hands, runs after his boat dashing along the river and, in exactly the same manner, does not fall behind him (Hill 1960:86, compare Winstedt 1938a:207). It is not ruled out that this scene in Sejarah Melayu was also prompted by the above-mentioned episode from Hikayat raja Pasai.

The above similarities between the two chronicles point out that the author of Sejarah Melayu could possibly know who the protagonists of the second part of Hikayat raja Pasai were, in what conflict they were involved, and what

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the function of that conflict in the context of the Pasai chronicler's state ethics was. Thus, there are enough reasons to believe that the author of Sejarah Melayu deliberately transformed the first part of Hikayat raja Pasai to adapt it to his pro-Malacca standpoint, and also some indirect evidence about his familiarity with the second part of the Pasai chronicle. All this allows us to agree with Winstedt and Hill rather than with Teeuw in determining the relations between Sejarah Melayu and Hikayat raja Pasai. And if both parts of the hikayat were known to the Malacca chronicler, then a Hikayat raja Pasai similar in its form, if not identical, to that known at present was composed before at least 1536 or, even more likely, before 1511. Proceeding from the fact that Hikayat raja Pasai does not contain any mention of Malacca, Singapore, the Malacca sultan's marriage to the princess of Pasai, the flight of the Pasai ruler to Malacca as a result of an insurgence, and of any events in the Malacca or Pasai history of the fifteenth century at all, Hill considers that the Pasai chronicle had taken its final form by the end of the fourteenth century. However, he does not limit himself to this and suggests a conception of the formation of the work in several stages. Hill believes that the first part of Hikayat raja Pasai was composed earlier than all its other parts. Possibly, its oldest recension existed as early as 1330 and contained a genealogy of the rulers of Pasai identical to that of Sejarah Melayu. Similarly to the Malacca chronicle, that oldest recension was written in a less Arabicized language than the extant text of Hikayat raja Pasai. After the restoration of Pasai's sovereignty, the first recension was brought to its new capital, from where it reached Malacca. The second recension of the same part of Hikayat raja Pasai, which is known to us in the manuscript of 1814, was composed between 1350 and 135521 by an orthodox Muslim who was inclined to demonstrate his erudition and mastery of the Arabic language. Less historical, in Hill's opinion, is the second part of the Pasai chronicle, which represents an epic about the prince Tun Beraim Bapa. This part is characterized by stylistic repetitions of a folklore type, an archaic vocabulary, the use of 'blank verse', and a less Arabicized language than in the first part, as well as by the use of rare loanwords (Hill 1960:38). On the basis of these stylistic peculiarities and a completely negative description of Sultan Ahmad in the second part, Hill believes that the author of the first part could not be the creator of the second part and dates its composition to the time following the flight of the Pasai court to Pasangan, that is to circa 1360. The third part of Hikayat raja Pasai was, according to Hill, particularly multi-layered. Its first episode, which follows the description of how the layout of Pasai was improved (in Hill's opinion, this description is either an interpolation or a 'postscript' to the story of Tun Beraim Bapa), as well as the story about the Majapahit princess's love for the Pasai prince Abd al-Jalil

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and the conquest of Pasai by Majapahit, are ascribed to a fourth chronicler on the basis of arguments of a stylistic nature.22 Finally, the fifth and the sixth authors wrote, respectively, the episode about the Majapahit's conquests in the insular world and the episode about the ruse of the Minangkabau, which helped them defeat the Javanese. The arguments in support of their authorship are also purely stylistic, very scarce and not convincing enough. Hill assumes that the entire part 3 was composed between 1380 and 1390. This is, according to him, the date of the completion of Hikayat raja Pasai. It seems that the conception of the formation of Hikayat raja Pasai suggested by Hill is overcomplicated and virtually unproven. Especially vulnerable is the idea of the three authors who allegedly composed the third part of the chronicle, based on absolutely insufficient observations. For instance, the use of a few Javanese words and expressions in the 'Javanese episodes' of works in Malay is such a common occurrence (Teeuw and Wyatt 1970:238) that it is highly risky to believe that the second section of the third part does not belong to the author of the third section, proceeding from this argument alone. While distinguishing between different layers of Hikayat Raja Pasai, Hill does not pay due attention to the endeavour of Malay writers to make the text appear untouched,23 as he himself notes (Hill 1960:31), or, to put it differently, to present it as an integral work. However, Hikayat Raja Pasai seems to be really an integral piece of writing and does not give the impression of being a kind of a 'patchwork'. As has been mentioned above, it has a coherent, well-integrated compositional structure and a holistic conception of state ethics. This may testify to the creation of its final recension - known to us and possibly to the author of Sejarah Melayu too - by one and the same author. Even if he had a prototype of the first part of the hikayat, it was, nonetheless, he who created or recorded the second and third parts of Hikayat raja Pasai and who brought all the three parts into conformity with each other within the framework of an integral whole. It was Roolvink (1954:5) who correctly noted the harmonious unity of the first and second parts which, together, show how observing certain principles leads to the flourishing of the state, while their violation results in a catastrophe (the conquest by Majapahit). In fact, the stylistic differences between the first and the second part, shown by Hill, seem to be not so much a sign of their multiple authorship as an effect of the dependency of the style on the genre, typical for medieval literatures generally and sometimes leading to a stylistic heterogeneity of works with a complex genre structure (V. Braginsky 2001b:136-55, compare Likhachev 1979:60-1). Similarly to Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah (see Chapter III), written at about the same time and most likely in the same Pasai, Hikayat raja Pasai combines elements of two genres: the dynastic chronicle and the epic (hikayat), respectively, in its heroic and romantic varieties.

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At first glance, the end of the third part of the chronicle seems to have a weak connection with its first two parts (Roolvink 1954:5). However, this part also fulfils an important function in the framework of the whole. Hill (1960: 40) observed casually that the finale of the third part produced the impression of an unexpected denouement. It is precisely a denouement - however, quite expected - or rather, an epilogue that this finale is. On the one hand, it emphasizes that only a very powerful and invincible state has managed to conquer Pasai (that is why Majapahit's conquests are described at length in the hikayat), and on the other, it shows that even such a powerful state can be resisted (as the example of Minangkabau convincingly proves). However, Sultan Ahmad's indulgence in his evil passions, which in the end deprived Pasai of its mighty defenders, prevents his state from following that example. The interpretation of Hikayat raja Pasai as an integral work which was composed or finally edited at a definite time, although it might have absorbed previously existing material, leads to a somewhat different approach to the problem of its dating. It is hardly possible that the hikayat was created after 1511. It is even less probable that the chronicle, which presents Sultan Ahmad in such a negative manner, could have been written during his lifetime. Sultan Ahmad was a contemporary of the conquest by Majapahit around 1360 (or a little earlier). It is not ruled out that it was he who in 1383 sent the embassy to China, which may have testified to the restoration of the independence of Pasai. 24 Thus, Hikayat raja Pasai must have been created after 1383. A good knowledge of the geography of Majapahit's conquests, typical for Hikayat raja Pasai and untypical for other Malay chronicles, does not allow us to place the time of its composition too far from the epoch of these conquests, described in 1365 in the Javanese poem Nagarakertagama, and from the time of the king-conqueror Hayam Wuruk's death in 1389. At the same time, Hikayat raja Pasai was influenced by Hikayat Amir Hamzah (see below) in which, just as in its Persian original, firearms are mentioned, that became known in Iran in 1387 (Bausani 1965). With all this in mind, we can assume that Hikayat raja Pasai could not have been written earlier than the turn of the fourteenth century, that is before the reign of Sultan Ahmad's successor Sultan Zain al-Abidin who died either in 1405 (Cowan 1973:260) or in the 1430s (Pelliot 1935:293-313; Wolters 1970:157). It seems very likely that the chronicle was composed exactly in the reign of this sultan who consolidated Pasai's political influence and was interested in such an explanation of the defeat of Pasai, which could offer an optimistic forecast for the future. Therefore, the turn of the fourteenth or the beginning of the fifteenth century should be regarded as the most probable date of the composition of Hikayat raja Pasai as an integral work including all the three parts.

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Data from chronicles about the composition of Malay literature in the late fourteenth to early sixteenth centuries Hikayat raja Pasai and Sejarah Melayu contain some indications of their authors' familiarity with many works of Malay literature from the early Islamic period, the former in an indirect form and the latter not infrequently in a direct form too. It is remarkable that the literary data contained in both chronicles largely coincide. Consequently, the composition of Malay literature reconstructed on their basis seems to be characteristic for the entire early Islamic period, because Hikayat raja Pasai marks its beginning and Sejarah Melayu its conclusion. Let us begin with a more detailed consideration of the literary information contained in Hikayat raja Pasai. Brakel (1979b:1O, 11, 28) noted that battle descriptions in the Pasai chronicle show some evident signs of influence of Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah. Given that the Malay version of the latter most probably took shape in Pasai in the late fourteenth century (Brakel1975: 56-7), its influence on Hikayat raja Pasai is very likely. At the same time, this influence on the chronicle composed at the tum of the fourteenth century confirms Brakel's dating of Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah. Two episodes from the second part of Hikayat raja Pasai can possibly be traced to another literary work, Hikayat Amir Hamzah, which, just like Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah, was translated from Persian. The former episode is one more story about the strength of the prince Tun Beraim Bapa who was watching two wrestlers fighting. When the fight ended in a draw, one of the wrestlers, Si Ali Kecil of Pahat Putar, addressed the prince: 'Your Highness, were I not afraid of being thought a traitor I would take on even Your Highness: [Tun Beraim Bapa] smiled when he heard Si Ali Kecil of Pahat Putar's words. He divested himself of his casting net and put it [on the ground]. Then he made his way to the bank of the river where he sat down with his legs stretched out. He told Si [Ali Kecil of] Pahat Putar to lift up his legs, and Si [Ali Kecil of] Pahat Putar pulled at his legs. But so far from being able to lift them he could not make them budge even an inch, though he pulled with such force that ten drops of blood fell from his ten fingers. Then Tun Beraim Bapa shifted his legs and lSi Ali Kecil of] Pahat Putar tumbled head over heals like a withered leaf blown about in the breeze. {Hill 1960:147-8.)

Hikayat Amir Hamzah contains a story about the arrogant wrestler Tahir who overcame all contestants, but who suffered a defeat while wrestling with young Amir Hamzah: After hearing those words of Umar Umayah, Amir Hamzah got up to face out the wrestler Tahir. When Hamzah approached Tahir and stood opposite him, he stuck out his leg and said: 'Hey wrestler, if you are a real man, try to lift up my leg' [... ] After hearing those words of Hamzah, the wrestler Tahir flew into a rage,

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came running up to Amir Hamzah, seized his leg and strained every nerve to lift

it up. But, although he tried so hard that the blood began to drip from each of his

ten fingers, he did not manage to lift up Hamzah's leg and, in the end, let it go. Now, when Hamzah's turn came, he held out his hand, seized Tahir's ankle and lifted him above the ground. Then he began to turn Tahir round and round over his head and finally threw him down with such force that all Tahir's bones were smashed to smithereens and his brains sprayed out of the skull. (Taib Osman and Sham 1975a:132.)

A far-reaching similarity, although not so impressive, is displayed by the descriptions of Tun Beraim Bapa's spear sinking into the ground and of Amir Hamzah's arrow disappearing in the entrails of the earth (compare Hill 1960: 93 and Taib Osman and Sham 1975a:138). Winstedt mentioned some more works, which could have been sources of Hikayat raja Pasai. In his opinion, the chronicle's motifs of the princess found in a hollow bamboo stem and of Sultan Ahmad's hatred for his son with whom the princess of Majapahit fell in love after seeing his portrait are indicative of the author's familiarity with the Malay version of Ramayana. The description of women (actually, of only one woman) 'hurrying untidy and dishevelled' is traceable to wayang plays based on Mahabharata, while the name of a character of the chronicle, Megat Skandar, 'may go to show that the Alexander legend was known in thirteenth century Pasai' (Winstedt 1991:110). For all the attractiveness of the suggestion that these works influenced Hikayat raja Pasai, the grounds for it are too weak. After the studies by Ras (particularly, Ras 1968:81-99), the motif of the princess from a bamboo stem can no longer be regarded as sufficient proof of the chronicle's connection with Hikayat Seri Rama. The tales of Panji reveal no less exact parallels to the description of the running women than Malay versions of Mahabharata, and even closer parallels to the motif of falling in love through a portrait (see below). The name Skandar by itself does not provide grounds strong enough to conclude that the legend of Alexander was known in Pasai in the thirteenth century, all the more so as the story of Alexander was translated in Pasai not earlier than the beginning of the fifteenth century (see Chapter III). However, noteworthy is the fact that all the works mentioned by Winstedt enjoyed popularity in Malacca of the fifteenth century. For instance, Sejarah Melayu tells the story about young Hang Tuah, the future famous admiral, who liked mock fights with his friends, used to roll up his sleeves and exclaim defiantly: 'Only a Laksamana is my match!'; for this reason the nickname of Laksamana was given to him, and this afterwards became the official title of Malay admirals (Brown 1952:76; Winstedt 1938a:104). According to the same chronicle, the master of the sultan's elephants bore the title of Seri Rama (Winstedt 1938a:150-1).

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It is more difficult to date with certainty the literary and theatrical versions of the other Sanskrit epic, Mahabharata, to the early Islamic period. As we have already mentioned, there are some hints about its being known as early as the old Malay period. However, neither of these hints provides sufficient grounds for a hypothesis that Malay versions of this epic were created at that time. The extant manuscripts of the Malay versions of Mahabharata are written in Arabic characters, and therefore they could not have appeared before the end of the fourteenth or even the fifteenth century. Apart from this, their content clearly shows that they can be traced to the Sanskrit original via Javanese mediation. It was believed originally that the early Malay tales about the heroes of Mahabharata were paraphrases of refined kakawin-poems in the Old Javanese language - the counterparts of Sanskrit kavya (Van der Tuuk 1875; C. Hooykaas 1947:128) - of which the language was not presumably understood as late as the fifteenth century (Winstedt 1991:40). However, it turned out over time that the knowledge of Old Javanese persisted among the Javanese cultural elite until a much later time, possibly up to the eighteenth century (Ricklefs 1978:215-17) and, most importantly, the Malay versions show a noticeable similarity to the plays (lakon) of the Javanese shadow play wayang purwa, of which the repertoire is based on Javanese remakes of Mahabharata (see, for instance, Parnickel1974a:329-36). Besides, a majority of Malay tales based on the Sanskrit epic have no analogies with kakawin and are obviously a result of the work of dalang, directors and puppeteers of the wayang theater. Nevertheless, a strong influence of the kakawin tradition on some of these tales which are focused on the war between the Pandawa and the Korawa (for instance, on Hikayat Pandawa jaya (the 'Tale of the victorious Pandawa'25) is quite likely. It becomes increasingly obvious (see, for instance, Ras 1973:442) that lakon of the wayang underwent a long evolution and that originally, similarly to the plays which are performed to this day on the island of Bali (Ensink 1967-68:421,426), they were directly based on kakawin, and consequently were much closer to them in their content. During the performance dalang strictly followed the plots of the Old Javanese poems and recited large excerpts from them, which were translated into the contemporary language in some way or other (not infrequently by the 'divine fools', the protagonists' servants). Information about the singing of kakawin during performances and about their translation is contained, for instance, in Wangbang Wideya, the Middle Javanese poem of late sixteenth century (Robson 1971:35-8, 186-9). The same practice could also have existed in the Majapahit shadow theatre which was known to the Malays in the fourteenth-fifteenth centuries and the records of whose repertory were at the cradle of the geme of Malay theatrical tales. Therefore it is not so important for the dating of the early Malay versions of Mahabharata whether they originate, directly or otherwise, from the kakawin

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or such plays in the' old manner'. Much more significant is the fact that these versions could hardly have been traced to plays in Modern Javanese, which came into being in the second half of the sixteenth century (Ras 1976:60). A study by Brakel (1980:153-8) allows us to establish more accurately the source of the oldest and probably most important Malay work based on a number of episodes from Mahabharata, Hikayat Pandawa jaya. As Brakel demonstrated, this Malay tale is traceable to the Majapahit version of Bharatayuddha (the 'Great war of the Bharata'), rather than to the earliest version of this kakawin, composed by the Javanese poets Mpu Sedah and Mpu Panuluh in 1157. Judging by the evidence from the kakawin Sutasoma and the Old Sundanese work Bujangga Manik, the Majapahit version of Bharatayuddha was created in the late fourteenth-the early fifteenth century and, like the Malay work, bore the title Pandawa jaya (the 'Victorious Pandawa'). Brakel assumes that the second half of the fourteenth century is the most likely date of the translation of the 'Victorious Pandawa' into the Malay language. On the one hand, it was precisely the time when the genre of hikayat in its more or less standard form (see below) emerged in Pasai. On the other hand, it was the time when the flourishing of Adityavarman's state in southern Sumatra marked the apogee of Javanese influence on the Malay world. The terminus ante quem of Hikayat Pandawa jaya, according Brakel, was 1638, the date of Nuruddin ar-Raniri's Bustan as-salatin (the 'Garden of the kings') in which this work was mentioned. 26 It seems, however, that the acquaintance of the Malays with works of the Pandawa cycle should not be dated later than the early sixteenth century. This is evidenced, in particular, by Sejarah Melayu in which one of the characters bears the name Rajuna Tapa (Winstedt 1938a:81), Arjuna the hermit, which evokes associations with the Old Javanese poem Arjunawiwaha (the 'Wedding of Arjuna'; Poerbatjaraka 1926) and wayang plays based on the same plot (see, for instance, Hardjowirogo 1965:143-5),27 of which the motifs also occur in the Malay Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya (the 'Tale of the war of the victorious Pandawa') and Hikayat Pandawa lima (the 'Tale of the five Pandawa') (c. Hooykaas 1947:128; see also Chapter III). To this two more pieces of evidence can be added. Firstly, soon after the Portuguese had captured Malacca, Tome Pires wrote that its inhabitants were fond of the 'mimes after the fashion of Java' (Cortesao 1944, 11:268), and, as is well known, in Java long before that time the plots of such 'mimes' were usually borrowed from local versions of Mahabharata. Secondly, in the part of Hikayat Banjar (the 'Tale of Banjar') dateable to the mid-sixteenth century (Ras 1968:196) not only wayang purwa theatre, with its repertoire based on Mahabharata, is mentioned, but also the ruler Pangeran Tumanggung, who was killed when he was watching one of the plays of this theatre, Perang jaya (the 'Victorious war') (Ras 1968:152), of which the events form the content of Hikayat Pandawa jaya.

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Thus, the earliest versions of Mahabharata which evolved from Javanese literary and theatrical works appeared in the Malay world in the late fourteenth century and became popular in the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, which allows us to date them to the early Islamic period. Along with variations on the themes of Sanskrit epics, at least three works in the Muslim spirit were also popular in Malacca. The first of them, the Malay version of Hikayat Iskandar Zulkarnain (the 'Tale of Iskandar the Twohomed')28 was not only mentioned in Sejarah Melayu ('the two armies met and battle was joined as is related in the Hikayat Iskandar', Brown 1952:13; Winstedt 1938a:43), but also exerted such a strong influence on the Malaccan chronicle that its chapters 1 and 2 may be characterized as a pseudo-hikayat of Alexander. The two other works, Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah and Hikayat Amir Hamzah, have been already mentioned above. How highly they were valued is testified to by a famous episode from Sejarah Melayu, describing the night on the eve of the devastating attack of the Portuguese on Malacca: That night the war-chiefs and the young nobles were waiting in the hall of audience, and the young nobles said, 'Why do we sit here idly? It would be well for us to read a tale of war that we may profit from it.' And Tun Muhammad Unta said, 'That is very true, sir. Let us ask the Raja to give us the Story of Muhammad Hanafiyah'. Then the young nobles said to Tun Aria, 'Go, sir, and take this message to the Ruler, that all of us crave from him the Story of Muhammad Hanafiyah, in the hope that we may obtain profit from it, for the Franks are attacking tomorrow'. Tun Aria accordingly went into the palace and presented himself before Sultan Ahmad, to whom he addressed the young nobles' request. And Sultan Ahmad gave him the Story of Hamzah saying, 'We would give you the Story of Muhammad Hanafiyah did we not fear that the bravery of the gentlemen of our court falls short of the bravery of Muhammad Hanafiyah! But it may be that their bravery is such as was the bravery of Hamzah and that is why we give you the Story of Hamzah'. Tun Aria then left the palace bearing the Story of Hamzah and he told the young nobles what Sultan Ahmad had said. At first they were silent, but presently Tun Isak Berakah replied to Tun Aria, 'Represent humbly to the Ruler that he has spoken amiss. If he will be as Muhammad Hanafiyah, we will be as war-chief Bania (Beniar): if his bravery is as that of Muhammad Hanafiyah, ours will be as that of war-chief Bania'. And when Tun Aria took this message from Tun Isak Berakah to Sultan Ahmad, the king smiled and gave them the Story of Muhammad Hanafiyah instead. 29

Sejarah Melayu contains some data about Islamic Malay literature proper in the Malay world of the late fourteenth and the early fifteenth centuries. According to the chronicle, Arabic grammar, theology and law lfiqh) were studied in Malacca and Pasai. Sejarah Melayu tells of the teachers of Arabic and the Sufi masters among whose disciples were the sultans of Malacca, Mansur Syah and Mahmud Syah (Winstedt 1938a:127, 157, 177, 191). The chronicle mentions a

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certain Tun Muhammad who knew Arab morphology and syntax as well as Islamic jurisprudence lfiqh} and the fundamentals of Islamic theology (ilmu usul) (Winstedt 1938a:145). The principles offiqh also influenced such a juridical treatise of the fifteenth century as Undang-undang Melaka (the 'Malaccan code', Liaw Yock Fang 1976), whereas in the maritime code, compiled at the same time (Winstedt and De Josselin de Jong 1956), all the features of common law still persisted. The Malays evidently regarded theologians and mystics of Pasai as the most competent connoisseurs of religious sciences. It is namely they who were addressed, when the necessity to elucidate a controversial theological problem had arisen (Winstedt 1938a:127-9, 178-9). Both in Pasai and in Malacca hagiographical compositions about the Prophet Muhammad, which not infrequently revealed definite Shi'ite features, were well known (see also Chapter VIII). This is confirmed by Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah, which contains a section about the Prophet Muhammad, 'Ali and the martyrdom of Hasan and Hussain and, in addition, shows some traces of the influence of Hikayat Nabi wafat (the 'Tale of the Prophet's decease') (BrakeI1975:18-19, 50-I). That the latter work could have been composed in Pasai as early as the fourteenth century is evidenced by an extensive excerpt from it, which was interpolated into the manuscript Cambridge L.1.6.5. (the late sixteenth century, north Sumatra) containing the text closest to the Malay archetype of Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah. Similarly to the stories of Muhammad Hanafiyah and Amir Hamzah, Hikayat Nabi wafat was most probably translated from Persian. At least, Van Ronkel (1909:233) describes it as 'one of numerous imitations of Persian Wafat-nama'. We may assume that, apart from the prophet's hagiographies, the Malays showed an interest in Sufi hagiography too, as is seen in particular from two stories found in Sejarah Melayu. The first story tells of the arrogant qadi Yusuf who did not want to learn from the Sufi master, Maulana Abu Bakar, until once he accidentally saw that the body of the master was 'enveloped with light just as the wick of a lighted candle is enveloped with its flame' (Brown 1952:103; Winstedt 1938a:129) and became his fervent follower. The second story is about the same qadi Yusuf who, after becoming a Sufi master himself, refused to let in Sultan Mahmud Syah who came to his house, followed by a multitudinous retinue, but who agreed to accept the sultan as his disciple, when he knocked humbly on Yusuf's door, carrying a book in his hands and accompanied by only two servants (Winstedt 1938a:157). Tales of this kind are typical for hagiographies of Sufi saints. For instance, the second story from Sejarah Melayu is very similar to the analogous episodes from the hagiographies of Fudayl ibn 'Iyad (his encounter with the caliph Harun aI-Rashid) and Kharaqani (the encounter with Mahmud Ghaznawi) (Ye. Berthels 1965a:200-2, 274-5). Unfortunately, nothing is known about how, in which form (written or oral) and in which language (Arabic, Persian or Malay) these Sufi legends

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circulated among the Malays in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. However, Sejarah Melayu contains the title of one of the first systematic Sufi treatises to be known in Malacca. In Winstedt's recension of the chronicle we read: After that, [there arrived by ship one] Maulana Abu Bakar bringing with him the book Durr manzum [the 'Strung pearls']. He disembarked and proceeded to Malacca, where he was received with every mark of distinction by Sultan Mansur Shah, who ordered that [the Durr Manzum] be brought in procession to the hall of audience. And Sultan Mansur Shah studied with Maulana Abu Bakar, who highly commended his aptitude and the progress that he made in his studies. Sultan Mansur Shah then ordered that the Durr manzum be sent to Pasai for an exposition of its doctrine by Tuan Pematakan. 3o Tuan Pematakan set to work on the exposition and when it was completed he sent it to Malacca. Sultan Mansur Shah was well pleased with it and shewed it to Maulana Abu Bakar, who approved of it and complimented Tuan Pematakan. (Brown 1952:100; Winstedt 1938a:127.)

Later recensions of Sejarah Melayu (that of Abdullah and the 'long' recension) make it possible to understand better what this Durr manzum was. According to them, the book was written by a certain Maulana Abu Ishak from the 'windward lands' (that is, from either India or the Middle East), who was well-versed in Sufism. Originally his work consisted of two sections: one was about the Essence (Zat) of Allah, and the other about His Attributes (Sijat). Later, at the request of his disciple Maulana Abu Bakar, Abu Ishak added the third section about the Action (Atal) of Allah, and sent Maulana Abu Bakar (from Mecca?) to Malacca to preach Sufism there (Shellabear 1967:148-9). Probably, like other learned, overseas treatises known to the Malays in the early Islamic period, Durr manzum was written not in Malay but in Arabic. It is unclear, however, what exactly Pematakan's 'exposition' contained: a more extensive and more understandable interpretation of the text in Arabic or its translation-commentary in Malay. Finally, Hikayat raja Pasai and Sejarah Melayu themselves bear clear witness to the fact that histOriography, revealing local peculiarities, was well developed in the Malay world in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Alongside a number of references to prose works, in Hikayat raja Pasai and Sejarah Melayu we encounter some examples of Malay verse, both rhymed (pantun and songs composed on different occasions) and blank (epic cliches). It is likely that, apart from short poems represented in the two chronicles, Malay literature of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries also included more extensive narrative poems, oral or written, in particular of a historical content. Some time ago, Teeuw drew attention to the songs from the chronicle Hikayat Patani (the 'Tale of Patani') designated by the term ikat-ikatan (ikatan means a 'bunch' or 'bundle') and performed by the company of actors at the court of the sultan of Patani in 1624-1625. One of these songs, Seri Rama

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menambak tasik hendak pergi ke Langkapuri ('Seri Rama builds a dam over the sea to reach Langkapuri') is also mentioned in Hikayat Hang Tuah (the 'Epic of Hang Tuah') in the framework of a story about the events of the fifteenth century. Consequently, it could have been known at that time, unless its mention is one more anachronism of the epic. Judging by the title of the second poem, Bendahara Paduka Raja Melaka sedang masa perang dengan Peringgi ('Bendahara Paduka Raja of Malacca at the time of battle against the Portuguese'), it may also be dated to the beginning of the sixteenth century. Poems of this kind were usually composed almost immediately after the events described had taken place. This is evidenced, for instance, by the account of the French admiral Beaulieu who in 1621 visited the court of Iskandar Muda, the sultan of Aceh, and heard there female singers who glorified the sultan's military exploits in their songs (Lombard 1967:142). It is difficult to establish to which verse form the ikat-ikatan mentioned in Hikayat Patani belonged. As the name of the genre definitely implies a rhymed verse, it may have resembled a syair with its aaaa, bbbb rhyme-pattern, or a long 'stitched' pantun with the cross rhymes (see Chapter VII), or a 'tirade poem' with its 'strophoids' now of two, now of three, four and more rhyming lines (see Chapter V). Therefore, it is little wonder that the term 'ikat-ikatan', as Teeuw concludes, could refer to any kind of poetry. Be that as it may, neither Sejarah Melayu nor Hikayat raja Pasai provides sufficient grounds to believe that regular written poetical works in the Malay language (of the later syair type) were composed either in Pasai or in Malacca. Syair stanzas describing the garden of the magical princess from Mount Ledang are found only in the late (post-1612) recensions of Sejarah Melayu and are lacking in Winstedt's recension. Evidently in the early Islamic period the poetical works in Sanskrit and Malay (although in Sanskrit meters)31 had not yet been superseded by new written ones based on Malay metrics and rhyme, and their functions, even at court, were performed by oral poetry (compare Likhachev 1973:46). The influence of the oral poetical genres was still quite tangible in the earliest syair, created at the turn of the sixteenth century by Hamzah Fansuri (see Chapter V). Panji-romances in the composition of early Islamic literature The problem of the appropriation and adaptation of Javanese tales about Panji by the Malays in the early Islamic period deserves special consideration. Although the earliest chronicles do not mention the titles of particular works of this kind, a deep influence of the latter on historical writings will allow us to reconstruct the type and partly even the plot of those Panjiromances, which were known to Malay chroniclers, as well as one of their

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principal functions in Malay literature of the fifteenth century. Hikayat raja Pasai contains a story of how the princess of Majapahit, Raden Galuh Gemerencang, fell in love with Tun Abdul Jalil, a son of the Sultan Ahmad of Pasai (Hill 1960:93-100). A number of motifs that occur in this story cannot fail to attract attention, as they show obvious similarities to the ones typical of the tales about Panji. First of all the very title Raden Galuh is regularly encountered in the Panji-romances, now prefixed to the name of their main heroine, Candra Kirana, now to the names of other princesses. The motif of sending an artist to draw portraits of those overseas princes (or princesses) from whom the heroine (the hero) will choose the fiance (fiancee), occurs in Malat, a Middle Javanese poem about Panji (Poerbatjaraka 1968:316). A somewhat unusual (Poerbatjaraka 1968:382) motif of the nuptial voyage of the bride herself to the country of her bridegroom finds a parallel in the description of how Candra Kirana leaves her country in search of Raden Inu, typical of many Panji-romances. Some episodes of Hikayat Naya Kesuma and Hikayat Carang Mesa Gambira, in which Candra Kirana under the guise of a wandering knight (kelana) sails off to Sumatra (Juynboll1899:81; Van der Tuuk 1866: 102), are particularly close counterparts of this motif in Hikayat raja Pasai. Finally, the story of the murder of the prince Abdul Jalil, whose body was thrown into the sea, and the severe punishment of his murderer, the sultan of Pasai, cannot but evoke reminiscences of the episode from Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati, telling about the ruler of Soca Windu, who tormented Raden Inu and threw his seemingly lifeless body into the sea, and of the punishment that eventually befell this ruler (Winstedt 1991:162, 174). If these observations are correct, we can suppose that the Malays familiarized themselves with works about Panji as early as the end of the fourteenth century. The earliest evidence of popularity of Panji-romances in Java itself is dated to roughly the same time. 32 Therefore, it seems likely that they found their way from Javanese to Malay literature quite quickly. An unquestionable influence of Panji-romances can be traced in Sejarah Melayu. Van der Tuuk (1866:99) and C. Hooykaas (1947:227) were the first scholars who pointed to this influence. As C. Hooykaas wrote, it was the Kirana Langu episode (Story 9 in Winstedt's recension of Sejarah Melayu) that was particularly saturated with characteristic motifs of Panji-romances as well as of those from the tale of Damar Wulan (which is more dubious). The beginning of this episode tells of a prince Kirana Langu from Tanjung Pura, Malay state situated in southeastern Kalimantan,33 who had been shiprecked and landed in Java. There he was found and cared for by a palmwine maker. Later on, a Majapahit princess chose the young man to be her husband and made him batara (sovereign) of Majapahit. The second part of the story relates about Sultan Mansur Syah of Malacca, who proposed to the daughter of the

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new batara and in the end married her (Winstedt 1938a:100-11). The above episode from Sejarah Melayu, as we shall see, not only testifies to the popularity of Panji-romances in Malacca, but also shows that they were very much adapted in the Malay literary milieu of the fifteenth-sixteenth centuries. Therefore, the chronicler could freely combine the motifs of the romances to his liking, expressing his pro-Malaccan conception of kinship ties between Malaccan rulers and the sovereigns of Majapahit and, in addition, of a doubtless equality of both, if not even the superiority of the former. The effect of Panji-romances on any other work can be established by at least two criteria: the specific set of characters' names and the specific set of narrative motifs. The second criterion acquires a particular significance in those cases when the number of characteristic motifs is sufficiently great, and the order of their combination is close to that normally observed in the standard compositional structure of the Panji-romance (on this compositional structure, see Robson 1969:10, 1971:12-3). Although the sets of characters acting in the 'Javanese episode' of Sejarah Melayu are somewhat different in the recensions of Winstedt and Abdullah bin Abdul Kadir Munsyi (corresponding in this episode with the recension of Shellabear),34 all the names used in both recensions, and they are about 10, are very typical of Panji-romances. 35 At the same time, a thorough analysis of the structure of the Javanese episodes, particularly that of Story 9 in Winstedt's recension, reveals many narrative motifs characteristic of Panji-romances. We can find virtually all the motifs of Story 9 - which is in in fact a pseudo-Panjiromance - in such works as, for instance, the Javanese poem Panji Anggreni (Poerba~araka 1968:186-9), the Malay Hikayat Naya Kesuma (Juynboll 1899: 80-1) and some others (for more details, see V. Braginsky 1976b:128-9). Quite naturally, the question should be posed as to what the sources upon which the author of Sejarah Melayu built his pseudo-Panji-romance were. Did he base it on a number of romances, blending their motifs, or did he draw mainly from one source, complementing it, as may be, with only individual motifs from other romances? If we consider the pseudo-Panji-romance as a blending of motifs borrowed from a number of works, then it seems natural to assume that the chronicler became acquainted with these motifs through the plays performed in the shadow-theatre (wayang kulit), the theatre of actors in masks (wayang topeng) and in various kinds of dance drama (for instance, raket). In the nineteenth-twentieth century, the repertoire of these theatrical genres consisted to a great extent of plays about Panji. There is some evidence that testifies to the fact that the same kinds of theatre could have been known in Malacca too. The note by Pires about the 'mimes after the fashion of Java' in Malacca (Cortesao 1944, 11:268) has been already mentioned above. Pires described these performances as follows:

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature The land of Java is [a land] of mummers and masks of various kinds, and both men and women do thus. They have entertainments of dancing and stories; they mime; they wear mummers' dresses and all their clothes. They are certainly graceful; they have music of bells - the sound of all of them playing together is like an organ. These mummers show a thousand graces like these by day and night. At night they make shadows of various shapes [... ]. (Cortesao 1944, 1:177.)

It is difficult to believe that plays about Panji were not performed in both the theatre of Javanese actors described by Pires and the theatre of their Malacca followers. All the more so, as Sejarah Melayu itself mentions not only wayang kulit, but also raket, a kind of dance drama, which also draws plots from Panji-romances. It is true that both terms occur in Sejarah Melayu in the episode describing wedding festivities in Java. However, the fact that they were neither translated nor explained in some other way in the chronicle may witness to their being familiar to the Malay readership. Be that as it may, the creation of the pseudo-Panji-romance included in the chronicle on the basis of a mere blending of motifs is hardly probable. This way of its genesis can be disproved by numerous, though not always noticeable at first sight, features of resemblance between Story 9 (and some other episodes of the chronicle) and the most popular Malay Panji tale Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati and a few more works close to it. It was Winstedt who, following Van der Tuuk, emphasized the stylistic similarity of Sejarah Melayu and Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati and the influence of the latter on the chronicle (Winstedt 1991:40-1). However, an examination of this influence is impeded by the fact that many motifs close to those of Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati are dispersed throughout the text of Sejarah Melayu. Apart from that, the motifs which in the hikayat are included in the sphere of action of one character, in the chronicle are sometimes distributed among several personages, while in some other cases the chronicle, on the contrary, fuses the motifs which in the hikayat are ascribed to several different characters. A comparison of Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati and Sejarah Melayu reveals no less than twelve narrative motifs coinciding in both works. 36 It goes without saying that the very fact of the coincidence of some of them cannot testify to the dependence of the chronicle on this particular hikayat, as a number of the compared motifs occur, though individually used, in several Panji-romances. A far more convincing argument in favour of the conception suggested is the configuration of Story 9 as a whole, which includes the following motifs:

-

The initial allegedly 'low' status of the principal character, thrown by the waves onto the shore and brought back to life by a 'low' personage; The princess's choice to take the young man (the principal character) in marriage; The radically transformed (in fact, reversed) motif of the prince sailing to

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Tanjung Pura and marrying the daughter of its ruler (it should be noted that Sejarah Melayu also contains the direct, that is not reversed, variant of this motif typical of Panji-romances); The motif of the birth of Candra Kirana's son in Gagelang, well known to the chronicler.

This configuration of motifs in Story 9 suggests a certain influence of Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati upon it or, as seems more probable, the influence of a similar variant of the common prototype of both this hikayat and Panji-romances close to it, such as the Malay Hikayat Naya Kesuma and the Middle Javanese Malat. The comparison of Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati with Hikayat Naya Kesuma allows us to make some additional assumptions on the nature of that variant. Both works contain the following similar motifs: -

The attack of a mighty adversary on the ruler at whose court Raden Inu, the protagonist of the hikayat, is living; The adoption of Raden Inu by the ruler, caused by that menace; The victory won by Raden Inu over the enemy and his marrying the daughter of the ruler.

Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati describes these events as taking place in Gagelang, and Raden Inu marries the daughter of the king of Gagelang. Hikayat Naya Kesuma describes them as taking place in Majapahit, and Raden Inu marries the Majapahit princess Dewi Kesuma. The fact that Dewi Kesuma as well as Majapahit is mentioned in Sejarah Melayu may suggest that the 'Majapahit episode' modelled after that of Gagelang - its idea being given by Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati - had existed in the Panji-romance, which influenced the chronicle. The duplication of similar episodes or even entire sub-plots, giving Panji-romances a multi-lead nature, is very typical of these romances. If this suggestion is correct, the 'Majapahit episode' in the work that influenced the chronicle should have been placed between the narration of Raden Inu's life in Daha and that of his stay in Gagelang, which is exactly what we see in Hikayat Naya Kesuma. Besides, in this case, the romance that influenced the chronicle should have no mention of the specific for Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati 'ban' on Raden Inu's marrying any other princess before taking Candra Kirana in marriage. There is no 'ban' like that in either Hikayat Naya Kesuma or in Malat. Therefore, Sejarah Melayu in the first part of Story 9 presents a fusion of certain elements of the narrations concerning Raden Inu's experiences both in Daha and in Majapahit. The first part of Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati describing the events preceding Candra Kirana's departure from Daha, on which the deity Batara Kala

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insists, has the greatest number of parallels with Story 9 from Sejarah Melayu (see note 36, motifs 1-7). This is the feature which in the first place helps us to define the type of Panji-romance that affected the chronicle. A comparison of different Panji-romances shows that they can be referred to several types, depending mainly on the character of their initial parts. The first of these types comprises works in which Panji, after some kind of disaster, appears as a 'low' character, coming to serve some ruler or other, and winning love of the ruler's daughter (not infrequently she is Candra Kirana). The second type embraces romances in which Panji from the very start comes as a 'high' character, a hero winning wives through his success in arms. The romances of the second type more often than not make use of the so-called' Angrenimotif' - the story of the first Panji's beloved one of 'low' descent, who precedes Candra Kirana and dies because of intrigues of Panji's parents (normally those of his mother). The pseudo-Panji-romance in the chronicle (and evidently in its source) should be referred to the first type. Without plunging into the discussion on the priority of one type or another (Poerbatjaraka 1968:xvii-xviii, Robson 1969:11-2,1971:14), we can note that the earliest of the Middle Javanese Panjiromances, such as Wangbang Wideya (Robson 1971), Waseng Sari (Zoetmulder 1974:430-3), Malat (Poerbatjaraka 1968:290-369) also belong to the first type. All of them begin with Panji's becoming a servant of a king (in the first two it is the king of Daha, in the third the king of Gagelang). Besides that, Waseng Sari contains a number of motifs common for Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati and Sejarah Melayu. The Middle Javanese romances, believed to date from the second half of the sixteenth century (Robson 1971:8-11) and, according to Van der Tuuk's opinion, being closer in their subject matter to the Malay Panjiromances than to the Modern Javanese ones (Poerbatjaraka 1968:291), seems to demonstrate a tradition of Panji-romances very similar to that which was familiar to the chronicler. The motif of a Javanese prince who sails to Tanjung Pura and marries the daughter of the local ruler, which occurs in Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati and some other works about Panji, deserves particular attention. As has been already mentioned, the counterparts of this motif can be encountered twice in Sejarah Melayu. If we turn again to the character of the prince of Tanjung Pura, Kirana Langu, we can notice that the construction of his image is very complex: alongside the features of Raden Inu discussed above, he possesses a few traits of Gunungsari, a brother of Candra Kirana in Panji-romances. In Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati, Gunungsari sailed off from Tuban, heading for 'the countries over the sea', defeated the fleet of Tanjung Pura's ruler in a sea-battle (Winstedt 1991:167) and married his daughter. In Sejarah Melayu, a storm destroys the fleet of Tanjung Pura's ruler and throws his son onto the shore of Java, where he finally marries the daughter of the batara of Majapahit.

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Therefore, both works make use of one and the same motif of Tanjung Pura,37 yet in the chronicle this motif appears radically transformed, actually 'reversed' or turned the other way round. It cannot passed unnoticed that it is precisely Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati that provides grounds for a fusion of the images of Raden Inu and Gunungsari. The hikayat not only allows us to trace the parallelism of both characters, particularly in the development of love-relationships between Raden Inu and Candra Kirana and Gunungsari and Ratna (Malay text Rakna) Wilis, but also shows an example of a substitution of one personage for another. Normally, in Panji-romances an ogre abducts Ratna Wilis, while Gunungsari rescues her (Poerba~araka 1968:384). In Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati, on the contrary, Candra Kirana is abducted by an ogre, and consequently Raden Inu comes as the princess's rescuer. It is also remarkable that the 'theme of Raden Inu' and the 'theme of Gunungsari' are sharply demarcated in the image of Kirana Langu: the motifs of the former are represented in the author's narration, while those of the latter appear in Kirana Langu's own story of himself. Thus, the integral image of Kirana Langu reveals a kind of 'joint' showing that the chronicler, though being aware of the real distinction between the two 'themes' of the plot, nevertheless tried to join them together artificially. Finally, the very name Kirana Langu (which seems to be female rather than male) and the presentation in Sejarah Melayu of a more ordinary version of the Javanese (there Majapahit) ruler marrying the princess of Tanjung Pura, once again testify to the fact that the chronicler knew the motif of Tanjung Pura in the form in which it occured in Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati and other Panji-romances close to it. Thus, one can assume that the reason to 'reverse' this motif was the conscious attempt of the chronicler to substitute his own conception for the Java-centric one expressed in Hikayat Cekel Waneng Patio The author of Sejarah Melayu tried to replace the aggressive conception of establishing the suzerainty of Java over one of the greatest (at the time of creation of the chronicle) Malay states (Ras 1968:191) with a peaceful Malay-centric conception. According to this conception, the kings of Majapahit not only take their origin, in the female line, from Iskandar Zulkarnain's progeny, but later become connected with Iskandar also in the male line, just as the rulers of Malacca. Hence, kings of the Javanese and the Malays are related to each other with genealogical bonds. But more than that: it is a Malay prince who since that moment becomes batara of Majapahit and who attains power through absolutely peaceful endeavours, by the volition of the princess of the country herself. It is likely that the latter circumstance allows the chronicler to avoid or weaken the aggressive motifs of Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati, such as taking arms against the other aspirants to the hand of the princess and the sea-battle of Tanjung Pura. The substitution of the motif of the storm for that

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of the sea-battle also allowed the author of Sejarah Melayu to join together and develop the theme of Raden Inu and that of Gunungsari in the image of Kirana Langu, without deviating too far from the Panji-romance that was his source and, on the other hand, avoiding any contradiction with his political goals. It is not fortuitous that the Kirana Langu episode is placed in the part of the chronicle which is very important from the viewpoint of political ideology: after mentioning the three' great powers' of the insular world - Majapahit, Pasai and Malacca - and before the story of Malaccan Sultan Mansur Syah marrying the Majapahit princess. The story of Sultan Mansur Syah's marriage to the princess of Majapahit (Candra Kirana!) may be considered the second lead in the pseudo-Panjiromance of the chronicler. In such second (or third, fourth, and so on) leads of the romances their authors described events that demonstrated new triumphs of Panji and his companions over their adversaries and their new marriages. Malat, for example, represents an almost endless chain of nearly identical scenes of Panji's taking new girls in marriage one after another. It deserves attention that in Sejarah Melayu the rivals of Sultan Mansur Syah, aspiring to the hand of Candra Kirana, are the princes of Tanjung Pura and Daha (most probably not Daha in Java, but that in Kalimantan, situated not far from Tanjung Pur a, Ras 1968:191). Therefore, if the first part of Story 9 shows the Malay prince of Tanjung Pura triumphant in Majapahit, the second part depicts the sovereign of Malacca establishing his priority over the prospective ruler of Tanjung Pura, in this way appearing as the most powerful of Malay kings, a worthy son-in-law virtually equal to the batara of Majapahit. 38 To conclude. The source of the pseudo-Panji-romance in Sejarah Melayu was a work belonging to the first type of Panji-romances (Panji initially appears as a 'low' hero), close to Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati and containing several motifs, which also occurred in Hikayat Naya Kesuma (primarily Majapahit motifs). This prototypal romance was transformed by the chronicler to meet his Malay-centric or, to be more precise, Malacca-centric political conception. Both facts testify to the popularity of Panji-romances in Malay literature of the early Islamic period, at least at its Malaccan stage.

The genre system of the early Islamic period The composition of early Islamic Malay literature, reconstructed on the basis of chronicles, reveals that the functional sphere of Malay literature at that time included works on the basic principles of Islam, on fiqh, Arabic grammar and Sufism (Durr manzum) - all foreign imports written in Arabic. In this respect they resembled the Sanskrit works of the old Malay period.

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Furthermore the functional sphere comprised hagiographic texts, most likely in the Persian language, but possibly also works that had already been translated into Malay (Hikayat Nabi Wafat.), as well as historiographical works written in Malay, such as Hikayat raja Pasai and Sejarah Melayu. In the non-functional sphere, written works became available. Renderings of the plots of the Indian epics (such as Hikayat Seri Rama and Hikayat Pandawa jaya) and Javanese tales about Panji, which corresponded fully to the tastes of the previous period, coexisted with translations of Persian and Arabico-Persian works (Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah, Hikayat Amir Hamzah and Hikayat Iskandar Dzulkarnain). The latter were perpetuated not solely for their sermonizing contents, but also because to a great extent they resembled works of old Malay literature (see Chapter III). Thus, the system of early Islamic Malay literature displays features characteristic of a period of transition. After the adoption of Islam the Buddhist canon was naturally replaced with the Muslim one, in which the principal place was taken by the Qur' an, the first complete and unified scripture to which the Malays were introduced. Furthermore, several genres of the former functional sphere, which, like the local hymnography, had a distinctly religious colouring, fell into disuse. In this sphere Sanskrit was replaced by Arabic (but for the time being, as it seems, no Malay was used), and historiography, which in the earlier period might have been bilingual, now exclusively employed Malay. At the same time, in the totally Malay-based nonfunctional sphere, the periphery of the literary system, which by and large had been less imbued with the spirit of the new religion, there began a process of Islamization, at this stage in the form of transition-coexistence. Two genres dominated Malay literature of the early Islamic period. The first was the prose narrative, or hikayat, a genre which had its prototype in old Malay literature, but which attained its final shape and name only in the late fourteenth century. On the basis of mainly Sejarah Melayu, Brakel established the following principal features of this genre: hikayat were anonymous, intended for recitation, more or less fantastic in content, and varied in form and content because scribes were free to change and embellish the text they copied (Brakel 1975:66). To this we can add that to some extent the narrational style of the hikayat imitated a generalized model of the Arabico-Persian tale typical of popular prose (qissah, sirat, hikayat, and suchlike). Both were characterized by sentences opening with the conjunction maka ('and'), by certain rhythm-setting words (such as hatta, arakian, and the others) and, often, by an inverted word order. Early hikayat were divided into chapters, of which the titles presented a kind of resume of their contents; they employed Arabic and Persian literary cliches, particularly in the description of battles, and showed a tendency towards various forms of compositional symmetry.

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature It seems that Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah provided an original pattern

for the composition of later works in the genre of hikayat. While substantiating this conjecture, Brakel (1979b), first of all, pointed out that this work was probably the only extensive narrative, which bore the name of hikayat in both its Persian original and Malay translation (normally a short story similar to an anecdote is designated as hikayat in Persian literature).39 Further, Brakel demonstrated that the description of battle from the Malay Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah, which had been transferred to quite a number of later hikayat with only insignificant changes, reproduced the Persian original almost literally. Finally, he showed fairly convincingly that Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah was the earliest specimen of written Malay hikayat preserved (what is meant are the texts recorded in Jawi, or Arabic letters, not their oral or some other prototypes mentioned in Chapter I). Therefore, there are certain grounds to assume that, although counterparts of later hikayat could have existed in the old Malay period, the form, which they acquire in Malay Islamic literature originated from Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah. It is unknown whether Malay adaptations of Hindu-Javanese works also had the same form in the early Muslim period. However, there is nothing improbable in this supposition. If such was the case, the initial Islamization of Malay belles-lettres was largerly limited to the imparting of this form to it and its superficial religious censorship. The second genre was formed by chronicles, which could either be designated, like the fantastic narratives, by the term hikayat, or by the more specific generic term sejarah, 'genealogy'. However, the term 'chronicle' can be applied to this kind of writings only with a number of reservations, as they not only contained a wealth of mythical and legendary material, but also did not include dates at that stage (on the evolution of Malay chronicles, see Chapter V). The chronicles, or rather works of historical purport, attested primarily to the noble origin and the legitimacy of a dynasty. They also provided an account of the history of the dynasty and country in a fashion, which revealed the hidden meaning of the events described and the nature of the invisible forces at work beneath the surface. Thus, these chronicles acquired a didactic value, educating through historical examples both the rulers and their subjects. With good reason, De Josselin de Jong (1964) called these works' charters'. This function gives them a historiosophic rather than a historiographic quality. The earlier chronicles as well as their later counterparts of the classical period were composed of two parts. The first part presented the dynastic myth of origin. In its primordial form, as preserved in the relatively late but extremely archaic Salasilah Kutai, this myth corresponded typologically to the above-mentioned prototype for the fantastic adventure tales of the old

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Malay period. The myth told of the sacral marriage of the sun, water and earth, whose descendants became founders of the first settlement or dynasty (Ras 1968:81-99). In the course of time, this myth of origin incorporated plots traceable to Indian and Javanese epics (Ramayana and Panji-romances) and Muslim legends (Hikayat Iskandar Zulkarnain). However, since Malay chroniclers regarded these plots as identical to the primordial myth in their structure and subject, they 'placed' fragments of them - sometimes rather extensive ones - over each other, not indiscriminately but as if following the 'outlines' of the myth, thus bringing about the integral 'synthesized' structure of the initial part of the chronicles. A similar orderly blending was often characteristic of the narrative motifs and even heroes of historical works, who showed a definite resemblance - in their names, features and actions - to famous personages of Sanskrit, Javanese and Arab or Persian literatures. As Ras (1968:134) wrote of Hikayat Banjar (the 'Tale of Banjar', its greater part being written before the mid-sixteenth-century): The pseudo Rama-tale [the 'Tale of Banjar' acquired its form at a certain stage of development] embodied a complex of notions characteristic of the Malay conception of how a royal dynasty comes into being. In a later period a number of elements borrowed from the Iskandar saga were incorporated into this pseudo Rama-tale, resulting in a 'myth of origin / pseudo Rama / pseudo Iskandar' amalgam [... ] This formulation was found to be applicable in the case of the Sejarah Me/ayu and the Hikayat Banjar as well.

And again: The incorporation of these elements [the elements of the Iskandar saga] should be seen rather as a consequence of the need to give the old, essentially pagan, myth of their origin a 'decent', quasi-Islamic, tinge, so as to legalize it and thus make it fit to be carried over into the new era, which was culturally dominated by the newly imported faith [Islam]. It is to the fact that the Iskandar saga fitted this purpose that it owed its popularity. In a similar way its predecessor, the Rama saga, had earlier - in the Hindu period - become popular [... ] because it was felt as basically dealing with the same topic as that treated by the native Malay myth of origin which served as the patent of nobility for the Malay kings. (Ras 1968:133.)

In Winstedt's recension of Sejarah Melayu and in Hikayat raja Pasai, the myth of origin, which earlier had provided the dynasty with a sacral sanction, was transformed, under the impact of Islam, into an account of its supernatural origin, serving to ensure the unbroken link between epochs. However, even in this form the myth continued to bestow on the dynasty the magic power, which its rulers needed in order to exercise their function as the focus and custodian of the cosmic and social order. This function remained the foundation for the Malay concept of power, despite modifications made necessary by the change of religion.

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The second part of the chronicle was concerned with historical rather than mythical events. It consisted of genealogical elements, specifically the list of rulers, traced back as far as the myth of origin, which orgaruzed the whole work into a single narration, in combination with narrative accounts of the major events embodying the destiny of the state (compare Teeuw 1976:15-7). The two elements were closely interlinked, thanks to the historiosophic concept of the author (or authors) of the chronicle. The key tenets of this concept were 'justice' (the socio-cosmic order) and 'recompense for observation/ violation of justice'. Such a bipartite structure of historical writings was undoubtedly a local phenomenon. Its prototype can be found in myths, legends and especially in the genealogical traditions of Indonesian peoples related to the Malays, but not affected by either Indian or Muslim influences (Fox 1971, 1986). Moreover, Javanese chronicles dating from the Hindu-Buddhist period (for instance, Pararaton; Brandes 1920) and historical works from Bali (babad) (Worsley 1972), both of which structurally resemble the early Muslim Malay chronicles, give grounds to suggest that old Malay predecessors of the latter (see Chapter I) might have shown a similar pattern. Although after their adoption of Islam the Malays familiarized themselves with the principles of Muslim historiography (the fairly popular Bustan assalatin with its universal history testifies to this fact), it was not until the mid-eighteenth century that they started to use the form of its annals. Until then, they preserved their own tradition, adapting it to the requirements of Islamic genealogical historiography, a genre, which had already acquired a certain provincial character in Middle Eastern Islamic countries (Rosenthal 1968:96-7). In these countries, as in the Malay world, a literary work of this genre basically comprised a combination of genealogical elements and stories about individual events, the khabar, which could be read as complete in themselves, having only weak logical connections with one another. The vivid and lively narration in such stories is more striking than their factual precision (Rosenthal 1968:66-7). The numerous 'novellas' from the Sejarah Melayu are highly characteristic examples of such khabar-like stories (see Chapter III). In order to provide their chronicles with greater affinity with the Muslim genealogies, Malay authors of the early Islamic period employed the story of Iskandar to adapt the myth of origin. Moreover, they introduced into the beginning of the stories of certain rulers a characterization of their moral qualities, and into the concluding passages exhortations from their deathbeds to their heirs regarding the transitoriness of earthly power and glory. They also to some extent modified old ethical concepts and the notion of state, linking them to the institution of syariat. As a result, the Malay chronicles could now be considered as Muslim works, since they fulfilled all the

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necessary requirements. They demonstrated the inconstancy of human destiny, the divine predetermination of all events, the evil of tyranny and the benefits of justice; they instructed readers in political wisdom and ancient customs, enabling them, moreover, to enrich and enliven their conversation with knowledge of historical precedents and edifying stories about the lives of kings and outstanding personalities (Rosenthal 1968:261, 269). These features were characteristic for the earliest Malay historical writing, Hikayat raja Pasai, but in a particularly graphic way they manifested themselves in Sejarah Melayu. To conclude: in the genre of hikayat, works of Hindu-Buddhist and Muslim origin coexisted in the framework of the literature as a whole, each group retaining its relative isolation. The stock of these works composed during the early Islamic period was to form the nucleus for all subsequent Malay narrative prose. In the ensuing classical period the narrative and descriptive motifs from these works, now coexisting in the framework of an individual piece of literature, gave rise to an original, well-represented genre of synthetic hikayat. However, at least for some time, the first attempts to combine elements of the Hindu-Buddhist and Muslim traditions in one and the same work (the 'protosynthesis') affected only historiography.

Notes The following philological terms are used below: a. 'manuscript', 'copy' - an individual written reproduction of a certain work; b. 'recension' - a group of copies (at the minimum, one copy) of a certain work, which are close to each other and show peculiar features (literary, linguistic, social, local, and so on) which allow us to oppose a particular recension of the work to its other recensions; c. 'archetype' or 'prototype' - the original text of a certain work or of its particular recension. Normally the archetype is a hypothetical text, as it is rarely preserved physically and should be reconstructed by means of either a comparison of different copies, or conjectures, or both. A combination of oral and written features in traditional Malay works seriously hampers the reconstruction of their archetypes and frequently makes it impossible at all. Be that as it may, the transformation of the text of traditional Malay writings, as often as not, cannot be considered as a mere corruption of the archetype in the process of its transmission; rather, to quote Teeuw (1992a:511), this transformation reveals' a process of continuous creation'. On philological methods of the study of traditional Malay literature, see the works referred to in the Introduction to this book. For the publications of Sejarah Melayu by Abdullah, Dulaurier, Shellabear and Winstedt and the translations of the chronicle by Leyden and Brown (into English) and Marre (into French), see Roolvink 1967:301-3.

2

3

For Tun Seri Lanang, see, in particular, Iskandar 1964b.

Blagden (1925) was the first to draw the attention of students of Malay literature to a number of important peculiarities of the manuscript Raffles Malay 18 which he considered the oldest recension of the chronicle. For this reason Winstedt called it Blagden's recension. Later it

4

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature

was also called the Pasir Raja recension (Muhammad Haji Salleh 1997) and Raja Bungsu's recension, respectively after the name of an older capital of Johor and the name Raja Bungsu - the future sultan of Johor, Abdullah (1613-1623) - who wrote it (or rather had it written - to be more exact, copied - for him) (Abdul Rahman Haji Ismail 1998:10; Roolvink 1998:33). However, since it was in fact Winstedt who first thoroughly studied and published this recension, it seems more appropriate to call it after him. The second manuscript of this recension, Cod. Or. 1704 containing only the first part of the work (stories 1-l3), is kept in the library of the Leiden State University (Wieringa 1998a:52-3). Winstedt's version was translated by Brown (1952) with many useful corrections and recently romanized anew twice by, respectively, Muhammad Haji Salleh (1997; on the basis of both manuscripts) and Abdul Rahman Haji Ismail (Cheah Boon Kheng 1998). Consequently, Linehan summarized his views about Sejarah Melayu as follows: 'The nucleus of the Malay annals was written in Malacca, and by 1511 AD, no doubt at least one copy of this nucleus was in existence. When Malacca fell to the Portuguese in that year the fugitive Sultan Mahmud fled to Pahang (where he stayed a year). His entourage must have brought with them this early version of the Annals" and also a copy (or we may assume that a copy was made during his sojourn in Pahang). When he departed from Pahang a copy remained behind, and Pahang writers took the opportunity to introduce into this version Pahang local colour in the respects indicated above. When Johor forces invaded Pahang in 1612 AD. they managed to obtain, at a place popularly known as Goa [... J, this version of the Annals, and it became known as "the history from Goa". A Johor annalist then proceded to "improve" it, and, in its "improved" form it eventually emerged as a source of the Shellabear text of Annals.' (Linehan 1947:116.) Linehan's assumption of Goa being located in Pahang has been recently supported by Abdul Rahman Haji Ismail (1998:17-20) who published a new romanized edition of Raffles Malay 18. 5

According to Gibson-Hill (1956:187-8) it is highly unlikely that Do Couto, who knew the authoritative version of the events by Portuguese historians (incidentally, his Asia is the continuation of Barros's Decades), 'would have used the version of the Malay annals, in preference to any other, if he had merely heard it recounted in conversation'. All the more so, since the latter version was not 'commonly current at this period'. The most recent example of such an unreserved acceptance is found in the introduction by Muhammad Haji Salleh (1997:xi-xiv) to his romanization of Winstedt's recension of Sejarah Melayu. However, De Josselin de Jong (1980), Wolters (1970) and, more recently, Abdul Rahman Haji Ismail (1998), another editor of Winstedt's recension, perceived Roolvink's conception in a more critical way, although they did not discuss his arguments at length in any of their works. The table below includes the information about the dates (I) and periods of reign (II) of Singapore and Malacca kings and sultans, which is quoted from the genealogical lists of Netscher (N) and Van der Vorm (V), the Riau list (R), the Kinglist (K) and Winstedt's recension of Sejarah Melayu (W).

B

Kings/Sultans Seri Teri Buana Seri Pikrama Wira Seri Rana Wikrama Seri Maharaja Seri Iskandar Syah Raja Besar Muda Raja Tengah Sultan Muhammad Syah

N

1160-1208 1208-1223 1223-1236 1236-1247 1247-1272 1272-1273 1273-1276 1276-1333

R

V II 48 15 13 11 25 1 3 57

1160-1208 1208-1223 1223-1236 1236-1249 1249-1274 --- ----

II 4E 15 13 13 25

1180-1227 1227-1242 1242 1242-1266 1266-1280

K II 47 15

24 14

1179-1226 1226-1240 1240-1241 1241-1265 1265-1279

W II 48 15 13 25 12.5 14 23 II 47 14

- . - - - - --- - - - - - - - --- - - - - - - - ---

- - - -- - . - . - - --- - . - - - - --- - - --- - - - - - - -1276-1333

57

1280-1344

64

1281-1376

65

57

II The problem of early Islamic Malay literature and its genre system Sultan Abu Said (Sultan Abu Syahid) Sultan Muzaffar Syah Sultan Mansur Syah Sultan Alauddin Syah Sultan Mahrnud Syah Sultan Ahmad Syah Sultan Mahrnud Syah (again)

1333-1335

2

1333-1334

1335-1374 1374-1447 1447-1477 1477-1504 1504-1518

39 73 30 27 14

1334-1374 1374-1447 1447-1477 1477-1513 1513-1540

1518-1521

3

1346-1348

1344 40 73 30 36 27

1344-1386 1386-1449 1449-1477 1477-1512 1512-1538

42 63 28 35 26

1348-1387 1387-1448 1448-1477 1477-1512 1512-1538

133 2 .5 39 40 73 61 2933(30)

35 26

48

In V, R, K, and W, the time gap (indicated with the sign *- - -*) is filled with the period of reign of Sultan Megat. In particular, in Netscher's Sulalat as-salatin Sang Sapurba is presented as Iskandar's descendant, who sails to the island of Bintan ruled by a queen with the strange name Permaisuri Iskandar Syah. Sang Sapurba's son, Nila Utama, marries the queen's daughter and stays in Bintan, while his maternal grandfather, Demang Lebar Daun, continues his journey. After a while Nila Utama leaves Bintan and founds Singapura (Singapore), naming it in honour of the lion, which he has seen there. Only after settling in Singapura does he assume the title of Seri Tri Buana (Netscher 1854a:144-5).

9

10 It is difficult to explain why this section of Bustan as-salatin - although it was published by Winstedt as early as 1920 (Winstedt 1920a), briefly studied by Linehan who established that the information in this section was largely derived from Sejarah Me/ayu by Tun Seri Lanang (Linehan 1933:144), quoted by Winstedt (1938a:40) in connection with the same problem of the authorship, and mentioned in passing by Roolvink (1967:311) - has never been used for the examination of the evolution of the chronicle and compared with its extant recensions systematically.

Since Shellabear's edition of Sejarah Melayu is a 'hybrid' text, it is not used in the comparison. Abdullah's recension and the 'long' recension coincide with each other on all the points, which are considered in the comparison (compare Situmorang and Teeuw 1958; Samad Ahmad 1979). For this reason, instead of indicating every time: 'Abdullah's and the 'long' recensions', only Abdullah's recension (henceforth A) is mentioned. All the more so, as in his later, posthumously published article Roolvink views both the 'long' and the 'short' (Abdullah's) recensions as essentially one (recension II) with two subdivisions (version IIa and version lib respectively) (Roolvink 1998:32). Winstedt's recension is designated below as Wand Bustan as-salatin as B. The Leiden manuscript Cor. Or. 5433 of Bustan as-salatin (collated with its London manuscript Raffles Malay 8) was used for the comparison. I am grateful to Jelani Harun from the Universiti Sains, MalaYSia, who kindly provided me with his romanization of MS Raffles Malay 8. 1. As in A, in B too, the duration of Aristun Syah's reign is 350 years, while in W it is 355 years. 2. As in A, in B too, Tersi (or Tursi/Narsi) Berderas, a descendant of Iskandar Zulkarnain, marries the daughter of Raja Suran, the ruler of Amdan Negara, and has three sons by her: Raja Hiran who rules in India, Raja Suran who is brought up by his grandfather Sulan, and Raja Pandin, the king of Turkestan. After his grandfather'S death Suran becomes the king of Amdan Negara and subjugates all countries except China, which he tries to conquer. On his way to China he conquers Gangga Negara and Gelanggiu (in A and the 'long' recension, Ganggayu or Lenggayu; in W, Gelang-Gui), murders their rulers Gangga Syah Johan and Raja Culan, and marries Zaris Gangga, the sister of the former, and Wanang (or Unang/Onang) Kiu, the daughter of the latter. Then he continues his expedition to stop at Tumasik. The frightened Chinese resort to a ruse, saving their country by convincing Suran that the distance to it is enormous. After that Suran descends into the subaquatic kingdom, marries the daughter of the sea king, has three sons by her, returns to his army and sets out on his journey back home. There he founds the city of Bijayanegara. 11

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These events differ considerably in W. Here the story begins with information about Raja Syulan, the ruler of Nagapatam, who sets off on a military mission, conquers the countries Gangga Syah Negara ruled by Raja Linggi Syah, and GIang Gui ruled by Raja Culin. Killing both rulers, he marries only Onang Kiu, the daughter of Raja Culin, returns home and founds Bijayanegara. He has a daughter named Cendana Wasis by Onang Kiu. Narsi Berderas marries her to his son Suran Padsyah, and three sons are born of this marriage: Raja Jiran, the ruler of Cendergiri Nagara, Raja Culan, brought up by his grandfather, and Raja Pandaian, the ruler of Nagapatam. After Raja Syulan's death, Raja Culan ascends the throne of Bijayanegara and sets off on an expedition against China. Then in B, as in both Wand A, follow the episodes of the Chinese ruse, the Raja Syulan's descent to the subaquatic kingdom, his marriage, the birth of three sons by the sea princess, and the return home. Thus, we have in W two conquerors and two expeditions instead of one; different names of the rulers and their countries, different marital unions, the founding of Bijayanegara before the descent to the kingdom of the sea, and so on. 3. As in A, in B too, Raja Suran has the daughter named Cendana Wasis by Wanang (or Unang/ Onang) Kiu and three sons by his other wife: Bicitram Syah, the ruler of the country of Candu Kani, Paldu Tani, the ruler of Amdan Negara, and Nila Manam, the ruler of Bijayanegara. Displeased with being the ruler of an insignificant country although he is the elder brother, Bicitram Syah sails off, taking the royal regalia with him. In W we find a completely different exposition of events. After returning home, Raja Culan marries the daughter of Raja Kudar Syah Johan, a granddaughter of Narsi (Tursi) Berderas, who gives birth to his son Adiraja Rama Mudaliar, 'whose descendants rule in Bijayanegara to this day'. 4. As in W, in B too, Sang Suparba Hindi (in W, Sang Sapurba), Sang Baniaka (in W, Sang Maniaka) and Sang Nila Utarna (in W, Sang Utama), who descended on Mount Seguntang are mentioned as the founders of the Malay ruling houses. The first of them became the ruler of the country of the Minangkabau, the second, of Tanjung Pura, and the third, the king of Palembang and the founder of the Singapore-Malacca dynasty. In A the story of the descent on Mount Seguntang and of the founding of the dynasties differs considerably. However, both B and A contain information, lacking in W, about the sword Semandang Kini and the seal Kempa with which the princes descended on Mount Seguntang; unlike W, in B no mention is made of the princes' original names (only the names they assumed after their enthronement are mentioned). 5. In B Sang Utama marries the queen of Bintan, in A he marries the daughter of the female ruler of Bintan (this difference may be a result of a copyist's error), whereas W contains no mention of Sang Nila Utama's marriage in Bintan at all. Consequently, in W his heir, Seri Pikrama Wira, is born to his Palembang wife, Wan Sendari, while in B and A to the queen of Bintan or her daughter. Thus, both B and A emphasize the role of the Singapore-Malacca dynasty's ties with Bintan, which corresponds well with the Johor-centric tendency of A. 6. Both in B and A. Seri Pikrama Wira marries the daughter of the king of Keling; in W he marries the granddaughter of the queen of Bintan. 7. Both in B and A, the lists of the rulers from Raja Iskandar Syah to Sultan Muhammad Syah are completely identical: Raja Ahmad (Raja Besar Muda), Raja Tengah, Raja Kecil Besar (Muhammad Syah); in W this list looks different: Raja Kecil Besar (Sultan Megat) and Raden Tengah (Muhammad Syah). 8. Both in B and A, Raja Tengah and his brothers Raden Bagus and Raja Anom (in B, Inu) marry bendahara Tun Perpatih Putih's three daughters; W contains no mention of this fact. 9. According to B, Iskandar Syah ruled for thirty two years; according to A, he ruled for thirty two years in Singapore and for three years in Malacca; W contains quite different data about the period of his reign: three years in Singapore and twenty years in Malacca. 10. In B and A, Sultan Mansur Syah marries Waneng Sari, the daughter of the defeated ruler of Pahang, and has two sons, Ahmad and Muhammad, by her. In W, there is no mention of the sultan's marriage to the princess of Pahang, and Ahmad and Muhammad are represented as the children of Mansur Syah by Seri Nara Diraja's sister. 11. In B and A. Mansur Syah's son, Raden Gelang, falls at the hand of a man in a state of amok.

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W contains no such episode, and Ratu di Kelang, identical to Raden Gelang (named also Raja Raden in W) inherits the Malay throne under the name of Sultan Alauddin Riayat Syah. 12. Both in B and A, Sultan Alauddin Riayat Syah is Sultan Mansur Syah's son by a bendahara's sister (in B, daughter), who bears the name Raja Husein. In W, Raja Husein is not mentioned at all. 13. In B and A, Malacca conquers Kampar during the rule of Sultan Mansur Syah; in W, during Sultan Alauddin Riayat Syah's rule. 14. Both B and A tell how Raja Muhammad, Mansur Syah's son, was sent to Pahang to meet his brother there; W lacks such an episode. 15. Both in B and A, Sultan Alauddin Riayat Syah's wives are enumerated in the same order and an identical list of his children is quoted. In both, the children by the princess are named first, then the three children by Tun Naja: the elder daughter Puteri Hitam, the son Muhammad and the younger daughter Fatimah. W has a different list of the wives and children: first Tun Naja's children are mentioned with no indication of their exact number ('several') and the names of only two sons, Ahmad (alias Mahmud = Muhammad in B and A?) and Abd al-Jalal, the latter is not mentioned in either B or A; then the princess's children are listed. 16. In B and A Sultan Mahmud Syah's children by the princess of Pahang are mentioned (B mentions three sons and two daughters, which may be an error by the copyist or Nuruddin ar-Raniri himself; A mentions two daughters and one son). W also mentions two daughters and one son of the sultan, who were born in one of his marriages, but nothing is said about their mother being the princess of Pahang. 17. B and A give identical names of Mahmud Syah's daughters by the princess of Kelantan; W omits their names. 18. Unlike W, in B and A there is no mention of Sultan Mahmud Syah marrying Tun Birah, a laksamana's daughter. In W the daughter named Raja Dewi is born of this marriage. In B and A, Raja Dewi is a daughter of the princess of Kelantan. POSSibly, however, both daughters bore one and the same name. Proceeding from the fact that in the preface to the manuscript Raffles Malay 18 the reading pada hari, not bendahara is found (this reading also occurs in Cor. Or. 1704, see Muhammad Haji Salleh 1997:266), Abdul Rahman Haji Ismail (1998:12-13) supposes that the bendahara could not be the author of Sejarah Melayu. However, his interpretation of the phrase in question - which he reads with pada hari [iniJ ('on this day') instead of bendahara, and pertuturan understood as 'talk', 'discussion' instead of' family relation' (Roolvink 1967: 104, note 8) - seems far-fetched and unconvincing. Winstedt, Brown and Muhammad Haji Salleh interpreted this pada hari as an error by the scribe who had misread the word bendahara, which is, incidentally, easily explicable in the context of Jawi script, all the more so since bendahara is frequently written as bendahari in Raffles Malay 18. Their conjecture is completely justifiable and does not force us to change artificially the meaning, which the word pertuturan has in many manuscripts of Sejarah Me/ayu. 12

13 Roolvink (1967:308). However, Winstedt (1938a:33) could be right in his assumption that the concluding chapters of his recension of Sejarah Me/ayu had been replaced with a 'dull Shellabear appendix', that is the Johor continuation typical for the manuscripts of the 'long' recension (Roolvink 1967:308-9), also by the Johor editor (Tun Seri Lanang) in 1612. The continuation reaches approXimately the year 1612, mentioned in the preface to Sejarah Me/ayu. Judging by the colophon (Shellabear 1967), one of the copyists of the 'long' recension read the continuation in 1673 (at the time of the attack of Jambi against Johor), while around 1640 Nuruddin ar-Raniri probably borrowed information about the genealogy of the Pahang rulers from this continuation (Nuruddin ar-Raniri:18-9). Thus, it does not seem unlikely that the continuation existed long before the 1720s to which Roolvink dates the 'long' recension. 14 The colophon to a manuscript which contained, inter alia, another historical work, Hikayat raja Pasai, allowed Kratz to conclude that there existed (at least in the second half of the eight-

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature

eenth century, but probably earlier too) a kind of interinsular network 'which enabled someone in Makasar with literary interests not only to know of the whereabouts of a particular Malay text elsewhere, in this case Semarang, but also to have a copy of it made, and presumably brought back to Makasar once completed' (Kratz 1989a:3). Compare Roolvink 1954:6. There are two manuscripts of Hikayat raja Pasai. The first of them, the well-known manuscript Raffles Malay 67 dated 1815, is kept in the Royal Asiatic Society. It was re-copied by Dulaurier in 1837, edited by Dulaurier (1849, I), Mead (1914), Hill (1960), Alfian (1973b), Jones (1987) and translated into French by Marre (1874) and into English by Hill (1960). The second, incomplete, manuscript of Hikayat raja Pasai, MS Or. 14350 dated 1797, was found in the British Library by Kratz (1989a) and together with the first manuscript used by Jones (1999) in his recent edition of the work. For a detailed description of both manuscripts, see Jones 1999:xiv-xvi. Interestingly, the two manuscripts originate from the northern coast of Java, from Demak and Semarang respectively, the area of which the links with Pasai are dated to the fifteenth or the early sixteenth century (De Graaf and Pigeaud 1974:112-3, 276-8). However, the original of the copy made for Raffles by Adipati Demak, Kiai Suradimanggala, could have been brought to Java by the British from Sumatra (after their capture of the kraton of Palembang?) (Jones 1999:xiv and references there). For oral versions of Hikayat raja Pasai, see Alfian (1973b:7) and Cowan (1973). 15

Hill emphasizes a particular similarity of the opening episodes in Hikayat raja Pasai and Sejarah Melayu (from the quarrel of Merah Silu, the founder of Samudra, with his brother and up to the mission of Syaikh Ismail who converted Samudra to Islam) and writes: 'There are certain passages in both (Hikayat raja Pasai and Sejarah Melayu; V.B.) having almost the same words in the same order (Hill 1960:35-6). Teeuw adds to this that the conclusion of the Pasai section in Sejarah Melayu (describing the relations between the rulers of Samudra and Pasai) is so similar to the corresponding episode in Hikayat raja Pasai that it is possible to speak about a paraphrase in this case (Teeuw 1964b:228-9). He also remarks that 'the two texts show a number of striking similarities, even in such matters as word choice' (Teeuw 1964b:230). 16

The main differences between the chronicles as follows from the studies by Hill and Teeuw are (HRP stands for Hikayat raja Pasai and SM for Sejarah Melayu): 1. The mythological part of HRP, describing the supernatural origin of the founder of the Samudra-Pasai dynasty, is lacking in SM. 2. HRP presents Samudra as the first Muslim state in the Malay world. It is converted to Islam by the Prophet Muhammad himself, who appeared before the ruler of Samudra in his dream; the ruler wakes up, knowing the entire Qur' an by heart. SM, although it still preserves a number of details that occur in the Pasai chronicle, describes Samudra as the last of the North Sumatran states converted to Islam by a group of missionaries, while the story of the mysterious conversion of the king, who was visited in his dream by the Prophet Muhammad, is attributed to Sultan Muhammad Syah of Malacca (1424-44). 3. The legend of the founding of Pasai in an auspicious place, where a brave mouse deer drove away a strong hunting dog is considerably 'muffled' in SM, but presented in detail in another place as the story of the founding of Malacca. 4. The important heroic episode of HRP, telling about the victory of the Pasai army over the Siamese who invaded their country, is substituted in SM with the story of a shameful capture of the sultan of Pasai by the 'infidel' Siamese who forced him to serve as a poultryman in Siam. At the same time, the story about the victorious war of the Malacca army against the Siamese displays a number of features similar to the story in HRP. 5. The HRP deSCription of the Pasai ruler's proposal to the daughter of king of Perlak, in which the vizier of Pasai shows his wisdom, is turned in SM into a story about a stupid vizier who is unable to tell a bride worthy of his sovereign from a girl of a much lower status than his. 6. HRP and SM contain somewhat different genealogies of the Samudra-Pasai dynasty. These 17

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differences could have arisen as a result of either a 'split', in HRP, of one and the same person (Sultan Muhammad of Pasai) into two (Malik at-Tahir and Malik al-Mahmud) (Hill 1960:16-9) or a deliberate attempt to show that the status of the Pasai dynasty was lower than that of Malacca dynasty (Teeuw 1964b:230). The latter assumption is corroborated, as it seems, by the fact that SM omits the mythological part of HRP, so that the founder of the Pasai dynasty is presented in the Malacca chronicle as a man without kith or kin (see Wolters 1970:244). 7. Lacking in SM are also a number of less significant episodes encountered in HRP (the remark about the status of Barus and Pasai; the story of the finding of gold by the Indian diviner, and some others), and this, in the opinion of Hill, is also intended to belittle the importance of Pasai. At the same time, we find in SM parallels (or paraphrases) of those stories of HRP, which help to present the rulers of Pasai in an unfavourable light, for instance, the episode about the conflict between the king of Samudra, Malik ai-Mansur, and the king of Pasai, Malik at-Tahir (Hill 1960:189). 18 The conception of allowable regicide ('anyone who could kill the king should become king'), which, according to Pires (Cortesao 1944, 1:143), had been imported from Bengal in the mid-fourteenth century, readily found adherents in Pasai among both overseas merchants and the local population, particularly the nobility, and was even sanctioned by clerics who stated that the king could be killed and replaced by another one only 'by God's Will'. This practice, a kind of political ritual, caused a complete mess in the matter of succession in 1509-1519, when sultans of Pasai replaced one another at a breathtaking speed to finish, at best, with 'a humiliating exile in Portuguese Malacca' (Alves 1991:10-12, 24, 27). 19 For the time being, it is possible to assume a greater reliability only of the genealogy of the rulers of Pasai in Sejarah Melayu (Moquette 1913). However, both Hill and Teeuw explain its appearance in the Malacca chronicle with the help of philolOgical rather than historical hypotheses.

Brown 1952:121. Compare Sejarah Melayu (the original text): '[ ... ] Malaka se-Malakanya, Pasai se-Pasainya [.. .]' (Winstedt 1938a:147) and Hikayat raja Pasai: '[ ... ] jika Pasai se-Pasainya, jika Jawa se-Jawanya, jika Cina se-Cinanya, jika Siam se-Siamnya, jika Keling se-Kelingnya, tiada melawan si Beraim Bapa'. '[ ... ] if against Pasai not even the whole of Pasai would prevail against me; if against Java not even the whole of Java would prevail against me; if against China not even the whole of China would prevail against me; [if against Siam not even the whole of Siam would prevail against me]; if against Kalinga not even the whole of Kalinga would prevail against me: (Hill 1960:86, 145.) 20

21 Hill sees a confirmation of this date in the mention of worms (gelang-gelang) in Hikayat raja Pasai, which, in his (not very convincing) opinion, is a hint at Gagelang, a Javanese state, of which the name, according to Poerbatjaraka (1968:375), disappeared from the tales of Panji around 1350 and was replaced by the toponym Urawan.

These include: the disappearance of archaic words, the incorporation of pantun, and the use of specific names of vessels instead of the generic name 'ship' in the earlier parts.

22

23 Or, as he put it himself: 'to blur these breaks in the text', that is, the breaks between different parts of the work (Hill 1960:31).

If we take into account that, as Hill (1960:22) and other scholars believed, it was namely this king, and already not very young, who was met by the Arab traveller Ibn Battuta in 1345-46, then in 1383 Ahmad must have been very advanced in age.

24

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25 Hikayat Pandawa jaya is the title used here and henceforth provisionally for the earliest Malay work close to Bharatayuddha and to its hypothetical Majapahit version (see below), which tells of the war itself from Kresna's mission to Astinapura to the Pandawa's victory over Bambang Sutomo and the enthronement of Dermawangsa. This title is applied to the section on the war in Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya (the 'Tale of the war of the victorious Pandawa'), the most complete Malay composition based on the motifs from Mahabharata - with few episodes deriving from lakon about the Pandawa being added to this section (for this composition see Chapter III). On the other hand, the Jakarta manuscript BR.2 (Van Ronkel 1909:13-4) in which episodes from lakon are added in a similar manner to the section on the war bears the same title of Hikayat Pandawa jaya. To aggravate the confusion even further, the manuscript India Office B 12 (now British Library B 12) which is completely focused on the war is called Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya* (the asterisk is added to distinguish this work from the composition with the same title mentioned above). This Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya* was briefly studied by Chambert-Loir who also published an excerpt from it (Chambert-Loir 1977:278-85). The tale of the war between the Pandawa and the Korawa - called Hikayat Pandawa jaya in this book - was summarized in detail by Van der Tuuk (1875:18-67; for an abbreviated Indonesian translation of his summary, see Iskandar 1995:59-65) and Winstedt (1991:149-60), as well as Chambert-Loir 1977:269-77) on the basis of the manuscripts Raffles Malay 2 and India Office B 12 respectively (Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:124, 133).

On the possible influence of Hikayat Pandawa jaya on Bustan as-salatin, see also Iskandar 1966:10.

26

27 A lakon about Arjuna the hermit is mentioned, for instance, in Hikayat Andaken Penurat (the 'Tale of Andaken Penurat', Robson 1969:31). 28

Leeuwen 1937; Khalid Hussein 1967; Soeratno 1992.

Brown 1952:168; Winstedt 1938a:191-2. Here and henceforth, when quoting or discussing the earliest recension of Sejarah Melayu, the present author used Winstedt's edition (sometimes with amendments offered by Brown (1952), Muhammad Haji Salleh (1997) and Abdul Rahman Haji Ismail (Cheah Boon Kheng 1998» and the translation by Brown (1952).

29

30

Makhdum Patakan in later recensions.

Such is, for instance, the well-known epitaph from Minye Tujoh, written in old Malay in the Sanskrit meter Upajati, about the death of a Muslim queen who mled Pasai and Kedah (Stutterheim 1936; Marrison 1951).

31

Poerbatjaraka 1968:403-8. Robson (1971:14) and Ras (1973) allow a somewhat earlier date for the emergence of Panji-romances in Java.

32

Tanjung Pura was here considered to be a state in Kalimantan, yet even if the Tanjung Pura situated in north Sumatra, not far from Ham (Am) (De Josselin de Jong 1956:66, 69), is implied in Sejarah Melayu, it could not but strengthen the cogency of the conclusions suggested. For, in the early fifteenth century, Ham was one of the most important states of the Malay world and a dangerous adversary of Malacca (Wolters 1970:154, 238).

33

Winstedt's recension mentions a nameless batara (king) of Majapahit; his two sons, also nameless; a certain Puteri Semaningrat, a distant ancestress of the elder son; the daughter of that very elder son, called Raden Galuh Awi Kesuma, or sometimes Nai Kesuma; the prince of Tanjung Pura, Raden Perlangu, whom she married; their daughter Raden Galuh Candra Kirana;

34

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her sister (?) Raden Galuh Ajang; and, finally, the son of Candra Kirana and Sultan Manstu Syah, the ruler of Malacca, who was given the name (or rather the title) of Ratu di Kelang - which is probably reminiscent of Gagelang (c. Hooykaas 1947:228) - and who later on is never mentioned in the work. In the recension of Abdullah, the sons of the nameless batara of Majapahit are named Raden Inu Mertawangsa and Raden Mas Pamari; the princess Semaningrat comes to be the prince Asmaraningrat; Raden Perlangu is called Raden Kirana Langu. The other names are identical in both recensions. The differences in the names of Semaningrat and Asmaraningrat, as well as Perlangu and Kirana Langu, may be easily explained by the errors made by the copyist of the recension of 1536. The correct names are most probably those from the recension of 1612. The names Raden Mas Pamari and, particularly interesting, Inu Mertawangsa were evidently inserted into the later recension (V. Braginsky 1976b:127). The name Asmaraningrat in one of Panji-romances is given to the brother of Inu Kertapati, Carangtinangluh (JuynboIl1899:118), and in another Panji tale, to Raden Inu himself (Van Ronkel 1909:47). The names similar to Awi (distorted Dewi or Ayu) Kesuma are encountered in Hikayat Dewa Asmara Jaya (Ayu Kesurna and Dewi Kesuma) and in Hikayat Naya Kesuma (Kesurna Dewi) (Juynboll 1899:101, 81), where they are also the names of Majapahit princesses. In the publications, summaries and catalogues of manuscripts containing expositions of numerous Panjiromances, the present author never come across the name Kirana Langu. Nevertheless, they contain many names including the element kirana 'ray', 'beam', for instance, Agung Kirana, Puspa Kirana (JuynboIl1899:82, 84), and names nearly synonymous with Kirana Langu (Ray of Charm) such as Lesmi Kirana (Beautiful Ray) and Nawang Langu (Light of Charm) (JuynboIl1899:86, 85). Remarkably, if in Sejarah Melayu Kirana Langu is the name of a prince, in Panji-romances similar names belong to princesses. An analysis of this change will be given below. Finally, the names of Candra Kirana and her sister Raden GaluhAjang (or Ajeng) appear in many Panji-romances, for instance in Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati, Hikayat Panji Semirang and the others.

35

Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati has never been published completely. Along with its manuscripts Leiden Cor. Or. 1709 and Cor. Or. 2283, the present author used detailed expositions of the hikayat by Juynboll (1899:64-76), Winstedt (1991:162-74), Zainal (1965). The motifs which coincide in Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati (henceforth CWP) and Sejarah Melayu (henceforth SM), no matter to which of the characters they are ascribed, are listed below in the order of their appearance in CWP: 1. In CWp, Raden Inu has two brothers and a sister. In SM the prince Kirana Langu also has two brothers and a sister. Characteristically, although mentioned in SM, they do not have any function in the plot of its Story 9, and thus appear there only as a result of the influence of a Panji-romance, supposedly CWP, as in other romances Raden Inu has a different number of brothers and sisters. 2. In CWp, Candra Kirana has a sister called Raden Galuh Ajeng. In SM, the batara of Majapahit also has a daughter called Raden Galuh Ajang, probably the sister of Candra Kirana. 3. In CWp, Raden Inu, believed to be dead after the ruler of Soca Windu has tortured him, is placed on a raft and thrown into the sea; the raft is washed ashore. In SM, Kirana Langu, after the shipwreck, drifts on a plank in the sea; the plank with his seemingly dead body is washed ashore. 4. In CWp, the servants of Raden Inu ('low characters') find the body of their master and restore him to life by pouring water into his mouth drop by drop. In SM, a palmwine maker (a 'low character') finds the body of Kirana Langu and restores him to life by pouring starch water into his mouth drop by drop. 5. In CWp, Raden Inu pretends to be a 'forest-dweller' (a 'low character'), and his servants confirm his cover story, although they know his real princely status. In SM, Kirana Langu pretends to be the wine-maker's son (a 'low character'), and the wine-maker, who knows his real princely status, confirms his cover story. 6. In CWp, the ruler of Daha arranges a sayembara, promising to give his daughter, Candra

36

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Kirana, in marriage to him who rescues the princess abducted by a buta ('ogre'). Cekel Waneng Pati (Raden Inu) rescues the princess and is to marry her. In SM, a sayembara is also arranged and all the men of Majapahit are summoned to participate in it; he who is chosen by the princess herself is to become her husband. The princess chooses Kirana Langu. It is important that both works contain essentially one and the same motif: the free choice of husband by a princess. In SM this motif is expressed directly, while CWP presents it through a characteristic twist of the plot: although the ruler of Daha broke his promise, Candra Kirana, who has fallen in love with Cekel Waneng Pati in spite of his 'low status' (thus making her own choice), is completely devoted to her chosen one. 7. In CWp, Cekel Waneng Pati arrives in Daha with the princess rescued by him and, wishing to show his magic power, ascends the forbidden balai ('platform raised on poles') and remains alive. Then - joined to this episode, but without any direct connection with its subject - there follows an account of how the women of Daha admired the beauty and courage of Cekel Waneng Patio In SM, in which Sultan Mansur Syah is accompanied to Java by great warriors, Hang Kesturi, Hang Jebat and Hang Tuah, Hang Kesturi and Hang Jebat also ascend the forbidden balai and remain alive, after which we find a similar story of the women of Majapahit who admired Hang Tuah and sang songs in his honour. Just as in CWP, the story is no more than an insertion into the narrative, which has no direct connection with its plot. The similarity between CWP and SM is further enhanced by the fact that the foreword to CWP mentions love-songs of Javanese women sung in honour of Raden Inu. 8. In CWp, after Cekel Waneng Pati rescues Candra Kirana from buta and is to marry her, there appears a new claimant to the princess's hand; Cekel Waneng Pati's struggle with him forms the content of subsequent episodes. SM also includes a similar motif of rivalry, but in a much weaker form; it is expressed in the words of 'some people of Majapahit' who state that the guardian of the princess Dewi Kesuma, patih Gajah Mada, wants to marry her himself. 9. CWP describes the voyage of Gunungsari, Candra Kirana's brother, to Tanjung Pura and his marrying the daughter of the local ruler. SM (Story 4) describes the voyage of the sovereign of Majapahit to Tanjung Pura and his marrying the daughter of the local ruler. In a radically transformed (in fact reversed) shape this motif is also encountered in Story 9, describing the shipwreck which, in the long run, brings the prince of Tanjung Pura, Kirana Langu, to Majapahit, where he marries the princess of the country. 10. In CWp, the demonic Nini Muni demands that Cekel Waneng Pati, for her helping him to find Candra Kirana, must give her 178 bamboo trays of food, 170 wholly roasted chickens, 173 plates of cakes (in another recension 100 ancar of raw meat, Winstedt 1991:168). In SM, the demonic princess of Gunung Ledang demands that Sultan Mansur Syah must give her, as his wedding present, 7 trays of lice liver, a barrel of tears, a barrel of new areca-palm juice, a bowl of his blood, and a bowl of the blood of his son. 11. In CWp, Candra Kirana gives birth to Cekel Waneng Pati's son, Mesa Tanderaman, in Gagelang. In SM, the son of Candra Kirana and Sultan Mansur Syah is named Ratu di Kelang. It may be assumed that this name is a reminiscence of Gagelang, where the son of Candra Kirana from CWP was born. 12. In CWP, just on the eve of the meeting with Raden Inu, his father, who is unable to overcome his grief after Raden Inu's disappearance, sends his elder son Kartabuana to Daha, so that he can make inquires about the prince there. Kartabuana finds his brother in Daha, and later the grieving father gets word about it. In SM, the father of Kirana Langu also sends a messenger to Majapahit, where the latter finds the prince and sends word about it to the ruler of Tanjung Pura. The whole passage seems to be closed in itself and its appearance in the chronicle is by no means required by the logic of the narration. It is likely that SM simply inherited this episode from a Panji-romance in which its presence had been justified by the unfolding of the plot, for instance, from CWP. 37

It may be assumed that the motifs of the storm and sea-battle (or the capture of ships) are

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similar in their meaning and interchangeable. This can be confirmed by their equivalence not only in Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati and Sejarah MeIayu, but also in the Javanese kidung ('poems') Jayakusuma and Panji Angreni. In Jayakusuma, Panji's servants build rafts, sail to Bali and, pretending to have been shipwrecked, get permission to land. After landing, they fight to capture Balinese ships, which Panji uses then to attack the island (Poerbatjaraka 1968:152-5). In Panji Angreni, Panji attacks Bali after his fleet has been driven to the island by the storm (Poerbatjaraka 1968:188-9). The suggested interpretation of the Javanese episode from Sejarah Melayu was originally published in Russian (V. Braginsky 1976b) and later, with some additions, in English (V. Braginsky 1990c). Ras, who was obviously unaware of these publications, expressed similar ideas in his article that appeared in 1992. In the article, Ras contrasts the Panji tale from Serat Kandha with the above-mentioned episode from Sejarah Melayu about the visit of Sultan Mansur Syah to Majapahit. In Serat Kandha, Raden Panji and Candra Kirana are abducted by the evil king of Malacca, but rescued by Prasanta, Panji's servant-tutor; in the end the Javanese gain victory over the king of Malacca, kill him and tum Malacca into a vassal state of Janggala, of which Raden Panji is the ruler. In Sejarah Melayu, after arriving in Majapahit, the sultan of Malacca marries Candra Kirana and receives Indragiri and Siantan as a wedding gift from her father, the batara of Majapahit. Ras believes that, in the Javanese vision, the aggresive stance of the Malay king with regard to Java cannot but lead to his defeat and the loss of independence by his country. On the contrary, in the Malay vision, the unfair treatment by the Javanese, if successfully countered, can lead to the expansion of their state through gaining Malay lands over which the Javanese held sway before (Ras 1992:148-9). Ras also emphasizes that, in the episode from Sejarah MeIayu, Sultan Mansur Syah demonstrates his superiority over the batara of Majapahit by means of 'a peaceful strategy [emphasis by the present author]" which proves to be successful (Ras 1992:153).

38

This statement by Brakel is not completely accurate, as some individual Persian fantastic tales are also called hikayat, at least in manuscripts of the eighteenth-nineteenth century (see, for instance, Tumanovich 1981:121-2). However, these tales are much shorter than fully-fledged romantic or heroic narratives and normally they are no more than constituent parts of larger collections, just as short hikayat (anecdotes) are parts of anthologies, sometimes quite voluminous. 39

CHAPTER III

The major works of the early Islamic period Tales about heroes of Sanskrit epics and purana We have already discussed Malay versions of Ramayana, which was known in Malacca in the fifteenth century. Now we shall turn to works related, in some way or other, to another Sanskrit epic, Mahabharata. In 860 the ruler ofShrivijaya named Balaputra built a monastery in Nalanda, a famous centre of Buddhist learning in Bengal. Devapaladeva, a ruler of the Bengali dynasty of Pala, granted five villages to the monastery, announcing the fact in a versified inscription on copper plates (Chatterji 1967:160-2). Verses extolling the ruler of Shrivijaya included, inter alia, the following: He is the greatest warrior on the battlefield, whose fame is equal to that of Yuddhisthira, Parashara, Bhimasena and Arjuna.

These gallant warriors with whom the panegyrist compares Balaputra are namely heroes of Mahabharata, the story of the strife between two groups of cousins, the Pandava and Kaurava (the Pandawa and Korawa in Malay). Since the content of the inscription must have been knownat least to the extolled ruler himself and his retinue, we can infer that as early as the middle of the ninth century the Malays were familiar with this work. However, it is impossible to say in what form the acquaintance took place and whether it led to the creation of early Malay versions based on the plot of Mahabharata, as was the case in Java in the tenth century and later. As was already mentioned, the first of the presently known Malay works based on Mahabharata (in particular, Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya - the 'Tale of the war of the victorious Pandawa') appeared not earlier than the end of the fourteenth century and probably no later than the early sixteenth century.

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Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya (the Tale of the war of the victorious Pandawa'), Hikayat Pandawa lima (the Tale of the five Pandawa'), Hikayat Pandawa jaya (the Tale of the victorious Pandawa') Malay works about heroes of Mahabharata are fairly numerous. They include such works as Hikayat Dermawangsa (the 'Tale of Dermawangsa'), Hikayat Angkawijaya (the 'Tale of Angkawijaya') (Van Ronkel1909:17-20), a collection containing paraphrases of a number of wayang plays summarized by Van der Tuuk (1879), and others.1 However, possibly the best and the most complete Malay version of Mahabharata is contained in the London manuscript Raffles Malay 2 entitled Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya (the 'Tale of the war of the victorious Pandawa', Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:133), whose versions, more or less close to one another, are known in about a dozen manuscripts. 2 This hikayat by and large coincides with the published version of the Pandawa tale, Hikayat Pandawa lima (the 'Tale of the five Pandawa', Khalid Hussain 1964) and allows us not only to form an idea of this work but also to understand how much it owes to wayang plays differing from the Sanskrit epic quite considerably. Hilmyat perang Pandawa jaya consists of three parts. The first which, according to its foreword, is made up of 'unspeakably beautifullakons', opens with the story about the celestial being Berma Sakti who, after a contest in magic powers with Brahma, descended to the earth and begot Wargadewa, his son. This is followed by stories about Wargadewa's amorous and military exploits, events that make up a kind of prologue to the subsequent action of the tale. As the action develops, one of Wargadewa's wives throws herself into a fire together with her lover and is reborn as Dewi Utari, the daughter of Maharaja Wangsapati (Sanskrit: Matsyapati), while the daughter of his defeated enemy Wargasinga, who committed suicide, is born to the family of Batara Kresna (Sanskrit: Krishna) as the beautiful Siti Sundari. The first part of the story of Wargadewa is concluded with the episodes of his matchmaking and of the obtaining of forty celestial maidens from the kingdom of the god Indra on the demand of his would-be father-in-law. Then the action shifts to Astinapura, the capital of the Korawa, and the famous episode of casting dice follows. Duryudana (Sanskrit: Duryodhana), the ruler of the Korawa, wins by deceit from Dermawangsa (Sanskrit: Dharmavansha, Yuddhishthira), the eldest of the Pandawa, his property, his palace and, finally, his brothers who become servants in Astinapura. Jeering at the Pandawa, Duryodhana's brother Dursana (Sanskrit: Duhshasana) drags their wife Drupadi (Sanskrit: Draupadi) by the hair into the hall, and Bima (Sanskrit: Bhima) swears to drink his blood to take revenge on him. The Korawa seek to destroy the Pandawa and sent them to bring an arrow which fell into a whirlpool where the gigantic snake Ardalika lives, promising the brothers half of the kingdom if they bring the arrow. The snake devours the brothers, but, once in its belly, they kill it. Reluctant to return to Astinapura, the Pandawa assume aliases and begin to serve Wargadewa and settle in his palace, where Arjuna seduces all the king's wives one by one.

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Having arrived in Indrapasta (Sanskrit: Indraprastha), the Pandawa's residence, Kresna fails to meet the brothers and takes Arjuna's wife Sumbadra and his son Abimanyu to his country named Darawati (Sanskrit: Dvaravati). There Abimanyu meets Siti Sundari who is to be wedded to Duryudana's heir Laksamana Kumara and marries her with the help of Bima's son Gatotkaca (Sanskrit: Ghatotkaca). The description of Abimanyu's and Siti Sundari's romantic love, one of artistically the most expressive parts of the tale, is probably based on a wayang version of the Old Javanese kakawin Gatotkacasraya (Zoetmulder 1974:263-9). Then the story of the Pandawa is resumed. The herald of the gods Narada orders them to return to Indrapasta. The Pandawa gather their allies: Kresna, his brother Baladewa, and Maharaja Wangsapati and arrange a magnificent feast. After it is ended, Arjuna becomes a hermit in order to obtain magic weapon for the future war with the Korawa (here a number of motifs from the Old Javanese kakawin Arjunawiwaha (Zoetmulder 1974:234-7) are found), while Abimanyu marries Wangsapati's daughter Dewi Utari. The Pandawa demand that the Korawa, whose condition has been fulfilled, give them half of the kingdom. However, Duryudana imposes a new condition: in order to obtain their half of the kingdom, the Pandawa must go into exile for twelve years, twelve months and twelve days. During the exile, the Pandawa engage in a battle with Wargadewa, incited to fall upon the five brothers by celestial maidens who hope that Wargadewa will be defeated and they will be able to return to Indra's kingdom. Narada and Berma Sakti stop the bloodshed, revive the dead and send the celestial maidens to their heavenly abode. Thus ends the first part of the tale. According to the same foreword, the second part, Hikayat Pandawa jaya,which is closer to its Sanskrit prototype and especially to the Old Javanese kakawin Bharatayuddha (Zoetmulder 1974:256-63), contains the story of the Pandawa's victory in the great war (see Chapter II). It begins with the narration about Kresna's mission to Astinapura with the repeated demand to restore half of the kingdom to the Pandawa. Then follows the description of the greatest war of all times, in which all the Korawa's and Pandawa's numerous allies and relatives die, including the mighty warriors Gatotkaca and Abimanyu. The second part is concluded by the description of the nocturnal attack on the Pandawa's camp by Bambang Sutomo (Sanskrit: Ashvathaman) who kills prince Pancha Kumara and presents his head to Duryudana. The latter suffers terribly from a sever wound but cannot die before he sees all the Pandawa's heads chopped off. Since Panca Kumara is the Pandawa's common son and his name means Five Princes, this condition is fulfilled, and Duryudana dies. Bima kills Bambang Sutomo. The third part of Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya is a paraphrase of several wayang plays. It opens with the story of the Pandawa's fight with Sangkuni (Sanskrit: Shakuni), the Korawa's patih (prime-minister), who rose from the dead miraculously and hid in a forest with the remnants of his army. Hiding from victors, he turns into an alluringly beautiful mountain where many dangers are in store for the Pandawa; then he turns into a river in which Bima and Arjuna are nearly drowned and, finally, he steals Dermawangsa's shadow, depriving him of his strength. One night, having risen to the sky with Dermawangsa's shadow, he pierces it and cries out, imitating the eldest brother's voice and pours red juice on the earth, which the Pandawa take for the blood of Dermawangsa whom they

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature presume dead. Arjuna and Bima are ready to commit suicide in despair, but, as in previous cases, the youngest brother, Sadewa (Sanskrit: Sahadeva), saves them from Sangkuni's enchantments by killing the malicious sorcerer. The next episode tells about Arjuna's marriage with Banuwati, Duryudana's wife, and the birth of Parikasti (Sanskrit: Parikshit) by Abimanyu's wife Dewi Utari. Then follows the episode of Duryudana's soul entering Arjuna's body, causing him to go mad and begin a fierce fight with his brothers. The battle is ended only after Dermawangsa exorcises Duryudana's soul and, having cursed his brother, forces him to withdraw to a forest. There Arjuna defeats the great warrior Arjuna Sasrabahu (the One With Thousand Arms), marries his wife who is an exact replica of Arjuna's late wife Srikandi (so the figure of Shikhandin of the Sanskrit epic was re-interpreted in Malay and Javanese literatures) and returns to his brothers. Dermawangsa forgives him at Kresna's request. The Pandawa arrive at the seashore for entertainment and dry up the sea in order to enjoy the sight of underwater marvels. Enraged sea raksasa steal Parikasti to avenge the brothers, but Arjuna rescues him, having turned into a bird. Finally, Narada arrives and declares that the Pandawa's lifetime is over. The brothers die, each by his own magic weapon. The most painful death falls to Bima's lot because of his mercilessness on the battlefield. Celestial beings shower flower petals on the Pandawa's dead bodies, and Parikasti, having committed them to the funeral pyre, ascends the throne and becomes the just ruler of the people of the Pandawa. Such is the content of the tale in a nutshell. (Van der Tuuk 1875; Winstedt 1991: 149-60;3 Liaw Yock Fang 1991-93, 1:86-90.)

Another version of the Pandawa tales, Hikayat Pandawa lima (Khalid Hussain 1964), is on the whole close to the London recension. However, it differs from the latter by the absence of the story of Wargadewa's birth and his obtaining the celestial maidens. Therefore, this version begins directly with the episode of Dermawangsa's loss at playing dice. A remarkable feature of Khalid Hussain's version is its symmetrical structure, which has already been studied by the Indonesian scholar I Made Soreyana (1987). Proceeding from his data, we can infer that the first and the third parts of this version are roughly equal (eighty five and eighty six pages respectively) and occupy symmetrical positions on both sides of the second part, their axis of symmetry, which describes the major war between the Pandawa and Korawa and numbers 78 pages. Thus, the overall structure of the tale is as follows: 85 - 78 - 86. However, by making the lengths of the episodes into which I Made Soreyana divides the tale more precise and slightly changing his divisions, we can notice that the principle of symmetry defines the structure of Khalid Hussain's version with a much greater consistency. The beginning of the tale, that is, the episode of playing dice, numbers seventeen pages. The denouement, that is, the rescue of Parikasti from raksasa, his enthronement and the death of the Pandawa, numbers twenty-two pages, thus being roughly equal to the beginning. The rest of the first part, amounting to sixty-seven pages,

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mainly tells about Abimanyu's marriages to Siti Sundari and Dewi Utari. The wayang episode about Wargadewa, which is included in this part of the hikayat, is also related to the same topic, as Wargadewa strives to abduct Abimanyu's brides. The section related to marriages in the first part finds a symmetrical correspondence in the military section of the third part, which amounts to sixty-four pages. In this section the narration is focused on the The second part

The first part

The third part

Beginning of the story: playing dice

Section about Abimanyu's marriages

War between thePandawa and the Korawa

Section about wars

18

67

78

64

End of the story: enthronement of Parikasti, death of the Pandawa

22

battles of the Pandawa against Sangkuni and Arjuna Sasrabahu. Therefore, the symmetrical structure of Khalid Hussain's version of the tale of the Pandawa can be tabulated as follows: In the further study of Malay hikayat, we shall encounter this kind of symmetrical structure quite often. So, what was it in the tales about the heroes of Mahabharata that attracted Malay readers of the Islamic era? Judging by the content of these works, it was not at all the Hindu philosophical ideas with which the Sanskrit epic was permeated. Thus, even the Old Javanese Bharatayuddha reduced Bhagavadgita (the 'Song Divine') - the conceptual core of Mahabharata (Grintser 1970:57) - to only two stanzas in which Arjuna expresses his confusion before the battle with his kin and teachers, while Krisna calls upon him to fulfil his duty as a kshatriya. Naturally, the same is observed in Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya. Another Javanese poem, Dewa Ruci, telling about Bima's mystical self-cognition, became, in the Malay paraphrase, a tale of perfidy and vengeance for perfidy, 'acceptable to Muslims' and 'almost completely devoid of its profound meaning' (Gonda 1976:216). In tales based on Mahabharata the Malays saw primarily absorbing stories about exemplary heroes displaying military valour and courteous behaviour. It is not accidental that Makasar warriors fighting with the Dutch were compared with Arjuna, Bima and Gatotkaca in Syair perang Mengkasar (the 'Poem of the Makasar war'; Skinner 1963:25-6), while Arjuna was the favourite personage of love pantun and incantations in the folklore tradition (Winstedt 1951:129). Probably, the 'incomparable beauty' of exquisite descriptions contained in these tales (Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya:1-2) was of no less importance in the eyes of Malay connoisseurs.

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In fact, Hikayat Pandawa lima, Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya and particularly their oldest section Hikayat Pandawa jaya show a whole chain of such descriptions which remained unsurpassed in traditional Malay literature. An example of this is the description of Astinapura, the capital city of Korawa, with its 'trees [... ] which, swaying in the wind, looked like people waving greetings to Kresna' and its women who were in such a hurry to see Kresna that they ran to the palace with 'their hair not made in a bun', 'their sarongs loosening and slipping down (from their hips)' and 'their faces of which only a half was powdered with rice-powder'. No less expressive is the description of Duryudana's palace, which was reflected in the smooth roof of a nearby temple, made of Chinese mirrors; or the narration about Duryudana's wife who, feeling a deep sorrow, danced languorously in the light of the full moon (Khalid Hussain 1964:87-8, 90-1). Many descriptions of this kind, which were considerably simplified later and thus lost much of their elegance, became loci communes in other Malay belletristic works, particularly in Panji-romances. Two basic principles determined specific features of both Bharatayuddha and its more or less direct derivative Hikayat Pandawa jaya. The first is the principle of contrast, quite natural in a work whose original message was an irreconcilable struggle between forces of universal order and universal chaos, embodied in the Pandawa and the Korawa respectively. At the same time, desacralization and demythologization of literary works dating back to the Hindu-Buddhist era, which were typical for the Muslim period, threw a new light on the anthropocentric aspect of their content. This softened perceptibly the theme of confrontation between cosmic forces in works based on Mahabharata and emphasized motifs of opposition between living human personalities endowed with their characteristic emotions: love and hatred, self-control and the lack of it, self-denial and perfidy. 'The transition from the objective to the subjective, from the all-embracing completeness of epic narration to the emphasis on its emotional aspect, from the poetry of action to the poetry of feeling' (Grintser 1970:360) played an important role in this process which was already observed in Old Javanese prototypes of these Malay works, and perhaps even more obviously in the Malay works themselves. The high degree of expressiveness of details in Hikayat Pandawa jaya, which is sometimes achieved by the traditionally externalized description of its heroes' contrasting emotions, is revealed particularly vividly in the two following episodes. The first of them narrates of the uncontrolled fury of Bima who swore to quench his thirst with Dursana's blood: Sang Bima pierced Sang Dursana's belly with his fingernail called Pancanaka, slashed it open and reddened it with blood. Feeling unbearable pain, Sang Dursana bit his lip and tried to hit Sang Bima in the face, but Sang Bima managed to dodge the blow. Sang Dursana yielded his spirit, and Sang Bima pressed his mouth to the wound and began to drink his cousin's blood, like lightning [sucking

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water inJ.4 His beard and moustache, soaked with blood, became red like a forest on fire. Then he flung Sang Dursana's dead body at Maharaja Duryudana and cried out: 'Hey, Duryudana, here's your brother's body!' All the Korawa princes were stunned with horror at the Sight of Bima, full of fury and intoxicated by blood. (Khalid Hussain 1964:139.) The second episode deals with the departure of Maharaja Salya, who loves his wife Dewi Setiawati tenderly and is afraid to bother her as he sets off for his last battle: When it dawned, Maharaja Salya woke up. He freed his hand from under Dewi Setiawati's head carefully, replacing it with a pillow. Dewi Setiawati was lying on the edge of his kain [a sheet of cloth wrapped round thighs, a kind of skirtJ, so Maharaja Salya, fearing to wake her, took out his kris and cut it off. Then he set off for the battlefield, but first he took betel from his casket, partook of it and put the rest into his wife's vessel. Also, he took her doll made of ivory and inscribed lines of kidung and kakawin and other words of endearment on it and placed it by Dewi Setiawati's side, having told the doll:'If mother asks, tell her that father has gone to war'. (Khalid Hussain 1964:150-1.) The other poetic principle is the interlacing of apparently strictly opposite themes, especially those of war (death) and love, and their sudden mutual identification and transformation into each other. Thus, the capture of Astinapura which Kresna, the Pandawa's envoy, sees, for the first time, 'dim like the face of a woman, pale with rice powder, who peeps from behind a door' (Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya:136) is in fact the taking of an inaccessible belle. The same erotic hues are found in the description of omens indicating the fall of the Korawa capital: About midnight was seen a portent of the city's imminent doom. It was utterly still, without a sound, and the moon was hidden behind a cloud like a lovely woman peeping from behind a door. Gentle rain fell and a light breeze stirred in the distance. There were banks of clouds of all shapes and the birds were restless, flying here and there like a man with two wives. The sound of the night-jar was like the chink of a maiden's bangles, when she weeps and laments at the approach of a man. From the recesses of their hives bees murmured like a man caressing his wife behind curtains. (Winstedt 1991:31.) The similes which are used in this description as if picture, stroke by stroke, the taking of a woman: the first in this chain of comparisons is that of a woman peeping from behind a door; it is followed by the simile in which a married man is mentioned; the next comparison shows us a man approaching a maiden who, after noticing him, weeps in fear, unable to defend herself from his advances; and finally, we see the figure of a man caressing a woman behind curtains.

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Especially amazing is the description of Abimanyu's death on the battlefield which turns out to be a kind of story of his marriage to death on the eve of which the blood from his wounds as if 'dresses' the young warrior in wedding attire: [Wounds] left by arrows, covering his body from head to feet, were like an ointment on the body of a woman who has taken a bath in water mixed with betel juice. Wounds on his throat were red like two strings of coral-beads and wounds on his body looked like shoulder ornaments, a necklace and a scarf; the blood that ran down his chest produced the aroma of flower incenses. Wounds on his arms looked like wristlets of brilliant precious stones and wedding bracelets. Everybody extolled Sang Abimanyu's courage in the battk and he was as handsome as a picture; in his bloody attire he looked like Betara Merpata [the god of love Kama]. It seemed to him that the trumpeting of elephants and the neighing of horses were the whisper of a young lover talking a young virgin, who grew timid at his approach, into lovemaking, and the body of the prince, pierced by arrows, was like [hair] adorned with pins. (Khalid Hussain 1964:113 with corrections according to Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya.)

The interlacement of the themes of love and death is particularly exquisite in the above-mentioned episode with Salya and Setiawati which is absent in the Sanskrit original and which was evidently added to the description of the great war by Mpu Panuluh, one of the authors of Bharatayuddha, on the orders by his kingly patron (Zoetmulder 1974:282). In Bharatayuddha this episode forms a kind of a 'poem within a poem', which P.J. Zoetmulder was inclined to name Salyawadha (the 'Death of Salya', Zoetmulder 1974:282). The Malay epic reproduces the Javanese original fairly faithfully, but, by simplifying its sophisticated descriptiveness, it emphasizes two mutually opposed compositional centres of the episode, which manifest themselves through each other: the image of 'the sea of honey', a traditional symbol of amorous passion in Malay and Javanese literature (see, for instance, Ali bin Ahmad 1968:51, 133), and the image of 'the sea of blood', a symbol of war and death. Aware of the Pandawa's just cause and loving them but, at the same time, unable to break his loyalty to his allies, the Korawa, Salya dooms himself to death, having disclosed the secret of his invulnerability to one of Pandu's sons. Setiawati senses this and is tortured by apprehension. Wishing to distract his wife from her dismal thoughts, Salya says: Evidently, you love me no more. Then I want to die. If you don't love me any more and don't want to talk to me and look at me, it is better for lonely me to leave this world. I have only one request to you: when I enter the heavenly abode, make me a present of flowers [from your hair] which you will want to throwaway, and give orders to shower my body with them; after that entrust it to waves of the sea of honey, so that bumble-bees may come to bemoan the death of me whom you do not love. (Khalid Hussain 1964:149.)

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Thus motifs of the sea of honey and flowers, in which the themes of love and death will be interlaced, are introduced for the first time. Both themes continue to develop and, when Salya unravels his wife's hair, caressing her, Setiawati sees how' all the flowers adorning her hair are falling from it', as if in answer to the request that has just been voiced. When Salya takes her to the bed and begins to sing kidung to her, his voice sounds as sweet as 'the sea of honey and the ocean of sugar' (Khalid Hussain 1964:150). Setiawati, who has dozed off, sees in a dream that she is bathing in a sea, and the fatal meaning of her dream becomes clear to her when, after Salya's death, she is looking at waves of a different 'sea', losing the feeling of reality in despair: And Dewi Setiawati saw that the battlefield was like a sea of blood with heaps of human bodies rising from it like islands; dead bodies of elephants and horses and fragments of chariots stuck out like sea-sponges; chopped-off heads rolled like underwater stones, and lances resembled coral reefs. Arrows were floating on the surface of the blood or stuck out of the ground like sea urchins;5 banners looked like submerged trees, and ravens perched on their tops. All kinds of shields of copper, skin and rattan, rounded and oblong, were floating like boats. When the wind began to blow, waves ran on the surface of the sea and the smell of decay came from dead bodies. However, it seemed to Dewi Satiawati that she inhaled the aroma of incense. Driven by the wind, shields began to slide before her on the surface and sank as they ran into the corpses of elephants. And Dewi Satiawati enjoyed the Sight, because it seemed to her that Maharaja Salya had taken her to a merrymaking, for she saw many dead princes in their rich shining attire. (Winstedt 1958b:44 with some corrections according to Khalid Hussain 1964:155.)

Explaining specific features of Bharatayuddha (and thus also largely of Hikayat Pandawa jaya) as well as its differences from Mahabharata - that is, first of all, the introduction of love episodes and the erotic reinterpretation of some battle scenes - Zoetmulder arrives at the conclusion that without such a treatment of the original material the Javanese poem 'would have satisfied the requirements of the kakawin tradition insufficiently and would have lacked the essential features of kalangon [which means the beautiful], (Zoetmulder 1974:279). It is hardly possible to question this conclusion. Moreover, judging by the content of literary works themselves, the beautiful was born of artful combination of love and battle themes, according to both Javanese and Malay connoisseurs. The skill of an Old Javanese poet and his Malay follower, who could sometimes demonstrate a brilliant variation (for instance, in the scene of Abimanyu's death), consisted in that they, trying to preserve the basis of a Sanskrit original, resorted not to a usual alternation of these themes in isolated episodes, but to their complicated expression through the two-tiered structure of the text. However, there is also another explanation of the mutual penetration of

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two contrasting principles in Bharatayuddha, archaic wayang plays based on it, and the Hikayat Pandawa jaya. Javanese tradition (especially the wayang tradition) proceeds, in its cosmology, from probably still pre-Hindu ideas of 'a stable world based on conflict' (Holt 1967:140), which survived in the mentality of the Malays of the fifteenth-sixteenth centuries, perhaps, as a half-conscious stereotype. According to these ideas, world harmony and chaos, the Pandawa and the Korawa, 6 love engendering a new life and death putting an end to it, not only exist in eternal confrontation, but are inconceivable without each other. Probably, it is such a vision of the world order that is the underlying basis of the poetics of both the Old Javanese poem and the Malay tale. This understanding is perhaps even more clearly expressed in Panji-romances.

Hikayat Sang Barna (the 'Tale of Sang Barna') Hikayat Sang Barna (the 'Tale of Sang Boma'), or Hikayat Sang Samba (the 'Tale of Sang Samba'), no less popular than the story of the victorious Pandawa, which has reached us in about ten copies (Winstedt 1991:162), is close to the works about heroes of Mahabharata? However, although we meet the five Pandawa brothers, their wives and children (and also kings of monkeys and monkey warriors from Ramayana and buffoons from wayang plays about Panji) among characters of this tale, its protagonists are heroes from the clan of Yadu: Kresna, the earthly incarnation of the god Bisnu (Sanskrit: Vishnu), his father Basudewa (Sanskrit: Vasudeva), brother Baladewa and in particular his son Samba Prawira Jaya. The tale (Sang Barna 1959, Winstedt 1991:160-2) begins with the story of the divine brothers Brama (Sanskrit: Brahma) and Bisnu who argued about who of them was older and decided to play hide-and-seek to settle the dispute. Bisnu hid in the bowels of the earth and, having seduced Pertiwi (Sanskrit: Prthivi), the goddess of the earth, begot the monstrous giant Boma (Sanskrit: Bhauma). Boma, the son of Pertiwi, was invulnerable and revived as soon as he touched the earth. Besides, the gods gave him the flower of immortality and the miraculous bird Wilmana made of five metals. Boma begins the series of his exploits with defeating the powerful Maharaja Daniswara in a duel and settling in his residence, Trajutrisna. Then follows the story about the creation of a couple, a youth named Darmadewa and a girl named Darmadewi, from two flowers of the nagasari tree by Brama and Bisnu. The young man and the girl marry and settle on Mount Tenunan (distorted Old Javanese toponym Tapawana - the 'Forest of the Hermit'). After some time Darmadewa abandons his wife at Bisnu's wish and reincarnates himself as Kresna's son Samba. Darmadewi, unable to survive their separation, throws herself into her husband's funeral pyre and is reincarnated as the beautiful Januwati (Sanskrit, Old Javanese: Yajfiavati), the daughter of Maharaja Jantaka. Boma proposes to Januwati but is rejected. He kills her father in anger and takes Januwati to Trajutrisna, trying to talk her into marrying him. He attacks

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the heavenly kingdom at the princess's request and makes the god Indra concede two celestial maidens, Nila Utama (Old Javanese: Tilottama) and Sukarba, as Januwati's maids, after which he begins to devastate the abodes of hermits. Having heeded the supplications of the hermits, Samba arranges an expedition against the giant or rather ogre (Malay: buta, raksasa), defeats his commanders on the way, discovers, in an enchanting garden, three celestial maidens who are hiding there from the approaches of the god of love Kama, and marries one of them, named Tanjung Sari. Then he arrives at Mount Tenunan and, having remembered his former wife, meets Januwati with Nila Utama's help. Having learned about it, the ogress who guards the princess sends guardsmen against Samba. While Samba repells their attack, she snatches Januwati and hides her in Boma's palace in the depths of the golden mountain. Then follows the story about Samba's battle with ogres, in which the prince is assisted by his father, relatives and the Pandawa. Finally, on an order from Boma, who was busy waging war in Indra's heaven, ogres snatch the lovers who have found each other one more time. They are ready to bum them alive when the commander of monkey army, Hanuman, interferes and kills Boma. However, both Samba and Arjuna fall in the battle, which follows. By the end of the tale the supreme deity Batara Guru brings the dead back to life, but refuses to revive Samba, because, in his opinion, the latter has caused Boma too much harm and destroyed all his relatives. Both wives of the prince, Tanjung Sari and Januwati, are going to ascend the funeral pyre of their spouse. In the meantime, Samba's servant Semar defeats all the gods in heaven, including Batara Guru himself, and wins his master's revival from death. Samba and Januwati celebrate their wedding, and the young hero becomes king in Kresna's country, Darawati Purwa.

Winstedt expressed the opinion, in his time, that Hikayat Sang Barna, like works about the Pandawa, was created in the fifteenth century in Malacca, but failed to provide serious arguments in favour of this assumption (Winstedt 1991: 28). Parnickel, who published several interesting studies of the tale, believes that it was composed early in the seventeenth century in one of the cities on the north coast of East Java. However, his hypothesiS, based on the idea that the hikayat could serve as the state myth designed to provide an ideological basis for the opposition of the coalition of East Javanese principalities to their Central Javanese adversary Mataram, does not seem sufficiently convincing either (V. Braginsky 1976a:474-5). In our opinion, thus far it is possible to claim only that the Hikayat Sang Barna most likely appeared during the fifteenth-sixteenth centuries in one of traditional centres of Javanese-Malay cultural contacts, which, along with Malacca and northern coast of Java, included also southern Kalimantan and southern Sumatra. No less complicated is the question of Indian sources of Hikayat Sang Barna and of the poem Bharnantaka, its prototype in Old Javanese literature. Teeuw, who investigated this problem, noted aptly that to establish its Indian sources was no easier than find 'a needle in a haystack', especially given that it is doubtful 'whether there is any needle at all' (Teeuw 1946:8-9). Although the

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Dutch scholar failed to discover the Indian prototype of Hikayat Sang Barna as a whole, his study did yield some important results. As we have seen, the plot of the hikayat, as well as of the Old Javanese poem, is born at the crossing of two themes, one of which is the struggle of the Yadawa with Boma, and the other the story of Samba's and Januwati's (Yajfiavati's) love. The former theme is mentioned more than once in Mahabharata and, for all the peculiarities of its interpretation in the Old Javanese and Malay works, it is a usual puranic legend of Krishna (Zoetmulder 1974:322), although details of Boma's (Naraka's) birth and early years are known only from Kalikapurana. The second theme is known only from one work in Sanskrit, the romance (kavya) Dashakurnaracharita by Dandin, telling about king Samba and his wife Yajfiavati. They caught a swan, which was the incarnation of a hermit who, being enraged at what they had done, doomed them to separation in their next life (Teeuw 1946:10-20). However, thus far the interlacement of the two themes has been found only in the thirteenth century kakawin Bhornantaka (formerly incorrectly called Bhornakavya, Zoetmulder 1974:321),8 of which Hikayat Sang Barna was long considered a paraphrase (for instance, Winstedt 1991:28). At the same time, Wilkinson (1907:50) suggested the hypothesis that the hikayat in question was originally designed for use in the shadow theatre, while Parnickel, who carefully studied its content, style and structure, proved fairly convincingly that 'it was based, evidently, on several archaic lakon of the Javanese theatre wayang purwa which have failed to survive to this day' (ParnickeI1974a:336). Although plays on which Hikayat Sang Borna was based reproduced Bhornantaka quite closely sometimes (Teeuw 1946:21-38), as was characteristic for 'old-type' lakan on the whole, differences between the Malay tale and the Old Javanese poem turn out to be quite considerable. Unlike the kakawin, its hero is not Kresna who, for all his might, is unable to defeat the son of the earth, but Samba. Boma turns from the princess's guardian into a passionate and sometimes even rather comical' enamoured ogre' (for instance, Sang Borna 1959:40-1, 242-3) and a claimant to her hand, while the focus of the action shifts from Kresna's and his relatives' heroic struggle with the bearer of the evil and destructive principle to romantic relations in the love triangle Samba-Januwati-Boma. Even Boma's assault on the hermits, which is actually the beginning of the kakawin, turns out to be a subterfuge on the part of Januwati, who hopes that it will make Samba undertake a military expedition and thus meet her sooner, in the hikayat (ParnickeI1974a:327-8). It is difficult to decide with certainty whether the above transformation of heroes and the action of Bhornantaka already took place in ancient lakon of which some scenes are depicted on reliefs of the East Javanese temple Kedaton (1370; Resink 1965) or in a later period, after the Javanese and the Malays had embraced Islam. However, in our opinion, it is this transfor-

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mation that determined the popularity of the hikayat with Muslim readers. This work, once saturated with a mythological, and in particular agrarianmythological, content and representing a sui generis model of the world (Parnickel 1974a:336-55, Parnickel 1975), gradually lost these features in an Islamic milieu and began to be regarded as fiction, in which formerly topical mythological elements became a magical background of a mainly aesthetic value (compare ParnickeI1974a:356, 369). It turned into a fantastic adventure story of true lovers who were not devoid of human weaknesses and at times found themselves in humiliating situations (suffice it to recall the episode when Samba and Januwati, bound on their conjugal bed back to back, were exposed, totally naked, to Boma's and his retinue's eyes, Sang Barna 1959: 188-9), but who, nevertheless, courageously overcame all the obstacles and found each other again. At the same time, although Samba, in spite of his chivalrous nature, sometimes displayed a lack of courage, the tender and refined Januwati proved courageous enough to fight with hordes of ogres side by side with her lover and to ascend his funeral pyre (Sang Barna 1959: 129-34,305-15). On the whole, Januwati was not at all shy or timid in her love for the prince but, on the contrary, rather energetic and did all in her power, directly or indirectly, to bring the hour of their reunion closer (like Candra Kirana from Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati). The fusion of elements of a kakawin, a shadow play and a hikayat adds a special quality to the development of the love-and-adventure theme in Hikayat Sang Barna. From Old Javanese poems this work inherited descriptions - rare in their expressiveness for the hikayat tradition - of a desolate hermits' abode in the midst of the jungle, the heroine's languor at full moon, and a nocturnal fire in Boma's palace bathing in 'the aroma [ ... ] of burning aloe and sandal trees' (Sang Barna 1959:151). Perhaps the most remarkable among them are descriptions of the golden mountain in Trajutrisna which are unique in that, depending on their place in the narration, they appear in a new light each time. First the reader sees the mountain in the bright light of the sun: From the four sides of the golden mountain water poured with deafening noise, falling on golden pandan trees with flowers made of precious stones and marble of various hues. Trees were hardly visible through the spray of water falling as if in a rain. Golden climbing orchids 9 with flowers made of red rubies twined around these trees. And the flowers stirred at every puff of the wind and the rays of the sun played among the precious stones. (Sang Boma 1959:13.)

Then the mountain is seen in the light of the full moon: As they arrived they saw that the golden mountain was shining all over, because all the precious stones and marble of various hues reflected the moonlight, and it seemed as if it were day. The prince went on, carrying Januwati on his back; then

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he made a turn at the mountain, accompanied by court maidens. And they saw an unspeakably beautiful pool, decorated with precious stones of all colours. Rays of the shining moon pierced the water in the pool, and all the fish swimming in it were seen deady, as if they were painted by an artist. (Sang Borna 1959:123.)

Plays of the shadow theatre, an influence of which is especially obvious in episodes not contained in the Bhomantaka and appearing only in the hikayat, added an intense dramaticism to it, although somewhat reduced the exquisiteness inherent in the kakawin. Of all the scenes in which a peculiar 'puppetry dynamism' is felt, especially remarkable is the one 'where Samba is waging a mortal fight with ogres, while Januwati is sitting on his shoulders - a device which is as if specially designed for the puppets of wayang purwa' (ParnickeI1974a:335). Within the framework of the hikayat tradition, the tale eventually acquired its characteristic rhythm of narration, organized in specific ways, and a number of formulae for the description of battles (Sang Boma 1959:260, 264; compare Brakel 1979b:8-15) and psychological states, as well as some elements of Islamic demonology, topography, and so on, which passed from one hikayat to another. It is this skilful fusion of heterogeneous components, in which the Indo-Javanese element obviously dominates, that determines the artistic arrangement of Hikayat Sang Boma.

Panji-romances 'The books in stone', ancient Javanese temple reliefs, have preserved two very curious pictures. In one of them we see a carriage without a horse in the midst of a forest village with a prince on the footboard. He is surrounded by four companions. Two of them are young men of noble descent (which is clear from a special manner of wearing the sarong), and the other two are their servants who, judging from their faces and postures, are suffering from intense cold. Since this is possible only in night hours in Java, the event is obviously taking place at night. The other relief contains the picture of the same prince, accompanied by servants. A date corresponding to 1413 is carved below the prince's feet. Peculiarities of the prince's appearance and specific details of the former relief allow the assumption that this is Raden Inu Kertapati, prince Panji - the hero of numerous poems, tales and plays presented in both shadow theatre (wayang gedog) and the theatre of masks (wayang topeng) - at the moment when he consults his brothers and servants, intending to take his first beloved Ken Mertalangu to his palace under the cover of night (Poerba~araka 1968:406-8). Data provided by these reliefs, together with evidence from such chro-

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nicles as the Sejarah Melayu and Hikayat Banjar; Ras 1968:138-55), allow us to believe that as early as the fifteenth-early sixteenth centuries works about Panji were widely popular in both Java and the Malay world. An episode from Sejarah Melayu familiarizes us with the first of the two above-mentioned types of such works, while the story of Ken Mertalangu, with the second type (see Chapter II). Researchers have paid much attention to the problem of the origin and the expansion of Panji stories, which are known not only in Malaysia and Indonesia, but also, far outside them: in Cambodia, Thailand and Burma.lO Some scholars (Rassers, Ras) tried to prove that they evolved from an ancient Indonesian dualistic myth about the ancestors of the Javanese, which was closely related to the social structure of the Javanese society. Others believed that stories about Panji were based on certain events of Javanese history and made attempts to establish historical prototypes of the main heroes. Thus, the Dutch scholar P.v. van Stein Callenfels (1921:300-8) regarded Erlangga (the eleventh century), a powerful Javanese ruler, as Panji's prototype. On the basis of data from epigraphic sources and the Old Javanese poem Smaradahana (the 'Burning of Smara' (that is, Kama, the god of love», Poerbatjaraka (1919:478) identified Panji with Kameshvara I (1117-1130), a ruler of the Javanese state of Kediri, and Candra Kirana with his wife Kiranaratu from Janggala, and attributed the origin of the plot to the Kediri period (the twelfth-thirteenth centuries) .11 Later epigraphic studies (Buchari 1968) confirmed that works about Panji could reflect some facts of Javanese history of the eleventh century, notably the division by Erlangga of his state between his sons, one of whom ruled in Kadiri and the other in Janggala. On the other hand, Berg (1954) believed that the historical situation reflected in works about Panji pointed to their Majapahit origin and he saw the prototype of their main hero in Hayam Wuruk (Rajasanagara), the famous king of Majapahit who ruled from 1350 until 1389 (compare Poerbatjaraka 1968:404-5). Summing up the results of these studies, one can suggest a tentative hypothesis that the prototype of plays, poems and tales about Panji appeared in the Kadiri period as a result of the saturation of the old mythological model with historical reminiscences and realities. For two subsequent centuries it was, most likely, preserved in oral tradition of the kind which was handed down by professional narrators, widu amancangah, whose repertoire included mythological and historical compositions (Pigeaud 1960-63, III:78; Robson 1971:17-9) and, possibly, in the theatrical milieu. Evidently, works about Panji, which were formed on the basis of this prototype, became popular in the Majapahit period. Court poets of that time displayed a special interest in local stories and popular genres, which had earlier remained somewhat in the background. In all likelihood, from Majapahit times (if not earlier) tales

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about Panji inherited a number of Tantric elements. Among the latter we find, for instance, the description of horrible ghosts which appeared before Raden Inu on the cremation ground at night, the scene of his seduction by their queen Ra Nini (the goddess Durga, Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati 2:150-2), the scene of the ritual wedding dance (pulir) in which Raden Inu performs the bride's part, while Candra Kirana performs the part of the bridegroom (J. Hooykaas 1959:689-91). The period of the rise of Majapahit, which spread its power to wide areas of the Malay Archipelago and the Malay Peninsula, was especially favourable for the expansion of works about Panji outside Java. In this connection, the German scholar Overbeck (1938:305-9) put forward the hypothesis, too daring perhaps, that tales about Panji, as well as works about the Pandawa, were specially composed in the Malay language in Java and exported to countries over which Java had established its sovereignty or with which it maintained friendly relations, as a means of Majapahit political propaganda intended to demonstrate the spiritual superiority of Javanese rulers. However, the assumption by Ras that originally dynastic marriages between Javanese and Malay ruling houses were an important channel for the spread of Panji tales seems more plausible. Usually the suite of Javanese princesses who went overseas included a theatre company which performed the sacred myth of the marriage of their ancestors, specially adapted for the occasion, in the form of a play about Panji, at wedding ceremonies. To render the plays understandable for the audience, translations into Malay were made, and this created a basis for the appropriation of Panji plots by the Malay tradition,12 Be that as it may, in the mentality of the Malays of the fifteenth-sixteenth centuries, tales about Panji were gradually losing their ritual functions, transforming themselves into works of literature proper (compare Robson 1971: 14). Therefore, in our opinion, it is difficult not to agree with Winstedt, who wrote about one-sidedness of their exclusively anthropological and historical studies: But whether the primitive kernel [of Panji tales] is a sun and moon myth is nearly as immaterial to the student of pure literature as speculation whether the four kingdoms of these tales [... ] are reminiscent of four early exogamic tribes. Nor again need the student of literature be greatly concerned over historical allusions. (Winstedt 1991:42.)

For the same reason, the approach to these tales from the point of view of literary scholarship, that is, the analysis of their drama tis personae, peculiarities of their plots, imagery, expressive devices, and so on (for instance, Robson 1969, 1971; Kaeh 1977), seems more than appropriate. Tales about Panji make up one of the most important and numerically

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largest branches of traditional Malay literature, which exercised great influence on the literary prose and poetry, traditional historiography and even Sufi literature of the Malays. The Malay scholar Abdul Rahman Kaeh discovered about two hundred manuscripts of works about Panji, containing about one hundred different (at least, by title) texts, sometimes quite voluminous (Kaeh 1977:15-6, 174-80). The lengthiest of these texts, Hikayat Jinatur Jaeng Kesuma (the 'Tale of Jinatur Jaeng Kesuma'), is a work in seven volumes and of 1,236 pages, while the usual size of a Panji-romance is four hundred to five hundred pages. Judging from the number of extant copies, the most popular among them were such works as Hikayat Misa Prabu Jaya (the 'Tale of Misa Prabu Jaya'), Hikayat Panji Kuda Semirang (the 'Tale of Panji Kuda Semirang'), Hikayat Panji Semirang (the 'Tale of Panji Semirang'), Hikayat Naya Kesuma (the 'Tale of Naya Kesuma'), Hikayat Carang Kulina (the 'Tale of Carang Kulina') and Syair Ken Tambuhan (the 'Poem of Ken Tambuhan'). The number of copies, in which each of them has reached us, fluctuates between ten and five. Especially widely spread was Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati (the 'Tale of Cekel Waneng Pati'), which has been preserved in the greatest number of copies: twenty-nine.!3 Naturally, most manuscripts originated from those parts of the Malay world where traditions of wayang struck deep roots (for instance, Kelantan and Kedah in Malaysia). Not infrequently their owners and copyists and, consequently, main connoisseurs were noble ladies from the palace milieu or directly from the sultan's family (Kaeh 1977:23-4). Panji-romances do not form a series or a cycle in which one tale is the continuation of the other. Each tale is complete in itself, and their sum total represents a particular genre, allegedly that of 'translations', its more or less stable 'frame' being adorned with a specific 'embroidery' each time, given a new twist of plot and a new artistic interpretation in every work (compare the notion of 'swarming tradition' in Chapter I). Not all the tales were translations either. To the best of our knowledge, regular mentions of their being translated from Javanese were as often as not a tribute to conventions of the genre (Teeuw 1966b:xxiii, Robson 1969:8). Many Malay Panji-romances were composed directly by Malay authors and dalang. Usually the kernel of tales about Panji is as follows. Four brothers rule in four Javanese principalities, which normally bear the names of Kuripan, Daha, Gagelang or Urawan, and Singasari. A son and a daughter are born to the families of the rulers of Kuripan and Daha: Raden Inu Kertapati and Candra Kirana, who are destined for each other from their childhood. However, on the eve of the wedding circumstances separate the bride and the bridegroom, and Raden Inu rushes in search of Candra Kirana in the company of his servants (panakawan), comical personages who are, at the same time, the prince's wise tutors preserving a number of traits of power-

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ful local deities of the pre-Hindu pantheon (Pigeaud1967:139-40; compare Tilakasiri 1974). Usually servants bear such names as Semar, Jemuras, Punta, Persanta, Kertala, Jerude, Si Butatil, and so on. On his way Raden Inu conquers many countries and captures their princesses as trophies. Having overcome a great number of obstacles set on the path of the lovers by fate in the form of deity Batara Kala, and remaining unidentified side by side with the princess at the court of one of his uncles for a long time, having apparently found his beloved already and having lost her again, Raden Inu is eventually reunited with Candra Kirana. As a rule, both lovers have brothers and sisters who travel in search of them too. Stories about their adventures and love dramas make up complicated branches of the plot which highlight the main action either by similarity or by contrast. Typical motifs of Panji-romances include the birth of a son and a daughter - the protagonists of the tale - according to a vow given by their childless parents to the gods; claims made on Candra Kirana by a haughty and boorish foreign ruler who is a demonic creature; disguises of the heroes (not infrequently men disguise themselves as women and vice versa); countless changes in appearance and name; ascetic exploits and overseas travels; madness or grave disease of one of protagonists from which he or she can be cured only at the intervention of the other lover, and so forth. As has been noted in Chapter II, two major types of tale about Panji can be distinguished, depending on the nature of the opening part of a tale. The first type includes works in which Raden Inu appears as a person of a low descent after a calamity that befell him, enters the service of one of his uncles incognito and conquers his daughter'S (usually Candra Kirana's) heart by his courteousness and courage. Romances of the second type begin with the story of Raden Inu's first love, of low descent and social position, who is later killed secretly on the orders of the prince's father or mother. From a wellknown Javanese poem, this initial episode is traditionally called 'the motif of Angreni'. Having learned about the death of his beloved, Panji is plunged into despair and sets off on a journey abounding in knightly exploits. Thus, in works of the second type, he from the very beginning appears as a 'high' hero who obtains wives by the force of his weapons. There are also tales, which represent intermediate or mixed versions. Many Panji-romances are prefaced by a kind of a 'heavenly prologue', the story of events preceding Raden Inu's earthly birth as the incarnation (avatara) of a celestial being or a hero of Mahabharata, whose duty it is to continue life on the earth desolated by the Great War. Some works (for instance, Hikayat Galuh Digantung - the 'Tale of the Hanged Princess') add a lengthy genealogy of the hero who is to be born as Raden Inu to this prologue (Overbeck 1932:209). It is in relation to the gods of the Hindu-Javanese pantheon, the main

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figures of 'heavenly prologues', that the spirit of theatrical and literary conventionality, which replaced the profound significance of a myth in Panjiromances, is especially obvious. The prologue to Hikayat Asmara Pati (the 'Tale of Asmara Pati'), whose divine heroes, like actors at the distribution of roles, are desperately intriguing against one another and feel miserable as soon as their intrigues fail, is an example of this: Batara Guru and all the deities [who had known about the desire of Naya Kesuma to restore life on the earth] were filled with joy. Then Batara Bisnu and Sang Hyang Tunggal said: 'Truly Batara Naya Kesuma [deserves the honour] of descending to the earthly world, so that he together with his progeny will enact the play of our lord. No one except his progeny will be able to do it, for all the deities will embarrass [any other actors],. Having heard this, Batara Guru, who knew that such was the desire of both, smiled. As for Brahma Sakti [that is, another deity], he felt downcast because of this desire of Brahma, since he also wanted to enact this play in Java with his grandson Brahma Nusa [as the main performer]. He had asked Batara Guru's permission for this some time ago, but Batara Bisnu and Sang Hyang Tunggal were not happy with this idea, and therefore the play failed to be produced. (Klinkert 1913:70.)

On the whole, motifs of a theatrical show and, to a lesser degree, of performance in general play an extremely important role in Panji-romances. On the one hand, as we have seen, the world is presented as a sui generis theatre in these romances, with deities - primarily Batara Kala - as directors. Joys and misfortunes that befall its heroes are motivated constantly by Batara Kala's being anxious about 'the continuation of the play' or 'avoidance of an interruption in the dalang's performance'. On the other hand, 'theatre in theatre' is a favourite artistic device of Panji-romances. Not infrequently their heroes (in particular, Inu Kertapati and Candra Kirana) appear before the reader as puppeteers or directors and performers of dance dramas, or narrators of classical poems (kakawin and kidung). The functions of plays and poems included in Panji tales are rather numerous. Sometimes they are allusions to the future development of the plot, as is, for instance, the case of the recitation of the Arjunawiwaha in Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati, hinting at Raden Inu's future victory over the princess's demonic bridegroom: Cekel Waneng Pati approached the balai [a roofed pavilion on pillars] Indra Buana, ascended it and took a book lying on the balai. Then he sat down cross-legged, put the book on his lap and began reading it aloud. And most appropriate [for this recitation] was his voice, fragrant and sweet, so that everybody who heard it as if drank this voice like liquid honey. Now we will tell you about the princess Raden Galuh Candra Kirana [... ] After entering the garden, she also made for the balai Indra Buana and heard the voice of som€one who was reading aloud that episode from an amorous poem which described the repeated attempts of Anta Kawaca

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature [the king of the demons] to lure [the celestial nymph] Dewi Sakurba into making love. Then said Astra Jiwa [Semar, the prince's servant]: '0 my master, I would prefer to listen to the story about how Sang Rajuna [Arjuna] won Dewi Sakurba over from that Anta Kawaca. 0 my master, it would be much better [to read it], if possible'.1 4 (Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati 2:58-9.)

The same role is also played by the lakon about Sang Boma in Hikayat Misa Taman Jayeng Kesuma (the 'Tale of Misa Taman Jayeng Kesuma', Kaeh 1976: 159-63). In other cases, such theatrical interludes are designed to explain to heroes the meaning of past events misunderstood by them (for example, plays about the slandered princess are performed in the same romances, so that Raden Inu can understand how wrongly he has behaved toward the innocent Candra Kirana). Finally, a play can serve as a kind of resume of the plot of a romance. For instance, at the end of Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati, Prasanta and Si Butatil present some episodes from the life of Raden Inu, Candra Kirana and their son in the form of a wayang play (Winstedt 1991:172). At the same time, theatrical and literary' quotations' borrowed from well-known works, or from those which are retold in a particular Panji tale itself, reproduce the emotional atmosphere of the corresponding episode and allow heroes who have to conceal their feelings to express them in an indirect way. Such a use of theatrical motifs in Panji-romances resembles to a degree the introduction of pantun into later fantastic adventure hikayat of the synthetic type (see Chapter V). Even such a cursory survey of tales about Panji is sufficient to see in them a variety of the love-and-adventure genre, popular in many literatures of the world. In our opinion, these tales are typologically closest to romances of Greek antiquity with their obvious mythological roots and their unquestionable belletristic functions, stable plot scheme and conspicuous theatrical elements which are sometimes deliberately emphaSized by their authors (Boldyrev 1960:253). How far the scheme of the plot in ancient Greek romances resembled that of Panji tales is seen from a description of it given by the Russian scholar I.M. Tronsky: Having chanced to meet at some feast, the heroes fall in love immediately. A period of mutual infatuation, when the protagonists suffer from the pangs of love, begins. This period ends with heroes' wedding or their secret betrothal and flight, if the marriage is opposed by their parents. However, the major events are in the future. Separation comes. One of the heroes is abducted by robbers, and the other sets off in search of him or her. They travel in many countries, meeting and becoming separated again [ ... ] Mishaps befalling the lovers have no inner motivation, being motivated exclusively by a caprice of Fate, the incomprehensible will of a deity or its traditional wrath [ ... ] At a certain moment in this incredible series of misadventures, the loving couple reunite, this time forever, for a long and happy life. (Tronsky 1951:273-4.)

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Perhaps, the romance by Charitonis Aphrodisiensis 'Story of the love of Chaerea and Callirhoe', of which the main hero was presented not only as a devoted lover but also as a victorious warrior, is especially close to works about Panji (Boldyrev 1960:252). However, similarities between Malay and Greek tales only emphasize differences between them. First of all, the 'perspective of endless time' (ParnickeI1974a:369) in tales about Panji, engendered by the Karmic concept of a chain of incarnations, is absolutely alien to Greek romances. Also, the set of motifs, in particular abductions of the heroes by robbers, their being sold as slaves and a number of other stereotype narrative elements of the antique genre, is not typical of Panji-romances. Finally, the hero of these romances usually proves more belligerent than his Greek counterpart, while it is on a very rare occasion that fidelity to the heroine keeps him from marriages to other belles in the course of searches for his only true love. How can this multiplicity of tales about Panji, based on the same plot scheme, developing against the same 'scenery' and actually devoted to the same heroes, be explained? Evidently it is explained first of all by reasons of a purely literary nature: by somewhat different ideas on the part of their anonymous authors of what an entertaining and well-arranged narration should be, what moral and ethical lessons it must teach and what exactly might be liked by persons who ordered it or their patrons, and so on. The same motives were also supported by an uninterrupted connection of this genre with the theatrical tradition which took into account the age and mood of the audience, and also by contests of daZang who strove to excel one another in artful and fresh combinations of standard motifs and the precise choice of proportions of amorous, combat and comical episodes in a play (compare Sweeney 1972:269). However, there was also another, no less important reason for the diversity of tales about Panji. We have already seen that the performance of literary and dramatic works containing hints at certain past and future events is often described in Panji-romances themselves. Ras wrote about this purpose of wayang plays: [... ] Javanese poems and wayang-plays are very often occasional: they are created to be recited or enacted on a certain occasion and they have to suit that occasion. When a dhalang [Malay dalang] is called to add lustre to a feast the lakon to be performed is chosen very carefully; and, while performing, the clever dhalang will often adapt the intrigue in such a way that the story is applicable to the circumstances of his patron. He does this in such a way that the spectators recognise a parallel between the contents of the wayang-play and the circumstances leading to the organisation of the feast. Thus the wayang-play performed is a complex and systematic allusion, or, as the Javanese say, a pasemon. (Ras 1976:65.)

The principle of pasemon was known not only to wayang theatre of the nine-

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teenth-twentiethth centuries (for examples, see Ras 1976:65) and poems and historical works in the Modern Javanese language (Ricklefs 1974:176-226), but also to Old Javanese literature. It was used, for instance, in such kakawin as Arjunawiwaha (Berg 1938a), Bharatayuddha (Ras 1976:63-4; Lohuizen de Leeuw 1956:383-90), Arjunawijaya (Worsley 1991:182-7) and other works. This principle not only explains the diversity of Malay tales about Panji and heroes of Mahabharata, but also represents an important link connecting Malay literature with reality, with life. We shall meet it more than once again, discussing allegorical poems (Syair lkan Terubuk - the 'Poem of the Shad'), historical prose (Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa - the 'Tale of Merong Mahawangsa') and some belletristic works (Hikayat Hang Tuah - the 'Epic of Hang Tuah').

Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati (the 'Tale of Cekel Waneng Pati') Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati (the 'Tale of Cekel Waneng Pati'), one of the most popular traditional Malay works which was probably created as early as the fifteenth-sixteenth centuries, belongs to the first type of tales about Panji, in which Raden Inu pursues Candra Kirana's love in the guise of a 'low' character. The well-known Dutch scholar Van der Tuuk (1866:99) wrote about its place in Malay Literature: '[ ... ] it is one of the most interesting Malay compositions and has influenced almost every literary production in Malay'. Winstedt (1991:41) shared this assessment. Like many other works about Panji, Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati begins with a 'heavenly prologue'. A son named Dewa Indra Kamajaya and a daughter named Dewi Nila Kencana are born to the family of the celestial being or deity (dewa) Batara Naya Kesuma. The brother and the sister fall in love with each other and swear the oath of eternal fidelity. Father banishes them from their celestial abode and turns them into white and blue lotuses, which are presented to the childless rulers of Kuripan and Daha by the supreme deity. As a result, the son named Raden Inu Kertapati is born to the family of the ruler of Kuripan and the daughter Candra Kirana, to the family of the ruler of Daha. They are incarnations of the banished celestial siblings. Their servants are also born to aristocratic families of both countries. Having reached marriageable age, Raden Inu proposes to Candra Kirana. Preparations for the wedding begin and, busy with it, the bride's parents forget vows given by them to the supreme god. Enraged deity Batara Kala swears to 'turn the lovers' joy into sorrow' and, instigated by him, the ruler of Soca Windu abducts the prince and tortures him, while a monstrous ogre (raksasa) takes the princess to his den. Thus the main action of the tale begins, now with Raden Inu and Candra Kirana as its protagonists. Raden Inu, thrown into a river (or a sea) by the ruler of Soca Windu and brought back to life by his servants, arrives in Daha, learns about the abduction of Candra Kirana and saves her from the ogre's hands. Unidentified, he settles

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in the palace of the ruler of Daha under the guise of Cekel Waneng Pati, 'a forest dweller'. In the meantime, a boorish bumpkin, the ruler of Mengada, proposes to Candra Kirana. Cekel conquers her heart and takes the upper hand over his rival more than once, obtaining the golden deer for her and unraveling ingenious riddles of an itinerant belligerent Brahman who threatens to conquer Daha, but the princess's father violates the agreement each time and refuses to marry his daughter to Cekel, although the latter fulfills all his commissions. In the meantime, Raden Inu's brother Carang Tinangluh who wanders in search of him conquers a great number of countries and appears by the walls of Daha. As he approaches, residents of the city freeze with fear, 'like wayang puppets when the light that illuminates the screen dies away'. Cekel Waneng Pati joins the battle, wins it and, having recognised his brother, faints. Batara Kala interferes again. He revives the brothers, but brings Candra Kirana to a forest where she is found and adopted by the ruler of Lasem. Having changed their names one more time, Cekel Waneng Pati and Carang Tinangluh resume searches and arrive at the palace of the ruler of Gagelang, one of their uncles. Some time later Candra Kirana also arrives there. The lovers meet, and Cekel marries her, having cured her of a grave disease which was caused by demonic forces assisting the prince. Then he marries the daughter of the ruler of Gagelang, and the latter, instigated by Batara Kala who is still angry with the main heroes, slanders Candra Kirana. She places the portrait of a young man who visits one of the court maidens under her pillow. Cekel, now known as Pangeran Adipati, banishes his wife to the cremation ground in the midst of the jungle where she is surrounded by hordes of horrible ghosts. But their lady Rara Nini (Durga) treats her with hospitality, and Candra Kirana gives birth to a son, prince Misa Tandraman, in the kingdom of ghosts. Having understood his guilt before his wife, Raden Inu (Pangeran Adipati) falls seriously ill. He can be cured only with the help of the celestial flower Gandapura Wangi, and Misa Tandraman sets off in search of it. Having given himself to austere asceticism, he invokes the god Siwa (Sanskrit: Shiva) who discloses to the young man that Gandapura Wangi is not a usual flower but blood from the breast of the celestial nymph Sukarba. Misa Tandraman penetrates the celestial garden and becomes Sukarba's lover. Having received several drops of blood from her breast, he places them in a casket and returns to the earth. On his way he is killed by his stepbrother who steals the casket, but cannot open it. Having revived, Misa Tandraman cures his father and, having pretended that he is the invisible god of love, the latter reaches Candra Kirana and regains her. Then Carang Tinangluh defeats the ruler of Mengada who continues to insist on his marriage with the princess of Daha, and Raden Inu, assisted by his son and his grandson born by Sukarba, defeats his sworn enemy, the king of Soca Windu, who tried to abduct Candra Kirana. The villain is tied to a pillar and stoned, as Raden Inu was by him at one time. The heroes of the tale, reunited at last, set off together with their parents to fulfill vows given by them to the supreme god in their time. An extensive episode about war waged by the prince and his parents with Anyakra Buanawati, the king of Keling, is often added to the main text. IS

The great length of this Panji-romance, the numerous interlacing lines of its plot and countless adventures of its protagonists, their brothers and sisters

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who change names incessantly 16 made it extremely complicated and chaotic in the eyes of European scholars. However, the 'kaleidoscopic' nature of the tale is only apparent rather than real. Batara Kala's constant interference with the course of events organizes love affairs of personages, their duels, battles and changes of appearance into an integral whole, a kind of a four-act drama. Besides, in spite of numerous variations and a diversity of particular motifs in the framework of each separate 'act' (the action of each act unfolds in Kuripan, Daha, Gagelang and again in Daha successively), the repetition of a strictly definite set of basic elements in each of them (romantic parts of lovers overcoming obstacles on their path; the comic line of servants; combinations of standard descriptions) emphasizes the cyclic nature of the hikayat. It could seem at first glance that the repeated interference of deities in the action of the tale is motivated by purely literary reasons: the desire to 'continue the play'. However, its real meaning is much deeper and reflects the idea of the creators of Panji-romances, already known to us, of stability of the world order and of conflicts which this stability is fraught with; of predestination, the play of Fate (it is not accidental that joy and sorrow are inseparable in Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati) and human activity. Three times when, it seems, the desired harmony and stability have already been reached and nothing prevents the reunion of lovers, capricious external forces, Fate personalized in Batara Kala, separate them again, and three times inner forces 'impelled by love' - the protagonists of the romance themselves - begin to restore disturbed harmony with invariable persistence. Only the correct balance of both forces, symbolized by the fulfilment of vows crowning the hikayat, can perpetuate harmony. The philosophical and metaphysical aspects of the tale are also closely connected with its no less important didactic message. Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati is a real textbook of courtly, that is, correct and balanced behaviour as its author (or authors) understood it. A considerable part in this behaviour was played by the art of enjoying the beautiful in its three essential aspects: the beauty of the beloved, nature, and the word, especially the metaphoric word (compare Zoetmulder 1974:152-4, 158). Countless episodes of the tale include all possible situations in which a young nobleman may find himself and instruct a person on how he should eat, drink, or chew betel; what a well-mannered person's gait and gestures should be; when he must be polite and ready to compromise or, on the contrary, adamant and firm; how one should express one's emotions and behave toward servants, people of a nobler descent than oneself or equals; toward rulers of friendly and hostile states and enemies who render resistance or yield without resistance, and so forth. The 'science of love', which assumes different forms, depending on the social status of heroes, is of special importance in the Javanese-Malay code of courtly behaviour.

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One of them is typical for those works about Panji in which the main hero is described as a 'high' character, while the heroine, on the contrary, is presented as a character of a lower status, even if this is false or only temporarily SO.17 In such a case, the strategy of the enamoured is a kind of persistent Sturm und Drang, or an 'insistent pursuit' as one scholar styled it (Parnickel 1974a:361). The hero, intoxicated by his passion, does not leave any choice to his beloved, deprives her of any capability of resisting his attack, even if essentially verbal. An inexhaustible flow of words of coaxing and endearment, of tender entreaty, love delirium and enthusiastic praises is intended to bewitch his beloved by paralyzing her willpower and bringing her to the brink of an unconscious state. '0, my little sister!', the enamoured exclaims, '0, the mountain of flowers, the precious gem, the pure diamond! 0, the breath of my life, as beautiful as a heavenly nymph! 0, my pure gold, the essence of my soul, the goddess of all flowers', and so on and so forth, endlessly.1 8 Again and again the enamoured swears an oath of eternal fidelity to his beloved, he moans that his love pangs are unbearable, he laments of the pain of his heart, for which she is the only remedy. He has lost his sleep, as he cannot doze off even for a moment, when she is not beside him on the couch. Continuing his amorous effusions, he, unable to control his feelings any longer, takes his beloved by her hand, which is a grave offence against the code of courteous behaviour. In the end, after taking his beloved in his arms, he happily carries her - absolutely stupefied with his words and crying tears of fear and helplessness - to her bedchamber. The development of amorous relations between protagonists in Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati and other Panji-romances, in which Raden Inu appears in the guise of a 'low' personage, follows quite a different model. Undisguised 'insistent pursuit' gives way to secret languor, confessions of love and appeals to the beloved, 'cherished in the heart', and, most importantly, concealed emotions of the enamoured which are so well known to us from European chivalrous romances and Mulsim love narratives, be they Middle Eastern or Indian. Here are only a few examples. Having defeated the raksasa who kidnapped Candra Kirana, Cekel Waneng Pati accompanies the princess home through the jungle, secretly enjoying the Sight of her step, which is as 'delicate as branches of angsoka stirred by the wind'. The forest described in a rather conventional way discloses more and more new symbols of love passion to him (the Indians would call them vibhava 'stimulating agents' of the erotic rasa): flowers issue their fragrance, the drone of bees increases love longing, and Cekel is ready to give himself to the transports of love, but controls himself by an effort of will and only orders his servant: 'Brother Astra Jiwa [Semar], go and fetch twigs and prepare a bed for the princess. This place abounds in tigers.' (Zainal1965:41.) Then he

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spends a sleepless night by the princess's bed, only at times allowing himself to cast a glance at her. The monstrous ruler of Mengada, having violated all rules of court etiquette, proposes to Candra Kirana. The princess implores Cekel not to leave Daha, hinting rather overtly at her feelings for him: 'You will not die lonely in Daha, there will be a person who will follow you in death' (ZainaI1965: 221). On hearing these words, Cekel forgets for a moment that he is not alone with his beloved and exclaims, intoxicated by his passion: '0 breath of my life, or my lady, 0 goddess of flowers, evidently, you really love me if you want to die together with me, unhappy. 0 my noble lady, my precious gold, allow me to bring you [to the bedchamber],. Having uttered these words, he rose on his feet, but Astra Jiwa snatched him by the end of his sash and said: 'You must be drunken, 0 esteemed Cekel. You must be mad if you behave like an enamoured one'. Cekel Waneng Pati smiled and answered, having looked back: 'Brother, I feel dizzy. I must have drunk too much'. Then he looked at the princess shyly and, having smiled one more time, said: '0 my lady, let me go, because I am too intoxicated'. (Zainal1965:222-3.)

Such 'restrained emotions' alternating with all kinds of heroic deeds resemble exploits by knights in the name of their fair ladies (thus the themes of love and war become interlaced, and Cekel is ready to conquer all Java to meet with his sweetheart, because 'it is easier to die than endure love pangs and misery', ZainaI1965:106). The motif of 'restrained emotions' is the very essence of the theme of the enamoured hero in the romance, while the period of secret infatuation, when Raden Inu in the guise of the 'jungle dweller' Cekel Waneng Pati conquered Candra Kirana's heart, is its semantic focus. It is not accidental that the hikayat is named after him. It is not accidental either that it is the time when the protagonist bore the name of Cekel Waneng Pati that the lovers remember in the finale, having seen a rhinoceros running out of the jungle and having recalled unanimously the hunt for the golden deer: Raden Inu laughed and said: 'Why remember Cekel Waneng Pati who caught the golden deer then! Now you have me instead of him: The princess answered, frowning: 'You are like a keen ascetic. You know all that one has on one's mind: Said Betara Anom [another name of Raden Inu]: 'Where is Cekel Waneng Pati now? I pity him, because his love for you caused him so much suffering: As he was saying this, the princess looked at Betara Anom slyly, and he smiled. (Zainal 1965:214-5.)

The role played by the heroine changes according to changes in the behaviour of the enamoured hero. From a passive and patient personage, she becomes the active principle of love adventures in the narrative, encouraging her lover secretly, remaining true to him and searching for him fearlessly. Such development of the theme allows the author of Hikayat Cekel Waneng

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Pati to demonstrate not only the male, but also the female variant of active courtly behaviour. At the same time, the impossibility for the protagonists to express their feelings openly (explained by the hero's allegedly low social status and, in the case of the heroine, by norms of Javanese etiquette) make it possible for the author to permeate the tale with the element of indirect and metaphoric expressions, which is the basis of 'the science of love' in its second variety. This element already makes itself felt in the choice of descriptive devices. While, speaking about Raden Inu, the author resorts to more' open' images of a visual and auditive nature, in all that concerns Candra Kirana he attaches a great importance to more' covert' and intimate olfactory or rather' aromatic' images. At the very outset of the tale, in the scene of the protagonists' betrothal, Raden Inu receives a pearl casket with aromatic oils as a present from the princess. Their aroma is felt all over the country (the casket becomes one of the symbols of Candra Kirana herself subsequently, Zainal 1965:77, compare Robson 1969:32). In the above-mentioned episode of mutual confession of love, Candra Kirana gives her chosen one a kain and a sash retaining the aroma of her body, and this aroma will pursue the prince as he hunts for the golden deer, enjoys the scent of flowers in the forest, and so on. In general, the erotic motif of 'encouraging with aroma' is no less specific to the princess's part than is the motif of 'restrained emotions' to the prince's. In Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati this' element of metaphors and hints' - kiasan so much loved by the Malays - manifests itself not only in the abundance of love symbols (usually this is the symbolism of plants, flowers and colours), not only in implications and significant allusions that the heroes exchange, but also in the use by the author of the 'play within a play' device or in his predilection for paraphrases and euphemisms. For instance, the conjugal union of Raden Inu with the virgin Candra Kirana is described in the following words: Then Tumenggung Arya Wangsa [another name of Raden Inu] quenched his passion, behind the bejewelled mosquito-curtain, and the lady of the resplendent 'palace' was no more, and she will not be replaced by any other; she is gone and will never be back, she is lost never to be found again. {Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati 2:158.}

Not infrequently the same element is also found in the composition of entire episodes, based on some trite metaphor (love as intoxication, love pangs and their satisfaction as disease and convalescence) enlivened thanks to its skilful dramatization. The latter is sometimes combined with exquisite arrangement of the entire episode according to the principle of parallelism which is so common in Malay pantun poetry. In such cases, just as in pantun, the first term of a parallel contains meta-

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phoric or 'roundabout' development of a theme whose direct meaning is revealed in the second term. A typical example of such an arrangement is contained in the episode, decisive for relations between the protagonists, in which Raden Inu (Tumenggung Arya Wangsa) penetrates Candra Kirana's bedchamber. There, he cures the princess suffering from a grave disease, having given her his betel-quid as a medicine (the acceptance 'of betel-quid is a traditional Malay sign of mutual love). Such is the first term of the parallelism, of which the meaning, as in the first lines of pantun, is still hidden, since Candra Kirana, who feels unbearable pain, lies with her eyes closed and mistakes the prince for her brother. Cured in a split second, the princess opens her eyes and sees a stranger in whom she fails to recognize her beloved. Then follows the scene of testing Candra Kirana's faithfulness, concluded by Raden Inu's disclosure of his identity and their first love union. This is the second term of the parallelism which reproduces the first, although now not in a metaphoric way but in reality. The more refined and lofty, second variant of Malay-Javanese courtly love is disclosed in a complicated interlacing of such episodes developing on a rising scale (the best of them include the chance meeting of protagonists in a garden which is remarkable for its strictly symmetrical mise en scene) (Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati 2:141-8). The high, courtly theme of relationships between protagonists in Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati, as well as in other Panji-romances, is intimately connected with the comical theme of their servants whose appearance alone cannot fail to cause laughter. Here are, for instance, portraits of two of them, Astra Jiwa (Semar) and Si Butatil: The first one's name is his perfect match: tuft of three hairs on the head, a nose like an axe, an enormous belly and the build of a bull! The other is also a handsome guy: a protruding nose, hands like two hooks and hair all in curls. (Winstedt 1958b:78-9.)

In fact, the serious element of metaphor and allusions on the one hand, and the comic element on the other, are like warp and weft whose interlacing creates the particular literary tissue of Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati, as well as of the whole genre to which it belongs. In the opinion of T.G.T. Pigeaud (1967:185), the combination of these opposing principles was predetermined by the fact that '[ ... ] the Javanese [and also the Malay] consciousness of eternal Order in the cosmos and in human society produced an aversion to extremes of dramatization in literature'. The favourite device used in tales about Panji is the play on contrast between the seriousness of the high theme and flamboyant 'comicking', the introduction of all kinds of jokes, boasting by servants and their comical escapades which strongly resemble lazzi (tricks) in comedia del arte. Thus, the already mentioned scene of the protagonists' mutual confession

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of love (ZainaI1965:219-22) is suddenly interrupted by a quarrel of the panakawan over their favourite hot boiled rice. During this quarrel they pour the rice over each other angrily and, burnt and smeared from head to feet with it, crawl on the floor and consume the remnants of the dish from it, weeping with pain (compare various 'lazzi with macaroni', Jivilegov 1954:174). In the episode of the battle with the raksasa Buta Wila Samba (Winstedt 1958b:804; Taib Osman and Sham 1975a:276-8), the narration of Cekel's courage is enhanced by the description of how, at the sight of the monster, Si Butatil rushed to hide himself in the hollow in a tree, but got stuck in it. He was squeezed so hard that he became incontinent and stained all his kain with faeces. However, scared to death, he did not even notice it. (Taib Osman and Sham 1975a:276.)

In one of lyrical 'garden scenes', while Cekel writes Candra Kirana a touching letter on a pandanus flower with his golden nail-protector, Astra Jiwa, expanding dreamily on how his beloved will also enjoy the coolness of the pond there, so binges on 'diverse fruits of the garden' that acute pain in his stomach nearly brings him to the brink of death. Without thinking twice, Si Butatil undertakes to cure him. After reciting a charm addressed to the Spirit of Gluttony (Yang Nafsu Melalab) whom he invents on the spot, he strikes his friend on the belly with all his might. However, vengeance comes before long. When a scorpion which was lurking among carved flowers decorating the pavilion and which was taken by Si Butatil for an item of this decoration stings the ill-starred servant, Astra Jiwa begins to squeeze poison out of his wound so intensely that Si Butatil nearly faints with the pain (Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati 2:57-8). The role of comical interludes is not only that of a kind of recreation allowing the reader to relax in the midst of intense action. On a philosophical plane, many of them demonstrate 'the spiritual affinity between childish foolishness, deceit and divine wisdom which surpasses human understanding' (Pigeaud 1967:185). At the same time, the didactic role of comic interludes was also very important. Suffice it to consider at least the opening part of Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati to make it plain that almost every episode inculcating elements of etiquette has its 'comical double' in the tale. The description of Raden Inu's proposal is followed by a travesty performed by panakawan (ZainaI1965:5-8); the story of the 'tournament' with the participation of Raden Inu and his brothers is followed by a travesty with a jocular scuffle of servants (ZainaI1965:11); the episode of the prince's victory over the raksasa is travestied by the corresponding scene (Zainal 1965:38-9), and so forth. In Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati we also find a parody of the fete, of gallant courting and even of the traditional motif of the divine gift. Siva grants Si Butatil the magic power of subjugating any being at which he points his finger. The servant tries his power at once, pointing at Siva himself, so that the god loses

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his ability to fly. The enraged Siva deprives Si Butatil of the magic gift and flies away. It is in vain that the panakawan continues to point his finger, and then, having despaired of producing the desired effect, he points both his hands at the god vanishing in the sky (ZainaI1965:39-40). The purpose of this comical duplication is, in particular, to emphasize the idea of normative and correct behaviour by means of its contrary, that is, 'incorrect', 'perverted' actions of panakawan. Words spoken by the students of Old Russian laughter culture are quite applicable to this device: The 'wrong-side' world does not lose ties with the real world. Turned 'inside out' are real things and notions, ideas and prayers [compare the invocation of the Spirit of Gluttony in Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati], ceremonies and genres, and so on [... ] Behind the 'wrong-Side' world is always an ideal, albeit the most insignificant one, such as the feeling of satiety and satisfaction. (Likhachev and Panchenko 1976:21.)

Hikayat Panji Kuda Semirang (the 'Tale afPanji Kuda Semirang'), Hikayat Andaken Penurat (the 'Tale of Andaken Penurat') The most complete and artistically impressive Panji-romance of the second type (where Raden Inu acts as a 'high' hero from the very beginning) is Hikayat Panji Kuda Semirang (the 'Tale of Panji Kuda Semirang'), an episode from which is possibly represented on one of the above-mentioned temple bas-reliefs of the early fifteenth century. In this tale (for its detailed summary, see Poerba~araka 1968:3-42), Raden Inu Kertapati and Candra Kirana are incarnations of Arjuna and his wife Sumbadra, while the princess's brother Gunung Sari and the prince's sister Ratna Wilis who are in love with each other are incarnations of Samba and Januwati, heroes of Hikayat Sang Bama. Inu's 'low' beloved is none other than celestial nymph Anggar Mayang who was cursed by Indra for her illegal liaison with the celestial being Jayakusuma and who, therefore, was doomed to be born on the earth as Ken Mertalangu, the daughter of a village head. The prince chances to meet her, pursuing a deer during one of his merry and noisy hunts whose description is perhaps one of the best in the tale (Winstedt 1958b:89-93). This description - similarly to those' double-decked' descriptions which we know already from Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya - is a kind of expanded metaphoric parallel to another hunt, a love 'pursuit' by Raden Inu, which is clearly testified to by cues given by his servants and brothers discussing the prince's unusual' game'. At the same time, the comical 'fight' with a rhinoceros and a wild boar by the panakawan Semar and Jemuras, who are scared to death by the ferocious beasts and, at the same time, are enraged by the jeers

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of their companions, provides the contrasting background for subsequent dramatic events. Raden Inu's mother, infuriated by the prince's passion for the 'mountain-girl' (anak gunung) without kin or kith, which is an obstacle to his marriage with Candra Kirana, pretends that she is ill and sends her son in search of the remedy, a tiger's heart, and meanwhile kills Ken Mertalangu. After coming to know about this, the prince, mad with distress, leaves his parents' palace and embarks on his travels. The subsequent action of the tale follows a cyclic scheme similar to that of Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati, but not without some peculiarities: as in Hikayat Panji Semirang (1963), Candra Kirana frequently appears in the narrative in the guise of the fearless warrior Kuda Semirang Sira Panji Pandai Rupa who - in search of Raden Inu Kertapati - conquers neighbouring countries just as Raden Inu himself does. Perhaps the greatest popularity among Malay Panji-romances of the same type was enjoyed by the story of love of Raden Inu Kertapati (alias Raden Mentri or Andaken Penurat) and Ken Tambuhan, which is close in its content to the opening episode of the Hikayat Panji Kuda Semirang. 19 As an independent narrative, the story of Raden Menteri and Ken Tambuhan is known in several poetical (Teeuw 1966b:xx-xxxii), prose (Robson 1969) and theatrical (Skeat 1966:520; Kerckhoff 1886:305) versions. Its plot took shape either in Banjarmasin in southern Kalimantan in the late sixteenth century (Ras 1968:152,190-1), or in Palembang in southern Sumatra between the late seventeenth and the eighteenth century (Teeuw 1966b:xxxiii-xxxiv). It can be assumed that the prose version, discussed below, was created by Ahmad ibn Abdullah of Palembang in the late eighteenth or the early nineteenth century (Voorhoeve 1970:259-60). While the two above-mentioned tales about Panji have a complex and intricate intrigue and are a sequence of episodes presented, as a rule, in longshots, the prose Hikayat Andaken Penurat (the 'Tale of Andaken Penurat') is a close-up of one such episode, so to speak. This becomes especially clear when we turn to the development of the 'theme of the journey'. Obligatory wanderings of the hero are replaced with his constant and rather boring peregrinations between his father's palace and the garden. The close-up mode of description immediately changes accents in the tale and makes us concentrate on its psychological aspect. The characters of real people begin to show through the strictly conventional behaviour of protagonists and the traditionally external portrayal of their emotions described, in our opinion (but not in the opinion of the Malays), in an excessively melodramatic way. We see the raja of the country Pura Negara, acquiescing in his favourite son's 'whims' and reassuring his wife with invariable references to the fact that 'men have always liked having many wives' and that the prince's love for Ken Tambuhan will not last forever (Robson 1969:76, 78). We meet his

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vindictive wife who does not tolerate anyone in her way, speaks with venomous remarks and repeats insistently: 'I won't feel satisfied until I have killed that Ken Tambuhan' (Robson 1969:76). We become acquainted with the prince Andaken Penurat himself, who prefers entertainment with his friends to his father's audiences and who each time explains his failure to attend them with unbearable headaches. As light-hearted and egoistic as a child (it is not for nothing that Ken Tambuhan, insulted through the prince's fault, reproaches him: 'You behave like a boy not in trouble enough', Robson 1969:77), he suddenly understands how powerful love is and how intolerable the loss of the beloved. Finally, we see Ken Tambuhan, the most live, tender and changing character in the tale. At one time, we see her scared to death by the threat of falling into disgrace because of the king's wrath. At another moment, she makes an angry speech about her humiliations in the foreign palace, as if she has remembered the noble blood circulating in her veins, or turns away and 'locks her lips', having clicked her tongue stubbornly. She writes Andaken Penurat a letter full of the expressions of devotion ('[ ... ] let me become a servant to you and your wife [... J', Robson 1969:90), but then, having been distressed by the shy caresses of her newly regained husband, in a purely feminine way exclaims: 'You are behaving like someone who has just been joined in wedlock - you look to me like someone just married!' (Robson 1969:103). The most exquisite descriptions in the romance are associated with Ken Tambuhan. We find her in the garden lit by moonlight beholding the movement of light clouds and trying to guess her sorrowful fate in the chain of their encounters and separations (Robson 1969:38). Then we find her playing the gender (a kind of xylophone) whose trembling sounds, which are ready to die, match her mood so perfectly (Robson 1969:41). Or we see her leaning against the trunk of a kemuning tree covered with white flowers, wrapped in a wide scarf and ready to accept death as an imminent retribution for her love (Robson 1969:50-1). A special feature of Hikayat Andaken Penurat is its increasingly tragic note, the theme of predetermined death of its heroes, which can be removed only through Batara Kala's interference. The words spoken by courtiers and the raja, enjoying the beauty of the loving couple, that they are seeing the prince and Ken Tambuhan for the last time or are going to lose them forever, are the leitmotif of the narration. Ominous signs follow one another: Andaken Penurat stumbles; his hounds refuse to run ahead of his horse; ravens are croaking in the trees. Ominous signs alternate with prophetic dreams in one of which Ken Tambuhan, clad in red, enters Batara Kala's celestial abode. The dream comes true, and the princess's blood dyes her attire red. The psychological nature of the tale suggests the introduction of images of nature, that inexhaustible source of parallels to human moods. The

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'accompaniment' of nature is heard throughout the entire action of the tale. It accompanies the birth of the prince, Ken Tambuhan's reflections in the garden, her last journey through the wood, and her death: The various flowers in the wood were in bloom, their scent was very fragrant, and many bees were visiting the angsoka flowers making a very melodious sound, like people weeping for Ken Tambuhan [... J All the creatures in the wood cried out, calling back and forth, like people coming to greet Ken Tambuhan about to die. And all the deer called to each other along the path, making a great commotion, sounding like people lamenting over Ken Tambuhan [... J Now a shaft of light and a rainbow arose in the sky, as if in sympathy, and thunder sounded at the foot of the mountains, and a breeze blew ever so softly, like someone filled with pity to see Ken Tambuhan about to die. Light rain fell, like the tears of someone weeping for Ken Tambuhan. (Robson 1969:88-9, 91-2.)

Thus, if Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati discloses clearly philosophical and edifying aspects of Panji-romances, then Hikayat Andaken Penurat helps us understand better another aspect of them, namely the aestheticized description of the world of human emotions, which is somewhat blurred by the complexity of plot peripeteia in the longer works of this genre.

Tales of the Middle Eastern origin We find ourselves in a completely different spiritual and artistic atmosphere as we pass from tales inspired by Javanese poems and plays to early Malay works translated from the Persian and Arabic languages. The oldest among them is probably Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah (the 'Tale of Muhammad Hanafiyah'), which appeared in the 1380s in Pasai and, as we already know, influenced the formation of the genre of Malay hikayat considerably. Two or three decades later Hikayat Iskandar Zulkarnain (the 'Tale of Iskandar the TwoHorned') and Hikayat Amir Hamzah (the 'Tale of Amir Harnzah') were also translated most probably in Pasai. It is only natural that the choice and appropriation of these first Islamic works - which, along with the Malay Ramayana and tales about the Pandawa and Panji, made up the core, as it were, of Malay hikayat tradition (compare Brakel 1979b:16) - were predetermined by their popular, preaching character and their similarity in many respects to pieces of literature from the preceding period. This is why all the three tales will be discussed below not in their chronological order but in the order dictated by the degree of the manifestation of Islamic elements in them.

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Hikayat Iskandar Zulkarnain (the 'Tale of Iskandar the Two-Horned') This tale, traceable in the final analysis to the famous 'Alexandria' by Pseudo-Callisthene, and more directly to 'an Arab paraphrase of a Persian work composed in Central Asia' (Brakel 1979b:17-8), which absorbed elements of Shah-nama (the 'Book of kings') by Firdawsi, Qur'anic legends and various kinds of hadith and legends (Van Leeuwen 1937:14-21), was most probably translated in Pasai early in the fifteenth century (Brakel 1979b:18). In the opinion of Winstedt, one of its manuscripts could have been taken from there to Malacca when its ruler, who had married a Pasai princess, was converted to Islam (Winstedt 1991:59). Wolters (1970:159-63) established that this event happened circa 1436. The archetype of the tale which took shape in Pasai gave birth to its two extant recensions, the Sumatran and Peninsular (Van Leeuwen 1937:28-34; Winstedt 1938c:5). The Sumatran recension contains, after praise of Allah and Muhammad, a story (absent in the Peninsular recension) about Allah showing Adam his descendants: Muhammad, the most glorious of them; Daud (Bible: David) and Sulaiman (Bible: Solomon), after whom the glory of the greatest king in the world was promised to Iskandar. This episode partially resembles 'celestial prologues' typical of tales about the Pandawa and Panji. After that (also only in the Sumatran recension) follows the genealogy of king Bahman, Iskandar's remote ancestor, beginning with the progenitor of Persian kings and the culture hero Gayumart (Kayumars). The Sumatran recension finishes with the story of how the wife of king Tibus, the ruler of Damascus and Palestine, killed by Iskandar, sends her daughter to the Macedonian with the intention to poison him, but, being exposed and pardoned, she becomes one of his wives (Winstedt 1938c:9). In its most complete versions, the narrative in the Peninsular recension goes much further and ends with Iskandar's death. As for the rest, the two recensions are rather close to each other, which allows us to assume the existence of a Malay archetype common to both. 2o The content of the romance about Alexander the Great in general and its Islamic versions in particular is too well known to be retold in detail here (see, for instance, Yeo Berthels 1962:283-416; Kostyukhin 1972). In the Muslim tradition, Iskandar was entrusted with the mission of conquering the whole world, eradicating idolatry and propagating the faith of Ibrahim (Bible: Abraham) understood as the original monotheism, a kind of 'Islam prior to Islam' or, more exactly, Islam prior to Muhammad's prophetic mission. Accompanied by Greek wise men and the Prophet Khadir (Arabic: Khidr), the second hero of the 'novel' under whose feet barren land becomes covered with vegetation, Iskandar leads expeditions to the West and to the East, conquers Iran and Egypt, Andalusia and Ethiopia, Syria and India and finally reaches the edge of the earth, surrounded by the mountains Qaf and Muhit,

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'the Ocean Embracing the World'. A surprisingly vast panorama opened to the eyes of the conqueror and, together with him, of readers who, by being initiated into half-legendary universal cosmographies of medieval Islam thanks to the tale, learned about real countries of the world and, to an even greater degree, about all kinds of wonders that it abounded in, such as: the valley of ants, the giraffe-riders, the cave-dwellers with one foot and one eye; the place where angels told their beads above the sun and the noise of that luminary's descent made Alexander faint; the great flies that stoned his troops and were only driven away when one of their number was caught, saddled and mounted by a puppet rider; the angels, who pierced with lances the devils that dwelt in Coptic idols; the bird-worshipping Circassians in tiger-skin tunics; the nude gymnosophists who marvelled that a mortal should bother to subdue a world; Gog and Magog; the diamond mines of Ophir and the copper walls of Jabalqa; the riding on mares into the land of darkness and the visit to the spring of life [... ]. (Winstedt 1991:61-2.)

Islam, which brought Hikayat Iskandar Zulkarnain (the 'Tale of Iskandar the Two-Horned') to the Malay world and which was promulgated through this work, widened the limits of the inhabitable world for the Malays and disclosed the unity of humankind to them and their own place in it. It is not accidental that, referring to Iskandar's sea crossing to Andalusia (Arabic: Andalus, which was interpreted as Andelas - the old name of Sumatra) and especially to his marriage to an Indian princess, Malay rulers traced their genealogies to the Macedonian. Of course, this was a manifestation of the ambitiousness of neophytes who tried to ensure a meritorious ancestor, a forerunner of Islam, for themselves. At the same time, Malay rulers and, consequently, the Malays personified by them according to traditional notions, proved akin to the peoples of Iran, Rum (Byzantium or, later, Turkey) India and so on, in the proper sense of the word. And yet, not only the triumph of the victorious warrior and preacher is the principal message of the tale of Iskandar. The whole world from the eastern to the western limits is conquered and restored to the true faith, the greatness of the Creator and the invisible mechanics of the universe are known, and the mysteries of the future of 'the sons of Adam' are unraveled (these motifs were highly important in the work intended for neophytes). Nevertheless, as his mission is being fulfilled by Iskandar, the pessimistic theme of the vanity of earthly existence and the imminence of death begins to sound more and more clearly in the hikayat. The epitaph of a ruler of Pas ai, the principality where the tale of Iskandar was translated, could be seen as a kind of an epigraph to it. The epitaph compares this vale of sorrows to a thin cobweb woven by a spider (Alfian 1973a: 34), and the world lying beneath Iskandar's feet, with all its marvels and his fame as the greatest of earthly rulers, proves to be very similar to this cobweb,

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iridescent in the sun-light and ephemeral. Indian Brahmans (' gymnosophists't who are unable to understand why one would bother to possess something as perishable as this, suggest this idea to Iskandar (Van Leeuwen 1937:99-101). This theme is especially persistent in essentially the concluding episode of the work - the search for the spring of immortality (Van Leeuwen 1937:208-31). Incidentally, this motif (as well as the motif of the illusory nature of Being) played an important role in Old Javanese and Balinese literatures and it seems to have been of interest for the Malays too, as is testified by the Malay paraphrase of the Javanese poem Dewa Ruci in which Drona, the Pandawa's and Korawa's mentor, sends Bima to find the water of eternallife.21 Overwhelmed by the vain desire to perpetuate his fame, Iskandar enters the land of darkness. Blinded by his egotism, he makes every effort to discover the spring of immortality only for himself and fails to find it, while the Prophet Khadir, who devoted his life to self-denying service of Allah and disinterested guidance of people on the path of this service, discovers the water of immortality without any effort. More than that: in the land of darkness, obedience to passions makes Iskandar live through the tragedy of the fall which was the lot of Adam tempted by Thlis. Like the forefather of mankind, tempted by the beauty of a paradisal fruit (buah khuldi), the symbol of earthly gains, he prefers it to a vine, the symbol of 'eternal food' that Allah gave him, and plunges into the abyss of despair. Thus, fundamental concepts of Islamic theology - primarily its anthropology - are disclosed to Malay neophytes via the example of the 'greatest man of his time'. The potential of humans is inexhaustible and, at the same time, limited; their limitations can be overcome on the path of spiritual progress only through the victory over vanity, egoistic desires and passions.

Hikayat Amir Hamzah (the 'Tale of Amir Hamzah') Amir Hamzah, a real figure from the time of early Islam, belonged to the Meccan tribe of Quraysh and was the Prophet Muhammad's uncle. Like many people of the tribe, he rejected his nephew's teaching at first, but after several years recognized his prophetic mission and followed him to Medina, where he became so famous for his military achievements that he was granted the title of the 'lion of Allah and the Prophet'. At the age of sixty Amir Harnzah fell in the Battle of Mount Uhud. According to a legend, the black slave Wahshi, who pierced him with a spear, tore the heart out of the chest of the fallen warrior and threw it to the mother of Mu' awiah, the first Umayyad caliph, who, in rage, plunged her teeth into it (Gibb and Kramers 1961:131). However, it is not because of these scarce and not particularly significant facts that the Sultan of Malacca gave Hikayat Amir Hamzah (the 'Tale of Amir Hamzah') to defenders of Malacca on the night before the storm of the city

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by the Portuguese. Their imagination was to be captured by the truly heroic image of the Arab warrior, which had been first represented in the Persian epic Qissa-yi Amir Hamzah. Brought to Pasai via India, this epic was paraphrased in Malay, with numerous additions, there not later than the early fifteenth century. Thus, there appeared the Malay hikayat about Amir Hamzah, which betrays its Persian origin not only by its content, but also by its preface written partially in Persian, a number of Persian verses included in the text, and the division of the narration into chapters with descriptive titles (for instance, 'About the time when the lord of the faithful Amir Hamzah and Vmar Vmaya reached the age of six years') which correspond to chapters in the Persian prototype (Van Ronkel 1895:98-9). Remarkably, as early as the 1530s it was precisely this hikayat of two thousand pages that, in the eyes of the author of Sejarah Melayu, was a synonym of the most monumental piece of literature (Winstedt 1938a:50-1).22 A detailed summary of the Malay Hikayat Amir Hamzah, compared with its Persian original, was compiled by Ph. van Ronkel (1895:102-80). The hero of the tale, whom Buzurjmihr, a great astrologer and vizier of the Persian king Kobad Syahriyar, foretells the fame as one of the greatest warriors of his time, after a stormy childhood and early years during which he obtains the bow and the horse of the Prophet Ishak, the chain-mail of the Prophet Ismail and the helmet of the Prophet Hud, enters the service of Kobad Syahriyar's son Nushirwan. He performs numerous exploits, pursuing the hand of the ruler's daughter Mihrnigar (whom he marries eventually) and frustrating intrigues of envious court warriors and the insidious vizier Behtek. He travels to the island of Serendib (Sri Lanka), defeats the giant Lendehur in a seven-day duel and returns the kingdom to its legitimate master. Wandering in distant islands, Amir Hamzah gathers all kinds of marvels which once belonged to the Prophets Adam, Ibrahim, Ismail and Sulaiman. Like Sindbad the Sailor, he is overpowered by an old man who climbs on his shoulders and whom he gets rid of, having treated him to too much wine (compare Salye 1958-59, V:317-9). Having been sent by Nushirwan to collect tribute from the rulers of Greece, Rum and Egypt, he subdues them, as he did his former adversaries, converts them to Islam and eventually opposes Nushirwan himself as a result of his enemies' intrigues, kills his sworn enemy Gustehem and puts Behtek to shame. During his travels Amir Hamzah reaches Mount Qaf and finds himself in a magical country. There he helps faithful peris (peri Islam) in their age-long struggle with infidel jins (jin kafir), nearly perishes, being tempted by a treacherous peri, relieves a jin of Sulaiman's curse and performs many other heroic deeds. A considerable number of them (the murder of the white and the black div, that is, evil jins, the lion Bebri, a dragon, a harmful sorcerer, and his being rescued by the bird Simurgh) repeat exploits of Rustam, the hero of Firdawsi's epic Shah-nama (Van Ronkel 1895:239-40), which strongly influenced the tale about Amir Hamzah. In the concluding part of the narrative, Amir Hanzah, together with his nephew the Prophet Muhammad and his companion and son-in-law Ali, defends Mecca against the hordes of infidels besieging the city. He repulses the attack

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by the Indian king Pur Hindi, then the attack launched by this king's mother who brought armies of the people of Rum, Syrians, Ethiopians and inhabitants of Zanzibar and, finally, falls in the battle with king Lahad (as the name of Mount Uhud was reinterpreted by the Malays). His victors tear his. heart out and eat it to become Amir Hamzah's equals in courage. (See also Samad Ahmad 1987.) In all his exploits Amir Hamzah is accompanied by his servant and friend Umar Umaya (Amr ibn Umaya ad-Damri), roguish and strongly inclined to buffoonery and cruel practical jokes, but well-versed in sorcery and infinitely courageous. The ambivalent combination of these features makes him similar to panakawan from Panji-romances. Umar Umaya rescues Amir Hamzah more than once and, for his merits, is granted permission to die when he so desires by the Prophet Muhammad. Hoping that he has thus avoided death, Umar Umaya passes time in a leisurely way, but one day he encounters the Angel of Death in the guise of a young man and a crowd of people digging graves. When he asks for whom these graves are, he hears invariably the same answer that they are for him. He obeys his fate and lies in the grave voluntarily (Samad Ahmad 1988). Like the battle with king Lahad, this episode is a Malay addition to the Persian prototype (Van RonkeI1895:167-80). In spite of its fantastic nature, or rather thanks to it, Hikayat Amir Hamzah, just as Hikayat Iskandar Zulkarnain, played an important role in the preaching of Islam among the Malays, being a counterbalance to dry treatises on Islamic law, which were studied at the initial stage of the expansion of the new religion. The Muslim 'knight' who was no second to Arjuna or Raden Inu in anything, was welcomed by newly converted readers. His exploits opened to them the absorbing world of popular Muslim legends and mythology and, more importantly, the tale helped them solve harmoniously the problem of the relation between the Islamic and the pre-Islamic tradition. A hero of Amir Hamzah's type, a true vassal and the son-in-law of a pagan king and, at the same time, the Prophet Muhammad's commander, who converted his defeated and pardoned enemies to Islam, was a very convenient figure for this purpose (compare ParnickeI1980:100).

Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah (the 'Tale of Muhammad Hanafiyah') The episode from Sejarah Melayu about the night on the eve of the storming of Malacca by the Portuguese not only points to popularity of Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah (the 'Tale of Muhammad Hanafiyah') in Malacca in the early sixteenth century, but also shows that it was preferred to the monumental epic about Amir Hamzah. 23 Evidently, this is explained partially by the attachment of a magic power (sekti) to the tale (Brakel 1975:11), and partially by traditional Malay assessment of a literary work in direct proportion to its hero's merits (Wilkinson 1907:16). Amir Hamzah, in spite of his

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devotion to 'the faith of Ibrahim', was a figure of the transitional period, who served a Zoroastrian king and performed a great number of exploits of an amorous or fantastic nature, which had little to do with Islam. On the other hand, in the eyes of his first Malay admirers who had been exposed to the influence of Shi'ism, Muhammad Hanafiyah was a true Muslim hero and saint, who had devoted himself completely to the struggle against 'infidels' and the defence of the family of 'Ali, the only legitimate claimant on power in the caliphate from the Shi'ite point of view. At the same time, the Malays were hardly aware that, just like Amir Hamzah, the Muhammad Hanafiyah glorified by the hikayat had little in common with his historical prototype, the caliph' Ali's son by a slave woman, who lived in the troubled times of the struggle between his father's followers with the Umayyads for the caliph's throne and who showed himself as an absolutely passive figure in this struggle (BrakeI1975:1-4). The transformation of Muhammad Hanafiyah into a real hero, connected with an attempt to declare him the 'righteous leader' (mahdi) after the death of his stepbrothers Hasan and Hussain, was initiated by some Shi'ite sects which claimed that he had not died but was only hiding in the mountains, and which expected his 'second coming' before long. An important part in the creation of 'the myth of Muhammad Hanafiyah' was played by a piece written by the medieval Arab writer Abu Mikhnaf, which became the model for the Persian tale formed in the fourteenth century and which was translated into Malay at about the same time (BrakeI1975:25, 54-7). A remarkable feature of the Malay rendering of the Persian tale was the coexistence of two stylistically different strata in it. Almost all the narrative was translated in a smooth idiomatic hikayat style, devoid of awkward calques and literal translations so characteristic for Malay literature of the Islamic period (compare Winstedt 1991:73-4). At the same time, translations of Arab and Persian poetical quotations included in the text, expressions related to Muslim law and paraphrases of Arab sayings were too literal, awkward and sinned against grammar as they reproduced syntactic constructions alien to the Malay language (especially regarding the use of prepositions). A couple of centuries later such a style became usual in learned treatises (kitab), so it can be called the kitab style. It is noteworthy, however, that stylistic confusion and the use of the kitab style in narrative parts of hikayat, not infrequent in the later tradition, was not yet observed in Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah. The two styles still remained mutually complementary and contrasting in the tale; in other words, their use was structurally determined as the choice of 'alternative forms for opposing functions' (BrakeI1975:44). The Persian prototype of the Malay hikayat about Muhammad Hanafiyah consisted of two parts, different in their genre but, nevertheless, making up an integral whole. The first of them, written in the genre of maqtal which

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tells about Ali's sons Hasan and Husain who died the death of martyrs, was designed for dramatized declamation during annual festivities in their honour. This part stood out for the gradual crescendo of its tragic tone, which began to sound, though almost imperceptibly, in the Prophet Muhammad's gloomy apprehensions, assumed hues of unavoidability after the enthronement of the Umayyad caliph Mu' awiah and intensified in particular after the description of the calamities that befell Ali's family. The tragedy reached its culmination in the episodes in which Hussain, abandoned by everybody except a handful of companions, entered a battle with the army of Yazid, Mu'awiah's son and his main adversary, in the valley of Kerbela and died, bemoaned not only by humans but also by nature itself. In the second part, written in the genre of hikayat, this tragic theme found its resolution in the story about Muhammad Hanafiyah's vengeance on Yazid, the murderer of Ali's sons. The same bipartite structure was preserved in the Malay Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah, which, in all likelihood, originally followed the Persian version strictly in both its parts. However, over time, as anti-Shi'ite tendencies intensified in Malay culture, the first part lost its original smoothness and tension, having turned into an amorphous agglomeration of stories, something like a concise exposition of the history of early Islam. This process of the degeneration of maqtal under the influence of insertions and remakes is reflected in the three extant recensions of the Malay hikayat, the most extensive of which includes stories of Muhammad's mystical Light, biographies of the prophet and the righteous caliphs and, only against this background, the story of Hasan's and Husain's martyrdom, which is sometimes concluded by the condemnation of those who might regard Mu' awiah and Yazid as infidels (BrakeI1975:23). The second part of the Persian original has been preserved virtually intact in the Malay recensions. It tells about the thirteen-year-Iong war of Muhammad Hanafiyah and his eight sworn brothers against hordes of Franks, the Chinese, Ethiopians and inhabitants of Zanzibar under the leadership of Yazid and his malicious vizier Marwan; victory achieved by the heroes; the burning of Yazid in a well that he himself dug, the enthronement of Husain's son Zain al-Abidin and, finally, about the disappearance of Muhammad Hanafiyah in a mysterious cave, the door of which closed behind his back. Unlike the amorphous first part of the work, its second part, in spite of the seemingly disorderly description of endless duels, has strict architectonics. It is based on a correct rhythm of the main hero's interaction with his sworn brothers (separation - encounter - separation / / encounter - separation - encounter) forming two complete cycles. In each of them, the sworn brothI

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ers reunite with Muhammad Hanafiyah in a certain succession in the face of a danger, achieve victory, separate again and, hardly having understood that the hardships are over, learn about a new danger (Brakel 1975:66-9). This cyclic structure, with its sharp alternations of joy and sorrow, resembles compositional principles of Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati and a number of works belonging to the later, classical period. Special Malay-Javanese features are added to the tale by its comical characters who, like servants (panakawan) in Panji-romances or Umar Umaya in Hikayat Amir Hamzah, commit absurd actions, have a strange appearance, but are endowed with great powers and come to the rescue of the main heroes more than once or twice. Another peculiarity of the tale, which is largely a Malay innovation, is the strict division of its characters into two camps. The first of them, headed by Muhammad Hanafiyah, is connected with the divine world, as is indicated by prophetic dreams of the main hero and wonderful events that happen to him. The second, headed by Yazid, is connected with the demonic world, as is testified to, for instance, by Yazid's begetting of Mu'awiah, poisoned by a scorpion's venom, and an old black Ethiopian woman; the ugly appearance of his comrades-in-arms and a number of other details. Such a division is specific to wayang plays and tales traceable to them. All these features explain the mechanisms, which facilitated the appropriation and perception of Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah by the Malay audience as well as its durable popularity.

Historical literature Hikayat raja Pasai (the 'Tale of the rajas of Pasai') Hikayat raja Pasai (the 'Tale of the rajas of Pasai'), the earliest Malay historical writing that has survived, was created, presumably, in the late fourteenth century and became a model for a number of subsequent chronicles, in particular, Sejarah Melayu. 24 It combines features which would be called historical and mythological today, and has a surprisingly well-balanced structure determined by the traditional Malay state-ethical doctrine permeating the work, although this was not formulated in the tale directly (see, for instance, De Josselin de Jong 1964, 1980). This doctrine, based on belief in a harmonious world order protected by the ruler, is traceable to pre-Muslim ideas, animistic and Hindu-Buddhist. However, it assumed completeness in and was sanctified by the later Islamic concept of correct state arrangement which was closer to Persian rather than to the Arab model (Zahoder 1949:11-5). According to this doctrine, the ruler

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is the bearer of the sacral power and must rule justly, while his subjects must be loyal to the throne, no matter how tyrannical his rule might be. Otherwise the state and cosmic harmony are upset and severe retribution following its restoration is in store for the guilty. Consequences of the fulfillment and the violation of this state ethics are illustrated in the two symmetrical parts of the hikayat. The first part treats of the origin of the ruling dynasty of the twofold state of Samudra-Pasai founded by a prince brought up by a wise elephant and a princess found in a hollow bamboo stem; the supernatural conversion of the ruler of Samudra to Islam; the founding of the state of Pasai by him in the place where a courageous mouse-deer made an immense hound named Si Pasai take flight; and finally, it treats of the flourishing of the state in the epoch of its first sultans and the growth of its might, reaching its peak at the moment when Pasai has successfully repulsed the Siamese attack. The message of the first part is the virtually unimpeded rise of Pasai, based on the union of its just rulers and their devoted subjects, although sometimes-ominous shadows hang over the sultan's life in the narrative. On the contrary, the second part, the most expressive in literary respects, illustrates, based on the example of 'passions' of the prince Tun Beraim Bapa, how the violation of this union brings the state into decline, resulting in the defeat of the cruel and unjust Sultan Ahmad in a war with Majapahit and the conquest of Pasai. The archaic language, numerous formulaic repetitions and rhythmic passages inserted into the text of the second part betray a connection between the hikayat and the oral epic tradition (W. Kern 1956:13-21). However, the latter was the tradition of the historical epic, that was formed close in the tracks of events and, in addition to it, passed the stage of re-casting in the written tradition. The literary talent of the author of the second part manifested itself in its orderly and tight composition, masterly use of subtext and precise selection of details. Suffice it to recall the rose petals in the untidy hair of the sultan's sleepy concubine who was hurrying to his call, which gleamed for a moment in the moonlight (Hill 1960:78); the long, 'gourmand' list of the 'sea-food' which Tun Beraim Bapa was sent to obtain ('crustaceans with eyes on stalks, crabs with oar-like fins, prawns with curling tails, lembedak-fish with roes, and catfish heavy with eggs', Hill 1960:147); or the sultan's boats crowded in the middle of the river which were carried down the stream rapidly as soon as the prince broke the log which held them (Hill 1960:87-9), and so on. The prelude to the tragedy is the scene in which Sultan Ahmad's father describes the ideal and just ruler to his son on his deathbed and warns him against lawlessness. However, Sultan Ahmad remains deaf to his father's injunction and is ready to yield to passion for his beautiful daughters in defiance of all cosmic and ethical laws. The further narration is based on a plastic

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and psychologically convincing opposition of two lines of the plot: the story of Tun Beraim Bapa and the story of Sultan Ahmad, his father. Each episode demonstrating the prince's straightforwardness, courage and faithfulness to his duty is countered by an episode demonstrating the sultan's vindictiveness, cowardice and perfidy. The contrast between them is emphasized also by the fact that the sultan constantly resorts to lies, concealing his intentions, while Tun Beraim Bapa's actions give no hint of secretiveness, although the sultan deliberately ascribes false motives to the prince's sincere impulses. This contrast is particularly clear in the dual treatment of the theme of illicit love liaisons, so common in traditional Malay literature. Incest is one of the most terrible crimes that can be committed by the ruler, which, in the opinion of the Malays, leads the country to destruction. Intending incest, Sultan Ahmad conceals his secret thoughts under the guise of an innocent question: who must be the first to taste the fruit of his garden: the gardener or a stranger? One of the gravest offences of a subject against his ruler is encroachment on the ruler's concubine. Not even allowing himself a thought about such a low act, Tun Beraim Bapa runs after the sultan's concubine, enraged by her interpretation of his polite interest in the bunch of flowers in her hands as an attempt at flirting. Thus he provides the sultan with a pretext to accuse his son of pursuit of the ruler's concubine. This dooms the prince to death, because at last the sultan can present his murder as a lawful act. Tun Beraim Bapa is aware that only if he rebelled he would be able to oppose slander. However the rebellion against the king, his father and suzerain, would violate the social and cosmic law: therefore it is absolutely inadmissible. Hence the feeling of being doomed with which he sets off for the fatal fishing, his complete obedience to fate, and death after excruciating agony, of which the description evokes associations with myths about tortures of a soul descending to the kingdom of the dead. The social, or rather state, ethics of the hikayat is inseparable from its religious ethics. Sultan Ahmad indulges in base passions and thus incurs the destruction of his children, his country and himself. Being true to his duty, Tun Beraim Bapa suppresses his rebellious impulses and achieves complete self-denial. This is why his comrades-in-arms bury him on a mountain bearing the significant name of Fadlallah (Arabic: 'Mercy of Allah' or 'Superiority of Allah'), as if he were a dervish, a Muslim ascetic who has renounced his ego. After poisoning his son and daughters, Sultan Ahmad is unable to control himself any longer. His second son - handsome Abd al-Jalil with whom the daughter of the Majapahit ruler falls in love, having seen his portrait - becomes his next victim. The Sultan executes him too on an impulse of jealousy, and the princess who has arrived for her chosen one implores Allah to make her boat sink and perishes in the sea. The enraged father of the princess

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sends the army of Majapahit against Pasai devoid of defenders, pillages the city and forcibly resettle its captive residents to Java. Sultan Ahmad flees. The story could end here, because the world harmony has been restored, albeit at too dear a price. However, a kind of epilogue follows, containing the description of numerous victories of the Majapahit army and the defeat that it suffered as a result of a stratagem employed by the Sumatran Minangkabau people. This epilogue seems to be poorly connected with the preceding events. Nevertheless, the incongruity of the epilogue is only a seeming one. It can be surmised that Hikayat raja Pasai was completed soon after the country was conquered by Majapahit (in the fourteenth century). Its purpose, therefore, was to explain the reasons for the defeat and to raise the morale of inhabitants of Pasai by the description of their country's past grandeur. The role played by the epilogue becomes clearer in this context: it demonstrated that Pasai, even weakened by unjust rule, was conquered only by the most powerful of enemies; however, even this enemy could be resisted.

Sejarah Melayu (the 'Malay annals') Their battle for Malacca lost, the Malay chiefs fled, Sultan Mahrnud to Batu Hampar up the Malacca river, his son Ahmad south to Pagoh on the Muar, where the grave of his grandfather (with its texts on the vanity of life) was then still white, hardly more than two decades old. But Ahmad's last stand for the ashes of his ancestors failed. [... J The Portuguese forced the hot-head to join his father in flight across the Peninsula through forest depths no enemy dared to penetrate. It was a small party for the emperor of the Malacca kingdom, only the Sultan and his family and some fifty followers. And a sorry progress it must have been: women and children weak from hardships; sickened by the rolling gait of elephants as they were tilted up and down ravines; missing the sea-fish and luxuries of the cosmopolitan port they had left forever; lamenting lost silks and trinkets, fugitive slaves and relatives killed in the fighting; afraid of the malignant spirits lurking in that great sea of forest. (Winstedt 1935:138.)

This is how a modern scholar, compensating for scarce lines of the author of Sejarah Melayu (the 'Malay annals') with his power of imagination, describes the tragic finale of the most brilliant period in late medieval Malay history, the exodus from Malacca which dominated the Southern Seas for more than a century and which had now been captured by the Portuguese. Malacca fell. The nocturnal reading of the tale about exploits of Muhammad Hanafiyah was unable to protect it from the guns of the Franks (Peringgi). It was in vain that the exiled sultan appealed to the emperor of China for help. Equally futile were his attempts to liberate the city with his own forces. The capital of the state was lost, and it was lost forever, as became clearer and clearer with every coming year. The more obvious the loss became, the more urgent was the task of

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explaining the mysterious story of Malacca's rapid rise and its sudden fall; these were events in which a traditional Malay could not fail to see a providential meaning. The anonymous author of Sejarah Melayu, Sultan Mahmud Syah's contemporary who survived the fall of the city and who, as can be surmised, was a descendant of a bendahara family, that is, the family of Malacca's chancellors or supreme viziers, decided to throw light on this problem. Following the genealogical principle, he narrated a detailed history of Malaccan rulers, their brief and possibly legendary rule in Singapore (Wolters 1970:136-53) and, most importantly, in Malacca, and about the year 1536 he wrote a chronicle to whose lot it fell to playa no less outstanding role in Malay literature than the role played by Malacca in Malay history.25 We do not know whether he was the first who began writing the chronicle of Malacca. It is not ruled out that its earliest version appeared in 1436 when Muhammad Syah, the third ruler of Malacca, adopted Islam (Wolters 1970: 163-8) and that it was revised and complemented in 1484 during the rule of Sultan Mansur Syah. 26 Be that as it may, the descendant of the bendahara most probably described the rule of Sultans Alauddin Syah and Mahmud Syah, somewhat modified the already existing text, and brought its older and newer parts into conformity with each other, which allows us to regard him, though not without reserve, as the author of the first extant recension of the whole work. The original preface to the 1536 recension (which will be dealt with below) has not survived, but it is difficult to doubt that its author tried to fulfil the same task that in 1612 was set for Tun Seri Lanang who was commissioned by the sultan of Johor 'to tell about dynastic ties and ways of Malay rulers, so that their descendants [... ] will get profit [from this narration], (Situmorang and Teeuw 1958:2). By profit the Malay tradition understood the edifying meaning of events, and it was the author's task to reveal it to the reader. An example of such a revealing of the hidden meaning of history was contained in Hikayat raja Pasai, which was well known to the chronicler. However, the task of the author of Sejarah Melayu was to interpret the history not of a separate Sumatran principality, but of a powerful empire, which successfully laid claim to supreme suzerainty in the Malay world. Besides, for a century and a half, Islam had consolidated its positions in that part of the world in a remarkable way, and principles followed by the author of the chronicle must have corresponded with the spirit of Islamic dynastic historiography - even if in its more provincial, genealogical version (Rosenthal 1968:96-7) - more accurately than before. Therefore, the state concept, expounded by him in the initial part of Sejarah Melayu, was considerably 'revised and supplemented' as compared to his Pasai predecessor's work. Firstly, the chronicler radically revised the primordial 'political' myth of the origin, according to which the ancestors of Malay rulers had been born

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of a union of supernatural beings personifying the elements of the sun (the Upper world), water (the Netherworld) and earth (the Middle world). Malay sultans needed no 'usual' supernatural ancestors, but a great Muslim forefather, Iskandar Zulkarnain, the great conqueror of the world who spread 'the faith of Ibrahim' to its farthest limits. The only concession to local mythology aimed at the preservation of 'the tie of epochs' was the statement that the founders of Malay ruling houses were born in the sea of the union of the sea princess and Iskandar's grandson and subsequently descended on Mount Seguntang Mahameru from the sky (Winstedt 1938a:52-6). The old myth ensured legitimacy of Malay rulers and gave a halo of magical powers to their rule. Having kept the same features in the chronicler's interpretation, the new myth of their kinship with Iskandar Zulkarnain allowed the Malacca sultans, as well as the Malays as a whole, to enter the Islamic world as equals and find a history for themselves in it. Afterwards the same idea would be successfully developed by the Gujarati theologian Nuruddin ar-Raniri in his work Bustan as-salatin (the 'Garden of sultans'), while Tun Seri Lanang, who tried to introduce more indigenous and ancient Indian elements into the 'myth of Iskandar', only created a great number of insoluble controversies in his chronicle. Secondly, the rather rough social ethics of Hikayat raja Pasai, which had not yet been clearly formulated and which limited neither the subdued position of subjects nor the ruler's authority over them, acquired the more refined and humane form of a social contract in Sejarah Melayu. Subjects take the oath of allegiance to the dynasty, no matter how cruel their rulers are, while the latter promise not to disgrace their subjects, no matter how grave their guilt might be, and always treat them in accordance with precepts of shariat (Winstedt 1938a:57). Every sultan of Malacca casts a fresh glance, as it were, at this contract, of which the supreme arbiter is Allah himself, in his deathbed injunctions to his successor and specifies the duties of a ruler. A particularly detailed exposition of these duties was made by Sultan Alauddin, according to whom a ruler must be God-fearing and just; he must listen to advice given by his counsellors, he should not make encroachments on his subjects' property nor punish them without a careful investigation, because the kingdom of the ruler who 'puts them [that is, his subjects] to death when they have done no wrong [... ] will be brought to nought' (Brown 1952:124). The harmonizing effect of the social contract on Malay history became obvious immediately after it was concluded. Thanks to it, the magic power of the first Malay ruler Seri Tri Buana, which had been evil and chaotic and had caused a severe skin disease in his brides, became controlled and used for praiseworthy purposes (Winstedt 1938a:56-8). Seri Tri Buana married a local elder's daughter, and his relations with his subjects assumed the form of a conjugal union of the Malay king and the Malay land and people symbolized

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by the bendahara in the chronicle, which promised prosperity to the country (De Josselin de Jong 1980:6). No less definite were also the consequences of violation of the social contract. When the last Singaporean and first Malaccan ruler Iskandar Syah inflicted a disgraceful capital punishment on one of his concubines on a false accusation, Majapahit troops levelled Singapore to the ground (Winstedt 1938a:81). The motif of a social contract not only offered a key to the hidden meaning of events of the past, but also allowed the chronicler to imbue a hope for the future in his contemporaries, because the contract, guaranteed by Allah, was eternal and immutable and, as long as Tun Seri Buana's successors who were ready to comply with the contract together with their subjects were alive, the glory of the Malays had chances of reviving (De Josselin de Jong 1964:240-1). Finally, it is impossible to overestimate the structuralizing role of this motif in making the chronicle one integral, although in principle open, work of which the individual episodes are not infrequently subordinated to it through a chain of mediating links. Like his Pasai predecessor, the author of Sejarah Melayu describes the history of the gradual rise and the sudden fall of the state, in which the favourite idea of Muslim chronicles of the transient nature of earthly glory was clearly and tangibly embodied (compare Rosenthal 1968:39). This work cannot but amaze the reader by the unusual erudition of its author. With ease he uses local and common Malay myths and traditions, aetiologicallegends and folk songs, genealogies of rulers and oral 'memoirs' of aristocratic families as well as many literary sources. Besides, he can quote a hadith in the language of the original, a Persian aphorism or a humorous Javanese folksong. The author of the annals, who managed to fuse all these elements into one whole, can be regarded as one of the pioneers of the literary synthesis, which was so typical for the subsequent evolution of traditional Malay literature. Under the chronicler's pen, the history of Malacca ruled by Iskandar Zulkarnain's descendants, who remained faithful to the primeval social contract, turns into an uninterrupted ascent to the peak of glory. The founding of the city in an auspicious place and its transformation from a God-forsaken hamlet into a large sea port in which Islam spread, adopted from the prophet himself in the times of the third ruler, Muhammad Syah (Winstedt 1938a: 83-4); the repulsion of the Siamese invasion in the times of his son Muzaffar Syah (at first Malays managed to make the enemy believe that the forest set on fire was campfires of the innumerable Malay army; then they caused the death of the Siamese commander with the help of charms of one of the prophet's descendants, Winstedt 1938a:93-100); the conclusion of peace with Siam and the first steps to gather Malay lands, which was especially successful in the reign of Mansur Syah who established friendly relations with China and Majapahit (Winstedt 1938a:104-lO, 116-8, 122-3); the continuation

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of the conquests and centralization of the empire under his successor Sultan Alauddin whose control over his vassals was so firm that they did not dare to pass a death sentence without his approval (Winstedt 1938a:142-5) - such were the main milestones of this brilliant rise. Coups, similar to the murder of the under-aged Sultan Abu Syahid which took place on a dark and foggy night (Winstedt 1938a:92), intrigues and squabbles in the milieu of top courtiers, and cases of disobedience of vassals were, up to a certain moment, only casual episodes which, in the opinion of the chronicler, could not belittle the grandeur of the whole. Depicting this grandeur, the author resorts to all means at his disposal, from traditional descriptions of victorious battles, when 'swords shine like crisscrossing lightning' and 'streams of blood run across the battlefield', to his favourite stories about Malaccan diplomats, ingenious, witty and resourceful, who are able to protect the king's dignity even in the most unfavourable situations (Winstedt 1938a:99-100, 118-9, 178-9); from extremely detailed and picturesque descriptions of magnificent court ceremonies, customs and prohibitions (Winstedt 1938a:94-8) to narratives about the wealth of merchants who came to Malacca and the numerous bazaars of the city which was so densely populated that one needed to take no torch with one, setting off for the distant outskirts, because the traveller was surrounded by well-lit houses of townsmen (Winstedt 1938a:181). It is with truly imperial grandeur that the chronicler carries us from one vassal principality to another, not forgetting to mention their history, famous people, internal problems and natural resources. Like an experienced statesman concerned with the formulation of long-term policy, he quotes lists of 'great powers' and shows afterwards how Malacca surpasses them or at least stands on an equal footing among them. In those cases when neither military force nor ingenious diplomacy can help Malacca overcome an enemy, when even the very idea of confrontation seems absurd, the author of the annals 'resorts to arms' himself, and the history of Malacca turns into a succession of victories, real and fictitious, under his pen. Thus, thanks to his efforts (or to the inventiveness of his predecessor), Sultan Mansur Syah easily proves his superiority over the Chinese emperor. Like the relations of Tun Seri Buana with his subjects, which have not yet become correct and legitimate, the 'incorrect' recognition of Chinese suzerainty, confirmed by Mansur Syah's bowing (sembah) to the emperor, awakens the evil aspect of the sultan's magic power, and the ruler of China, just like Seri Tri Buana's brides, becomes ill with leprosy. However, he can be cured not simply by the restoration of equal relations, but by bathing in water in which Mansur Syah has washed his feet first, an act, which is not devoid of a tinge of humiliation. Thus the author of the annals not only makes Malacca and China equal, but even hints slyly at the superiority of his native country. The old conflict with Majapahit is settled in an even more

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sophisticated way in Sejarah Melayu (see Chapter 11). Thus, Malacca has reached the height of its glory. Sultan Alauddin's son Sultan Mahmud Syah mounts the throne and inherits a vast empire, which includes almost all the Malay Peninsula and the eastern coast of Sumatra. Trade, the main source of revenues, is flourishing. Here the part of Sejarah Melayu composed in the 'major key' approaches an end, but before we pass to the picture of the destruction of the city drawn by the chronicler, it is necessary to cast a more attentive glance at his literary style in order to appreciate better the peculiarities of that part of the chronicle which is composed in the 'minor key'. The author of Sejarah Melayu is not only an erudite historiographer, but also a talented writer whose simpl~, lucid and clear style, recognized as exemplary for Malay court prose, matches perfectly his descriptive skilt which also remains unsurpassed in Malay literature. The most important feature of his style is the tendency to avoid straightforward assessments and to express the author's ideas of people and events with the help of carefully selected stories which are written with graphically visual clarity and whose heroes are characterized mostly by their own speeches and deeds. These stories differ in length and the type of narration. As a rule, they are more lengthy in the first half of the chronicle, more traditional and contain more loci communes and legendary motifs, while in the second part, particularly in the chapters about the rule of Sultan Alauddin and Sultan Mahmud Syah, the stories become shorter and reflect the chronicler's artistic individuality in a more sharply defined way. The large group of these stories, or rather novellas, containing portraits of residents of Malacca is especially interesting from a literary point of view. Most novellas of this group are very simple in their structure. Each is an independent and complete miniature, with minimal action and background. The expressive quality of each stems from a single, perfectly made point using a precise detail or a terse phrase to pin down a typical trait of the hero of the novella. It is precisely this technique of creating slightly grotesque portraits, which accounts for the repute of Sejarah Melayu. These portraits' catch' only the most important, most specific aspects of every personage, as if in a painting made with a single stroke of the brush. The hero is marked by an expressive detail once and for all, so that the reader will remember him for a long time, as, for instance, the wise bendahara Perak, the inspirer of state policy who was a master at uttering stinging remarks to cut down to size a courtier interfering in his affairs, and who circumspectly avoids ambiguous situations, refusing to sit in the palanquin granted to him by the sultan (Winstedt 1938a:95, 138-9); or Tumenggung Hasan, a master of feasts who with the elegance of a dancer would glide among the guests, directing servants with graceful motions of his fan to cor-

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rect some imperfection (Winstedt 1938a:160); or the poor drunk, supervisor of the sultan's elephants, Seri Rama, who rebuffs a haughty visiting missionary with his trenchant reply in rhymed Arabic (Winstedt 1938a:177-8). In his desire to preserve for the posterity all that is most notable and remarkable in the life of Malacca, the chronicler pays special attention to those episodes in which the wits, inventiveness or special skills of his heroes are manifested, and also to whims and fancies which add to their liveliness, human warmth and realism. He admires the sultan's messengers who managed to behold the Chinese emperor by a ruse and who read the message addressed to him so ingeniously that the ruler of a neighbouring state became convinced that the sultan of Malacca was the emperor's equal in his greatness (Winstedt 1938a:118). He says that one of the would-be laksamana was a skilful painter and carver; that Seriwa Raja managed horses and elephants with surprising deftness; that the son of bendahara Tun Perak was a master at playing chess, while Ishak Berakah was so swift that he could cross a river, running by a floating log but not even wetting his feet (Winstedt 1938a:154-5, 157, 166). At the same time, in his usual impassive manner in which, here and there, a touch of irony and a smile of surprise are discernible, the author of the chronicle tells about Zain al-Abidin, a dandy and ladies' man, who perfumed his horse with expensive fragrances; or about the half-mad qadi Yusuf tirelessly fighting with boys who launched kites from the roof of his house; or about the same Seriwa Raja who preferred playing on a swing in his garden to hurrying to the court when he was summoned by the sultan (Winstedt 1938a:153, 157, 158). As a matter of fact, a sense of humour, which is found comparatively rarely in traditional Malay court prose, is undoubtedly characteristic of the author of Sejarah Melayu. He likes to tell, for instance, about comic situations in which heroes of the chronicle suddenly find themselves: about an elderly courtier's funny concern that the colour of the kerchief - used for binding his good-for-nothing son before delivering him to the sultan for committing one more offence - must match that of his clothes; or about a greedy newlywed who ate up all the ritual rice on the pretext that the wedding had cost him too much; or about the futile attempts of an Arab theologian to utter at least one Malay word correctly (Winstedt 1938a:157, 178, 188-9). It is noteworthy that portraits of rulers, presumably the main heroes of the chronicle, are much less bright than those of the courtiers who surround them, especially bendahara Tun Perak and Tun Mutahir, who are the real protagonists of the work (compare De Josselin de Jong 1980). Besides, the more a sultan corresponds to the ideal of state ethics, the less we know about him as a human being. In such cases the author assigns him the role of an immobilis mobile of the events, who remains in the background and appears only at

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official ceremonies in order to give instructions concerning a coming political move or reward those who have successfully accomplished a mission. However, if a ruler is far from this ideal, he is portrayed in many novellas in which an unambiguous, albeit indirect, verdict is passed to him. Thus, he receives the traits of an individualized human being. This rule manifests itself especially clearly when we compare descriptions of the reign of Sultan Mansur Syah, in whose time Malacca reached the peak of its prosperity, and the reign of Sultan Mahmud Syah who was responsible for its fall. Despite the long story of the former's exploits (more exactly, of bendahara Tun Perak's deeds performed during his reign), we have to judge his human qualities from standard praises by the chronicler, a couple of expressive remarks and, perhaps, from the sultan's admiration of the noble behaviour of the bendahara who made a positive reference to a courtier who had denigrated him earlier (Winstedt 1938a:134). At the same time, the portrait of the latter is a real masterpiece of Malay classical literature. However, it must be borne in mind that actions of heroes in Sejarah Melayu are so conditioned by local ways, the traditional system of values and by peculiarities of Malay national mentality that it is difficult to understand whether a certain personage is good or bad in the author's opinion, if we disregard such factors. It is not often that heroes of the chronicle, especially its protagonists, appear only in one novella or in a compact group of novellas. As a rule, their life stories are built from separate 'quanta', punctuating a considerable part of the whole work. Thus, a novella about a particular character is followed by novellas about another character and yet others, after which the first character resurfaces as the focus of a novella, to be replaced again by another character, and so on. Thanks to this feature, the second half of the Sejarah Melayu resembles intricate wickerwork of motley branches woven in and out of sight like a series of dotted lines, which together form an integral pattern. We could say that the tiers of the wickerwork are ordered according to the periods of reign of the successive sultans of Malacca, while the pattern formed by the branches presents the author's concept of state ethics as expressed through his heroes' lives, and, finally, that the different colours of the branches stand for the individual fate of each hero. The complicated technique of the 'dotted-line' description of characters - implemented consistently as an important narrative principle in the second half of the chronicle - renders these life stories more flexible as material for the exposition of the author's concepts. Moreover, it is instrumental in creating the impression, if not of developing, at least of ever more completely unfolding characters. It is precisely this technique which - by creating the illusion of a simultaneous movement or conversation, or a roll-call of a great multitude of people, all with their individual passions and attachments, whims and pranks - engenders an amazingly true-to-life atmosphere of

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Sejarah Melayu, an atmosphere in which we discern an unmistakable note of nostalgia. This is not merely an 'official' yearning for bygone days of power and glory, but also a very personal nostalgia for the inimitable individuality of the past, its everyday life and its people, so gifted and so different from one another. This technique reaches its peak of expressiveness in the account of the fall of Malacca, which even develops into a kind of novel. Like the capture of Pasai by the army of Majapahit, the fall of Malacca is explained in the chronicle by violation of the state ethics, that is, by the cruel and unjust execution of the great bendahara Tun Mutahir (Seri Maharaja) and all his family on the orders of Sultan Mahmud Syah. However, unlike his Pasai predecessor, the Malaccan chronicler does not devote a separate 'inserted story' written in a generalized style of the epic narrative to these events. Using his favourite 'dotted-line' technique, he weaves novellas, revealing the images of bendahara and the sultan, into the integral tissue of the history of Malacca with such a great skill that their confrontation becomes the pivotal theme of the 'minor key' part of the chronicle. On the one hand, different facets of this theme are reflected in the narration about the fates of other characters, and on the other hand, while steadily approaching a tragic denouement, this theme reflects the shadow of this denouement at every stage of its development. The chronicle mentions the would-be bendahara for the first time as early as the chapter about Sultan Muzaffar Syah's times. Soon we learn about the death of Tun Mutahir's father, who left his children in the care of bendahara Tun Perak, and about the appointment of the promising youth to the post of the tumenggung, the head of the city guard. After that, Tun Mutahir disappears from the scene for a long time, only to reappear in the years of Sultan Alauddin's reign and be rebuked by the sultan for being poorly informed about the outrages of thieves in Malacca. The tumenggung makes the city guard stricter and orders a Malaccan to be executed for an offence against Mahmud, the young successor to the throne. Having learned about it, Tun Perak, Tun Mutahir's tutor, exclaims: 'Look at the Seri Maharaja [Tun Mutahir's title], he's teaching a tiger cub to eat flesh. One of these days he himself will be caught by the tiger' (Brown 1952:115). Thus the paths of these heroes, whose encounter promises nothing good, cross for the first time. Even gloomier apprehensions are aroused by two prophecies contained in the chronicle. Bendahara Tun Perak, who gives last injunctions to his grandsons on his deathbed, says to Tun Mutahir: 'You, Mutahir, will be a great man; your greatness will exceed mine. But think not to play the part of uncle of the Raja. If such a thought comes into your mind, you will be killed' (Brown 1952:118-9). Sultan Alauddin tries to instil respect for justice in Mahmud before his death, but his above-mentioned list of the actions forbidden to a ruler is only a poorly disguised prophecy of precepts that will be violated.

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Mahmud becomes the sultan, marking the beginning of his reign by the not very convincingly grounded execution of one of the most outstanding dignitaries. Again, this is only one of numerous hints at the approaching denouement. For the time being, the author passes from the unjust execution to 'encroachments on other peoples' property', their wives in particular, that is, to the sultan's amorous adventures. The first of them was paid for by the life of a certain Tun Ali, as well as his murderer, Tun Ishak, who stabbed the ruler's rival after Sultan Mahmud offered Tun Ishak some betel from his vessel. Gloomily secretive as usual, the sultan did not say a word, but his unexpectedly generous gesture meant that this favour would have to be paid for (Winstedt 1938a:151-2). Before his death Tun Perak warned Tun Ishak against serving Sultan Mahmud. The fact that this prophecy came true prepares the reader to expect that the other prophecy, addressed to Tun Mutahir, will also come true, especially because he is also doomed to die because of Sultan Mahmud's infatuation. The second adventure nearly brings Sultan Mahmud himself to the brink of death: only the reluctance of the offended husband to violate the primeval contract saves the sultan. Then follow a series of novellas about Sultan Mahmud's favourites, persons out of the ordinary, but avaricious and neglecting their duties. Finally, we again read about a murder secretly arranged by the sultan who was able to prevent his anger from showing. This time he arranged the murder of his stepbrother, handsome dandy Zain al-Abidin, who enjoyed greater success with women than Sultan Mahmud (Winstedt 1938a:158). No matter how terrible Sultan Mahmud's actions are, the chronicler portrays him not with black paint alone. The sultan is able to appreciate the generosity of the offended husband who spared his life, to stop his favourites who tend to go to extremes, or to bow to the half-mad qadi Yusuf in search of Sufi wisdom. The sultan is described as a man with a complicated and contradictory character. However, at decisive moments indulgence in his passions takes the upper hand, and this is precisely what turns the 'tiger cub' into a real tiger. Tun Mutahir is absent from the scene for all that time and makes a new appearance only after Mahmud Syah hands him the traditional bendahara inkpot and makes him the country's number two man on his mother's advice. Malacca prospers under his administration. He is just, generous and takes so much care of merchants that he becomes one of the symbols of the city's prosperity over time. That is why, when the merchants' ships were bound for Malacca, the masters of the ships exclaimed: 'May we reach Malacca safely and see Pisang Jeram, the stream of Bukit Cina and Bendahara Seri Maharaja!' (Brown 1952:134). Allah gave him numerous children and grandchildren; however, even in his old age he was still quite handsome and liked

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to consult his wife on which turban matches his attire best, standing before a full-length mirror. But, most importantly, he was so rich and influential that he rose to his feet only before the heir to the throne, while Sultan Mahmud Syah, as long as he was well-disposed towards his bendahara, claimed that an offence against the latter was equal to an offence against the monarch himself. However, concluding this series of tales on quite an optimistic note, the chronicler makes the main 'minor key' theme sound in a muted way too. The bendahara's brother marries his daughter to the sultan. Relying on Mahmud Syah's benevolent disposition, Tun Mutahir will not follow his example and will die (Winstedt 1938a:160-1). Episodes with contrasting life-stories replace one another. In one of them, the sultan mistreats his vassals: first he takes Raja Pahang's bride away from him (again the same theme of amorous adventures), and then orders his messenger, whom he sends to comfort the humiliated raja, to steal his favourite elephant. 'The Raja of Malacca [Sultan Mahmud Syah] has treated us as people treat a monkey, putting a banana into its mouth with one hand and sticking thorns into its rump with the other' (Brown 1952:150), complains the despairing vassal bitterly and begins the life of a hermit, thus foreshadowing the fate of belatedly repentent Sultan Mahmud (Winstedt 1938a:175-6). In another episode, Tun Mutahir discusses sciences with a theologian who has recently arrived in Malacca; invents the sending of a 'live letter', a messenger who has learned the text by heart, to Pasai; and defeats the army of Ligor which has invaded Pahang (Winstedt 1938a:177-81). Of course, according to contemporary standards, Tun Mutahir is far from an example of righteousness incarnate. In novellas about him the arrogance and the ability not to miss his profit can be read, but from the chronicler's point of view he is certainly an ideal of a high dignitary, rich, powerful, crafty and devoted to his suzerain. Now the characters of the heroes have finally been outlined. It is time for the chronicler to confront them resolutely. However, to him the death of the bendahara is the cause of Malacca's fall, so he prefaces the description of tragic events with a prophecy made by a Portuguese captain: 'As long as the Bendahara Seri Maharaja is alive, Malacca will never fall' (Brown 1952:158). This is the last of the prophecies and it must come true like all the preceding ones - henceforth the bendahara's death is predetermined. One more time the cause of the tragedy is Mahmud Syah's unbridled lust. Despite warnings, the bendahara who is firmly resolved to marry his daughter Fatimah to his nephew, Tun Tahir's son, is unwilling to show her to the sultan before the marriage. However, the failure to invite Mahmud Syah to the wedding ceremony is tantamount to insulting him. Naturally, the sultan who sees Fatima in the costume of a bride falls in love with her immediately and harbours resentment against her 'slow-witted' father (Winstedt 1938a:183). The reader who knows the outcome of suppressed outbursts of the sultan's anger

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is aware of how grave the situation is, while the chronicler completes the bendahara's portrait by novellas about his whims, as if by way of casting a last glance at his favourite hero. This time we see elderly Tun Mutahir in his family circle: he 'spoils' his children and grandchildren, giving a handful of gold sand to each of the younger ones to play with and smiles condescendingly, having learnt that the older ones are 'hunting' for buffaloes in his enclosure after they failed to kill the deer in the jungle (Winstedt 1938a:184). These idyllic scenes are immediately followed by a sinister episode increasing the suspense - the bendahara sharply pulls up a distinguished Tamil merchant, Raja Mudaliar, who has violated the etiquette, daring to greet him in the sultan's palace. This episode has two implications: first, it emphasizes the bendahara's devotion to the sultan one more time; second, it confirms the merchant in the idea that Tun Mutahir envies his wealth and is ready to do away with him. Subsequent events develop rapidly: the visit of Raja Mudaliar's debtor to him and the calumniation of the bendahara; the denunciation of Tun Mutahir to the sultan's favourite, the laksamana (admiral), and the slanderous report of the laksamana who, having yielded to the power of money, assures Sultan Mahmud that Tun Mutahir has intended to usurp power and that he has even ordered a new throne to be made for him. At last the sultan, who has waited patiently for his hour to come, has free hands. Executioners carrying, according to the custom, the sultan's dagger on a tray covered with his yellow kerchief comes immediately to the bendahara's house. It is in vain that the bendahara's relatives implore Tun Mutahir to offer resistance. It is in vain that his son, Temenggung Hasan, is spoiling for a fight. The bendahara, staunch in his loyalty to the primordial contract, meets death calmly and firmly. Of all his family, little Hamzah, the terrible scar on whose head will remain as the memory of a massacre, is the only survivor (Winstedt 1938a:186-7). It seems that Sultan Mahmud can feel elated, because he has achieved his desired goal at last. However, the marriage bought at the price of crime will bring him no joy. Fatimah who has never smiled since then, his last or possibly first real love, and Harnzah, whom he has taken into his home, make him feel pangs of conscience, which cannot be relieved by the execution of calumniators. Having abdicated, Mahmud Syah lives the life of a recluse in order to regain lost balance of mind in Sufi mysticism. On the eve of the fall of the city we see him riding on horseback across a valley in the company of his only servant who tramples down the track, because the sultan does not want to see anyone, and prepares a portion of betel for his master as he runs after him, keeping up with his horse (Winstedt 1938a:190). And then the gloomy exodus of Sultan Mahmud from Malacca struck by God's wrath, unsuccessful attempts to restore the former glory of his state and a new crime - the murder of his son, Ahmad.

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This is how, in conformity with the concept of the social contract, humane for that age, the author of Sejarah Melayu demonstrates that justice brings a state to prosperity, while tyranny destroys it. He does this with a remarkable skill, which seems amazingly modern sometimes.

Notes Several tales about the Pandawa and the Korawa, which were composed in the second half of the nineteenth century and, being original works, have virtually nothing in common with the plots that occur in Mahabharata, have been published recently. Among the publications of these tales, more often than not based on wayang plays, we can mention, for instance, the books by Jamilah Haji Ahmad (1981), Khalid Hussain (1992), and so on. For a summary of Hikayat Pandawa lebur, another work totally different from Mahabharata, see Liaw Yock Fang 1991-93, I: 90-1. 2 For the extant manuscripts of Pandawa tales related to Mahabharata and its Old Javanese derivatives, which make up a group of similar literary works, see Chambert-Loir 1977:265 and Brakel 1980:153-5. Besides the works mentioned in Chapter II note 25, this group includes Hikayat Pandawa (the 'Tale of the Pandawa'), Hikayat Pandawa panca kelima (the 'Tale of the all five Pandawa') and Hikayat Pandawa lima (the 'Tale of the five Pandawa'). Only the latter hikayat of the entire group has been rather carelessly published so far by Khalid Hussein (1964), whereas none of them has been translated into any European language; see, however, the detailed summary of Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya (the 'Tale of the war of the victorious Pandawa') by Van der Tuuk (1875) and an abbreviated translation of this summary by Liaw Yock Fang (1991-93, 1:86-90) as well as the translation of a few episodes from these Pandawa tales into French and Russian by Chambert-Loir (1977:286-91) and Braginsky (1982:50-68) respectively.

As the edition of Winstedt's History of classical Malay literature published by Y.A. Taib in 1991 contains the most complete, revised version of the book, which includes a number of passages omitted in its earlier versions for various reasons, it is precisely this edition that is quoted here and below. The lightning drinking water and, thus, becoming stronger is evidently an image borrowed form Javanese mythology. The Javanese chronicle Babad Tanah Jawi (the 'Chronicle of Java') of the seventeenth century tells about the old man-lightning placed in a cage, who broke away from it with a deafening thunder as soon as he was given some water to drink (Olthof 1941:46-7).

4

Malay text: ranjau - literally 'caltrop; bamboo spike or spikes arranged to wound an [... ] enemy' (Wilkinson 1932, 1:313); however, conSidering the imagery used in this passage, probably sea-urchins similar to such caltrops are meant. It is noteworthy that, for instance, as late as the eighteenth century the author of the Malay Syair Bidasari (the 'Poem of Bidasari') compared the unbreakablity of a conjugal union with the unity of the soul and the body, the Pandawa and the Korawa (Hoevell 1843:163).

The complete translation of Hikayat Sang Boma into Russian by Mervart (1973) is the only translation of the work into European languages.

7

Zoetmulder (1974:321) believes that the Bhomakawya mentioned in the preface to Bhomantaka might be the Sanskrit prototype of the poem, unknown so far.

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Malay original: gadong kesturi - 'gadong - a climbing plant yielding a tuber that has narcotic properties [... ] This tuber [... ] causes vomiting and dizziness to which Malays compare a passing madness of the intoxication of love [... ] gadong kesturi: an orchid {Epidendrum sp.} of old romance [.. .]' {Wilkinson 1932, 1:316}.

9

10 For Panji tales in Cambodia, Thailand and Burma, see Dhaninivat 1947; Htin Aung Maung 1957:27-42; OSipov 1970; Poerbatjaraka 1968; Rattiya 1988; Robson 1996. 11 Following the work by L.-Ch. Damais {1952:66-7}, Kameshvara, mentioned in Smaradahana, must be regarded as the Javanese ruler whose reign lasted from 1182 to 1185.

12 Ras 1973:439-40. Some years ago, the problem of the dissemination of tales about Panji in the Malay world - inter alia, in connection with Overbeck's hypothesis about their use as an instrument of political propaganda of Javanese greatness and power in overseas countries - has been reconsidered by Robson {1992}. Robson agreed with the more or less accepted opinion that Javanese Panji tales had begun to be composed in the Majapahit era (circa the fourteenthfifteenth century) and represented works, which contained 'a political message for Majapahit society' {Robson 1992:32}. As far as Malay society is concerned, for this the principal message of Panji tales was the richness, sophistication and high aesthetic standards of Javanese culture, as well as the refined life-style of Javanese nobility. Robson assumes that the function of disseminators of Panji tales was performed by the Malays themselves, particularly by those who lived for a long time in Java {mostly in the pasisir area, that is, on the northern coast of the island} and were well-versed in Javanese literature, arts and especially the wayang theatre. According to his opinion, which seems quite convincing, Overbeck's belief that Panji tales were translated into Malay by Javanese literati is hardly acceptable, whereas their translation, adaptation and performance by the above-mentioned Malay connoisseurs of Javanese language and theatre, in which Panji tales occupied the place of honour, is much more probable. It is precisely the prestige of Java, both political and cultural, that makes these tales so attractive in the eyes of the Malay audience. Robson confirms his views by the evidence that he draws from Malay chronicles of the early sixteenth century, Sejarah Melayu {in their earliest recension published by Winstedt} and Hikayat Banjar (the 'Story of Banjar'). While discussing the problem of the centres of Malay culture, in which Malay-Javanese contacts normally took place, the scholar not only mentions Banjarmasin and Palembang, but, once again, reminds us about the importance of Malacca, the contemporary and competitor of Majapahit, where different kinds of Javanese literature and performances, including wayang, were popular. The latter point is illustrated by a number of examples.

For the manuscripts of Panji tales, see Kaeh 1977:14-9, 174-81; for their editions, see also Klinkert 1897, Tuti Munawar 1983, Nafron Hasjim 1984b, Marzukhi Nyak Abdullah 1994; for summaries and studies of Panji tales, see Winstedt 1941; Hussain Mahmud 1965, 1966; Harun Mat Piah 1980b; Baroroh Baried et al. 1982; Rattiya Saleh 1988; Kaeh 1989; Koster 1997:16198 {see also Chapter VII notes 24, 51 in this book}. For the editions of poems about Panji, see Chapter VII note 12 in this book. Although romances about Panji are very numerous, their translations are few, see Robson 1969 {which includes both the edition and the translation of Hikayat Andaken Penurat into English}, Koloss 1965 {the translation of Hikayat Panji Semirang into Russian} and V. Braginsky 1975c:247-300, 1982:73-89 {the translation of Hikayat Andaken Penurat and a few episodes from Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati into Russian}. 13

14 The last sentence is somewhat ambiguous and can be interpreted to mean 'it would be much better if it happened so'. 15

The summary is based on Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati 1, 2; Winstedt 1991:172-4.

16

There are various hypotheses concerning the change of the names of characters in Panji-

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romances (the combination of various tales in one work; the doctrine of reincarnation; the belief that the change of one's name brings happiness and misleads evil spirits, and so on, Winstedt 1991:42). Such changes of name mark nearly every new stage in heroes' life and, accordingly, in the development of the plot. 17 In Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati the pattern of amorous behaviour, characteristic for the hero of this type, is disclosed in the relations between Gunungsari, Raden Inu's 'double', and the princess Ratnawati. 18 These exclamations of the enamoured are quoted (in my translation) from several scenes of Hikayat Andaken Penurat (Robson 1969); however, these and similar expressions are of a formulaic nature and occur in many Panji tales.

The main specific features of this story (in the prose version, Hikayat Andaken Penurat) are that Ken Tambuhan is not a celestial nymph incarnated as the daughter of a village head, but a captive princess of Wengker, a Central Javanese principality; the prince makes her acquaintance not in a forest village, but in his father's garden (however also during a hunt); the queen does not kill Ken Tambuhan herself, but entrusts the murder to the executioner; and finally, in the finale of the tale, Batara Kala revives the princess and Andaken Penurat who has killed himself in despair, after which the lovers marry to the great joy of the prince's repentant parents (see Robson 1969). 19

Van Leeuwen 1937:28-34. Extensive excerpts from both recensions, providing the reader with a general idea of differences between them, were published by P. van Leeuwen (1937); the combined or mixed text, of which the beginning corresponds to the Sumatran recension, was edited by Khalid Hussain (1967); see also a detailed summary of the hikayat in Winstedt's article (1938c:1O-23). For an important, more recent study of Hikayat Iskandar Zulkarnain, see Soeratno 1991. Siti Chamamah Soeratno has studied and given a detailed description of all the seventeen extant manuscripts of the work (Soeratno 1991:25-42), established their connections with each other and found the only complete manuscript of the hikayat, namely Kuala Lumpur MS 21 (the manuscript 0, according to her classification). She has also examined the structure of the plot, the characterization of heroes, the message and functions of the work, having paid particular attention to its principal motifs of God's Omnipotence, the relation of Iskandar to God via the Prophet Khadir's mediation and God's special Grace to Iskandar. Another topic of Siti Chamamah Soeratno's studies is the history and specific features of perception of the hikayat in the Malay tradition, as they are reflected in such works as Sejarah Melayu, Hikayat Banjar, Cerita asal bangsa jin dan segala dewa-dewa (the 'Story of the origin of jins and celestial beings'), and Bustan as-salatin (the 'Garden of sultans'). She has also published two editions of Hikayat Iskandar Zulkarnain (Soeratno 1976, 1992). For the examination of this Malay hikayat in a broader perspective of the romances of Alexander the Great generally, see Gerritsen 1986. There is no complete translation of Hikayat Iskandar Zulkarnain into any European language; however, a few episodes from it have been translated into Russian by V. Braginsky (1982:102-18). 20

21

Gonda 1976:216; compare Bosch 1961:18-20 and Johns 1964.

22 For the extant manuscripts (no less than twenty) of Hikayat Amir Hamzah, see Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:114-5, 119, 140; Iskandar 1999, 1:9, 74, 157-8, 359, 436, 647, 702, II:751-2; Van Ronkel 1895:91-5, 1909:248-50; Behrend 1998:84, 138; Samad Ahmad 1987:xi. The earliest among these manuscripts (KITLV. Or. 59) is dated 1797. Hikayat Amir Hamzah was adapted or translated into a number of languages of the Archipelago: Buginese, Javanese, Makasarese and Sundanese (Van RonkeI1895:181-237, 248-9; Poerbatjaraka 1940; Marrison [n.d.] I:31-62). Only a few excerpts from this voluminous work have been translated into European languages so far (Newbold 1839, II:319-24; Roorda van Eysinga 1849; V. Braginsky 1982:119-26).

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23 For the extant manuscripts (thirty) of Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah and their interrelation, see BrakeI1975:72-89. The oldest among these manuscripts, which is kept in Emmanuels College Library, Cambridge (3.2.10), is dated back to the second half of the sixteenth century. Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah is known in the Acehnese, Buginese, Javanese, Makasarese, Madurese, Minangkabau and Sundanese versions (Brakel 1975:103-8, 1977:91-2; Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:30-1; Voorhoeve 1994:165). The critical edition of the work, provided with its translation into English, have been published by Brakel (1975, 1977). 24 For manuscripts, editions and translations of Hikayat raja Pasai into European languages, see Chapter II note 15.

For manuscripts of Winstedt's recension of Sejarah Melayu, editions of this work and its translations into European languages, see Chapter II notes 2 and 4.

25

26 Winstedt 1938a:37-8. Teeuw (1964b:232) believes that this chronicle could have appeared circa the 1450s, during the reign of Sultan Muzaffar Shah who was also the initiator of Undangundang Melaka (the 'Malaccan code of laws').

Classical literature The fall of Malacca heralded future colonial conquests by European powers in the Malay world, but did not yet lead to the establishment of the rule of Europeans in this region. Initially the appearance of first Portuguese and then Dutch outposts and the monopolization of trade in spices only weakened the political and economic power of Malay states. During the sixteenth and the seventeenth centuries powerful sultanates, namely Johor, the direct successor to Malacca, and Aceh, the state that appeared in northern Sumatra in the early sixteenth century and also included Pasai, fulfilled the role of political leaders of the Malay world in turn. It is precisely these states that became the most important centres of both interinsular and foreign trade and attracted merchants from India, the Middle East and China after the Portuguese strengthened their position in Malacca. In the late Sixteenth-early seventeenth centuries success in this struggle was in favour of Aceh, and in the times of the conqueror - sultan Iskandar Muda (1608-1636) this state spread its domination to a greater part of Sumatra, defeated Johor and annexed the principalities of Pahang, Perak and Kedah in the Malay Peninsula. However, in the 1640s Johor managed to consolidate its position after the defeat and restored its domination in the Peninsula. Its policy of manoeuvring in its relations with various states of the Malay world and the Dutch East India Company promoted its further prosperity, as a result of which Johor remained the most important state of the region until the end of the eighteenth century and partially restored the borders of the Malacca Sultanate with its dependent territories on both shores of the Strait of Malacca. However, it gradually weakened over the eighteenth century because of internal discords in which the Minangkabau from central Sumatra, and especially the Bugis, multitudes of whom fled from Celebes after the Dutch occupied Makasar in 1667, interfered actively. By the end of the eighteenth century Johor fell under Dutch control completely, and a Dutch garrison was stationed in the capital of the state, which was situated in the Riau Archipelago (for the history of Johor and Aceh, see Andaya 1978; Lombard 1967; Takeshi Ito 1984). Other more or less significant political and economic centres also existed

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in various parts of the Malay world. These grew stronger at one time and fell in decay at another, and were connected by rather complicated relations both with one another and with Aceh, Johor and Javanese states. They included Palembang and Jambi in southern Sumatra, Brunei in northern, and Banjarmasin in southeastern Borneo, and also principalities in the Malay Peninsula: Perak, Pahang, Kedah, Patani, and others. Large groups of Malays also lived in Sulawesi, the Moluccas and in the cities of the northern coast of Java. In spite of the weakening and fragmentation of the Malay world, the period from the second half of the sixteenth century to the eighteenth century was a time when culture, and especially literature, flourished. Such phenomena are characteristic of the Middle Ages in general. For instance, a conspicuous rise was observed in German literature in the twelfth and the thirteenth centuries when 'feudal fragmentation' reigned supreme in Germany (Purishev 1962:43). Trying to explain the flourishing of Persian literature in the fourteenth-fifteenth centuries, E. Browne (1956, III:43) noted that 'Persian literature usually flourished in periods of anarchy and divided power', while A. Arberry (1958:28) claimed (with reference to Yeo Berthels) that the cause for this flourishing was the desire of numerous local rulers to revive the brilliant court life of their predecessors in the pre-Mongol age. Similar processes were also observed in Java in late eighteenth-early nineteenth centuries (Pigeaud 1967:7-8). The most important cultural and ideological phenomenon of the late sixteenth-seventeenth centuries was the continuing expansion of Islam in the Malay world. While at the preceding stage this process of Islamization developed mainly extensively, and the leading role in it belonged to Muslim jurisprudence (fiqh), now the process began to develop in depth, with the explanation of fundamentals of Muslim theology (kalam) and Sufi doctrines (tasawuf> acquiring a special importance. The Malaysian scholar Syed Muhammad Naguib al-Attas, who noted the difference between these two stages of Islamization, described the former as 'the conversion of the body', and the latter, as 'the conversion of the soul' (AI-Attas 1970:191-2). The in-depth development of Islam exercised a considerable influence on Malay literature. Under this influence, a great number of new writings appeared - religious, didactic, historical and belletristic; many new genres and even whole spheres of literary activity - first of all, written poetry - came into being, and the role of individual authorship was enhanced. Another circumstance was no less important: in that period the entire heritage of Malay literature was reinterpreted in conformity with Islamic principles as one orderly whole - a system of literature. Such notions as creative process, the functions of beauty and educational benefit in literature, and methods of the creation of works of fine literature were subjected to self-

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reflection. In a word, as many pieces of literature of the late sixteenth-seventeenth centuries (Hikayat Indraputra - the 'Tale of Indraputra', Taj as-salatin - the 'Crown of sultans', Syair perang Mengkasar - the 'Poem of the Makasar war', and so on) show, the self-awareness of Malay literature emerged in that period. Thus, this peak of achievement in literary practice, coupled with the rise of an 'internal' theoretical self-awareness, allows us to regard the period of the late Sixteenth-eighteenth centuries (and partly also the nineteenth century) as the classical period in the development of traditional Malay literature, and the seventeenth century as its golden age. Thus far, having at our disposal only the literary texts themselves and disposing of no information about how they were interpreted by their creators, we had to confine ourselves to considering Malay literature mainly from outside. The inception of literary self-awareness in the classical period sets a somewhat different task to its students. Without knowledge of the 'internal' view of the Malays regarding their literature, it is difficult, and sometimes even impossible, to understand the role and functions of various writings, their interrelation and interconnection, principles on which their poetics was based, or the system of values that the authors were guided by in their work, that is, to reconstruct the picture of Malay literature of the period in its entirety. A researcher who does not take into account peculiarities of the self-awareness of Malay literature will have to interpret, voluntarily or otherwise, the old, traditional Weltanschauung ahistorically in the spirit of his own, modern conceptions and views. A study of this kind is exceptionally difficult. Firstly, not only do the traditionalliterary ideas of the Malays remain mostly unexplored, but even the fact of their existence in general and their being recorded in particular has not yet been duly recognized. Secondly, data on Malay literary self-awareness are fragmentary and scattered throughout numerous writings in the form of separate interspersions. They can be properly reconstructed and interpreted only with the help of the facts of Arabic and Persian theoretical and aesthetic conceptions which, in turn, have not yet been studied as thoroughly as desired. Thirdly, fundamentals of the self-awareness of Malay literature, which strove to embrace all spheres of life of its creators and consumers in some way or other, were of a religious character, which is only natural for a literature of the medieval type. Therefore the very nature of any research into traditional concepts of literature requires constant digression from the sphere of literary criticism into the spheres of aesthetics and comparative religion. 1 In 1983, when the Russian version of this book saw the light of day, it was the first and the only study of 'internal' Malay ideas of literature. In that book, the problem of Malay

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literary self-awareness was formulated and its main concepts were treated at length. As early as September 1979, a part of the study was presented in the paper delivered at the International Seminar on Malay Studies in the University of Malaya, Kuala Lumpur (V. Braginsky 1979). In 1988 the whole book was summarized (with a special emphasis on the problem of literary selfawareness) in five lectures, which were read at the seminar of Professor Denys Lombard in Ecole des Hautes Etudes en Sciences Sociales, Paris (see the text of these lectures in V. Braginsky 1988d). In the same year, the Parisian lectures (in the form of a manuscript) were discussed once again at the special colloquium in the State University of Leiden. Since then, several versions of the study - all of them abbreviated, although revised and provided with some new materials - have been published by the present author (V. Braginsky 1993a:29-40, 93-100, 1993b:1-37, 1994:41-72). However, only in this book does his reconstruction of the Malay literary self-awareness appear in its complete form in English. Since 1983, the existence of 'internal' theoretical concepts in traditional Malay literature has been acknowledged by some specialists, and a few important studies, in which these concepts are examined from different viewpoints, have been published (Muhammad Haji Salleh 1989, 1991, 2000; Koster 1997).

CHAPTER IV

Self-awareness of Malay literature in the classical period A reconstruction

The opinion has been predominant in Malay studies to this day that traditional Malay literature lacks writings of a poetological and theoretical nature that allow us to penetrate into the literary self-awareness of its creators. This opinion should be recognized as adequate as far as special treatises of this kind are concerned. At the same time, numerous statements found in theological, didactic and literary works, primarily in prefaces to them, contain enough material to reconstruct this self-awareness in the classical period (the late sixteenth-early nineteenth century). Especially important for such a reconstruction are prefaces and epilogues to literary works, which are no less than a link thanks to which individual works are incorporated into the centripetal, orderly and hierarchically arranged system of Weltanschauung of the Malay tradition. By virtue of this, not only literary and aesthetic principles of Malay culture, but also the main features of the Weltanschauung underlying these principles are expounded in the prefaces. An excellent example of the reconstruction of literary self-awareness on the basis of prefaces (manggala) to Old Javanese kakawin poems has been provided by the Dutch scholar Zoetmulder (1974:173-96). The abundance of terms in these prefaces, the meaning of which can be established with reference to other works of the same time, primarily those of the philosophical and religious nature, has largely predetermined research methods used in his study. Similar methods were also employed in this work. Another important premise on which this work is based is the statement by the well-known British scholar Wilkinson (1907:6-7) that pieces of Malay literature were created by people whose education was mainly of a theological nature, and that they were designed largely for a relatively narrow circle of connoisseurs. Similar statements (sometimes rather angry) are found in works by many students of classical Malay literature (Winstedt 1991:57, 61, and so on; Johns 1976:312-3; Skinner 1978:468) which, naturally, makes one

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pay special attention to the religious foundations of the literary theory of Malay Muslims. A reconstruction of self-awareness of classical Malay literature cannot but raise the question of how deep was the awareness of the creators of individual writings concerning the meaning of the literary formulae, which they used in their prefaces. Evidently, the degree of this awareness differed from one work to another, so that it is practically impossible to determine it. However, even if a particular author perceived concatenations of these formulae, specifically used in prefaces, only as a habitual cliche which was not necessarily well thought-over and assimilated (Parnickel 1976:205), this cliche itself did not at all lose its meaning in the context of traditional Malay culture as a collectively preserved whole. This is why the subject matter of this study is the literary self-awareness inherent in Malay culture as a whole, rather than its realization in the views of individual authors. Therefore prefaces and epilogues to Malay literary works, both in verse and prose, have served as the main material for this reconstruction. This material is readily accessible, because, apart from publications of complete texts (which are not numerous enough), prefaces and epilogues are contained in catalogues of manuscripts (Van Ronkel 1909, 1921a and other catalogues) where both initial and concluding lines are quoted in order to identify works. Prefaces to poetic texts (their size varies from several dozen stanzas (Skinner 1963) to two or three quatrains, and even less) include the praise to Allah and Muhammad, a description of the stimuli which urged the author to write the poem (or the purposes of its creation), hardships that the poet had to face in the process of its composition, and demerits (less often, merits) of the work in question. This is sometimes followed by a number of statements of a more personal nature: the author's psychological condition in the process of writing, the situation in which the poem was created, the self-assessment of the author, an address to connoisseurs, a request concerning a reward, and so forth) The size of prefaces to prose works differs considerably too (from several pages (Roorda van Eysinga 1821, 1827) to several lines). An appeal to the Creator and the Prophet whose help the author seeks is followed by the mention of merits of the work, a list of its useful properties and a description of its effect on 'the reader and the listener'.2 It becomes clear from this that prefaces to poetic works contain a more detailed description of the process of the creation of a text, while prefaces to prose works focus mostly on the process of their perception. The content of prefaces may be reduced to any degree. In many prefaces to prose texts we find the extreme case of reduction to the bipartite Arabic formula: 'In the name of Allah, Merciful, Compassionate! It is to Him that

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we resort, [because everything] lofty is due to Allah'. However, this does not change the semantic core of the message or make it less clear. An analysis of prefaces shows that they manifest the concept of Creation (more exactly, Creation through the mediation of man) as is found in the rounded scholastic system of late Islam, which was permeated with Sufism. This system was formed primarily on the basis of works by Ibn Sina, AI-Ghazali and Ibn al,Arabi (to mention only three major authors) and possessed such well-developed terminology that usually every term, being regularly correlated with the rest, referred to or implied them clearly even in the case of their absence in a particular text. The Islamic conception of Creation through man's mediation (which can be rather tentatively called the conception of creativity) served as the theoretical basis for and the paradigm of all forms of activity, including literary. No special general doctrine of literary creativity existed, and the specific features of the theory of literary creation were determined largely by peculiarities of the verbal material with which the writer worked. It is for this reason that no interpretation of the content of prefaces is possible without at least a brief exposition of the conception of Creation. Any creation is the process of bringing a thing out of its potential existence in some substratum and imparting it with actual (external) existence. This actualization of the existence of a thing, its coming into being as such, is possible only thanks to the effect of a certain active principle, for instance, that of the form of the thing being created, which (its form) is regarded as an independent entity influencing the matter (or substance) in which the thing in question is present only potentially. The following example is often used to explain the above process: the active principle is similar to light, while potential existence is similar to the ability of an eye to see, which it retains even in darkness; then, the actual existence is similar to an eye's visual perception in the light (AIFarabi 1972:34-6; compare Ibn Sina 1961:259-60; Bakhtiar 1976:20). In the final analysis, the active principle of any creation is Allah, 'the Light of lights'. The Creation carried out by Allah is understood as the descent of His Spirit, identified with light, via steps, which are represented in the form of a system of mirrors reflecting light that falls on them, further into the darkness of potential existence. Creation is carried out in two stages, as it were. The first stage is Creation in divine Consciousness embracing ideas of all things which are in the state of indiscriminate potentiality; more precisely, it is the bringing forth of an idea from the logically preceding synthetic unity, its separation from the totality of other ideas. The second stage (following the utterance of the creative word 'Be!') is the descent of the idea into the world of matter (the material world) and the reception of actual existence by it, its becoming a thing. This stage is Creation proper. At the first stage an idea (the internal spiritual essence

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of a thing) is actual and its external corporeal manifestation is potential; at the second, the external corporeal manifestation is actual, while the internal spiritual essence of a thing is potential. The structure of cosmos (macrocosm) is similar to the structure of the human soul (microcosm), which allows one to speak about the parallelism between traditional Muslim ontology and cosmology on the one hand, and psychology on the other. Correspondingly, the processes of creation in the Universe and in the soul are also parallel to each other. The human soul is a complex, hierarchically arranged structure in which lower functions (powers) serve higher ones and are educated and refined by them. This hierarchy is crowned by the rational or discoursing soul (it is namely this that is called 'the human soul'), capable of perceiving general notions. Then follows the animal or corporeal soul (usually referred to simply as the soul, in contrast to the human soul, or intellect, reason), which perceives particular notions with the help of five internal and as many external senses and whose main function is imagination. In addition to perception, the function of motion is fulfilled thanks to the animal soul. Then follow vegetable and natural souls. The soul, which controls the body, is a passive feminine principle, the functions of which are actualized thanks to the soul's contact with Spirit (Divine Light), which is the active masculine principle. Therefore the soul has two aspects, as it were: one, which is turned to the Spiritual World and is capable of perceiving its Light, and the other, which is turned to the body and controls it. Based on the above, human creativity can be described in the following way: some faculty of spiritual cognition (the reasonable soul/ intellect or the spiritual heart), after perceiving the general idea of a thing that comes from the Spiritual World, transmits it to the corporeal soul, thanks to which the image, or the particular idea, of a thing is born in the imagination. In its tum, this image is transferred to the hand, which completes the creation of this particular thing (imparts it with actual existence). The conjunction of intellect (or the spiritual heart) with the Spirit which communicates the idea of a thing to it or throws light on (actualizes) its potential existence can be carried out in two ways: either by direct revelation or by education. The latter is also based on revelation, which is transmitted from the teacher to the disciple by means of an educational text (written or oral). Usually, the act of creation is symbolized by the image of writing (the scribe - the process of writing - the written text), the Writing of the Cosmic Letters by the Creator and the writing of the usual letters by man; in this context, the latter is presented as writing by dictation or copying (A. Berthels 1970:22, 24). Thus, man can discern two stages in the act of creating a thing: receptive (the perception of an idea) and agentive (the actualization or fixation of an idea in a thing).

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The perception of inspiration: the receptive stage of a creative process A general description of the receptive stage in prefaces Descriptions of the receptive stage of a creative process, typical for Malay poems, begin with an appeal to Allah followed by a number of regularly repeated motifs, which are presented in the following excerpts from prefaces. 'In the name of Allah' is the beginning of speech, He pours down the clear light of mercy. [... ] In the enlightened souls of the faithful Is the place for the manifestation of [His] Mercy. (Raja Iskandar 1966:30.) There [in the Prophet Muhammad] lies the beginning of His manifestation, And ultimate receptacle where God's inspiration comes to rest. [... ] Although His manifestness was originally obscured [that is, He remained unmanifest until a certain ontological stage], From His radiation sprang the entire Universe. (Skinner 1963:69.) Thanks to the blessing of Muhammad, our head, The dervish [the author is meant] composed a certain narrative. (Syair Negeri Lampong n.d.:l.) This night the youth [the author] came to, Having perceived a flow of spiritual light [... ] And, first, He wrote of a country and its raja. (Van RonkeI1921a:70.) This is a poem I wrote,

It was clearly revealed to my soul and fell into my hand

[that is, was committed to writing]. Allah's Will prevails over those Unversed in learned books and the Qur'an. (Van RonkeI1909:357.)

The dervish [the author] will not prolong his speech, For his enlightened soul becomes dark [again], Being anxious day and night. (Syaikh Daud:l.) The slave [the author] can speak no more, For such is the indisputable command of the Lord [Allah] Who works His Will upon all of us. He therefore spends day after day in desolation. The slave is sitting unable to do anything, He feels as if his breast [that is, soul] has been split asunder. For it is no longer a receptacle [of Mercy], And only Allah alone is Omniscient. (Van RonkeI1921a:75.)

The essence of the situation described in these excerpts can be formu-

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lated as follows. Calling God by His names, Allah, Merciful (Rahman) and Compassionate (Rahim), the poet asks Him to reveal His Mercy (rahmat) pouring out (iimpah), with Muhammad's blessing (berkat), into the poet's soul in the form of spiritual light (cahaya nurani). Perceived by his 'spiritual heart' or enlightened soul (hati nurani, hati yang saji), that is, by the soul which overcame the chaos of the psychic affects (kelam, percintaan) at a certain moment, this light engenders the appearance of images in the soul. The clearer is the intellect (akal) engaged in the creation of a poem (more precisely, its actualization in the world of empirical realities), the better is its embodiment in some physical material, or the precise recording of its images on paper (jatuh ke tangan). In this situation, the Omnipotence (qudrat) of Allah and His Will or Predestination (taqdir) determines both the possibility of initiating the process of the creation of a poem and the necessity of terminating the creative process.

Divine Mercy The initial lines of prefaces contain and comment upon the formula 'In the name of Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate'. This formula in texts studied is an appeal to Allah as the Creator of all that exists, as is directly indicated, for instance, in Syair Sultan Yahya (the 'Poem of Sultan Yahya'): 'In the name of Allah' is the beginning of speech, Thanks to the Name of the Creator of the Universe, The Mercy is poured, day and night, On His slaves, the Muslims. (Van RonkeI1909:322.)

The appeal can be brief (Van RonkeI1921a:70-1, 86, 88) or extensive (Skinner 1963:69-70; Van Ronkel 1909:330, 322; Raja Iskandar 1966:30). The latter is especially interesting, so let us quote the appeal contained in Syair Burung Pungguk (the 'Poem of the Owlet') in full: 'In the name of Allah' is the beginning of speech,

It pours down the clear light of Mercy

Through the blessing of Muhammad, our head, Who is the head of the knowledgeable and wise. Ar-Rahman is a lofty Attribute, This word means Generous, Most Merciful Towards the faithful with enlightened hearts There [in their enlightened hearts] is the place of the manifestation of Mercy. Ar-Rahim is the word of compassion, All praises be to Allah! For it is absolutely clear that [precisely] the Lord Granted [the power of] speech to his slaves. (Raja Iskandar 1966:30.)

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In fact, these three quatrains contain a whole doctrine of the creation of a literary text. An excerpt from the work Asrar al-arifin (the 'Secrets of Gnostics') by the Malay Sufi poet Hamzah Fansuri can be taken as a key to this doctrine: [... ] Allah is the Name of the Essence, the sum of all Names as already mentioned before. AI-Rahman is [the Name] by which He first bestows His Mercy upon the World. [... ] Hence Rahman is the Lord of Mercy and bestows existence upon the World together with all its parts [... ] good and evil - [all] derive their existence from the Mercy of the Compassionate One [Rahman]. [... ] Rahim is particularized exclusively in all that is good [... ]. (AI-Attas 1970:375.)

According to the teaching about seven stages (martabat tujuh) of the descent of Being from absolute unity to the multiplicity of the phenomenal world, which was widespread in the Malay world from the early seventeenth century (Johns 1957:21-9; Van Nieuwenhuijze 1945:78-197), the name Allah corresponds to the second stage, Wahdat, at which ideas of things exist in a non-differentiated form in the Divine Consciousness, while the name Compassionate (Rahman) corresponds to its third stage, Wahidiyat, at which they exist in a differentiated form (Johns 1957:91). This is why the poet, appealing to the Creator, uses successively His name Allah, denoting the non-differentiated potentiality of everything created, from which being is bestowed upon things, then the name Rahman which bestows being upon all particular things, and finally, the name Rahim which bestows being upon good and beautiful things. Considered from the point of view of the Malay author, this appeal is a prayer in which a poet requests Allah to allow him to create a poem, that is, to actualize his potential creative ability, because only Allah is the Necessary Being and only He can give existence to a thing - only He creates. Consequently, the poet is only an instrument of creation, which is put into operation thanks to Mercy, that is, the Creator's creative energy. This relationship between Allah and a writer is found in all its clarity in the prayer concluding the well-known Malay didactic mirror Taj as-salatin ('The Crown of sultans', 1603): Praise be to the Lord who completed this pious epistle with its completion! Thanks be to God who concluded this good discourse with its conclusion! All good deeds are from the Lord who guided my breast, my heart and my tongue in the expression of these words and in their arrangement in the right order. (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:227.)

Thus, the act of creating a poem is carried out thanks to the perception of Divine Creative Energy by a poet. The manifestation of the latter can be described as the flowing of the idea of a thing to be created from the Divine

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Intellect (the World of Ideas or Archetypes) into a human intellect capable of establishing contact with the former, or as the dawning of spiritual light upon a soul or, to be more precise, upon a 'spiritual heart' (kalbu rohani). The second form of description is more typical for the prefaces examined. However, both of them are only two variants of presenting the same reality, because potentially a human being as microcosm contains everything, including the World of Ideas or Archetypes (ayan sabitah) (Bakhtiar 1976:19-20). Therefore it is not so important whether a poet perceives emanations coming from the World of Archetypes, or the Divine Light dispelling the darkness of potentiality and actualizing the World of Archetypes in the 'spiritual heart' of the poet himself.

The Light of Muhammad and the Prophet Muhammad's intercession After appealing to Allah's Names, prefaces indicate the element mediating between the world of a poet's human spirituality and the world of the Creator's Creative Activity. This element is Light (the Light of Mercy, Spiritual Light) which pours on an 'enlightened soul' and which can be perceived by it. The symbol of light is closely connected with the notion of 'the Prophet Muhammad's blessing' (berkat Muhammad). It is not accidental that in the above excerpt from Syair Burung Pungguk it follows immediately the mention of Divine Mercy, which is poured precisely through the mediation of this blessing. In prefaces, this concept is included in the context of appeals to the Prophet as 'the head of the knowledgeable and wise' with the request to 'allow the creation of a poem'. In Hikayat Isma Yatim (the 'Tale of Isma the Orphan'), the concept of 'Muhammad's blessing' is disclosed in more detail. The extremely interesting episode of creating a literary work, a narrative (hikayat), by Isma contains the following passage: Some time later, at the Will of the Most High, an idea dawned upon him, and he said to himself, 'It befits me to compose a tale in which rajas could be instructed, to win His Majesty's mercy'. Having so thought, Isma Yatim worshipped God the Most Glorious asking Him to endow him with intellect perfect in matters of rule, to write those instructions. And by the Mercy of Allah and with the intercession (berkat syafaat) of the Prophet Muhammad, he composed a perfect tale. (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:4.)

Clearly, the situation described in this fragment of the tale corresponds precisely to that described in prefaces to poems. Especially important is the term 'intercession' used in it. It implies the blessing granted by Allah to Muhammad to be the proxy interceding on behalf of people, primarily

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on the Day of Judgment, but also in any situation. Therefore, the 'intercession' can be interpreted in this context as Muhammad's intercession before Allah in connection with making Isma capable of creating his work, that is, the display of Mercy in the above sense. However, there is also a more profound meaning in the terms 'Muhammad's blessing' (berkat Muhammad) and 'Muhammad's intercession'. In some prefaces, for instance, to Syair perang Mengkasar (the 'Poem of the Makasar war') already quoted above, the role of the Pre-Eternal Reality (hakikat), or Light (nur), of Muhammad as Logos is emphasized: There [in the Prophet Muhammad] lies the beginning of His manifestation, And ultimate receptacle where God's inspiration comes to rest. [... ] Although His manifestness was originally obscured [that is, He remained unmanifest until a certain ontological stage], From His radiation sprang the entire Universe. (Skinner 1963:69.)

Muhammad as Logos (the Light of Muhammad, the Reality of Muhammad) is the All-Embracing Divine Knowledge of all created things, which was the first to be manifested outside, a kind of a mirror reflecting the hidden existence of this Knowledge in the transcendent Divine Essence (Huwa). Thanks to the Light of Muhammad, the 'known', which is potentially inherent in the soul, that is, the potentiality of things in it, is manifested and brought to light, or 'becomes visible'. He is the first that was manifested, the first result of the effect of Divine Creative Activity, and it is from him that the Universe was created (AI-Attas 1970:256-9). In the doctrine of seven stages of Being, the concept of Muhammad as Logos corresponds to the stage called Wahdat (Johns 1957:21). Logos is given a great number of names, depending on the function fulfilled. 3 As the AllEmbracing Knowledge, He is 'the head of the knowledgeable and wise'; as the Relational Spirit (ruh idafi), the intermediary between the Creator and the created, He lends intercession, 'allows the creation of a poem', which means that he serves as the conductor of Mercy; as Light, He throws light on the potentiality of things in a poet's soul.

Components of the creative process at the receptive stage Having established that the creation of a literary work becomes possible thanks to the perception of Divine Creative Energy revealed in Logos, let us turn to the discussion of the elements of which the process of poetic creation is further made up. Although this process was repeatedly described in Middle Eastern literary works, it is not so easy to find its integral description among Malay texts. However, given the above-mentioned strict systematic nature of medieval Muslim Weltanschauung, it is possible to discover a

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number of statements enabling its possible reconstruction among Malays' literary, Sufi, theological and didactic works. Before we begin such a reconstruction, it is necessary to recollect the parallelism of the creative process in macrocosm and microcosm, that is, the parallelism of traditional Muslim ontology and psychology. The Persian Sufi treatise Zubdat al-haqa'iq (the 'Cream of truths') by 'Aziz aI-Din Nasafi (the thirteenth century) provides a sufficiently complete description of both processes: When the Great and Most Holy God wishes to create anything in the world, He first brings the form [of a thing to be created] to the Throne [that is, the locus of general ideas]; from the Throne, he brings it to the Footstool [the Footstool under God's Throne is the locus of particular ideas]; and from the Footstool, [He conveys it] to the Guarded Tablet of immutable [essences]. Then He brings it to the seven heavens [the locus of images], after which it travels with starlight and arrives in the lower world [the locus in which images are materialized]. Universal Nature, which is the padishah of the lower world, receives this stranger from the hidden world, who has arrived from the presence of the Most High. It [Universal Nature] gives it [the newly arrived form] a four-footed mount, which corresponds to the state of the stranger from the hidden world, so that the stranger from the hidden world should sit on the mount and emerge in the manifest world. And when [the stranger] emerges in the manifest world, that thing which has been God's knowledge becomes His deed. [... ] 0 dervish, if you can grasp the meaning of this in the macrocosm, grasp it in the microcosm as well! So, in the microcosm, the [power of] intellect is God's vicegerent. [... ] When the vicegerent of God wants to accomplish a deed, the form of the thing [it intends to make] first enters the human spirit which is the throne; from the human spirit, it goes to the animal spirit which is the footstool; and from the animal [spirit], it passes into the vegetative spirit which is immutable [and therefore corresponds to the Tablet of immutable essences in the macrocosm]; and from the vegetative spirit, it passes to the seven internal organs which are [correspondent to] the seven heavens. Then, after absorbing the power of the internal organs, it comes out. If the form comes out of the hand, then the hand receives that stranger who came from God's vicegerent, and gives to [the stranger] the four-legged mount whose legs are vitriol, oak-gall, gum and soot [that is, the four constituents of ink], and who corresponds to the state of the stranger from the hidden world, so that the stranger from the hidden world should get on the mount [composed] of the four elements and emerge in the manifest world. As soon as [the stranger] emerges in the manifest world of the testament, that thing which has been knowledge of God's vicegerent [that is, intellect], becomes the writing of the vicegerent of God. (A. Berthels 1970:191-3.)

A scheme of creation in macrocosm analogous to the above is found, with insignificant variations, in many Malay Sufi texts, particularly, in works by Hamzah Fansuri. The Malaysian scholar Syed Muhammad Naguib al-Attas (1970:71-2, 155-7, 1971:42-4) discerns the following four levels in it:

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First (identical with the Throne). On this plane, created things exist in Divine Knowledge synthetically, as general ideas, unitary and inseparable from one another (the usual metaphor of synthetic existence is ink in an ink-pot containing all letters of the future text in indiscriminate potentiality). Second (identical with the Footstool). On this plane, ideas of individual things 'come forth' or 'step out', as it were, from the indiscriminate potentiality of general ideas; the creation exists as potential' external essences' (ayan khariji) which are ready to obtain actual, external existence. Third. On this level the Supreme Pen (qalam al-'ala) records forms of created things on the Guarded Tablet (lauh al-mahjuz), and, obedient to the Creative Word 'Be!', ideas (or spirits) of things descend from Divine Knowledge into the material world - the creation is separated from the Creator. Fourth. On this level the materialization of ideal forms in the material world takes place.

Thus, the first two levels correspond to the internal aspect of the creation of things appearing first in indiscriminate unity of ideas, and then as individual ideas of particular things. The third and fourth levels correspond to creative activity proper, to the implementation of an individual idea of a thing as the thing itself in its actual form. The situation with Malay texts describing creation on the plane of the microcosm looks, at first Sight, different from the Persian text above. Although there are a great number of places in these texts explaining macro- and microcosmic correspondences, it seems difficult to find an exact analogue to the second half of the Persian excerpt. The reason is that on the microcosmic plane Malay texts usually describe not creation (the creation of a thing) proper as the path of descent (tanazzul) from ideal existence to the existence of a created thing, but on the contrary, the path of ascent (taraqqi) trodden by a Sufi in the reverse order. This path in Christian asceticism was aptly described as 'a special art of working on one's self' (Averintsev 1977:32). However, the path of ascent is identical to the path of descent. The following instruction for Sufis on the path towards Absolute Unity is an example of such a description: Go from the created world (alam mulk) To the world of imagination called the World of Dominion (alam malakut), From there set off and return To the eternally resplendent world of spirits. (Doorenbos 1933:87.)

Having analysed terminology used in this fragment, one can claim that semantically it coincides with the description of both creation in the macro-

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cosm from works by Hamzah Fansuri and creation in the microcosm from the Persian Zubdat al-haqa'iq (the 'Cream of truths'). The world of imagination is, as indicated in the Malay text itself, identical with the World of Dominion (alam malakut), while the World of Spirits is the same as the World of Omnipotence (alam jabarut).4 On the microcosmic plane, the World of Omnipotence is the sphere of the noumenal and of the one who commands the power of noumenal perception. This is the plane of human spirituality (ruhani) and the human rational soul or human spirit (ruh insani) (Van Nieuwenhuijze 1945:137-8). The list of attributes of the World of Omnipotence, which are inherent in a human being, includes first of all intellect (the power of reason, akal) and intellectual knowledge (ilmu).5 On the microcosmic plane, the World of Dominion is the sphere of the sensorily perceived and sensory perception, but taken in its ideal aspect, abstracted from matter. This is the level of human corporeality (jasmani), or the so-called animal soul or animal spirit (ruh haywani) (Van Nieuwenhuijze 1945:137-8; Johns 1957:75-6). Thus, alam mulk is the world of the created, of physical things; alam malakut is the world of images (plastically embodied individual ideas analogous to eidoi of Greek philosophy) and the animal (corporeal) soul; alam jabarut is the world of general or universal ideas and the human (reasonable) soul. The ascent leads from the World of Created Things to the World of Omnipotence, while the descent leads from the World of Omnipotence to the World of Created Things. In the excerpt analysed, the World of Created Things corresponds to the fourth plane in the scheme of creation in the macrocosm from Hamzah Fansuri's work; the World of Dominion, to the second plane (ideal analytical existence); and the World of Omnipotence, to the first plane (ideal synthetic being). As has already been noted, the third plane of Hamzah Fansuri's scheme is the creative activity per se, transforming a hidden (batin) idea into a manifest (zahir) thing. The principal triad of the Muslim theory of creation - general idea -> particular idea-image -> a thing - is reflected in a number of Malay literary texts, and especially clearly in the concluding eulogy contained in Taj as-salatin quoted above (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:277) where the term 'breast' symbolizes the human soul; 'heart' (qalb) symbolizes animal (corporeal) soul, the repository of individual ideas-images; and 'tongue' (lisan) is the symbol of the verbal embodiment of an idea, that is, the appearance of a text (a thing) in the world of created things. 6 The same symbolism is implied when a work is described as 'spun in the intellect (akal) and woven in the soul (hati)' (Wilkinson 1907:6) in Malay literature. This expression compares a general idea perceived by intellect with a thread, while an individual idea-image, born in the soul (the corporeal

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soul), is likened to cloth. A similar description of a creative act on the microcosmic (human) plane is also found in the majority of poetic prefaces. The most typical triad in them is: intellect (reason - akal or 'spiritual heart' - hati nurani) -> soul (hati, kalbu, nyawa)7 -> hand (the act of recording) or a work itself as the result of the recording (rencana, karangan, surat, and so on). Let us dwell at more length on the former two members of the triad. The definition of reason or the intellectual soul,8 accepted in the Muslim tradition, was provided by AI-Ghazali who, agreeing with 'philosophers' over this issue, noted that reason has two aspects: cognizing, which is turned to the spiritual world (the world of angels), and practical, turned to the corporeal world and regulating activities of the body.9 Descriptions of these two aspects of reason are found in many Malay texts.1° By way of summing up their content, the concept of reason can be defined as follows. Reason is the intellectual aspect of the human spirit, which is capable of penetrating the invisible, or hidden (ghaib), world of intellectually cognized, noumenal essences or universal ideas. Reason is perfected (it becomes akal sempurna - 'perfect reason') as it perceives these general ideas, either directly from Logos (which is the Reason of reasons) or indirectly (in the course of education and training) and, according to one of the texts, reaches perfection by the age of forty (Van Nieuwenhuijze 1945:388). By virtue of its ability to grasp the noumenal, it is 'the lord of the soul' which exercises a positive effect on the latter, highlighting good and evil in it, protecting it from disturbances caused by outer reality and restoring order and stability in it. Reason exerts its influence on the soul via 'servants', the most important of whom are thought (the power of intelligence) and memory, two powers of the soul, of which one perceives and the other preserves meanings (ma'ani), the ideas of individual things (Ibn Sina 1961:225-6). The other faculty of intellectual perception is 'spiritual heart' (hati rohani, hati nurani) as opposed to 'dark heart' (hati yang kelam), or ignorant heart (kalbu tak periksa), the heart engrossed in agitation (hati yang gelorat), and so on, which are synonyms of the chaotic psyche typical of the corporeal (animal) soul not illuminated by spiritual light in its usual state. The spiritual heart is endowed with the power of cognition of the supra-real and of regulating activities of the soul (Johns 1957:68). It is the luminous form of the soul (Johns 1957:68), in other words, the soul is substance whose form is spiritual heart. By virtue of its luminosity and in conformity with the law of perception of the like by the like, it perceives Light descending from the sphere of the noumenal. A considerable difference between the spiritual heart and intellect is the nature of their perception of the noumenal. The Sufi tradition, the influence of which is discerned in prefaces, describes human reason as the one cognizing

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on the basis of logical thinking and bookish education, and therefore limited and unable to obtain absolutely reliable knowledge. ll On the contrary, the spiritual heart is capable of direct contemplation of the noumenal sphere in plastic images and of receiving inspiration, so that knowledge acquired by it is absolutely reliable (Bakhtiar 1976:19-20; Dar 1963:869). In principle, it is not so important for the description of a creative act, whether it is reason or the spiritual heart that is mentioned as the organ of intellectual activity, although, as we shall see, two ways of creating a work of literature can be discerned, depending on the choice of one or the other.12 More important is the fact that intellectual penetration into the supra-real sphere and intellectual regulation of activities of the soul (the world of imagination) are their necessary components in any case. As a rule, Malay verse prefaces mention the spiritual heart as the principle engaged in the cognition of the supra-real sphere, while reason is usually mentioned in descriptions of the active, final phase of a creative act rather than in descriptions of its receptive phase. Thus, reason carries out a regulating function in the verbal expression of an image perceived via the spiritual heart, which means that reason is mentioned in its practical aspect 'which is a principle moving man's body towards the well-ordered [and purposeful] human arts' (AI-Ghazali, quoted by Ibn Rushd, Van den Bergh 1954,1:335). This becomes evident, for instance, from the following lines: I offer [the sultan] this work, Asking for pardon and mercy; There is no order in its composition and there is much confusion in it, Because my reason is imperfect. (Skinner 1963:74-6.)

In such cases the term 'reason' (akal) is frequently replaced by the term 'understanding [of the way of doing something]' (faham), which is one of 'servants' of reason (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:174). For instance: There is no order in rhymes of this poem, there is much confusion in it, Because my understanding lfaham) is imperfect. (Raja Iskandar 1966:30.)

Let us now turn to the concept of the soul. 13 The soul (hati, nafsu, nyawa)14 is the sphere of conjunction of the intellectually cognized (noumenal) and the sensually cognized (phenomenal). The Muslim tradition discerns two groups of functions (powers) of perception inherent in the soul. Usually they are called inner (batin) and outer (zahir) senses, which can be regarded as the psychic and sensory aspects of the soul respectively.1 5 Since inner senses are of a greater interest to us, let us dwell on them in some detail. For all the quite considerable terminological diversity of descriptions of the psychic constitution of the soul, its tripartite model remains invariable.

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One of its powers perceives sensual objects, forms of things, receIvmg information about them through external senses (eyesight, hearing, and so on). This function of the perception of forms is fulfilled by 'general sense', sensus communis. The second power perceives mental realities, the ideas of individual things. This is the function of the power of intelligence, or the power of thought. Finally, the third power carries out the combination of and regulates balance between the form and the idea I6 in the image (eidos), which is the plastic appearance of an idea visible to the internal eyesight. In the Sufi tradition, which, as has been noted above, lays emphasis on direct contemplation of the noumenal sphere in images by the enlightened soul, the force, which combines ideas (received through an act of intellection) with forms, is the spiritual heart, which is also called Active Imagination or Active Intellect. 17 To each perceiving power corresponds one of the preserving powers: forms are kept in the power of imagination and ideas, in memory. This structure of the soul is reflected in lists of its powers headed by the organ of spiritual intellection (sirr) in Malay Sufi works. IS A good description of the processes taking place in the soul is provided in the following excerpt from a poem by Abd aI-Jamal, a Malay Sufi poet of Hamzah Fansuri's circle.19 The World of Dominion abides there; Always inquire about its essence, It is also called the world of imagination, This is the place which is constantly watched by those who possess reason. The World of the Joining of Joinings is the World of Omnipotence, There they get rid of the created and the human; This is the place where they 'play eyes' [that is, coquette] With large-eyed celestial maidens. This World of the Joining of Joinings is unusually beautiful, Images are countless in it, Beware of this place! Be cautious and constantly [protect yourself] with the shield of Omnipotence. How strange are those who set off [on the Path] In search of a shelter in windward lands [that is, in the West, the world of matter]. They abide there in animal passions, forgetful [of their goal], How will they know the Lofty Face?

By way of summing up the content of this passage, we can notice the following. A stream of 'blinking' (coquettish) beautiful images of external reality, brought by senses, constantly flows through the soul, 'the world of imagination', in its usual (not enlightened) state. This changeable stream requires vigilant watch on the part of the intellect ('protect yourself constantly with the shield of Omnipotence', that is, of the intellectual, the noumenal). In the absence of such control and regulation, a man enchanted by the beauty of

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changing images may lose the awareness of the fact that these images are only signs of the supreme noumenal reality, may attach a self-sufficient importance to them and sink into forgetfulness about his real goal, thus retaining, as it were, only their corporeal soul which is capable only of sensual cognizance ('They abide there in animal passions, forgetful (of their goal),). It is precisely this confused and agitated state of an unenlightened soul, which prevents both the concentration of the thought - which is a prerequisite of the process of intellection - and the correct recording of an image seen by inner Sight, that is constantly emphasized in prefaces: If something is wrong in the poem, correct it while reading, Because my heart was not enlightened. (Skinner 1963:218.)

This poem is completed, oh my lords, [However] the agitation is still mounting in my soul, My thoughts are confused, Therefore there is no order in this composition. My eyes are in fog, my head is heavy, As if I were rocked on western waves. Since there is no concentration in my heart, Not one thought but many thoughts are in it. (Van RonkeI1909:330.)

In order to penetrate the noumenal world of intellection, it is necessary to 'depart' from the world of imagination, that is, to extinguish one's senses and stop the distracting stream of external impressions. This not only allows one to cognize the noumenal sphere, but also purifies imagination and makes it penetrable to the light of the intellect. AI-Ghazali's explanation of this process in his Mishkat al-anwar (the 'Niche for lights', Gaidner 2000:82-3), a commentary on the 'Verse of Light' (Qur'an 24:35), is summarized by Bakhtiar (1976:20) as follows: Glass symbolizes [... ] imagination which like glass is part of the materiality of this world and has a definite dimension: like glass in its making, imagination is at first opaque to the light of the Intellect which transcends direction, quality and distance. Once the imagination is clarified and refined, it gains a similarity to the Active Intellect or spiritual Heart and becomes transparent to the light.

Psychology of the creative act as a dynamic unity Having investigated the logical sequence of stages in the process of creation of a thing, and having specially considered the problem of what organs of intellection and of forming images humans are endowed with according to the Islamic tradition, particularly the tradition of Malay Muslims, we can tum to an analysis of a creative act as a dynamic unity, this time examin-

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ing it in the aspect of 'ascent', that is, as the process taking place in a poet's consciousness. The Malay tradition allows us to speak about two paths followed by poets at the receptive stage of a creative act. The first, which is mentioned in prefaces fairly rarely, is connected with the assimilation of general ideas indirectly, in the process of training. This is the path followed by people of knowledge, erudite poets and 'the learned' (pandita). The most important role in its realization is played by the ability to accumulate knowledge in memory - memorization - and to reproduce the assimilated knowledge at the right moment. Its description we find, for instance, in the didactic Syair ikan (the 'Poem of fish'): This is a poem about all fish that live in the sea, In rivers, bogs and irrigated fields which are in the West; All of them without exception were described by a dervish [the author is meant], Because the author of the poem was a learned man (pandita). Since my heart was in joy and tranquillity, I was able to commit all that I remembered to paper, And I remembered all fish in my heart, [First of all] the horse-mackerel (selar), a famous fish. (Tan Tjhan Hie 1827:1.)

A particular case of the description of the same path is represented by the author's indication that, when writing a poem, he had in his mind an example (a general outline or plan), created by someone else:

o God, My Lord and Master,

The infirm dervish had an example [of this work],20 Written by a learned man. (Van Ronkel1921a:64.)

The psychological mechanism of creativity of an erudite poet is quite clear: general ideas (or the plan of a work), perceived from outside, in particular from his teacher, exist in his memory and, passing from there to his imagination, also trained in a certain way, finally find their fixation in a text. Thus, in this case the receptive stage of the creation of a poem is identical to training. The nature of the latter was described in detail in the famous Muqaddimah (the 'Prolegomenon') by the Arab philosopher and historian Ibn Khaldun. According to Ibn Khaldun, an erudite poet abstracts general models expressing certain poetic intentions from works of his predecessors, impresses these models on his imagination and then creates his works on their basis.21 This is the way of obtaining general ideas 'rationally' and 'from below', by means of abstracting them from the verbal substance, rather than from spiritual inspiration' from above', by means of perceiving ideas from the noumenal sphere, which is hierarchically superior to the soul.

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The other method, more common in Malay tradition, is connected with the direct perception of Allah's creative energy, disclosed in Logos, by a poet. Specific signs of this path are the youthful age of a poet - which is synonymous with his lack of erudition and the imperfection of his intellect ('the author of this poem is not an erudite man', Raja Iskandar 1966:77) - and praises addressed to the Mercy of the Most High granting inspiration to an inexperienced youth who completely depends on His Will ('[His] Will dominates all who are not versed in learned books and the Qur'an', Van Ronkel 1909:357). The following four excerpts from prefaces will be quoted as examples of descriptions of this path: 1. In amazement I meditated (tepekur) on the Glory of Allah, On the Greatness (kebesaran) of God, the Lord Most Merciful, And spent days and nights in great anxiety (masygul), [Wishing] to compose [a poem] about the fish tambra [carp]. Once I was praying (berdoa), standing on a mat; Suddenly I came to in the middle of the night And [saw] the fish in deep water [with my inner sight], Which was similar to an emerald in appearance. (Spat 1903:277.) 2. 'All praise be to Allah!' - this is the original glorification Of Allah, the All-Powerful (kaya) Lord; [I resort to] the blessing of the Prophet, the head of prophets, In order to obtain the permission to compose it [a poem] The youth [that is, the author] woke up suddenly one night, Having seen the descent of spiritual light (cahaya nurani). [... ] First of all he described the country and its raja [that appeared to his inner sight]. Great zeal led his pen, [When he] was absorbed in the work. (Van Ronkel1921a:70-1.) 3. And after that there follows a composition in verse; The dervish [the author] will not prolong his speech excessively, Because his enlightened soul (hati yang safi) becomes dark, Being in great worry (percintaan) day and night. Once at night I was deep in thought (berfikir), Remembering (ingatkan) good luck, Fate and Predestination, [That is why I] took some ink and a small reed-pen, And wrote a composition in verse, a kind of poem. (Syaikh Daud:1.) 4. And after that there follows a composition in verse; The dervish will not prolong his speech excessively, Because his enlightened soul becomes dark Being engrossed in anxiety day and night. [... ] Once at night the dervish was deep in thought, Remembering good luck, Fate and Predestination, His friends who avoided his company,

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[That is why he] wrote about what was revealed (zahir) to his soul. Because his soul was in sorrow, He wrote a poem about a bird Which was overwhelmed by the malady of love [And flew] in madness and distress along all the alleys. (Raja Iskandar 1966:31.)

Summing up the data provided by the above four excerpts (henceforth the first figure in brackets refers to the number of excerpt, and figures after the comma, to the number of the line in it), we can single out the following stages in the creative process, which is based on the direct perception of inspiration:

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A strong impulse of the poet's will to create a work and simultaneously a constant anxiety (masygul, percintaan) concerning whether the power to bring his undertaking to completion will be granted (for instance, I, 3-4). A meditative concentration (tepekur, tafakur) of the poet on the Divine Omnipotence (kaya = Arabic ghana) and Greatness (kebesaran), that is on Allah's granting existence to the entire multitude of things, or on Allah's ability to create. This concentration is achieved by exerting one's powers of thinking (tikir) and memory (ingat) to penetrate the world of spiritual essences: a state of uninterrupted prayer maintained in the poet's soul (I, 1-2; 2,1-4; 4,5-6). The complete switching off of consciousness from external reality in an act of meditative prayer (a sui generis analogue of Sufi 'remembrance', or dhikr), made even more intense when practised in solitude and at night (1, 6; 2, 5; 3, 4; 4, 5, 7); a subsiding into sleep (2, 5) or a meditative oblivion akin to sleep (I, 5-6). The perception of a suddenly descending light of inspiration (cahaya nurani) (2,

6), or a mention that the poet's soul, in contrast to the usual state of 'darkness', has been enlightened (hati yang safi), which is essentially the same (3,3; 4, 3). The arising or, to be more precise, the manifestation (zahir) in the poet's soul, now dawned on by spiritual light, of the images of the to-be-created work (1,7-8; 2,7; 4, 8-12), which, once recorded, produce in effect this work.

This model of the creative act, described with various degrees of completeness and with emphasis now on the poet's meditative efforts, now on his perception of spiritual light, is none other than the traditional Islamic concept of the perception of the sphere of the supra-real, in particular, its lower plane, the world of imagination. The latter can be defined as a world of autonomous forms and images [... ] not inherent in a material substratum [... ] but 'in suspense' in the place of their appearance, in the imagination, like an image suspended in a mirror. It is a perfectly real world, preserving all the richness and diversity of the sensible world but in a spiritual state. (Corbin 1966:407.)

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A brief description of this sphere (alam misal, the world of eidoi, or ideaimages) is provided by the Javanese version of Tuhfat al-mursala ila ruh al-nabi (the 'Gift addressed to the spirit of the prophet') written in the early seventeenth century: The grade of ideas [idea-images] is a type of being the being of which is composite; it is subtle, and not liable to compression or sundering, it does not have parts, and is not visible to the eyes, [but] is seen with [the eye of] the heart in the form of a vision, when strong mental [striving] produces its form. It is by strong mental [striving] together with [proper] guidance that the ideas become visible. (Johns 1965:64-7.)

The similarity between the above excerpt and prefaces referred to earlier becomes even more obvious if we take into account that in Malay texts the notion of the '(proper) guidance' is identical with nur kashif the 'revealing (that is, spiritual) light' Oohns 1957:87-8). Night and sleep (or the awakening from sleep) are regularly mentioned in the four above excerpts from prefaces, which is far from accidental. The psychology of sleep with dreams (one of the basic functions of the soul) serves as an ideal model of the receptive stage of the creative act. As such, it is perceived by the authors of the prefaces analysed, a good commentary on which we find in the section about dreams from Muqaddimah by Ibn Khaldun.22 However, the perception of the spiritual world in sleep takes place by means of natural distraction of the sleeping one's senses from external reality and does not bring about an active participation of his will in this process. Therefore the Sufi 'remembrance', dhikr (Malay: zikir), is a more adequate model of the creative act, which determines it hierarchically and lays emphasis precisely on its volitive aspect. This practice is based on constant 'remembrance' of the name of Allah or of the first part of the syahadat ('There is no God but Allah') and on the complete concentration of thought on its meaning, thanks to which the power of thought and the power of memory are activated, external senses are blocked, and the whole being of a Sufi becomes a receptacle capable of contemplating the noumenal sphere and the Being of the Most High: One who practises dhikr [based on repeating the formula 'There is no God but Allah'] should do it in this way, that he makes la ilaha ['There is no God'] come

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up from below his navel and must beat his breast with a mental picture of ilia llah ['but Allah'] in such a way that the effect of the dhikr becomes joined to all his limbs, and fixed firmly within him so that he contemplates the Being of God - if God so will. The directions for recitation are as follows: if you wish to make a recitation with your tongue of La ilaha illa llah, then bear in mind the significance of the negation (nafy) and affirmation (ithbat) as meant by the Men of God, that is, that you deny the individuality of your own being which is illusory, and of your own determination which is (likewise) relative and umeal, at the same time visualising [rather, 'creating the image [taswirl' in your heart the words: I have no being; and that you affirm in your heart the absolute being of God by visualising ['creating the image'] in it ilia llah. Gohns 1957:98-9.)

The psychological affinity of the receptive phase of creative process and zikir is obvious. In both cases a strong impulse of will (the desire to create a poem or contemplate the true Being of Allah) urges memory and the power of thought indefatigably towards activity and concentration. This leads to deep meditation, the suppression of the sensory perception of external reality and to the appearance of the ability to perceive spiritual realities in the soul thus enlightened. Finally, thanks to God's Mercy ('if the Most High wishes'), at the third stage the soul is endowed with the ability of direct contemplation (of images of the created poem, or of the true Being of Allah). Thus, the act of poetic creativity can be described as a special and lower form of zikir. It is special and lower, because the purpose of zikir is, firstly, the complete transformation of personality rather than the creation of one more thing in the 'world of witnessing' (albeit of a thing which is capable of partially transforming the personality of the reader, and also of the poet himself); secondly, thanks to the practice of zikir, a Sufi achieves contemplation of a much higher plane of the spiritual world. To conclude the section, we will quote a passage from Hiktiyat Indraputra (the 'Tale of Indraputra'), which will play the role of a summary of the above conception of the receptive stage of the creative act. Having fallen in love with Indraputra thanks to description of him given her by the golden peacock, princess Talela Madu Ratna calls an artist and asks him to draw the prince's portrait. Having bowed reverentially, the artist replied: '0 my lady, how can I draw Indraputra's portrait, if I have never seen him before in my life?' Then the golden peacock approached the artist and touched his breast with its wing; then, like lightning, there flashed through the artist's breast the image of Indraputra. And the artist saw and portrayed it, missing nothing. (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:144-5.)

Thus, the breast (in this case, a synonym of the soul) of the artist who has never seen Indraputra undergoes a mysterious effect thanks to which he sees a clear image in his imagination (soul) and, being a skilful master, he is

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now able to materialize it, and endow the image with actual existence in his picture. Presumably, this mysterious effect is explained not only by fairy-tale motifs but also by the fact that, in the Muslim (Sufi) tradition, the peacock is the symbol of the Divine Spirit moving from unity to multiplicity and, thus, creating countless manifestations of Divine Beauty (Bakhtiar 1976:74), while a touch or an overshadowing by the wing symbolizes the transmission of revelation. Thus, we see the above-described process again: the perception of inspiration (general idea) -> its transformation into an individual idea-image in the imagination -> the fixation of the image in an actually existing material form (picture). Now we will pass to the examination of the third element of this triad.

The creation oj the literary work: the agentive stage oj the creative process If the soul (the seat of imagination) of the creator of a literary work is enlightened or if it has been duly 'trained' and is controlled by the intellect, then idea-images (eidoi) of the work to-be-created are flowing through it in a correct and orderly manner and can find fixation in a material substratum, that is, the word (uttered or written). According to Islamic literary theory, the descent of a literary work from the eidetic plane to the plane of tangible things, that is, its transformation from a harmoniously ordered flow of ideal images into a text actually existing on the material plane, must also be accomplished in a correct way. The most important aspects of this descent are the correspondence of the ideal image to the word used, which implies the orderly structuring of verbal material, and the expression of the ideal image in the most effective way. The correctness of this procedure was considered and regulated by 'ilm al-balagha - 'the science of eloquence', which brought together poetics and rhetoric and which found its most elaborated formulation in the works of the Arab scholar of the eleventh century, 'Abd al-Qahir al-Jurjani, Dala'il al-i'jaz (the 'Signs of the inimitability (of the Qur' an)' - 'Abd al-Qahir al-Jurjani 1978) and Asrar albalagha (the 'Secrets of Eloquence', Ritter 1954), as well as in works of commentators and systematizers of his ideas (Fakhr aI-Din al-Razi, Sakkaki, Qazwini, and others). They became the basis for the creation of numerous textbooks and compendia a part of which was, in all likelihood, known in the Malay world. The first data about the teaching of Arabic rhetoric and poetics in the Archipelago are available from the Sultanate of Aceh of the seventeenth century. For instance, Nuruddin ar-Raniri, the Sufi sheikh from Gujarat who wrote Malay, told in his Bustan as-salatin (the 'Garden of sultans', 1638-1641) that at the end of the sixteenth century all the disciplines of the 'science of eloquence' (al-'ilm al-balagha) - al-'ilm al-ma'ani, al-'ilm al-bayan and al-'ilm al-

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badi' - were studied there under his uncle (Iskandar 1966:33). In Taj as-salatin we read about a prince who was eager 'to learn all the sciences of versification, such as 'arud [the science of metrics] and qafiyah [the science of rhyme] and the others' (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:145). Proceeding from the fact that all these technical terms from prosody were left unexplained, it seems plausible to surmise that they were considered familiar to the reader. In a later period, inhabitants of the Archipelago studied philological disciplines in various centres of the Middle East, mainly in Mecca,23 A Malay poet, Syaikh Daud of Sunur, calling on his compatriots to acquire knowledge of rhetoric and poetics in Mecca, wrote: Listen, 0 brethern, Do not neglect the science of meanings (ilrnu rna'ani), [Then] your reading [works] aloud will become sweet, your understanding will be brilliant, And your knowledge, sharp as a straight thorn. The sciences of rhetorical figures (badi') and metrics (arud) combined with stylistics (bayan) make a triad. Learn them together with your friends. Thanks to these disciplines you will know poetry and verses, And become skilful in measuring verses with metre. (Syaikh Daud:33.)

Interestingly, some specialists in poetics came from the milieu of the 'Jawah', as the Malays and Indonesians were collectively called in Mecca. C. Snouck Hurgronje, for instance, wrote about a certain Hasan Mustafa of Garut, who had spent many years in Mecca and published a special manual of Arabic versification in Cairo (Snouck Hurgronje 1931:268). A dozen manuscripts kept in Jakarta also corroborate the attention paid by Malays to Arabic prosody and 'ilm al-balagha. 24 These manuscripts contain a number of concise and even quite detailed works on these subjects. The greater part of the manuscripts in question is of Acehnese provenance, and some of them were copied in Mecca (for more details, see V. Braginsky 1996). In order to understand the nature of traditional Malay literary theory, it would be useful to make a comparison of its principles with basic notions of the Arabic' science of eloquence'. However, as has been noted already, systematized treatises on this literary theory are not found among Malay writings. Therefore, a reconstruction of the Malay doctrine of correct composition of a literary work is a prerequisite for such a comparison.

The expression of the hidden (meaning) through the manifest (words) The most complete exposition of the correct expression of meanings in literary work is contained in the preface and the epilogue to Taj as-salatin (the 'Crown of sultans'), which provide a key for the interpretation of prefaces to

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many other classical works. A doxological introduction to Taj as-salatin is followed by the below passages: 1. This most glorious book (kitab) is composed (dikarangkan) with perfect diligence

from the most true [amin; or 'beautiful' ihsan, Khalid Hussain 1966:5] expressions (ibarat) in order to make it clear (menyatakan 25 ) what character sultans must have [... ], so that people who read it could benefit from it,and obtain [high] positions, following its precepts (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:5). 2. Those monarchs who have this book with them, read it constantly, listen to its words (kata) attentively and act in accordance with their meanings (ma'na) are perfect rulers (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:5). 3. Truly happy is he who is adorned with this crown [that is, the book 'Crown of sultans']' thanks to all that is in it (keadaannya) and is manifested through it (kenyataannya), thanks to its words (kata) and their meanings (arti kata}' (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:6). 4. My word is a treasure manifested (jauhar yang nyata). A treasure you will call it, having heard its sounds (bunyi), A treasure you will call it, having seen its meaning (isi; literally: 'contenf). [,.,] Bukhari showed himself as a jeweler. Thanks to the ornaments with which he adorned this crown. (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:6,)

These excerpts contain all the main terms allowing us to reconstruct the Malay doctrine of what a work of literature is and how the agentive stage of its creation, that is, the transformation of what has been received at the perceptive stage into an actual thing, is carried out. It is also noteworthy that this process is described not in the order of descent from the initial point (the perception of the ideal image) down to the final point (an actual thing), but on the contrary, in the ascending order from the already existing thing to the source of its origin. The description is concluded by a reference to the noumenal sphere (ghaib) from which ideal images descend into the soul (khalwat hati) of the writer (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:7). First of all, the term 'book' is introduced, which implies a thing created by means of an orderly arrangement (dikarangkan) of the most true or the most beautiful expressions (ibarat). This thing has been created in order to reveal, or make obvious (menyatakan), what would not otherwise be obvious: a spiritual essence, the character, which rulers must possess. This essence is not indicated by any term in the excerpt; for the time being, it is conveyed descriptively, as the exposition of the content of the book. The third excerpt specifies the first one at some length, because it introduces two mutually correlated key oppositions: something existing which possesses actual being (keadaan) versus something manifested which passes

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from its potential existence to actual (kenyataan), and word versus meaning, or sense. The latter opposition is represented in the second excerpt too: word (kata) versus meaning (ma'na). 'Meaning' is exactly the term for this spiritual essence, which was indicated descriptively in the first fragment. Thus words of which a book is constituted have actual existence, while meaning is characterized by potential existence, which is hidden and requires manifestation and actualization through the word. Finally, the third excerpt shows that the term 'word' can be viewed in two aspects, depending on the context and additional specifications: external (corporeal), which is a pronounced or written word as such, and internal (spiritual), which is its meaning. In this case the term 'phonation' (bunyi) is introduced to denote the former aspect - the one endowed with actual existence, while the term 'content' (isi), identical with 'meaning', is used for the latter aspect which is endowed with potential existence. The concept of a literary work as a thing in which internal and external aspects can be found was contained not only in Taj as-salatin, but also in a great number of prefaces to diverse pieces of literature in verse and prose. This concept is characteristic for classical Malay literature as a whole. Not infrequently the opposition: 'phonation' versus 'content', 'meaning' corresponds in prefaces to the opposition: 'voice', 'sound' (the external aspect) versus 'story', 'plot' (the internal aspect), for instance: Some people, those who read themselves, when hearing their own voice (suara) and going deeply into the story (cerita) told in the narrative (hikayat) which is composed in a most beautiful way, sometimes also experience longing and love in their souls. 26 And, [having reproduced] its phonation (bunyi) in [your] reading, You will perceive the story (cerita) contained in it. (Van Ronkel 1909:329.) This is a narrative (hikayat) containing the story (cerita) of Syams aI-Bahrain, of which words are beautiful (Hikayat Shams ul-Bahrain 1888:1).

The comparatively complete set of terms found in prefaces and denoting the opposition of the internal and external aspects of a work is as follows: 'word' (kata), 'phonation' (bunyi), 'voice' (suara), 'expression' (ibarat), 'language' (bahasa), 'speech' (kalam), 'word' (lafaz) versus 'meaning of a word' (arti kata), 'content' (is i), 'story' (cerita), 'meaning' (ma'na). It is also necessary to note that in all contexts containing the opposition: 'story' (cerita) versus 'narrative' or 'tale' (hikayat), 'poem' (syair, nazam), the meaning of the latter terms is similar to the meaning of the term 'book' (kitab) in Taj as-salatin explained above. Like the term 'book', these terms denote an actually existing thing, which is to provide manifestation to something hidden (the story). No direct mention of the interrelation between the internal and external

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aspects of a literary work was made in the above excerpts from Taj as-salatin; however, the comparison of each of them with a treasure is an indirect indication of a correspondence between them. The idea of the correspondence of a word· to a meaning is directly expressed in the preface to one of collections of edifying stories: A man endowed with intellect is fastidious about words (perkataan) of a narrative

(hikayat) and, when their meanings (makna) are good, when expressions (ibarat) correspond (patut) to them [... ], he accepts them into his soul and keeps them in it (Hikayat anak pengajian:2).

Having left aside the function of this work for a time, we can note that, as in Taj as-salatin, the term 'word' is presented in it in the unity of its two aspects: meaning and expression; however, a new term, patut ('correspondence', 'harmony', 'the correct correlation of the expression and the expressed') is introduced in addition to themP Only a work of literature, which is characterized by such a correspondence, is regarded as acceptable to the intellect. Further in the preface this idea is repeated and explained in more detail. If a narrative contains words which cause damage to faith (agama) of the one endowed with intellect, or to his soul (hati), or which do not correspond (tiada berpatutan) to the intellect and have no corresponding (patut) phonation (bunyi), he rejects them and, after weighing them in his soul, refuses to keep them in his memory (Hikayat anak pengajian:2).

This is a list (as is emphaSized by the repeated conjunctions 'or', 'and') of deficiencies of literary works: religious, moral, and literary per se. It is namely these deficiencies that destroy mutual correspondence (patut) between the internal aspect of the word, that is meaning which is verified by the intellect, and its external aspect, phonation. In other words, what can be deficient is either the meaning or its expression, which does not correspond to the meaning. In many prefaces the term patut, intended to convey the idea of the correct correlation between the external and internal aspects of a work, proves close to the term nyata (menyatakan) 'reveal', 'make the hidden obvious', 'manifest', 'express'. However, contrary to the term nyata, the term patut (mematutkan) emphasizes not so much the process of expressing as such as its correctness, the adequacy of the expression to the expressed. Thus, if in Taj as-salatin we read: This glorious book was created [... ] in order to make manifest (menyatakan) what character kings must have [a descriptive reference to the internal aspect, the content] (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:5).

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Then in Hikayat Isma Yatim (the 'Tale of Isma the Orphan') we are told that the latter is a perfectly written romance [... ] in which [everything] that concerns love [as in the above quotation, a descriptive reference to the content] is correctly expressed (dipatutkan) by those knowledgeable and wise. (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:2.) The term kena is a synonym of patut in some poetical prefaces. Their identity is especially obvious in the following quatrain from Syair Putri Akal (the 'Poem of the Ingenious Princess'): That princess was endowed with wisdom, Her reason and intellect stood out to perfection; [She was] excellently versed in the word (lafaz) and the meaning (makna), [So,] whatever she would say, was proper (kena) [the correspondence of the word to the meaning was manifested in all that she said] (Sjair Puteri AkaI1965:43). The opposite meaning is conveyed by the terms ta' kena ('improper') and salah or ghalat ('erroneous', 'incorrect'), for instance: Its [the poem's] rhymes offend the ear (janggal), much in it does not correspond to the proper (ta' kena) (Van RonkeI1921a:76). Its rhymes offend the ear, much is expressed incorrectly (salah) in it (Raja Iskandar 1966:76). Having established the meaning of the term patut, we can define meanings of other terms, which express the idea of correctness of a literary work, with a greater precision. First of all, the way the term patut (mematut, mematutkan) is used points clearly to its opposition to the term karang (mengarang) 'to arrange'. The term karang refers to an orderly arrangement of lexical units, taken either in one of their two aspects: external (the way they sound) and internal (their meaning), or in the unity of both aspects. In the latter case it has a broader meaning: 'to create a literary work, perfectly arranged in all respects', for instance: The perfectly ordered (dikarang) Malay language (Robson 1969:76). (Language (bahasa) is the external instrument of expression). The perfectly composed (dikarang) story (Van RonkeI1909:35). (The story (ceritera) is the internal aspect, that which is to be expressed). The perfectly composed (dikarang) Hikayat Isma Yatim (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:2). (The 'tale' (hikayat) is an integral whole containing no reference to the differentiation of the expression and the expressed).

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Thus, in contrast with patut, the term karang refers to an orderly sequence of units regarded as homogeneous rather than to the establishing of a mutual correspondence between two sequences of units, different in their nature. In terms of contemporary linguistics, the terms karang and karangan (the latter is a noun derived from the same root) should be translated as 'structuralize' and 'structure' respectively. In some cases, this will be the structure of a work as a whole, and in other cases the structure of its 'plane of expression' or its 'plane of content'. Along with the term karang, its synonym atur ('arrange', 'place in the due order') is often used in prefaces: Its structure (aturnya) is disorderly, much in it does not correspond to the proper (Skinner 1963:76). Its structure (karangan) is disorderly, its rhymes do not correspond to the proper (Raja Iskandar 1966:77).

However, in contexts where both karang and atur occur, it is rather the orderly nature of the external aspect of the wording (phonation) that is emphasized by the latter term, while the former lays stress on the idea of the creation of a work as an orderly whole, for instance: [He] composed (dikarang) stanzas of which rhymes do not correspond to the proper. [... ] [And] arranged (mengatur) the speech (kalam) improperly. (Van Ronkel 1909:

329.)

The suggested interpretation of the term atur is corroborated by the fact that it did not occur in any preface studied in conjunction with terms relative to the internal aspect of a work ('the plane of content'), such as a 'story (ceritera)', 'meaning (makna)', or content (isi). The term janggal ('disorderly', 'chaotic') is the antonym of the terms karang and atur, for instance: The composition (atur) of this poem is disorderly (janggal), much in it does not correspond to the proper (ta' kena) (Skinner 1963:76).

Thus, our analysis of the terms karang (mengarang, karangan), atur (mengatur, aturan) and patut (mematut), outlining the notion of the compositional structure of a literary work, shows that the term karang, which refers to the correct structuring of a work in general and - in a more particular sense - to the correct and orderly nature of either of its aspects, has the broadest meaning. Close to it is the term atur, which is, however, more closely connected with reference to the orderly nature of the external aspect of a literary work (the way it sounds, speech). Finally, the terms patut and kena

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indicate the correct correlation between its internal and external aspects, the correct expression of the internal through the external.28 Prefaces allow us not only to establish the meanings of basic terms of Malay poetics, but also to correlate them with concepts of the psychological plane. Grounds for such a correlation are contained in the already discussed excerpt 4 from Taj as-salatin and in excerpts 5 and 6 from the same work, quoted below: 5. People must glorify this book, putting its words (kata) similar to pearls into the ears (teIinga) of their reason and preserving its meanings (ma'na) similar to gems in the ring of their soul (hati), because of these two aspects and because of the ornaments, both external (zahir) and internal (batin), which are contained in it (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:226). 6. [... ] to Bukhari who possesses this crown Which brings joy to the king Who thus becomes the lord of the kingdom of meaning And who manifests himself as a king of a good temper. If the crown is on his head And the meaning is in his soul, The content of his treasury becomes visible, Which is more beautiful than any jewel. 50 what will you say now, After seeing his property, the plenitude of meaning? (Roorda van Eysinga 1827: 227.)

Judging by excerpts 5 and 6, the material word (phonation) is a concept of the plane of the soul's sensual structure which perceives things (according to traditional terminology, external senses, symbolized by the ear in this context), while the meaning of a word is a concept of the plane of the soul's psychic structure which perceives ideal images of things (according to traditional terminology, internal senses, symbolized by the power of sight). This is also corroborated by the mutual correlation of the following oppositions: 'word' versus 'meaning', 'ears' (external senses) versus 'the soul' (internal senses), 'external embellishment' versus 'internal embellishment'. Finally, in excerpt 6 meaning is directly called a treasure residing in the soul, and the fact of its being perceived by the power of internal sight is emphasized one more time. 29 The term patut (kena), regarded from a psychological point of view, denotes a certain kind of psychic activity transforming the content of 'internal senses' into what can be perceived by 'external senses'. The following excerpts from prefaces to Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati and Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya disclose this meaning of the term patut clearly enough: [It so happened] that dalang 5umirada [the author of the former hikayat] fell in love with the daughter of Pangeran Arya Jaya Wirata - named Candradewi - who was

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature indescribably beautiful. So he wrote this work [literary: drama] in order to find a comforter of his soul (penghibur hati) in it. [... ] As concerns this work, take what you can from it, because the dalang could not conceal his unusual intoxication with love, so that you, knowledgeable and wise gentlemen (arifbijaksana), should express the meaning of this tale more properly (mematut). Because, being beyond himself, the dalang resorted to any kidung and kakawin, not discriminating between right and wrong any longer. (Van RonkeI1909:35.) However, this work [literary: drama] is only a narration entertaining the soul (penghibur hati), because its structure (karangan) is imperfect. The point is that my soul was overwhelmed with extreme confusion as I had to narrate of these indescribably beautiful and marvellous events, so that you, the wise and knowledgeable who read this work, should provide a more correct expression of meaning (mematutkan) to it than that which it has now. (Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya:4.)

The above excerpts clearly show that the author feels unable to express the meaning correctly (mematut) after the stream of beautiful images ('unusually beautiful events') - which is flowing before his internal sight and has earlier found the correspondence in the properly arranged words - becomes excessive and overwhelms his soul, causing confusion, self-oblivion and other similar psychic states. It is easy to notice that the situation described corresponds exactly to the doctrine of the soul, 'the world of imagination', as is reflected in the prefaces already known to us: The dervish [that is, the author] will not prolong his speech excessively, Because his enlightened soul becomes dark Being engrossed in anxiety day and night. (Raja Iskandar 1966:31.)

Data presented by prose and poetic prefaces show that confusion of the soul preventing the correct expression of meanings predetermines the following twofold process. Firstly, individual idea-images (eidoi) flowing through the soul 'are drowned in darkness', losing the clearness of outlines which they received from 'the spiritual light'. Secondly, the soul in confusion ceases to be controlled by the intellect which not only maintained the balance of the noumenal and the phenomenal in the idea-image, but also ensured the correct impression of ideal images in the material substratum (the oral or written word).30 Thus, the ability to produce a correct expression is directly connected with the intellect and depends on its perfection: The composition (atur) of this poem is disorderly (janggal), much in it does not correspond to the proper (ta' kena), As my intellect (akaI) is not perfect yet. (Skinner 1963:76.)

This is namely why the authors of prefaces address requests to correct the correspondence between the plane of content and the plane of expression in

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their works to 'knowledgeable and wise people' (arif bijaksana), that is, connoisseurs of literary arts whose psychic and intellectual activities - based on the proper hierarchy of the intellect and the soul - are duly arranged. Therefore, the term patut (kena) in its psychological aspect refers to externally manifested creative activity of the 'enlightened soul', which is guided by the intellect (to be more precise, practical intellect) inherent in those 'knowlegeable and wise'. Apart from the above terms, some other terms, relative mainly to the external aspect of a literary work and referring either to the method of conveying the content or to merits of the latter are found in prefaces. As far as we can judge, the indirect or figurative way of expressing ideas (kias ibarat, tamsil ibarat) was considered the most perfect method of expression. It is namely their insufficient mastery of this method that Malay men of letters complain of most often: [My] writing is being commenced, Figurative expressions (tamsil ibarat ) in it show neither elegance, nor correspondence to the proper; Because the soul is in a state of utter confusion, [The work is only] the means of moderating agitation (penghibur ghairat) of the mendicant dervish. (Van RonkeI1909:375.) I have not yet mastered [the art of] figurative expression (tamsil iburat), [My work] is only a means of moderating (penglipur) unusual confusion. Because of confusion and depression, My soul seemed to separate from the body, So excuse me, you who are knowlegeable and wise, Especially experts in the creation of poetry. (Van RonkeI1909:351.)

The meaning of tamsil ibarat in terms of poetics and psychology will be analysed below. For the time being, suffice it to remark that the notions 'non-figurative expression', 'direct, common expression' are encountered comparatively infrequently, for instance, in the poem Syair Rakis: [Although images] are very clear in my soul, They are only expressed in ordinary words (madah sebarang) (Pehin 1965:20).

As becomes obvious from the above quotations, the term tamsil ibarat is normally opposed to the terms penghibur 'a means of entertainment' and penglipur' a means of consolation', that is, to psychological concepts belonging to the plane of the soul (corporeal soul). One of the most important merits of works with a correct structure of the plane of expression is their being 'beautiful' (indah), for instance: This is Hikayat Indraputra, of which the structure (karangan) is exceptionally beautiful (terlalu amat indah-indah) (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:1).

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature This is Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati, of which the structure (karangan) is unusually beautiful (amat indah-indah) (Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati 1:1). This is a tale of people of olden times, of which the sound (bunyi) is extremely beautiful (indah) (Hikayat Dewa Indra Mengindra:2). This is a tale of people of olden times, of which the words (perkataan) are extremely beautiful {terlalu indah} (Van Ronkel 1909:51). [I] arranged poetic speech (nazam) into a beautiful (indah) poem (Van Ronkel 1921a:79).

Less frequently the term indah is applied to the structure of the plane of content ('a beautifully [indahl composed story [ceritera)', Simorangkir Simandjuntak 1967:46). Sometimes the term baik ('good') is used in such cases (Hikayat anak pengajian:2). Among the terms, which are usually used to indicate merits of the external aspect of a work, the following are worth mentioning. The diversity (banyak ragam) of units of the plane of expression: [I] composed a poem lacking in diversity (tidak berbanyak ragam) (Van Ronke11909: 315-16).

The lack of artificiality or mannerism (tiada dibuat): If it is difficult to understand the meaning of a word in a tale, he, unlike an ignorant one, omits it and does not compel his soul to grasp it' (Hikayat anak pengajian:2).

Brevity and conciseness of expression (mukhtasar): The speech in the poem is brief (mukhtasar) and devoid of artificiality {tiada dibuat} (Skinner 1963:90).

Now, the Malay doctrine of the agentive stage of the literary process can be summarized as follows. A work of literature - a 'book' (kitab), a 'narrative' or 'tale' (hikayat), a 'poem' (syair) -like any other thing at the stage of its creation, arises in the unity of two aspects: external (zahir) and internal (batin). In the external aspect, it is an orderly system (karangan, aturan) of material words, uttered or written (kata, bunyi, la!az, ibarat), which are endowed with actual existence (keadaan) and are perceived by external senses. In the internal aspect, a literary work is an orderly system of meanings (arti, cerita, isi, ma'na) possessing a potential existence, which are perceived in a plastic form by internal senses and are actualized (dinyatakan) through the system of material words mentioned above. In a perfect work both systems are properly coordinated (dipatut) thanks to the 'enlightened state' of the soul (hati yang safi), the abode of imagination, and the unflagging control of the practical intellect, which is inherent in those 'knowledgeable and wise' (ari!

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bijaksana), over the creative process. The system of expression can be direct (madah sebarang) or figurative, indirect (tamsil ibarat); the latter is regarded as hierarchically superior. Important characteristics of the system of expression are diversity of verbal units (banyak ragam), brevity (mukhtasar) of speech and the absence of artificiality and mannerism (tiada dibuat) in it. However, a particularly valued property of a literary work is its beauty (indah), inherent in the expression and in the content both separately and in their unity that is in the work as a whole. Arabic science of eloquence and Malay doctrine of the expression of meaning: a comparison Let us turn now to basic notions of the Arabic literary theory, mainly to 'the science of eloquence', developed by' Abd al-Qahir al-Jurjani and his followers, which synthesized the experience of both the study of stylistic 'inimitability' of the Qur' an and criticism of poetic works. A brief review of these notions known in all countries of Islamic culture will allow us to pass to their comparison with the reconstructed Malay doctrine of the embodiment of an image in words and not only disclose genetic roots of this doctrine, but also establish the meaning of some terms not quite clear so far (in particular, tamsil ibarat 'indirect expression'). Two mutually correlated terms, laft and ma'na, are the basic concepts of Arabic rhetoric and poetics. Laft (a complex of articulated sounds, a separate word or a totality of words in their phonetic aspect) is the material, external aspect of speech perceived by the ear, the way it sounds,31 while ma'na is 'meaning', 'sense', the ideal, hidden, internal aspect of speech, manifested through laft. A vessel and what is contained in it (Ibn Khaldun 1958, III: 392), clothes and the body covered by them (Shidfar 1974:190), the body and the soul (Ibn Rashiq 1972:124) - such are traditional comparisons explaining these terms. The last comparison seems to be the most precise. 32 The term ma'na (plural ma'ani) is translated in different ways by students of poetics: sometimes as 'idea' (in particular, 'poetic idea', Ibn Khaldun 1958, III:399-406), or as 'poetic motif', or as 'thought' or 'image' (Shidfar 1974: 188). This term is not defined in treatises on poetics themselves, therefore it is opportune, perhaps, to pass from the sphere of 'Arab sciences' (among which philological sciences are traditionally classed) to the sphere of 'ancient (Greek) sciences' which embrace, in particular, philosophy and psychology (Von Grunebaum 1955). In Arabic works on psychology, ma'na is the concept of the plane of the soul; contrary to a general idea, this is the idea of a particular thing (for instance, not the idea of enmity in general, but the idea of enmity inherent in a wolf). In addition to this, ma'na is the idea of a particular thing presented in the form of a tangible, or plastic, image. In other words,

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it is the eidos of a thing, an image through which the idea shines, just like the idea of enmity shines through the image of a wolf as imagined by a sheep (Ibn Sina 1961:221-6; Ibn Rushd 1961:526). Such are, as to their nature, traditional poetic ma'ani, for instance, 'generosity of a glorified person', 'wisdom of the glorified one' and so on. However, this is not yet all there is to it. It is absolutely evident that 'generosity of a glorified one' can be 'seen' in a number of images - pictures in one's imagination, while ma'ani in poetry and poetics are those correct images, selected by tradition, in which an erudite poet should 'see' a particular idea. For instance, 'wisdom of the glorified one' should be 'seen' as the wind, or the sea, or a stream; his power, as a hurricane or a thunderstorm (Shidfar 1974). Naturally, the above explanation is somewhat simplified (since it ignores complex concatenations and transformations of individual ma'ani appearing, in particular, due to the use of various rhetorical figures). However, it appears that this explanation reflects the basic elements of the concept of ma'na. 33 The correspondence of laft to ma'na is one of central ideas of Arabic and Persian literary conceptions. It was especially profoundly developed in the work Dala'il al-i'jaz (the 'Signs of the inimitability [of the Qur'an]') by 'Abd al-Qahir al-Jurjani and in rhetorical treatises of later times based on it, where laft and ma'na are presented as two mutually correlated and duly ordered structures. 34 These later rhetorical systems formulate the essence of 'the science of eloquence' ('ilm al-balagha) as 'the conformity (mutabaqa) of speech (kalam) to the meaning (ma'na) [intended], in every aspect, [and this is achieved] by means of certain qualities that give this [conformity] to the combinations of words' (Ibn Khaldun 1958, III:358). An even more common formulation of the same conception is 'the conformity (mutabaqa) of speech to the requirements of the situation (hal)' (Ibn Khaldun 1958, III:399), where 'situation' is interpreted as that which is to be expressed - the totality of meanings (ma'ani). This approach to rhetoric predetermined the appearance of two basic sciences in it. Requirements of the situation (muqtadi aI-hal) were studied by the 'science of meanings' ('ilm al-ma'ani) which explored various categories and modalities of the presentation of meanings in the proper way (Mehren 1853:19). The best correspondence of speech to 'the requirements of the situation' was the subject of the 'science of correct expression' ('ilm al-bayan), on the basis of which 'the choice of the most beautiful and clearest forms from many forms of expression' was carried out (Mehren 1853:18). The basic principles of 'ilm-al-bayan were also formulated by , Abd al-Qahir al-Jurjani in his other work, Asrar al-balagha the 'Secrets of eloquence' (Ritter 1954:7-18). Having emphasized that it is namely meanings, ma'ani, that are real masters of speech demanding obedience from material words (alfaz; plu-

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ral of laft), AI-Jurjani passes in this treatise from the problem of the structure of meanings to the problem of their effective expression which, being characteristic for a perfect work of literature, causes aesthetic pleasure. The most important part of AI-Jurjani's studies of ways of expression is his teaching of tams ii, analogy, as an indirect or figurative expression of meanings. 35 AI-Jurjani shows in the course of his study that tamsil is a metaphor containing new information and based on the transference of a meaning not to a definite object (a man = a lion), but to an indefinite object (for instance, 'the hand of the northern wind'; wind has no parts to which the notion of 'hand' could be applicable, consequently, not the possession of a hand but the possession of a certain quality is ascribed to it). Thanks to an intellectual analysis of the nature of transference, this metaphor leads to a regression from the plane perceptible by reason to the plane perceptible by senses. Tamsil owes its aesthetic effect to a special'detailedness' and 'strangeness' of the image that thus arises. The effect of tamsil is much greater than that of a direct expression; being built correctly, it appeals mainly to the plastic (visual) perception and is free from artificial, or unnatural, associations between things, which impede understanding and destroy the meaning of a work. An extensive tamsil assumes features of a parable in AI-Jurjani's analysis. The definition of tamsil suggested by AI-Jurjani is of a considerable interest for the reconstruction of Malay literary doctrine, because this extremely important rhetorical term is often found in prefaces to Malay works without any explanation offered. However, the fact that in prefaces tamsil is related to the sphere cognizable by 'those knowledgeable and wise', as well as the opposition of works using tamsil to those in which it is not used and which, thus, affect only the soul (penghibur hati), points to an understanding of the intellectual aspect of figurative expressions by Malay authors. This, in its turn, allows us to assume that their interpretation of tamsil was close to that explained in Asrar al-balagha and other Arabic works on rhetoric. This is also corroborated by the hierarchically superior position of tamsil in the Malay theory of expression. To the best of our judgement, the concept of tamsil in Malay literature was interpreted rather broadly (preconditions for such an interpretation were already contained in AI-Jurjani's doctrine) and was applied not only to poetical tropes, but also to any indirect expression of meaning, first of all in the form of parables and allegories. The latter were used extensively in the edifying literature, as well as in historical and belletristic writings. A brief and clear summary of the Arabic theory of rhetoric in its final form, accepted in all later treatises, is found in Muqaddimah (the 'Prolegomenon') by Ibn Khaldun, which defines the place of al-'ilm al-ma'ani, al-'ilm al-bayan and al-'ilm al-badi', or the 'science of poetic ornaments', in rhetoric. 36 According

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to Ibn Khaldun, the basis of aesthetic effectiveness of a literary work lies in a correct correspondence of 'the plane of expression' to 'the plane of content' in it; this correspondence predetermines its 'clarity and beauty' (compare Mehren 1853:18). This effectiveness is also enhanced by various rhetorical ornaments, the rules of the use of which with regard to both lajz and ma'na are formulated by al-'ilm al-badi'. . Fundamentals of the Arabic theory of eloquence set out here in brief coincide completely with the reconstructed Malay literary doctrine. In both cases, a literary work is a thing which is presented as the unity of its external aspect ('the plane of expression'; Arabic: lajz, Malay: bunyi) and internal aspect ('the plane of content'; Arabic: ma'na, Malay: makna, isi), and creative activity represents the correct ordering of its internal and external structures and the establishing of a harmonious correspondence (Arabic: mutabaqa, Malay: patut) between them. In both cases, two ways of expressing (manifesting) the internal through the external - that is, the direct and the indirect way (the latter via tamthil, Malay: tamsil) - are discriminated, the indirect way being regarded as hierarchically superior, because it presupposes the necessity of intellectual activity enhancing the intensity of aesthetic effect. Apart from the affinity of these general principles in Arabic and Malay literary doctrines, a number of more particular correspondences between them can also be mentioned. Summing up Al-Jurjani's theory of tamsil, we have already noted plasticity and 'visuality' of images; which playa similar role in Malay tradition as being the greatest merits of a work of literature. This means of artistic expression allowing an image to be perceived in such a way 'that he who hears, sees it as it were' (Shidfar 1974:185) is constantly emphaSized in Arabic treatises on poetics and rhetoric. Another important merit of a literary work, which is noted by both Malay and Arabic authors, is diversity of verbal units. 37 Perhaps even more frequently found in Arabic and Persian works are discourses on brevity and the absence of artificiality in pieces of literature; these merits are mentioned regularly in prefaces to Malay literary works toO.38 The naturalness of speech (Arabic: matbu' - in this case, 'the natural gift of expression') is, in the opinion of Arabic and Muslim critics in general, another important property of beautiful poetry and prose (Trabulsi 1955:112; Ritter 1954:17; Krachkovsky 1954-60, 11:381). Artificiality and mannerism (all that is conveyed by the Arabic term takalluj or mutakallaf, of which Malay analogues are buatan, dibuat 'artificial', 'pretentious') are the opposites of this property.30 This artificiality not only deprives a literary work of its natural and pleasant flow; more importantly, it impairs the clarity of the expression of its meaning and destroys the beauty of the correspondence between the word and the ideal image (ma'na) that the word is to convey.40

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The concept of the beautiful in classical Malay literature Thus, as a result of the correct expression of the internal (an ideal image, eidos) through the external (the word) and of their proper ornamentation, a work (thing) of which an important quality is beauty comes into being. As was already noted above, this quality is usually indicated by the term indah in prefaces to Malay literary writings. Unfortunately, we failed to find any direct explanation of this term in Malay tradition itself. Therefore, in order to establish its conceptual meaning, it is necessary to turn to contexts in which it is found, having paid special attention to synonyms used instead of it and to the description of psychological states caused by the perception of the beautiful. It goes without saying that it is impossible to define all shades of the meaning of such a widely used word as indah which is present in classical Malay literature in all kinds of contexts. However, it seems that its analysis based on a number of literary works (for instance, Hikayat Indraputra, Hikayat Isma Yatim) and Sufi texts (particularly works by Hamzah Fansuri and a collection of anonymous treatises edited by Johns (1957)) allows us to single out the basic conceptual aspects of its meaning. There are three such aspects discernible in texts thanks to synonymic substitutions.

The origin of the beautiful The first aspect is connected with the source, the origin of the beautiful. This aspect is indicated by the synonymic substitution of the expression kekayaan Tuhan - 'the manifestation of the Lord's Might' or, as Wilkinson (1932, 1:519) and Klinkert (1916:757) translate it, 'God's mighty works' and God's wonderwerken respectively - for the term indah, for instance: On the plain grew herbs, the colour of which was like emerald. And Indraputra reached this plain where a hill of unusual beauty towered; down its slope ran a cool stream, and trees of diverse shapes and colours grew at its foot. And Indraputra listened to the sounds [of the trees], and it was like the sounds of a chorus, in which some people were singing syair, others madah [eulogies], and yet others pantun. And Indraputra stood still to behold [the manifestations of] the Power of the Lord (kekayaan Tuhan), and [the splendour of] these beauties (indahindah) increased. After having contemplated all these things, Indraputra's feelings were satisfied; he rendered thanks to Allah and was reminded of his parents. (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:26-7.) After entering into the garden, Indraputra saw various unusually beautiful (indahindah) handiworks in it. [... ] [the description of wonders of the garden follows.] So, Indraputra praised the Most High and thought in his soul: 'If such are the deeds of His slaves, how great must His power be?' (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:65-6.)

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As is evident from these and a large number of similar examples, the notion of 'the beautiful' (indah) appears to be related to the concept of the Divine Power (kekayaan Allah), and ontologically implies it. The root kaya, from which the noun kekayaan ('power', 'richness') is derived, is often encountered in prefaces to literary works, where the poet ponders on his creative helplessness and the creative Omnipotence of Allah, turning to Him for help with the creation of the poem: 'Praise be to Allah' is the primordial praise [offered to] Allah, the Omnipotent (kaya) Lord (Van RonkeI1921a:70-1). 'Praise be to Allah!' is the lofty praise; Let us praise Allah, Lord Almighty (kaya) (Van Ronkel 1921a:75).

Kekayaan is also synonymous with the Arabic term ghana, meaning 'rich', 'powerful', 'self-sufficient' (A1-Attas 1970:139, note 96), which is also quite frequently found in prefaces. The meaning of this term is made obvious in Harnzah Fansuri's Syarab al-asyikin (the 'Drink of lovers'), where the author, using an example illustrating the harmony of the creative Power of Allah and His Wisdom, employs it as a parallel to kudrat, or 'power which creates'. Another analogy is [... ] to the king who is complete in power (kekayaan). He can effect changes in his power; he can transform the elephant into a horse, or the horse into an elephant; or he can transform the goat into a dog, or the dog into a goat. But he refuses to effect such changes in his power, since if he effects such changes his perfection is destroyed. It were as though what already is, is not yet perfect - and only just now that he wills to bring forth his perfection (kamal) and greatness (kebesaran). (AI-Attas 1970:324.)

The notion of kebesaran ('greatness') is closely related to the concept of kekayaan and often replaces it in prefaces to literary works: In perplexity I reflected on the Glory of Allah, On the Greatness (kebesaran) of the Lord All-Forgiving (Spat 1903:277).

It follows from both the passage from Syarab al-asyikin and the poetic lines

quoted above, that the Greatness is the Perfection (kamal) of Allah, which is inherent in His Creative Power (kudrat) and is impressed on the perfection of the things created: If He changes them [that is, His Predispositions], His Greatness (kebesaran) perishes, for His Greatness is His Perfection - and this cannot be altered. If He changes [His Greatness] then His Perfection perishes. (AI-Attas 1970:324.)

Thus, as the above synonymic substitution shows, the term kekayaan Allah

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- the 'manifestation of Allah's Power', as well as the closely related term kebesaran Allah - the 'manifestation of Allah's Greatness', indicates Allah's Creative Power, unlimited and unconditioned (unless by Allah's own Wisdom), self-sufficient and perfect, to which the beauty (keindahan) of His creations bears witness. Beauty or the beautiful (indah) is the perfect Being, with which Allah endows things, and which is manifested through them, 'the blossoming of Being', as Plotinus put it (Plotini Enneades V.8.lO). The acquisition of beauty by a thing is its creation. A fairly complete and systematic exposition of the Malay Sufi concept of beauty is contained in one of AI-Attas's works: According to the Sufis in particular, the Divine Attributes are not other than the Divine Essence (al-Dhat) - they are the Essence manifesting Itself under the aspect of 'externality'. The Essence in one or other of Its infinite aspects, manifests Itself in the 'form' of the Divine Names. Attributes are therefore Divine Names manifested in the external world. There are two aspects of the Divine Names, the one opposed to the other, under the general heading of Beauty (ai-Jamal) and Majesty (al-Jalal) and governed by Perfection (ai-Kamal). Each Name produces an effect (athar) and all Names are in continuous operation, and no cessation of such operation is possible for any of them. [... ] His Name Most Compassionate One (ai-Rahman), through which God out of His Mercy (rahmat) first brought forth the Universe, embraces all things and is also the sum of His Majesty, in contradistinction with His Name Most Merciful (ai-Rahim), through which He is particularized only in all that is Beautiful and Good. (AI-Attas 1971:34, 43.)

The seat of the Power of the Compassionate (aI-Rahman) is His Throne (al'arsh, Malay: arasy). But, as AI-Attas writes: AI-Rahman, being that aspect of the Divine Name that is universal in Its particularization, embraces also the sum of all attributes of Beauty. [... ] We now see that the Throne, which is the seat of ai-Rahman, is also the sphere of operation, as it were, of the Divine Attributes of Beauty: ai-Jamal. (AI-Attas 1971:43.)

The Throne symbolizes 'the stage of the Second Descent and Determination of the Essence in Its revelation to Itself, and symbolizes ontologically that place of being or existence wherein the creatures are individualized as a unity without any differentiation - as a general concept (ijmali) - as it were, in the Divine Knowledge' (AI-Attas 1971:43). The third Determination of the Essence is symbolized by the Footstool (al-Kursi). On this plane 'the creatures are made to exist analytically as potential existents or 'exterior essences' (al-a'yanu'l-kharijiyah)' (AI-Attas 1971:44). Below the Footstool begins the phenomenal world, where the ideal forms (the spirits of things), which have been kept previously in the Divine Knowledge, descend after the Divine Pen has inscribed them on the Guarded Tablet. As AI-Attas writes: 'According to the Sufis generally and to AI-Jili in particular, Jamal denotes - as explained

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above - Divine Beauty and [... ] husn its outward manifestation' (AI-Attas 1971:35). Probably one of the briefest expositions of this concept is found in a Malay incantation for a beautiful appearance (pemanis), ending with a traditional description of feminine beauty: [I] bathe in the Throne (arasy), Bathe in the Footstool (kursi), Bathe in the Tablet (lauh), Bathe in the Pen (kalam), I bathe in the Essence (zat) of Allah, Bathe in the Attributes (sifat) of Allah, Bathe in the Enclosure (kandang) of words: 'There is no God save Allah'. Oh, my radiance - the radiance of the Light (nur), The Light of Allah, the Light of Muhammad, The radiance of His Majesty the Messenger of Allah. Three stars are on my chest, My lips (are like unto) a train of ants, My tongue (is like unto) Chintamani Snake, For I have donned the radiance of the Light (nur). (Skeat 1966:631.)

The opposition, inherent in Muslim aesthetics, of Absolute Beauty and phenomenal beauty (Jamal versus husn) is reflected in the use of the two most frequent terms conveying the ideas of the beautiful in Malay belles-lettres and in Malay Sufi works, elok and indah. Data on the use of these terms show that although their semantic fields coincide partially, indah emphasizes the external, manifested, sensually perceived aspect of a beautiful thing, while elok stresses its internal, hidden, essential aspect connected with the notion of 'good'. Consequently, the former term is correlated with husn in its Sufi interpretation, while the latter, with Jamal. 41 Thus, the first connotation of the notion of 'the beautiful' in Malay tradition shows that here, as well as throughout the Muslim world in general, Allah's Creative Power (kudrat = kekayaan) was understood as its source. Thanks to this Creative Power, the Absolute Beauty (Jamal = elok) of Allah is impressed upon the beauty of the phenomenal world (husn = indah), and in particular upon the works of literature. A clear expression of this idea is found in a Malay Sufi poem (Van Nieuwenhuijze 1945:386): Allah's glory astounds Thy slaves, Every moment Thou createst (laku), In every form [there isj Thy beauty (elok), In every sound [there is] Thy voice (basa).

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Immanent properties of the beautiful The second aspect of the notion of indah is connected with immanent, inner properties of the beautiful itself. The beautiful {indah)42 is, first and foremost, something unusual, wonderful, extraordinary, strange, amazing (heran, ajaib, gharib, tamasya). These are the most frequent synonyms of indah in classical stories. For example: 'And Indraputra was amazed (hairan) to have seen those beautiful [things] (yang indah-indah). Subsequently he began to contemplate those various wonders (yang hairan)' (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:70). Or: 'And the princess saw that garden of utmost beauty (terlalu indah-indah). [Then follows a description of the garden.] And when the princess had seen all those wonderful sights (tamasya) of Indraputra, His Majesty the ruler of the world also set out to see all those miracles (ajaib) and marvels (heran), (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:286). Or elsewhere: 'because his soul was exhausted (enraptured) from narrating these unusually beautiful (indah-indah) and strange (gharib-gharib) events' (Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya:4). Then, the beautiful is something diverse, variegated (berbagai-bagai), expressing itself in manifold ways and manifesting the plenitude of potential inherent in an object. All classical Malay tales are filled with descriptions of colours, birds, gems, clothes, melodies, and so on, and expressions such as 'diverse' (berbagai, aneka warna, banyak ragam) are synonymous with the notion of' the beautiful'. Compare, for example, 'And Indraputra was amazed at seeing those wonderful things (literally: beauties, yang indah-indah) (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:70) to 'And Indraputra climbed the hill and beheld a multitude of diverse things (literally: varieties, aneka aneka bagai jenis)' (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:101). An indication of the connection between the notion of 'the beautiful' and the idea of diversity is also found in Sufi texts, for example: This bird is unusually beautiful (indah), Thanks to the variety of its appearances and behaviour (Doorenbos 1933:34).

Finally, the diversity of 'the beautiful' is diversity, which is orderly and harmonious. This is emphasized in all sorts of descriptions, whether of the beautifully arranged pearls in a wedding palanquin (mutia dikarang terlalu indahnya), or in the sound of an orchestra, where indah is regularly replaced by its synonym merdu, 'harmoniously sounding, free of false tones' (Zain n.d.:491: 'selaras bunjinja, tidak ada bunji yang sumbang'). Two descriptions of a resounding sapphire in Hikayat Isma Yatim: 'most beautiful (terlalu indah-indah) was the sound of that jewel in the crystalline flask' (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:21) and 'unspeakably harmonious (terlalu sekali merdu) was its sounding' (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:24) depict the beautiful as something unusual, its multitude of manifestations harmoniously arranged.

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This definition of the beautiful in classical Malay literary tradition is in complete agreement with the general Muslim interpretation. The authors of medieval Arabic treatises on rhethoric and poetics, 'Abd al-Qahir al-Jurjani in particular (Ritter 1954:17 preface, 116-9 Arabic text), sees the 'strangeness' and the 'unexpectedness' in poetry as the main factors determining its aesthetic effectiveness. G.E. von Grunebaum, in his article on the principles of Muslim aesthetics, sums up the corresponding views in this way: 'the author is after the extraordinary - "ajab", unexpected - "nadir", unusual and bizarre - "gharib'" (Von Grunebaum 1981:328). The diversity of the beautiful is closely connected with its 'extraordinariness', since it is exactly this diversity that endows the beautiful thing with its marvellous, 'scintillating' ability to amaze the beholder with its constantly changing manifestations (compare the above-quoted passage from Abd alJamal's poem, Doorenbos 1933:86). It is not by accident that in Muslim tradition iridescent precious stones are one of the most widespread symbols of the beautiful. At the same time, the plenitude of manifestations of diversity makes it synonymous with 'perfection', also a key notion in Muslim aesthetic theories. Thus, interpreting the concept of the beautiful as expounded in Ihya 'ulum aI-din (the 'Revivification of religious sciences') by AI-Ghazali, the Russian scholar A.Y. Sagadeyev writes: AI-Ghazali provides a general definition of the beautiful as a manifestation of the perfection which is realized in an object in conformity with its nature. There exists for each object a perfection proper to it; its opposite, though, may constitute a perfection proper to some other object. The beauty attains its highest quality when the object possesses all the features of its perfection, their partial absence reducing the beauty proportionally. (Sagadeyev 1964:34.)

This conception of diversity as plenitude and perfection forms the basis of countless descriptions of gardens, garments, heroes and heroines, including detailed enumerations of all constituent elements and their varieties, in Malay classical belles-lettres. And finally, among the principal notions of Muslim aesthetics invariably mentioned in connection with beauty are 'orderliness', 'harmony' and 'proportion'. These notions also occur in the Qur'an (see, for example, Surah 67: 3-4). As AI-Ghazali wrote: 'If beauty consists of proportionality of appearance and of purity of colour, it may be perceived through the sense of seeing' (quoted in Sagadeyev 1964:53); or in Ibn Khaldun, where beauty exists if an object of vision is harmonious in the forms and lines given to it in accordance with the matter from which it is made, so that the requirements of its particular matter as to perfect harmony and arrangement are not disregarded - that is the meaning of beauty and loveliness whenever these terms are used for any object of sensual perception. (Ibn Khaldun 1958, II:397-8.)

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The psychology of perception of beauty

The third aspect of the notion of indah is related to the psychology of perception of the beautiful. As an unusual or marvellous sight (tamasya), the beautiful provokes attention, and, being perceived through 'external senses', arouses an intense attraction in the soul of the perceiving subject, a kind of love (berahi): And at the sight of this bird, the princess's heart was filled with intense love (berahi), since the bird's appearance (rupa) was unspeakably beautiful (terlalu indah) (Spat 1903:126). The hikayat is preceded by a number of stories of utmost beauty (terlalu indahindah), which will arouse love (berahi) in all those reading them or listening to them (Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya:3-4).

The ability of the beautiful to arouse love underlies Islamic aesthetics in general (for more details, see below). According to Al-Ghazali, 'Every beauty arouses love in those perceiving it; Allah Most High is beautiful and loves beauty' (quoted in Sagadeyev 1964:34). Love (berahi) for the beautiful arouses amazement (heran) in the soul which, together with a great tension, with a complete absorption of all senses by the manifestations of the beautiful and with a weak control of the intellect over the soul, disrupts the correct hierarchy of 'powers' in the soul and brings about a state of shock: oblivion (lupa), loss of consciousness (merca), and so on. The perceiver is dissolved, as it were, in the beautiful, surrendering the ego: 'as if the listeners' senses dissolved (lenyap) in these sounds, because they were weakened (letih) by listening to that diversity (bagai-bagai) and were amazed' (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:24); or: And the maid, sent there by the princess, was immersed in forgetfulness (lupa akan dirinya), as she heard those sounds and saw the diverse sights (tamasya berbagai-bagai)' (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:295). The effect produced in the soul by such beauty is extremely dangerous for those unable to control or channel it. The dangers of the beautiful are often described in Sufi texts. In classical narratives there is a special motif of heroic victory over the beautiful, which is not surpassed by victory either on the battlefield or in love affairs. In the Hikayat Indraputra, for example, the hero overcomes the enchantments of a beautifully resounding hill of adamant: I

After a while the adamant hill began to resound like an Aeolian harp, and its sounds were unspeakably beautiful. And Indraputra paused for a moment, but then he regained consciousness (teringat) and immediately left. Certainly anyone in his place would have lingered there, enchanted by these sounds. (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:101.)

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An even stronger expression of the contrast between Indraputra and one of these' others', who are unable to overcome the power of the beautiful, is found in the episode of Princess Candra Lela Nur Lela, hidden by her father in a high palace surrounded by deep moats covered with invisible glass bridges. A parrot and a mynah, who are entertaining the princess in her seclusion, plan to find her a bridegroom. The parrot visits a prince, a lover of hikayat, telling him about the beauty of his mistress. The enamoured prince hurries to the palace. With great difficulty, and mocked by the fish in the moats, he finds the bridge, crosses the moats and begins climbing the ladder, on which golden steps alternate with swords. At this moment the princess looked down, smiling. The prince looked up, and their eyes met. And it was as if the prince's senses dissolved (lenyap rasanya) in the ocean of love (berahi), for the princess was unspeakably beautiful; and his feet slid off the golden step, he fell on a sword-step, and died, his body cut in two. (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:133.)

Thirty-nine princes perish in this way; then Indraputra sets out in quest of the princess. He immediately shows his superior intelligence by guessing correctly how to find the transparent glass bridge ('the bridge should be where the water does not ripple'). Upon approaching the palace he proves his competence for the second time: he first climbs the ladder at lightning speed, and only then looks up at the princess. And Indraputra was amazed at the extraordinary beauty of the princess's face, which was so brilliant and radiant that it was impossible to look straight at her. Indraputra lost consciousness (merca) for a moment, and the princess brushed some rose water over Indraputra's face. She was amazed at his appearance. And Indraputra recovered his consciousness and arose. (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:135-6.)

Thus, the intelligence (akal, budi) of a man who is 'knowledgeable and wise' (arif bijaksana) - and this feature is emphaSized in Indraputra's character - overcomes the deadly danger of beauty. This motif is of vital importance, since only when rationally arranged, rationally meted out and rationally perceived, may the beautiful exercise a healing effect (penghibur / penglipur) on the soul, which is passionately attracted to it, by dispelling depression, dismay and other such conditions (traditionally considered to be maladies of the soul). This is one of the main functions of literature, according to Malay and, more broadly, Muslim aesthetics. It is precisely this function that is indicated by the term indah, which recurrently appears in prefaces as the one standing in opposition to the terms faedah and manfaat ('benefit', 'usefulness'), which refer to intellectual and behavioural merits promised by a literary work. This function will be analysed in more detail below. For the time being, we can sum up the results of the analysis of the psychological aspect of the

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beautiful. The beautiful arouses love for itself, and amazement. If unduly intense and beyond control of the intellect, it causes an extremely dangerous 'consternation' of the soul: oblivion and loss of consciousness; but kept within reasonable limits and controlled by the intellect it exercises a healing, soothing effect on the soul. All three aspects of the notion of 'the beautiful' (indah) are represented in the Hikayat Isma Yatim. Its description of a prodigy procured by Isma for his lord may serve as an encapsulated definition of the beautiful in classical Malay literature, and makes a fitting conclusion to this section. Those elements which form the concept of the beautiful and which have been discussed above are marked by parentheses. Then Isma Yatim put an ivory chest before His Majesty and spread out a rambuti cloth. [... ] And when Isma Yatim told the story of the captain [... ], the lord rejoiced at hearing all those wonders and ordered the chest to be opened; having seen the utmost beauty of the work he said: 'It seems to me that no human being could have made this chest' [the extraordinariness of the beautiful.] Having paid obeisance, all the princes, councillors and captains said: 'Truly just are our lord's words'. And the lord ordered the ivory chest to be opened, and saw in it a small crystalline box of unusually beautiful (terlalu indah-indah) work. At His Majesty's desire the box was opened; in it there was a turquoise casket (cembul) containing two sapphires. Then Isma Yatim took the smaller of them and put it on a golden tray, and two unspeakably beautiful (terlalu amat indah-indah) peacocks appeared from it; and he put the other sapphire in a crystalline flask and immediately it began to resound and music of wonderful beauty was poured out, including one hundred and twelve different modes [that is, all modes, or ragam; the diversity of the beautiful is its plenitude, perfection]. [... ] Upon entering his bed chamber His Majesty put the chest near his bed. He took out the sapphires from the turquoise casket and put one of them on the golden tray and the other in the crystalline flask. And immediately the sapphire began to whirl in the flask, displaying a variety of forms and shining brightly. Its radiance filled the palace, and the lord with his spouse, his court maids and ladies-in-waiting amused themselves at the sight of the multi-splendoured glow [diversity here equals extraordinariness; diversity of visual impressions]. And when the sapphire whirled, an unimaginably harmonious [merdu; the orderliness and harmony of the diversity inherent in the beautiful] music was heard, with one hundred and twelve modes sounding [diversity of auditory impressions]. And it was as if the listeners' senses were dissolved (Ienyap rasanya) in these sounds [oblivion, loss of consciousness effected by the beautiful], because they were weakened (letih) by listening to the diversity (bagai-bagai) and amazed [heran; amazement as the effect of the beautiful]. [... ] Then the peacock and the peahen, overwhelmed by passion [isyki, love aroused by the beautiful], came out of the jewel and with their tails spread began to dance on the golden tray with unspeakable beauty (terlalu indah-indah), singing pantun and se/oka, bait and syair, in order to delight the soul [menyukakan hati or menghiburkan hati; pleasing, in this case the healing effect of the beautiful] of the lord and his spouse. [... ]

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And His Majesty said to his spouse: '0 my beloved, I think that if such are the works of Allah the Glorious and Exalted - the Lord of the worlds, Who pours out His Greatness (kebesaran) on the Universe - here on earth, then how much more wonderful will they be in the world to come [the Greatness of Allah as the source of beauty]: The queen answered: 'Truly just are thy words. How wonderful (indah-indah sekali) are the Greatness (kebesaran) of the Lord of the worlds, and the devotion of Isma Yatim and these amazing [ajaib, extraordinariness of the beautiful] prodigies: (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:20-1, 24-5.)

The doctrine of the 'beautiful word' and its functions After analyzing the general concept of the beautiful in the Malay tradition, let us now turn to the study of one of its particular aspects, the doctrine of the beautiful word and its functions, that is, the interpretation by this tradition of the nature of the effect exercised by a literary text on the reader.

Beauty in general and the beauty of the literary work Inherent in the beautiful word (work) are all the above properties of the beautiful, notably, its psychological effect, that is, the ability to transform the state of the soul, the beautiful piece of literature being the major means of such a transformation. First of all, the beautiful word rouses passionate longing and love for itself: [... ] the souls of all men and women, who listen to a hikayat in which a good story (ceritera) is told, become overwhelmed with passionate longing (rindu dendam) and love (berahi) for it. Some feel love (berahi) for the one who reads, especially if his voice and tune are beautiful, which enhances love in their souls. It is not only the souls of women, which the agitation takes hold of then; the hearts of most men who are listening to the hikayat also begin to beat in time (berpatutan) with the voice of the one who reads. Some people, those who read themselves, hear their own voices and, going deeply into the story told in the hikayat which is written in a most beautiful way (amat indah), sometimes also experience passionate longing and love in their souls thanks to the sounds of their own voices. Therefore, all these people become as it were mad. 43 This excerpt not only presents perhaps the clearest picture (in Malay literature) of the effect of a literary work on the soul of a reader or a listener, but it also produces indirect evidence concerning Malay authors' perception of the common Islamic idea that the soul's love for the beautiful is based on a harmonious correspondence of the soul's nature with the nature of a beautiful thingM ('if his voice and tune are beautiful, [... ] the hearts [... ] begin to beat in time with the voice of the one who reads').4s This concept was expounded in many works by Arab and Persian authors,

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mainly in treatises on music (compare, for instance, Muzykalnaya 1967:262-83, 303-6). A good summary is found in Muqaddimah by Ibn Khaldun: As has been established in the proper place, pleasure is the attainment of something that is agreeable [that is, corresponding]. [Such a thing,] in sensual perception, can only be a quality. If (such a quality) is proportionate and agreeable to the person who has the perception, it is pleasant. If it is repugnant to him or discordant, it is painfuL [... ] Agreeable sensations of vision and hearing are caused by harmonious arrangement in the forms and qualities of [the things seen or heard]. This impresses the soul as harmonious and is more agreeable to it. If an object of vision is harmonious in the forms and lines given to it in accordance with the matter from which it is made [... ]- that being the meaning of beauty and loveliness whenever these terms are used for any object of sensual perception - that [object of vision] is then in harmony with the soul that perceives [it], and the soul, thus, feels pleasure as the result of perceiving something that is agreeable to it. Therefore, lovers who are most deeply in love express their extreme infatuation by saying that their spirit is commingled with that of the beloved. [... ] Beauty in the objects of hearing is harmony and lack of discordance in the sounds'. (Ibn Khaldun 1958, II:397-8.)

Ibn Khaldun goes on to write that a whole' ocean of phonetic harmony' exists in the world. He relates to it not only instrumental music and singing, but also the recitation of the Qur' an and poetry, which produce the same effect on the soul as music does: The Arabs originally had [only] poetry. They composed a kind of speech consisting of equal parts of harmonious proportions, as far as the number of consonants with and without vowels was concerned. Within these parts, they divided speech in such a way that each part made sense by itself and did not have to lean upon the other. Such [parts of speech] they called verse. It is agreeable to nature first by its division into parts, then by the harmonious arrangements of its parts at the ends and beginnings, and then by the fact that it conveys the intended meaning and uses expressions conforming to [that meaning]. (Ibn Khaldun 1958, II:401-2.)

In other words, harmonious wholeness of literary work (a thing; speech in its laJz-ic aspect is none other than a variety of phonetic substance) as well as that of the soul consists of two harmonious essences, as it were: the 'musical-type' harmony of laJz ('division into parts', a 'harmonious arrangement of parts') and the harmony of the correspondence between laJz and the ideaimage (ma'na). The latter remark of Ibn Khaldun is undoubtedly important for the interpretation of the Malay passage on the art of recitation, in which, as in the treatise of the Arab theoretician, the simultaneous effect of the beauty of a rhythmically recited text (lagu) and of the beautiful expression of the content (cerita [... ] amat indah) on the soul is mentioned. However, this remark is no

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less important for the understanding of the effect of a literary work in the Malay tradition generally, as many classical works speak about harmonious recitation not only of poetical texts, but also of prose narratives, hikayat (see Chapter V). Then, the beautiful word (work), as well as beauty in general, is very dangerous to a person who does not possess a perfect intellect. A confirmation of this we find in the Hikayat anak pengajian (the 'Tales for children who study the Qu'ran'): This is a narrative (hikayat) which is composed of excerpts borrowed from here and there; it will yield [benefits] to the intelligent ones (yang berakal) and vices to the ignorant ones (yang bebal). Because any slave of God, endowed with intellect, who listens to stories (riwayat), narratives (hikayat) or edification (nasihat) and impresses them on his soul, is like unto a man who enters a garden full of fruits of all kinds and flowers of all colours. He picks up and eats only those fruits of which the taste is good, and he rejects those which stupefy and plunge him into unconsciousness (lalai), as he fears that they may damage his soul. [... ] As for vices in the soul of the ignorant one, they [multiply] because, after entering the garden and seeing all those amazing marvels, he feels a delight and begins to laugh loudly and jump for joy like an insatiable glutton, looking around - now to the right, now to the left - like a monkey on the top of a tree. Deeming only himself a connoisseur, he will disregard the fact that not every fruit is edible and not every flower is fit as a decoration, that one should not enjoy them before one has understood which is bad, which is sour, which is sweet and which is bitter and can only stupefy.[ ... ] The ignorance of all this and non-discrimination will cause damage to the fool. The same applies to those who read a hikayat. (Hikayat anak pengajian:l; compare Abdullah bin Abdul Kadir Munsyi 1985:iv-vi.)

Finally, a beautiful work created by a 'knowledgeable and wise' (arif bijaksana) author is capable of producing a psychotherapeutic effect (menghibur Imenglipur) on the soul of a reader who is also 'knowledgeable and wise', when it is overwhelmed by passionate love or oppressed by sadness and other excessive emotions. As we shall see, this is one of its most important functions in classical Malay literature.

A piece of literature as soother of the soul Mentions of the soothing and healing function of literature are found in texts of various genres with varying degrees of Muslim colouring. In tales about Panji, which are of pre-Islamic Javanese origin, for instance in Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati, we read: 46 This - a story told by people of olden times in the Malay and Javanese languages - was narrated by a dalang and a poet endowed with the supreme art in verse composition (paramakawi). It was translated into Malay, so that, by becoming a

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wayang story, it would serve as a comforter (penghibur) of love pangs. But how can sorrows of the soul and innumerable love pangs disappear? For this the dalang tells his tale, in order to extinguish the fire in the soul overwhelmed with love (berahi). And he continues his narration, in order to prolong tembang, kidung and kakawin designed for all those knowledgeable and wise (arifbijaksana), whose passionate love (isyki) is manifested only in the depths of their hearts. Because, had they displayed what is hidden in their hearts, it would not bring them any good. It is to acheive this aim [to soothe their souls] that this tale was composed. (For the Malay original, see Winstedt 1991:40.) In another work of also Indo-Javanese, pre-Islamic inspiration, Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya, we find the following preface: And it [the main tale] is preceded by several most beautiful (amat indah-indah) stories from all those wonderful (ajaib) and marvellous (gharib-gharib) ones that are found in wayang plays and which will induce love (berahi) in all those reading or listening to them, and will regenerate (memberi bangkit) the souls of those who are obsessed by passionate love (dendam berahi). Yet, these stories are mere narrations to entertain the soul (penghibur hati). (Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya:3-4.) In Hikayat [sma Yatim, with its specifically Islamic edifying tendency, it is precisely the ability to soothe the soul that is considered the main distinctive feature of the hikayat genre: The fourth kind [of benefit of this work] is that if it is listened to by people in the grip of depression (masygul), their souls will rejoice (menjadi suka hatinya); therefore it is called a tale (hikayat) (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:1). The same motif of the psychotherapeutic function of a literary work occurs frequently in different varieties of syair markedly Islamic in their content, for instance, in the historical Syair perang Mengkasar (the 'Poem of the Makasar war'): With a sheet of paper as provision for my pen, I have tried to [compose] a soother of the soul (penghibur angan-angan) (Skinner 1963:220); in the allegorical Syair Burung Pungguk - the 'Poem of the Owlet' (compare the similar preface to Syair Kumbang dan Melati - the 'Poem of the Bumblebee and the Jasmine Flower', Van Ronkel1909:351): Although not an erudite author (pandita), I wrote this poem To relieve my soul of sadness (Raja Iskandar 1966:77); in the edifying Syair dagang (the 'Poem of the wanderer'): 0, all my friends and companions, I have described [my] way,

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Descriptions of a soothing effect of the beautiful word are found not only in prefaces, but also in the main text of literary works (for instance, in Hikayat Indraputra (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:58), and others). We will confine ourselves to only one example from Hikayat Isma Yatim: [At that time] the moon rose, surrounded by countless stars, and its bright radiance lit clouds that started floating across the sky like [a chain] of burning Chinese lanterns (tanglung). All kinds bf [night] creatures raised a great noise on the top of lime trees, their voices sounded like supplications of the enamoured longing for a tryst with their beloved ones. Fragrant flowers of palms opened their petals, as if in expectation of the descent of celestial nymphs. Then Tun Sendari who was dreaming about the king burst into tears and embraced the pillow. [... ] Tun Mandu Dewi, who, full of passion, was remembering her lord, tried to comfort herself with a 'Song of a handsome youth concealing his love' (Lagu bujang samar dendam lela merindu); Tun Yusah(?) Ratna who was overwhelmed with longing for the king began singing and reading [that passage from] the 'Tale of Indraputra', which tells how Indraputra and the princess Mengindra Seri Bulan caressed one another. (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:55-6.)

In order to interpret the effect of the soothing word, it is necessary to turn to Muslim aesthetics again. A concise, yet all-round and consistent exposition of its interpretation of the effect produced by a literary work on a reader is offered by Nizami-i 'Arudi Samarqandi, a Persian poet and theoretician of the twelfth century, whose definition of the poetic art is, in the opinion of Arberry (1958:16), equally applicable to both poetry and prose: Poetry is an art, by means of which the poet arranges imaginary premises (muqaddimat-i muhama) and composes effective syllOgisms in such a way that the lesser ma'na [idea-image] turns into the greater ma'na, and the greater ma'na into the lesser one; [all that] is good [or beautiful] he robes in bad [or hideous] garments, and [all that is] bad he presents in a good aspect; exerting [his] influence on imagination (iham) he stirs up the powers of anger (quwwat-i ghadbani) and passion (quwwat-i shahwani), so that owing to this influence on imagination, human natures (tiba') undergo expansion (inbisat) or contraction (inqibad), and this makes grand deeds [happen] in the arrangement of the Universe. (Nizami-i 'Arudi Samarqandi 1962:42.)

A terminological analysis of Nizami-i 'Arudi' s definition of poetry in which notions of traditional Muslim logic, linguistics, poetics, psychology and phys-

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iology47 are closely interlaced allows us to paraphrase it in the following way. A poet builds specific syllogisms which, in spite of their falsity and thanks to their beauty, are perceived by the imagination which rouses certain functions of the soul (the powers of anger and passion). Their effect results in a considerable change in human nature, understood as a mixture of elements (fire, air, water and earth), which, in tum, leads to a psychological and physiological transformation in a reader. The latter results in certain actions on the reader's part - sometimes even 'grand deeds in the arrangement of the Universe'. This conception, in one form or another, serves as a basis for the use of literary texts for educational purposes, which is described in treatises on ethics and related subjects. 48 Based on it are also all kinds of psychotherapy, including the treatment of melancholy (Ibn Sina 1954-60, III:126-7); 'one-day fevers' caused by various emotional affects, an important element of their cure being 'the calming of patients by amusing stories, pleasant music, games and marvellous shows' (Ibn Sina 1954-60, IV:20-1); and, something that is particularly important for the interpretation of the Malay texts studied, the disease called 'passionate love' in traditional medical books. 49 Three types of recommendation can be singled out in connection with the treatment of this disease, and these actually correspond to three powers disciplined by ethics (the power of reason, anger and passion respectively). These recommendations include: -

The influence on the intellect with the help of advice, exhortations and the like; The influence on the excessive psychic affect, depressing the soul, by means of rousing in it the opposite affect (usually anger) which is to counterbalance the grief of the enamoured; The leaving of the excessive affect (love) intact, but its transference to another object and subsequent extinguishment, that is, a kind of sublimation.

In addition to that, in any case the influence on the soul of a patient must be sufficiently impressive and prolonged. These methods of psychotherapy do not belong to traditional scholarly literature - treatises on ethics, medicine and poetic arpo - alone. Their application is also described in a great number of literary works of Islamic peoples, both authored (poems by Nizami (Ye. Berthels 1963:401-2), Nawa'i (1968, VI: 64-87),51 and others) and anonymous (the Arabian Nights (Salye 1958-59, IV: 74,170-71,189), Persian romantic prose (Borshchevsky et al. 1963:86) and dastan in the Urdu language (Mir Amman 1962:21)). It goes without saying that we cannot be confident, in each case, that a particular author was familiar with details of the above theory. However, its practical consequences and the

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methods of treatment were undoubtedly well known in both the high and the popular domains of Islamic culture. Arabic, Persian and Turkic works, which describe the psychotherapeutic effect of a beautiful piece of literature, contain all the elements characteristic for the Malay prefaces quoted above. 52 They present a work of literature as a means of curing the soul overwhelmed by an excessive affect: love, sorrow, bitterness (compare Malay penghibur hati, penglipur lara). Such a work can fulfil its function thanks to its high aesthetic merit, the beautiful word (compare Malay perkataan yang indah). It is precisely its 'unspeakable beauty' that ensures that the psychic affect caused by the word either overpowers the original affect or distracts the soul from it. This is why Malay prefaces do not recommend the enamoured to simply tell about their feelings; on the contrary, they suggest that a beautiful story, created by a professional writer, should be used for the treatment of the enamoured one's disease. In all Islamic literatures mentioned above, just as in prefaces to Malay works, the narration must be prolonged (compare' And he [the dalang] continues his narration to prolong tembang, kidung and kakawin'). It is only in this case that the affect caused by a literary work reaches the required intensity. The narration must be carried out by a 'knowledgeable and wise' man and it must be addressed to a listener who also possesses a lofty intellect and a refined psychic constitution, to a connoisseur (compare arifbijaksana in the description of both the author of a 'comforting story' and its reader or listener in Malay prefaces). Such are the main features of the Malay conception of literature as a means of soothing (penghibur / penglipur) which, in complete agreement with the Muslim theory of psychotherapy, was intended to balance psychic affects in the soul, thus harmonizing it.

A piece of literature as a bearer of benefits Along with the comforting or entertaining function (penghibur), one more function of a work of literature, that is its 'benefit' or 'usefulness' (Jaedah, manfaat), is often mentioned in prefaces. Thus, when exalting merits of Hikayat Bayan Budiman (the 'Tale of the Wise Parrot'), the author writes in the preface to it: This is a narrative (hikayat) containing the story (ceritera) of a wise parrot; it was composed with an unusual beauty (indah) and will bring benefit (manfa'at) to all who read it or listen to it (Van Ronkel1909:83).

Manifestations of this function are diverse and are best described, perhaps, in Hikayat [sma Yatim, Hikayat Syah Mardan (the 'Tale of Syah Mardan') and Taj as-salatino We read in the first of these:

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Know you all who read this tale that it contains four kinds of benefit (empat perkara faedah). The first [will manifest itself] if you begin to follow the words of this tale, and its name is [appropriate] indication (isyarat). The second [kind will become clear] if you quote something from this tale [particularly] at the assembly [of courtiers], and its name is [appropriate] expression (ibarat). The third kind [will be displayed] if a king ask your opinion on a difficult matter [literary: word] and you answer, while paying obeisance: '0 my lord, the ruler of the world, your slave has heard that in one narrative [was written] the following [about this matter or word]: And the name of this [kind of benefit] is [appropriate] story (ceritera). The fourth kind [of benefit of this work] is that if it is listened to by people in the grip of depression, their souls will rejoice; therefore it is called a tale (hikayat). This is what should be known about the beneficial properties of this work by all who read it, and then [that is, if they read it with these properties in mind] they will be called knowing (arif>. (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:1.)

A somewhat different list of benefits is given in Hikayat Syah Mardan, although their number remains the same ('four benefits' are mentioned in Taj as-salatin too): Whoever reads or listens to this narrative will derive from it both benefit (faedah) and instruction (nasihat) drawn from the hadith and revelations [that is, from the Qur'an]; it also possesses the four benefits (empat perkara). If it is used for seeking knowledge of God, then its benefit should be called spiritual perfection (kama/); if it is used in connection with royal customs, then it should be called perfect rule; if it is used for the interpretation the law of our chief, the Prophet Muhammad - may God bless him and give him peace! - then its name should be syariat; if it is used for the [amorous] disports of young people, then call it perfection of men. (Hikayat Syah Mardan:1.)

In Taj as-salatin which aspires to interpret the character of kings, viziers, war-commanders and common subjects, as well as [... ] matters related to statecraft and to what is associated with it [... ], so that people will get benefits (manfaat) by reading it and will obtain high ranks by following its words (Roorda van Eysinga 1825:5) -

'benefits' also assume a certain social dimension, changing in accordance with who reads the book: a ruler, a dignitary or a layman (Roorda van Eysinga 1825:219-25). The above excerpts show that the term 'benefit' refers to the edifying aspect of the content of a work, hidden in its deep structure, on which the reader must concentrate. The penetration into this deep structure promises various benefits of an intellectual and behavioural nature, including perfection of one's speech. Thus, the benefit is related to hierarchically superior psychological concepts: the intellect (in its theoretical and practical aspect, especially in the latter) and the spiritual heart (compare 'knowledge of God', leading to 'spir-

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itual perfection'). The perfection of the soul (compare 'the [amorous] disports of young people', leading to Jperfection of men'; Jconsolation'), which is associated with the notion of Jthe beautiful', invariably occupies the last place in the lists of benefits. The effect of the beautiful on the soul as such is regarded as a benefit of an inferior kind or even as the opposite of benefit. Beauty assumes a higher status only when it joins Jbenefits' of higher hierarchical levels and becomes their plane of expression.

Elements of Hindu-Muslim synthesis in Malay literary self-awareness Malay literary aesthetics vis-a-vis Muslim and Hindu-Javanese aesthetics We have already noted that, although the general principle of 'consolation' (penghibur, penglipur) remains the same in all the prefaces considered in the previous section, the degree of their Islamization is obviously different. In fact, there is nothing specifically Islamic in prefaces to Panji-romances (Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati and others). In the preface to Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya Islamic elements are more pronounced: the Malay term indah is used there on a par with its partial Arabic synonyms (ajaib, garib); the concept of the beautiful arousing love (berahi) for itself is also mentioned; and finally, the opposition penghibur versus tamsil is present in that preface, although in a hidden form (Hikayat perang Pandawa jaya:3-4). This opposition of the hierarchically inferior to the hierarchically superior occurs explicitly in many Malay prefaces written completely in the spirit of Islamic ideas of literature. In Syair Burung Pungguk (the JPoem of the Owlet') the reference to the soothing function is included in a fairly detailed exposition of the Muslim doctrine of creation, framing it as it were (Raja Iskandar 1966:30-1, 76-7). The didactic Syair dagang (the JPoem of the wanderer') not only places the soothing function in a typically Islamic context, but also - in complete accord with the Islamic conception of psychotherapy - contains a mention of both physical and emotional sufferings, which the poem is designed to cure (Doorenbos 1933:28-9). In the integral context of Malay literature of the late sixteenth-early nineteenth centuries all these prefaces can be interpreted on the basis of the doctrine of the psychotherapeutic effect of literature. At the same time, a comparison of the prefaces to Malay Panji-romances, which underwent Islamization to the least degree, with prefaces to some Old and Middle Javanese poems belonging to the Hindu-Buddhist tradition points, possibly, to a different original explanation of the mechanism of the consoling' function and allows us to reconstruct - at least to some extent - those ideas on the basis of which Muslim aesthetics was interpreted in the Malay world. J

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Robson, who studied the literary aspect of Wangbang Wideya, one of the Panji poems written in Middle Javanese, paid special attention to its concluding lines explaining the purpose of the creation of the work: This is the end of the tale which I have composed, from the wayang anteban [a variety of Balinese theatre], told in verse; now I do not mind being thought presumptuous - / / For it [this poem] serves as the tears of those bowed down under the pain of heartache and longing. But how could it give relief? - By becoming a kidung in the metre Rarakadiri. {Robson 1971:241.}

'The poet's words are concise and perhaps not completely clear;' - writes Robson - ' one could rephrase them thus: the poem takes the place of the actual heartache of the individual listener or reader and transforms it into aesthetic enjoyment. One might wonder how such an effect is achieved, but the student of Indian theories of aesthetics will immediately recognize the general principle' (Robson 1971:24). After pointing to a similar description of the purpose of a literary work in the Malay Hikayat Andaken Penurat (added here can also be the above-quoted prefaces to Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati and Hikayat Panji Kuda Semirang), to the narrative rather than lyrical nature of the poem studied, and to the description of emotions of its heroes through their external manifestations, Robson sees this' general principle' in none other than the Sanskrit doctrine of aesthetic experience, or rasa (Robson 1971:25-30). While expounding this doctrine, Robson confines himself to only a brief quotation from A history of Sanskrit literature by A.B. Keith (1928:389). We do not deem it necessary to give here a detailed elucidation of this doctrine either, and will throw light only on some of its aspects, which are essential for the further exposition. Rasa is at once a specific attribute of an object that stimulates aesthetic emotion and the aesthetic emotion itself. The preconditions of rasa are the 'permanent sentiments' that exist in the human psyche - sthayibhava (love, hilarity, fear, anger, and so on), which are formed as a result of human experience in this life and during previous incarnations. These 'permanent sentiments' are stored in the subconscious in the form of impressions (vasana). The poet describes their 'stimulating agents' (vibhava: for example, the season of spring, a slight breeze in a copse, the fragrance of blooms, and so on), their 'symptoms' (anubhava: for example, characteristic mimicry and gestures of characters), and the concomitant 'transient moods' (vyabhicaribhava: for example, the jealousy, languor and hope that accompany love). By describing all these phenomena, which would cause a particular fixed psychological pattern to appear in real life, he makes the connoisseur 'partake' of the kind of rasa (erotic, comic, fearful, angry, and so on), which would correspond to a particular sthayibhava. However, a direct description of an affect per se is not capable of evoking

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aesthetic emotion; therefore the function of its 'bearer' is performed by dhvani - the echo, that is, a certain hidden (though implied) meaning, which reveals itself, among other things, in the depiction of the 'stimulating agents', 'symptoms' and 'moods'. Thus, one of the 'moods' of the erotic rasa, the shyness of a heroine, is conveyed to the recipient not by means of a direct naming of 'shyness', but by stating that, while listening to the words of matchmakers she stood 'inclining her head and merely counting lotus-petals' (Grintser 1987:235). The 'partaking' of rasa differs from the experience of daily life in that it is caused by an ideal object - a work of literature. An object of this kind never causes selfish reactions regarding what is being described; that is, the desire to possess something that gives pleasure or the desire to avoid something that causes pain, brings danger, and so forth. When the recipient (the subject of aesthetic perception) rejects his selfish ego, he becomes universalized. However, it is not only the subject of perception who becomes universal: the object (a literary work) undergoes such 'universalization' as well. According to the theory of rasa, the protagonist of a literary work is not a concrete individual who can be definitely placed in space and time, but an embodiment of the most universal psychic qualities (such as 'fear per se'), which are totally free of personal' colouring'. Owing to the above 'universalization', the 'partaking' of rasa becomes something more than a mere emotional process. It is a special kind of cognition - the direct comprehension of a universalized object by a universalized subject. Being attained by the complete identification of the subject with the object (or the 'immersion' of the subject-connoisseur of fine literature in the object-protagonist), this comprehension generates in the soul of the connoisseur a state of bliss (ananda) (Grintser 1987:170). This bliss or blissful self-forgetfulness (camatkara - 'admiration', 'delight' (Warder 1970-74, 1:35), and also 'astounding', 'striking', 'charming' (De 1963: 56)) experienced by the reader-connoisseur is an act of self-cognition of the subject free from the limitations of ego and from distractions. It is identical with the 'revelation, within the individual self, of the Universal "Self", or the Brahman' with which rasa as such is identified (Grintser 1987:170). The one essence of all rasa, camatkara leads to the attainment of the bliss irrespective of the nature of events described in the piece of literature. According to the Indian scholar S.K. De (1963:56-7), the blissful union with the AbsoluteBrahman in the act of aesthetic self-cognition is none other than a religious path sui generis. 53 In the movement along this path to attain aesthetic bliss, the object of aesthetic perception - a work of art or of literature - serves as a kind of medium, which, like an image of Vishnu, helps the connoisseur in his concentration and contemplation (Pandey 1959:154). An echo of the rasa theory could be found in what the Wangbang Wideya

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refers to as healing 'the pain of heartache and longing'. Its prerequisites are the renunciation of the ego, whose agitation is responsible for heartache, and thus the attainment of bliss through the perception of a universalized object and the universalization of the subject, caused by the poem, which substitutes the tears of relief. As has already been pointed out by Sanskritists: The operation of the aesthetic experience [rasa] is as it were to sublimate emotion ['heartache' in our case] from the psychological to the aesthetic plane. In this process individual emotion is transformed into, or replaced by, an aesthetic experience - rasa [induced by the poem]. [... ] The individual forgets himself and attains a universality of outlook, which also brings him the highest happiness. (Warder 1970-74,1:35.)

Malay narratives, particularly those about Panji, express similar ideas by their reference to the soothing (penglipur) of the soul and to the attainment of bliss through the perception of a beautiful work created by a master poet. Besides that, like Sanskrit treatises on rasa, so too Malay works often mention the transient nature of this blissful state, with the result that only prolonged recitation by the professional narrator may lead to complete healing (the situation described above in Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati). From the study of Old Javanese, that is Hindu-Buddhist, literary aesthetics, it is obvious that the Indian theory of rasa had a much stronger impact on Old Javanese literature and has even been preserved to some extent in Balinese treatises on poetics until the present time (Rubinstein 2000:182-4). P.J. Zoetmulder, who analysed Old Javanese aesthetics and their central term lango, wrote: Among these [that is, aesthetic] terms the words lango, lengeng, lengleng and their derivatives take pride of place. What they convey is a feeling that is perhaps best rendered by 'rapture'. It is a kind of swooning sensation, in which the subject is completely absorbed by and becomes lost in its object, the appeal of which is so overwhelming that everything else sinks into nothingness and oblivion. All intellectual activity ceases; the perception of the object itself becomes vague, and in an experience of oneness that blurs the distinction between subject and object, consciousness of the self vanishes too. The words used for this concept of diminishing consciousness, or trance-like state, are remarkable for yet another reason. They are so to speak 'two-sided', denoting not only this trance-like experience itself, but also the quality in the object, which causes it. Alango means both 'enraptured' and 'enrapturing'. It can be said of a beautiful view as well as of the person affected by its beauty. It has what we might call a 'subjective' and an 'objective' aspect, for there is a common element - the Indians would say: a common rasa [emphasis mine]- in both subject and object, which makes them connatural and fit to become one. Objectively lango is the quality by which an object appeals to the aesthetic sense. It does so not by the clarity and immediacy of its beauty, but, on the contrary, because it seems distant, half hidden and apparently inaccessible; because it is suggestive, but

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature does not reveal itself fully; because it allures, hinting at as yet unrevealed riches, so that the seeker after beauty is consumed by longing and the desire to reach it. (Zoetmulder 1974:172-3.)

In this definition we find all the basic elements of the theory of rasa and camatkara (it is not unlikely that the Old Javanese langa is a counterpart of the Sanskrit camatkara 'delight', 'admiration' as well as 'causing admiration', 'charming'): namely, the dual meaning of the term, indicating both a property of the object of aesthetic experience and the aesthetic experience itself; the bliss of experiencing lango, in which the perception of the individual ego is lost and the subject merges into the object; and finally, the suggestive nature of the expression of langa (compare the expression of rasa through dhvani).

What was borrowed and what was rejected: the synthesis of two literary aesthetics The similarity between Sanskrit and Old Javanese aesthetics becomes even clearer in the light of Zoetmulder's reconstruction of the doctrine of literary creativity and the functions of literary works (kakawin-poems), which in Java served as a means towards a special aesthetic path to obtaining religious experience ('literary yoga', 'poetic religion').54 However, what is of importance to us is that Old Javanese aesthetics proved to be surprisingly close to Malay aesthetics of the Islamic period. The entire creative process is virtually identical in the case of an Old Javanese poet and his Malay colleague. In both traditions we find an appeal to God / a deity in the aspect of beauty, and a meditative concentration on Him (yoga in the former tradition and dhikr meditation in the latter), leading to the 'extinction' of the external 'self' constantly plunged in empirical reality and to the contemplation of the noumenal sphere in the form of a stream of images flowing through the soul. This process ends in the correct fixation of the contemplated images in words. 55 There is also a great similarity between the conceptions of the beautiful in Old Javanese (Zanga) and Malay Muslim (indah) literature. In both literatures the beautiful, which is thought to be of divine origin, produces an overwhelming effect on the soul- it leads to the oblivion of one's individual self, to its dissolution in an object possessing beauty, and to an experience of bliss. Accordingly, a certain resemblance can be traced in the notion of the transformation of the soul's state under the influence of the beautiful, and in the idea of the sublimation of the initial emotion, which - in this blissful state - is conveyed from the psychological to the aesthetic level. Thus came about the conception of the psychotherapeutic effect of literature. As has been pointed out by the Indonesian scholar S. Supomo (1985), in the prefaces (manggala) to Old Javanese kakawin the poets often complain that their work is not perfect from the point of view of beauty, and therefore can-

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not console sorrow or heal pain. It is therefore unsatisfactory as a panglipur wuyung, an exact equivalent of the Malay penglipur lara, 'consoler of sorrows' or penghibur hati, 'soother of the soul', which are so often mentioned in Malay literature as one of the main functions of the beautiful (indah). What is meant by sorrows in Javanese literary works, as in Malay, is usually the sorrows of love. After presenting various examples from Old Javanese poems, Supomo comes to the following conclusion: 'Poems function as consolers, both for the poets who create them, and for their readers and listeners' (Supomo 1985: 394). He also points to the link between this Old Javanese concept and the Sanskrit theory of rasa, the primary function of which, according to Warder (1970-74, 1:15), 'is to produce joy and delight [... J along with solace [... J from unhappiness'. Taking this into account, we can suggest that the Malay conception of penghibur/penglipur may also be a complex, synthetic phenomenon: its foundation being the Old Javanese teaching of panglipur wuyung, on which the Muslim psychotherapeutic doctrine was later superimposed. The obvious similarity of Malay and Old Javanese aesthetic theories is of great interest not only from the point of view of the general typology of traditionalliteratures. Although our knowledge of the degree of familiarity with Indian aesthetics among the Malays in the period of Indianized states is very limited (some epigraphic monuments, for instance, the Ligor stele testify, however, to their awareness of canons of Sanskrit poetry, kavya), yet, bearing in mind the Malays' prolonged cultural and literary contacts with the Javanese, it is difficult to doubt the possibility that the Old Javanese version of this theory was assimilated in one form or another in the Malay world. All the more so, since it was with Java that the most refined understanding of the beautiful was associated there. It is not accidental that the Javanese appear as acknowledged connoisseurs of beauty in Hikayat raja Pasai (the 'Tale of the rajas of Pasai', Hill 1960:40-1), while in the poem Malat, one of the Panji-romances written in the Middle Javanese language, they are opposed to Malays from Malayu, because 'the Javanese are well-versed in the beautiful [kalangwan; Poerbatjaraka translates this word as keindahanJ, whereas people from overseas [the Malays are meantJ are awkward' (Poerbatjaraka 1968:315). Nor is it accidental that in Malay literature a faint echo of the theory of rasa was preserved precisely in prefaces to Panji-romances of Javanese origin. However, since the term penghibur, which is the key term in these prefaces, is found regularly in typically Muslim prefaces, one can conclude that in Malay romances of Panji it could also be interpreted in its topical meaning, that is, in the spirit of the Muslim concept of the psychotherapeutic function of literature. If we assume that an aesthetic theory akin to the Old Javanese existed in Malay culture of the pre-Islamic period, then elements of similarity between classical Malay and Old Javanese literature will acquire a special significance,

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making it possible to imagine the prism through which Malays perceived the Muslim doctrine of the beautiful word, its creation and its functions. One cannot rule out that it is namely the nature of the pre-Islamic tradition that predetermined, to some extent, the Malay preference for the concept of the poet's direct contemplation of the invisible world (ghaib) rather than for the doctrine of the learned poet-erudite, just as it predetermined the predominant influence of the Sufi form of Islam in this region (compare, for instance, Johns 1961:15, 23). If such is the case, the Malay literary self-awareness turns out to be 'a fact with a dual motivation' (V. Braginsky 1975a:93-9). On the one hand, it was motivated by Indian aesthetic doctrine (in its Javanese form), and on the other, by the Islamic conception of the beautiful. The finding of typological correspondences between the two doctrines and, in a broader sense, the creation of a sui generis 'typological lexicon' allowing the assimilation of new ideological systems have been - by virtue of certain historical circumstances - among the most important characteristics of Malay culture during its entire period of existence. It was precisely this finding of correspondences and identification of fragments from different cultures with one another, rather than the mere mixing of them (although this also took place at times) that determined the synthetic nature of Malay culture. In particular, it transformed the history of Malay literature into the history of a literary synthesis, and made the period of Malay classical literature that stage of the synthesis when it was crowned with Islamic conceptions of literature and literary creativity. One need not think, however, that the process was only limited to an identification of the old and the new fragments. At each stage, the Weltanschauung of the culture, which concluded the process of syntheSiS radically changed the character of earlier concepts, sometimes ousting them to the periphery of the culture, or preserving only vague reminiscences of them. This process proved to be the more intense, the closer a certain concept, 'difficult to translate' into the new language, was to the central sphere of culture, that is, the religious Canon (V. Braginsky 1986; on the relation between the religious Canon and culture, see V. Braginsky 2001b:41-56). Whereas a theory of literary creativity, similar to Old Javanese or Sanskrit, could be brought into correspondence with the Muslim doctrine of creativity in its basic elements, the concept of the beautiful was transformed considerably, in conformity with more rationalist and didactic Islamic ideas of literary functions. First of all, unlike lango, the term indah is 'unilateral' and refers only to a quality, which is characteristic for the concept of the beautiful in the Muslim tradition generally. In conformity with the same tradition, the feeling caused by indah is love (berahi, compare Arabic: mahabbat al-jamal'love for the beautiful', Sagadeyev 1964:190). More importantly, unlike Sanskrit and Old Javanese aesthetic doctrines,

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the idea of the extreme danger of an object of aesthetic perception, a work of literature in particular, was inherent in Malay aesthetics. This danger was usually explained by the fact that, by enchanting the soul, the beauty is capable of destroying the correct hierarchy of powers in the psycho-spiritual constitution of a person, in which the soul must be constantly controlled by the intellect. Thus, the common Muslim idea of literature, aesthetically active but hazardous to the soul, was well known in Malay culture too. Finally, the Malay concept of the soothing function (penghibur) of a literary work bore only a psychotherapeutic and ethical character; being related to the psychic plane, or, to be more exact, to the level of the corporeal soul (the sphere of imagination), it stood in opposition to the intellect. It was believed that the beautiful could deliver delight to the intellect only if represented in a work as tamsil, as an indirect expression of a certain meaning arousing intellectual activity. But unless the work became a symbolic description of the higher planes of Being (as happened in Sufi allegories), even the combination of penghibur and tamsil could do no more than enhance its influence on the soul, affecting the latter not only through imagination, but also through discursive reason. One could say that the combination of penghibur and tamsil was designed to 'heal' more refined, intellectualized souls, while penghibur without tamsil was considered either as an author's failure or as a 'remedy' for less refined and non-intellectualized souls. For all these, it is unlikely that the idea of a special, aesthetic path in the religious domain was characteristic of Islamic Malay tradition.

Conclusions: classical Malay literature as a system From the examination of the creative process to the discovery of a literary system It is time now to sum up the results of our reconstruction of the Malay lit-

erary self-awareness of the late sixteenth-the nineteenth centuries. Malay culture, like Muslim medieval culture in general, did not know any general, all-embracing theory of specifically literary creativity. The latter manifested itself only as a particular aspect of an integral doctrine of creation encompassing all kinds of activity. According to this doctrine, only Allah is capable of an act of creation, His all-pervasive Omniscience being a repository of general ideas or archetypes (ayan sabitah) of all things, which in their tum are the loci of particular ideas of every individual thing. It is Allah's creative Power, or Mercy (rahmat), that gives these ideas actual being and in this way projects them into the 'world of things' (alam mulk, alam syahadat), where they are perceptible to the senses. Because humanity is to a certain extent endowed with the gift of prophecy,

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the individual, too, can become a receptacle of Divine Mercy, or the Divine Light of inspiration. This light descends into the 'spiritual heart' (hati nurani, hati ruhani) illuminating (actualizing) general ideas, which dwelt unmanifest therein before. Then in the soul, or in the 'world of imagination' (alam khayal, angan-angan), they can be translated into a sequence of individual idea-images (makna, ma'na) visible to the inner eye. Human beings are also capable of correctly embodying these idea-images in some kind of material, in other words, to create a thing, in particular a literary work, which is regarded as just one of many things. The mediator in the act of creation, who links the incomprehensible Creator with the human being, is the Prophet Muhammad as the primordial Logos (Hakikat, or Nur, Muhammad) in whom Divine Knowledge was fully revealed to the outer world for the first time. Like the trunk of a tree that supports its branches, he is the foundation of all subsequent creation. The process of creation consists of two phases: receptive (the perception of inspiration) and agentive (the creation of things -literary texts). While a relatively passive role is accorded to the author in the process of perceiving inspiration, in the act of fixation of images he emerges as the creator in his own right. If the soul of the creator of a literary work, as the focus of imagination, has attained an enlightened state or has otherwise been properly trained, the idea-images of the creative work have flowed through it in an orderly sequence, and may then become embodied in a material substratum: written or spoken words. The Malay theory of the agentive phase of the literary process can be reconstructed in the following manner. A literary work - a book (kitab), a composition (rencana) a narrative (hikayat), or a poem (syair) - is regarded as a unity of two aspects, the external (zahir, lahir) and the internal (batin). In the first aspect it is a coherent system (karangan, aturan) of phonetic words (kata, bunyi, la!az), possessing an actual being (keadaan) and perceived by the external senses (the eye, the ear, and so on); in its second aspect it is a system of meanings (arti, isi, makna), possessing a potential being. These meanings are perceived in their 'plastic' form by the inner senses (general sense - sensus communis, the imagination, and so on) and subsequently actualized (dinyatakan) by means of phonetic words. Composing a work consists of correctly coordinating (mematutkan) the two systems. When coordinating the system of meanings (content) with that of phonetical words (expression), a dual problem is to be solved. Firstly, a stream of beautiful, shimmering images should be prevented from flooding the soul. The images perceived by the inner eye should be made to flow in an orderly fashion, in line with the literary conventions. Secondly, the expression of images in words should likewise be canonically correct. In order to cope with this task an author should be possessed of an enlightened soul and an unflagging control of the creative process exercised by such practical reason (akal,

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budi) as is inherent in the 'wise and knowledgeable' (arif-bijaksana). A system of expression produced by the process of coordination could be either direct (madah sebarang), or indirect (figurative). Indirect expression (tamsil, tamsil ibarat), which not simply delights the soul but requires intellectual activity, was considered a hierarchically higher form than direct expression. If the internal totality of idea-images of a given work has been properly conveyed through its external aspect (a totality of phonetic or written words), then Divine Inspiration, after having flowed through the author, can be embodied in a work and reach the reader. Provided the reader is also 'wise and knowledgeable' enough to correctly perceive what is presented, then this literary work can effectively influence the reader's soul (hati), reason (akal) or spiritual heart (hati nurani). One of the qualities with which a literary work could affect its recipient is beauty, denoted by the term indah, and believed to be a manifestation in the 'world of things', literary works included, of Allah's Absolute Beauty (jamal). The beautiful is conceived as something unusual (ajaib, gharib), whose plenitude or diversity of manifestations is duly ordered (dikarang) or harmonized (merdu). Because it is unusual, the beautiful arrests the recipient's attention and induces love (berahi) of itself in the recipient's soul. The soul was believed to be especially keen in its reaction to the sound of beautiful music or of orderly speech, that is, to literary work. Sometimes such love may be so strong that it can cause a disruption of the soul's proper structure and a state of shock, or a loss of consciousness (lupa, merca). For only when rationally arranged and rationally perceived may the beautiful exercise a psychotherapeutic effect (penghibur/penglipur) on the soul which is passionately attracted to it, dispelling its depression, dismay and so on. Alongside sensually perceived beauty, external beauty so to speak, there existed another characteristic of a properly' coordinated' literary work, that is, its benefit (jaedah, manfaat). The benefit or, to be more precise, a series of benefits (usually four), which can be considered, in a way, as the internal beauty of a literary work,56 stood for the didactic message of a literary work contained in its deep structure, whether such a work was of a secular or of a religious nature. Therefore, unlike beauty, it was perceived not by the senses but by the intellect or spiritual heart, capable of penetrating the world of the invisible (ghaib). When beauty was also listed among the 'benefits', it was invariably regarded as the lowest. However, beauty gained status combined with higher-level 'benefits', where it served as their means of expression, a means of instruction through entertainment. Intellect and the spiritual heart, in turn, became stronger as they acquired more 'benefits': the intellect reached its perfection and the spiritual heart became prepared for the reception of Divine Inspiration. As a result of a properly executed creative process, a complex system of correspondences and oppositions arose (the

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sign == or I I refers to correspondence, and the sign to opposition): the incomprehensible Creator == general ideas (ayan sabitah) the mental structure of a work == (the sum total of its idea-images)

spiritual perfection (kamal) II perception by spiritual

heart (hati nurani)

Writer

Literary system

the manifest Muhammad-Logos (Nur Muhammad) particular idea-images (makna, arti, isi) the verbal structure of a work (the sum total of its phonetic words) benefit lfaedah)

beauty (indah) II II perception by

perception by intellect (akal) corporeal soul (hati)

Creator (Allah) I I Muhammad-Logos (Nur Muhammad) I t~ I Spiritual perfection (kamal) I I General ideas (ayan sabitah) I I Benefit (manfaat, faedah) I I Particular idea-images(makna), mental structure I I Beauty (indah) I U I Verbal structure (the sum total of lafaz, bunyi)

SPhJ: ,pLID"

perfection (kama/)

i

j

,---

I Sphere of benefit (manfaat, faedah)

~

Sphere of beauty (indah)

t

Reader

Perception by spiritual heart (hati nurani)

Perception by intellect (aka/)

Chart 1. The creative process

t

Perception by corporeal soul (hati)

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This system of correspondences and oppositions - that forms a kind of channellinking the author with God (the One who supplies Creative Energy) and the reader (the one who perceives a literary work) - is represented in Chart l. The Divine Energy (Mercy) is 'poured out', as it were, through the work of literature, reaches the reader, influences him and eventually, as it was believed, transforms his entire psychic-somatic constitution in one way or another. Both the ascent to God and the descent to the reader through this' channel' were made possible as a result of addressing the Creator in prayer, as is shown by the story of Isma Yatim's prayer about 'the reason perfect in writing admonitions', which has been quoted above. In it's most concise and, incidentally, most widespread form, the prayer of the writer who was going to compose a literary work included two formulas in Arabic. The first of them was Bismillah ar-Rahman ar-Rahim ('In the name of Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate'). Considering the Sufi context of seventeenth century Malay literature, this formula can be interpreted as the writer's appeal consecutively to the Creator's names: Allah, indicating the indiscriminate potentiality of all creation; Rahman, endowing individual entities with being; and Rahim, bestowing being only on good and beautiful things - in this case on a perfect work of literature (AI-Attas 1970:255). Scholars differ considerably in their interpretations of the second formula: Wa bi-Hi nasta'inu bi-Llahi [al-?] 'ala (or 'aliya).57 It seems that its interpretation may be facilitated by the passage from Hikayat Isma Yatim immediately adjacent to it and offering a partial explanation: All praises be to Allah, the Most Holy Lord, the Most High. [... ] And He is the Perfect Lord artful beyond measure in working many different wonders with his servants, and perfect are his deeds of wonder. And He is the Lord who forgives his servants who entreat Him for help in writing a narrative [emphasis of the present author]. (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:1.)

Thus, the writer appeals to the Lord who creates perfect things ('deeds of wonder') and helps create a narrative. The passage allows us to interpret the second formula in the following way: 'To Him we resort, [because] thanks to Allah is [all] the most sublime [here, a perfect work of literaturel'.58 The two formulas discussed were a prayer that the whole of the creative process be successful: that the writer be endowed with Divine Energy I Inspiration (the receptive phase) and that the received Inspiration be properly embodied in a perfect text (the agentive phase). The traditional Malay doctrine of literature was thus a single, integral and orderly, hierarchically arranged, system. The term single is appropriate because, in spite of the diversity of its components - archaic and genuinely Malay, Hindu-Buddhist, and Islamic - the self-awareness of Malay literature during the classical period was Muslim. This compelled writers to reinter-

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pret older works and create new ones that would be congruous with a Muslim Weltanschauung, or, at least, not at variance with its spirit. It was of little importance whether such reinterpretation involved a more or less radical restructuring of a literary work or merely the addition of an Islamizing preface to it. The situation was different, however, with regard to literary practice, which could be, and often was, sharply at variance with what was standard in Middle Eastern and Indian Islamic literature. (It is noteworthy that the principal genre forms of Arabico-Persian poetry, such as qasidah, mathnawi and ghazal, were virtually ignored by Malay authors.) Literary self-awareness, rather than prescribing rules about metre, poetical figures, genre and so on, served as a means for interpreting, and consequently for legitimating, within the framework of Malay Muslim culture, both existing and yet-to-be created works. The Malay literary doctrine reconstructed here, which corresponds only to the fundamental principles of Muslim Weltanschauung, and mostly disregards 'technical details', proved very flexible, because the 'typological glossary' of Malay tradition provided few if any analogues to such 'technical details'. Such a highly generalized doctrine was indeed quite convenient for Malay authors, whose Muslim education was more of a scholastic-theological than of philological or literary nature. It is not fortuitous that the Malays' perception of Islamic literary self-awareness was in many respects similar to their adoption and understanding, also generalized and theoretical, of the canons of Indian architecture, as noted by Bosch (1961:9-12; see also above, the introduction to old Malay literature). The integrality and coherence of this literary system were conditioned by the concept of Muhammad-Logos, the source and basis of all creation, which characterized late, Sufi-influenced, Islamic tradition. The orderliness of the system derived from the fact that each group of works corresponded to a very definite stage in the hierarchy of the Universe emanating from this source, each stage in turn corresponding to a specific level of the human psycho-spiritual constitution. Malay authors strove to create works that would be 'consolers of souls' (penghibur hati; Raja Iskandar 1966:30, 70), or impart a 'perfect intellect' (akal yang sempurna, Roorda van Eysinga 1821:4; Van Ronkel 1909:332), or 'unlock the breasts of seekers with the key of His Being and decorate their spiritual hearts [emphasis of the present author] with His mysteries' (AIAttas 1970:354). By appealing for help to Allah, who reveals Himself in Muhammad-Logos, they attained a certain stage of spiritual development, and thanks to this their works were thought to influence a corresponding level of the reader's psycho-spiritual constitution. Ascent to the lowest level resulted in the creation of works endowed with beauty and, for that very reason, capable of harmOnizing the soul and

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promoting courtly behaviour. This group of works included primarily various fantastic adventure and love tales and poems. Ascent to a higher level brought forth writings, which strengthened the intellect with 'benefits'. This group included the whole range of edifying treatises, or 'mirrors', and anthologies, as well as Malay chronicles, historiosophic rather than historiographic in their nature. And finally, the attainment of the highest level produced works that granted a perfect knowledge of Muslim theology and of the ways of God, and prepared the spiritual heart of the reader for illumination. This group of writings included hagiographic works in the broadest sense of the word, the so-called 'literature of kitab', that is, scholarly treatises on theology, Muslim law and Sufism, and Sufi allegories in prose and verse. The value system of Malay literature employed this hierarchy of psychospiritual levels, each of which was susceptible to the influence of a specific group of literary works. It distinguishes between the perfect harmony of the soul, perfection of the intellect and the perfectly enlightened spiritual heart. The ascension to a higher level of values involved, as a rule, the rejection of lower values. The beautiful world of the fantastic adventure romances, in spite of its promise of consolation for the soul, was nevertheless considered useless, if not harmful, to those endowed with intellect. Because intellect could very well heal you if you are ill, lift you if you have fallen, elevate you if you have become nothing, give you riches if you have lost your estate (Roorda van Eysinga 1827: 171-2).

But even intellect (reason) became an impediment for those who rejected the mundane good it provided and sought to purify the spiritual heart by Divine Love: Reason [budi, here the translation of Arabic: aqlJ strives for more riches, and love [berahi, here for Arabic: 'ishqJ for their dissipation; reason strives for kingship and ministership, love for beggarship; reason strives for corporal strength, love for infirmity; reason strives for glory, love for humiliation [... J. Hence the Sufi say: Love is the foe of Reason. (Al-Attas 1970:444.)

Thus, by encompassing all levels of the human psyche and spirit, the system of Malay literature acquired an anthropomorphic character. It suggests that humans are spiritual beings in a constant process of achieving perfection - of course in the medieval sense of the term. This anthropomorphism of the Malay literary system in the classical period deserves a closer study (for a detailed examination of the concept of traditional literature as an anthropomorphic system, see V. Braginsky 2001b:206-29).

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Classical Malay literature as an anthropomorphic system As early as in the introduction to this book we have mentioned the idea of a correspondence between the Universe, humanity and literature, characteristic of the Malay Muslim tradition. Now, when more knowledge about the Malay notion of literature has been amassed, it seems appropriate to return to that idea and to consider it in more detail. This return will afford us the opportunity to view the system of classical Malay literature from a rather different standpoint and to comprehend its anthropomorphic nature not as a mere metaphor or as an exotic curiosity, but as a phenomenon quite natural to the Muslim (especially Sufi) tradition. Malay literary self-awareness acquired its initial form between the late sixteenth and the end of the seventeenth centuries, 59 during the period in which, as has been noted above more than once, the wahdat al-wujud Sufi school exerted its greatest influence on the spiritual life of the Malay world. Therefore, now we should tum to the Sufi concept of literature and consider it in two contexts: Sufi ontology and cosmology, and Sufi anthropology - its teachings about humanity. The principle of mutual resemblance, or mutual correspondence, of the macrocosm (Universe) and the microcosm (humanity) was one of the most important pre-conditions of the Sufi concept of literature. This resemblance was formulated either in gross, cosmologico-corporeal, or in subtler, ontologico-psychic-somatic, terms and acquired expression both in complete (microcosm = human being) and reduced (microcosm = eye,60 or heart, or face of a human being) forms. In addition, macrocosm and microcosm were seen as corresponding because both were regarded as books or texts in the direct meaning of the word or, to be more exact, as copies of one and the same sacred text, the Qur' an. A description equating the macrocosm with the Qur' an is found, for instance, in the writings of the Sufi author Mahmud Shabistari (the fourteenth century): The Universe is the book of 'The Truth Most High'. Accidents are its vowels, and substance its consonants, And grades of creatures its verses (ayat) and pauses. Therein every world is a special chapter (surah), One the chapter Fatihah, another Ikhlas. (Shabistari 1978:21-2.)

An equally noteworthy description of the microcosm's correspondence to the Qur' an is reproduced here in reduced form (microcosm = the human face): Your face is like a Qur'an copy, without correction and mistake which the pen of Fate has written exclusively from musk. Your eyes and your mouth are verses and the dot for stopping, your eyebrows the madda [for lenghtening the alifl,

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The eyelashes the signs for declension, the mole and the down letters and dots. (Schimmel 1975a:412-3.)

Like all other texts, the macrocosm and microcosm were made by the Creator in the act of writing with the Supreme Pen (al-qalam al-'ala) on the Guarded Tablet (al-lawh al-mahfuz) (Nicholson 1921:112). Like all other texts the macrocosm and microcosm represented a meaningful sequence of signs (letters) symbolizing the fixed essences (al-a'yan al-thabitah) or pre-eternal prototypes of all that exists. The diverse forms of the created world evolved from the Divine Unity in much the same way that letters vary in shape from the initial alif (a) - a vertical dash. Bending the alif produces the letter dal (d) or, when bent in a different way, the letter ra (r); bending both ends generates the letter ba (b); curved into a horseshoe the alifbecomes the letter nun (n) (Schimmel 1975a:417-8). Ibn al-' Arabi lists the Divine Names (al-asma) corresponding to the 28 letters of the Arabic alphabet, each of which related to particular ontological and cosmological planes of Being (Bakhtiar 1976:62). Humanity, the microcosm, was also composed of letters. Each letter could be read in the human form, which, as a whole, formed the word Muhammad, the name of the Prophet who was the prototype of both the macrocosm and microcosm (A. Berthels 1970:34). The face was a reduction of microcosm, with each element corresponding to a certain ontological entity and relating to a certain letter. The mouth corresponded to the letter mim (m); the eye to the letter sad (emphatic s) or 'ayn, curls and tresses were likened to the letters dal or jim (j) and so on (Schimmel 1975a:413). Like all other texts, the macrocosm and microcosm contained certain hierarchically arranged information, or knowledge, recorded with signs (letters) and corresponding to certain stages of human cognition (al-'ilm al-yaqin, or 'sure knowledge', al-'ayn al-yaqin, or 'sure vision', al-haqq al-yaqin, or 'true sureness', al-kamal al-yaqin, or 'perfect sureness') (Y. Braginsky 1990b:111 and note 22, 120-1). Penetration into this knowledge, conducive to the cognizant's transforming ascent through a series of ontologico-psychic-somatic stages, was understood as a process of reading, linked with God's Creative Writing. In Sufi tradition, this concept of reading can be clearly traced in the series of dhikr, which were directly related to macrocosmic and microcosmic reality. The first dhikr in this series was repetition of the shahadah formula (testimony of faith): La ilaha ilia Llah (There is no God but Allah), the second was repetition of the Name Allah, the last word in the shahadah, and the third consisted in repeating of the Name Huwa (He), considered identical to the last letter of the word Allah (Schimmel 1975a:420). Thus, the shahadah was read literally to the last letter. The controversial, evolving interrelationships between the Qur' an and poetry (fine literature) in Arab-Muslim culture were rather complicated (V.

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Braginsky 2001b:47-8); they culminated in the Sufi concept of literature. Sufi poetics linked the Qur' an and literature by placing a new, mystical level- the doctrine of the Divine Word embodied in the sacred text of Revelation and reflected in symbolically interpreted poetry - above classical Arabic poetics (V. Braginsky 200lb:118-23,166-71). Thus, the great Sufi poet Jalal aI-Din Rumi (the thirteenth century) wrote that a perfect poet Must serve the table of laudation in such a way as to fill it with various dishes. No one of the guests should remain hungry, everyone must find food at this table. This table is like unto the Qur'an [emphasis of the present author]. Oavelidze 1979: 216.}

It is precisely within Sufi tradition that the Qur' an acquired features of a

paradigmatic relationship to poetry. As if emanating from the Qur' an, poetry transferred its Weltanschauung structures and, partly, its poetics, fixed motifs and images to the aesthetic level. In Sufi literary self-awareness, poetry, the emanation of the sacred text, correlated with the macrocosm and microcosm (just as the Qur' an) and retained the structural anthropomorphism of the latter. In accordance with the universal medieval law of 'the like influencing the like', the effectiveness of poetic influence was evidently understood as the result of its anthropomorphism. The likening of poetry to the human being took several forms in classical Arabic poetics. In the eleventh century Ibn Rashiq (1972:117) compared to the human body the qasidah, three constituent parts of which are at the same time the three most important genres of classical Arabic poetry, namely nasib (love lyrics), madh (laudation) and hija' (reviling). Their combined presence turns qasidah into a kind of a model for Arabic poetry as a whole and thus makes it possible to interpret this comparison as the assimilation of poetry to humanity. Bayt, as a unity of external phonetic structure (laft) and internal meaning (ma'na), serves as another model for Arabic poetry. Bayt was also correlated with the human being: laft was its body and ma'na its soul, or laft was its attire and ma'na was the belle dressed in this beautiful attire (Kudelin 1983:139). The terms laft and ma'na could be used not only of an individual bayt, but also of an entire poem regardless of its length. Hence the explicit likening of poetry to a belle elaborated by a Persian Sufi poet Abd aI-Rahman Jami (the fifteenth century): There is no belle who excels rhymed and rhythmic speech, The secret of [her] beauty is hidden in herself. To endure [her caprices] is burdensome, [to attain] consolation is difficult, Especially when [she] is hunting for hearts. She dons an exquisite attire of metre,

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And embellishes its ends with rhyme. She adorns her legs with radif, And enhances the beauty of her brow with a mole of imagination. Oami 1956: 62-3.)

Although all the evidence indicates that the idea that poetry corresponds to the macrocosm is alien to classical Arabic poetics, it appeared in the Sufi concept of literature. It was based either on a direct reduction of the poetic word to its archetype, that is, the Divine Word, creator and foundation of the Universe, or on a deliberate, even playful, confusion of the word and its archetype. For instance, Abd aI-Rahman Jami's madh to the creative power of the Divine Word (Nur Muhammad), the Creator of the Supreme Pen, precedes his image of poetry as the belle who is proclaimed to be 'the bride of the Word, full of Its sound' (Jami 1956:61-2). Thus, the link is established between the Divine Word, the foundation of the Universe (macrocosm), and poetry. These ideas were characteristic of both Middle Eastern and Malay Sufis in the seventeenth century. The macrocosm and microcosm were considered by Malay Sufis as sui generis texts. As noted earlier, the Malays were very familiar with the concept of creation as writing with the Supreme Pen on the Guarded Tablet, as well as with the idea of the fixed essences as the letters (AI-Attas 1970:252-3, 337; Johns 1955). In Hikayat Si Burung Pingai (the 'Tale of the Pure Bird') the entire Universe was presented as an enormous Tree of Writing: the pen is its trunk, the tablets its roots, paper its bark, ink its sap; the fruit it bears is works of literature, the leaves are the lines, and its bud is the first diacritical dot (V. Braginsky 1993b:314). Man was also a text. Thus, in the Rencong Syair perahu (the 'Poem of the boat') the Perfect Man was described as follows: This man is most perfect, He is the tree [or trunk] of all who return [to God]. [... ] Truly [he is] the tree unperishable, There is a scroll in each of his eyes. (Y. Braginsky 1988a:287.)

The eye, as mentioned above, is a reduced form of the microcosm (Van Nieuwenhuijze 1945:139), while a scroll of the Qur'an (mushaj) symbolizes both the macro cosmic and microcosmic texts. The meaning of these lines seems to be as follows: in each eye of man (the microcosm) the macrocosm is recorded in written form. Finally, as the example of the three dhikr (Malay zikir) practised in particular by the Malays (Johns 1957:96-7) shows, the reading of the microcosmic text was instrumental in the spiritual ascent (spiritual transformation) of a human being and in his return to God. It should be recalled that the influence of wahdat al-wujud Sufi doctrine on various domains of Malay culture was especially profound at the time when Malay literary self-awareness and the classical literary system were being shaped.

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Malay spirituality was at this time defined by the concepts of the Sufi Path and the two most important means of progress along the Path, namely the mystically interpreted prayer and zikir. This spiritual context was paradigmatic for all kinds of human activity, including the composition of literary works. These paradigms therefore deserve close attention. The Path could be represented in both its macrocosmic and microcosmic aspects, as evidenced by the correlation of its stages with the four ontological and psychic-somatic planes of the Universe and man respectively in Hamzah Fansuri's verses (the stage of syariat - the Law - corresponded to nasut, the plane of humanity; tarikat - the Way - to malakut, the plane of Dominion; hakikat - the Truth - to jabarut, the plane of Omnipotence; and ma'rifat - the Gnosis - to lahut, the plane of Divineness) (Drewes and Brakel 1986:62). Through the correspondences: nasut - af'al, the Divine Acts, malakut - asma, the Names, jabarut - sifat, the Attributes, lahut - zat, the Essence (Van Nieuwenhuijze 1945:75-8), the quadruple Path was connected with the 'seven stages of Being', the system which also possesses macrocosmic and microcosmic aspects. Like the Universe, the Path was viewed as an anthropomorphic entity. Syamsuddin as-Samatrani wrote: What is called syariat is the skin, what is called tarikat is what it contains [that is, the muscles], what is called hakikat are the sinews, what is called ma'rifat are the bones (Van Nieuwenhuijze 1945:138).

A similar description of the anthropomorphic nature of the Path is found in the Hikayat Syah Mardan (the 'Tale of Syah Mardan') in which a wise teacher, Lukman aI-Hakim, explains Sufi doctrine to the hero. He connects the four stages of the Path with the four elements - water, air (wind), earth and fire - which make up the human body and the Universe. He adds that the letter alif is inscribed on fire, the letter lam awal (initial '1') is inscribed on wind, lam akhir (final '1') on water and ha on earth. Thus the elements, together with the four stages of the Path, form a text - the word Allah - which in the story is identical to the basmala, the first verse of the Qur' an: 'In the name of Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate'. As the story unfolds, it becomes clear that the elements should be understood on the microcosmic plane as the elements forming the human body. This gives the Path an external, physical anthropomorphism. Moreover, like human beings, the Path is endowed with four souls, or, to be more precise, with one soul in which purification and transformation reveal consequently its four aspects: nafsu amarah (the wrathful soul), nafsu lawamah (the repenting soul), nafsu safiah (the pure soul), and nafsu mutmainah (the tranquil soul). The four-fold soul of the Path is evidence of its also possessing an internal, psychic anthropomorphism. Thus, the Path was anthropomorphic both externally and internally.

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Furthermore, according to Lukman aI-Hakim, the Path has istana (palaces) inside the human body, that is, its stages have sui generis foci, or 'places of residence'. The syariat resides in the Iidah (tongue); tarikat in the hati (the corporeal soul); hakikat in the budi (the intellect); and ma'rifat in the rahasia (the mystery, that is, the spiritual heart). Thus, the Path was not only anthropomorphic; like a moulding form, it completely embraced the psychic-somatic structure of humanity and, as follows from Lukman al-Hakim's further account, it determined the proper forms of all human activity: of speech, actions, psychic states and the Gnosis of God (Hikajat Radja Maeda Sjah Merdan 1916:21-4). All these properties (correlation with both the macrocosm and the microcosm, structural anthropomorphism, similarity to text, resemblance to a moulding form) were inherent in the mystically interpreted prayer and zikir too (for more details, see V. Braginsky 1993e:25-761 ). The classical Malay literary system, as an instrument to properly form (or rather transform) the entire human personality, was also considered to possess the same properties. More precisely, it was an exact replica of the phenomena paradigmatic in Malay Sufi tradition of the seventeenth century. The backbone of the system of Malay literature was represented by the doctrine of the creative process reproducing the paradigm of the Divine Creation. As noted earlier, the creative process was thought to be a 'channel', a path of sorts, linking the author to God (the Supplier of the creative energy) and to the reader, on whom this energy, being 'poured out' through the work of literature, was destined to exercise its influence. Both the ascent to God and the descent to the reader ilirough this' channel' were made possible by a special prayer to the Creator for success in both the receptive and agentive phases of the creative process. These engendered the literary system consisting of the sphere of beauty (indah) designed for the plane of the corporeal soul (hati), the sphere of benefit (Jaedah), for the plane of the intellect (akal), and the sphere of spiritual perfection (kamal), for the plane of the spiritual heart (hati nurani, sirr, rahasia).62 Thus engendered, the classical Malay literary system, like the Path, mystically interpreted prayer and zikir, was correlated with the macrocosm and the microcosm. It should be remembered that the four stages of the Path corresponded, on the one hand, to the ontologico-psychic-somatic worlds (nasut, malakut and others) and, on the other hand, to the tongue (body), the sout the intellect and the spiritual heart. The system of Malay literature demonstrated the same set of correspondences: the plane of soul, the plane of intellect, and the plane of the spiritual heart, the only difference being that the body and the soul (the corporeal soul understood as a 'subtle body') were united. However, there was nothing unusual in this. A similar three-fold hierarchy was characteristic of Syamsuddin as-Samatrani's works. In these, the

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corporeal elements (jasmani - corporeality, the corporeal soul included) were opposed to the spiritual ones, that is to ruhani (spirituality) corresponding to intellect and to ruh idafi (the Relational Spirit) corresponding to the spiritual heart (Van Nieuwenhuijze 1945:138-9). Thus, like the Path, the prayer and zikir, the literary system not only revealed anthropomorphic macro cosmic and microcosmic correspondences, but also served as a 'form' for the proper 'moulding' of the whole psychicsomatic structure of humanity, encompassing it entirely ('the like influencing the like'). Here, as is only natural, the literary system presented itself as an immense text, the reading of which equated ascent via the ladder of spiritual self-perfection. It goes without saying that what is offered in this chapter (and also in Chapter V, although on a more concrete level) is only a model of the system of classical

Malay literature, with both the merits of models (their explanatory potency and 'observability' of a complex object) and their inevitable demerits (simplification, schematic nature of presentation, abstraction from many important details). The author fully realizes that the reality of Malay literature is much richer, more diverse, 'alive' and, certainly, not so clear and well ordered. However, it is necessary to remember that he is analysing the doctrine of literature (not the literature itself), and that science, including the science of literature, works with models. It is one of its most important methods.

Notes About sixty verse prefaces were used for this reconstruction. 2

About forty prose prefaces were used in the present work.

'It is called The Spirit of God (Ruh Allah) because it manifests His Being and Life; it is called the Spirit of relationship (ruh idafi) because it is the relation between the being of God and all creation; it is called the Mirror of Reality and Truth (Mir'at al-Haqq wa'l-Haqiqa) because the Inner Reality of God and of all things are reflected in it; it is called the Throne of God ('arsh Allah) because it is the place where Almighty God is revealed; it is called the Simple Substance (jauhar lard) in which God's attributes and names are displayed; it is also known as the Centre of Circles (markaz al-dawa'ir) because the circles of being and determination commence from a manifestation in it' (Johns 1957:70). 3

Doorenbos 1933:86. Sometimes alam malakut and alam jabarut are confused in the text, evidently because two terminological systems connected with the doctrine of the three ontological worlds (mulk - malakut - jabarut) were known in Aceh in the seventeenth century. One of them (Van Nieuwenhuijze 1945:136-8; Al-Attas 1970:156), dating back to Ibn al-' Arabi and widely spread in Sufism (Bakhtiar 1976:13), had the following order: the World of Kingship (alam mulk), that is, the world of created things -> the World of Dominion (alam malakut), that is, the world of the soul -> and the World of Omnipotence (alam jabarut), that is, the world of the intellect. In

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the other system, introduced by AI-Ghazali, jabarut corresponds to the plane of the soul, while malakut corresponds to the plane of the intellect (Saeed Sheikh 1963:620; Johns 1957:77-8). No matter what may be the name of the intermediary world connecting the world of created things and the world of intellect, the description contained in the verse can belong only to it. Johns 1957:75-6. With the corresponding correction, because jabarut and malakut are interpreted according to AI-Ghazali in the treatise published by A. Johns (see note 4). 6 The existence of ties between the term sadr and the notions of' conscience' and' the intellect' is confirmed by the fact that one of the meanings of this word is 'Throne' (the sphere of general ideas). The well-known commentator of the Qur'an, AI-Baydawi, uses the term sadir to indicate the First Intellect (Calverly 1934:829). On the whole, in establishing the meaning of terms, it is necessary first of all to take into account the context (set of terms) in which the term in question appears. Thus, in the context of the opposition to the terms sadr, on the one hand, and lisan, on the other, qalb doubtless refers to the animal soul, or the sphere of images, while in other contexts it can indicate the spiritual heart, the faculty of mystical cognition of an 'intellectual rather than emotional nature' (Nicholson 1966:68).

That is, the 'animal soul' (hati haywani) or 'material heart' (kalbu sanaubari), a synonym of the animal (corporeal) soul in Sufi treatises. 8

Nafs natiqa, or, in theological terminology, nafs al-'aql (AI-Attas 1975:70).

'And as regards the soul which thinks things and is called the rational or discursive soul by the philosophers (and by 'discursive' is meant 'rational', because discourse is the most typical external operation of reason and therefore the intellective soul takes its name from it), it has two faculties, a knowing and an acting, and both are called intellect. [... ] And the acting faculty is one which is a principle moving man's body towards the well-ordered human arts, whose order derives from the deliberation proper to man. The knowing faculty, which is called the speculative, is one which has the function of perceiving the real natures of the intelligibles in abstraction from matter, place, and position; and these are the universal concepts [that is, general ideas] which the theologians call sometimes conditions and sometimes modes, and which the philosophers call abstract universals. The soul [rational soul, or intellect, is meant] has therefore two faculties on two sides: the speculative faculty on the side of the angels, since through it it receives from the angels knowledge of realities (and this faculty must always be receptive for the things coming from above); and the practical faculty on the inferior side, which is the side of body [the animal, or corporeal, soul included] which it directs and whose morals it improves. This faculty must rule over all the other bodily faculties, and all the others must be trained by it and subjected to it. It must not itself be affected or influenced by them, but they must be influenced by it, in such a way that there will not through the bodily attributes occur in the soul subservient dispositions, called vices, but that this faculty may remain predominant and arouse in the soul [that is, the animal soul] dispositions called virtues.' (Van den Bergh 1954, 1:335.) 10 A few definitions of the domains of the spiritual (ruhani) and intellect (akal), as well as of their immanent properties and the regulation of the animal soul by the intellect, are quoted below from a selection of Malay works dating back to the classical period. 'What receives the spiritual is called bodily, what receives the Relational Spirit is called spiritual, while the Relational Spirit receives from the True One, Most Glorious and Exalted is He!' (Van Nieuwenhuijze 1945:138-9). 'The spirit of man has many names. It is called the Spirit of Man (ruh insan) from the standpoint of its giving life to man; nevertheless the Spirit of Man lives by the Holy Spirit (ruh al-qudus), for that is his life; it is called the Heart (qalb) for it is by means of it that the heart of man can tum about

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and see, for the heart of man is like a mould of light, and the ruh al-qudus is the eye of the heart; it is called the Intellect ('aql) from the fact that by it man thinks; nevertheless it is the ruh al-qudus which perfects the intellect of man, for it is the Intellect of intellects: (Johns 1957:7l, 68.) 'Moreover God has given you subtlety of intellect (aka/) to discriminate between the true and the false, to infer the hidden from the visible and to reveal to you the greatest of wonders. Moreover it comprehends the lofty attributes of God such as come within the range of legal obligation.' (Johns 1957:53, 47.) 'The intellect in a human body is like a king in his city, surrounded by slaves who are ready to fulfil his orders. [These slaves] are memory, understanding, thinking and will; they gratify the soul which pacifies the body and embellishes it: (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:174.) 'The soul owes all its perfections to the intellect which is like unto a candle in the abode of a human soul, lighting all the recesses of this abode. Nothing can hide from its light, so that all that is right and all that is wrong become clearly seen.' (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:175-6.) To this we can add that, according to Raja Ali Haji, the one who has no knowledge and no intellect 'will never perceive the scent of perfection and meanness will be his lot'. His gate is wide open, so everything mean penetrates inside through this gate. All the mean qualities gather in a body abandoned by the intellect. When all mean qualities are brought together in anyone's body, the intellect abandons the ruined fortress of the body, because there remains no room for it there. If intellect abandons a body, the body of a man who has lost intellect can be regarded as the body of an animal, if he causes no disturbance to people. But if he does, then it is regarded 'as the body of a wild beast, Satan or Iblis' (Van RonkeI1901a:520-1). For instance, AI-Jili compares the Universal Intellect with the reflection of the sun in water, and human intellect with the reflection of water on a wall (Dar 1963:846).

11

12 It is noteworthy that Ibn Sina wrote: 'In the final analysis, any knowledge can be reduced to principles, cognized thanks to insight, which were communicated to disciples by those who were the first to acquire them: meaning 'the ability to perfect oneself without a teacher', 'a kind of prophetic ability' by inSight (Ibn Sina 1961:230). AI-Ghazali, who used the term 'rational (intellectual) soul' in Tahafut al-falasifah (the 'Refutation of philosophers', (Van den Bergh 1954, 1:335), resorted to the term 'spiritual heart', when he gave a Sufi interpretation to the Qura'anic 'Verse of Light' in his Mishkat al-anwar (Bakhtiar 1976:20).

13 The exposition of the Islamic doctrine of the soul is based here on the following works: Ara ahl al-madinat al-fadila (the '[Treatise on] views of residents of the virtuous city') by AI-Farabi (1972:264-70); Qanun fi'l-tibb (the 'Canon of medicine') and 'On the soul' (from Kitab al-shifa - the 'Book of healing') by Ibn Sina (1954-60, 1:124-40, 1961:219-75); Tahafut al-falasifa (the 'Refutation of philosophers' quoted by Ibn Rushd) (Van den Bergh 1954, 1:333-6) and the Mishkat al-anwar (commentary on the 'Verse of Light') (Gaidner 2000; Bakhtiar 1976:20) by AI-Ghazali; Mir'at almuhaqqiqin (the 'Mirror of those who seek the truth') by Mahmud Shabistari and Zubdat al-haqa'iq (the 'Cream of truths') by' Aziz ai-Din Nasafi (A. Berthels 1970:309-41, 168-9). 14 In theological terminology: nafs al-ruh, or 'the soul of breath', and nafs al-hayat, or 'the soul of life' (AI-Attas 1975:70); in philosophical terminology: nafs haywani ('the animal soul').

15 Bakhtiar 1976:19. According to most description, there are five external senses: sight, hearing, smell, the sense of touch and taste, and as many internal senses whose terminology is rather unstable and varies from one treatise to another; philosophical terminology usually has the power of memory (hafizah), the power of thought (ftkr), the power of intelligence (wahm), the power of imagination (khayal) and the general sense, sensus communis (hiss al-mushtarik). Besides, the soul has two body-moving functions: power of passion directing the body towards a positively assessed object, and the power of anger directing it away from a negatively assessed object.

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16 A form differs from an idea (or 'intention') in that it 'cannot be without matter, that is, body', while an idea 'does not require body for its existence'. The differentiation of these notions is usually explained with the help of the following example: a form is 'the colour, shape, and appearance of a wolf' which are perceived by a sheep, while an idea is a wolf's enmity perceived by a sheep (Van den Bergh 1954, 1:334). 17 Bakhtiar 1976:19-20. Thus, for instance, in Zubdat al-haqa'iq the Active Intellect is called the Queen (mutasirfa) who 'discovers the hidden' (ghaib) and 'produces combinations in imagination by means of joining and disjoining' (A. Berthels 1970:169).

18 For instance, Van Nieuwenhuijze 1945:146; Winstedt 1951:141-2. The term sirr is found in both lists. It denotes the most profound essence of the soul, the spiritual heart in which the Spirit of Allah is placed and which is self-lUlninous, that is, possessing the knowledge by its own nature rather than perceiving it from outside (Bakhtiar 1976:20). Furthermore, one could expect the appearance of the term 'memory' (hifz) in the first list (Van Nieuwenhuijze 1945:146), but we find the term 'thought', 'mental concentration' (cipta) instead of it in the text. Against the background of exclusively Arabic terms, this word looks like a mistake by the scribe who read the diacritical dot over 'kh' erroneously and mistook the emphatic 'z' for the emphatic 't'o This mistake is easily explicable, given that both thought and memory are equally connected with the meditative process. Memory is followed by thought (fikrt intelligence (wahm) and imagination (hayal). Judging by all the evidence, thought and imagination are powers that perceive (ideas and forms respectively), while memory and intelligence are retaining powers in this list. In the other list (Winstedt 1951:141-2), feeling (rasa) takes the place of imagination of the first list; the term cita, 'mental concentration', 'thought', occupies the place of the term fikr, while memory is replaced by the term i'tiqad which is not quite clear in this context and which can hardly be translated here as 'faith' (Winstedt 1951:79), but rather as 'memory', proceeding from its place in the list and from such of its meanings as 'acquire', 'gather' and also 'close', 'lock' (Lane 1874, V:2105; compare also such definitions of memory as 'treasury', 'depository', 'storage-place' in A. Berthels 1970:169). Thus, both Malay lists of internal senses are principally identical and reflect the threefold structure of the soul correc..tly. 19 Doorenbos 1933:85-6. The correct order of lines, violated in the poem because of the confusion of jabarut and malakut, was restored in the translation.

The translation 'example' is tentative. The text has suji, 'roughly ground flour' (Wilkinson 1932,1:494); it seems likely that the suji is a metaphor for a plan, a sketch, or a draft providing the general outline of the poem, while the detailed elaboration of its plot offered to the reader is 'finely ground flour', so to speak.

20

The term poetical method 'is used to refer to a mental form for metrical word combinations which is universal in the sense of conforming to any particular word combination. This form is absorbed by the mind from the most prominent individual word combinations and given a place in the imagination comparable to a mould or loom. Word combinations that the Arabs consider sound, in the sense of having the (correct) vowel endings and the proper style, are then selected and packed by (the mind) into (that form), just as the builder does with the mold, or the weaver with the loom' (Ibn Khaldun 1958, III:176). Elsewhere Ibn Khaldun notes: 'The first condition [of the creation of poetry] is to have an expert knowledge of its genus - that is, the genus of Arabic poetry. [This is the thing] that eventually creates a habit in the soul upon which, as on a loom, [the poet is able] to weave. The material for memorising should be selected from the most genuine and purest and most varied [poetry]. [... ] It is often said that one of the conditions governing [poetical production] is to forget the memorized material, so that its external literal forms will be wiped out [of the memory], since they prevent the real use of [the poetical habit]. 21

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After the soul has been conditioned by them, and they are forgotten, the method [of poetry] is engraved upon the soul, as though it were a loom upon which similar words can be woven as a matter of course: (Ibn Khaldun 1958, III:384.) Ibn Khaldun 1958, 11:209-11. As was noted by Ibn Khaldun, the soul enters the spiritual world (the world of angels) in the dreaming state and, contemplating 'glimpses' of that world, it receives knowledge of the future 'about which it is concerned'. The ability of the soul to penetrate the spiritual world in dreams is a form of the prophetic gift inherent in all people. It is actualized thanks to the soul's potential spirituality, which is freed in the dreaming state from the 'veil' of sensual impressions distracting the soul and preventing it from giving itself to the contemplation of the intellectually perceived world. Ibn Khaldun goes on to write: 'The reason for perception of the supernatural in dream visions is as follows: The spirit of the heart [that is, cordial pneuma], which is the fine vapour coming from the cavity in the flesh of the heart, spreads into the veins and, through the blood, to all the rest of the body. It serves to perfect the actions and sensations of the animal powers. The spirit may be affected by lassitude, because it is very busy with the sensual perception of the five senses and with the employment of the external powers. When the surface of the body, then, is covered by the chill of night, the spirit withdraws from all the other regiOns of the body to its centre, the heart. It rests, in order to be able to resume its activity, and all the external senses are for the time being unemployed. This is the meaning of sleep [... ]. Now, the spirit of the heart is the vehicle of man's rational spirit. Through its essence, the rational spirit perceives everything that is in the divine world [here and below emphasis by the present author], since its reality and its essence are identical with perception. It is prevented from assimilating any supernatural perception by the veil of its preoccupation with the body and corporeal powers and senses. If it were without that veil or stripped of it, it would return to its reality, which is identical with perception [we can notice that it is precisely this that takes place in the process of deep meditation of the poet]. If it were stripped of part of it, its preoccupation would be less. It is thus able to catch a glimpse of its own world [that is, the spiritual, divine world], since external sense perception, its greatest preoccupation, now occupies it less. Its supernatural perception corresponds in intensity to the degree to which the veil is withdrawn from it. Thus it becomes prepared to receive the available perceptions from its own world that are appropriate for it. When it has perceived these perceptions from its own world, as it returns with them to its body, it cannot be active except through corporeal means of perception. The faculties through which the body perceives knowledge are all connected with the brain. The active part among them is the imagination. It derives imaginary pictures from the pictures perceived by the senses and turns them over to the power of memory, which retains them until they are needed in connection with speculation and deduction. From the imaginary pictures, the soul also abstracts other spiritual-intellectual pictures. In this way, abstraction ascends from sensibilia to the intelligibilia. The imagination is the intermediary between them. Also, when the soul has received a certain number of perceptions from its own world [that is, the divine world], it passes them on to imagination, which forms them into appropriate pictures and turns those perceptions over to the common sense [sensus communis]. As a result the sleeper sees them as if they were perceived by the senses. Thus, the perception comes down from the rational spirit to the level of sensual perception, with the imagination again being the intermediary. This is what dream visions actually are: (Ibn Khaldun 1967:368-9.) 22

Malays visited Mecca more or less regularly beginning from the seventeenth century. The study of rhetoric and poetics and specialists in these fields from the Malay world are mentioned by Snouck Hurgronje (1931:268).

23

Van Ronkel 1913:477-87. Khulasat al-insha fi'l-murasala the 'Essence of the art of composition in correspondence' by a certain Fakhr ai-Din Ahmad ibn Jalal ai-Din Mahmud al-Hasani al-Bukhari, consisting of three sections, can be taken as an example of such manuscripts in

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which the traditional Arabic theory of eloquence is expounded in sufficient detail. The first section of the treatise is devoted to 'the explanation of what in the knowledge of the word, speech, eloquence, rhetoric and direct and indirect meanings relates to the science of composition and is in conformity with it.' It consists of seven chapters: word and speech, eloquence and rhetoric, direct and indirect meanings, comparison (tashbih), metaphor (is tiara), metonymy (kinaya), and allusion. The second section called 'On subdivisions of speech recognized by writers and on requirements for words used in a writing, requirements for speech, and on methods of improving it with the help of the laconic style (ijmal) and borrowings (iqtibas)' consists of six chapters: subdivisions of speech, requirements for words used in compositions, requirements for speech approved by rhetoricians in prose and poetry, methods of improving speech with the help of the laconic style, borrowings and various ways of expression (gradation, allusion, beautiful beginning, conclusion and transitions from one subject to another), erudition of scribes and writers. The third section is devoted to epistolography proper (Van RonkeI1913:479-80). The Malay word menyatakan ('make something clear, obvious or manifest') corresponds to the Arabic azhara.

25

Hikayat anak pengajian:2. Hikayat anak pengajian (the 'Tales for children who study the Qur'an'), which contains a number of edifying stories, has been preserved in MS St. Petersburg D 446 (for its description, see V. Braginsky and Boldyreva 1990). The author of this work, Safirin bin Usman (Guru Cit) Fadli, was a Batavian scribe, teacher of the Qur'an and Sufism and, at the same time, the author of a few hikayat about heroes of the wayang theatre (about him, see Chambert-Loir 1991;88-90; V. Braginsky 2002b:43-52). Particularly interesting is Safirin's introduction to Hikayat anak pengajian, in which he describes majlis pembacaan - 'literary assembly' and expresses his literary views (for the complete text of this introduction, its partial translation into English, and an analysis of Safirin's views and their origins, see V. Braginsky 2002b:44-54). Excerpts from Safirin's 'Introduction' will be quoted below more than once or twice.

26

27 The main meaning of the root patut and its derivatives is 'to fit', 'to correspond', 'to be proper or suitable', 'to be in harmony with something'. Patut means mutual harmony, mutual coordination of two essentially different entities or actions, for instance: 'Pangeran Mangkuningrat manipulated puppets very beautifully in conformity [patut dengan, that is, in harmony] with his singing a kakawin' (Overbeck 1932:218). Here patut refers to the coordination of movements of puppets with the tune which is a must in wayang. Or: 'the hearts of most men who are listening to the hikayat also begin to beat in time with (berpatutan dengan) the voice of the one who reads' (Hikayat anak pengajian:2).

28 This conclusion is corroborated by one of the prefaces that contains all the three terms following one another in the order of the narrowing and specifying of the notion of 'the correct arrangement'. At first the broadest term dikarang (general arrangement) is introduced; it is followed by dipatut (the establishment of a correspondence between the external and the internal aspects of the work); and, finally, diatur (the proper arrangement of the external aspect) appears: 'The narrator tells a story of olden times about most painful distress and persistent love passion. [This story,] translated from the Javanese language into Malay, was composed (dikarang) by a poor dervish, [its content] was correctly expressed (dipatut) by people of olden times and put into good order (diatur) by connoisseurs.' (Van RonkeI1909:16.) 29 That it is precisely internal senses which, in this excerpt, are symbolized by the power of Sight can be confirmed by the fact that elsewhere in this book the position of the power of sight in the same opposition is occupied by memory: Perceive the sound and colours [of this book] And impress its meaning (ma'na) on your memory (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:8).

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Compare above: 'Not discriminating between wrong and right'; this discernment is no less than the main function of the intellect, which, as is said in Taj as-salatin, 'discerns between the pure and the impure, and between the false and the true' (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:173).

30

Al-Suyuti, an Arab scholar of the fifteenth century, gives the following definition of the term lajz: 'That which has issued from the mouth is a sound (saut), even if it does not contain a harj [that is, if it is not an articulated sound]; however, if it contains a harf but does not convey a sense (rna'na), this is lajz, and if it conveys a meaning, it is a word (kalirnahY (Al-Suyuti 1359H:2).

31

According to Ibn Rashiq, an Arab theoretician of poetry of the eleventh century: 'Lajz is a body, and rna'na is its soul. One is linked with the other as the body is linked with the soul; the soul weakens when the body does, and it grows stronger as the body gains strength. If rna'na is intact while part of the lajz is corrupted, this is a demerit of a verse or its vice. This resembles a situation when some limbs may be damaged by a paralysis or another disease, but the soul does not abandon it. Similarly, if rna'na has become weaker or part of it is corrupted, lajz suffers the full measure of suffering from it. This is similar to a situation when disease may befall the body as a result of disease of the soul. It is possible to find out that rna'na has been corrupted only through lajz, if it does not duly correspond to it, by analogy with what was said about diseases of bodies and souls. If rna'na is completely corrupt and rotten, lajz turns out to be a dead body, even if it is pleasant to listen to, just as in the case of a dead body which might have no visible damage but which is of no use whatsoever. However, if lajz is completely corrupted and has disintegrated, it cannot have rna'na, because souls can be found only in bodies.' (Ibn Rashiq 1972:124.) I am greatly indebted to Professor D.V. Frolov of Moscow State University who kindly provided me with the translations of texts by Al-Suyuti and Ibn Rashiq.

32

It was commonly believed that rna'na could be expressed by a number of various lajz in a work of literature (there was also the opinion that each rna'na has its own lajz corresponding to it (Ibn Khaldun 1958, III:400)); their diversity and skilful use was regarded as one of the most important merits of a writing: 'The task of a poet or a writer of prose is to "dress" these bodies [that is, rna'ani] in attires of various words. Value is attached not so much to the diversity of images or thoughts, as the diversity of words, the "finishing of thoughts", the "structure of a plot".' (Shidfar 1974:190.) However, the number of lajz is not endless either, and it is also limited by the idea of their correct correspondence to their rna 'ani. According to' Abd al-Qahir al-Jurjani: 'It is best to allow thoughts (rna'ani) to correspond to their own means of expression and let them choose their own alfaz [plural of lajz]. They will select attires fitting and becoming them by themselves' (Ritter 1954:13-4, Arabic text). 33

'Abd al-Qahir al-Jurjani insists in his Dalai'l al-i'jaz (the 'Signs of the inimitability'), countering some earlier theoreticians who believed that eloquence depended first of all on merits of verbal elements (aljaz), that the latter as such do not make up a language. They 'do so only when organized in a system or construction according to the requirements of the meaning. The important element in literary composition, then, is structure, and the essence of structure is meaning. Once meanings are defined in the intellect in their proper order, their verbal expressions follow faithfully in a determined fashion. A literary composition achieves its end if it is properly and suitably constructed. It becomes vague, obscure, complicated, and generally defective when the verbal element does not harmonize with the meanings, or when the meanings themselves are not clear and coherent in the mind of the speaker or the writer.' (Khalafallah 1963:1038.) 34

Ritter 1954:9-18. 'Abd al-Qahir al-Jurjani begins his research with a definition of metaphor. He introduces his classification, which distinguishes two kinds of metaphor (isti'ara): that which conveys new information, and that which does not. The 'informative' metaphor is subdivided into the metaphor that involves a transfer of meaning from one concrete object to another, similarly concrete, object (a certain man is a lion), and

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the metaphor in which the meaning is transferred to an 'indefinite' object. Such expressions as 'the hand of the north wind' exemplify this last type of metaphor. Since wind has no concrete parts, it is impossible to say to which 'part' of the 'north wind' the word 'hand' refers. Therefore, although the 'north wind' is described as possessing a certain thing (a hand), a poet who uses this expression intends to ascribe to the wind not the possession of a hand as such, but a property, which derives from such possession. It is metaphor of this kind that is termed by 'Abd al-Qahir al-Jurjani tamthi/. The most important feature of tamthil is that the similarity between its objects is not obvious and cannot be established by means of the senses (as, for instance, in the comparison of a round object to a ring) but requires mental reconstruction (ta'wil) and activity by the intellect ('aql). Intellectual analysis is especially necessary in those cases when tamthil is based on a comparison of two groups of objects in either of which the objects are mutually connected. This sort of tamthil is present in the following verse of the Qur'an: 'Those to whom the Torah was given in order that they carry it, but who did not carry it, are like a donkey that carries books'. The similarity lies here in the entire situation surrounding the donkey and is based on the mutual connection of several elements: the action of the donkey (carrying), the donkey's load (books), and the ignorance of the donkey (standing for humans) as to the content of the load. Omit but a single element - and the tamthil will disintegrate. The psychological impact of tamthil - whose aesthetic effect is much stronger than that of a directly expressed idea - is expounded by , Abd al-Qahir as follows. The human intellect is apt to perceive a new object of cognition better if it can establish a tie between that new object and something already known to it. But knowledge received through the five senses is, firstly, much more reliable and concrete than knowledge acquired by means of reasoning and deduction, and, secondly, is more familiar because it has been mastered since childhood, during the period of sensory and natural (tiba') perception, as opposed to the later, rational cognizance. A poet who, by using a graphic image, guides a soul from the mentally perceived to the sensorily perceived is like a man who, when wishing to introduce a stranger (the mentally perceived) to someone (the reader), resorts to the mediation of an old friend (the sensorily perceived) of that person. The strongest impact is that of visual information. Comparing two poetic expressions - 'a night as long as if other nights joined it' and '.il day as long as a spear's shadow' -' Abd al-Qahir sees the superiority of the latter in its more graphic nature. Besides, the second expression is strange, unusual. This 'strangeness' (gharaba) is another reason for the expressiveness of tamthil, because the human soul tends to experience the most intense pleasure when it finds likeness and harmonious unity in those things between which one normally finds only difference. Besides, the establishing of the 'Similarity in the dissimilar' requires special attention and intellectual effort, which enhance the aesthetic emotion still more. Nevertheless, 'Abd al-Qahir al-Jurjani warns the reader against excessive sophistication and far-fetched associations that would make a literary work harder to understand. Therefore tamthil is a form of indirect rendering of a meaning, which leads (owing to intellectual analysis) to a regression from the level of mental comprehension to that of sensory perception; a form superior in expressiveness to the direct expression of meaning, primarily by virtue of its specific 'graphic nature' and 'strangeness' (Ritter 1954:9-18). Since Malay men of letters were most probably acquainted precisely with this later form, we will quote Ibn Khaldun's summary with some insignificant omissions below: 'It should be known that the secret and the spirit of speech - that is, expression and address - lie in conveying ideas (rna 'ani). If no effort is made to (convey ideas), (speech) is like 'dead land' (mawat) which does not count. The perfect way of conveying [ideas] [ma'ani are implied] is eloquence. They say that (eloquence) is conformity of speech to the requirements of the situation [in the sense described above]. Knowledge of the conditions and laws governing the conformity of word combinations to the requirements of the situation is the discipline of eloquence (al-'ilm al-balagha) [that is, rhetoric]'. Then Ibn Khaldun notes that there exist a number of ways allowing the writer to establish the 36

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'requirements of situation' correctly. They are studied by the first section of rhetoric - 'the science of meanings' (al-'ilm al-ma'ani). Having given a brief definition of this science, he continues: , After the requirements of a given situation have thus been indicated [by the science of meanings], there come the diverse ways in which the mind moves among the ideas with the help of different kinds of [word] meanings. In its conventional meaning, a word combination indicates one particular idea, but then the mind moves on to what might be the consequence of, or have as its consequence, that idea, or [what might] be similar to it and, thus, express [some idea] indirectly as metaphor or metonymy, as has been established in the proper places [that is, in works by literary critics]. This moving around causes pleasure to the mind, perhaps even more than [the pleasure] that results from indicating [the requirements of the situation]. All these things mean the attainment of a conclusion from the argument used to prove it, and attainment, as one knows, is one of the things that cause pleasure. The different ways in which [the mind] moves around in this manner also have [their] conditions and laws, which are like rules. They were made into a [special] craft and called "the (science of) style" ([al-'ilm] al-bayan). [This science] is sister to the science of idea expression [more precisely: the science of ideas - al-'ilm al-ma'ani] which indicates the requirements of a given situation. [... ] Word and idea depend on each other and stand side by side [mutabaqa, that is, 'correspond to each other'], as one knows. Thus the science of idea expression and the science of style are both part of rhetoric (al-'ilm al-balagha), and both (together) produce perfect indication and conformity to the requirements of the situation. [... ] Thus, after perfect indication [of the requirements of the situation has been achieved], the word combinations [, if expressed] according to that genius that is basic [to Arab speech], have [their] different kinds of artistic embellishment. In a way, they give them the brilliance of correct speech. Such [kinds of artistic embellishment] include the ornamental use of rhymed prose, the use of phrases of identical structure at the end of successive cola (muwazanah), allusion (tawriyah) to a cryptic idea by a homonym, and antithesis, and other rhetorical figures (alqab), invented and enumerated [by literary critics] and for which they set up conditions and laws and which they called "the discipline of rhetorical figures" ([al-'ilm] al-badi'). This gives brilliance to speech and pleasure to the ear, and sweetness and beauty, all in addition to indicating [the meaning]: (Ibn Khaldun 1958, III:399-402.) 37

See Note 33.

Thus, for instance, Al-' Askari, an Arab theoretician of the tenth century, expounding the ideas of advocates of verbosity (ashab al-itnab) and of advocates of the 'laconic style' (ashab ali'jaz) in his Kitab al-sina'atayn (the 'Book of the two arts'), arrives at the conclusion that the laconic style is hierarchically superior and that it is designed for the elect (Shidfar 1974:174). In his opinion, the text of the Qur'an is 'the ultimate and unsurpassable example of the 'laconic style'. As he puts it: 'If you want to verify this, try to change words in these locutions and you will see that the number of words has grown manifold, while the number of thoughts has diminished' (Shidfar 1974:174). When describing differences between these two kinds of eloquence (balagha and fasaha), he also writes: 'If speech contains all the praiseworthy qualities but fails to possess the splendour and advantage of brevity, it can be called baligh, but not fasih' (Shidfar 1974:104). From his point of view, it is namely fasih that is the most beautiful kind of speech. 38

The triple opposition matbu' ('natural') versus masnu' (from sana' - 'to embelllish'; that is such a kind of expression which is based on a 'laborious work on style' (Trabulsi 1955:138), not on a natural talent) versus takalluf (' artificial') is not infrequently found in writings by Arab and Persian theoreticians. The assessment of masnu' poetry may vary. Sometimes it is regarded as inferior to matbu', sometimes as equal and even superior to it. In the latter case, takalluf is regarded as an excessive masnu', so to speak, and is assessed negatively. For instance, Ibn Rashiq writes to this effect: 'We do not call in question that, if an ultimately beautiful bayt of the masnu' type is written on the ma'na of an ultimately perfect bayt of the matbu' type in such a way that

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neither artificiality [kulfa, the same as takalluj] nor excessive effort is revealed in it, the rnasnu' bayt will be the better of these two bayt' (Trabulsi 1955:140). Takalluf is manifested in excessively pretentious language and the excess of poetic ideas (rna'ani) in a bayt; it is a result of prolonged and strained work on the ornamentation of a verse. For instance, Jami writes in his qasidah lila al-ruh (the 'Polishing of spirit'): Like silk, my verses are free of the pattern of artificiality (takalluj). What's the harm if someone should call them insipid for their simplicity? The art of words is good for a poet unless [Its excessive use] damages the perfection of meaning (rna'na): Refined fantasy is [like] a mole on the face of a beauty of meaning: If there are few moles on her cheeks, they enhance their beauty, But if the abundance of moles covers the entire face, They will make her black-faced [that is, will disgrace her] among those with plain faces [that is, those who do not have even one mole]. (Ye. Berthels 1965b:254.) 'Abd al-Qahir al-Jurjani also wrote about harm proceeding from excessive sophistication and impairing correct expression (Ritter 1954:17). This idea is presented with especial clearness in Muqaddirnah (the 'Prolegomenon') by Ibn Khaldun: '[The poet] should also keep away, as much as he can, from involved word combinations. He should try to use only those whose meaning can be understood more quickly than the [individual] words they contain. The same applies to putting too many ideas into one verse, which make it somewhat complicated to understand. The choicest [verse] is the one whose words conform to the ideas [it contains] or are more copious [than the ideas]. If there are many ideas, the verse becomes crowded. The mind examines [the ideas] and is distracted. As a result, [the listener's literary] taste is prevented from fully understanding, as it should, the eloquence [of the verse]. A poem is easy only when its ideas are more quickly grasped by the mind than its words.' (Ibn Khaldun 1958, III:385-6.) 40

Dictionaries say that the semantic field of the adjective indah is made up of nofions such as 'beautiful', 'fine', 'fair', and 'precious' (Klinkert 1916:77; Wilkinson 1932, 1:424). The verbal meaning of the root indah is 'to pay attention to'. Therefore, the ability of the beautiful to attract attention to itself and its attraction for the senses are the semantic focus of indah. The Javanese cognate, endah, meaning both 'beautiful' and 'arresting one's attention' (Pigeaud 1948:105), reveals the same concept. Obviously, the beautiful, conceived in this way, corresponds solely to manifest objects. In contradistinction to indah, the concept of 'beautiful' as 'good', 'good for something' (Klinkert 1916:111) is what prevails in the semantic field of the term elok, according to lexicographers. That is why baik, 'good', is often its synonym, while buruk, 'bad', 'evil' serves as its antonym. This meaning is reflected in such expressions as 'the good is inseparable from the evil' (elok dengan buruk ta' bercerai, Klinkert 1916:111), 'good news' (khabar elok), 'good for use' (elok dipakai). It is obvious that the property 'beautiful', thus understood, is inherent in an object substantially; it can become manifest to sensory perception, but it can also be hidden. This is why it is as applicable to the world of phenomena as to that of spiritual realities. The study of the various contextual meanings in which the words indah and elok are used in literary works and in Sufi treatises proves the correctness of the distinction put forward above. In the tales (hikayat), the principal function of which is to arouse proper behaviour in the world of phenomena, the word indah occurs quite frequently, being applied to a multitude of objects such as landscapes, palaces, flowers, birds, gems and garments and to a variety of actions such as flying and fighting. The word elok is used less frequently. It must be noted that both indah and elok are often applied to the same object, either substituting for each other, or forming a complementary pair, for example 'an unspeakably beautiful {indah} and exquisite (elok) rose flower', or: 'and the sovereign beheld that peacock which was indescribably lovely (elok) and wonderfully beautiful (indah)' (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:107, 7). Indah may be preferred to elok, or the other way round. Thus, in all prefaces to the hikayat, which are the conceptually most explicit and terminologically most precise parts, only the word indah is used to describe the aural beauty of a work 41

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of literature. This is quite understandable, as speech (sound) is expression par excellence; it is through speech that the hidden (the thought, the writer's intention, the plot) becomes manifest and can thereby be perceived. This is precisely why the word indah is pre-eminently applied to every kind of sound generally, be it conversation, music or singing. At the same time, when describing a beautiful face (muka, paras, wajah), one would use only the word elok or its synonym baik. The explanation is that according to Muslim tradition, the face is the imprint of the internal, spiritual essence (this is why the Essence, zat, of Allah is called His Face, wajah, AI-Attas 1970: 90). Furthermore, it is a secret, hidden imprint, which cannot be perceived by the non-initiated but which can be revealed with the help of physiognomy (ilmu jirasat), the science dealing with the internal significance of facial traits. In Sufi works, urging the reader to leave the phenomenal world for the comprehension of hidden spiritual realities, the word elok obviously dominates. It is the only Malay word that can be applied to such concepts of the utmost importance as Divine Being and Divine Attributes (Doorenbos 1933:53, 72-3). We rarely encounter the word indah and therefore it is very illuminating to consider the few contexts in which it appears. In the poems by Harnzah Fansuri indah occurs as an adjective only once, in the description of the Pure Bird (Burung Pingai), symbolizing the Spirit: 'This bird is unusually beautiful (indah) [... 1 thanks to the variety of its appearances and its behaviour (banyak ragam dan ulah)' (Doorenbos 1933:34). In spite of the symbolic context, it is obvious that the word indah here is used not to describe the invariable, essential aspect of the beauty of the Spirit, but to indicate its changeable external manifestation, its 'shimmering' in the diverse manifestations of the phenomenal world (Bakhtiar 1976:74). In the collection of anonymous tracts edited by Johns, indah also occurs only once to denote the beauty of the phenomenal world: 'in the sphere of the contingent being there is nothing more beautiful (indah), adorned and perfect than this world' (Johns 1957:75). Finally, indah occurs twice in the poem by Abd aI-Jamal. The first time it is used to describe a mountain encircled by a river. This is indeed a symbolic description of spiritual reality (AI-Attas 1971:3649); however, as to its form it is but a sketch of a landscape, and the use of indah is here quite in its place. The second case is particularly interesting, because here indah stands in evident opposition to jamal. The passage deals with the 'world of the soul' (alam malakut, Doorenbos 1933:85-7), in which two kinds of travellers are pursuing the Sufi path. Travellers of the first kind, upon reaching the alam malakut, are carried away by the stream of beautiful (indah) images of the phenomenal world; they 'become absorbed in animal lust' by those images as such, wander astray, and finally are dispersed to the windward lands, or the West, the realm of matter. Travellers of the second kind are not stopped by the stream of images; they pass through several spiritual worlds and, at last, reach 'union with the Lord, which is to say with the Highest Beauty (jamal),. In this passage indah is doubtless a superficial, phenomenal manifestation of beauty, synonymous with the Arabic husn in Sufi works. Henceforth the word 'beautiful' stands for the term indah, unless it is accompanied by another Malay term in brackets.

42

Hikayat anak pengajian:2. The melodious recitation of hikayat, which transforms it into a kind of poetry, as it were, and can bring the listener to the state of rapture, obsession or even madness, makes Safirin bin Usman Fadli, the author of Hikayat anak pengajian, derive the word hikayat from hikmat which means in Malay both 'wisdom' and 'magic' or 'magic means' (Wilkinson 1932,1:407). This absolutely fantastic etymology is based on two popular hadith, which Safirin combines by playing ingeniously on Malay meanings of the word hikmat. According to the first hadith, poetry conveys wisdom (hikma), and according to the second, it is magic (sihr) (Grunebaum 1981:324). An interesting parallel to Safirin's 'etymology' can also be found in two meanings of the Arabic word shi'r ('poetry'), of which the main meaning is 'knowledge' (etymologically, 'sorcery' (Krachkovsky 1954-60, II:66), compare both 'wisdom' and 'magic') and terminological meaning is 'verse' (Tabrizi 1959:36).

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The traditional, for Muslim culture, idea that longing (love) for something is caused by harmonious correspondence or essential unity of two entities (see, for instance, Ibn Khazm 1957:17-21), was assimilated by Malay Islamic tradition too, evidently, on the basis of an earlier magical concept of the like influencing the like. It was reflected both in Sufi writings and in fine literature, for instance, in numerous descriptions of the ideal correspondence of two people in love with each other. A typical description of love as longing based on harmony of two beings or entities is found in the ghazal from Taj as-salatin: My beloved who is like the soul is adored and glorious, And my soul is far away from that soul. Even if you live for a thousand years, everything will be in vain You will truly rejoice only when you unite with that soul. (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:170.) Having abstracted from the hidden Sufi meaning of this verse and considering only its manifest purport, one can notice that the latter is based on the likening of the beloved to the soul, that is, to the entity consubstantial with the soul of the author longing for his beloved. The joy can only be attained after the reunion of these two harmoniously related entities.

44

45 An expressive description of the soul's 'pulsation' to the rhythm of music is provided by Jami who follows Ibn Sina in so doing: 'Combinations of sounds have a peculiarity which is absent in any combination of other kinds, namely, when a tender tone suddenly reaches the spirit [the "cordial pneuma" is implied], it becomes the enjoyment of the spirit and the spirit plunges into ecstasy [that is, expands], as if because of an unusually tender impact. However, as soon as the spirit manages to experience enjoyment thanks to the perception of this tone, the latter hides the face of parting under the veil of disappearance, and the spirit contracts in despair of separation, only to pass once again from despair to admiration, caused by the appearance of the next tone which is, in a way, the same previous tone that has disappeared. In such a way, the next tone also becomes included in the unity of the [musical] composition.' (Jami 1960:14-5.)

Compare prefaces to Hikayat Panji Kuda Semirang (Simorangkir Simandjuntak 1957:46), Hikayat Andaken Penurat (Robson 1969:21), and the above-quoted excerpt from another manuscript of Hikayat Ceke/ Waneng Patio 46

47 The first section of the definition includes two terms of traditional logic: 'premises' and 'syllogism'. A poet's activity is presented in it as the creation of syllogisms designed to prove a certain proposition. At the same time, as becomes clear subsequently, not the intellect but the soul (imagination) is the object to be affected by these syllogisms. Thus, the syllogisms acquire quite a peculiar nature. AI-Farabi who, along with many other authors, analysed the poetic syllogism defined it in such a way: 'It follows from this subdivision that a poetic judgement is neither demonstrative, nor didactic, nor rhetorical, nor sophistic; nevertheless, it is a kind of syllogism or, rather, a "postsyllogism" (I understand by this induction, analogy, intuition and so on, that is, what has the power of a syllogism), (AI-Farabi 1975:532-3). Thus, the work of a poet is the creation of sui generis analogues of syllogisms capable of influencing the soul (imagination). The second and third sections of the definition characterize the poetic judgement or the poetic syllogism, which is intended to 'prove' something to the soul, in the aspect of literary theory (poetics) proper. The second section of the definition refers to the fact that a ma'na, 'a poetic idea-image' - the term whose meaning was explained above - is offered to the soul (imagination) and is perceived by it. The third section refers to the fact that this ma'na is brought to the soul through the intermediary of the corresponding laft (although this term is not mentioned directly, such words as 'garments' are, as we have already noted, metaphors for laft in similar contexts). However, the above-mentioned is not yet sufficient for any definition in terms of poetics, because the opposition ma'na versus laft does not yet lead us beyond the sphere of linguistics. The sphere of literary theory is specified by the reference to the falsity of a poetic

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judgement, which nevertheless does not prevent the soul from accepting it, 'regarding it as proved' ('effective syllogisms'). For instance, after defining poetry as a kind of speech endowed with metre and rhyme, which affects imagination (mukhayyil), Ibn Sina wrote: 'Al-mukhayyil is the speech which the soul obeys, experiencing pleasure or suffering without contemplation, thought or experience; it obeys its influence regardless of whether it considers a statement true or false' (Krachkovsky 1954-60, 11:61). Jarni (the fifteenth century) who in his Baharistan (the 'Spring garden') gave poetry a definition, on the whole identical with those given by Nizami-i 'Arudi and Ibn Sina, quoted examples of 'false' poetic ma'ani: 'Wine is melted rubies', 'Wine is pouring rubies' (Jami 1964:150). Discussions of the question of peculiar 'falsity' of poetry and of reasons urging the soul to accept it nevertheless are found in nearly every Muslim writing on literary criticism (incidentally, also in the preface to the Malay Hikayat anak pengajian). We shall confine ourselves to quoting only one classical example. Al-' Askari, reflecting on the correspondence between 'ideas' and 'words' in poetry and prose, writes in his Kitab al-sina'atayn that a correct idea is not identical with verisimilitude to daily life; what is important here is the correctness of an image expressed in words. He agrees completely with a certain philosopher whose name he fails to mention, who said in answer to the accusation addressed to poets that they tell lies in their verses: 'What is expected from poets is beautiful speech; the truth can be demanded only from prophets' (Shidfar 1974:102). Thus, the truth is not a compulsory quality of a literary work. The soul accepts all that it 'proves' thanks to its internal and external beauty, the beauty of its lajz, ma'na and their correspondence to each other, which are none other than the essence of beautiful speech (compare above). We have already analyzed reasons explaining this acceptance - they are harmonious affinity of the beautiful and the soul which engenders the love of the latter for the beautiful. In the fourth section of the definition, Nizami 'Arudi Samarqandi (1963) describes the psychological mechanism of the effect exercised by poetry, switching from the terminology used in the logic and poetics to the terms of traditional Islamic psychology. The first in this list is the term iham, 'impact on imagination', which is close to mukhayyil as defined by Ibn Sina. In his use of this term, Nizami deviates somewhat from the usual terminology resorted to by Ibn Sina and 'philosophers' who laid the foundations of Muslim psychology, borrowed from them by Sufis, by Al-Ghazali in particular, with some modifications. In philosophical terminology, the term wahm, derived from the same root as iham, was used to denote not the imagination (khaya/) properly speaking, which retains images delivered by 'the general sense', or 'the power of imagination' (quwwat almutakhayyilla) perceiving images of particular things and combining and disconnecting them, but the 'power of discernment (or intelligence), that is responsible for the perception of individual ideas, that is, the ideas of individual objects (Ibn Sina 1954-1960, 1:135-6). The reason for such an imprecise use of the term is, in all likelihood, this: most of the inner senses turned out to be, in this way or that, connected with the function of imagination, which led to the common notion that the soul is 'the world of imagination'. Thus, Al-Farabi tended to combine nearly all the inner senses into a single 'imaginative power' (Al-Farabi 1973:177, 1972:265), while Ibn Sina spoke of certain people who referred to 'the power of intelligence' as 'imagination' (Ibn Sina 1954-60, 1:135-6). The term wahm in the sense of 'imaginative power' was also used in the Persian Sufi treatise Mir'at al-muhaqqiqin by Mahmud Shabistari who wrote: 'Another of the inner senses is imagination (wahm). Its effect is in that it renders possible the perception of the things that the soul thinks of as visible or invisible, true or false, [the things] whose ma'ani are outside shape or within it [that is, both things that have a solid, material form and things that have none]. For example, people can conceive of thousands of suns in the sky or of thousands of seas of quicksilver, though not a single such [sea] exists [in reality], or [they can conceive] of a thousand mountains of ruby, gold and turquoise, though no such thing exists.' (A. Berthels 1970:34.) The term iham is followed by the terms quwwat-i ghadbani ('power of anger') and quwwat-i shahwani ('power of passion'), which also stand for psychological notions. Their content and the influence that imagination exerts upon them are revealed in the following definition suggested by Ibn Sina: 'As an original motive, the driving force is a lusting force. When a form that was

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sought for, or avoided, imprints itself on the imagination, it sets that force in motion. The lusting force is divided into a force called the power of passion, which inspires [in a man] a motion through which it makes the body approach, in search of pleasure, those objects which seem necessary and useful; and a force called the power of anger, which incites the body to a motion through which this power makes the body reject things [that are] detrimental and pernicious, so as to conquer them' (Ibn Sina 1961:220-1). The emotional states produced by the lusting force are 'preference and aversion, anger and pleasure, fear, bravery and cowardice, cruelty and compassion, love and hatred, passion and lust' (Al-Farabi 1973:178-9). Subsequently, Nizami's definition turns to the terms of traditional physiology - an area of knowledge adjacent to psychology. Those are tiba' ('nature'), inqibad ('narrowing'), and inbisat ('expansion'). 'Nature' (tiba' or mizaj - 'temperament') represents an attribute of the body as a whole, as well as of each individual organ. 'Nature' is an amalgam of the four elements - earth, water, air and fire - that are always present in it in different proportions. In accordance with the proportion of this or that element to the rest, human 'natures' tend to be either 'balanced' (if all the elements are mixed equally) or 'unbalanced' (if one of the elements predominates). Since each of the elements possesses certain 'primary qualities' (earth is dry and cold; water is wet and cold; air is wet and hot; fire is dry and hot), people of 'unbalanced' nature evince the qualities of that element which is predominant in each individual case. In exactly the same manner, the 'natures' of human organs (depending on the function of each organ) differ as regards their qualities. The qualities of a person's 'nature' also depend on age, on 'clime' (one of the seven zones of the human habitat), and -last but not least - on the state or disposition of the soul, that is, its most typical emotional states (Ibn Sina 1954-60, 1:11-35). Owing to the movement of the 'heart-born' pneuma, 'nature' is capable of reacting to psychological impulses which are the effects of the powers of anger and passion brought about by imagination. Ibn Sina defines pneuma as follows: 'Like solid matter, viz. an organ or part of an organ, which emerges from the crude juices as a result [of the influence] of a certain nature, the volatile substance, viz. pneuma, is generated from the vaporous and volatile parts of [those] juices in conformance with a certain nature. [... ] Pneuma - when it emerges as the result of [the presence of] a certain nature which it ought to have - is capable of receiving a certain power; it is that power which renders the organs able to receive different kinds of energy - psychic [the powers of inner senses and of motion: anger and passion, are implied] and other.' (Ibn Sina 1954-60, 1:132.) Once in the brain, pneuma changes its former nature for that kind of nature which is necessary for the perception of the powers of anger or passion, it now expands, now contracts, now rushes to the organs, now flows away from them. It is owing to this circulation that the transformation of the body's nature occurs, because, being naturally hot, pneuma strengthens the qualities of heat and dryness when it rushes to the organs, and increases the opposite qualities (coldness and wetness) as it flows away from them. Here is Ibn Sina's description of these processes: 'Outward or inward circulation of pneuma either follows or accompanies all manifestations of the soul. [...] [Its] outward motion is followed by [that is, results in] cold inside. [... ] [Its] inward motion is followed by cold outside and heat inside. Sometimes pneuma is suffocating because of a strong constriction, [then] it lets the body freeze outside and inside; this results in a profound swoon or death. The outward motion of pneuma occurs either at once, as in the case of anger, or little by little, as in the case of pleasure or moderate joy. The inward motion [of pneuma occurs] either at once, as in the case of fright, or little by little, as in the case of grief; as for the said phenomena of dissolution and smothering, they always occur 'Subsequent to that which takes place at once, whereas the lessening and exhaustion of the inborn [warmth] always occurs subsequent to that which [takes place] little by little. [... ] The body is also influenced by [different] psychic moods other than those we have just mentioned. Such are psychic notions [of every description] which provoke [various] moods in [human] nature. [... ] For the same reason, the nature changes when we imagine something frightening or something delightful [emphasis by the present author].' (Ibn Sina 1954-60,1:181-2.) Hence the ability of literature to affect people by causing changes in the original composition of

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their 'nature'. These changes occur by virtue of the psychic impulse (that is generated when a work of literature comes into contact with imagination) whose energy, firstly, transforms the entire being of man (both physiological and psychological aspects thereof), and, secondly, causes the organs - the 'instruments of the lusting force' - to perform certain actions (Ibn Sina 1961:221, 232). The energy of psychic impulse becomes thereby the cause of activity -' grand deeds in the arrangement of the Universe'. That is why one of the Persian statesmen mentioned by Nizarni-i 'Arudi in the example illustrating his definition of poetry, has every right to affirm that he owes everything (his success, career, and so on) to a few lines of poetry (Nizarni 'Arudi Samarqandi 1963:55-6). For instance, AI-Farabi writes in his Kitab fusul al-madani (the' Aphorisms of a statesman'): 'The ability to imagine well is used in order to arouse displeasure and pleasure, fear and trust, and for the manifestation of other affects of the soul which soften it or make it coarser. [Using] this ability, it is possible to impel a man to do something or suggest the impulse to do it, even if his knowledge prompts him with the necessity of doing something opposite to what he imagines about it. [... ] All works of poetry are composed with the sole aim of presenting something excellent to the imagination. There are six types of them, of which three are praiseworthy and three deserve blame. By means of the first of the praiseworthy types, [people] strive to enhance the power of reason and direct its action and thought towards [an attainment of] happiness, towards representation in the imagination of divine and good things, towards an excellent representation of virtues in it [that is, in the imagination], towards revealing them and exposing the hideous and mean nature of wicked deeds and evil usages. By means of the second type, [people] strive to improve and weaken those affects of the soul which derive from force [the affects of the "power of anger" are implied]. They are modified until they become moderate and cease to be excessive. Such affects are, for example, anger, pride, cruelty, insolence, [excessive] ambition, lust for power, greed, and so on. Those who possess these qualities are prompted [by the type of poetry in question] to use them for good, and not bad ends. By means of the third type, [people] strive to improve and moderate those affects of the soul which derive from weakness and softness [the affects of the "power of passion" are implied], which [include various] passions, base pleasures, duplicity, weakness of character, pity, fear, anxiety, grief, shame, effete ways, pliancy, and so on. [The said affects are modified] so as to overcome them, so that they should cease to be excessive and should become moderate, and so that [people] should use them for good, and not bad ends. The three blameworthy [types of poetry] are the opposites of the praiseworthy [types]: that which the latter improve, the former destroy, modifying it from a moderate state to an excessive one. [Various] kinds of melodies and songs correspond to [various] kinds of works of poetry; the classes of the former are similar to the classes of the latter: (AI-Farabi 1973:216-7, compare Wickens 1964:168.)

48

Ibn Sina recommends the following kinds of treatment for passionate love: 'They [that is, patients] should be challenged to debates, busied with various occupations and discussions and other things distracting [them from love]; sometimes this makes the infatuated forget what exhausts them so much. Or, it is necessary to make them fall in love with another [woman] accessible to them according to law and religion and then divert their thoughts from the new beloved before their love becomes strong, but only after they forget the former. If the infatuated one belongs to the category of intelligent people, advice, exhortations, jeers, curses and the presentation of love as possession and madness are very helpful; words are very effective in such cases. Elderly women are sent to the enamoured one, who try to instill disgust for the beloved in him, tell him about dirty and unseemly deeds committed by her and about numerous manifestations of cruelty on her part; this calms [the enamoured] not infrequently. It is also helpful when old women describe the appearance of the beloved, resorting to abominable comparisons, and present parts of her face in a detestable way, going into detail.' (Ibn Sina 1954-60, I: 139-40.)

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In classical Persian treatises on poetry Mu'jam (the 'Enumeration') by Shams-i Qays al-Razi (the thirteenth century) and Haft qulzum (the 'Seven oceans') by Kabul Muhammad (the fifteenth

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century), the ghazal- the genre whose objects of description are defined as love and beauty - is regarded as a means of 'calming thoughts and entertaining the soul' and, as such, is opposed to other genres of poetry 'containing edification and advice'. Thus, the ghazal is designed for the plane of the soul, rather than for the plane of the intellect. The comforting function of ghazal emphasized in both treatises predetermines the peculiarities of its poetics formulated in them (Afsahzod 1988:100-1). In his mathnawi poem Saba'-i sayara (the 'Seven planets') 'Alishir Nawa'i offers a whole 'treatise' on the 'aesthetic curing' of king Bahram Gur who nearly lost his reason because of grief for the lost beauty Dilaram. Bahram was treated first with beautiful architecture, then with paintings, and lastly, with literature, by telling him marvellous stories.

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We shall quote several examples illustrating all the three methods of healing, described by Ibn Sina. The arousing of an affect which is the opposite of love (anger). The work by a Muslim Indian writer Inayatullah Kambu (the seventeenth century) Bahar-i danish (the 'Spring of knowledge') describes how prince Jahandar, having fallen in love with beautiful Bahravar-banu via her portrait, becomes ill with 'paSSionate love' at once: 'Seeing the [poor] condition of his son, the padishah plunged into the abyss of sorrow, summoned strong-spirited viziers and wise advisors and asked them to undo this hard knot. They resorted to their subtle reason and witty intellect and began inventing all sorts of subterfuges but all this was in vain, and with every coming day the flame of griefoverwhelmed the prince stronger and stronger, while the fire of madness devoured his heart more and more. When skilled doctors and these experienced men failed to find a path to healing him, other wise men recommended that marvellous stories about infidelity and inconstancy of women, these weak-minded creatures, be told to the prince who had chosen the throne of madness as his lot, hoping that it would be possible, perhaps, to cure him. So one of the wise and shrewd nadims [that is, the padishah's interlocutors] began to dress out the bride of word in the wedding chamber of eloquence.' (Kambu 1964:152.) Combining the effect on the intellect with the arousing of an affect which is the opposite of grief (anger). One of fairy tales in the Arab collection of the late thirteenth-the early fourteenth century which bears the conventional name of 'Marvellous tales and unusual stories' tells about the death of a king's most loved daughter. The king is in deep grief; on the way to the palace, his trusted vizier encounters a blind man who is ready to cure the king. 'Show me to such a place,' says the blind man, 'where the king will be able to hear me. I will address a word of exhortation to him which heals the heart and alleviates grievances and anxiety. Then I will tell him, if he summons me, a beautiful and amazing story, and his heart will bum with hatred for women and girls, and he will rejoice about his own daughter'S death' (then the old man admonishes the king with 'eloquent exhortation'). 'The king's heart calmed down, his grief and anxiety eased a little. The king says: "0 sheikh, you have eased sorrow, groans and mournfulness in my heart a little, so continue your speech, because I liked it". "0 king", said the sheikh, "I know a wonderful story which will comfort you and will instill hatred for cunning, perfidious and unfaithful women. Although this story is long, unusual and strange, there is much instructive for the wise in it". "I like long stories", said the king, "because they distract me from my grief and make the night shorter'''. The fairy tale is concluded with the following words: 'And when the blind man finished the story of accursed Arus, the king was astonished, and he was comforted by the blind man's story, and grief for his dead daughter faded in the king's heart' (Osmanov and Yusupov 1962:131-2,183). The transference of an affect to another object (sublimation). In the same writing by Kambu, a parrot sought to comfort the lovesick prince Jahandar by alluding to a great number of people in love whose sufferings were even severer than his own. The prince then asked the parrot to tell him about them: 'Then the parrot began telling Jahandar amusing and captivating love stories, which are pleasant to listen to and which provide food to those who have a [good] taste, believing that those stories would divert him. [... ] Every night it would relate a delicious dastan or a wondrous 52

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tale which were like a healing balm for the agonized thoughts of the shah-zadeh [the prince] and like a spell for his mad heart.' (Kambu 1964:152.) A similar motif occurs in Say! al-Muluk, a dastan (romantic poem) by the Sixteenth-century Turkic poet Matchlisi: The Sultan Mahmud [Ghaznawi] felt ill, He was surprisingly gloomy for days on end. The face of the Sun became dark [in his eyes]. He ordered that [his] two viziers be brought before him, Who were of subtle mind. And the Sultan said: 'I am in utter confusion, As if I am sad because of my passion, I am rendered mad by that passion. Find me some tale, The like of which never existed, So that I might achieve peace reading it' . After going through a series of misadventures, the viziers managed to find the tale about Sayf al-Muluk and brought it to the Sultan: [So] the legend of passion and love was told; He [that is, Mahmud] liked the delightful tale And, having listened to it, the Sultan became mirthful again. (Matchlisi 1959:180-1.) According to S.K. De, 'The last step in this idea [of camatkara as transcendent enjoyment] was taken by the attempt to bring poetry to the level of religion by likening aesthetic enjoyment to the ecstatic bliss of divine contemplation (brahmasvada). Vishvanatha sums up the idea briefly thus: The rasa, arising from the exaltation of sattva (purity), indivisible, self-manifested, made up of joy and thought in their identity, free from the contact of aught else perceived, akin to the realization of Brahman, the life whereof is supermundane wonder, is enjoyed by those competent in inseparableness (of the object from the realization thereof) and, as it were,-in its own shape. It follows from this that the pramatir [that is, the above-mentioned competent person], to whom alone this bliss is vouchsafed, is like a yogin (devotee) who deserves this preference through his accumulated merits.' (De 1963:56-7.)

53

54 Zoetmulder 1974:173-85. We will expound this theory briefly, noting - in passing - the elements of its similarity to the above-analyzed Islamic doctrine of creative process. The poet's creative activity begins with an act of worship of the deity chosen by him, his ishtadevata. Such a deity may be Kama or Saraswati, but also Shiva, Vishnu or Buddha. What matters in this case is that the special aspect of the beautiful in which the deity is viewed (compare the appeal of the Muslim poet to Allah in the aspect of His Beauty, that is, jamal), as well as the idea that this deity is not only the cause of the beautiful (compare the Muslim notion of Allah as the source of the beautiful), but also manifests itself in all that is beautiful. He is present, for instance, in the beauty of human beings, landscapes, the poem itself, and even in the instruments of writing - the 'pencil' of the poet and 'the dust that is sent whirling about, finally to settle, by sharpening the latter' (Zoetmulder 1974:175). In the case of the Old Javanese poet, the purpose of his worship is reunion with the ishtadevata in its aspect of beauty. The way of bringing about this reunion is a kind of yoga, in which the goal is achieved by means of a mediating object, in which the ishtadevata is present or into which it descends (compare the Sufi concept of tasawwur, a medium facilitating penetration into noumenal reality). In Tantric yoga (as well as in Sufism), a deity is both transcendent and immanent in the world. A deity's being is viewed in three forms: nishkala ('non-material'), sakala-nishkala ('material-nonmaterial') and sakala ('non-material'). Nishkala is the transcendent aspect of the Absolute, which, when applied to the yogi himself, corresponds to the innermost essence of his soul (compare the spiritual heart in Sufism, the spirit of God in man, which directly contemplates the world

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of noumena). The chosen deity assumes the form sakala-nishkala in a yogi's heart (compare the ideal image which resides in the world of imagination, the soul, which is not infrequently identified with the 'bodily heart' in Sufism). Finally, the form sakala is a thing accessible to sensory perception. By means of uninterrupted meditation and concentration (compare the description above of the Malay Muslim poet's zikir concentration and meditation), a yogi invokes a deity from its state of nishkala, so that it presents itself to his inner sight as sakala-nishkala. Then he projects it beyond the limits of his body and makes it enter into a material object (compare the triad of the Muslim creativity theory: a noumenon (general idea) -> a particular idea-image -> a thing). This object, a yantra on which the yogi's senses and consciousness are subsequently concentrated, is the means of achieving an effective contact with the deity and also its receptacle, its abode in the state of sakala. Intensifying this contact by means of uninterrupted ascetic practice and meditation, a yogi can make further progress in the direction of more profound reunion with his deity. In the long run, his consciousness, concentrated on a yantra, is filled with the image of the deity to such an extent that all other objects disappear from his field of vision and, eventually, the yogi even loses awareness of his own self, so that his consciousness merges with the deity completely (compare the instruction on zikir above). In literary yoga, a poem as such is a yantra. Prefaces to Old Javanese poems (mutatis mutandis, to Malay Muslim writings too), describe in some detail the invocation of a deity from its state of nishkala to that of sakala, and then its embodiment in a poem, which is often compared to a temple or to a statue of the deity (compare zikir as a model of the creative process). In the following passage Zoetrnulder describes 'glimpses' of the reunion with a deity achieved with the help of a poem in its function as a yantra: 'By creating a poem or relishing it after it is completed, one may be transported into the ecstatic rapture of lango, the aesthetic experience, and in the receding of one's consciousness accompanying this one is able to sense the approach of that mystical union with the divinity in which all consciousness of the self vanishes. [... ] This union is of transitory nature, lasting no longer that the brief moment of ecstatic rapture experienced in surrendering oneself to the overwhelming power of the aesthetic experience. But it is also a foretaste of and a preparation for that union with the deity that is kalepasan [equivalent to Sanskrit moksha], or liberation, and the definite-release from the snares in which the world keeps man trapped, and from the cycle of recurrent rebirths. This is the ultimate aim of every yogi. For the poet liberation means total absorption through oneness with the god of beauty [... ].' (Zoetrnulder 1974:184-5.) This emancipation is achieved by means of regular practice in literary yoga. The above description has certain prototypes in Sanskrit aesthetics where, as well as in Old Javanese aesthetics, both the aspect of the creation of a thing and the aspect of its perception can be regarded as sui generis yoga. An example of the similarity of ends achieved by a yogi and an aesthete 'well-versed in non-separation' was quoted earlier. Here we will consider an example of the creation of a literary work as a yogic act: 'The general nature of the method used by practising artists was the same both in literature and in art. We have seen how the Yoga method was used by Valmiki, the author of Ramayana, when "seating himself with his face towards the East, and sipping water according to the rule [of Hindu religious ritual], he set himself to Yoga-contemplation of his theme. By virtue of his Yoga-power he clearly saw before himself, Rama, Lakshmana and Sita, and Dasharatha, together with his wives, in his kingdom, laughing, talking, acting and moving as if in real life [... ]. By Yoga-power that righteous one beheld all that had come to pass and all that was to come to pass in the future, like a nelli fruit [phyllanthus emblica, denoting clear insight] on the palm of his hand. And having truly seen all by virtue of his concentration, the generous sage began the setting forth of the history of Rama".' (Anand 1957:74-5.) The Indian scholar Coomaraswamy thus sums up the principles of the Sanskrit theory of aesthetic creativity and perception: 'And so, to summarize the injunctions which are scattered through the books in which are collected the prescriptions for images [of deities], the imager is required, after emptying his heart of all extraneous interests, to visualize within himself [... ] an intelligible image [... ], and holding this image as long as may be necessary [... ], then only to proceed to the work of embodiment in stone, metal, or pigment.' (Coomaraswamy n.d.: 499.)

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However, a successful appearance of this mental image in the course of meditative concentration requires the use of its description, a kind of analogue of yantra (Coomaraswamy n.d.:499). Coomaraswamy also writes: '[ ... ] just as the artist starts from the theme or purpose of the work, and must be identified with its meaning before he can express it, so conversely the spectator may not attain to the vision of beauty without respect to the theme, but only by way of an ideal sympathy (vasana) with and consent (sadharanya) to the passions animated in the theme, only by way of an imaginative integration of oneself with the meaning of the theme (arthabhavana). The vision of beauty is thus an act of pure contemplation, not in the absence of any object of contemplation, but in conscious identification with the object of contemplation.' (Coomaraswamy n.d.:506-7.) Thus, the enjoyment of pure beauty, that is, the enjoyment of rasa (we remember that it is identical to merging with Brahman) is also achieved with the help of an analogue of a yantra, a work of art proper ('the passions animated in the theme [emphasis by the present author]'). It seems that this comparison allows us to state that the main principles of Old Javanese aesthetics - the creation of a work of literature and its 'enjoyment' as a kind of yoga, a literary work as an analogue of a yantra, and aesthetic experience as a religious path and a foreshadow of union with the Absolute - reveals the essential unity with Sanskrit aesthetics, so that the latter should be regarded as the source of the former. It is noteworthy that both in Arab-Muslim and Sanskrit traditions a difference is made between the 'plane of expression' and the 'plane of contents' (shabda, 'sound' as the object of auditive perception, and artha, 'meaning', in Sanskrit poetics; and laft and ma'na which are used in exactly the same sense in Arab poetics) which must be correctly brought into correspondence with each other or joined with each other correctly to influence the reader effectively (Sanskrit: sahitya, 'joining'; Arabic: mutabaqa, 'correspondence', which is sometimes replaced by expressions meaning 'jointly', 'in combination'). As a result, the Sanskrit definition of poetry (Grintser 1964, 1977:6-7) turns out to be absolutely identical to the above-mentioned Arab definition of eloquence. In Sanskrit tradition the term sahitya became a synonym of 'poetry'. In Malay literature the term mematut, 'to bring in conformity' (the counterpart of the Arabic: mutabaqa), is a synonym of literary creativity.

55

This opposition of external and internal beauty is discussed in detail by AI-Ghazali in his Ihya 'ulum ai-din (the 'Revivification of religiOUS sciences'), a book which was well-known in the Malay world. According to AI-Ghazali external beauty - that is, the beauty of forms, colours, sounds and images, perceived by the imagination and senses - is of a lesser value and, accordingly, occupies a lower position than internal beauty - that is the beauty of 'education, intelligence, good behaviour, courage, piety, generosity [... ] perceived by the light of intrinsic intellect' (AI-Ghazali 1980:234-6; see also Chapter VI).

56

57

Ras 1968:612-13; Teeuw and Wyatt 1970:69; BrakeI1975:267; Jones 1985:183.

It is possible to translate the Arabic preposition bi not only as Malay kepada ('to', 'towards'), but also as the indicator of the instrumentalis - Malay dengan {'thanks to', 'by means of}. We would like also to note that what is discussed here is not the problem of the origin of this formula, but that of its interpretation (or reinterpretation) in a great number of Malay literary works, which gave rise to an unusual phrase bi-Llahi 'ala.

58

59 Though in this chapter we have used texts from the sixteenth to the nineteenth centuries in order to reconstruct Malay literary self-awareness, its main features could have been reconstructed on the basis of the Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati, Hikayat Indraputra, Hikayat Isma Yatim, Hikayat Syah Mardan, Taj as-salatin, Syair perang Mengkasar, treatises and poems by Hamzah Fansuri, and some other works of the sixteenth-seventeenth centuries.

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60 An elaborate doctrine of correspondences between various parts of the eye and the ontological spheres and psychic-somatic planes is found in one of the treatises by Syamsuddin as-Samatrani. The white of the eye here is said to correspond to alam nasut (a conceptual synonym of alam mulk - the World of physical things), the dark ring around the iris represents alam malakut (the World of Dominion), and the iris itself is likened to alam jabarut (the World of Omnipotence), while the pupil of the eye stands for alam lahut (the World of Divineness) (Van Nieuwenhuijze 1945:139).

Analysis of the prayer and zikir is based, in that article, on Hikajat Radja Maeda Sjah Merdan 1916:18-22; Van Nieuwenhuijze 1945:403-6; Johns 1957:97-9.

61

62 A system revealing the same levels but realized within the framework of a single piece of literature is described in the introduction to Hikayat Syah Mardan quoted above. The first merit of the tale (kamal) relates, no doubt, to the plane of the spiritual heart. The second and the third relate to the plane of intellect regulating the social sphere of life on the basis of both 'royal customs' (istiadat raja), that is, adat (customary law), and syariat (Muslim law, see above, on reason 'perfect in matters of rule'). The fourth merit - experience in 'the delights of the young', that is, in the art of love - relates to the plane of the soul (compare above, on the ability of a narrative to console a soul engrossed in love).

CHAPTER V

The genre system of classical Malay literature The reconstruction of self-awareness of Malay literature in the classical period, which allowed us to draw the outlines of its hierarchically ordered system, provides the researcher with an opportunity to find his bearings in the sea of Malay literary writings, not deviating too far from the general standpoint of their creators and readers. The three groups of works or the three spheres singled out in the literary system (the spheres of beauty, benefit and spiritual perfection) represent its broadest subdivisions, the limits of which are determined by their functions - the moulding of one or another level of human personality (the levels of soul, reason or practical intellect, and spiritual heart) as it was understood by Malay literati, the Muslims. Therefore these spheres will be called functional spheres henceforth. In practice, each functional sphere fulfilled its task through a number of genre structures, the next, less generalized subdivision of the literary system. The genre structures followed, although each to its own degree, the norms of the Muslim Weltanschauung, which is the foundation of traditional Malay culture. On the whole, however, they conformed to these norms less strictly than the literary self-awareness. Now we shall pass from literary theory to literary practice and undertake an analysis of genre structures in their relation to functional spheres. However, since in the classical period new genres emerged in Malay literature and began to function along with old ones (hikayat, sejarah), it is necessary to consider the problem of their origin first.

The origin, varieties and evolution of the syair Narrative poems - syair (the Malay word syair is derived from the Arab shi'r 'poetry', 'verse') became the main genre of Malay written poetry in the classical period. These poems are made up of quatrains with monorhyme of the type aaaa, bbbb, ecce and are rather simple metrically. Their metre, like metres

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in many genres of Malay oral poetry, is based on the relative isosyllabism of verses (usually a line of a syair contains nine to thirteen syllables; verses made up of ten syllables are prevalent) which are divided by a caesura into two approximately equal hemistiches and which are complete syntactic units in most cases (for more details, see V. Braginsky 1975a:148-74, 1991). The following excerpt from Syair Burung Pungguk (the 'Poem of the Owlet') gives an idea of the verse form of Malay syair:l Dengarkan tuan / mula rencana,

10(5/5)

Disuratkan oleh / dagang yang hina, Karangan janggal, / banyak tak kena,

11(6/5) 10(5/5)

Daripada paham / belum sempurna.

11(6/5)

Daripada hati / sangatlah morong,

11(6/5)

Dikarangkan syair / seekor burung, Sakitnya kasih / sudah terdorong, Gila merawan / segenap lorong.

Oh my lord, listen to this composition, Written by a miserable wanderer, Its structure is disorderly, much [in it] is improper, Because my understanding is not yet perfect.

Because my heart was very gloomy, 11(6/5) I composed this poem about a bird 10(5/5) Which was overwhelmed by the malady of love 10(5/5) [And flew] in madness and distress along all the alleys.

Pertama mula pungguk merindu,

10(5/5)

Berbunyilah guruh mendayu-dayu,

11(6/5)

Hatinya rawan bercampur pilu,

10(5/5)

Seperti dihiris dengan sembilu.

11(6/5)

The Owlet felt love longing for the first time, [When] the distant thunder sounded softly, Its heart became full of distress and grief, As if cut into pieces with a bamboo knife.

Pungguk bermadah / seraya merawan, 11(5/6) 'Wahai bulan, / terbitlah tuan, Gundahku / tidak berketahuan, Keluarlah bulan / tercelah awan!' (Raja Iskandar 1966:64.)

The Owlet said in a sweet and sad voice: 9(4/5) 'Oh Moon, my lady, arise! 10(3/7) I am in confusion, because of my sorrow, 11(6/5) Oh Moon, appear in the gap between clouds!'

It is only in the late 1950s that the problem of the origin of the syair attracted

the attention of researchers of Malay literature. Voorhoeve was the first who offered the hypothesis of the origin of this genre in 1952.2 This problem was

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later discussed by Teeuw (1966a), AI-Attas (1968) and Sweeney (1971). In spite of many differences of a more or less particular nature, the main positive conclusions achieved in these studies can be formulated as follows: -

-

Although an impact of oral poetry on syair is by no means excluded, no form of popular poetry of both the Malays or other peoples of the Archipelago is completely identical to that of syair; The earliest syair are represented by works composed by Hamzah Fansuri, the outstanding Malay Sufi poet of the sixteenth-the seventeenth century who is reputed to be the creator of this genre; Syair emerged in the Sufi milieu under the influence of examples of Persian and Arabic poetry.

Although these conclusions seem to be quite convincing, there is still a need for further specification and development. It is necessary to make the point straight away that there is no poetic form in Arabico-Persian literary theory or practice which could lay claim to the role of the undoubted prototype of the syair. The Arab name of the genre as such cannot be a decisive argument in favour of its Middle Eastern origin,3 moreover the term shi'r serves to denote poetry in general rather than a certain poetic genre. The fact that genuine Arabico-Persian poetical forms, which undoubtedly were known to the Malays, failed to become a feature of their literature is also highly significant. At the same time, the syair became rooted firmly and unusually quickly in it and has survived to this day. This alone indicates that, unlike qasidah, ghazal and other monorhyme genres, the syair met the requirements of Malay culture regarding poetic form, which were maturing in Malay oral literature. A study of how Sumatran Sufis accepted the Middle Eastern influence helps clarify the question of the origin of the syair. An analysis of this process reveals a considerable number of elements having dual motivation in works by Sufi writers of the sixteenth-seventeenth centuries: on the one hand, their penetration in Sufi works can be explained by Middle Eastern influence; on the other, as an effect of a local, usually oral, or folkloric, tradition on them (Y. Braginsky 1975a:92-9). It is those phenomena of the influencing culture, which had typological parallels in the local cultural milieu, that were assimilated most firmly (compare Schrieke 1955, 1:332). This being taken into account, it is necessary to analyse the correspondence of the formal structure of syair to norms of both Arabico-Persian poetics and poetics of Malay oral poetry. Searching for Middle East roots of the syair, Voorhoeve and Teeuw saw the prototype of syair stanzas in Persian ruba'i. They proceeded from the fact of the coincidence of the scheme of rhyming in the syair and in a fairly rare variety of the ruba'i (aaaa) and regarded the syair as a chain of ruba'i stanzas of a kind

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(Teeuw 1966a:277-9; Voorhoeve 1968:536-7). However, this contradicts the fact that separate ruba'i are complete poetic works in themselves and that, to the best of our knowledge, there were no narrative poems made up of ruba'i in Persian literature (Browne 1956, 11:34). Besides, a ruba'i is made up of two bayt, or stiches, and therefore, firstly, it cannot be called a bayt (which is exactly what Hamzah Fansuri called his quatrains) and, secondly, since, according to the rules of poetics, a bayt is a complete and closed unit, a single ruba'i more often than not consists of two complete semantic units, which is not typical for syair stanzas (AI-Attas 1968:28-30). In writings by Hamzah himself, the term ruba'i appears only when he quotes works of the corresponding genre. It is absent in the author's only explanation of the form used by him. Hasan Fansuri, one of Hamzah's disciples, denotes his teacher's poems by the term ruba', not ruba'i as A. Teeuw renders it. 4 For this reason, there is a need to have a second look at that definition of syair, which was provided by Hamzah in his treatise Asrar al-arifin (the 'Secrets of gnostics'). His definition is as follows: 'Adapun ini empat sejawang pada sebuah bait [Arabico-Persian bayt]' (Doorenbos 1933:120-1). Teeuw (1966a:437) believes that sejawang is a distorted form of sajak, that is, 'rhyme'. Evidently, a better conjecture is such a term of Arabico-Persian poetics as saj' from which the Malay sajak is derived. s This conjecture being taken into account, Hamzah's definition can be translated as follows: 'As for these [that is bait of the poem], saj'is four [times used] in each.' Although saj' is a rhyme, it is not that monorhyme (qaftyah) which is repeated in every second hemistich of Arabico-Persian poems (an Arabico-Persian bayt normally consists of two such hemistichs), but an internal rhyme which divides a hemistich into two parts. Persian treatises on poetics make it possible to interpret this definition. Thus, the author of one of them, Rashid Watwat (the twelfth century), when describing a poetic figure called musammat or shi'r-i musajja' (saj'-ed verse), writes: This figure [that is musammat] consists in that the poet divides a bayt [of qasidah] into four parts and uses saj' at the end of three of them, and puts a rhyme (kafiyah) into the fourth part, and this is called also shi'r-i musajja' (Tabrizi 1959:128).

Thus, rhymes of the first three parts of a saj'-ed verse (bayt) are considered to be saj', while the rhyme proper (kaftyah 'monorhyme') is placed in the end of the fourth part of the bayt. The bayt in this case proved to be divided not into usual hemistichs, but into what may be called quart-stichs. It is worth mentioning that such saj'-ed bayt can be found in the Lama'at (the '[Divine] Flashes') of the Persian Sufi poet Iraqi (the fourteenth century), which is often quoted by Hamzah (Iraqi 1956:376, 393, 457). It can be surmised that Hamzah not only tried to explain the form intro-

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duced by him to his readers who were more or less familiar with ArabicoPersian poetics (see Chapter IV), but also drew their attention to such a peculiarity of his poetic form that, unlike shi'r-i musajja' of the classical type, he used saj'in all hemistichs, rejecting the final monorhyme running through the entire poem. This type of musammat without a final monorhyme is found, for instance, in works by the Persian poet of the eleventh century Minuchihri (Browne 1956, II:42). The suggested interpretation of Harnzah's definition allows us to explain also the use of two more terms: the term bait for a four-line stanza, because in shi'r-i musajja' each bayt is made up of several (usually four) hemistiches; and the term ruba' ('by four') - applied by Hamzah's disciple Hasan Fansuri to his master's poems (Doorenbos 1933:62) - which can be regarded as a reminiscence of the technical term murabba' ('fourfold') that was used to designate a shi'r-i musajja' consisting of four hemistiches. Finally, Hamzah's syair contain the author's signature (takhallus) in the last bait, which is typical of the qasidah, ghazal, and sh'ir-i musajja' (musammat), but not of the ruba'i. Thus, the hypothesis of the shi'r-i musajja' as a form with the help of which Harnzah interpreted the structure of his poems brings together and explains all his and his disciple's statements on the matter in question. To the best of our judgement, shi'r-i musajja' is the only form thanks to which Hamzah's poems could be brought into conformity with the rules of Arabico-Persian poetics, notably, with its doctrine of the bayt. 6 This may explain why Hamzah turned to this form when he had to stress such conformity of his syair (see below). However, there are a number of features of Hamzah's syair, which do not have counterparts in the poetry of the Middle East. This primarily concerns the purely Malay metrics of his poems without the slightest trace of influence of Arabico-Persian metrics (' arud). The same holds true of the structure of his specific rhyme, which is observed in the three quarters of his stanzas. This rhyme can be defined as an interrupted or assonanced rhyme. Here are two examples: suluh - guruh - musuh - tubuh, or pingai - bisai - bidai - tirai. This rhyme is distinguished by the correspondence not only between the final syllables of words, but also between vowels of the penultimate syllables, while intervocal consonants of rhyming words do not correspond to each other. This type of rhyme is very common in Malay oral poetry, particularly in popular pan tun-quatrains in which it accounts for fourty-five-fifty per cent of all rhymes, and particularly in folkloric poetry of the Batak (seventy per cent in Batak pantun and upama) who live in immediate proximity to Barus, Hamzah's native city. However, this type of rhyme is not mentioned in the Arabico-Persian theory of rhyme (for more details on the interrupted rhyme, see V. Braginsky 1975a:108-15, 1991:135, 144-5). In addition, one cannot ignore the continuous rhyming of all the four verses in a syair-stanza. If, for a moment, we disengage ourselves from Harnzah's

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definition of syair, we shall probably recognize its prototype in MalayIndonesian oral 'tirade poems' in which individual verses are united, by continuous rhymes or assonances, into groups of different lengths, reminiscent of tirades in Old French or Turkic epics (it deserves noting that the Qur' anic saj' also constitutes a 'tirade-verse'},7 The tirade tradition existed in poetry of many peoples of the Archipelago (the Minangkabau, the Javanese, the Dayaks of Kalimantan and others) including the Malays who have preserved it in their riddles and songs. 8 Here is an example from Minangkabau poetry: Suka hiduik bukan kapaIang, Baratambah lagi burung baradagang, Ado sawatu si burung pinang, Sambah taalim kapado janang, Mintalah roko agak saba tang, Akan kasuluw ka jalan gadang, Supaja bolie nak nya tarang, Rodi Gumpani talampan garang, Palentah residen di Padang, Angke pulisi Kumandan si Mandi Arang, Antah tarike, antah tarapegang, Dibawanyo ka tangsi gadang, Babaliek-baliek talibun dikarang, Dikarang anak mudo-mudo: Allah, Allah, tuanku rabi, Sudah nasib untuengku kini, Ado sawatu si burueng nuri, Inggog di kayu kamuning sati, Antahnyo intan, antah bid uri, Bukan jagalan dape dibali, Tatkalo maso tanah Batawi, Turun Ulando dari sikoci, Siapo baluntueng dape sendiri. (Van Hasselt 1881:140.)

Another example from Than poetry: Dinding rap it tebok kerawang, Pintu tikup lawang tetukang: Nantai ka selantik jalong mawang, Undan chawan ai beram rirang, Endor tua nunggah Merengu aya Lang, Kumbai tapang jarau Jingan tumbang ngagai Badang menoa tisi. Ubah sugu gelanyah, legai pedalai rambai: Udah betunggah, nanya ka pengelaun datai. Lapa laun datai kita di Buau Panggau Libau lendat do biau daun isang? Lapa laun datai ngabang nandan kita ari sepan bandam nyalumbang? Lapa laun datai ngabang ka bataritik ambun bakabereh Raja Galagih?

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Enda aku laun nyerumba kukok raok manok enteh, Aku ngelibang di punggang batu bakalih, Nitih ka jalai Gendai manang indai Jareh. (Masing 1997, II:l72, 174.)

A few rhymed insertions in Taj as-salatin (the 'Crown of sultans'), which closely resemble tirades and which do not correspond to Persian indications of genres prefaced to them (V. Braginsky 1975a:121-5), allow us to suppose familiarity with the tirade tradition in Aceh in the early seventeenth century. Some traits of similarity to the tirade tradition are also found in Sufi poems by poets of Hamzah Fansuri's school. Especially telling in this respect is the combination of distichs with continuous rhyming (aa, bb, cc) and typical syair quatrains in a poem by Abd aI-Jamal (Doorenbos 1933:86-9). The clusters of quatrains with identical rhymes are another characteristic feature of this poem. For instance, four syair stanzas rhyming in 'i' follow one another in it. As becomes clear as a result of analysis of post-Hamzah syair, such clusters of stanzas with identical rhymes are generally atypical for later syair tradition. If combinations of two such stanzas are found sometimes, clusters of three, not to mention four, stanzas did not occur in twenty poems that we studied (V. Braginsly 1975a: 149-50). The system of rhyming in the passage in question can be presented as follows: 12(IV)+2(II)+ l(XVI)+ l(II)+ l(VIII)+24(II)+2(IV)+4(II)+ 1(IV)+7(II)+ 1(IV)+2(II)+1(IV),

where: II is a distich, IV a quatrain, VIII a stanza made up of eight lines, and XVI a stanza made up of sixteen lines. Finally, there are grounds to believe that the poet's contemporaries were aware of oral sources of Hamzah's syair. This is suggested by a number of poems by Hamzah and poets of his school, in which they energetically denied that their verses were merely songs (nyanyi). Hamzah stated this twice (below emphasis mine): These words are parabolical and allusive, Not a song (nyanyi) alluding (sindirkan) to earthly love (?), As long as the beloved does not speak in a congenial way, How could you tear out the fence? (Drewes and BrakeI1986:105, with minor corrections).

And again: These words are not songs (nyanyi), Only stirring sobbings in the soul. Their intoxicating power is great - that is why they are expounded in syair, Such is the bearing for all the companions. (Doorenbos 1933:34-5.)

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Another poet, Hasan Fansuri, stated: [My] drive to knowledge is from my tutor, It is unworthy to sing [or 'compose' - sindirkan] alluring songs (Doorenbos 1933: 63).

And yet another poet, Abd aI-Jamal, wrote: These words are not songs (nyanyi), [They] are only reminiscent of all that is sung (atall), If they ceased to sound, All the companions would surely be lost (Doorenbos 1933:78).

It seems that there ought to be a serious reason behind these insistent and

oft repeated statements that 'these words are not merely [popular?] songs (nyanyi)'. To learn this reason, we should know first what those songs were like and why they were treated with contempt by those poets. In Sejarah Melayu, a chronicle composed in the first third of the sixteenth century, the word nyanyi designates either popular pantun or stanzas with cross rhyming (see, for instance, Situmorang and Teeuw 1958:76). Sometimes, verses in such stanzas are shorter than usual and, as concerns their metre, are reminiscent of children's songs or ditties, in which there occur tirades with continuous rhyming in addition to lines with cross rhyming. The existence of nyanyi with continuous rhyming is attested by a song from another chronicle, Hikayat Banjar (Ras 1968:450). Moreover, yet another chronicle, Hikayat Patani, suggests that the word nyanyi could pertain not only to short songs, but also to quite long poetic compositions (Teeuw and Wyatt 1970:115-6). Interestingly, in Hikayat Hang Tuah the daughter of a high official wanted to know whether the songs sung to the hero by local female singers (biduan) had been decent (Kassim Ahmad 1964:184). In this connection, the verb sindirkan from the above verses by Hamzah and Hasan Fansuri deserves closer attention. The word sindir normally implied verses or songs with derisive or erotic connotations. A typical example of sindir is provided by the following quatrain (with the continous rhyming) about two seductive virgins: Anak dara dua sepasang, Pakai baju pakai kerosang, Sebiji nanas, sebiji pisang, Belum tahu rezeki musang (Winstedt 1991:138).

Two young girls, Wearing jackets and broach-buckles, [They are like] a pineapple and a banana, Which have not yet been tasted by a civet-cat

On balance, it seems that the songs (nyanyi) and derisive jocular verses (sindir) constituted a variety of popular poetry with different arrangements of rhymes in the stanza, not infrequently of an erotic nature. It is exactly with such songs that Hamzah and the poets of his school did not want syair to be confused.

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The second question to be answered is: whether in the spiritual atmosphere of Aceh in the late sixteenth - the early seventeenth century there existed anything that made such a confusion very undesirable and made the poets treat nyanyi with contempt. AI-Attas has convincingly shown that in many poems by Harnzah we observe repercussions of polemics between this poet and orthodoxy in the person of the Qadi of Aceh, who was at the head of a council of four syari' atic judges and whose authority considerably increased under the Sultan Alauddin Riayat Syah and especially under Sultan Iskandar Muda (AI-Attas 1966:10-1). The Qadi, according to Hamzah, was unable to see the depths of the Sufi doctrine through the covering of mundane symbols. While interpreting the idea of 'mystical nakedness', which implied the liberation from one's individual being and creaturely nature, Harnzah wrote: Strip your bodies naked - if you want to find out [the meaning], Don't understand it as the nakedness condemned by the Judge (Qadi) (Al-Attas 1970:21).

In praising the wine of mystical knowledge, he advised: That drink is most pure,

It ought to be the drink of our master the Judge (Al-Attas 1970:22-3).

Moreover, in interpreting the Qur'anic phrase that 'God is nearer to the faithful than his jugular vein', he explained with an open derision: 'Glory be to me!' - it is such a wonder, 'He is nearer than the jugular vein', How amazing that the Judge and the Preacher [of sermons], Should be so close - and yet so luckless (Al-Attas 1970:22-3).

In his verses, Abd aI-Jamal noted that one should not look for the 'words of the truth' in the popular books on fiqh (Islamic jurisprudence) Muharrar and Mahali (Doorenbos 1933:76, 78). Hasan Fansuri ridiculed a 'blind and deaf' preacher who would not give you the 'words of Gnosis' (kata marifat) (Doorenbos 1933:64). We could still possess a shadow of doubt on the urgency of Hamzah's poems in view of the fact that they were quite traditional for Sufi literature generally, unless Hamzah made the following explicit statement: Don't be afraid of the wrath of the Judge, Then can your claim be truly lofty (Al-Attas 1970:21).

And those poets had every reason to be afraid! In the early 1640s Hamzah and Syamsuddin of Pasai were accused of heresy, their books were burnt and their disciples executed. Therefore, there are some grounds to believe that

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Hamzah and the poets of his school were wary that their verses, if interpreted superficially, could evoke accusations of immorality from inimically minded orthodoxy. It seems that it was owing to vague rumours about such a sort of verses that the notorious legend emerged alleging that Harnzah opened a brothel in Aceh and that the women of that house were persuaded to return to a virtuous life by the sermons of a more moderate Sufi, Abd ar-Rauf of Singkel, who lived approximately fifty years later than Hamzah (Snouck Hurgronje 1906, 11:20). In view of the character of nyanyi and the attitude of the orthodox clerics to them, it does not seem unreasonable to believe that the words' our verses are not songs (or rather, not vulgar songs)' constitute a repercussion of the same covert polemics. It seems that the insistent repetition of these words by the poets can be explained precisely by the accusations on the part of orthodoxy that they created such vulgar songs. What could have inspired such accusations? There are two possible reasons. Firstly, Hamzah was the first who wrote his Sufi poems in his native tongue. For this reason, the images that looked abstract in a foreign language now acquired their flesh and blood for the Malays and evoked familiar associations. Secondly, it seems that the symbolism of Sufi love-lyrics resembled to a certain extent the symbolism of erotic popular poetry. In tact, Hamzah's first quatrain which mentions the word nyanyi immediately follows the lines telling about the arrival of the lover at the house of his beloved (Drewes and BrakeI1986:104). However, there might have been some other reasons too, as is suggested by the rest of the poems quoted. The second of Hamzah's quatrains (Doorenbos 1933:34) follows a conspicuously doctrinal description of a mystical bird and its tenor could hardly be associated with that of a folk song. Particularly suggestive in this respect is the quotation from Abd al-Jamal's poem. Its context is characteristic in two respects. This stanza is immediately preceded by the appeal not to look for the ultimate truth in fiqh-books, which are contrasted to the Sufi treatise Miftah al-asrar, or the 'Key of secrets' (Doorenbos 1933:78), probably a commentary on Hamzah's Asrar al-arifin (the 'Secrets of gnostics'). Thus, the statement 'these words are not songs' is most likely a continuation of the above polemics. At the same time, this quatrain concludes a long discourse about the 'fixed essences' (ayan sabitah), which has absolutely nothing in common with popular poetry (Doorenbos 1933:76-8). In this stanza we find the statement that 'these words [emphasis by the present author] are not songs.' This makes irrelevant a possible supposition that the statement concerns the likeness between the tune to which this poem was sung (if it was sung at all, which is doubtful) and the tune of some popular song. In addition, Abd aI-Jamal noted that these words were only reminiscent of 'all that is sung.' Why? Now, 'Yhen we have seen that what is meant is neither the similarity in

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content nor the similarity in tune between syair and nyanyi, we are left with only one feasible explanation: syair could be reminiscent, to its opponents, of a popular song owing to its poetic form (as has been already mentioned, both the metrics and the structure of syair rhyme and stanza provide analogies with Malay popular poetry). It is most probably for this reason that Abd alJamal had to deny the identity of syair with folk songs. It is also possible that Hamzah made use of the terms syair, bait, saj' and ruba' in order to convince his opponents that the form of his verses, which did not have any precise analogies in Arabico-Persian poetics, was in compliance with the rules of the latter. Thus, on the one hand, the structure of the syair can be regarded as brought about by the influence of norms of Arabico-Persian poetics, and on the other, as a kind of transformation of oral poetic tradition. There is nothing extraordinary in the oral, indigenous elements of syair. They cannot but evoke associations with the works of Persian Sufi poets, who adapted not only the norms and canons of Arabic poetry, in particular erotic, but also those of their own oral poetry to the expression of their mystical doctrines (and also were condemned for that as was, for example, a famous Persian Sufi Sheikh Abu Said, Yeo Berthels 1965a:48). Moreover, the Javanese poets, almost simultaneously with the emergence of syair, introduced the indigenous, originally oral metrics, tembang macapat, into their Sufi literature (Pigeaud 1967, 1:19-22); Malay poets, both prior to and after Hamzah, sang at their ratib (zikir) love pantun and composed poems in the local epic genre of andai-andai (V. Braginsky 1975a!100-1), while Acehnese poets, who eventually came to writing in their native language, made use of their indigenous sanja meter (see above, note 3). This was demanded by the need of a sermon that would have been understandable to all and participation of the common folk in Sufi orders. One can say that, from the point of view of Arabico-Persian poetics, Hamzah introduced the shi'r-i musajja' into Malay poetry, rejecting nevertheless the monorhyme in the last hemistich; from the point of view of Malay folklore poetics, he regulated the arbitrary number of lines in a tirade and canonized the four-line strophoid. However, neither of these views as such is sufficient to provide an exhaustive explanation of the problem of the origin of the syair. Rather, when Hamzah Fansuri - who was well conversant with Arabic and Persian poetry (AI-Attas 1968:55-7) in which the technique of rhyming (the strict distribution and recurrence of rhymes) is an essential sign of a poetic work - created (or introduced) his poetic form, he tried to arrange for it to meet these requirements. At the same time, it is the original Malay tradition that determined the direction of his searches and it is this tradition that made the poet turn to shi'r-i musajja' which was the most acceptable form for it, and to diverge from

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the Arabico-Persian type of monorhyme totally alien to it. It is also possible that Hamzah wanted to present his essentially folkloric form as complying with the rules of Arabico-Persian poetics. Neither of these hypotheses contradicts the other in the least. In both cases the form discovered by Hamzah corresponded, on the one hand, to the norms of the influencing tradition and, on the other, to the influenced tradition. Thus, it was a literary fact with a dual motivation, testifying to an active role of the Malay substratum in the assimilation of influences and of the synthesizing ability of Malay literature. However, Hamzah's syair reveals not only his subtle talent of selecting and appropriating the necessary (and adaptable) elements of ArabicoPersian poetics and his ability to synthesize indigenous and foreign poetical traditions. They also show his readiness to challenge the techniques of the Arabico-Persian tradition in formal complexity and refinement. Judging by the standard length of his syair normally consisting of thirteen to fifteen bayt and by takhallus, or 'pen-name', in the final bayt, it seems that Hamzah imitated Persian ghazal (or rather, introduced saj' in it), since ghazal normally consists of four to fourteen or fifteen bayt and from the thirteenth century the takhallus bayt is invariably used as its ending. It may appear that in diverging from the Arabico-Persian monorhyme - a complicated formal element of ghazal - Hamzah considerably simplified the model, which he followed. In fact, however, he made up for what was omitted by a characteristic reduplication of what was retained. It is not only that each bayt in Hamzah's syair is reduplicated by saj', but also his entire' ghazal' is twice as long as an average Persian ghazal of the classical period: poems by Hamzah consist of fourteen to fifteen bayt, while those by such masters of ghazal as Amir Khusraw Dihlawi, Hafiz, Kamal Khujandi and Jami of seven or eight and only very rarely of more than ten bayt. What counts even more here is that Hamzah's interrupted rhyme may also be considered as a duplicated rhyme or as that in which there is a correspondence not only between all final but also between all penultimate syllables, for instance: su-Iuh, tu-buh, gu-ruh, mu-suh. As has been noted, the Middle Eastern poetics did not demand the rhyming of any vowel in the penultimate syllable, with the exception of words containing long' a' (alif) in that syllable. However, even this rule was observed only by Arabs, not by Persians. The fifteenth century Persian scholar, Wahid Tabrizi, wrote about it: This is a specifically Arabic rhyme, and when non-Arabs [that is, Persians] observe this alif, it is called luzum ma la yalzam [that is, 'making compulsory what is not compulsory'], and when they do not observe [it], it is not an error. If non-Arabs rhymed the words aqil and jahil with the words mukbil and mushkil - this would not be inadmissible. (Tabrizi 1959:79.)

Hamzah, however, extended the rhyming of penultimate syllables to all

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vowels (not only to alif) in both Arabic and Malay words and only very seldom rhymed such words as aqil and mukbil. On balance, in contrast to seven rhyming words in the Persian ghazal, Hamzah created the poem of fourteen to fifteen 'fours' of words linked by a syllable-by-syllable, double rhyming. It is difficult to decide who was the 'winner' in the contest as concerns the complexity of the poetical form, especially as in addition to his refined rhyming Hamzah's poems are distinguished by abundant internal rhymes, subtle euphonic arrangements and frequently occurring punnings (BrakeI1979a:82-5; V. Braginsky 1999:141-8). All these devices of his poetics find their counterparts in certain ArabicoPersian poetical figures (V. Braginsky 1999:141-2), on the one hand, as well as in phonic repetitions and phonic symbols of the Malay pantun, on the other (see Chapter VIII). The hypothesis that the syair was a form with a dual motivation, which originated from the Sufi milieu, explains its rapid spread in the Malay world. Firstly, the influence and the activity of the Sufis in the sixteenth and the seventeenth centuries were intense enough and, secondly, it can be supposed that the syair was not a novelty for Malay poets who recognized a form close to Malay folk poetry in it. In the seventeenth-the nineteenth century the main varieties of written Malay narrative poems took shape on the basis of the verse form of Sufi syair. By all the evidence, their content and imagery owed much to diverse kinds of folkloric poems as well as to prose hikayat. Romantic, historical, allegorical (partly similar to romantic poems, but in which heroes are flowers, birds and animals) as well as edifying (didactic), religious and mystical (Sufi) syair are usually listed as such varieties. This rather tentative classification is based only on the content-and-thematic principle; it is not supported by an analysis of the peculiar features of versification, imagery and poetic structure of syair varieties, and is therefore 'external', proposed by scholars of Malay literature. As for the creators and copyists of poems, they invariably referred to them simply as syair and sometimes classed them in one of the spheres of the literary system already known to us with the help of such terms as 'beauty, beautiful' (keindahan, indah), 'benefit' (faedah), 'soothing the heart' (penghibur hati) and the like. For all the drawbacks of this classification, we have preserved it in this book for want of a better one as well as because of its convenience for the initial orientation in the multitude of works. C. Hooykaas (1947:68) called syair 'poems suitable for any occasion'. There is much truth in this. Malay literature became twofold, as it were, with the appearance of syair, because every prose genre acquired its poetic double. Nevertheless the difference between poetic and prose twin-genres was considerable, both in the imagery

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and structure and in ideological and thematic respects (in particular, being a 'new' genre form, syair was Islamized more quickly and more deeply than hikayat). It seems likely that milieus in which these twin-genres predominantly functioned were also different to a certain degree. The poetic form of syair did not remain unchanged during the three subsequent centuries. In its evolution (Y. Braginsky 1975a:148-76, 1991), it went through at least two stages: early, or that of Hamzah, and late, the postHamzah one. These stages (the late sixteenth-the early seventeenth century and the late seventeenth-the nineteenth centuries respectively) can be distinguished on the basis of the correlation of three distinctive features: the degree of isosyllabism of stanzas, the predominant type of rhyme, and the specificity of the set of the most frequently used rhymes. On the one hand, the postHamzah period is characterized by a noticeable strengthening of the isosyllabic tendency, which was most likely related to the growing awareness of its aesthetic value. On the other hand, this period shows a radical transition from the 'interrupted' type of rhyme - originating from oral poetry and common in Hamzah Fansuri's verse - to the 'uninterrupted' type of rhyme (for instance, mentri-peri-duri-diri), which might have been explained by the tendency to follow the rules of rhyming typical for Arabico-Persian poetics. The study of the set of rhymes used most frequently in post-Hamzah poems allows us to single out two parallel lines in the evolution of the syair: 'classical' (or 'Palembang-Riau'), represented by poems originating from central regions of the Malay-speaking (or rather writing) world, namely Palembang, Riau and the Malay Peninsula; and 'peripheral', represented by syair which originated from its periphery - Makasar, Banjarmasin, Minangkabau, and others. These lines differ markedly in their relation to the folkloric tradition (for instance, peripheral syair are close to pantun in their set of most common rhymes and, more often than not, in the prevalent type of rhyme, while classical poems are remote from pantun in both these parameters). It is not ruled out that the two lines in the evolution of syair reflect, to some extent, the variance in taste of different social milieus, since 'classical' syair were products of the court culture much more frequently than 'peripheral' ones.

The origin of the kitab and hidayat The problem of the origin of two other genre structures, namely the learned treatise, or kitab, and the edifying mirror, or hidayat (sometimes nasihat), which also became part of Malay literature in the classical period and first appeared in Aceh, is simpler to solve than the question of the origin of the syair. As AI-Attas mentioned some time ago, Syarab al-asyikin (the 'Drink of lovers') by Hamzah Fansuri was, in all probability, the first exposition of

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the Sufi doctrine in the Malay language (AI-Attas 1970:180). Later, Brakel (1979a:23-4) pointed out that Syarab al-asyikin was the first example of the kitab genre, as is testified to by the fact that Hamzah Fansuri deemed it necessary to give the following definition to his book: Know that this insignificant one, this poor one, Hamzah Fansuri, wishes to make known [to you] in the Malay language - God willing - the way to God the Glorious and Most Exalted, and the Gnosis of God in order that all servants of God who do not understand Arabic and Persian may discourse upon it (AI-Attas 1970:416).

It also follows from his definition that kitab is none other than the Malay ana-

logue of Arabic and Persian systematic treatises (in particular, of a religious and mystical nature) from which it is derived genetically. The preface to another of Hamzah's treatises, Asrar al-arifin (the 'Secrets of gnostics'), shows clearly that kitab represents a genre included in the sphere of spiritual perfection. In this preface Hamzah writes: In the name of God, the Most Compassionate, the Most Merciful. Praise be to

God who expands the breasts of the gnostics with the Keys of His Existence; and adorns their [spiritual] hearts with His Secrets; and illuminates their spirits with the Knowledge of His Vision; and purifies their souls with the Light of His Love. (AI-Attas 1970:354.)

Further, Hamzah explains for what and how the reader should use his kitab, or, in other words, he defines its- function: Know, 0 sons of Adam who are Muslims, that God the Glorious and Exalted creates us ... It is incumbent upon us to seek our Lord in order that we may know [Him] with our Gnosis, or through our service to a teacher who has perfect Gnosis of Him. [... ] However, before you meet with one whose Gnosis is perfect, consider these fifteen bait [which are contained in Asrar al-arifin]. [... ] Should you fail to comprehend [the meaning of] these fifteen verses, consult their commentaries [which follow the verses in the book], for in the commentaries are made manifest discourses on the Gnosis of God [... ] There is nothing amiss [in this book]. (AIAttas 1970:355.)

As we see, by addressing a laudatory prayer to Allah who endows the spiritual hearts of Sufis with the power of Gnosis, Hamzah intends to acquire the ability to write a book which could transmit this Gnosis to its readers. Thus, the earliest Sufi kitab in Malay were composed by Hamzah Fansuri about the late sixteenth-the early seventeenth century. The earliest theological kitab, Akaid (the' Articles of faith') by a famous Central Asian scholar Najm aI-Din al-Nasafi (the twelfth century) was also translated into Malay in the late sixteenth century (no later than 1590; AI-Attas 1988).

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At about the same time (1603) the term kitab appeared in Taj as-salatin which was, however, not so much a learned treatise as a theologically based instruction on correctly ordered worldly behaviour. The structure and contents of this work corresponded fully to examples of Muslim didactic mirrors (mir'at) for rulers. In the concluding chapter of the treatise its author Bukhari al-Jauhari (or Johori) specifies the genre identity of his book as a hidayat (guidebook, instruction) - an edifying mirror: Know that this glorious book is a hidayat ['guidance'] sent by the Most High, and also guidance given by Bukhari to all who manage to get it. For these two reasons this book must be glorified. {Roorda van Eysinga 1827:226.}

Then Bukhari goes on to explain that his treatise is called a guidebook because, firstly, it opens' a path to all the good things of this world and the world to come'; secondly, it contains 'all that there is of the most beautiful, choicest and loftiest', while there is nothing higher than the true path which it points out to 'just rulers and those who are endowed with reason' and, thirdly, because 'its truthfulness and perfection are a manifestation of mercy of the Most High which fortifies the spirit of the reader'.9 Throughout his book Bukhari incessantly emphasizes that he addresses those who are endowed with reason and that his goal is to perfect their reason, thus leaving no doubt that his work and the genre to which it belongs relate to the sphere of benefit (see also the analysis of the work in Chapter VI). Thus, along with the kitab, the most important genre of the sphere of spiritual perfection, the edifying mirror, which represented the main genre of the sphere of benefit, was introduced into classical Malay literature from Persian literature.

Genre structures of Malay literature in the classical period Now, passing on to the terminology of genre structures used in the classical period by Malay literati themselves, we can notice that it includes the following set of entities: hikayat (prose narrative, tale, romance), syair (narrative poem), sejarah or salasilah (chronicle, genealogy), kitab (treatise) and hidayat (sometimes nasihat; edifying mirror). This set, although undoubtedly richer than that of the early Islamic period, nevertheless does not contain many items. 1o The above terms are different in their nature and fall into two categories. To the first category belong the terms sejarah/salasilah and hidayat, which denote writings characterized by a certain stability of both form and content, and to the second group the terms hikayat, syair and kitab, which refer to works of heterogeneous content. The term hikayat refers to all 'belletristic' prose, a part of the historical writings, hagiographic works, and some com-

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positions bordering on kitab (for example, Kitab seribu masalah - the 'Book of one thousand questions', Pijper 1924). The term syair refers to any narrative poem of romantic (amorous), historical, didactic, or religious-mystical content. Finally, the term kitab denotes any systematic learned treatise dealing, primarily, with religious and mystical disciplines. Only one functional sphere - that of benefit - is served by the genre structures of the first group. The genre structures of the second group are used in several functional spheres: hikayat and syair in all three spheres, even if principally in the sphere of beauty; while kitab are found in the spheres of benefit and spiritual perfection, though predominantly in the latter. Furthermore, terms for the first group can be viewed as specifying and explaining those, which belong to the second. Not infrequently didactic works discussing mundane activities are called kitab (sometimes with the specification kitab hidayat), whereas historical treatises are called hikayat (or again with the specification hikayat salasilah). Hence hikayat, syair and kitab may be considered basic terms for the designation of the genre structures of the literary system. The main distinctive feature of the kitab, as opposed to both the hikayat and the syair, is the mode in which its content is expounded. In kitab the exposition is learned and logical, while in hikayat and syair it is popular and emotional, in prose and verse respectively. On the one hand, the kitab's mode of exposition places it in a hierarchically higher position among genre structures, so that it functions in the central spheres of the literary system. On the other hand, it also determines the salient features of the form: the compositional structure of the work, its linguistic style (Arabicized in kitab and a purer Malay in hikayat and syair) and the set of formulaic expressions and tapai. Naturally, these formal elements are further determined according to whether the literary work concerned is in verse or prose. An analysis of the three main terms shows that all of them imply the specific type of formal organization of a work rather than the specific character of the correspondence between the work's form and its content. Consequently, they denote not genres per se but genre forms capable of conveying diverse contents (on genre forms, see Introduction). Thus, the terminology used by Malay men of letters indicates two aspects of a work: its belonging, first, to a certain functional sphere of the literary system, and second, to a genre form, by means of which the functional sphere in question fulfills its task. Only the terms sejarah/salasilah and hidayat denote literary genres proper. This betrays a lack of elaboration of Malay literary self-awareness in this respect and can serve as one more indication of its 'reluctance' to deal with concrete details of literature - the tendency which manifested itself in a particularly graphic way in the absence of special treatises on poetics among Malay writings. At the same time, genre forms and genres of the classical period are des-

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ignated with Arabic names, although the terminological meaning of some of them (hikayat, syair) is altered, while others (kitab) do not belong to genre terms in Arabic and Persian literatures at all. Evidently, this is one more indication that Malay literati tried to give a Muslim appearance to their literary practice, albeit in the same generalized form as in the case of self-awareness. However, the lack of an elaborated genre terminology does not by itself show the absence of genres within the broader framework of genre forms. As a matter of fact, fantastic adventure hikayat, hagiographical hikayat, historical syair and a number of other kinds of literary work should be considered as individual genres. Moreover, within the framework of these genres one can distinguish different subgenres, each having its own specifics of structure and plot, narrative and descriptive motifs, topoi and style (for instance, the subgenres of fantastic adventure hikayat, which are traceable to Sanskrit epics, Panji tales, and Muslim narrative, or of hikayat synthesizing various characteristics of these subgenres). It is these specific features, and quite often the name of the protagonist following the indication of genre form in the title of the work, that point to the sub genre to which the work belongs. For instance, if after the term hikayat there appeared such names as Asmara Pati or Naya Kesuma, Amir Hamzah or Saif Zulyazan, Indra Bangsawan or Indra Mengindra, these names - just like genre or subgenre terms in modern literature - would immediately evoke the reader's expectations that the works to be read are, respectively, a Panji-romance, a Muslim tale and a synthetic hikayat. Be that as it may, the classification of genres and subgenres is mainly an element of the researcher's activity. 'External' with regard to the Malay literary system, such an act is all the more necessary, because 'internal' characteristics of Malay literary doctrine alone do not allow one to outline the arrangement, or the composition, of Malay classical literature with sufficient completeness and to classify works that it includes. Finally, it is worth noting that the creative stimuli that urged Malay writers to introduce the genre forms of hikayat (see Chapter 11), syair and kitab, which constituted the basis of the literary system in the classical period, more often than not came to the Malay world from Persian or Indo-Persian literatures. The same refers to such genres as the edifying mirror (hidayat), the framed tale, the hagiographic narrative, the discourse of animals, birds or flowers, the Sufi allegory and to a part of fantastic adventure tales (see Chapters V-VIII). Malay historiography also reveals Persian influences, although in a lesser degree than the genres mentioned above. For instance, the structure of Hikayat Aceh (the 'Tale of Aceh') follows, to some extent that of Indo-Persian chronicles composed at the court of the Great Mughals, while the genre of universal, or world, history, which was introduced into Malay literature by Nuruddin ar-Raniri, reproduces its Persian pattern quite faith-

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fully. Therefore, although the Persian influence on the Malay genre system was not as deep as that observed in Turkish or Urdu literature, for which reason the opinion of Brakel (1970:2) that 'the traditional structure of Malay literature owes its existence to the Persian impact' seems to be an exaggeration, this opinion is by no means devoid of a grain of truth. ll

The composition of classical Malay literature: the sphere of beauty Fantastic adventure narratives (hikayat) of the synthetic type To harmonize the human soul by means of 'the beauty of the sound and of the meaning', thus creating conditions for fostering courtly behaviour, was the task of a wide range of literary works, partly borrowed and partly original, which represented a kind of a written-oral-theatrical continuum.12 It goes without saying that it is precisely to this sphere - corresponding to the periphery of the human psyche in its traditional interpretation and being peripheral within the framework of the Islamized literature of the Malays - that the heritage of pre-Islamic times was related. To this group there belonged old (though still being copied) works that originated from Sanskrit epics and purana, which usually penetrated Malay literature through Javanese mediation (Hikayat Seri Rama, Hikayat Pandawa jaya, Hikayat Sang Boma, and others); numerous romances and poems about Panji; works preserving traces of the South Indian, mainly Tamil, influence (for instance, the conclusion of Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati). Muslim (Persian or Indo-Persian) works remained one more important component of Malay literature of the sphere of beauty in the classical period. Some of them, like Hikayat Iskandar Zulkarnain or Hikayat Amir Hamzah, taught neophytes truths of the new religion in an absorbing way and contained not fewer beautiful fantastic motifs than prose narratives and poems, specially designed to give 'comfort in sorrow'. Other works familiarized them (at least partially) also with South Indian tradition, now Islamic, harking back to romantic dastan (narratives) of the Deccan. Finally, probably already in the classical period, along with the appearance of new genres in Malay fine literature, the old genre of hikayat went through a transformation, and rather specific subgenres of fantastic adventure hikayat and romantic syair developed on its basis. Unlike hikayat of the early Muslim period, prose works of this kind, which owed a great number of narrative motifs and descriptive cliches to Indian, Javanese and Middle Eastern literatures, cannot be traced back to any of them in particular; they stand out for their synthetic and rather peculiar nature. Thus, in spite of a far-reaching closeness to works of the genre of

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dastan, which were widely spread in the Middle East and India,13 narratives of the synthetic type are not translations or paraphrases of any specific pieces of literature created in other languages. Their authors who managed to fuse narrative motifs of heterogeneous origin into one whole on the basis of the requirements of the genre form of hikayat, reveal, as Bausani (1979:57) aptly put it, 'skills of creators of well-balanced structures'. However, contrary to the opinion of the Italian scholar, these skills were inherent not only in the author of Hikayat Maharaja Ali (the 'Tale of Maharaja Ali') that he studied, but also in the literary milieu, which created this kind of hikayat, as a whole. Be that as it may, the well-balanced structure was characteristic of the best examples of fantastic adventure tales written in the late sixteenth and in the seventeenth century. The combination of heterogeneous descriptive elements in these works can be illustrated by the description of the battle of Indraputra with the prince Dewa Lela Mengema from Hikayat Indraputra, of which the style is very typical for such descriptions: The jinns who dwelt in the talisman rushed, with their loud war-calls, to the battlefield and stood opposite Dewa Lela Mengerna's commanders, having pointed their arrows and javelins at them and having bared their swords. Their battlecalls and exclamations thundered like thunderbolts in the sky. [Everything was drowned] in deafening uproar and thick darkness. Dust rose as high as the sky, concealing the shine of the sun. But now weapons began shining like lightning, and their radiance dispelled darkness again. (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:76.)

Descriptive cliches in this first part of the description of the battle are traced to Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah and show a close similarity to their Persian original. I4 The second part, the duel of the heroes, is described in quite a different way and displays an obvious similarity to, for example, the battle of Arjuna and Kama in Hikayat Pandawa jaya which in this episode faithfully follows the Old Javanese Bharatayuddha (Poerbatjaraka and C. Hooykaas 1934:52-3):

Then Dewa Lela Mengerna sent his arrow into the air, and the arrow [flew], roaring like thunder. Having turned into a dark cloud, it rushed towards Indraputra in order to wrap him. But Indraputra without delay appealed to his talisman, and Dikar Agus immediately appeared from it, bringing wind, darkness, storm and flood down [from the sky]. And the dark cloud poured in streams of water which washed away Dewa Lela Mengerna's banners. Dewa Lela Mengerna grew angry and threw his sword into the sky. It began thundering, lightnings began to shine crisscrossing, and the sword turned into a tongue of flame ready to cut Indraputra asunder. But Indraputra turned his talisman again, and darkness thickened at once, it began raining and the flame died out. IS

Despite the unusual diversity of fantastic motifs in synthetic hikayat, which not infrequently transform them into a kind of encyclopedia of fairy-tales,

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their compositional structure basically is rather simple, stable and uniform. Almost every tale of this sub genre begins with the birth of a prince in a powerful and flourishing country. Then follows an account of a certain misfortune or a deficiency which forces the young prince to leave his native land; next comes the story of his long wanderings, his battles with monsters and adversaries, the obtaining of magic charms and talismans, his marriages, and finally his ascension to the throne of his native country, a return, as it were, to the point of departure, but in a new and higher quality.16 On the whole, this model, which can ultimately be traced back to the West-Indonesian myth about the sacral marriage of the sun, water and earth, yielding to a multiple interpretation (see Chapter I), corresponds to the scheme reconstructed for the fantastic adventure narratives of the old Malay period. However, the Islamization of Malay literature did affect it at least on two essential points. As a rule, the hero of a synthetic hikayat of the classical period is not directly called a deity incarnated on earth. He is the heir to an earthly king and calls himself 'the son of man' (anak manusia) or 'a descendant of Adam' (anak-cucu Nabi Adam). Therefore, only a careful analysis makes it possible to discover in the prince's character certain traits of his heavenly origin and to notice certain signs of a celestial abode in the description of the kingdom where he is born and from where he commences his wanderings (Bausani 1979:44). Furthermore, a study of the 'picture of the world' in the synthetic hikayat shows that the multilayered space through which the hero formerly travelled is replaced by a two-dimensional, unlayered structure: 'It is more typical for heroes of hikayat to stay in a one-level world, albeit inhabited by jinns, dragons and peris living in their particular kingdoms side by side with common mortals' (Goryayeva 1979a:109). Only when visiting a kingdom of dewa (indra or cendra), celestial beings inherited from the Hindu-Buddhist period, who usually reside on the top of some sacred mountain, will the hero move along a vertical route (Goryayeva 1979a:105). Although showing some variations in the unfolding of plots and embellished in each narrative with different details, the above pattern occurs in a great number of synthetic hikayat (judging by catalogues, there are from fifty to sixty of them). Especially popular among them were Hikayat Syah Mardan, Hikayat Indraputra and Hikayat Isma Yatim (twenty to thirty copies of each have been preserved), and also Hikayat Berma Syahdan, Hikayat Dewa Mandu, Hikayat Ahmad dan Muhammad, Hikayat Indra Bangsawan, Hikayat Syah Kabad and Hikayat Karis Mengindra (the number of copies of these works varies from five to ten),17 Hikayat Berma Syahdan, possibly one of the oldest specimens of the subgenre, gives a general idea of its nature. Prince Berma Syahdan, the main hero of this voluminous work, of which the manu-

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature script amounts to 928 pages in folio and is divided into twenty six chapters with headlines summing up their content,I8 sets off on a journey, pursuing a green bug into which princess Nur al-Ain has turned. Then he marries the princess, and also her friend Mandu Khairani who fell in love with him via a portrait. He fights with the armies of their fathers; being kidnapped at the climax of the battle by a jinn, he falls into the sea named Bahr Allah (the Sea of God) and is saved by the prince of spirits, Mengantara by name. Then, after killing a serpent and a raksasa and finding out the mystery of walking upon water from a captive peri, he enters a new marriage, this time with Kemala Dewi Ratna Jam-jam and releases 1040 princes who were her father's prisoners. Finally, having learnt about the beauty of Indra Kesuma Dewi, the daughter of Burandan Syah, Berma Syahdan asks for her hand and, his request being rudely refused, he fights with the king and his numerous followers, assisted by his sons and allies, during the remaining two thirds of the romance. At last, the god Indra who has descended to the earth puts an end to the drawn-out war and reconciles the enemies. Berma Syahdan revives all the dead. Thus, after defeating a great many demonic beings, both Hindu and Muslim, helping his friends in their marriages and battles, and having lived amidst endless wanderings and battles until the birth of grandsons, Berma Syahdan returns home and ascends his father's throne. Guynboll1899:163-70.)

While Hikayat Berrna Syahdan, at least prior to the episode of the battle with Burandan Syah, has no string holding the narration together, Hikayat Indraputra (Ali bin Ahmad 1968; Mulyadi 1983) and Hikayat Syah Kabad Lela Indra (Kamarulzaman 1962), both rather close in content to Hikayat Berrna Syahdan, do have such a string. The greater part of the action in Hikayat Indraputra takes place during Indraputra's journey to the hermit Berma Sakti from whom, at the request of Raja Syahsian, he must obtain a magic drug bestowing progeny. Adventures of the hero in Hikayat Syah Kabad Lela Indra are motivated by his desire to free his native country from the rule of Balia Indra, the king of monkeys (a transformation of the monkey king Balia from Hikayat Seri Rarna) who has conquered it. Such motifs holding the plot together are rather diverse in synthetic tales. For instance, the prince from Hikayat Indra Bangsawan is wandering in search of the 'plaintive bamboo' - the Eolian harp, having obtained which he can inherit the throne (Hikajat Indra Bangsawan 1927). The hero of Hikayat Syah Mardan is roaming in search of Sufi knowledge.1 9 Koris from Hikayat Karis Mengindra,2o who was cursed by the father of his bride, Permaisuri Indra, for his boundless weakness for the fair sex and who managed to find her again rather quickly, is travelling in her company during almost the entire action of the tale, trying to win the heart of his beloved. However, each time when he wins her favours with great efforts he proves unable to resist his inclinations and falls in love with a new beauty, thus enraging Permaisuri Indra who rejects him again - the situation which is directly opposite to what we have observed in Hikayat Cekel Waneng Patio

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Such inability of the hero to control himself, rare in the hikayat tradition, allowed one of the researchers of the work to infer that it condemns morals at the court. 21 Although sometimes the whole synthetic tale, and more often a number of its episodes, are bound together by a semblance of dynamic and purposeful development of the plot, the structure of narration in such hikayat is based on their composition rather than on the plot. As was rightly noted by Goryayeva, most synthetic hikayat represent a sequence of separate and 'complete narrative cycles (from a disaster, damage or a loss to their solution) connected with each other only by the person of the hero'. The scholar defines narratives of this type as 'compound' by analogy with compound sentence ('paratactic' would undoubtedly be a better term) and opposes them to structurally simpler hikayat of the 'multi-lead' type specific for the early stage of the evolution of this genre (Goryayeva 1979a:72; compare Chapter I). Apparently, Hikayat Indraputra, Hikayat Berma Syahdan, Hikayat Karis Mengindra and Hikayat Syah Kabad represent the most typical cluster of such 'paratactic' fantastic adventure romances. Being close to each other not only in the configuration of the events described, but also in the set of main narrative motifs,22 these hikayat reflect most fully the classical model of the genre which formed most probably in the late sixteenth to the seventeenth centuries. For all the openness of fantastic adventure synthetic hikayat to external influences, they preserved many purely Malay features. 'Naive realism' was one of their most important peculiarities. 23 Malay writers described in detail specific gestures of heroes, mmutiae of their apparel, ways of different animals, each movement of fighting enemies, the play of moonlight on facets of precious stone. Such close attention to seemingly unimportant details was the legacy of the oral popular tradition in which this feature was manifested even more clearly (Winstedt 1991:22-3). Not only unfolding the action, but also watching trifles of life with 'side view', the authors of these tales tried to show reality in its completeness and beauty and, so to speak, awaken 'the taste for life' in their readers. Another genuinely Malay folkloric component of synthetic hikayat was the inclusion of improvized quatrains, pantun, into them (on this genre, see Chapter VII); in particular, often the discourses of lovers (the hero and the heroine) took the shape of an exchange of pantun. Finally, and this is also most typical of fantastic adventure tales, the Malay city, situated at the river mouth and fortified with turreted palisades, constantly remained in the field of vision of Malay men of letters. This city saluted the prince, for instance Indraputra, returning from his wanderings with the firing of cannon and by sending a rowing boat to meet him, just as was described in chronicles and as happened in real life. Through the very development of action, the authors of hikayat gave the reader a chance to catch a glimpse of over-crowded bazaars decorated with multicoloured

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fabrics, and of wide roads leading to the square in front of the palace, along which the retinue of the prince proceeded. They showed the reader separate quarters, or fenced courtyards (kampung), scattered here and there in the suburbs. Their inhabitants lived such a secluded life that the prince Indraputra managed to build his fantastic ship, or the 'floating garden', on the river crossing such a quarter completely unnoticed. And they were situated so far from the city centre that the princess in the palace could not guess where the sounds of Indraputra's orchestra came from (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:276-7, 3001). Peculiarities of the life of the Malays were also reflected in descriptions of numerous ceremonies occupying a considerable place in synthetic hikayat.

The time of the emergence of synthetic hikayat Thus far fantastic adventure hikayat of the synthetic type have been regarded, without any special reservations, as a phenomenon, which appeared in the classical period of Malay literature in the above-defined sense. However, this is not at all a universally accepted viewpoint, for which reason it needs substantiation. Winstedt believed that romances (as he called them) of this type 'not always in time, because many belong to the Muslim period of Malay history, but at any rate in contents and in spirit [... ] may be assigned to the era of transition between Hinduism and Islam' (Winstedt 1991:50) and dated many of them to the Malacca period (Winstedt 1991:51-3, 55). Since then this opinion has struck firm roots in histories of traditional Malay literature24 as well as in a few special studies devoted to this genre (for instance, Goryayeva 1979a: 19-22). However, it seems that it is hardly correct to relate synthetic hikayat to the transitional period understood as the Malacca period. Thus far none of them could have been dated to such an early time with a sufficient degree of reliability. On the contrary, the composition of early Islamic literature created in Pasai and Malacca,25 and a relative stability of this composition during the entire early Islamic period, fail to confirm a seemingly natural idea that the fusion of Hindu and Muslim elements in such hikayat points to a process of 'transition from Hinduism to Islam' reflected in them. As was already noted, literature of the transitional period proper included, on the one hand, paraphrases of Indian and Javanese writings and, on the other, translations of Middle Eastern writings (primarily Persian). As for the fusion of both traditions in individual written works, it was observed only in the domain of historiography and was determined by dynastic reasons of the time (attempts to preserve the continuity of a dynasty vis-a.-vis religious and historical changes). Evidently, time and certain internal stimuli were needed for such a transition-coexistence, caused by a rather superficial assimilation of Muslim culture expanding extensively, to be replaced, in the

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sphere of literature, by transition-interpenetration brought about by a more fundamental assimilation of Islam and its intensive expansion. If it is at all possible to speak about synthetic hikayat as a transitional phenomenon, they were the product of transition not from old Malay Hindu-Buddhist literature to Muslim literature, but from early Muslim to classical literature. It seems more correct to regard the appearance of synthetic hikayat - along with the formation of Muslim literary self-awareness; the emergence of new genre forms, syair and kitab, in the domain of literary activity; and the triumph of Sufism in the religious domain - as a phenomenon marking the indepth integration of Malay literature into Muslim culture, or in other words, as the 'conversion of its soul'. It is at this stage that the spirit of Islam in Malay literary tradition was already strong enough to bring its heterogeneous elements into contact not only within the framework of a literary system as a whole, but also within individual pieces of literature and to fuse them on the single basis of the new religious Weltanschauung. It is not accidental therefore that we owe the first information about fantastic adventure tales of the synthetic type to writings created in Aceh in the early seventeenth century. The earliest mention of works in which such hikayat can be recognized, although hypothetically, belongs to 1603 and is contained in the edifying mirror Taj as-salatino Its author (or translator) wrote, having mentioned the usefulness of his book for Malay rulers and their subjects: So they should instruct their children to learn the Qur'an, to read this book [that is Taj as-salatin] and not to read other hikayat from among those, which are popular in the Malay lands. For those who read them or listen to them being read will acquire an evil fate [literally: the evil] in this world and the world to come, since all these hikayat contain and spread stories, which are full of lies and disbelief, and those who read them or listen to them being read, verily, commit a sin. (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:223-4.)

The popularity of at least one hikayat of the synthetic type, Hikayat Indraputra, in Aceh of the seventeenth century is attested with certainty by its being scornfully mentioned in the treatise Sirat al-rnustaqirn (the 'Straight path', 1644) by Nuruddin ar-Raniri (Mulyadi 1983:21-6; for more details, see Chapter VI) who familiarized himself with Malay literature on his arrival in Aceh (Voorhoeve 1955a:6). Finally, one more, though not very clear, reference to familiarity with synthetic hikayat in Aceh is contained in the preface to one of them, Hikayat Berrna Syahdan (MS London Raffles Mal. 12). It is told in this preface that the 'strange and rare contents of the romance were laid in the presence from the fluent tongue of Maulana Syaikh ibn Abu Bakar, a visitor from the west, who was extremely famous and well known in former days, the time of a

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sultan learned and ascetic, a trusty and excellent protector' (Marrison 1955: 58). Then the sultan is 'described [... ] as 'of lofty fortune and ideals' (tinggi bahagianya dan citanya), 'the support of all princes and Sultans, a shining light to all Muslims, whose wisdom and justice stand like a banner above the oppressed and their oppressors' (persandaran segala Islam dan segala Muslimin, yang mendirikan panji-panji arif adilnya atas segala orang teraniaya dan menganiaya)' (Winstedt 1991:51). Winstedt, who believed that the anonymous ruler was none other than the last Malacca sultan Mahmud, attributed the work to the times of the Malacca sultanate. He noted, however, that 'such terms [... ] were used of the Sultans of Aceh' (Winstedt 1991:51). The latter assertion seems more true, because the panegyric from Hikayat Berma Syahdan - which has so little in common with, for instance, the eulogy of sultan Alauddin, quite characteristic for the Malaccan Sejarah Melayu in style - is strongly reminiscent of the eulogy to Aceh ruler Iskandar Thani in the Bustan as-salatin (the 'Garden of sultans') by Nuruddin ar-Raniri (Iskandar 1966:44-5). However, it is unlikely that Iskandar Thani was eulogized in the preface to this hikayat. Even Nuruddin did not style him an ascetic in his extremely flattering panegyric. Rather, sultan Alauddin Riayat Syah Sayid al-Mukammil of Aceh (ruled in 1588-1604) could lay claim to this role. The author of the chronicle Hikayat Aceh (the 'Tale of Aceh') added to the stereotype description of the sultan that he 'constantly [ ... ] discussed [different problems] with those who were well-versed in the science of the Truth [ilmu hakikat, that is with the Sufi], (Iskandar 1958:100). At the same time, the author of the poem Ikat-ikatan 'ilm an-nisa (the 'Stanzas about the science of women'), which was 'brought to the feet' of Alauddin, in the panegyric also echoing the eulogy from Hikayat Berma Syahdan, pointed directly to his high position in the Sufi hierarchy: The Ruler of the World [here Sultan Alauddin] is a just king, A pole and a possessor of the fullness of excellence, A saint of Allah who has achieved [lofty] Union, A monarch-gnostic who has attained perfection.

Not only Ikat-ikatan 'ilm an-nisa but also Taj as-salatin, which was dedicated to sultan Alauddin too, bears witness to the fact that it was customary to present him with literary works. Is it against hikayat similar to Hikayat Berma Syahdan, which were likely to be accepted with gratitude by the Sultan, that the above-quoted invective from Taj as-salatin was directed? Perhaps, the most convincing arguments in favour of the popularity of both Sufi writings and synthetic hikayat in Aceh are found in Hikayat Aceh and in the historical section of Bustan as-salatino Both works resort constantly to descriptive cliches of such hikayat in their descriptions of ceremonies of

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the court, receptions and weddings, so that, when reading some their pages, one finds it difficult to get rid of the impression that what one reads is not a chronicle but, let us say, Hikayat Indraputra (compare in particular, Iskandar 1958:100-15, 1966:60-9 with Ali bin Ahmad 1968:84-9, 326-33). Besides, the founders of the Aceh dynasty bore hikayat-like names of Indra Syah and Nur Kamarain (The Light of Two Moons), while the dynastic myth related in Hikayat Aceh contains the motif of the hero who stole the magical 'flying jacket (baju), of a celestial nymph (bidadari) bathing in a pond and subsequently married her. Although this motif is widely spread in Malay written and oral romantic epics (for instance, in the same Hikayat Indraputra (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:43-72)) or in the folkloric Hikayat Malim Deman (Winstedt and Sturrock 1961:19-37), it is not at all characteristic for Malay historiography.26 Numerous toponyms and anthroponyms that occur in both historical works are even more convincing in this regard. For example, in Hikayat Aceh (see Index in its edition by Iskandar (1958:188-93)) there are mentioned: Teluk Isykidar (the 'Gulf of the Threshold of Love' or the 'Gulf of the Enamoured'27), the rivers Dar al-Isyki (the' Abode of Love') and Wadi as-Safa (the 'Riverbed of Purity'), the square in front of the palace (alun-alun) Medan Khayali (the 'Square of Imagination'28), the estuary Kuala Merdu Isyki (the 'Estuary of Amorous Harmony'), the fortress Kota Khalwat (the 'City of Seclusion') and some others. AI-Attas quite rightly interprets these toponyms as evidence of the popularity of 'Sufi doctrines and the Sufi way of life' in Aceh (AI-Attas 1970:17). At the same time, many of these place names look as if they were borrowed from fantastic adventure hikayat. The combination of both types of toponyms is particularly characteristic for the famous description of the park of the Acehnese sultan from Bustan as-salatin (Iskandar 1966:48-52). On the one hand, we find, in this park, some of the above-mentioned place names that evoke associations with Sufi terms: the River Abode of Love, the Estuary of Amorous Harmony, the Gulf of the Enamoured (which are, incidentally, reminiscent of Bahr al-Ishki - the Sea of Love from Hikayat Indraputra) and the Mosque of Contemplative Love (Masjid Isyki Musyahadah). On the other hand, a number of its toponyms occur in synthetic hikayat. The park itself, just as the garden of the peri Ratna Gemala Mehran in Hikayat Indraputra, is called the Park of Rapture (Taman Ghairah); a grass-plot in the park bears the name of the Field of Wonders (Medan Ajaib), thus reminding us of the Plain of Wonders (Padang Ajaib) where Indraputra overpowered magical guards of the peri's palace; the artificial mountain is called the Jewel Tower (Menara Permata, compare Gunung Permata - the Jewel Mount, a toponym in Aceh, Iskandar 1958:25), which is reminiscent of the Jewel Mount (Bukit Permata) in Hikayat Indraputra (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:65, 100). Many toponyms in the park include the name Indra accompanied by an

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epithet. For instance, the rock jutting out into the river is called the Cape of Noble Indra (Tanjung Indra Bangsa); the embankment is called the Coast of Benevolent (?) Indra (Pantai Indra Paksa); multicoloured sand (pasir pancawarna) around a pavilion bears the name of Gravel of Ingenious Indra (Kersik Indra Reka). This model is widely spread in fantastic adventure tales. Suffice it to say that it is used to build the name of the protagonist - Kingly Indra (Indra Nata, Indra Mengindra), Heavenly Indra (Indra Kayangan) and so on - in seventeen of the sixty above-mentioned hikayat. Similar names are borne by many courtiers in Hikayat Aceh and some of them have exact analogues in synthetic hikayat. These are: Indra Bangsa, or Noble Indra (compare Hikayat Indra Bangsawan - the 'Tale of Noble Indra'), Indra Jaya, or Victorious Indra (compare Hikayat Indra Jaya); Indra Dewi (compare Hikayat Indra Dewa). Thus, the park of the Sultan of Aceh turns out to be, at the same time, a quite traditional garden of Sufi allegories and a kind of garden of fantastic adventure tales. The data quoted above confirm the coexistence of both synthetic hikayat and Sufi writings in Aceh of the late sixteenth-early seventeenth century and point to the familiarity of the Aceh Sufi with this kind of narrative. However, it is not enough only to state this coexistence. There are many images and narrative motifs in Sufi writings by Hamzah Fansuri, Abd aI-Jamal and the anonymous author of Ikat-ikatan 'ilm an-nisa, which are widely spread in synthetic hikayat (for instance, the motifs of the beloved living on the top of a mountain and of the fight with rivals for the bride, the description of an underwater city surrounded by walls, and the motifs of a monstrous dragon and of the 'unspeakably beautiful' mountains conquered by the hero). At the same time, the Hikayat Syah Mardan, which has survived in quite a number of copies contains a lot of direct Sufi discourses (in particular, the exposition of the doctrine of martabat tujuh the' seven grades of Being'; this makes its appearance in the first half of the seventeenth century quite likely). The Sufi elements throw light also on the interpretation of the narrative parts of the hikayat. In fact, as we shall see, Hikayat Syah Mardan is a typical Sufi allegory with the standard set of symbols: birds are souls; the cage is a symbol of this world; demonic beings are enemies and assistants of the seeker of Truth. The allegory includes wanderings of the hero in the mountains, during which he obtains Sufi knowledge, and is crowned by his attainment of the Divine Throne and union with the Divine Beloved (for more details, see Chapter VIII). The influence of Sufism is observed in varying degrees in other synthetic hikayat too, and a little later, from the late seventeenth century, also in romantic and allegorical syair. Some of these prose and poetical works, like Hikayat Syah Mardan, could be real Sufi allegories (Hikayat Indraputra is another example, see Chapter VIII) or be partially typified as such allegories (Syair Burung Pungguk - the 'Poem of the Owlet', see Chapter VII); others could include

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individual Sufi motifs, symbols and instructions (Hikayat Isma Yatim, Syair Bidasari). It is noteworthy that even in such a poem as Syair Ken Tambuhan, the plot of which has virtually nothing to do with Islam, there are stanzas calling the reader to Sufi self-cognition (Teeuw 1966a:289-90). This probably not only shows how the poem (or at least some of its episodes) was reinterpreted by the author or the copyist of this particular version, but also reveals the frame of mind characteristic for the milieu in which it was read and copied.29 Thus, there are grounds to believe that Malay Sufi writings and synthetic hikayat, one of the most important genres of Malay literature in the classical period, not only emerged simultaneously and existed side by side, but also that they took shape in close interaction with each other, not infrequently in one and the same milieu. We can surmise, therefore, that both groups of literary works were brought to life by the same historico-cultural process. In the ideological sphere, this process consisted of reviewing the older Hindu-Buddhist concepts, transforming some of them and discarding others, and ultimately led to the victory of the 'soul of Islam' (AI-Ghazali's expression) - the Sufi doctrine. It was the latter that managed to bridge the gap between the old and the new tradition thanks to a basically Islamic synthesis. 3D In the sphere of literature, a similar evolution resulted in the interpenetration of motifs, which earlier had occurred separately in writings of different origin (Hindu-Javanese, Arabico-Persian) and the creation of the genres of synthetic hikayat and synthetic syair. Links that existed between Sufi literature and belles-lettres caused the penetration of fantastic adventure motifs into Sufi writings, and of Sufi motifs into fantastic adventure works, as well as to the creation of hikayat and syair, which were Sufi allegories. Just like Islam became the integrating factor in the sphere of ideology, the narrative style, the quasi-Islamic poetical form and structural principles of Muslim literature added unity and integrality to heterogeneous elements incorporated into synthetic tales and poems (for these elements in their poetics, see below). Evidently, links maintained by the Malay world with Muslim India Gujarat, the Deccan principalities of Bijapur and Golkonda, the empire of the Great Mughals - influenced this process to some extent. 31 Researchers more than once noted the effect produced on Malay Sufism by such Indian authors as Muhammad ibn Fadlillah of Burhanpur, Nuruddin of Ranir (Rander, a sea port in Gujarat) and others.32 A no less important role in the process of the formation of Malay synthetic hikayat was played by Deccan dastans (compare Winstedt 1991:50; Bausani 1979:44, 51-2, 69-70). It is noteworthy that a peculiar form of Hindu-Muslim synthesiS appeared in literature of the Deccan principalities which enjoyed a period of prosperity in the sixteenth-the seventeenth century. This synthesis manifested itself in the plots of literary works in which Hindu and Islamic motifs were fused and of which the pro-

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tagonists were both Hindu and Muslims. In these works Persian peris and dev (demons) interacted with Hindu rakshas and Indra, while their authors resorted to both original Indian and Arabico-Persian poetical forms combining them in one and the same piece. To this can be added that literature of this synthesis was characterized by an obvious Sufi colouring and predilection for allegorical Sufi mathnawi-poems in which, inter alia, the motifs of local popular fairy-tales were used. 33 Similar phenomena are also observed in literature created at the court of the Great Mughals (Aliev 1968:93-127). It is not ruled out that parallelism of Indian and Malay literary syntheses was more than just a coincidence and that experience of writers and poets of Muslim India of the sixteenth-the seventeenth century catalyzed, through direct literary contacts, the creation of synthetic hikayat by their Malay contemporaries. An analysis of this problem, that remains practically unexplored so far, could perhaps throw new light on the history of Malay literature in the classical period.

Romantic and allegorical syair Apart from fantastic adventure tales in prose, the sphere of beauty included romantic, or amorous, syair, no less rich in narrative motifs than hikayat, and allegorical syair which differed from the former mainly in the zoomorphic nature of their heroes, for instance Syair lkan Terubuk dan Puyu-puyu - the 'Poem of the Shad and the Climbing Perch', Syair Kumbang dan Melati - the 'Poem of the Bumblebee and the Jasmine', Syair Nuri -the 'Poem of the Parrot', Syair Burung Pungguk - the 'Poem of the Owlet', and others (Antologi 1980). The genre of romantic syair (over fifty of which are known34) comprised: -

Poetical paraphrases of fantastic adventure hikayat (Syair Indraputra, Syair Indra Bangsawan, Syair Si Miskin, and others) and wayang plays (Syair Damar Wulan, Syair Wayang Kinudang); Poems belonging to the cycle of Panji-tales (Syair Ken Tambuhan, Syair Panji Semirang, Syair Mesa Gumitar); Purely Muslim works in their content and place of action (Syair Siti Zawiyah, Syair Sultan Yahya, Syair Taj al-Muluk); Synthetic syair, very popular although not as numerous as synthetiC hikayat.

The most famous among the synthetic syair were Syair Bidasari and Syair Selindung Delima (each has survived in the greatest, for syair, number of copies - no less than twelve), and also Syair Yatim Nestapa. 35 United by common subject matter and narrative motifs (see Chapter VII), these poems form a kind of 'cluster' of most typical synthetiC syair, just as Hikayat Indraputra,

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Hikayat Berrna Syahdan, Hikayat Karis Mengindra and Hikayat Syah Kobad form a similar 'cluster' of typical synthetic hikayat. 36 All poems of the 'cluster' listed above are built around a conflict instigated by intrigues in the women's quarters of the palace, usually the victimization, by the hero's elder wives, of his youngest wife or his new beloved. In each story, the heroine suffers humiliation, cruel abuse or even death, but subsequently, in keeping with the rules of romantic epics, triumphs over her adversaries and is reunited with the hero. An expert and vivid description of the atmosphere prevailing in the women's quarters, or puri, the importance attached to the characters of women in the poems, the large number of poems being named after their heroines (which is uncharacteristic for the hikayat), and the writing of some of syair by woman authors - all this shows that, in the context of Malay love narratives, the romantic syair served as a feminine complement of sorts to the more 'masculine' hikayat. In spite of a number of specific features obvious even in such a brief description of the most popular synthetic poems, romantic syair are not infrequently regarded as rhymed analogues of fantastic adventure hikayat (see, for instance, Bausani 1979:47). For many poems this characterization is quite fair. And yet differences between the two genres - for all the far-reaching similarity between them and the fact that certain syair are merely versified versions of certain hikayat - are quite considerable. Therefore comparison of the two above 'clusters' of literary works is especially helpful in disclosing peculiarities of prose and poetic varieties of Malay romantic works. On the one hand, an analysis of the romantic syair shows a frequent blending of the themes of women37 and merchants, which renders this genre somewhat more democratic than the fantastic adventure hikayat in terms of content. In fact, the theme of women plays an important part only in a few prose narratives (for instance, Hikayat Jauhar Manikarn, Hikayat Tawaddud, Hikayat Darrna Ta'sia) composed at the end of the eighteenth and in the nineteenth century, when synthetic hikayat were gradually being replaced by works in which the Islamic spirit reigned supreme and of which the action frequently took place in the Middle East. The most vivid blending of both themes is found in the best example of the merchant syair, namely the Syair Silarnbari, or Syair Sinyor Kosta (see Chapter VII). On the other hand, syair and hikayat greatly differ in their poetics, both in principles of the arrangement of the narration and in artistic language. Poetics of hikayat and syair in the sphere of beauty As it has been mentioned more than once, the main function of fantastic adventure hikayat as well as romantic and allegorical syair was the 'consolation of souls', that is the restoration of the balance of affects (emotions) in the

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soul through the influence on them of the beauty inherent in works of these genres and characteristic of both their verbal and mental structures, or as the Malays put it - their sounding (bunyi) and content (isi). The beauty of the bunyi was first and foremost brought about by a specific rhythmic arrangement of the narration and, consequently, by the method of its recitation, which represented a kind of monotone (Sweeney 1980a:21). The rhythmic character of the recitation, not only of syair verses but also of hikayat prose, is described in many works of the classical period. A good example of such a description is found in Hikayat Hang Tuah: Then the king ordered [Hang Jebat] to recite a hikayat, because he was skillful in changing his voice [according to the character of different heroes acting in the tale] and his voice was extraordinarily beautiful [... ] And Hang Jebat began to recite the hikayat in a loud and melodious manner [... ], so that the king greatly enjoyed listening to his recitation. Hang Jebat's voice was sweet like a 'plaintive bamboo' [that is, Eolian harp] and he had such an amazing command of it that all the audience felt melancholy and sorrow, and the heart of every listener was overwhelmed with longing. (Kassim Ahmad 1968:291-2.)

No less characteristic is the following description of the recitation of hikayat in Hikayat Isma Yatim: The princess seated herself on a gold-plated throne, wrought with jewels, and, surrounded by children of rajas and viziers, by her maids, ladies of the palace, duennas and attendants, commenced reading aloud a hikayat. And all those living at the court hearkened to the hikayat with delight, because the way it sounded was unspeakably beautiful and because admonitions of the assembly of the wise were set forth in it. And the voice of the princess who read the hikayat sounded so melodious that no one who listened to it could hear enough of it. (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:153.)

Especially vivid is a story about hikayat recitation at a literary assembly (majlis pembacaan) from Hikayat anak pengajian, quoted above (see Chapter IV). The author finishes this story of the melodious reading by the reciter endowed with a beautiful voice with the description of the psychological state of the audience: It is not only the souls of women, of which the agitation takes hold then; the hearts of most men who are listening to the hikayat also begin to beat in time with the voice of the one who reads. [... ] Therefore, all these people become mad as it were.

(Hikayat anak pengajian:2.)

The fact that hikayat were intended for melodious recitation completely determined their narrative style (compare Sweeney 1980a:17-22). The text was divided into more or less uniform rhythmic segments, shorter than logically complete sentences, but longer than phrases. These rhythmic segments, not

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infrequently displaying a syntactic parallelism and read in a monotone with the reciter taking a new breath before each of them, were separated from one another by the conjunction maka 'and'. This conjunction was repeated at the beginning of each segment, as an initial rhyme or anaphora. The segments thus fulfilled functions similar to those of verse lines. However, since the segments were as a rule intonationally incomplete, the same conjunction united them again into an uninterrupted whole of a higher level, something like a stanza in poetry or - to be more exact - a 'strophoid', corresponding to a micro-episode of the narrative. Unity of intonation was mainly preserved within the framework of this micro-episode, whereas at the end, a final intonational cadence was observed. The beginning of the next strophoid was often marked by words and expressions such as tersebutlah perkataan 'the word is told', al-kisah 'the story goes', sebermula 'and so', hatta, syahdan 'then', arakian 'next', or conjunctions setelah sudah 'after' or ketika 'when' (compare Sweeney 1980a:17-22). Here is one example from the beginning of Hikayat Indraputra: (the rhythm-setting words, in particular dan 'and' - a substitute for maka, are italicized). Bahwa ini kisah ceritera hikayat Indraputra yang indah-indah perkataannya, yang masyhur pad a tanah manusia

dan pada tanah jin. [end of'strophoid'.]

This is the tale of Indraputra composed of the most beautiful words [about the one] who was very famous in the lands of humans, and in the lands of jinns.

Terlalu elok rupanya, syahdan kesaktiannya, dan terlalu pantas barang lakunya, dan sikapnya terlalu baik, dan rupanya terlalu amat manis seperti laut madu dan jejaknya sederhana, barang lakunya dan pekertinya terlalu baik. [end of'strophoid'.]

He was unspeakably handsome, and possessed enormous magic powers, and his every movement was graceful, and his build was beautiful, and his appearance charming, like a sea of honey, and his gait was elegant, his ways and disposition were excellent.

Sebermula pada zaman itu seorang pun tiada samanya, dan terlalu arif dan bijaksana dengan gagah dan perkasanya dan dengan beraninya dan beberapa pekerjaan yang tiada dapat dikerjakan orang.

And so, in that time no one was equal to him: he was very knowledgeable and wise, and mighty and courageous, and distinguished with bravery, and many deeds beyond human powers

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dapat dikerjakan oleh Indraputra. (Mulyadi 1983:49.)

Indraputra could perform [successfully].

This narrative composition - which is similar to Arab and Persian traditional popular prose in its main features - was not, of course, adhered to with absolute strictness, yet it was observed throughout the greater part of the text, resulting in its orderly and consequently verse-like structure. This enabled it to exert influence on the soul through the harmonious arrangement of the sound (bunyi). Needless to say, descriptive passages contained in syair with its much stricter rhythmical pattern made an even greater emotional impact. As Wilkinson once remarked, the rhythm of syair was intended to cause a kind of catharsis: 'he [a Malay] loves the rhythm of poetry for its own sake and finds in it a relief for his feelings, especially his sense of melancholy and longing' (Wilkinson 1907:42, compare Muhammad Haji Salleh 1991b). Was it for this reason that the Malays considered syair as an instrument of magic? For instance, Schnitger (1964:65-70) described a magic rite common among fishermen of Siak, which had included the recitation of Syair [kan Terubuk dan Puyu-puyu (the 'Poem of the Shad and the Climbing Perch') that was to make shoals of shads enter into their nets. 38 The effect of rhythm was enhanced by the use of the words, which do not occur in everyday speech. Some of them serve as rhyme words with general, not particularly exact meaning and add to the enjoyment of hearing the poem, while the others' seem to be used for their aural qualities, to enrich the flow of the poem sound' (Matheson 1983:24-5), which produced a captivating effect and added to the quality of the performance and the atmosphere of the narrative. A similar function was performed by a monotone recitation of the syair or its singing to a special melody which enhanced the verbal message. For instance, in the Sumatran style of chanting 'the end of each syair line coincides with long, held notes. One effect of this would be to allow time for the audience to absorb the content of each line, before beginning the next informational segment'. 39 The beauty of the content of hikayat and syair - the 'soothers of souls' - was due less to the inclusion of 'admonitions of the assembly of the wise', which was more usual for genres belonging to the sphere of benefit, than to their being particularly rich in descriptions. This was long ago noted by the British scholar Wilkinson, who wrote: A Malay defines literary composition to be a 'stringing together' (karangan) of beautiful words and sayings; he describes a story as a necklace of pearls or a crown of diamonds or a garland of flowers or an ordered garden full of ponds and parterres. He does not consider the parts of a story to be mere accessories to the story as a whole; they are the pearls, while the narrative is the necessary thread.

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[... ] He [the traditional Malay writer or narrator] only promises his hearers that he will soothe their troubles and drive away their cares. To bring about this end he uses his narrative rather than his plot. Beginnin~ perhaps, by thrilling his listeners with the account of some Homeric combat, he suddenly turns aside to describe the beauty of a bride, the gorgeous dress of a hero, the wit of a pair of lovers, the skill of a wizard or the gallant bearing of a knight. [... ] The plot is merely the thread stringing together the 'pearls' of details. (Wilkinson 1907:12-3.)

Descriptions capable of evoking emotions played an important part in syair too. According to Matheson (1983:24): It was expected that the audience would share the emotions described in the

syair to actively experience the mood of the poem. One informant [mentioned in Overbeck 1934:111] described the emotions he felt as more moving than the actual narrative. He claimed that syair were heard not so much for the story, 'as for the delight one experiences from witty dialogue and in finding one's own feelings, passion or self-pity well-expressed.'

Matheson also quotes the following stanza from Syair Ken Tambuhan (the 'Poem of Ken Tambuhan', Teeuw 1966b:225): [The poem of] Ken Tambuhan is finished, Those who listened to it are full of compassion and sympathy [to the heroine], [As well as] of sorrow mixed with sadness, And tears are running [from their eyes]-

which shows that, after enjoying the poem with its vivid description of the heroine's trials and tribulations, the listeners were overwhelmed with emotion and moved to tears. Understandably, descriptiye elements tend to dominate over elements of plot in works designed to exert an affective, emotional influence - to supplant an excessive feeling with its opposite, or to tum the mind to the literary work in order to sublimate passion (see Chapter IV). Elaborate and detailed descriptions of either beautiful things or thrilling wars were considered to be particularly effective emotionally. Hence such descriptions were pre-eminently suited to instil feelings of love, anger, and so on, into the soul through a certain 'effect of presence'. Moreover, from the repeated, homogeneous descriptions of various manifestations of an emotion that were strung together in Malay hikayat and syair, the emotion itself was, so to speak, 'extracted' 'in its pure form'. It was this emotion 'in its pure form' that was projected or introduced by the writer into the soul of the reader or listener in order, eventually, to hold complete sway over it. Thus, the initial emotion, that had brought about suffering, could be balanced or even replaced by a powerful new emotion, which led to the 'recovery', or rather harmonization, of the depressed soul.

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The intensity of the influence of the beautiful object depends on its capacity to influence several senses simultaneously. This is why Malay authors, when describing a beautiful object, try to represent all its visual, audible and olfactory aspects, in order to create a kind of synaesthetic complex, which, according to traditional psychology, is synthesized into a holistic image by the sensus communis. To give an example including all the three aspects (the words that point to them are italicized): Perching on that flower was a bird, which was extraordinarily beautiful and under the tree was a wonderful bird, which sang most beautifully. Yet another bird, of most miraculous appearance, sang like a bamboo flute, sitting on a carpet. This bird perched on the rim of a large bowl and sprinkled Indraputra with most fragrant spikenard. And Indraputra marvelled at the sight of all those beautiful wonders. He began to contemplate these marvels and fell asleep listening with love to all these sounds. (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:70.)

The suggestive effect of descriptions is further enhanced due to the fact that they influence the soul not only directly but also indirectly, through intellect, as in the case when tamsil is resorted to. As for the plot, being affectively more neutral and often well known to the reader, it mostly served as a means of holding the attention and sometimes of arranging the description of events and objects into a coherent whole. As we shall see, its role was greater in syair and lesser in hikayat. For instance, in such popular and artistically perfect synthetic tales as the Hikayat Indraputra and Hikayat Indra Mengindra, descriptions occupy the greater part of the narrational space, whereas elements of plot, being considerably reduced, serve mainly as connectors. As has been already mentioned, it was the principle of 'paratactic' ornamental composition, rather than that of dynamically developing plot, that underpinned the structure in many hikayat and in some syair of the sphere of beauty. This ornamental compositional structure, adopted from the aesthetics of Islamic literatures, is used to arrange the episodes saturated with descriptions. In accordance with the task of soothing the soul, this compositional structure is designed to present the descriptions in the best possible way and to contribute to the generally harmonious and balanced structure of the work, thus additionally enhancing its harmonizing effect. Among the basic compositional elements in typical hikayat are the standard 'amorous-martial' episodes, in which the hero meets a beautiful princess, finds his way to her palace, and, having won her favours, compels her to engage in amorous disportments. When the father of the princess or her fiance finds out what is happening, he orders his troops to seize the 'robber'; but assisted by allies or magic forces such as jinns, indra or peris, whom he summons with the help of a talisman, the hero overcomes his opponents and

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marries the princess. These basic episodes - each of them including all the obligatory elements of the' amorous-martial complex' and perfectly fulfilling the task of soothing the soul thanks to a pronounced domination of description over action - are inserted into the composition, which is markedly symmetrical. The symmetry of the composition is due to the similarity between the beginning and the end of the narration (the final situation turns out to be the restoration of the initial one, but in an elevated way, so to speak) and to the central episode, which is specially emphasized and usually deals with the main event in the hero's life. The markedness of these three points of a narrative creates only a minimum of compositional symmetry of synthetic hikayat. In its framework, separate' amorous-martial complexes' connected by endless wanderings of the hero usually also turn out to be balanced with the help of various devices (compare Bausani 1979). This creates the complicated composition of a hikayat as a whole, whose structure resembles a kind of ornamental latticework (see the analysis of Hikayat Indraputra in Chapter VI). Thus the poetics of the genres in the sphere of beauty can be defined as the poetics of emotionally active descriptions well balanced within a framework of ornamental, often symmetrical composition. The tendency towards cultivating the ornamental principle is demonstrated not only by the structure, but also by the style of synthetic hikayat, which' employ a court and literary diction that was not yet strictly observed in Malacca's heyday' (Winstedt 1991:56). This refers, first of all, to the abovementioned descriptive passages which became generally much more numerous and elaborate than their counterparts in works of the early Islamic period. However, this ornamentality is not achieved by a baroque cumulation of synonymous metaphors aI}d an infusion into the narrative of tropes and other stylistic figures, as it is, for instance, in Urdu dastan (Dekhtyar 1979:29). Aimed at revealing the common 'precious' essence of all things, the description of objects in synthetic hikayat is somewhat abstract and functional, and sometimes lacking in sensory concreteness. These somewhat insubstantial objects blend into a decorative backdrop, in front of which equally decorative heroes move. It seems likely that the ornamental composition, the ornamental style, and the above-mentioned changes in the image of the hero of the synthetic hikayat and in its 'model of the world' are none other than those specific features through which the deepening Islamization of Malay literature manifested itself in this literary genre. The compositional principle plays an important part in both the fantastic adventure hikayat and the romantic syair. Nevertheless, in the syair it is the plot, usually not very complex, which binds the narrative together. Moreover, the syair are much more lyrical and psychological than the hikayat.

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In particular, lyrical monologues of the protagonists, both 'interior' and actually uttered, which occur quite rarely in hikayat, occupy a considerable place in syair. Both features are especially salient in the Syair Bidasari (see Chapter VII). Some differences between the poetics of syair and hikayat can also be observed in the linguistic sphere, mainly in vocabulary. Along with a limited number of specifically poetical nouns and pronouns, a considerable number of adjectives, both simple and composite, which are virtually not used in prose works, are found in syair, for instance: pokta 'excellent, matchless'; bena 'worthy of attention, charming'; ghana 'powerful'; syahda 'beautiful, exalted'; angkara 'brutal, violent'; bahari 'fresh, young (a complimentary term)" and also bijak-bestari 'sensible and accomplished'; muda-jauhari 'young and brilliant'; usul-bestari 'noble and accomplished'. Evidently, their wide use in poetry, mainly at the end of lines (adjectives follow nouns in Malay), is connected with a rather limited number of easy rhyming words in syair, 42 which turned these adjectives into' stable' epithets. Certain peculiarities are also inherent in Malay poetic syntax which is characterized by the absence of rhythm-setting words (maka, hatta, syahdan, adapun, and the like), unnecessary in poetry, and by the tendency towards the omission of auxiliary words, which produces the impression of a greater transparency, lightness and spaciousness in the language of poetry, if compared with prose, even with that kind which was not affected by the Arabicized style of kitab. Although syair emerged and developed under an obvious Arabic-Persian, particularly, Persian, influence, the style of all the varieties of this geme is sharply different from that of Persian poetry. The style of Persian verse41 remained no fewer alien to Malay written poetry than the metrics of 'arud and Arabico-Persian poetic gemes (qasidah, ghazal, mathnawi, and others). This style generally revealed a tendency towards the non-representational kinds of tropes, an overabundance of metaphors, and 'learnedness'. It was characterized by a sophisticated architectonics of individual bayt, which usually displayed an intricate though strictly built construction, and saturation with rhetorical figures. It showed a predilection for the play on words aimed at revealing all the diversity of shades and hues of their meanings, as well as their conceptual and phonetic associations. It appears that all these features of Persian poetry, perhaps with the exception of the last, did not meet either the taste of Malay literati or the level of their knowledge of Arabico-Persian poetics. Even the simplest of Persian poetic styles, the Khurasan style, must have been perceived by Malay men of letters as exceedingly refined and artificial. The same is true of the immunity of Malay poetry to the style of Sanskrit kavya (and its Javanese counterpart, kakawin), although some images and symbols of both Sanskrit and Arabico-Persian origin are sometimes found in it.42 C

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The beauty of a well-composed syair, in which all elements of the style serve the task of a clear and smooth exposition of events (compare Raja Iskandar 1966:11-2) manifests itself in a plasticity of descriptions, precise in details and psychological motivations; in opportune use of descriptive epithets and comparisons, not so abundant that they would affect the harmony of a narrative; finally, in rich and subtle use of alliterations and assonances in a verse. Although, on the whole, the style of syair is doubtless literary and refined to a degree, it not infrequently displays a number of folkloric features. Therefore, possibly, its generalized characteristic given by De Hollander more than a century ago is not yet totally obsolete, although - in the spirit of Romantic ideas of literature common in his time - he undoubtedly overestimated the simplicity and naivete of Malay poems: Found in them [in syair], are exquisite descriptions, precisely chosen comparisons, a childish naIvete, a simple and heroic portrayal of events and situations, a natural expression of worries and emotional troubles, which cannot fail to please and carry away the reader, if he is able to ignore certain imperfections of the form. It is absolutely essential for everyone who will read Malay poems [ ... ] to be able to plunge completely into the spirit of the Malays and first of all to refrain from examining and assessing each word and even each completed sentence separately, but to embrace the entire description of an event, all the details of a picture, with one look and appreciate it as a whole. (De Hollander 1893:307.)

The sphere of benefit The literature of edifying mirrors Although oriented primarily to the beauty of the word and the image of a courtly hero, fantastic adventure narratives absorbed all kinds of edifying material with amazing ease. Besides, some of them were Sufi allegories or contained elements of such allegories. Thus they could affect the intellect and sometimes even the spiritual heart. However, it is the edifying literature of hidayat, here to be called 'mirrors' (compare German: fuhrstenspiegel, Arabic: mir'at) and historical literature of sejarah and salasilah that were specially oriented to the plane of the intellect. According to Muslim tradition, a human being is endowed with intellect from birth; however, initially this intellect resembles a shapeless mass of wax. Knowledge, which leaves its imprint on wax, can mould the individual into a social being, possessing a refined culture of emotions, thoughts and behaviour (adab), or into a personality aspiring to systematic scientific comprehension ('ilm) of different aspects of the Universe, and, above all, to studying theological disciplines. 43 The first of these aims was to be fulfilled

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by studying the edifying literature of mirrors. In Malay as well as in all other Muslim cultures, this kind of literature included: -

-

Mirrors proper, such as textbooks on ethics, worldly wisdom and statecraft (Taj as-salatin, Bustan as-salatin); Brief instructions for sovereigns, usually in prose (for instance, Hikayat sultan Moghul mengajarkan anaknya - the 'Tale of a Mughal sultan instructing his son', Tol and Witkam 1993a), rarely in verse form; Didactic framed tales (Kalilah dan Daminah, Hikayat Bakhtiar, Hikayat Bayan Budiman44 ); Large and small anthologies of an instructive nature (Hikayat bunga rampai - the 'Tale (composed) of various flowers' (Van Ronkell921a:21-2), Bab alakal kepada segala orang yang besar-besar - the 'Gate of intellect for grandees' (Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:141)); Poems touching ethical questions only in passing, when discussing religious issues (sometimes in the form of allegories) and belonging primarily to.the sphere of spiritual perfection.

This literature, designed to regulate the behaviour of a Malay Muslim properly, originated mainly from Arabic, Persian and Indo-Persian sources, which, however, represented a common fund of Muslim lore rather than specimens of particular national literatures. Muslim didactic works were not anything altogether new in Malay literature. Just as its appropriation of Hindu-Javanese epics was largely prepared by local epic forms, the appropriation of Muslim didactic writings was facilitated by folk-tales about the ingenious mouse-deer (pelanduk), unlucky fools like Father Pea's-Cod (Pak Kadok), Father Folly (Pak Pandir),45 Luckless Parson (Lebai Malang) and crafty ones like Pak Belalang (Father Grasshopper), Si Lunchai (Big-Belly) and others (Cherita jenaka 1965). Sometimes directly and sometimes ab adversum, by means of the 'humorous inversion' of established norms of behaviour, these stories all the more emphatically affirmed the truth of the norms and moral values they seemed to reject and the dignity of the intellect overcoming all obstacles. 46 It is not fortuitous therefore that the tales about the mouse-deer - alongside inserted stories from Hikayat Bayan Budiman - not only became part of, for instance, Bab al-akal kepada segala orang yang besar-besar, but even formed an individual piece of written literature, Hikayat Pelanduk Jenaka - the 'Tale of the Resourceful Mouse-deer' (Klinkert 1893; Proudfoot 1984). This work begins with a statement by the pelanduk about his enormous magic power; afterwards, thanks to his ruse, he subjects to himself the lion, elephant and bear, wins the upper hand over the crocodile, puts down a

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mutiny of monkeys, and finally becomes the ruler of the jungle, mounting his throne - an ant-hill. A parody, in the general opinion, this hikayat was a parody in the medieval sense of the word, that is didactic 'from the contrary', because it always presented the picture of the duly ordered world, although turned upside down, through the portrayal of a kingdom of animals bearing absurd titles and ruled by a mouse-deer which has overpowered them by his cunning. It is also noteworthy that a considerable part of the literature of mirrors was made up of Muslim works derived from Indian sources. Hikayat Bayan Budiman is eventually based on the Sanskrit work Shukasaptati (the 'Seventy stories of the Parrot'); Kalilah dan Daminah can be traced back - through a Persian intermediary - to Paficatantra; it is supposed that Hikayat Bakhtiar also had a Sanskrit prototype (Brakel 1970:10). Judging by some traces left in Malay literature and folklore, Sanskrit versions of these works could have been known to the Malays - at least to some extent - as early as the HinduBuddhist period of their history (Winstedt 1991:7-9, 35-6; see also Chapter I).

Poetics of framed hikayat and edifying mirrors In fantastic adventure hikayat the accounts of the hero's wanderings are episodic, so the distance between these and the self-sufficient stories, or novellas, which are the main narrative units of the literature of mirrors is relatively short. However, the function of such novellas in mirrors and framed tales is different from portraying one more captivating adventure of the hero. They are intended to embody or personify a certain idea in plastic images and mould the intellect with its help. While in fantastic adventure hikayat beauty could additionally influence tl)e soul via the intellect, thanks to the 'indirect expression' (tamsil), in the literature of mirrors beauty made an idea not only 'useful for the intellect', but also pleasant for the soul and thus helped it to embrace the entire essence of a human being. In the Malay literary self-awareness, a novella embodying a dramatized idea - an analogue of a parable in fact - was called ibarat and represented the most elaborated form of tamsil. The didactic potential of ibarat, caused by the fact that the personified idea affected the reader more deeply than the idea expressed as an abstract formula, was also well known in the Malay tradition. For instance, the author of the edifying Syair burung (the 'Poem of birds') explained the reason for which he had composed it in the following way (Antologi 1980:111). Young men are interested only in amusements and do not want to study learned treatises (kitab), as they find them boring; as a result, they remain ignorant of their religious obligations. That is why I composed for them this entertaining and jocular syair, which contains ibarat and, thus, will bring them the knowledge, which they need so much, in the

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attractive form of their favourite 'false stories' (about the condemnation of 'false stories' in literature, see above). Only by including ibarat (or by being interpreted as such), could a piece of literature lay claim to a high position in the literary hierarchy. It is not fortuitous, therefore, that, while attempting to justify his composition of hikayat based on a plot from wayang performances, Safirin bin Usman Fadli - a writer, religious teacher and Sufi of the second half of the nineteenth century - called himself a daZang 'who transforms false stories into ibarat' (Hikayat Maharaja Ganda Purwa Kesuma:289; see also V. Braginsky 2002b:46-7). The structure of works in the literature of mirrors is also determined by the aims of adab. Compositional forms conducive to the best possible presentation of a story or a series of ideologically homogeneous stories, personifications of ideas, were preferred; the framed tales in particular suited the purposes of the literature of mirrors. Even in those fantastic advellture hikayat where the narrative and didactic principles were artfully balanced (for instance, in Hikayat Isma Yatim), the very dynamics of the path of a hero obviously ready for new adventures and providing opportunities for more, 'unspeakably beautiful' descriptions necessarily distracted the reader's attention from the admonitions contained in the work. In fact such admonitions, instead of being illustrated, were often interfered with by the development of the plot, their didactic value being overshadowed by their ability to create a tension that enhanced suspense for the reader. The matter was quite different with framed tales, which, similarly to the ,Arabian nights', consisted of two structural components: a framing story and a number of edifying stories inserted in the framing story. The framing story, normally quite simple and conventional, was interrupted only once, at the culmination point. Its denouement was directly influenced by the inserted stories, which were included in the work partly to prolong the narration, partly to add content. At the completion of each inserted story, the reader returned to the same point in the framing story, thus checking the flow of time within the hikayat. Everything came to a standstill, bringing about a concentrated, uninterrupted silence, a kind of 'silence in the classroom', when only the figures of the narrator and the listener were spotlighted. In this way the conditions were created for complete concentration on the edifying stories inserted in the frame (compare Grintser 1963:213-4). The relationship between the framing story and inserted stories in Malay framed hikayat varies greatly. On the one hand, there are works in which this relationship is profoundly organic, owing to similarities in plot and to associations between the framing story and the inserted stories, each of the latter revealing a certain facet of the ideological message in the hikayat, as is the case, for example, in a short recension of Hikayat Bakhtiar (see Chapter

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VI). On the other hand, there are works in which the relationship between the two components is minimal, the frame story having been transformed simply into a means of ordering and conveying heterogeneous didactic materials; an example is the long recension of Hikayat Bakhtiar (see Chapter VI). Edifying hikayat of the latter type are close to the mirrors proper. The integral structure of mirrors is based on a compositional and conceptual principle, which, although not completely shapeless, is significantly less explicit than the structure of the framed hikayat. Thus, the integrative principle of the theologico-ethical mirror, Taj as-salatin, draws on a crucial ontologically based concept of justice, which has both cosmic and social aspects. This concept defines the work's compositional development as a successive 'broadening', moving from the integral and general to the multiple and individual, and serves as a focal point around which a great number of diverse subjects revolve (see Chapter VI; for more details, see V. Braginsky 2000:196-201). The historico-theological mirror, Bustan as-salatin, which follows the models of both Persian universal histories and Persian mirrors for rulers, is based, as an integral work, on the principle of' gradual deepening'. The work begins with the story of the creation of the world and man, which is continued by a universal history of mankind from Adam to the time of the work's composition (Books 1-2). Then, there follows the section about just and unjust rulers and their subjects, true to their duty or otherwise (Books 3-6), that is a description of social mechanism which determines this or that kind of development of the events described in the historical section. Finally, the intellect and knowledge are discussed, as these determine the behaviour of both rulers and subjects, and thus represent the epistemological mechanism and - on the human level - the deepest cause of historical developments. Both historical and epistemological mechanisms are set in motion and controlled by Divine Providence (takdir Allah). Consequently, the doctrine of the Divine Plan in history (from Creation to Doomsday) represents a theological background of Bustan as-salatin (compare Jelani Harun 1996a:44-8). However, the conceptual-compositional unity of the work is underpinned not only by the principle of gradual deepening and the theological basis, but also by numerous cross-references connecting chapters, pasal, of these three sections with each other (particularly with the historical pasal of the work which is its 'stem' of sorts). The composition of Bustan as-salatin is also 'bound' by some themes running through it. For example, the theme of women which begins with the creation of Eve (Haw a), then runs, like a dotted line, through many chapters of the work, and reaches its culmination in a special chapter of Book 7 (Jelani Harun 1996b:37; on this mirror, see Chapter VI). Thus, both framed tales and edifying mirrors (hidayat) were based on the poetics of intellectually active composition, which created conditions for focusing attention on the elementary unit of works of these genres, namely a short

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didactic story in which a certain idea was dramatized, or, more correctly, embodied in the characters and actions of personages.

Malay historiography and its evolution Whereas the literature of mirrors included mainly borrowed works, the second group of compositions belonging to the sphere of benefit, historiography, was perhaps the most original part of traditional Malay literature. The number of chronicles and historical syair of the classical period - which, unlike the chronicles, usually described not a sequence of connected events but one isolated event, more often than not a war - was very great. Historical works of various kinds were created not only in such major centres of Malay statehood and culture as Aceh or Johar, but in practically all principalities and sultanates of the Malay world (in Sumatra, the Malay Peninsula, Kalimantan, and others) and, given the mediating function of the Malay language, of the entire Archipelago (for instance in Makassar or Sumbawa). When surveying an extremely intricate and heterogeneous complex of Malay historiography of the mid-sixteenth-the nineteenth century, one should note first of all that many features specific for chronicles of the preceding period (Hikayat raja Pasai and Sejarah Melayu) were also inherent in it. One such feature is the chronicler's orientation to the edifying meaning of events rather than to their true-to-fact description. On the one hand, this meaning is presented to the reader through the portrayal of strictly selected, 'typical' episodes, which are essentially symbolic. This selection of episodes is aimed at demonstrating how the principles of the world order, now interpreted as established by Allah for all eternity, operate in history and what the consequences of violation of the world harmony are. On the other hand, the edifying meaning of historical works manifested itself in the glorification of rulers of the past and the present as 'axial' figures, destined by the Most High to be supporters of the cosmic and social order. It is the performance of these tasks that allow us to class historical writings as belonging to the sphere of benefit as are evidenced, in particular, by the prefaces to Sejarah Melayu (Situmorang and Teeuw 1958:2), Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa (Siti Hawa Haji Salleh 1991:1), and some other works. As in the early Islamic epoch, the contents of historiographical writings of the classical period usually consisted of the mythological and the historical part, while the basis of their compositional structure was a combination of genealogical and narrative elements. This rather flexible compositional device allowed Malay writers to create - along with works of Sejarah Melayu and Hikayat raja Pasai type, describing the history of the state ruled by a succession of kings - a peculiar type of 'panegyric historiography' in which the attention of a chronicler was focused on the glorification of the actions of one

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king, while the stories of the reigns of his predecessors were considerably reduced (as in Hikayat Aceh) or even limited to a genealogy proper. Finally, as before, the purpose of the chronicler was not only to reproduce the external aspect of historical reality - albeit transformed by the above selective approach and biases of the author as the mouthpiece of the interests of a certain dynasty - but also to create a kind of internal 'world in words' (Teeuw 1976:12) - a work of literature, of which the form and content had value of their own. Not infrequently historical writings are characterized by a well-balanced composition, in the framework of which every episode manifests its hidden meaning, as well as by a fairly elaborate literary style and vivid portrayal of events. All this turns traditional Malay historiography into absorbing reading. Beauty, although never mentioned in prefaces to chronicles, was more often than not manifested in skilfully written novellas of which their narrative sections were made up and in which, unlike the literature of mirrors, the didactic function was fulfilled by Malay history itself. Besides, beauty was not uncommon in descriptions of chronicles and historical syair, which were sometimes no less picturesque than those of fantastic adventure hikayat. It also deserves mentioning that models of literary works, be it Hikayat Seri Rama, tales about Panji, Hikayat Iskandar Zulkarnain or mirrors for rulers and framed tales (see, for instance, Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa), were frequently used in Malay chronicles for structuring historical and pseudo-historical material in narrative sections. Therefore, Teeuw had every ground to define Indonesian and, particularly, Malay historiography as historical literature and, consequently, to issue a call to study it not only with historical methods but also with methods of literary criticism (Teeuw 1976:22-3). Alongside the features typical of Malay historiography of the early Islamic period, some regular quantitative and qualitative changes can be found in many chronicles of the classical period, which were predetermined by further Islamization of Malay literature and the emergence of literary synthesis. The richness of Malay historical literature and the preservation of diverse variants of the above generalized model (see Chapter III) in individual historical writings - from the extremely archaic Salasilah Kutai (the 'Kutai Genealogy') to works of the late Riau-Johor historiography, which show obvious similarities to Muslim annals - allow us to form an idea of the evolution of the historical genre in Malay literature. A study of the entire complex of characteristics inherent in chronicles: the proportion and the role of mythological and historical components in various writings and groups of writings; peculiarities of the interrelation of genealogical and narrative elements in chronicles; the degree of isolation of individual novellas or, conversely, of their integration within the framework of the continuous narrative, the degree of Islamization - all this could pro-

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vide a basis for a classification of chronicles and the subsequent study of their evolution. However, this is a task for the future. Thus far it is possible to try to give only a cursory and, of necessity, tentative survey of this evolution. The Malay myth of the origin of a dynasty as a result of marriage of three cosmic elements has been preserved in Salasilah Kutai - the 'Kutai Geneology' (Mees 1935; W. Kern 1956) and Hikayat Banjar - the 'Tale of Banjar' (Cense 1928; Ras 1968), the chronicles composed in southeast Kalimantan, the periphery of the Malay world which underwent a strong Javanese influence. Evidently, both these factors, along with ritual functions of Salasilah Kutai and at least of one version of Hikayat Banjar, promoted conservation of the most ancient elements in these chronicles. Therefore, these works reveal salient features of the first stage of the evolution of traditional Malay historiography. The best exposition of the Malay dynastic myth can be found in Salasilah Kutai (see Chapter VI). In Hikayat Banjar the first signs of its decay are observed (Ras 1968:96-7). This work describing a succession of rulers and displaying a rather high degree of integration of novellas has survived in two recensions. As was demonstrated by Ras, one of these, the wayang recension (it was performed in a specifically Banjarese wayang Abd al-Muluk) is almost completely devoted to the mythical and legendary history of the Banjarese dynasty, stands out for its elaborate descriptive style and literary qualities, and is concluded with the episode of the conversion of Banjar to Islam. The other one, the kraton recension (the greater part of which was created in the sixteenth century), contains a corrupted and reduced variant of the dynastic myth; it is much more saturated with historical or pseudo-historical material and also describes a number of events, which followed the Islamization of the state. Moreover, its style is more succinct and it interprets Hindu episodes of the wayang recension in a more Islamic spirit. Ras believes that the prototype of the wayang recension was created in the Hindu kraton of Nagara Daha, the old capital of Banjar, and that it was 'preserved as a sort of relic in the somewhat anti-Muslim atmosphere of the wayang theatre', while the prototype of the kraton version emerged as a result of a revision of the wayang recension and its adjustment to the requirements of Banjarmasin, 'the new (now definitely) Muslim kraton' (Ras 1968:75). The second stage of the evolution of Malay historiography is represented by Sejarah Melayu and Hikayat raja Pasai, which have been already discussed above (see Chapter III). Although they were created earlier than Hikayat Banjar, the decay of the original myth progressed in them much further than even in the kraton version of the latter and, consequently, its share in the chronicle is considerably smaller. Nevertheless, both these chronicles, like Hikayat Banjar, are essentially synthetic; they tell of a dynasty rather than of an individual ruler, display both more isolated and more integrated types of interrelation between narrative units (novellas), and do not yet contain

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dates. It is only in Winstedt's recension of Sejarah Melayu (circa 1535) that the duration of reign periods is mentioned. However, even this historical feature disappears in the recension of Tun Seri Lanang (1612), in which, in addition, more space is allowed for the mythological part. Therefore, Johor historiography begins with a step back in both these respects, if compared with Malacca historiography.47 The so-called 'Siak chronicle', or Hikayat Siak (Hashim 1992b), and Hikayat Patani (the 'Tale of Patani', Teeuw and Wyatt 1970) represent approximately the same stage of evolution. The first part of Hikayat Siak contains one of the recensions of Sejarah MeZayu (Roolvink 1967:309), while its second part is devoted mainly to events in Johor and Siak (eastern Sumatra) in the eighteenth century, but 'goes up well into the nineteenth century' (Andaya 1978: 17). Hikayat Patani, the chronicle of the sultanate of Patani in the northern part of the Malay Peninsula, was composed between the late seventeenth and the early eighteenth century. It consists of several sections, heterogeneous in content and written at various times, and opens not with the dynastic myth of origin, but with a legend relating the foundation of Patani and explaining the meaning of this toponym. The myth of origin, narrated in a usual distorted form (a prince born of a hollow bamboo stem marries a 'foam-born' princess (Teeuw and Wyatt 1970:127-8), occupies only a few lines concluding the main part of the chronicle. The narration of events, although relatively reliable, is devoid of dates and even of indications of the duration of the Patani sultans' reign periods, while the narrative part is made up of separate, loosely knit novellas akin to khabar-stories, which often are not inferior to the ones known from Sejarah Melayu (which could have served as a model for its author) in their refinement and psychological depth (see Chapter VI). Considerable changes, marking the third stage of the evolution of Malay historiography, are observed in Hikayat Aceh (Iskandar 1958). Composed between 1607 and 1636 if not later (see note 50), this chronicle represents the first and the most characteristic example of panegyric chronicles and is focused on the life story of one ruler, the sultan of Aceh, Iskandar Muda. Hikayat Aceh begins with the seemingly usual myth of origin: two brothers, descendants of Iskandar Zulkarnain, marry, respectively, a celestial nymph and a princess from the bamboo stem (in the chronicle this marriage is explicitly likened to the marriage of Dasarata, Seri Rama's father, and Mandudari). Then their son and daughter also marry and give birth to a son, thus laying a foundation for the dynasty of Acehnese rulers. However, this 'introduction' seems usual only at first glance. Firstly, motifs that are traceable to the primeval myth of origin are confused in it, made partly meaningless and complemented with a story of a celestial nymph (baludari = bidadari) and the stealing of her magical attire, which is not found in other Malay chronicles. Secondly, marriage with the princess

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from the bamboo stem is motivated by the statement that 'if Allah wishes to display His Mercy to a prince, [He gives him] a celestial nymph from a hollow bamboo, who is a descendant of Mahabisnu (Sanskrit Vishnu)' (Iskandar 1958:72). No matter how strange this sentence might seem, it is a variant of the Muslim formula, which in the chronicle accompanies descriptions of each reign and, in the final analysis, represents a paraphrase of a hadith quoted in Taj as-salatin. 48 Besides, the prince who marries the celestial nymph persuades her to put up with her fate to become his wife, for their marriage was predetermined (ditakdirkan) by Allah from pre-eternity (azal) - an obvious Sufi motif found, in particular, in Ibn al-Arabi's doctrine of Immutable Essences (ayan sabitah). Thus, the corrupted myth of origin - deprived of its original semantics, occupying an insignificant part of the text, and designed primarily to ensure the link between the Hindu and Muslim epochs - absorbs Middle Eastern motifs and receives conclusive Islamic interpretation. The mythical section is followed by the genealogy of Acehnese rulers, predecessors of Iskandar Muda, which includes a more or less brief exposition of events, which took place during the reign of each of them. Each reign period is described according to a standard scheme. The narration begins with the somewhat transformed formula mentioned above, which usually reads as follows: 'When Allah, Glorious and Most High, wishes to reveal His power and greatness to inhabitants of the world, he makes one of his chosen slaves the ruler of a certain country' (Iskandar 1958:79). Then follows the description of events and an assessment of the moral qualities of every ruler. Not going into a detailed analysis of this part of the chronicle which contains, naturally, different stories of different rulers, we shall only note that the cause of every event in it is invariably the will of Allah and it contains rather negative assessments of some rulers. Moreover, in this part one not infrequently encounters stories about the murder of cruel and unjust sultans on the decision of courtiers (for instance, the murder of Sultan Zain al-Abidin during a Sufi zikir), which are absolutely atypical for the preceding historical tradition. It is noteworthy that no such murders entail pUnishment by the Most High; it is thus implied that they are accepted by Him. Finally, each section of this genealogical part is concluded by the date of the death of each sultan (which is at the same time the date of the enthronement of his successor), the indication of the duration of his reign and the concluding formula: ,And Allah, Glorious and Most High, is Omniscient and [He] is the best narrator of every story' (Iskandar 1958:85). Thus, Hikayat Aceh is the first Malay chronicle containing dates. Narratives of its genealogical part, in spite of their similarity to stories from Hikayat raja Pasai and Sejarah Melayu, are notable for their standard structure, which both meets the requirements of Muslim historiography more strictly than

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the above-mentioned works and is permeated with the Muslim ethos to a greater degree. However, the mythical and genealogical sections are only a prelude to the main part of the chronicle, a glorification of Iskandar Muda. Their function is to demonstrate the supernatural origin of his ancestors and the purity of his genealogical tree, his likeness to great sultans of the past and the contrast between him and evil rulers of Aceh, rather than to describe events preceding his birth. The form of the subsequent narration about Iskandar's childhood and youth is also unusual for Malay historiographical tradition. The compositional basis of this section is a list of 'annual accounts' of the prince's numerous exploits. For instance, at the age of seven he masterfully managed with elephants; at the age of eight he arranged mock sea battles; at the age of nine he mastered the use of arms; at the age of ten he defeated the Portuguese ambassador in the art of horsemanship (this episode, as well as some other peculiarities of the chronicle, betray its author's familiarity with Hikayat raja Pasai (Iskandar 1958: 21, 23-4»; at the age of twelve he killed a wild buffalo; at the age of thirteen he miraculously mastered the wisdom of the Qur' an and kitab; at the age of fourteen he killed a ferocious tiger, and so on and so forth. Complete concentration of the chronicle on the person of Iskandar, the combination in it of a genealogical introduction with quite peculiar prophetic dreams of the hero's parents about his future greatness, which are repeated again and again, and especially' annual accounts' about the maturing of the hero and the exploits performed by him in his childhood - all this allowed Iskandar to make an assumption about its sources (Iskandar 1958:20, 22-4). As he wrote: 'a Persian book about rulers, possibly Akbar-nama composed by Abu'l-Fadl, the vizier of the Mogul emperor Akbar, around 1602 was the example which inspired the author of Hikayat Aceh'. The number of coincidences in both works is fairly large, and the conclusions at which Iskandar arrived obviously deserve attention. 49 However, they were challenged by Johns who emphaSized sharp stylistic differences between Hikayat Aceh and Akbar-nama and pointed out that prototypes of a number of episodes and deSCriptions in the Aceh chronicle could be found in the tradition of Malay storytellers, penglipur lara. As a result, he, in his tum, arrived at the conclusion that although Hikayat Aceh is not 'simply a special form of folk story', both the chronicle and folklore stories' come from the same cultural matrix, and reflect a common perception of the shape of the world' (Johns 1979a:55). Unfortunately, Johns did not consider Iskandar's arguments in their entirety (in particular, he ignored such important coincidences between Mughal historiography and Hikayat Aceh as repeated 'luminous' prophetic dreams, the mastering of the Qur' an by Iskandar and Akbar thanks to the Prophet Muhammad's miraculous help and, finally, unusual 'annual accounts' about

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the hero's deeds).5o Nevertheless, Johns's observations are also quite remarkable. As frequently happens, each scholar emphasizes one of the two aspects in the process of cultural influence (Iskandar stresses the role of the donor side, and Johns the role of the recipient side) and underestimates the dynamic synthesizing ability of the Malay tradition, which, in this case, manifested itself in Hikayat Aceh. In fact, their works reveal both the intention of the author of Hikayat Aceh to create a Muslim panegyric chronicle of the Akbar-nama type, materialized in all sections of the hikayat, and the fact that the author's mentality was determined by genuinely Malay conceptual and aesthetic stereotypes. This made the 'baroque' style of Akbar-nama unacceptable to the author of Hikayat Aceh and compelled him to turn to certain formulas used by folk storytellers and to novellas based on a perfectly made point (not infrequently with a touch of humour) in the spirit of Sejarah Melayu. As a result, Hikayat Aceh as an integral whole represents one more example of literary synthesis. In this work, local material presented in the usual manner of Malay historiography and story-telling (although 'ornamented' under the influence of the style of fantastic adventure hikayat; such are its descriptions of marriages and other ceremonies) is not only saturated with Islamic motifs but also structured on the basis of principles of Muslim historiography (the standard structure of description in the genealogical section with its formulas and dates; 'annual accounts' in the narration of the hero's childhood, and so on). Moreover, the interdependence of both components, or, in the other words, the 'solidity' of their synthesis, in Hikayat Aceh seems to be much greater than in Sejarah Melayu or Hikayat raja Pasai. Somewhat differently presented is the panegyric aspect of the chronicle Misa Melayu which was created in Perak on the Malay Peninsula in the late eighteenth century and, like Hikayat Aceh, devoted mainly to the rule of one sultan, also Iskandar by name, against the background of rather brief descriptions of his ancestors' reigns. This work reflects the Muslim tendency less clearly than the Aceh chronicle and contains only one date: the year of the death of Iskandar's predecessor, which is at the same time the date of Iskandar's enthronement. However, it contains no mythological introduction at all, 'is an attractive contemporary account of a period of Perak history from about 1742 to 1778' (Winstedt 1991:113), and a relatively rare example of a Malay chronicle in which the author informs the reader of his name. All this allows us to relate Misa Melayu to the same stage of the evolution as Hikayat Aceh. The creator of Misa Melayu, Sultan Iskandar's nephew Raja Chulan, who occupied a high position in the court hierarchy (Iskandar 1965c), not only called himself the author of the chronicle and was one of its dramatis personae, but also mentioned his occupation as a man of letters, describing himself

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either as 'a skillful writer of hikayat and poems' or the one who lives like 'a bat in the heaven of fantasy' (Raja Chulan 1968:41, 118). According to a romantic legend, he was killed by the jealous husband of his beloved; according to more reliable sources, he died a natural death with the rank of heir to the throne (Iskandar 1965c:246). Raja Chulan devotes the greater part of his writing to the description of the life of the court: the sultan's hunts for elephants and fishing; his entertaining journey along the river (described in the form of syair); numerous fetes on the occasion of coronation, marriage, the imminent birth of the heir, accompanied by music, dances, tournaments, fireworks, and processions of picturesquely decorated boats. Vividly portraying these ceremonies, the chronicler does not forget to mention the building of the bathing pavilion glazed with glass of various colours, into which water poured from the mouth of a dragon with golden scales, eyes made of rubies and horns studded with gems, or the palace erected according to the description borrowed from old hikayat (Raja Chulan 1968:90-1). It is not accidental that such an emphatic use of descriptions makes the chronicle resemble a fantastic adventure hikayat. The point is that the very title Misa Melayu meaning the 'Malay Buffalo', but metaphorically also the 'Malay Hero' (Liaw Yock Fang 1991-93, 11:120), contrasts the chronicle to Misa Jawa the 'Javanese Buffalo', a Panji-romance particularly popular in Perak in the eighteenth century. Therefore these descriptions - in the spirit of favourite Malay' war of books' (see Chapter II) - might have been aimed at showing that the life of the sultan of Perak and his court was not inferior to the life of the famous Javanese prince in its richness, luxury and brightness. 51 To the type of chronicles glorifying mainly one ruler belong also the historical writing of the mid-eighteenth century Peringatan sejarah negeri Jahar (the 'Records on the history of the state of Johor', Kratz 1973) which, however, belongs to the next, or fourth stage of the evolution of Malay historiography. This stage is represented by late Johor historical literature, the character of which can be shown in sharp relief by means of a comparison with the above-mentioned Siak chronicle, Hikayat Siak (Hashim 1992b). The second part of Hikayat Siak was also to a great extent devoted to the history of Johor. However, the legitimation of the Minangkabau ruler Raja Kecil,52 based on mythological 'arguments', also played an important role in it. Apart from that, Hikayat Siak contained no dates of events and was narrated in a style resembling that of 'brilliantly written episodes of the Raffles Mal. 18 recension of Sejarah Melayu' (Andaya 1978:4). Moreover, in conformity with the author's desire to prove the legitimacy of the enthronement of Raja Kecil (allegedly the son of the murdered sultan of Johor, Mahmud) the Siak chronicle resolutely defended the earlier concept of unquestioned loyalty of subjects to their ruler and the inadmissibility of attempts on his life in any circum-

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stances. It is related in an expressive novella, portraying the night before the regicide, that one of the courtiers, Seri Bija Diraja, refused to join the conspirators, because the history of Johor knew not of such precedents, and foretold the bendahara's death for taking part in the murder. As a sign of Divine Wrath, grass grew from the wounds of Mahmud's murderer who was described in the darkest of colours (Andaya 1978:5). Against the background of Hikayat Siak, which is close to Sejarah Melayu (consequently, to the second stage of the evolution of Malay historiography) and which describes the same events that Johor historical writings do, specific features of the latter are seen especially clearly. Apparently, the earliest of the existing Johor chronicles (it seems likely that all works on the period of 1612-1673 perished during the capture of the capital of Johor by the army of Jambi, a state situated in southeastern Sumatra) is Peringatan sejarah negeri lahar. The work was composed in the middle of the eighteenth century by an author close to the family of the Johor bendahara Tun Hasan and was concluded by a syair in honour of his appointment to this high position (Kratz 1973). All the attention of the author of the chronicle is focused on the political biography of Sultan Sulaiman of Johor. Events preceding the ruler's birth in 1699 and enthronement in 1722 are related very briefly and, like in the story of Iskandar Muda, are primarily aimed at the creation of a background for the description of his reign. Two factors determine the character of this very simply written chronicle, which sometimes includes the texts of documents. Firstly, like Misa Melayu, it lacks a mythological introduction, and the narration begins directly with the attack by Jambi. Secondly, as to its form, it is rather close to annals, the principal genre of Muslim historiography (Rosenthal 1968:68) and contains, as a rule, exact dates not only of periods of reign but also of the majority of important events prior to 1750. In contrast to Hikayat Siak with its pro-Minangkabau bias and Peringatan sejarah negeri lahar, written by a Malay author who, accordingly, paid attention mainly to the role played by the Malays in the stormy events of the sultanate's history in the eighteenth century (Andaya 1978:11), most works of Johor historiography were created at the court of Buginese 'viceroys' (yamtuan muda) of Riau and reflected the Buginese point of view on these events. Works of this group written in the late eighteenth-the nineteenth century are very numerous. They include Hikayat negeri lahar (the 'Tale of the state of Johor'; composed between 1804 and 1845) (Winstedt 1932a; Ismail Hussein 1963a, 1963b) and Hikayat Upu Daeng Menambun (Rogayah A. Hamid 1980) written by a Buginese commander and translated into Malay by his son Gusti Jamril (Andaya 1978:19). Closely related to the latter are the anonymous Aturan setia Bugis dengan Melayu (the 'Treaty on loyalty between the Buginese and the Malays', 1818) (Winstedt 1933) and also Silsilah Bugis (the 'Genealogy

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of the Buginese') and Silsilah Bugis dan Melayu dan segala raja-rajanya (the 'Genealogy of the Malays, the Buginese, and all their kings', 1865) (Overbeck 1926b) written by Raja Ali Haji, the famous historiographer, theologian and grammarian from the yamtuan muda family. The chronicle Tuhfat an-nafis (the 'Precious gift', 1865) written by the same Raja Ali Haji narrates Malay and then also Malay-Buginese history from the founding of Singapura by Seri Teri Buana until the first decades of the nineteenth century. 53 In the opinion of Winstedt, this chronicle is the most important historical writing after Sejarah Melayu whose author 'endeavours in places to give some of the realistic colour so frequent in the pages of his greater predecessor' (Winstedt 1991:115). This work is the crown of Buginese-centric historiography and a masterpiece of Raja Ali Haji.54 Buginese-centric chronicles, which describe history during a number of reigns, are characterized by the absence of the mythological section and by the mention of dates. Besides, in spite of customary bias and skilled arrangement of facts conditioned by it, Raja Ali Haji was the first who listed his sources and sometimes gave a critical assessment of them. Probably, unquestionable growth of historicity inherent in later Johor chronicles can be explained to some extent by their authors' being influenced by the tradition of more reliable and true-to-fact Buginese historiography (Noorduyn 1965). However, the same tendency is observed in the purely Malay Peringatan sejarah negeri Johor. Thus, this tendency was apparently typical for Johor historiography of the late eighteenth-the nineteenth century in general and marked the final stage of the evolution of Malay historical literature - the period when it reached the greatest proximity to the standards of Muslim dynastic annals, having preserved, nevertheless, many local peculiarities.55 Interestingly, telling the story of the death of Sultan Mahmud, just as the author of the Siak chronicle did, but trying to prove the lawfulness of the Buginese conquest of Johor, Raja Ali Haji is not so rigorous with regard to the idea of regicide. He first describes the madness of the sultan's actions, notably, the execution of the pregnant wife of one of the courtiers, while' according to the adat, which was well known in Riau in the nineteenth century, a mad ruler or a ruler-apostate must be deposed' (Andaya 1978:7). Then he reduces the bendahara's guilt to the minimum and, by and large, justifies his actions and, finally, makes the bendahara the legitimate successor to the childless sultan, having refused to recognize Raja Kecil's kinship to Mahmud. Punishment for the treason (derhaka) befalls only the direct murderer of the sultan, and grass grows from his wounds (Andaya 1978:7-8). Finally, a historical or, to be more exact, pseudo-historical writing which belongs to the same stage of profound Islamization of Malay historiography was created in the Sultanate of Kedah simultaneously with the Riau-Johor chronicles. This is the well-known Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa (Dzulkifli bin

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Muhammad Saleh 1968; Siti Hawa Haji Salleh 1991), which was called the 'Kedah annals' only because of a misunderstanding, since it not only lacks a structure specific for annals but contains no dates at all. In this hikayat, which is a kind of adab mirror for rulers, fragments of the myth of the origin are pushed so far to the periphery of the narration that they are not even associated with the person of the founder of the dynasty. Local mythology is replaced in it by several transformed episodes borrowed from Muslim literary sources used as a basis for the historiosophic concept of the author who is trying to prove that all misfortunes of Kedah, both past and present, are caused by a curse; it is possible to get rid of this curse only on the path of strict Islamic orthodoxy (see Chapter VI). Thus, even a cursory review of Malay historical literature allows us to single out several stages in its evolution and to draw a general outline of its chronology. The first and second stages fall mainly in the fifteenth-the early sixteenth century (Hikayat raja Pasai, Sejarah Melayu, Hikayat Banjar); the third stage, in the first half of the seventeenth-the second half of the eighteenth century (Hikayat Aceh, Misa Melayu) and the fourth stage, in the late eighteenth-the nineteenth century (Peringatan sejarah negeri lahar, Buginese-centric historiography, Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa). It is worth nothing, however, that this periodization is indicative of nothing more than a general vector in the evolution of Malay historiography as a whole. The empirical picture demonstrates, firstly, a certain smoothness of transition from one type of chronicles to another and, secondly, the coexistence of types belonging to different stages of evolution, which is explained by a peculiar interrelation of pre-Islamic, early Islamic and classical elements in different literary centres, or, in the other words, by a heterogeneity of the Islamization of central and peripheral areas of the Malay world. 56

The sphere of spiritual perfection To enlighten the spiritual heart was the function of writings of a religious and mystical nature, which belonged to the sphere of spiritual perfection - the highest sphere in the hierarchy of the classical literary system. Works of this sphere, unlike those belonging to the two afore-mentioned spheres, fulfilled their functions in a roundabout way. Opening the spiritual heart, that is endowing it with the ability to contemplate Higher Reality, was, according to the Islamic doctrine, the exclusive prerogative of the Divine Mercy bestowed by Allah 'upon those whom He wishes', not for merit but for love. At the same time the spiritual heart should have been constantly ready to receive this gift. Religious and mystical literature helped in purifying the spiritual heart and in preparing it for illumination by giving the 'traveller' firmness in

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the faith, by describing the stages of self-cognition, by explaining the canonical law, the dogmatics and metaphysics of Islam, by warning against lurking dangers, by supplying examples of ways to overcome danger, and by offering sets of meditative symbols. Thus it exerts influence on the spiritual heart. As in all other medieval literatures, the sphere of spiritual perfection is richer in works than the other two spheres. According to calculations by the Malaysian scholar Ismail Hussein (clearly an underestimation that needs revision), theological treatises account for three hundred out of about eight hundred extant works of Malay literature, of which one hundred were placed under the heading 'Miscellaneous' (Ismail Hussein 1974b:12). Added to them must be also forty hikayat described by Ismail Hussein as 'Muslim legends', as well as several dozen syair of a religious and Sufi nature. Thus, about four hundred works, half or (with the deduction of 'miscellaneous') more than half of all pieces of Malay literature. 57 Besides, the sphere of spiritual perfection also included many dozens, if not hundreds, of writings of the same kind in Arabic, which were widely spread in the Malay world. 58 Similarly to works designed for the level of the soul and the intellect, the literature of the spiritual heart had its prototypes in the earlier tradition, which facilitated the perception of Islamic mystical and religious writings and the creation of their own works by the Malays. Some myths, first of all devoted to the creation of the Universe and Man, as well as ancient shamanistic ideas (compare Revunenkova 1980:129-43), played the role of such prototypes, albeit rather remote ones, in local oral tradition. An even greater role in the preparation for the assimilation of Islam was played by Buddhism, which preceded Islam in the Malay world, and the familiarity of the Malays with Buddhist theological and hagiographic literature, which was discussed in Chapter I of this book (compare Johns 1964).

Commentaries on the Qur'an (tafsir) In the system of Malay Islamic literature, the sum total of religious-mystical writings formed a circle that immediately adjoined the complex of canonical texts central to the system. The religious Canon, which determined the model of the world, was represented by scriptural texts (the Qur'an) and the prophetic tradition (hadith; Van Bruinessen 1995:160-3). Tafsir, commentaries on the Qur' an written in the Arabic (particularly popular among them were tafsir by Baydawi and Jalalayn) and Malay languages (Drewes 1977:217) occupied a place in the direct proximity of this centre. Noteworthy among them is the earliest Malay writing of this kind Tarjuman al-mustafid by Abd ar-Rauf, a theologian and Sufi of the late seventeenth century from Singkel in Aceh (see Chapter VIII). Essentially a Malay rendering of Tafsir al-Jalalayn (the 'Commentary by two Jalals'), this work was complemented by Abd ar-

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Rauf's disciple Daud Rumi and some other later authors with rather numerous passages from al-Baydawi's and al-Khazin's commentaries (Riddel1984). Although Tarjuman al-mustafid is fairly classified as tafsir, it represents the first complete translation of the Qur' an into the Malay language, made as usual in the form of a commentary, rather than a detailed exegetical writing. Among tafsir composed by Malay and Indonesian theologians, though in Arabic, noteworthy are Tasdiq al-ma'arif - a Sufi commentary written at Sampon in Aceh 'to defend the Sufi principles of Quranic exegesies' (Johns 1984:143) - and the two-volume tafsir by Nawawi of Banten. 59 Anyway, in the word's broader sense, all religious-mystical treatises were a sui generis commentary to the religious Canon, which, from the Muslim point of view, embraced the plenitude of revelation. The latter, however, was interpreted by each of these treatises with varying degrees of profoundness. Considering the literature of the spiritual heart in the most generalized way, one can single out two main genres in it. The first is the genre of the kitab, and the second of the hagiographic hikayat. Both types of writing include works created by Malay authors and those translated from the Arabic and Persian languages, often with considerable changes and revisions.

Literature of the kitab The kitab, writings of a specifically scholarly kind in their way of conveying the content, were composed primarily for the students of religious institutions (pesantren, pondok) and members of Sufi orders (tarekat). By and large, the literature of kitab includes the following types of treatise (Matheson and Hooker 1988:35-6): -

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Treatises on ilmu fikah (Arabic: fiqh), that is Muslim jurisprudence, discussing ibadat, or prescriptions pertaining to ritual and religious duties, and mu'amalat, or legal issues related to private and social life; Treatises on kalam, that is Islamic theology, which included usuluddin, or the explanation of the sources of religion (the Qur'an, hadith, ijma'- the collective opinion of a community personified by its spiritual authorities, and ijtihad - the personal opinion of one of those authorities); akidah, or works on the system of Islamic beliefs, and catechisms; iktikad, or instructions concerning principles of faith; tauhid, or writings about the unity of God; sifat, or the exposition of Attributes of God and His Essence (sifat duapuluh - twenty Attributes); eschatological writings about the world to come and posthumous life of the soul in paradise or hell; Treatises on tasawuf, that is Islamic mysticism (Sufism); Tafsir, that is, commentaries on the Qur' an;

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Treatises on tajwid, that is, instructions for the correct recitation of the Qur'an; Treatises on nahu, that is, Arabic grammar.

The earliest Malay kitab literature include Akaid by al-Nasafi, the treatise translated from Arabic in the sixteenth century (Al-Attas 1988) as well as the Sufi treatises Syarab al-asyikin, Asrar al-arifin and Al-muntahi by Hamzah Fansuri (Al-Attas 1970). Numerous specimens of later works of this genre form, mostly of Sufi kitab, were outlined, studied and commented on in the publications of a number of scholars.6o The literature of kitab naturally had little to do with the solution of artistic problems. Nevertheless it also possesses a certain interest for a historian of literature, because, first, it is in the framework of the genre form of the kitab that the notion of individual authorship emerged in Malay literature, and, second, in kitab writings there arose a peculiar stylistic variety of the Malay language, which underwent the influence of Arabic vocabulary and syntax, and affected to a degree virtually all the spheres of Malay literature, including fine literature (Van Ronkel1899; Drewes 1950, 1977). In the early Islamic period, the kitab and hikayat varieties of Malay literary style had their own specific functions and were not usually mixed with each other in the framework of one piece of literature. However, in the classical period, a growing expansion of the kitab style in hikayat narration took place. This is explained probably not only by the well-known role played, in Malay literature, by foreign authors and Malays who thought in Arabic and then expressed their ideas in their mother-tongue (for instance, Abd ar-Rauf of Singkel), but sometimes also by conscious stylization of a text as an 'Arabic' one for the purpose of demonstrating its author's learnedness and adding gravity to his work. Researchers often noted the detrimental effect of the kitab style on Malay literature, which lost original idiomatic features of the language and the harmonious balance of syntactic constructions (see, for instance, Winstedt 1991: 63; Stiller 1971:xxxviii-xxxix). However, they usually overlooked the fact that it is the language of kitab that played the role of the mediating language in the Archipelago. The 'succinct and orderly style' of kitab, its language 'logical and intellectual, paying special attention to analysis and scientific discourse' (AI-Attas 1972:45) helped the Malays and other peoples of the Archipelago to master treasures of Arabico-Persian learning and, via it, ancient Greek philosophy, thus having enriched their cultures. It is not accidental that AIAttas (1972:50) compared the period of the creation of early kitab with 'the epoch of translations' in classical Arabic literature 'when Arabic became the language conveying Greek philosophy and was influenced by Greek ways of thinking'.

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Kitab seribu masa'il (or masalah; the 'Book of one thousand questions') written in the form of a catechism (Pijper 1924) and most likely translated from Persian not later than the seventeenth century occupies an intermediary position between kitab and hagiographic hikayat. The compositional frame of the book is the story of a rabbi Abdallah ibn Salam from Khaibar who came to Muhammad in order to establish whether the latter was really a prophet. For this he asked Muhammad three difficult questions: what are the signs of Doomsday; what is the first meal tasted by saints in paradise; and why does a child resemble either his father or his maternal uncle? Needless to say, Muhammad gave the right answers. The first three questions were followed by new ones, devoted mainly to the creation of the world, death and Doomsday; life in paradise and in hell; various unusual phenomena, objects and creatures. The satisfied rabbi was eventually converted to Islam. Hagiographic hikayat The most interesting, from a literary point of view, is the genre of hagiographic hikayat. Hagiographic hikayat are in many respects close to fantastic adventure narratives and the literature of mirrors; however, their protagonists are neither exemplary, courtly individuals, nor those successful in worldly affairs, but are, first of all, righteous, self-negating, devout persons, deeply faithful and endowed with or seeking religious knowledge. Furthermore, the literary tradition's emphasis on the hero's supernatural power - no matter whether he is a prophet, an ascetic or a warrior of Islam - makes it possible to embroider the romances with fantastic motifs, offering the reader the truths of Islam in a captivating form. 6l Several' cycles' can be conventionally distinguished in Malay hagiography (Winstedt 1991:62; Roolvink 1971:1231-2). The first of them includes works about Islamic prophets and various characters from the Qur' an (Gerth van Wijk 1893). Such hikayat are either vast compilations on all the prophets, like Kisas alanbiya (the 'Tales of the prophets'; Hamdan Hassan 1990; Nafron Hasyim 1993) which goes back to a Persian work by Abu Ishaq Nishapuri (Brakel1979b:234); or, more often, writings about the life of a particular prophet, for instance, Hikayat Yusuf Gumsari Jusuf 1984; Ali Ahmad 1999), Hikayat Zakaria (Nalom Siahaan 1974), Hikayat Nabi Musa munajat (the 'Tale of the intimate conversation of the Prophet Musa'); or even about some episodes from their lives. One of the hikayat of the latter type is a very popular Hikayat Raja Jumjumah (the 'Tale of King Skull') in which Nabi Isa Gesus) revives the skull of an unjust king, which tells him about the sufferings of sinners in hell. 62 Akin to writings about Muslim prophets are tales about heroes of 'Islam before Islam' - that is, about the bearers of original monotheism, 'the faith of Ibrahim' - Iskandar Zulkarnain, Amir Hamzah (see Chapter III) and the semi-legendary South

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Arabian ruler Saif ibn Zulyazan (Hose 1911; Van RonkeI1942). The second 'cycle' consists of hikayat dealing with various events in the life of 'the seal and crown of the prophets', the Prophet Muhammad, and his miracles. The most popular among them were Hikayat Nur Muhammad the - 'Tale of the Light of Muhammad', Hikayat Nabi bercukur - the 'Tale of the shaving of the Prophet', Hikayat bulan berbelah - the 'Tale of the split moon' and Hikayat Nabi wafat - the 'Tale of the decease of the Prophet'.63 Finally, the third 'cycle' consists of works about the Prophet Muhammad's contemporaries, both his companions and his enemies. This cycle includes, for instance, Hikayat Semaun (Van Ronke11901b), the story of Semaun's struggle against Muhammad's adversary Abu Jahil (Arabic: Abu Jahl) and his ally Bakti, and of this pious warrior's love for Bakti's daughter, Maryam, who eventually adopted Islam. Some other works of the same type are Hikayat Raja Khandak (Winstedt 1991:192-3) and Hikayat Raja Khaibar devoted to the wars of early Islam. All these heroic-fantastic narratives, which have virtually nothing to do with the Arabic historical tradition, are local Malay creations (Roolvink 1971:1232). The above-mentioned Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah (its expanded recensions were composed in the classical period) and Hikayat Tamim ad-Dari enjoyed particular popularity. The latter tells of Tamim ad-Dari, a Christian converted to Islam, who wanted to bathe in the sacred spring and was kidnapped by a jinn; then, perfecting his mastery of Muslim wisdom, he visited the cave of the Prophet Sulaiman, the island of female cannibals, reached the garden of Eden and managed to see Satan himself, one-eyed Thlis with a trunk instead of a mouth (Winstedt 1991:74-6; Wahyunah Hj. Abd. Gani 1989).

Sufi literature, the poetics of Sufi allegories While such branches of knowledge as law and theology were not infrequently regarded as the 'body' of Islamic tradition, Sufism was called the soul endowing this body with life. It is namely thanks to Sufism that Islam was well assimilated by the Malay world, while Sufi writings played an important role in the forming of Malay literature and its self-awareness. First of alt because of the nature of the doctrine expounded and thanks to its preaching message, Sufi literature resorted readily to a symbolic and figurative way of expression, for which it often borrowed material from the local culture. Therefore many specimens of this literature - in particular treatises and poems by Hamzah Fansuri - had not only metaphysical but also artistic value. Besides, Sufi literature included specific genres, interesting in the literary respect, namely: the genre of Sufi hagiography represented by such works as Hikayat Sultan Ibrahim ibn Adham, Hikayat Syekh Abd aI-Qadir Jilani, Hikayat Abu Yazid alBistami, Hikayat Rabi'ah al-Adawiyah (see summaries in Ismail Hamid 1989:1069 and in Chapter VIII), biographies of Syaikh Muhammad Samman (Drewes

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1977:215; Aliudin Mahyudin 1980), and the genre of Sufi allegory in verse and prose. Not infrequently Sufi allegories were based on motifs and plots borrowed from literary sources, and, in their turn, influenced fine literature. There are several types of allegorical writings in Malay Sufi literature. Some, 'static', allegories added a doctrinal explanation of usually one major symbol given in a 'close-up' manner immediately after the presentation of the symbol (these symbols could be of the Pure Bird - Burung Pingai or the Fish Who is One with God - Ikan Tunggal from Hamzah Fansuri's syair). Other, 'dynamic' or plot-based, allegories, like Hikayat Indraputra, consist of a number of symbols 'threaded' by a semblance of plot and without explanation. The Sufi character of these works can only be deduced from some of their intrinsic features: indications in the foreword, the types of characters and images, the principles underlying their combinations, and the like. Yet another kind of allegory exists which combines traits of the two above-mentioned types. On the one hand, the works of this kind contain a dynamic plot and rely on the technique of 'threading' individual symbols; on the other hand, these allegories include, in one manner or another, an intra-textual interpretation of these symbols. Therefore, these latter allegories, for instance Hikayat Syah Mardan, can be used as key texts in the interpretation of ' dynamic' allegories, which have none of these intra-textual explanations. The poetics of Sufi allegories, Hikayat Syah Mardan and Hikayat Indraputra (see Chapter VIII), clearly demonstrate the mechanism by which the influence of a literary work is exercised in the sphere of spiritual perfection. Both narratives are multipartite, composed of separate episode-stories devoted to various Sufi concepts and rather loosely connected with each other. Such stories are centred around a clear-cut, static symbolic image, for example that of a princess kept captive by a demon (raksasa), a hero turned into a parrot in a golden cage, a princess in a shell on the top of a seven-storey palace, or a princess seated on a throne surrounded by an octagonal screen made of coloured glass, a tree and a man taken off the tree and many others. The static character of the main symbol and the fact that it occupies the greater part of the narrative space make the episode-stories resemble the symbols destined for meditation, found in Sufi, particularly Persian, lyrics. A specific feature of dynamically developing (plot-related) allegories is the complication of the major symbol (or a number of major symbols) with incidental symbols connected with the plot, and, specifically, in the symbolic interpretation of actions (of a flight, for example). The function of episode-stories in allegorical hikayat was similar to that of individual, inserted stories in didactic, framed romances and mirrors (hidayat). As in the latter, the episode-stories made it possible to define certain concepts without resorting to logical notions, and this was extremely important for Sufi Gnosis (ma'rifat). Being personifications or dramatizations

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of certain concepts, the episode-stories could serve as objects for meditation, which is an activity of not only the intellect and the soul, as in the literature of mirrors, but of the spiritual heart as well. Sufis elaborate a special way of seeing, or contemplation, in which the eye, concentrated to the utmost on the external, material aspect of an object (symbol), suddenly makes way for the heart, which is capable of contemplating internal, spiritual essences, eventually the Essence of the Creator in every creature. Therefore, it is concrete symbols, not abstract notions and terms, which serve as instruments of Sufi cognition. By evoking an emotional response, such symbols attract the attention of a contemplator and, at the same time, point toward the super sensory essence of things beyond their sensually perceived surface. The Sufi symbols have their own 'faces' (a dynamic allegory is none other than an ordered sequence of such 'faces'); 'the eye of the heart' pierces these' faces' one after another in the act of meditation and submerges gradually to an infinite depth, contemplating the Essence with ever greater clarity, until it dissolves in the Essence, uniting with It. A contemplative intention of this kind is more evident in the structurally simpler 'static' allegories, represented by many Sufi syair (not to be confused with allegorical syair about flowers and animals). Thus, for example, the Pure Bird (the symbol of Divine Spirit) in Syair Burung Pingai (the 'Poem of the Pure Bird') by Hamzah Fansuri is described in the following way: Its wings are called Revelation Its body is inscribed with the Qur'an Its feet are Mercy and Bounty It is constantly perched on the hand of the Compassionate. God's spirit is its life-breath God's secret its body God's light its eye The Light of Muhammad is always with it. Encounter with God is the name of its love It speaks with God's voice Its heart is the Merciful, the Compassionate It worships the Lord in all sincerity. [... ] It is radiant as a torch Its speech equals the thunder Its eye is its entire body It is always shedding its feathers. [... ] Firm knowledge is the name of its knowledge Leading to unwavering certitude Absolute certainty is its nature Primarily, the Prophet Muhammad is its teacher. (Drewes and BrakeI1986:121-3.)

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Of course, it is difficult to visualize such a bird, even though in the earlier part of the poem its bird-like appearance, while unlike any other bird (it is opposed to the crow, the peacock, the parrot and the dove, Doorenbos 1933: 33-4), is not subject to doubt. However, the purpose of describing the Pure Bird is to create a meditative symbol, rather than a visual image. The figurative aspect of this symbol, at first seemingly important, later fades in the process of concentrated contemplation, and eventually vanishes completely. The objective is to eliminate the boundary between subject and object, contemplator and contemplated, creation and the Creator. The poetics of these allegorical syair serve meditative cognition. Having prepared or activated the imagination, the cognizant should imagine the bird, concentrate attention on its image, contemplate the various parts of its body as specific Sufi concepts, penetrating into their meaning, and at last destroy the whole image (or pecahlah perahumu - 'smash your boat', as it is formulated in another allegorical poem in which a boat is the central imagesymbol, V. Braginsky 1988a:284). This 'image' of the bird is indeed so strange and heterogeneous that it carries the seeds of its own disintegration or selfdestruction in its very poetic structure (compare Sem~ntsov 1985:96-103). Allegorical potential determined the place, which a particular work occupied in the hierarchy of the literary system, transferring it from the sphere of beauty to the sphere of spiritual perfection. The need to develop allegories that would convey certain Sufi concepts also manifested itself in the structure of the' double-deck' hikayat or syair. Similar to the way in which the symbolic interpretation of existing love lyrics in the Middle East was superseded by the creation of special Sufi poetry, existing Malay works that initially were interpreted as allegories were partly replaced, partly supplemented by the creation of special new hikayat and syair structurally amenable to Sufi purposes (V. Braginsky 1985:154-6). Finally, some stylistic peculiarities of hikayat-allegories were probably determined by their hidden meaning or rather reinterpreted in a relevant way. As has already been noted, the function of the ornamental style of description in some fantastic adventure hikayat (see also the analysis of Hikayat Indraputra in Chapter VI), consisted of revealing the common 'precious' essence of the objects described. This method of description in a Sufi environment could be understood as an expression of the idea of Divine Unity, the foundation of the Universe, variously manifested in its different domains. The doctrine of this Unity was the core of the teaching of the wahdat al-wujud Sufi school and its Malay version, the Wujudiyah (existential monism), amongst adherents of which the allegorical hikayat emerged. Research into the question of how the analogy with fabric and jewels, as touched upon in Hikayat Indraputra, operated will lead us to the works of authors who belonged to the Wujudiyah, where fabric, thread and cotton symbolize mani-

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festations of different levels of one and the same Reality, the Divine Essence (Doorenbos 1933:63-4, 105). These authors also elaborated the symbolism of precious stones, radiance being their common essential feature (Johns 1957: 71). Thus, the orientation towards allegory influenced the function and, possibly, the structure and style of allegorical hikayat. Therefore, alongside the scholarly, intellectual way of conveying content (in the literature of kitab), what can be defined as the poetics of contemplative symbolic imagery, inherent in Sufi allegories and conducive to the process of intensive meditation, was quite characteristic for the sphere of spiritual perfection. From the second half of the sixteenth until the nineteenth century, Malay Sufi literature shows a profound evolution of ideas (see Chapter VIII). At its first stage the above-mentioned existential monism (wahdat al-wujud) of the Wujudiyah school dominated, acquiring its most popular form in the doctrine of the 'seven stages of Being' (martabat tujuh) (Van Nieuwenhuize 1945; Johns 1976). The ideas of the Wujudiyah with respect to the essential integrity of the Universe, its multi-layered symbolic character, and Divine Love as simultaneously the cause of Creation and the principle means for ascending to the Creator, gave birth to the above-mentioned static allegories in verse, as well as to plot-related dynamic allegories. These ideas were especially fruitful for the development of belles-lettres. The emphasis on the essential unity of the Universe also meant that the allegories could easily absorb various motifs deriving from different traditions (Hindu-Javanese, Persian and indigenous Malay), thereby becoming an effective means of literary syntheSiS. The concepts of the Wujudiyah, which in their extreme forms threatened the boundaries of Islamic religious doctrine, necessarily evoked a defensive reaction from orthodox Islam. This became visible before the mid-seventeenth century, in the works of Nuruddin ar-Raniri,64 and was manifested with particular vividness in the works of the authors belonging to the Palembang and Riau schools in the late eighteenth and the nineteenth century.65 Their works, influenced primarily by AI-Ghazali's teachings, were focused on the exposition of the laborious Path of a Sufi, based on strict piety and the no less strict observation of the syariat.

Religious-mystical poetry As in all other spheres of the literary system, Malay mystical-religious prose had its double, mystical-religious poetry. In fact, there were poetical counterparts (syair) of all the above-mentioned genre forms and genres within the sphere of spiritual perfection. Among religious-mystical syair we find:

364

-

-

-

-

-

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Hagiographic poems Syair Ayub, Syair Yusuf Syair Nur Muhammad, Syair mamalah bulan - the 'Poem of the split moon', Syair Nabi wafat - the 'Poem of the decease of the Prophet', Syair Abdulkadir (Van Ronkell921a:95, 105, 219-20); Versified kitab, such as Syair sifat duapuluh - the 'Poem on twenty Attributes', Syair ma'rifat as-salat - the 'Poem on the knowledge of prayer', Syair kawaid aI-Islam - the 'Poem on the fundamentals of Islam', Syair ibadat - the 'Poem on worship' (Van Ronkel 1909:362-5; Fanani 1984); Poems of the eschatological nature about Doomsday and the hereafter, such as Syair neraka - the 'Poem on hell', Syair azab dalam neraka - the 'Poem on torments in hell', Syair kanak-kanak - the 'Poem of the child' (about a child's untimely death and his posthumous fate) (Van Ronkel 1921a:99-101); Poems in the form of the discourse of birds (see Chapter VIII), fish (Syair ikan - the 'Poem of fish'), and even letters of the Arabic alphabet (Syair alif ba ta - the 'Poem of the alphabet'; Wieringa 1998b) about religious and eschatological issues; Sufi poems in which mystical teaching is expounded either directly (Syair ma'rifat - the 'Poem of cognition') or in allegorical form (some syair by Hamzah Fansuri and poets of his circle, Ikat-ikatan 'ilm an-nisa, poems about boats and birds, see Chapter VIII).

The emergence of the notion of individual authorship In the classical period of Malay literary history not only literary self-awareness emerged and the system of genres evolved on its basis, but this period also saw the beginning of transition from anonymous to individual authorship. Regardless of whether a writer really composed a particular work (or one of its recensions) or the latter was only attributed to him for some reason, the tendency to ascribe a writing to a particular person is remarkable in itself, as it testifies to considerable changes in the conception of literature. If we consider the problem of authorship in various genres in the classical period, we shall see that names of authors or editors can be found in any of them. Therefore the idea of classical Malay literature as almost completely anonymous is definitely exaggerated. Thus, contrary to the opinion that fantastic adventure hikayat are always anonymous (Brakel1975:66; Goryayeva 1979a:17-8 and others), some names of their creators (in the broader sense of the word, including both the authors proper and the editors, narrators or the persons to whom the works were ascribed) are known to us. Here are several of them: Maulana Syaikh ibn Abu Bakar who wrote or narrated Hikayat Berma Syahdan; Syaikh Muhammad

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Asyik Abd al-Fakar, the probable editor of Hikayat Syah Mardan (Juynboll 1899:150); a certain Ismail, the author of Hikayat [sma Yatim (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:1), Sultan Mahmud Badruddin of Palembang, the author of Hikayat Martalaya (Drewes 1977:266). It is not ruled out that the work on critical editions of fantastic adventure hikayat, which has only begun so far (see Chambert-Loir 1980), will help to discover more names and raise the question of why works of an earlier anonymous genre, texts of which continued to display instability in the course of their transmission, began to be signed by or ascribed to certain persons. This work will probably also elucidate the problems of the degree of the actual stability of such texts and of the stage in the evolution of literary self-awareness which is reflected by the notion of authorship peculiar to them. One can only note, for the time being, that names of both ulama and princes are found among authors of fantastic adventure hikayat (see also V. Braginsky 2002b:52). Writings of the second old genre, chronicles, contain the mention of Tun Seri Lanang, the editor (or the initiator) of the Johor version of Sejarah Melayu; Raja Chulan who wrote Misa Melayu (at least its greater part); late Riau-Johor historiographers Gusti Jamril, Raja Ali Haji and some others, and Palembang chroniclers of the nineteenth century Kyai Rangga Setianandita Ahmad, Pangeran Tumenggung Karta Manggala and Demang Muhiddin (Drewes 1977:228-9). All of them were representatives of the court aristocracy. Needless to say, this list of authors is not particularly long, given the abundance of fantastic adventure hikayat and historical writings, but even in its present form it deserves attention, as it shows a tendency towards the development of the principle of individual authorship in Malay literature. The situation in new genres introduced into Malay literature only in the classical period was different. More than thirty names of authors of all varieties of the syair are known. Creators of Sufi poems of the late sixteenththe seventeenth century Hamzah Fansuri, Abd aI-Jamal (Doorenbos 1933), Syamsuddin of Pasai (Van Nieuwenhuijze 1945), Abd ar-Rauf of Singkel (Iskandar 1995:424-7) and his disciple Mansur (Van RonkeI1909:362) violate the anonymity of Malay literature. The first, and, for a long time, the only signed historical poem, Syair perang Mengkasar composed by Enchi' Amin, the secretary of Sultan Hasanuddin of Makassar, was also written in the seventeenth century. In the eighteenth century his tradition was continued by Raja Chulan, Abdurahman, Abdulkadir, Enci' Abdullah (see Chapter VII). In the nineteenth century religious, Sufi and historical syair of individual authors continued to be created. Moreover, they were complemented by romantic poems, whose authors' names are also known, written mainly in Palembang and Riau. For instance, Panembahan Bupati of Palembang composed Syair Mambang Jauhari; his compatriot Sultan Mahmud Badruddin might have been the author of Syair Silambari (Syair Sinyor Kosta). In Riau,

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Tuan Bilal Abu wrote Syair Siti Zawiyah; Saleha, the sister of Raja Ali Haji (or perhaps Raja Ali Haji himself), was the author of Syair Abd al-Muluk; Daeng Wuh, of Syair Sultan Yahya - about a dozen poems of this kind were composed usually by aristocrats, more rarely by ulama, sometimes by ladies of the court. Allegorical poems about flowers, animals and birds written by individual authors also appeared. Panembahan Bupati created Syair Kembang Air Mawar (the 'Poem of the Rose'); Sultan Badruddin wrote Syair Nuri (the 'Poem of the Parrot'); Syair burung (the 'Poem of birds') was written by Raja Ali Haji's son Raja Hasan, and Syair Kumbang Mengindra (the 'Poem of the Princely Bumblebee'), by Safiah, Raja Ali Haji's daughter. 66 A similar situation is observed also in the genres of framed hikayat and edifying mirrors as well. Hikayat Bayan Budiman was ascribed to Qadi Hasan, most probably the author of a Persian version of Tuti-nama on which the Malay work is based; one of the recensions of Hikayat Bakhtiar was translated by Abd al-Wahhab of Siantan, Taj as-salatin was complied by Buhari al-Jauhari; Bustan as-salatin, by Nuruddin ar-Raniri; edifying anthology Bab aI-aka 1kepada segala orang yang besar-besar was ascribed to or composed by the sultan of Patani Alauddin Syah ibn Mansur Syah (Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:141). Finally, names of kitab authors (Hamzah Fansuri, Syamsuddin of Pasai, Nuruddin ar-Raniri, Abd al-Rauf of Singkel, Abd as-Samad of Palembang, Kemas Fahruddin, Daud ibn Abdullah al-Fatani and others) were regularly mentioned in their works as soon as this genre form emerged (Mohamad Daud Mohamad 1987; Matheson and Hooker 1988). Authors of hagiographic writings (for instance, Syaikh Abu Bakar, the author of Hikayat Sultan Ibrahim ibn Adham; Muhammad Muhiddin and Kemas Muhammad ibn Ahmad, the authors of two biographies of Muhammad Samman) also sometimes signed their works. 67 Thus, as early as the seventeenth-the eighteenth century the names of authors appeared in all genres of Malay literature, and in the nineteenth century their number grew considerably. Both in the seventeenth-the eighteenth century and in the nineteenth century, individual authorship was more characteristic for works of new genres than for works of old genres. Having appeared in the period of the profound assimilation of Islamic religion and culture and expressing the ideas of the Islamic religious Canon more directly than the old genres, the new genres were more deeply Islamized and, consequently, occupied positions closer to the centre of the literary system. As for the old genres, which entered into the literary system in the early Muslim period, they preserved more pre-Islamic features and, at least partially, belonged to the more peripheral, non-functional sphere, bordering on oral literature as early as in old Malay times. Therefore Johns had every reason to write: Every textbook tells us that Malay literature, at least until the time of Islam, is anonymous. But insofar as it is folk literature [to be more exact, literature betray-

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ing salient features of orality even in written works], of course it is anonymous, whether before Islam or after. And it is anonymous because it is folk literature, not because it is Malay. By the same token, if the first works in Malay to which we can ascribe an author are Islamic, this once again is not because they are Malay but because they are Islamic. Oohns 1976:312.}

However, this remark corroborated, in particular, by the above-mentioned growth in the number of authors in the nineteenth century when all gemes of Malay literature were totally Islamized (which conditioned complete or almost complete disintegration of earlier literary synthesis) needs an important addition. In fact, the problem of the interrelation of folklore-like and purely literary gemes had been solved in the major literatures of the Islamic world, Arabic and Persian, long before the time of the formation of Malay classical literature. In both above-mentioned literatures (as well as in literatures in Urdu and Turkish) there were gemes, which occupied an intermediary position between written literature and folklore, or oral literature. This position was occupied, for instance, by Persian dastan and fantastic tales (Dastan-i Amir Hamzah, Nushafarin, Shirzad wa Gulshad) and by Arabic sirat (Sirat 'Antara, Sirat 'Ali al-Zibaq and the like), which are not infrequently indicated by hybrid terms like 'folklore literature' in contemporary studies (Borshchevsky et al. 1963:22). If we put aside the problem of original genetic roots of these gemes, their relations with folklore were of quite a complicated nature. 68 They contained many bookish elements, originating from the 'high' tradition, in their themes and plots, set of narrative motifs and imagery,69 and, for all the traits of orality, were nevertheless a specific kind of written literature (I. Braginsky 1977: 10). Works of these gemes were often anonymous (Ethe 1896). Even if they mentioned the author's name, it was usually that of the narrator, from whose mouth a dastan or a sirat was heard and afterwards committed to writing, or of the editor, a compiler, or simply a person of authority to whom the work was ascribed (Filshtinsky 1975:7, 10). Thus, these gemes were characterized by at least a 'weakened authorship', which, together with their orientation not so much to individual silent reading as to reading aloud in a certain assembly and, consequently, to aural perception, resulted in a considerable degree of instability of their texts. Nevertheless, this instability was much less than in genuine folkloric works. Finally, dastan, sirat and other works of this kind were usually regarded with disdain by connoisseurs of 'high' literature, that is learned or rhetorically ornamented prose and poetry, and occupied lower levels in hierarchically organized literary systems.7o All the above typological features of dastan, fantastic tales and sirat, as well as their low assessment by the learned milieu, were inherent in fantastic adventure hikayat and Panji-tales (the attitude to them was especially critical

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because of their Hindu elements), and in some hagiographic writings, particularly those compromised by Shi'ite influences.71 At least in the beginning, in the opinion of educated Malay literati, romantic syair were on the same footing with these prose works (compare Hamzah Fansuri and his disciples' assertions that their poems have nothing to do with erotic folk songs, with which romantic poems could also be associated by Muslim rigorists). It is quite remarkable, however, that, as we have seen, more and more syair written by individual authors, whose names are known, appeared in the nineteenth century, surpassing the number of prose hikayat in this respect. This phenomenon was in complete conformity with the relatively high position of poetical genres in Muslim literatures. With all this in mind, to Johns' words about individual authorship, which appears in Malay writings 'not because they are Malay but because they are Islamic', we may add: and inasmuch as genres, occupying different positions in the hierarchy of Muslim literary systems, belong to the category of those characterized by individual authorship. As was already mentioned above (see Introduction), a stimulating classification of the types of Malay authors, related to their links with the orality and literacy, has recently been offered by Koster (1997:55-76), who draws a distinction between two 'masks' of traditional Malay authors. The first mask, that of dalang, was related to the 'soothing function' of literature, which led the reader to a beautiful world of fiction, far away from troubles of his life. The second mask, that of dagang ('stranger/trader far from home'), was related to the 'profitable function' of literature, which taught the reader how to behave properly in the real world. The works of a number of traditional Malay authors (for instance, Safirin bin Usman Fadli, the author of Hikayat anak pengajian (V. Braginsky 2002b:43-56), as well as the libraries of Muhammad Bakir (Chambert-Loir 1984) and a certain Banten sheikh (Iskandar 1999, 1:202-13)) testify to the fact that these masks could be worn in tum by one and the same author. Moreover, both masks had, as often as not, one and the same 'lining', which was the idea of ibarat - indirect edifying meaning of the work (see Chapter IV), be it expressed in a writing belonging to the sphere of beauty, profit or spiritual perfection.

Conclusion: genre system and literary synthesis To summarize. In the classical period Malay literature completed its journey from Buddhism and Hinduism to Islam. Malay in its different variants began to be used in all fields of Malay letters. New genre forms and genres appeared, literary self-awareness awakened, and individual authorship emerged. The full richness of Malay literature was arranged in a kind of new

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hierarchical literary system, a characteristically Malay version of the Muslim invariant (see Chart 2 below). It goes without saying that, just as in Chapter I, this genre system could have been represented as a few concentric circles, each of them standing for one of the functional spheres (the spheres of spiritual perfection, benefit and beauty respectively) with their genre forms and genres, while the hierarchic level of each sphere could have been shown by its distance from the common centre of all the circles (that is, by its radius), standing for the Canon of sacred, religious texts. However, to emphasize the link between the genre system and the doctrine of the creation of a literary work, we have resorted to the same method of representation as that used in Chapter IV (Chart 1) and showed the hierarchy of the spheres in the form of three' steps'; besides, the internal and external approaches to the classification of genre structures have been differentiated. As we see, the contours of this system, its main integrating factor being literary self-awareness, were determined by the configuration of hierarchically arranged functional spheres. The functions were effectuated with the help of genre forms. Within the framework of the latter, genres proper took shape, as the expression of monotypal content through a monotypal form (see Introduction). All genres were closely connected, both by the homogeneity of the issues emanating from the canonical centre of the literary system, namely the Qur' an and the Sunnah, and by the didactic component characteristic of each genre to a lesser or greater degree. Didactic component and more or less stabilized literary style, though, varied by genre, determined the continuity and integrity within the genre system, allowing coexistence of related genres on the borders between the -functional spheres. To these genres belonged, for example the moralizing fantastic adventure hikayat (such as Hikayat Isma Yatim), allegorical syair about flowers and animals of the edifying type, and framed hikayat on the border between the spheres of beauty and benefit, mirrors and kitab on the border between the spheres of benefit and spiritual perfection, and so forth. The unity of genre system was consolidated by a number of formal factors inherent in Islamic literatures and, as was rightly observed by L. Massignon, 'resultant from the principal postulates of Muslim metaphysics' (Massignon 1963:99). Among these factors is the predominance of 'paratactic' composition over plot in hikayat and some syair, ornamentality, a narrative style with inversions and rhythm-setting words. The general Muslim invariant as it manifested itself in the system of Malay literature acquired numerous local/ ethnic Malay features, which can be traced in style and imagery as well as in the total set of Malay genres. Classical Malay literature lacks many genres of Arabic and Persian literatures, and at the same time cultivated genres,

Chart 2. Genre system of classical Malay literature Creator (Allah) I n I Muhammad-Logos (Nur Muhammad) spiritual I I perfection (kamal) General ideas (ayan sabitah) benefit I I (faedah)

Writer

Particular idea-images (makna, arti), mental structure of the work

I beauty (indah) I Written or oral words (kata, bunyi), verbal structure of the work System of literature (internal approach) Functional sphere Genre form or genre

Sphere of

,pm~

perfection tal (kamal)

kitab hikayat syair

n

Perception by the spiritual heart (hati nurani)

I

Sphere of benefit (faedah)

hidayat sejarah hikayat syair

Sphere of beauty (indah)

hikayat syair

n

n

Perception by the intellect (akal)

Perception by the corporeal soul (hati)

System of literature (external approach) Functional spheres

Sphere of spiritual perfection

Sphere of benefit

Sphere of beauty

Genres

hagiographic hikayat Sufi allegoric hikayat religious-mystical syair hagiographic syair Sufi allegoric syair

framed hikayat edifying antology dynastic chronicle panegyric chronicle historical syair edifying syair

fantastic adventure hikayat romantic syair allegoric syair (about (animals, flowers, and so on)

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which were considered inferior and peripheral in the latter. This gives Malay literature a quite unique character. At the same time within the framework of nearly all the genres throughout the classical period, an evolution can be traced of which the vector is determined by the deepening Islamization of Malay literature and culture. The two most important moments of this evolution were the creation, in the late sixteenth and the seventeenth centuries, of a literary synthesis signifying, as it appears, the highest stage in aesthetic and ideological development of traditional Malay literature, and its subsequent disintegration in the late eighteenth and the nineteenth centuries. As was noted above, all three spheres of classical Malay literature are heterogeneous, both in terms of their composition and of the origin of the works that comprise them. Each, in one way or another, reflects the three stages of the evolution of Malay culture: indigenous Malay, Hindu-Buddhist and Muslim. Each sphere also contains works of original, native creation as well as those whose origins can be traced to foreign traditions. This, however, does not make Malay literature into a literature of 'translations and retellings', either from the perspective of its readers or from a modern point of view. On the one hand, as part of a distinct literary agglomeration, Malay literature, according to medieval notions, could lay claim to everything created within the agglomeration (Y. Braginsky 200lb:56-64). On the other hand, this is probably the most important point - in the process of assimilating foreign influences, the principal role is invariably played by the recipients, who select and structure, according to their own rules, what is being' offered' by such foreign traditions. It is exactly this approach to classical Malay literature, which allows us to perceive it as a result of a literary synthesis. Malay literature was prep-ared for this synthesis by the appropriation of works during the early Muslim period. These works were related to Hindu and Muslim literary traditions, which had filtered through Malay tradition, and met for the first time in the framework of Malay literature as a whole. This period of what could be called 'protosynthesis' was crowned with the creation of historical works or chronicles (Hikayat raja Pasai, Sejarah Melayu) in which native, Hindu-Javanese and Muslim elements were no longer separate groups within the boundaries of literature as a whole, but could be found within the confines of single works of literature. During the classical period, with ever-deepening Islamization and the shaping of literary self-awareness, the synthesis of heterogeneous elements evolved into a definite form. First, the Hindu-Javanese and Arabico-Persian works were finally incorporated in the system of Malay literature, finding their places on the different levels of its hierarchy. Next, a number of genres and individual works, also of a synthetic character, were added to the synthetic chronicles of the early Muslim period, and their heterogeneous ele-

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ments were welded into a unity. This unity gained further strength and was stabilized in the period from the seventeenth to the first half of the eighteenth century. The synthetic works of the classical period included a considerable number of fantastic adventure hikayat. They were characterized by the amalgamation, based on the composition of ancient myth (see Chapter I), of Hindu-Javanese motifs of virgin wilderness, armies of monkeys, cosmic combats, descriptions of magic arrows turned into fiery mountains or legions of venomous serpents, and, on the other hand, descriptions of gardens, palaces, festivals and treasure houses, presented in the spirit of Muslim literatures. The best episodes in these' hikayat were, so to speak, illuminated by these two rays of light. Blended in various proportions, they constantly changed the' colouring' of the narration, just as the colour of the princess's garments in Hikayat Indraputra changed as she faced different sides of the octagonal multicoloured glass screen around her throne. At the same time, the colours of such hikayat received their specific hue from the indigenous Malay features of the narration. Other examples of the literary synthesis were the romantic and allegorical syair, which were created in the period from the seventeenth until the nineteenth century. Their content and imagery can be traced to the same traditions as the fantastic adventure hikayat; their form resulted from the interaction between Malay folk traditions and Arabico-Persian poetics, which 'recognized' themselves in each other. The links between Malay literature and Javanese literature played an important role in forming and preserving the synthetic character of Malay literature during the classical period, because Javanese literature better preserved its Hindu-Buddhist heritage after its conversion to Islam. The balance in this synthesis was maintained by the mutual influence of the different literary schools. For instance, those emerging in Aceh at the turn of the seventeenth century, and in Riau in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, were primarily bearers of Islamic ideas and images, while others, such as the schools of Banjarmasin and Palembang, were conductors of preserved Hindu-Javanese plots and motifs.72 The forms in which such a synthesis was realized varied, as did the proportions in which local, Hindu-Javanese and Arabico-Persian elements blended. The highest forms were those engendered by the 'typological intuition' characteristic of Malay literature, its ability not just to combine fragments of different traditions, but to establish their internal correlation, thereby interpreting them as identical. Such identification can be traced in a portion of the fantastic adventure hikayat, in romantic and allegorical syair, in chronicles, and in Malay literary theory. This theory was itself a synthesis, determined by Sanskrit aesthetics (in its Old Javanese variant) and by

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Muslim aesthetics (see Chapter IV). One need not think, however, that the process was limited only to the identification of the old and the new. The local basis of Malay literature, reflected in folklore, was the starting point of synthesis, and the Muslim concept of literature, as well as the compositional, descriptive and stylistic principles of Muslim literary practice which brought about serious changes in former literature, was its crown. In the late eighteenth and the nineteenth centuries, however, Malay literature, under the influence of both external and internal factors, changed noticeably, showing some features of relative decline. On the one hand, these changes are explained by cultural stagnation of sorts, brought about by the growing activity of colonial powers. Colonial division of the Malay world between Great Britain and the Netherlands practically put an end to their commercial and political initiative, which aggravated the already existing fragmentation of the Malay world and disrupted its traditional ties, especially those with Java and India essential for the earlier cultural developments. On the other hand, the changes were predetermined by a continuing Islamization of Malay culture, which from late seventeenth century enhanced its orientation to the main centres of Sunnite learning, Mecca and Medina, cities of Hadramauth, and Cairo. In the eighteenth and the nineteenth century this orientation became almost exclusive. Although the transformation, which took place, did not drastically remould the literary system as a whole, it did cause a considerable evolution within the genres. In the course of further Islamization, the concept of authorship underwent such a development that Malay literature of the nineteenth century witnessed the greatest number of individual authors' names in all genres. There appeared quite a number of fantastic adventure hikayat and romantic syair, which were purely Middle Eastern in content, Weltanschauung, place of action, and setting.73 In such works the religiousdidactic element intensified considerably; more prominence was given to 'merchant' and 'female' themes, which were not confined only to syair any longer, but penetrated into hikayat as well. Though to some extent reflecting everyday life, these writings bore a pronounced Muslim character. The influence of Arabicized kitab style on fiction grew considerably. A similar process took place in historical writings, which increasingly corresponded to the standards of Muslim annals and also lost their synthetic nature, as well as in the complex of mystico-religious works, where the concepts of the Wujudiyah, favourable to the literary synthesis, gradually gave way to the ideas of the more rigorous shariatic schools (see Chapter VIII). All this brought Malay literary synthesis to the juncture where it began to disintegrate, having lost the internal balance of its components, as a result of a supersaturation with Arab-Islamic elements. Moreover, Malay literature

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in general began to show a preference for the late Arabic model of literary

development, rather than for the classical Persian or, to be more exact, IndoPersian pattern characteristic of its Golden Age (the mid-sixteenth-the seventeenth century). As a result, in its main features, Malay literature approximated to the Arabic literature of the seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries. In both there was a predominance of 'local chronicles and chronicles of separate regions and cities, usually simple and unpretentious' and numerous writings 'that discussed orthodox theological issues, Muslim law closely connected with theology, Muslim dogmatics, and the Qur' an and commentaries on this holy book' (Krymsky 1971:49). Both were characterized by a certain decline of aesthetic standards in works belonging to the domain of belles-lettres. In Arabic belles-lettres, 'remnants of some artistic strength' were preserved 'only in folk literature: sirat, the 'Arabian nights', and the like' (Krymsky 1971:47-8). As for Malay belletristic works of the late classical period, they - now second even to this 'unsophisticated' kind of Arabic literature - nevertheless became perceptibly closer precisely to it in both their purely Islamic purport and frequently the very place of their action. As was already noted, literature of Arab countries of that time was in the state of crisis. In particular, Krymsky (1971:23) described it as follows: 'It still remains abundant and rich in the number of works, but its content is becoming poorer. The process of the deterioration of its standards is progressing quickly in the seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries'. Thus, Malay literature reached the stage of the final Islamization and approximated to the Arabic model, in a period too unfavourable for receiving new stimuli from Arabic literature for a productive development along the traditional line. On the contrary, imitation of late Arabic examples could not but infest Malay literature with the seeds of decline, as testified to, first of all, by the disintegration of classical literary synthesis, which was not replaced by anything aesthetically equivalent. However, the orientation to Arabic literature, which entered into the modern era in the nineteenth century, as well as the ever- strengthening ties with international centres of Islamic education proved to be advantageous, though in a different way. They accounted for the fact that, like Arabic and other Islamic literatures, late traditional Malay literature began to show more and more obvious signs of transition to the next stage of the evolution that is to modern literature. The emergence of the travelogue and autobiography as genres was one of the earliest pieces of evidence of this process. Both these genres revealed pronounced realistic tendencies, were based and focused on personal experience, and noticeably reinforced the concept of individual authorship.74

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Notes 1 Slash (/) shows the border between hemistichs, the first figure indicates the number of syllables in the verse, the second figure the number of syllables in the first hemistich, and the third figure the number of syllables in the second hemistich. 2

His article about it was published in 1968 (Voorhoeve 1968).

It is well known, for instance, that terms from Arabico-Persian poetics were commonly used to describe the Acehnese sanja metre (Snouck Hurgronje 1906:73-8; Djajadiningrat 1934, II: 279, 462, 664) of which the name is a derivative of Arabic saj'. However, this does not at all prove its Arab or Persian origin. The original structure of this metre and its relationship to archaic Cham verse (Cowan 1933) provide a conclusive argument in favour of the fact that it was not borrowed.

3

In works by Hamzah himself, the term ruba'i appears only when he quotes works of the corresponding genre. It is absent in the author's only explanation of the form used by him. Hasan Fansuri, one of Hamzah's disciples, denotes his teacher's poems by the term ruba' which A. Teeuw translates as ruba'i for some unknown reason. Finally, to support his opinion that Hamzah's poems were called ruba'i, A. Teeuw refers to the commentary by Syamsuddin of Pasai Syarh ruba'i Hamzah aI-Fans uri, translating its title as 'A commentary on Hamzah Fansuri's quatrains'. Now, the term ruba'i should not be translated by the plural form 'quatrains' (the plural of ruba'i being rubayyat). Besides, AI-Attas quotes an utterance by Nuruddin ar-Raniri from which it follows that ruba'i is the title of one of Hamzah's books containing a collection of his mystical poems and not at all a technical term characterizing their structure (AI-Attas 1968:23). Thus, it follows that there are no sufficiently convincing reasons to regard Persian ruba'i as the prototype of Hamzah Fansuri's syair stanzas. 4

Such a hypothesis allows a conjecture based on three characters: sin, jim and 'ayn; 'ayn differs from the character nga only in that the latter has three diacritical dots. (For an explanation of how such a corruption could take place, see V. Braginsky 1975a:104-5). Although the origin of Hamzah's syair from a chain of ruba'i seems very unlikely (similar doubts were also expressed by Bausani (1970:308-9», it is hardly reasonable to rule out such a possibility completely for the time being. Asrar al-arifin with its fifteen bait - possibly the first example of the syair, for which reason the structure of its stanzas is explained in the book - closely resembles Sharh-i ruba'iyyat (the 'Commentary on ruba'iyyat') by the Persian poet 'Abd aI-Rahman Jami (for its edition and translation, see Yeo Berthels 1965a:445-68). In Sharh-i ruba'yyat, the introduction is followed by 46 ruba'i containing a systematic exposition of the doctrine of the Unity of Being, and each ruba'i (sometimes two or three ruba'i) is accompanied by a commentary in prose, just as in Hamzah's Asrar al-arifin. Thus, the two works are similar both in their structure and in their teaching. A similarity between the two works can also be observed in their introductions and the content of some stanzas; however, these coincidences are of a too general nature to prove whether Hamzah was acquainted with Jami's work. However, noteworthy is the fact that almost half of the ruba'i in Sharh-i ruba'iyyat are rhymed according to the scheme aaaa, which is a fairly uncommon occurrence in Persian literature. AI-Attas noted a possible influence of Jami's ruba'i on Hamzah's syair (AI-Attas 1968:57-8). However, all ruba'i by Jami quoted in Hamzah's writings were borrowed from Lawa'ih (the 'Gleams'), not from the sharh. Nevertheless, one passage in Hamzah's treatise Syarab al-asyikin (the 'Drink of lovers') may point, although indirectly, to his familiarity with Sharh-i ruba'iyyat. When expounding the stages of the descent of Being, Hamzah writes: When the ocean heaves it is called 'waves' [here and below emphasis by the present author]- that

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is, when the Knower gazes upon Himself, the Known comes forth from Him. When the ocean blows forth it is called 'vapours' - that is, individual spirits together with the Relational Spirit form in all the Fixed Essences. When the vapours gather in the sky they are called 'clouds' - that is, the Potentialities of Things gathered in the Fixed Essences ready to burst forth. When the clouds burst into drops from the sky it is called rain - that is the Relational Spirit together with the Fixed Essences come forth at the command of the Creative Word 'Be!' taking a variety of forms. When the rain falls on the earth it is called 'water flowing in rivers' - that is, when the Relational Spirit, the Primordial Potentialities and the Fixed Essences 'flow' under [the command of] the Creative Word 'Be!' they are called' rivers'. When the rivers flow back to the ocean [a symbol of Divine Being], they become ocean [once again]. (AI-Attas 1970:436, 316-7.) Brakel had some grounds to relate this passage to a ruba'i and a commentary to it from Lama'at (the '[Divine] Flashes') by Iraqi, all the more so since that ruba'i were quoted in Asrar al-arifin and Al-muntahi (the' Adept') by Harnzah (Brakel 1979a:93-4). It is remarkable, however, that in this particular case Harnzah makes no reference to Iraqi, but ascribes the entire set of aquatic symbols to the Sufi tradition as a whole ('dimithalkanAhlu'I-Suluk [.. .]' - 'the Sufi liken [... J'), which may be indicative of a blending of several sources. No less important is also the fact that the symbol of the stream or river used by Harnzah does not occur in Lama'at, although it is found in the following ruba'i of Jami from Sharh-i ruba'iyyat, which is, therefore, closer to Hamzah's text: When the sea breathes, [there emerges] what is called the mist, When its breath condenses, call it a cloud. The cloud becomes rain when its drops are spilled, This rain becomes a stream and the stream eventually becomes the sea again. (Ye. Berthels 1965a:464.) Nevertheless, even if Harnzah's familiarity with Sharh-i rubayyat is confirmed, thus making it possible to suppose that, while creating his first syair and a commentary on it, Hamzah was inspired by Jami's work and his ruba'i, as has already been noted, the Malay Sufi could interpret the form of his poems in the spirit of Arabico-Persian poetics only with the help of a saj'-ed verse, shi'ri musajja'. 7 For Old French and Turkic epic tirades, see Zhirmunsky 1923:43-4, 1962:244-7. Similarity between tirades and syair stanzas drew the attention of the Dutch scholars P. D. Dunselman (1955: 15-6) and W. Kern (1956:21-2). The latter quotes tirade-like verses from Silsilah Kutai which is very archaic in its form (see Chapter VI): 'Bujang lanjuan rancah kaki, / berkokok bergentar bumi, / ejung perak kemudi besi, /sisiknya perak kukunya besi, / disabung bertaruhkan diri [this is a tirade with five continuous rhymes], (Kern 1956:22). The Javanese regarded the tirade form of the guritan (geguritan) as analogous to singir (the Javanese for syair) (Pigeaud 1938:304). Consequently, the Javanese could have been aware of the connection between the tirade and the syair

For the tirade tradition among the Javanese, see Darnawi 1964:53-4; among the !ban, see Masing 1997, II; among the Mualang Dayaks, see Dunselman 1955; among the Toraja, see Adriani and Kruyt 1914, III; among the Gorontalo, see Taulu 1956. Here are a few examples of tirade verses from Malay folklore. The first of them is a children ditty: 'Keteki, ketekok, / Ambil api cutoh rokok, / Pegang perabu penggayuh berantok, / Ambil beras masuk ke cerok, / Ambil anak bawa ke serok, / Entahkan elok, entahkan burok, / Sebab dia kuat menyurok [seven rhymes], (Za'ba 1964:37-8). The second example is a riddle: 'Kudian apa berbunyi selalu, / Di darat di paya sarna selutu [two rhymes]; / Hai saudara kami sekalian, / Sebab kami tarik kudian, / Karena tambur sudah berbunyi merawan-rawan [three rhymes]; Sebabpun tambur berbunyi, / Mengarak penganten bidadari, / Apabila kudian senjap sekali, / Kemudian beras basuhpun orang menaburi, / Kemudian penganten pun didudukkan dua laki-isteri [five rhymes], (Dussek 1918, 1:45). The third example is a magical incantation: 'Bismillahi'l rahmani'l rahimi, /Kayu medang kayu patani, / Tumbuh di padang merbani, / Akar tersunjam tujuh petala bumi [four rhymes], /Pucuk tersandar ke angkasa. / Tuan puteri dari angkasa, / Membawa tawar sekalian yang bisa [three rhymes]. / Ipoh putih menawar ipoh merah, / Ipoh merah menawar ipoh putih, / Ipoh putih

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bena Rasul Allah, / Ipoh merah darah Rasul Allah [three rhymes].' (Skeat 1966:640.) Roorda van Eysinga 1827:226-7. The entire passage about the meaning of the word and genre of hidayat runs as follows: Thus, it [that is, Taj as-salatin] is called hidayat, since hidayat implies the finding - by the Mercy of God Most High, our Most Sublime Lord - of the way, which leads to all that is good. And because this book is truly a guidance on the way to all that is good in this world and the world to come, it is obvious that it deserves to be called hidayat, a guidance, as I say [in the following verse]: This book is none other than a glorious guidance, 0 possessor of sublime [mind], This manuscript will become a guidance [for you], if you manage to obtain it. It is also called hidayat, because all the most beautiful and choicest and most elevated is conveyed through it to those endowed with intellect and understanding. And is there anything loftier than the meaning of [the words] 'guidance along the right path' (hadi) to those who understand this glorious guidance (hidayat)? This book is also a guidance for just kings and intelligent men. Further, this truthful and perfect book is a Mercy bestowed [upon those who read it] by God Most High and Glorious to strengthen their spirit. Therefore, it is incumbent for everyone who was vouchsafed this Mercy to express his gratitude to God Most High, so that the Lord will bestow upon him more Mercies that are even greater than this one. (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:226-7.) 10 It could be mentioned, for the sake of comparison, that, for instance, there were about one hundred names for various genres in Old Russian literature (Likhachev 1979:57). The nomenclature of genres in Arabic and Persian literatures was also much richer than in Malay. 11 For a detailed study of Persian influence on traditional Malay literature and the transformation of Malay literary works of Persian origin, see V. Braginsky (forthcoming c). 12 It is quite possible that not only works based on Panji-tales and Sanskrit epics but also other types of fantastic adventure hikayat and syair were staged in numerous varieties of Malay theatre. Notably, romantic syair were the basis of the repertoire of the theatre of man-actors on the west coast of Sumatra in the nineteenth century (Skeat 1966:520), while in the twentieth century such narratives as Hikayat Indra Bangsawan, Hikayat Saif Zulyazan and others were performed in the Kelantan shadow play ~Sweeney 1972:75).

13 However, it seems likely that Malay synthetic hikayat were saturated with Hindu motifs and imagery to an even greater extent than Urdu dastan (see below). 14 BrakeI1975:115, 1979b:8-11. The battle is described in Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah as follows: Dust [from under the hoofs of] horses and the feet of warriors rose up to the sky, so that the bright day became pitch-dark. Warriors on both sides mixed up and could tell friend from foe no longer. No other sounds except battle-calls and summons of commanders, the din of swords and clubs and the deafening clamour of fighters were heard as if Doomsday had come. (For the Malay original, see BrakeI1975:208.)

Ali bin Ahmad 1968:82. Compare Hikayat Pandawa jaya as represented in Hikayat Pandawa lima: Then Maharaja Kama shot his arrow Nila Perjanda which [produced] a strong wind, storm and hurricane, [so that] all the Pandawa army was carried away [by that storm] to the sea [... ]. [After that] Maharaja Kama took another magic arrow, which was called Wijaya Chapa. [... ]. And as long as he held that arrow [aiming it at the enemies], its inexhaustible magic power poured out from it like a pelting rain of rocks, dragons, ghosts, devils and raksasa [... ]. Then Sang Arjuna crossed his arms about his body to reveal his magic power and there appeared

15

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature

Batara Brama's arrow named Wisakti which means the 'flame in a human form'. A flash of flame as big as a mountain emerged from the arrow, fell on ghosts, devils and raksasa, that had come from Maharaja Kama's arrow, and burnt all of them to ashes. (For the Malay original, see Khalid Hussain 1964:141-2, compare Poerbatjaraka and C. Hooykaas 1934:52-3.) The same model is the basis of Middle Eastern love epics, first of all Persian dastan and fantastic tales (Ye. Berthels 1934:84; Borshchevsky et al. 1963:13).

16

For the first (and, until the present time, the only) critical edition of a hikayat of this kind, see Chambert-Loir 1980.

17

18 Division into chapters with similar titles, which came from the Persian tradition, is a sign of a relatively early date of a work in Malay literature. It is also found in Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah, Hikayat Amir Hamzah, in one of the recensions of Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati, dating from the early Muslim period, and in Hikayat Isma Yatim composed no later than the seventeenth century. 19 Winstedt 1991:175-8; Zabedah Abdullah 2000. There are two more editions of Hikayat Syah Mardan: Hikajat Raja Maeda Sjah Merdan 1916 and Hikayat Syeikh Mardan 1994.

The recension of Hikayat Karis (or Koraisy) Mengindra published by Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka is discussed here. The plot of another recension of this work, which was studied by Winstedt (on the basis of a Singaporean lithographic edition) and summarized by Liaw Yock Fang (from Jakarta manuscript Von Dewall 146), differs from it considerably (Winstedt 1991:56; Liaw Yock Fang 1991-93, III:174-5). 20

21 Khatib Abd. Hamid 1962:56. For editions and studies of some other fantastic adventure hikayat, see, for instance: Dalima 1894; Chambert-Loir 1980; Mutiara and Nikmah A. Sunardjo 1982; Haniah 1984; Djamaris et al. 1989; Jumsari Jusuf 1982,1991; Mutiara 1991.

Liaw Yock Fang (1991-93, 1:172) believes that Hikayat Syah Kabad is a free paraphrase or imitation of Hikayat Indraputra.

22

For more details, see Bausani 1979:52-3. In Zhirmunsky's opinion, combination of the fantastic with' naIve realism' is characteristic of romantic epics in general, in particular, of medieval Central Asian dastan (Zhirmunsky and Zarifov 1947:379).

23

24

Samad Ahmad 1957-58; Liaw Yock Fang 1991-93, 1:172; Iskandar 1995 and others.

25 This composition, with virtually the same results, was reconstructed independently by Brakel (1975, 1979b, 1980) on the basis of analysis of individual works and by the present author on the basis of data contained in Malay chronicles (V. Braginsky 1983:65-104, see also Chapter 11).

Ras 1968:81-99. However, this motif was used in the dynastic myth of the Javanese chronicle Babad tanah Jawi (the 'Chronicle of Java', Olthof 1941:26-7).

26

The former translation is by Al-Attas (1970:17); the latter is mine, based on possessive meaning of the Persian affix dar in words like maldar 'owner of wealth', 'wealthy person'; similarly Isq(i)dar, 'he who has love', 'enamoured'. Unfortunately, the absence of signs for long vowels in the romanized edition does not allow us a more exact translation.

27

However, this toponym can also mean 'the Square of Horsemen' (from Arabic khayyal, not khayal; Lombard 1967:133, note 1).

28

V The genre system of classical Malay literature

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The version of Syair Ken Tambuhan, which is meant here is the one contained in the manuscript London SOAS 12914 (copied in Bangkahulu in the 1790s). The author of this version or its copyist found it necessary to conclude the scene of resurrection of the protagonists (Teeuw 1966b:170) with the following stanzas: 29

'In the name of Allah' is the first that must be uttered, 'The most excellent' - so all the Sunnites call [these words]; As Muhammad, the chief of angels, once said: 'The blessing to those who disregard them will be reduced'. It is incumbent upon us to know ourselves, Which embraces our spiritual and bodily [aspects], So, look to the right and to the left Seek the Lord in your self. (Teeuw 1966b:289-90.) (The penultimate line most probably contains a scribal error and should be read 'so, look neither to the right nor to the left'). It is difficult to agree with Teeuw who sees in these stanzas a condemnation of 'the story, which contradicts the doctrine of Islam' (obviously the revival of heroes by a Hindu deity Batara Kala is implied). Rather, the author or the copyist, in the spirit of Sufism, understood the motif of their resurrection as a symbolically represented triumph of human self-cognition. This motif is very common in Sufi allegories, including the Malay ones Hikayat Syah Mardan and Hikayat lndraputra (see Chapter VIII). Compare: 'The Sufis were prepared to base their teaching on the cultural forms and traditions which already existed in Indonesia, albeit excluding or re-interpreting what was incompatible with the basic doctrines of Islam' Oohns 1961:23}. 30

31

Schrieke 1955, II:249-53; Marrison 1955; Lombard 1967:116-7.

32

Van Nieuwenhuijze 1945:45-8; Johns 1957:30-5; Voorhoeve 1965:126-7.

33

Shamatov 1974:8-11, 17-43; Schimmel 1975b:130-56; Suvorova 2000:1-43. Schimmel characterizes Urdu literature as follows: Urdu literature developed mainly out of two basic currents, the rich heritage of Persian classical poetry and the Indian, particularly Sanskrit, tradition. Both are certainly very different, but it was the historical role of Urdu to bridge the gap between them and to develop a new, peculiar synthesis which reflects the complex situation of Indo-Muslim culture. (Schimmel 1975b:130.) This characteristic, which is particularly true with regard to Urdu literature in its Deccan period briefly outlined above, is, mutatis mutandis, quite applicable to traditional Malay literature of the period of synthesis. Data from the following catalogues of manuscripts: Juynbo1l1899; Van Ronke11909, 1921a; Voorhoeve 1973; Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977.

34

3S

Van Hoeve1l1843; Syair Sari Banian (n.d.); Taib Osman 1974.

36

Mulyadi 1983, Iskandar 1995:235-8; Khatib Abd. Hamid 1962; Kamarulzaman 1962.

Suffice it to note that among thirteen romantic syair which are known in no less than three copies each and, thus, can be regarded as more or less popular, nine (or seventy per cent) bear the name of the heroine, while only two (about seven per cent) of twenty nine as widespread fantastic adventure hikayat are named after their heroines.

37

38

Compare Matheson 1983:26; Phillips 1981:6; Robson 1976:79-80.

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature

Matheson 1983:25-6. For the recitation and singing of the syair, see also Dumas 2000; Nafron Hasjim 1984a.

39

Twenty most common rhymes cover from seventy to ninety per cent of stanzas in syair (V. Braginsky 1991:146-7).

40

41 On the style of Persian poetry, see, for instance, Rypka 1968:99-119; Osmanov 1974; Yeo Berthels 1962:200-3, 384-5, 478-80; Prigarina 1978:125-6.

42

Brandstetter 1893; Winstedt 1991:132; Kraemer 1921:29; BrakeI1979a:94-5.

43

AI-Farabi 1972:23-5; Krachkovsky 1954-60, VI:45; Pellat 1964.

44 The editions of and studies on Hikayat Bayan Budiman and the Hikayat Bakhtiar are listed in Chapter VI of this book; for the editions of Hikayat Kalilah dan Daminah, see Gonggrijp 1892; Ismail Djamil1950; Haniah 1978, and also the translation of a Tamil recension of Paiicatantra by Abdullah bin Abdul Kadir Munsyi (1985) with his interesting preface. For the studies on Hikayat Kalilah dan Daminah, see Brandes 1891, 1893, 1895, 1931. The Malay Kalilah dan Daminah, as represented in Leiden manuscript Cod. Or 3195 from Van der Tuuk's bequest (Juynboll1899:224; Iskandar 1999, 1:106-7), is a fairly accurate reproduction of the Persian prose version of Kalila wa-Dimna by Nasr Allah, written around 1144 (Nasr Allah ibn Muhammad 1949; about this work, see Rieu 1879-83, 11:746-47; Browne 1956, 11:349; Arberry 1958:95-7; Denison Ross 1968:xx-xxi). It follows Nasr Allah's work both in the set of its fortythree inserted stories and in their order of succession. Another, 'hybrid' recension of Kalilah dan Daminah, found in manuscripts Jakarta Bat.Gen (now MI) 135 and Br 321 and Leiden Cod. Or. 1729 and 1757 (Van Ronkel 1909:78-9; Wieringa 1998a:89, 122; Iskandar 1999, 1:22, 33) seems to be a later reworking of the first. It introduces several (usually four) additional stories and the frame-tale from Paiicatantra, which relates the story of an Indian king, Iskandar Syah (a corruption of Sudarshana in the Hindu work Hitopadesha related to Paiicatantra) who, distressed by the stupidity of his sons, entrusts their education to the brahman Sumasanma (Sanskrit: Vishnusharma). The characters of this frame-tale bear South Indian names. Winstedt's opinion that the Malay Kalilah dan Daminah does not derive directly from Nasr Allah, as it also borrows stories from the Persian version of Kalila wa-Dimna by Wa'iz Kashifi (Winstedt 1991:85-6) is incorrect. It is based on the earlier work on this subject by Brandes (1891), which he later revised (Brandes 1893, 1895, 1931). As it turned out, all the three stories from Kashifi's version were inserted in the Malay work by Gonggrijp, the Dutch editor of Kalilah dan Daminah, who also made quite a few other changes in the text, without mentioning them. The date of composition of Kalilah dan Daminah is unknown. However, the fact that this work is mentioned in the list of manuscripts collected by St. Martin (De Haan 1900:299) testifies to the creation of at least one of its recensions not later than the mid-seventeenth century. For more details on Kalilah dan Daminah and its origin and evolution, see V. Braginsky (forthcoming c).

Unfortunately, numerous stories of Pak Pandir, just like stories of all other characters of this type, that were recorded at the beginning of last century, were preserved in literary language and do not reflect either the great variety of themes - sometimes quite scabrous - that existed, or the real character of the hero (Sweeney 1976). The ambivalent character of Pak Pandir (and incidentally pelanduk too) can be explained by the fact that stories about them still preserve some 'echoes' of narratives about such an ancient personage of world mythology - Malay-Polynesian peoples' mythologies included - as the culture hero-trickster, whether zoomorphic or anthropomorphic. Creating or bringing various cultural objects, introducing prescriptions and taboos of social life, this mythological hero acts at the same time as a transgressor of all established rules and prohibitions. He also likes to play tricks, sometimes quite cruel, on people or animals, but 45

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not infrequently finds himself outwitted by the weakest of them (Meletinsky 2000; Sullivan 1987; Luomala 1949). The stories of Pak Pandir, pelanduk and other characters similar to them, reveal the role of laughter in the Malay tradition, which as in traditions of many other peoples, was both destructive and creative at the same time. Jokes, puns and the illogical actions of these characters opened a kind of 'safety-valve' for the audience, a window onto a kind of 'anti-world'. For the duration of the story-telling the listeners freed themselves, as it were, from the strict regulations of communal life, its innumerable prohibitions and taboos. In stories of this kind reality showed its most unexpected facets, appearing before the listener with its elements interrelated in the most unusual way. Thus, these stories provided the listener with an opportunity to experience the unity of the 'rightly-ordered' Universe and social world anew, transformed, cleansed and rejuvenated by laughter (Bakhtin 1984). On laughter, humorous stories and their functions in Malay folklore and traditional literature, see Maier 1991; Shaiful Bahri 2000. Maier's study is based on Hikayat musang berjanggut (the 'Tale of the bearded civet-cat'), for its edition see Winstedt 1901. 46

The recensions of Sejarah Melayu (Sulalat as-salatin), which were composed in the classical period originate from the work of Tun Seri Lanang. Now all of them have been published, although the quality of their editions varies and some of them leave much to be desired. They have been edited by, respectively, Situmorang and Teeuw (1958; 'short recension' or the 'recension of Abdullah bin Abdul Kadir Munsyi'), Samad Ahmad (1979; the 'long recension'), Shellabear (1967; the 'hybrid recension' with a long 'Johor sequel'). On all these recensions, see Roolvink 1967 and Chapter II of this book. Among fairly numerous recent studies of Sejarah Me/ayu, the works by Umar Yunus (1984); Hashim (1988, 1992a:15-43); Muhammad Haji Salleh (1991a:3-23); Matheson-Hooker and Hooker (2001b:30-52) can be mentioned; this list is far from exhaustive. The 'recension of Abdullah bin Abdul Kadir Munsyi' was translated into English by John Leyden (Matheson-Hooker and Hooker 2001a). 47

48 Roorda van Eysinga 1827:224. Compare in Taj as-salatin: 'When Allah Most High manifests His Mercy to a nation, He makes the best among them their ruler [who is adorned with] perfect intellect and manners and appropriate qualities and actions' (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:224); or in Siyasat-nama: 'In each epoch the Most High selects one of a nation, glorifies and adorns him with virtues of the ruler' (Zahoder 1949:11). 49 Compare Teeuw 1976:17. Fairly numerous Persian words may also corroborate the assumption about the role of Persian influence in the creation of Hikayat Aceh (BrakeI1970:10). 50 The present author shares T. Iskandar's opinion that Hikayat Aceh was influenced by Mughal historiography. However, he believes that structurally Hikayat Aceh is more similar to another work of the Mughal era, Malfuzat-i Timuri (the' Autobiography of Timur [TamerlaneJ'), which was presented to the emperor Shah Jahan (1628-1637). The reason is that Malfuzat-i Timuri not only contains all the structural components of Akbar-nama, which T. Iskandar finds in Hikayat Aceh, but also shares with Hikayat Aceh some important features lacking in Akbar's chronicle. Both Timur's 'Autobiography' and Hikayat Aceh are structuralized as a sequence of 'annual accounts' of the protagonist's life and exploits, a device, which is unique in both Malay historical literature and in Mughal historiography. In both chronicles from early childhood the protagonist prefers war games to all other kinds of entertainment and, having divided his playmates into two detachments, arranges mock-battles of various sorts. In both he shows particular respect towards 'ulama, sayyid and Sufis, who at once guess his providential mission as a great Islamic conqueror and whose blessing and guidance are crucial to the fulfilling of this mission. In addition, the rhetoric of Malfuzat-i Timuri lacks the refinement and grandiloquent metaphoric style of Akbar-nama, which, inter alia, raised Johns's doubts of its influence on Hikayat Aceh (Johns 1979a:

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50), and thus stands much closer to the usual Malay narrative manner. On the basis of all this, the present author assumes that Hikayat Aceh follows the pattern of Timur's 'Autobiography' rather than that of Akbar-nama. While studying the question whether Malfuzat-i Timuri may have been a prototype of Hikayat Aceh, the author has come to the conclusion that the generally accepted dating of this chronicle back to the reign of Iskandar Muda is not based on serious grounds. What can be stated with due certainty is only the fact that Hikayat Aceh was composed after Iskandar Muda's enthronement in 1607 and before the late seventeenth century, when this work became known to the Dutch missionary Leidekker (see Iskandar 1958:2-5). Some internal evidence seems to allow us to limit this long span of time to the period between the early 1630s and the late seventeenth century. The only argument in favour of the earlier dating is, in fact, T. Iskandar's hypothesis that Hikayat Aceh was composed by Sheikh Syamsuddin of Pasai (died 1630) (about him, see Chapter VIII). It is difficult to imagine Syamsuddin, an educated ulama and the author of an orthodox Islamic catechism, writing that Allah grants a heavenly nymph from Wisnu's family to be a spouse of every king who is His chosen one. The idea that Syamsuddin could take John Davis (whom he met in person!) for a Portuguese and be unaware of his presenting no horses to the sultan seems even less probable. Equally improbable is the creation by Syamsuddin of the 'Turkish episode' of the chronicle, dated back to 1612. Events of 1567-1568 and 1608-1612 are hopelessly confused in this episode and deceased historical figures (for example, Muhammad II, the sultan of Turkey, and Sibghatullah b. Ruhullah, the famous sheikh of the Shattariyah order) are represented as still alive and active. It seems reasonable to doubt that Syamsuddin, who was responsible for the 'international relations' of Aceh and maintained close ties with Mecca and Medina, did not know that Muhammad II, the suzerain of the holy cities, had died in 1603, and Sibghatullah, the most celebrated Sufi sheikh of Medina (and, in addition, a 'schoolmate' of Syamsuddin's Sufi master), had died in 1606. Therefore, there are no chronological obstacles for the assumption that the author of Hikayat Aceh may have been acquainted with Malfuzat-i Timuri. For a detailed discussion of all these issues, see V. Braginsky (forthcoming d). 51

On Misa Me/ayu, see also Sulastin Sutrisno 1986a; Siti Hawa Haji Salleh 1997:142-57.

Besides, the first part of the chronicle contains one of Sejarah Melayu's recensions with the well-known Malaccan variant of 'the myth of origin', which was important for Raja Kecil's legitimation.

52

53

Winstedt 1932b; Matheson and Watson-Andaya 1982; Matheson-Hooker 1991a.

A general idea of the contents of writings belonging to this group is provided by their summaries in the book by Liaw Yock Fang (1991-93, II:122-39).

54

The impressive scope of Riau-Johor historiography is witnessed by the fact that the chroniclers of this area addressed not only the sources related to the dynasty of Malacca - Johor - Riau (for instance to Sejarah Me/ayu), but also historical writings of such states as Siak (Siarah Siak = Hikayat Siak, Hashim 1992b) and even Aceh. For instance, in the manuscripts Jakarta Von de Wall 196 and Leiden Klinkert 24 (van Ronkel 1909, 1921a), the exposition of Johor history, which is by and large similar to that found in Hikayat Negeri Johor, Tuhfat al-nafis and some other works, but in distinction to them finishes as early as 1750, is preceded by a brief history of Aceh borrowed from Bustan as-salatin (Book 2, chapter 13) (Kratz 1974). The immediate reason for this was most probably the fact that Johor had several times been mentioned by Nuruddin ar-Raniri in his Acehnese history. However, it seems likely that, when creating as detailed a picture of the history of Johor as possible, Riau chroniclers strove to represent this history in all its links with the events that took place in the neighbouring countries. On a new conceptual level, which was more deeply grounded in the principles of Islamic historiography than before, they continued, as it were, the cause of the author (authors) of Sejarah Me/ayu, by involving the whole Malay 55

V The genre system of classical Malay literature

383

world in the orbit of their reflection and, consequently, narrative to an even greater extent than the latter had done. Apart from this, the above-mentioned manuscripts confirm a certain degree of familiarity, on the part of the Riau chroniclers, with the opus magnum by Nuruddin ar-Raniri and probably some influence of his principles of historical description on them. For the editions of and studies on those historical works which have not been mentioned in this chapter, see, inter alia, Mutiara 1979b; Chambert-Loir 1985, 2000; Kalthum Jeran 1986; Kratz 1980b, 2000; Drakard 1988; Schultze 1990; Wieringa 1990; Tol and Witkam 1993b; Sweeney 1998. For the studies of Malay historiography as a whole, see Muhammad Yusoff Hasyim 1980; Ali Ahmad 1987.

56

For the sake of comparison, we could note that, according to the same calculations, all kinds of Malay prose belles-lettres are represented by 150 titles, historical treatises by 47, juridical writings by 41, and poetic works by 116.

57

58

Friederich and van den Berg 1873; Van Ronke11913; Voorhoeve 1957.

For tafsir in Malaysia and Indonesia, see also Johns 1988, 1997; Van Bruinessen 1990, 1995:158-60. On the significance of narrative elements in the Qur'an and some literary aspects of its translation-commentaries (in particular, of Tarjuman al-mustafid by Abd ar-Rauf of SingkeI), see Riddell 1997; Johns 1999; both article are of great interest not only for Islamologists, but also for students of literature. 59

For more details, see Chapter VIII. Rinkes (1909); Van Nieuwenhuijze (1945, 1948); Johns (1955, 1957); Tudjimah (1961); Drewes (1977); Daudy (1983); Matheson and Hooker (1988); Van Bruinessen (1990,1995:131-83), Shaghir bin Abdullah (1991, 1992).

60

61 On hagiographic hikayat in general, see Ismail Hamid 1989:25-112; Liaw Yock Fang 1991-93, 1:201-86; and Chapter VIII. 62

Mulyadi 1969; Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1989:56-74; see also Chapter VI.

63

Mulyadi 1968; Djamaris 1983; Jumsari Jusuf et al. 1984; see also Chapter VIII.

64

Al-Attas 1966, 1968; Van Nieuwenhuize 1948; Voorhoeve 1955a; see also Chapter VIII.

65

Drewes 1977; Winstedt 1991:104-5; LeRoy Archer 1937, see also Chapter VIII.

66 For Palembang poets, see Drewes 1977:225-8; for poets from Riau see Matheson 1983:41-4; Sham 1987a, 1995.

Jones 1968:12; Drewes 1977:224-5. For some Malay authors of the classical period, see also the useful collection of articles compiled by Mohamad Daud Mohamad (1987).

67

68

Yeo Berthels 1934:85-7; Zhirmunsky and Zarifov 1947:23; Dekhtyar 1979:9-13.

Yeo Berthels 1934:84-6, 92; Zhirmunsky and Zarifov 1947:133; I. Braginsky 1977:10; Dekhtyar 1979:12-3.

69

70

Borshchevsky et al. 1963:10; Dekhtyar 1979:6; Krymsky 1971:88-9.

71

The composition of Persian popular literature with its dastan, fantastic tales and hagi-

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature

ographical works was also similar to it (Ye. Berthels 1934:84-90; Borshchevsky et al. 1963:1O-7). On local Malay literary schools, which still remain almost unexamined, see Den Hamer 1890; Matheson 1983; Sham 1987a, 1987b; Drewes 1977; Kern, W. 1948; Iskandar 1995

72

Reference is made to works like Syair Sidi Ibrahim Sultan Mesir (the 'Poem of Sidi Ibrahim, the Sultan of Egypt'; Van Ronkel 1909:329-30; Klinkert 1913:386-419); Syair Taj al-Muluk (the 'Poem of Taj al-Muluk'; Van Ronkel 1909:335-6); Hikayat (and Syair) Jauhar Manikam (the 'Tale [and 'Poem'] of Jauhar Manikam'; De Hollander 1845); Hikayat Darma Ta'sia (the 'Tale of Darma Ta'sia'; Van RonkeI1909:124-5; Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1989:74-82). 73

74 On these genres see S~er 1959, 1978; Drewes 1961; Sweeney 1980b, and his discussion of 1990 with Watson 1989. Special mention should be made of several descriptions of the hajj, such as the Syair Mekah dan Madinah (the 'Poem of Mecca and Medina') by Syaikh Daud of Sunur (Syair Mekah dan Medinah; Juynboll1899:37; Van RonkeI1921a:102).

CHAPTER VI

Prose works of the classical period This chapter, in a similar way to Chapter III, contains descriptions and examinations of either major pieces of Malay prose composed in the classical period, or prose works of which particular aspects present a special interest in the context of this book. The works discussed are grouped according to their genres and, within each genre, arranged in chronological order. The genres, in their turn, follow in the order determined by their being traditionally assigned to the sphere of beauty or the sphere of benefit. Needless to say, the aesthetic component, which is present in virtually every composition in question, as well as the polysemy allowing of their different interpretations, make this division conditional to some degree. However, considering the main function of these works, which is more often than not defined in their prefaces, fantastic adventure hikayat can be included in the first sphere, while framed tales and edifying mirrors, on the one hand, and historical works, on the other, in the second sphere. The chapter is concluded by an essay about Hikayat Hang Tuah (the 'Epic of Hang Tuah'). Although belonging to the sphere of benefit by means of its deep semantic structure, this hikayat merges elements of all three functional spheres into a unity of artificial historicoheroic epic.

Fantastic adventure hikayat Hikayat Indraputra (the Tale of Indraputra') Malay literary works of the classical period contain at least three mentions of Hikayat Indraputra. Two of them, clearly negative, are found in the treatises by the Gujarati theologian Nuruddin ar-Raniri, Bustan as-salatin (the 'Garden of sultans') and Sirat al-mustaqim (the 'Straight path'). In Bustan as-salatin Nuruddin ar-Raniri reckons Hikayat Indraputra among false and useless tales 'recited to the accompaniment of the tambourine', which are, nevertheless, very popular among the Malays; these tales must neither be copied nor kept at home, as they are harmful for the faith of the readers.1 In Sirat al-mustaqim

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the strict ulama adds that, just like Hikayat Seri Rama, Hikayat Indraputra can be used for cleansing in the latrine, unless it contains the name of Allah (Mulyadi 1983:21-2). Incidentally, the name of Allah is encountered no less than a seventy six times in some of the extant manuscripts of the hikayat (Mulyadi 1983:39), thus testifying to the fact that Nuruddin ar-Raniri either saw a different recension of the work or, which seems more probable, heard about it rather than read it himself. A third, more positive mention occurs in Hikayat Isma Yatim (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:55) which tells about a lady of the court who, dreaming of the king's caresses on a moonlit night, began to read Hikayat Indraputra to dispel her sorrow (see Chapter V). These references not only show diametrically opposite evaluations of Hikayat Indraputra, but also confirm its great popularity. Preserved in thirty Malay manuscripts, of which the earliest is dated 1696,2 Hikayat Indraputra is also known in translations - or, rather, adaptations - into a number of languages of Indonesia (Buginese, Makasarese, Javanese, Acehnese) and even those outside Indonesia (Magindanao and Maranao in the Philippines, Cham in Indo-China}.3 The evidence of Bustan as-salatin, Sirat al-mustaqim and Hikayat Isma Yatim helps us to establish the time when Hikayat Indraputra was composed and the audience for which it was intended. Nuruddin ar-Raniri arrived in Aceh in 1637, wrote Bustan as-salatin between 1638 and 1641 and completed Sirat almustakim in 1644 (Voorhoeve 1955a:6). Thus, he probably learnt about Hikayat Indraputra in the late 1630s. However, some time must have passed before Hikayat Indraputra had become popular enough to be quoted as a typical example of compositions lacking in piety. Therefore, this work could have hardly been written later than the early seventeenth century. At the same time, as we shall see, Hikayat Indraputra may have been influenced by Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati or some similar Panji-romance, which makes unlikely its composition before the early sixteenth century. On balance, the most probable date of the hikayat in question is the second half of the sixteenth-the early seventeenth century. The hikayat begins with the story of the king Maharaja Bikrama Buspa (or Bispa), the powerful ruler of the country of Semantapura. His wife gives birth to their long-awaited son, the prince Indraputra. Astrologers predict that, being born under lucky stars, Indraputra will become the king of a great state, but warn his parents that fate will separate Indraputra from them, when he reaches the age of seven years. The prediction comes true, and a golden peacock made by a skilful goldsmith abducts the boy. Indraputra falls into the beautiful garden of Nenek Kebayan, the old lady who makes her living from selling flowers, and becomes her acknowledged grandchild. Nenek Kebayan4 brings Indraputra to the prime minister of the king who, enchanted with the good manners and intelligence of the handsome youth, introduces him to the king, Raja Syahsian. 5

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At the request of Raja Syahsian Indraputra sets off for the hermit Berma Sakti in search of a remedy for the king's childlessness. In his wanderings he kills an ogrewerewolf, helps the prince of faithful jinns in his war against infidel jinns, marries his sister and, after leaving her, comes to the shore of the Samudra (or Samundra) Sea. There he meets a dangerous sorceress, Dewa Sangkurba (or Langkurba, Lakpurba), the guardian of the pond in which the princess of fairies (peris), Ratna Gemala Mehran6 (or Kemala Ratnasari) used to bathe with her maids. He wins victory over Dewa Sangkurba and she takes him as her grandchild. Indraputra wants to see the princess and Dewa Sangkurba advises him to hide himself near the pond and steal the flying garments of the peris. So he does and agrees to return them their garments only after Ratna Gemala Mehran promises to give him her magical talisman in which four powerful jinns live, who can help Indraputra in all his deeds. Indraputra continues his perilous journey full of adventures, of which some idea can be gained from the summary of the hikayat that is contained in the preface to it?

And he was the one who was carried away through the air by the jinn Tamar Boga, and who saw the mountain of gold, and the mountain of silver, and the mountain of adamant, and the Sea of Miracles, and the Sea of Love. [... ] [the end of the 'strophoid'] And he was the one who slaughtered the great snake, called Mamdud, and who killed Gurkas,8 the ogre. None of the stratagems of Raja Tulela Syah, could help him to kill this ogre, however, Indraputra managed to slay him with his sword. [the end of the 'strophoid'] And he was the one who was cast by Raja Syahsian's ministers into the sea, and who was given a silken cloth, fine like the dew, after he had met Dewa Langkurba in the depth of the sea, and he was the one who wandered through the Sea of Jinns. [... ] So brave Indraputra was! [the end of the 'strophoid']. (For the Malay original, see Mulyadi 1983:49-50.) In the end, on marrying three princesses in his wanderings, Indraputra finds Berma Sakti, and receives the magical means (a flower of the white lotus) that provides Raja Syahsian with the daughter, Mengindra Seri Bunga. When she falls incurably ill, Indraputra manages to heal her with the help of Dewa Sangkurba's cloth. After that he gains the upper hand over all the princess's suitors, marries her and returns with four wives to his native country, Semantapura, where, to the great joy of his parents, he ascends the throne as king Paduka Sultan Mengindra.9

Hikayat Indraputra represents one of the most impressive specimens of the literary synthesis so characteristic for the classical period in the history of

388

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

Malay literature. This is witnessed to, first and foremost, by the set of its narrative motifs traceable to Indian, Persian and Javanese works. As was noticed long ago, the' germ' of Malay fantastic adventure hikayat 'is a folk-tale or cluster of folk-tales nearly always Indian' (Winstedt 1991:50). It is true that the majority of motifs, of which intricate joining form Malay fantastic adventure hikayat, are Indian in their origin. However, at the end of the sixteenth-the seventeenth century, when the genre of hikayat in its synthetic variety emerged in Malay literature, these motifs, either singly or in different combinations, became components of many Indian works both Hindu and Muslim. This circumstance, as well as a re-combination of the motifs in a particular hikayat itself and their attachment to different characters in the Malay composition and in its Indian prototype (compare Chapters I and 11), hinder the identification of the work that has served as a 'germ' of the hikayat, hence predetermining its outline, or rather its frame, to be 'filled' with motifs from other pieces of literature. Bausani (1979:46, 69) was right, as it seems, when he stated that in a majority of cases we should look for 'Indian germs' of fantastic adventure hikayat in dastan composed in the Deccan, usually in the form of mathnawi-poems. It is precisely there, in the principalities of Bijapur and Golkonda (as well as in Gujarat), that Muslim narrative literature in Dakhni (southern Urdu) and Persian flourished, extensively drawing motifs, if not entire plots, from Hindu works (Schimmel 1975b:137, 140-4; Suvorova 2000:1-43). In the sixteenth-the seventeenth centuries, close trading links established between the Deccan principalities and Gujarat, on the one hand, and Aceh, on the other, provided the possibility of spreading this literature in either the oral or the written form in the Malay world.1 0 The role of the intermediary in this process could be played by both merchants and religious tutors from India, not unlike Maulana Abu Bakar from whose 'fluent tongue' Hikayat Berma Syahdan was probably recorded (see Chapter V). Since more often than not fantastic amorous dastan represented Sufi allegories, it is little wonder that Islamic clerics were well acquainted with them. The combination of narrative motifs that constitutes the 'germ' of Hikayat Indraputra is probably the one best known from Gulshan-i 'ishq (the 'Rose garden of love'), the mathnawi in Dakhni written in 1657 by Molla Muhammad Nusrati of Bijapur, in the reign of Sultan' Ali Adilshah II (1656-1673). Considering its date, it is unlikely that this mathnawi itself served as the immediate source of Hikayat Indraputra. However, in the opinion of the best connoisseur of Nusrati's works, Maulvi 'Abdul Haq (1944:17-8; Schimmel 1975b:140), Gulshan-i 'ishq was composed on the basis of one of the earlier mathnawi in Persian with the same plot. ll The Persian mathnawi, in their turn, are traceable to the Hindi poem Madhumalati written by Manjhan around 155012 and revealing some, although rather distant, similarity with certain

VI Prose works of the classical period

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narratives from Kathasaritsagara (the 'Ocean of stories', McGregor 1984:72; Suvorova 2000:27-8). Incidentally, both Madhumalati and Gulshan-i 'ishq are Sufi allegories, and the latter, like most probably its Indo-Persian prototypes, represents a characteristic specimen of Hindu-Muslim literary synthesis in its plot and imagery (Schimmel 1975b:140-1; Suvorova 2000:25). The content of that part of Gulshan-i 'ishq which is most interesting to us runs as follows. Vikrama, the Raja of the principality of Kanchan Nagar [... ] is without issue. His prayers for the birth of an heir are unanswered and, in despair, the Raja relinquishes the throne and goes wandering in the world. In his travels he finds himself in a garden by the water tank of which fairies bathe at night. The Raja hides their clothes and asks them to fulfill his innermost desires in exchange. The fairies give him a magic hair telling him that when it is burnt, they will come to the rescue of the hero and heroine. Continuing his journey, the Raja comes across an ascetic (sadhu) who gives him a mango as a present. Returning home, Vikrama gives the fruit to his wife, and in due course, the long awaited son, Crown Prince Manohar, is born to her. The pandits, when casting the boy's horoscope, warn the King that there will be danger to the Crown Prince when he is fourteen years old. The prediction comes true: fairies kidnap the sleeping Manohar at night and carry him to the palace of the princess of Maharas Nagar, Madmalati [thus the name Madhumalati is spelled in the Dakhni mathnawi]. (suvorova 2000:25-6; compare Schimmel 1975b:141.)

It is obvious that a great number of motifs that occur in this part of Nusrati's mathnawi and in Hikayat Indraputra coincide. Even such a characteristic detail of the hikayat as the motif of flying tray in which peris transport their perfumery finds a parallel in the flying tray with the king Vikrama's dishes in the mathnawi.13 However, most of the motifs related in the hikayat to the prince Indraputra are attached in the mathnawi to the protagonist's father who, just like Indraputra's father, bears the name Vikrama (Bikrama in the hikayat). If, notwithstanding to whom particular motifs are ascribed, we put them in the order characteristic for Hikayat Indraputra, the coinciding motifs are as followS. 14

- The birth of the hero of whom astrologers predict that at some particular age (mathnawi: fourteen years, hikayat: seven years) he will be abducted by a flying creature. - The abduction of the hero who is transported by air to a garden/ palace. - A childless king desires to get offspring. - The hero sets off on a dangerous journey to get a remedy (plant) for his/ the king's childlessness from a hermit / saintly person. - The hero comes to a pool in the midst of a garden, in which peris used to bathe, and steals and hides their flying garments; the peris cannot fly

390

-

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

away and have to give a magical means to the hero, which allows him to call them (hikayat: four jin) for help to overcome a difficulty that he faces on the journey. In his wanderings the hero kills an ogre. The hero helps his friend to marry a princess; one of the newlyweds bears a name associated with the moon (mathnawi: Chandrasen, hikayat: Candra Lela Nur Lela). The hermit/ saintly person gives a magical plant (mathnawi: a mango, hikayat: a lotus flower) to the hero. The queen eats the fruit/ flower and gives birth to a child. The hero marries a princess who bears the name associated with a flower (mathnawi: Madhumalati, hikayat: Mengindra Seri Bunga); one of the newlyweds is born thanks to the magic plant received from the hermit/ saintly person.

Needless to say, each of the coinciding motifs as such is too common in fantastic adventure tales, whether Indian or Malay, to come to any conclusion on its basis alone. However, the sum total of the motifs, that forms the frame of the hikayat's architectonics, as it were, and particularly the pivotal motif of the journey to the hermit in search of a magic plant bestowing progeny (compare Chapter V), allows us to assume that the mathnawi by Nusrati (or to be more exact, its Persian source) could have been the 'germ' of Hikayat Indraputra. Even if the assumption that Gulshan-i 'ishq provided general outlines for Hikayat Indraputra is correct, the content within these outlines is radically different from that of Nusrati's mathnawi. This can probably be explained by the fact that, although Hikayat Indraputra might constitute a Sufi allegory like the mathnawi (see Chapter VIII), the two works follow substantially different patterns of such allegories. Gulshan-i 'ishq is based on a more' compact' pattern focused entirely on the figure of one and only one symbolic beloved, whereas Hikayat Indraputra (and other Malay narrative allegories of its kind) show the preference for a more 'extensive', multi-partite pattern which presupposes multiple marriages of the hero. The differences between the two patterns are particularly clear in their representation of the hero's wanderings. The plot of the mathnawi, including the first tryst of lovers, their separation, searches for each other and final union, seemed to be insufficient for the task that the author of Hikayat Indraputra faced. His 'extensive' pattern presupposed the motifs of the hero's 'great jihad' and victories over chthonic monsters, symbolizing the purification of his' self', and of four marriages, symbolizing its transformation at each stage of the Sufi Path. For these motifs the author turned to another work of the Persian origin, Hikayat Amir Hamzah, the tale of a great Muslim warrior who killed myriads of demonic creatures and married several beautiful women (see Chapter III).

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The main motifs borrowed from Hikayat Amir Hamzah are the following,15 - The hero finds a magical steed in the treasure-house (Indraputra:124-6; Hamzah:47-51). The hero helps faithful jinns in their war against infidel jinns and marries the sister of the king of the faithful jinns (Indraputra:28-39; Hamzah:24957).

The hero kills a dragon (Indraputra:124; Hamzah:433-5). The hero is abducted and thrown into the sea by a jinn who avenges his son/ father, the prince/king of infidel jinns killed earlier by the hero (Indraputra:92-3; Hamzah:253-5). The hero has an affair with a princess, they arrange a feast in her palace; the warriors of the princess's father surround the palace, but the hero defeats them and marries the princess (Indraputra:163-93; Hamzah:465-9). In his wanderings the hero finds many allies who come to his aid when he needs it (see the 'parade' of allies below) (Indraputra:178-83, 205-11; Hamzah:625-34). Interestingly, the author of Hikayat Indraputra not only 'inserts' the motifs from Hikayat Amir Hamzah into the 'frame' of the narrative which can be traced to the poem by Nusrati and its predecessors, but also fuses, as it were, the motifs borrowed from his sources, supplementing those from one of them by the details from the other. Especially characteristic in this respect is one of the most vivid episodes of the hikayat, telling how Indraputra stole the flying coat of the princess of the peris (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:40-59). This episode takes place on the shore of the sea, where in an underwater palace there lives the guardian of the princess's pond, an ambivalent character, hostile and dangerous (raksasa) and benevolent at the same time,16 She gives Indraputra her talisman that can produce wind and rain, thunder, lightning and storm. Later, during his wanderings in the underwater kingdom, Indraputra pays her another visit and receives a magical cloth which can heal the mortally ill daughter of king Syahsian. The figure of the guardian of the pond is lacking in the mathnawi. However, in Hikayat Amir Hamzah two of her counterparts are found: an evil sorceress, the wet-nurse of two princesses, who lives in her underwater palace and possesses a talisman that can also cause storm and rain, thunder, lightning and fire (Samad Ahmad 1987:690-6); and the benevolent mother of the Prophet Khadir, who lives on the seashore and leads the hero, under water, through the seas that separate Mount Qaf from the world of humans (Samad Ahmad 1987:279-81). On fusing these two characters from Hikayat Amir Hamzah, the author of the tale of Indraputra supplemented the episode from the mathnawi with the ambivalent figure thus created, which was to playa conceptually important part in his work (see Chapter VIII).

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Another insertion into the same episode, which was made in a similar way, is the motif of horrible 'mechanical' statues, the gatekeepers in the palace of the princess of peris, whom Indraputra must destroy in order to enter the palace (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:60-5). This motif is also absent in the mathnawi, but occurs in Hikayat Amir Hamzah, where the hero must penetrate an enchanted castle guarded by 'mechanical' warriors (Samad Ahmad 1987:5634); as soon as he annihilates the main talisman of the castle, the entire magic is dispelled, and the 'mecJ::tanica1' warriors fall down and roll on the ground, just like in Hikayat Indraputra. Finally, the episode on the seashore allows us to presume that a Panjiromance dose to Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati, if not the latter itself, served as one more important source of Hikayat Indraputra. The point is that the abovementioned guardian of the pond bears the name Langkurba (or Sangkurba, Lakpurba), like a celestial nymph in Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati (Sakurba, Sukarba). It is with the blood from her breast that the son of Raden Inu manages to restore his father to life (Winstedt 1991:169-70; compare the healing of the princess with a magical means received from Langkurba; Ali bin Ahmad 1968:268-72). Hikayat Indraputra contains a number of motifs, which may originate from the tale of Ceke1 Waneng Pati. 17 -

-

The desire to have offspring, which suddenly flares up in the heart of a king after he has seen the young of a barking-deer (kijang) weeping over the body of his killed mother (Indraputra:13-5; Winstedt 1991:163). Unsuccessful attempts of a king to defeat an ogre and the hero's victory over the monster (Indraputra:197-200, 213-14; Winstedt 1991:163; Taib Osman and Sham 1975a:268-77). An attempt to execute the hero by throwing him into the sea (Indraputra: 261-4; Winstedt 1991:164; Zaina11965:24). The capture of a particular animal for a princess as the condition for marrying her that a king sets her suitors (as in the case with the ogre, not only a general configuration of the episode, but also a number of its particulars coincide in both hikayat18 ) (Indraputra:288; Winstedt 1991:165; Zaina11965: 65-7). An attempt by a princess to make drunk the allegedly 'low' hero to find out the truth about him and his origin (Indraputra:68-9; Winstedt 1991: 166). Banquets and merrymaking on the islands after the vow is fulfilled (Indraputra:276, 282-9; Winstedt 1991:172). The patrolling of the world (or the sea) by a deity, the guardian of universal order (Indraputra:217; Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati 2:17). Mock combats of princes who transform themselves into dragons, ogres and miraculous birds (Indraputra:331-2; Zaina11965:200-1).

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The substitution of the mango fruit from the mathnawi for the lotus flower in Hikayat Indraputra may well be explained by the influence of Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati too (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:256-9; compare Winstedt 1991:163). Although the 'filling' of the narrative 'frame' determined by the plot of Gulshan-i 'ishq with the intertwining motifs from the tales of Amir Hamzah and Cekel Waneng Pati (or a similar Panji-romance) provides us with the majority of key components of Hikayat Indraputra, its sources are not limited to only these compositions. For instance, mentions of Rama and Laksamana in several pantun embellishing the hikayat (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:70, 167, 301), as well as the description of the kingdom of monkeys, of which the ruler becomes Indraputra's ally (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:127, 139-40; compare Hikajat Seri Rama 1953:135-42), leave little doubt about the author's familiarity with Hikayat Seri Rama from where he also drew some motifs. The episode about a princess who was entrusted to the care of a parrot and a mynah and hidden on the top of a high tower, far from worldly temptations (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:128-30), cannot fail to evoke associations with Hikayat Bayan Budiman (Hikajat Bajan Budiman 1956:5-11). The story of viziers intriguing against Indraputra (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:257-9, 261-3, 274-5) testifies to the use of a certain version of Hikayat Bakhtiar (or another adaptation of it, the 'Book of Ten Viziers', Voorhoeve 1933). The motifs of the weighing of Indraputra's talisman and his erecting the copper wall to protect the townsfolk from the ogre obviously originate from Hikayat Iskandar Zulkarnain (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:294; compare Van Leeuwen 1937:231), while the motif of a talking skull (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:24-5) is borrowed from a well-known Near Eastern legend of King Skull, if not from an early version of the Malay hikayat about him (Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1989:56-75). On balance, the narrative structure of Hikayat Indraputra represents an extremely intricate amalgam of Hindu and Islamic motifs, thus demonstrating only too clearly the synthetic nature of Malay fantastic adventure works. Literary synthesis also affected the imagery of Hikayat Indraputra, which, as we have seen (in Chapter V), blends elements from the description of battles, traceable to both the early Islamic epics of the Malays (for instance Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah) and their renderings of Javanese versions of Mahabharata (for instance, Hikayat Pandawa jaya). In addition, the IndoJavanese images of the monkey kingdom and miraculous arrows turning into rocks and clouds occur alongside passages analogous to Arabico-Persian descriptive cliches. For example: And the city was decorated in the best fashion, and kettle drumming began, and decorations and fabrics were hung in the city, and beautiful brocade was laid under the horses' hooves. And the nobles of the kingdom rejoiced and took out all their treasures and rarities, so that the onlookers gasped in admiration, and they fed the beggars and the poor, and held a great festival. (Salye 1958-59:212.)

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Compare in Hikayat Indraputra: Afterwards His Majesty, the Ruler of the World, gave orders to gather princes, ministers and commanders and to adorn his audience hall [... ] and he also gave orders to dress market squares and streets. And people covered the streets and lanes with precious fabric ainulbanat and brocade embroidered with gold. And in one street they placed ten trays full of gold and silver and jewels: diamonds, rubies, pearls, small brilliants and pieces of multicoloured marble [ready to be scattered]. Thus they de~orated every market. (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:326-7.)

Or, similarly: The earth [on the island] was of saffron, with pebbles of jacinth and precious metals; the hedges were of jasmine, the vegetation consisted of the most beautiful trees and exquisite flowers. Streams flowed there and Qaqullah aloe served as firewood, and instead of reed and rush there grew sugar cane. (Salye 1958-59:158.)

Compare in Hikayat Indraputra: And Indraputra saw that the sand [on the shore of the Samudera Sea] was of gold dust, and the stones of most beautiful diamonds, and the gravel of pearls, and the grass of saffron, and the ground of musk, and the stream [that flowed there] was of rose water. And on the seashore, along the stream, there grew grape vines, and pomegranate trees full of fruits. 19

Not infrequently, expressive elements belonging to different traditions occur side by side, forming a double-layered description. Thus, the scene of the battle between the faithful and the infidel jinns on the Darsal plain (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:29-33) may allude to the theme of battles waged by dewa and asura (deities and demons), which was well developed in Sanskrit literature, in Old Javanese kakawin and in related Malay tales. In the Hikayat Indraputra the battle takes place at the foot of the mountain, as it does in the Arjunawiwaha (Pane 1960:73-93; Wiryamartana 1990:157-68). In both works the armies approaching the mountain are likened to two clouds. However, whereas the Hikayat Indraputra straightforwardly declares that the clouds are black and red, the Javanese poem achieves the same effect indirectly, by saying that the banners of the asura were dark, as they were made of whole elephant hides, while the dewa flew red banners. In both works each blow dealt is accompanied by a flash of lightning and a thunderclap, flames and black smoke are emitted by the bodies of the warriors, shrouding the battlefield in darkness (see Chapter V). However, as was already mentioned, this scene derives from Hikayat Amir Hamzah, in which we also find the description of the beastlike appearance of the infidel jinns: In Hikayat Amir Hamzah we read about jinns, of which' some were with bull heads, some with dog heads, some with donkey heads and others with camel heads' (Samad Ahmad 1987:275),

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while in Hikayat Indraputra 'some of them were with elephant heads, some with tiger heads, some with deer heads, some with pig heads, some with dog heads' (Mulyadi 1983:62). Most probably from Hikayat Amir Hamzah also originate such descriptive topoi of the tale of Indraputra and classical Malay literature generally as the portrayal of a treasure-house, an army drawing up on the battle-field in the morning and returning to its camp in the evening, a beautiful park, a feast with drinking, dancing and singing after the victory, and a colourful 'parade' of the hero's allies (Samad Ahmad 1987:252, 323-4, 525, 604, 626-33). At the same time, the rhythm of interactions of Indraputra with the allies, the participants in the 'parade', their encounters in the face of danger and separations when the task is performed, may have been traced to Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah (see Chapter III). It would be wrong, however, to reduce the content and imagery of the Hikayat Indraputra to a set of synthesized borrowings. One easily discovers in this tale all the above-mentioned ethno-cultural features: a 'naive realism', descriptions of the life of Malay cities and, in particular, the inclusion in the text of pantun. Moreover the influence of pantun poetics is felt even in the construction of some episodes of the narration. Thus, in one of the most elegant scenes of the hikayat, Indraputra conveys his admiration of the beauty of the naked peris, bathing in the sea, by describing various fruits and flowers in a manner typical of the pantun. When the peris ask him whether he has seen their clothes on the beach, he answers that the only thing he saw was an ivory coconut palm, gently swaying with its round nuts. Needless to say, this is an allusion to his secretly admiring their breasts. Then he says that the only thing he saw was a white flowery jasmine, of which the leaves were falling, thus, hinting that he has admired their waists, and so on (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:53-4). Folk humour, rather rude sometimes, is not alien to Hikayat Indraputra either. For instance, when the princess's ladies-in-waiting, mocking at Malik Zahab, a comical shepherd dressed in a hairy goatskin, ask him how it happened that he, a bachelor, has a son, he answers: 'Hey ladies, didn't you see a banana tree? Does it have a husband or a wife? And yet it has a son out of the blue.' (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:153.) Various Malay rites and ceremonies also play an important part in the narrative. Among them we find rituals related to the birth of a prince, be it a splendid feast or a royal pageant in which he is carried around the city walls seven times, as well as celebrations on the occasion of his enthronement and marriages (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:4, 332-4). The latter occupy a place of honour in the hikayat. It portrays vividly the betrothal when the prince, like a Malay peasant of our days, sends his ring to the bride and receives from her a vessel with betel leaves as a sign of agreement to marry him (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:

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158-65}. The author of Hikayat Indraputra shows more than once a magnificent procession of the richly decorated, multi-tiered litters of the bride and the bridegroom (for instance, Ali bin Ahmad 1968:86-8). These processions are described with such accuracy that the position of the newlyweds in the litter and the arrangement of their retinue that carries nuptial paraphernalia on its different tiers can be confirmed by the data of roughly synchronous historical sources (Iskandar·1966:66). It is true that the modern historian of culture can hear an echo of the Hindu-Buddhist past in the majority of rituals portrayed in the hikayat. However, this would hardly have bothered Malay readers unfamiliar with the historico-comparative method and not inclined to historical reconstructions. They were brought up in the midst of these rituals and got used to considering them as a legacy of their fathers and grandfathers. In the eyes of Malay townsfolk, their life and their culture were always like this, hence it was precisely in this way that the wedding or the birth of a successor ought to have been celebrated. Remarkably, many details of the narrative, purely fantastic at first sight, also prove to be quite realistic. An example is the 'unspeakably beautiful' nuptial litter of Indraputra, constructed in the form of 'an animal with the body of lapis lazuli, the eyes of bezoar-stones, the tongue of Khurasan iron and the claws of sapphires' (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:220). It reveals an obvious similarity not only to ceremonial palanquins of the seventeenth century from Aceh (Iskandar 1966:64-5), but also to huge litters in the likeness of a mythical Garuda-bird, finely carved, gilded and set with semi-precious stones of different colours, which in the Sultanate of Kelantan were carried in pageants as late as the 1930s (Sheppard 1971:21-2). As has been already noted (see Chapter V), the royal park resembling those from Hikayat Indraputra down to some minute details (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:65-6, 277-8, 283-5) actually existed in Aceh of the seventeenth century (Iskandar 1966:48-52). The figures of dragons with tongues of gold and gems, the water continuously flowing from their mouths, which decorated the park, cannot but evoke associations with the miraculous statue of a dragon in Indraputra's bathing-pavilion, while the carved images of fighting elephants, hovering birds and fierce tigers in the park are reminiscent of the magical guards of the peri's palace and representations of beasts and birds on the nuptial litter of Indraputra (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:60-5, 329-31). The description in the Hikayat Isma Yatim of a lady of the court, who, pining with love, reads the Hikayat Indraputra (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:55), can be used (as can the foreword to the latter, which clearly indicates the status of the tale as a work belonging to the sphere of beauty) as a key for analysing the structure of the hikayat. Indeed, it fully meets the requirements of harmonious beauty of sound (rhythm, euphony) and content for consoling the reader's sorrow.

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A good example of the rhythmical narrative in Hikayat Indraputra, a kind of advertisement opening the tale, has been quoted above. Here is another example typical of narrative parts of the hikayat, the description of the feast: And Indraputra paid obeisance to Raja Syah[slian. And His Majesty rejoiced in his heart. After that servants arranged the refreshments before the gathering of courtiers. And all of them partook of those. After they finished, the night had fallen. And His Majesty returned to his palace. And then day had dawned, And the king's ministers conferred together. (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:257; compare Sweeney 1980a:19-20.)

As for the beauty of content, Hikayat Indraputra is full of numerous exquisite descriptions able to affect the reader's psychological state. Among them one can find, for example, a picture of the royal park, which for one instant came to a complete standstill and silence, as if listening attentively to distant, fading sounds of a mouse-deer's voice. Another example is a description of the breeze gently touching the surface of the waters, and as if transforming the sea into a cloud, quivering in the sky. Yet another, a depiction of the palace surrounded with moats and resembling a golden island so glittering in the sunlight, that nobody could look at it directly (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:285, 107, 130). The Hikayat Indraputra not only dramatizes the Muslim theory of the beautiful, which marks the consummation of literary synthesis in classical Malay belles-lettres (see Chapters IV and V), but also demonstrates in practice such fundamental principles of Islamic aesthetics as decorativeness, ornamentality and the predominance of episodic, or 'paratactic', compositional structure over the dynamics of the logical plot. The composition of the tale reminds us of a decorative fabric, or carpet, or rather a Malay kain songket, the cloth covered all over with a woven pattern of golden threads. The literary 'pattern' of the Hikayat Indraputra consists of five tiers (each including a number of episodic chapters), which are woven into the warp representing the hero's wanderings. The first three chapters give an account of the prince's childhood and his abduction by the golden peacock (the first tier). Stories of the second tier deal with Indraputra's lonely wanderings, the procurement of magic talismans and the winning of allies. At the centre of nearly every chapter of this tier, we find either the description of a military exploit or a love scene, which together form a fairly regular, rhythmic sequence. A role of special significance is assigned to the long ninth chapter, which by itself occupies the entire third tier. Not only does it divide the text into two

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well-balanced parts, but it also provides a miniature model of the work as a whole. Having 'entered' into this chapter as a beggarly wanderer, Indraputra is suddenly transformed, at the end of it, into a powerful ruler who reviews the troops of his allies and vassals - a perfect narrative circle occurring in almost every Malay fantastic adventure hikayat. Alternating martial and amorous episodes again occur in the fourth tier, which is symmetrical to the second and nearly as long, but what distinguishes stories in this tier is the fact that all major events described are accompanied by vivid depictions of troops marching to the prince's rescue under the command of his princely allies, a kind of parade of their armies. The last chapter, chapter 14, which is roughly equal in length to the first three chapters combined, and which tells of Indraputra's final triumph (the final, fifth tier) together with chapters 1 to 3 (the first tier) form a kind of frame for the events described in the main chapters. Such, then, is the geometrically perfect plan of the Hikayat Indraputra. A closer examination of the hikayat shows even more similarities to an ornamental work. Despite their great number, the scenes of the tale, which could be called figurative in that they depict all sorts of heroic exploits in love, battle or magic, occupy a rather modest place in the work as a whole. They dissolve into detailed and purely decorative descriptions of nature and battles, weddings and other festivities, palaces and gardens. Moreover, each such description consists, in its turn, of minute lists of things such as wedding palanquins, bathing pavilions, umbrellas and banners, robes worn by warriors, and toilet sets with golden bowls and crystal jugs. Even heroes are often but a totality of minutely depicted 'excellent garments'. Looking more closely, one becomes aware that the outlines of the objects themselves begin to dissolve: a palace, for example, can now easily be confused with a golden fence; a fence, with a garden crowded by golden and silver trees with emerald leaves; gardens, with magic ships not unlike Indraputra's unique boat of green glass, which was in effect a swimming garden. The images turn out to be of the same material and, as if by magic, one sees a piece of embroidery in which golden stitches alternate with iridescent gems. It is not fortuitous that the hero of Hikayat Isma Yatim, the author of another 'unspeakably beautiful hikayat', was appointed 'keeper of the king's carpets', and even made a carpet for his king. However, the significance of Hikayat Indraputra and some other fantastic adventure tales was not confined to captivating the reader with their beauty and promising him solace in the sorrows of love or anxieties of everyday life. Sometimes these works were intended to perform tasks of a more spiritual nature, which seems to be rarely understood by Islamic purists whose condemnation of hikayat was not unlike the above-mentioned attacks against Hamzah Fansuri and poets of his circle (see Chapter V). Similar to those

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attacks, their disdain towards romantic narratives was usually explained by a deafness of sorts to the symbolic meaning of some of such narratives (not all of them, of course), in which a combination of amorous and fantastic adventure motifs per se constituted only the first, superficial semantic level. While interpreting a similar double-decked structure of meaning in Byzantine romances, their student, S.Y. Polyakova, aptly remarked: Such an understanding of the amorous domain, rather odd from our point of view, could have resulted only from a symbolic nature of medieval thought which always discerned something else behind each thing and was not timid at all about looking for pearls everywhere. The same approach also conditioned two other, more immediate causes of the phenomenon in question: first of alt earthly, bodily love was comprehended by theologians as the lowest form of Love for God; secondly, when interpreting reality, the writer had the right to use any artistic means in order to reveal the arrangement of the world that was understood as an allegorical masterpiece of the Creator. (Polyakova 1979:104.)

As we shall see below (Chapter VIIIt there is enough evidence for believing that Hikayat Indraputra could be read not only as a love romance, but also as a Sufi allegory describing a spiritual journey of the soul. Middle Eastern and Indian Sufi literature offered innumerable examples of such allegories in the genres of both scholarly treatises and mathnawi poems (the authors of many of them were well known in the Malay world; AI-Attas 1968:55-6; Bausani 1968) or prose dastan, a close counterpart of hikayat (for instance, the dastan Madhhab-i 'ishq - the 'Religion of love' by Nihalchand Lahori (1975)). In Malay literature of the sixteenth-the seventeenth centuries, when the profession of Islam by the Malays was nearly tantamount to affiliation with some Sufi order (Johns 1961), Sufi allegories in verse or prose were not at all a rarity. As has been already noted (see Chapter V), they coexisted with fantastic adventure hikayat, appropriating their motifs and, in turn, influencing them. A fantastic adventure work and a Sufi allegory at the same time, Hikayat Indraputra must have been read differently by the lay reader who sought only beauty in it and the initiate who grasped its hidden message. The words by the Indo-Persian poet, Amir Khusraw Dihlawi, about his mathnawi Hasht bihisht (the 'Eight paradises') are well applicable to this hikayat too: If there is a connoisseur of the treasure-house of mystery, He will appreciate the high flight of my thought. But if he does not possess the ability of cognition, He will be quite satisfied with a fairy-tale. (Prigarina 1979:91.)

However, even for a common reader Hikayat Indraputra offered more than only a means of entertainment. Prefaces to some fantastic adventure hikayat show that these works performed a function as 'manuals of life' or, rather, a kind of 'novel of education' (Bildungsroman). As with Byzantine romances,

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their reading' did not predispose one to lightheartedness but, on the contrary, led the thought in an ethical direction' (Polyakova 1979:103). The reader, who completely identified himself with the ideal hero of the hikayat, understood the path of his wanderings as the life path of Man, thus becoming a participant in the eternal drama of human aspirations, searches and achievements.

Hikayat Isma Yatim (the Tale of Isma the Orphan') It is commonly believed that such an important branch of Muslim writings as the literature of adab was inadequately developed in the Malay tradition (see, for instance, Roolvink 1971:1231). The word adab (Arabic: 'good breeding', 'courteous behaviour') implied the totality of morat social and intellectual merits which were essential in a man of refined culture, enabling his intellect (the only thing that made people truly human, according to Islamic ideas) to reveal itself freely and spontaneously in all kinds of different situations. 2o The adab literature in the Middle East included mainly carefully selected anthologies of edifying stories, sayings of the wise, excerpts from poems by famous poets, and the like. Its object was to shape the correct, that is the beautiful, 'form of mind' (Krachkovsky 1954-60, VI:45) by 'taking a bit of everything so as to enlighten people without tiring them, and to exhort them entertainingly' (Pellat 1964:23). It is true that such anthologies and didactic mirrors, close to the anthologies in their nature, are not so frequent in classical Malay literature. However, their functions were assumed by other genres of literature, in particular by fantastic adventure hikayat. Although designed primarily for the soul, works of the type represented by Hikayat Indraputra (in their superficiat non-Sufi meaning) were also beneficial for the intellect, or to be more precise the 'practical reason'. Yet, in this case intellectual 'benefits' affected the reader indirectly, through the exposition of the hero's life story in which his reason, good breeding and courtly manners were emphasized. The tasks performed by Hikayat Isma Yatim (the 'Tale of Isma the Orphan'), of which the linguistic style displays obvious influence of the language of kitab (Winstedt 1991:57t are even closer to those of the adab literature. 21 The first mention of Hikayat Isma Yatim occurs in the list of manuscripts belonging to Isaac de Saint Martin, the officer of the Batavian garrison, which is dated 17-19 May 1696.22 This date is the obvious terminus ante quem of the composition of the work. Since, however, it refers to Hikayat Indraputra in one of the episodes (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:55), its terminus post quem is most probably the first half of the seventeenth century. In view of these considerations, it seems safe to date the hikayat back to the middle of the seventeenth century or a little later. The internal data found in Hikayat Isma Yatim, par-

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ticularly in the preface to it, allow us to infer that its author, a certain Ismail, was well read in Malay literature of his time. Not infrequently he makes allusions or direct references to such works as, for instance, Hikayat Seri Rama, Hikayat Sang Bama, Kalilah dan Daminah, Hikayat Indraputra and Taj as-salatin (or probably Bustan as-salatin). The adab objects of Hikayat Isma Yatim are also formulated in Ismail's preface. His work was to instruct the reader in courtly behaviour, embellish his speech with exquisite aphorisms, provide him with the possibility to solve difficult problems by means of references to the precedents mentioned in the hikayat, and comfort him in sorrow (see Chapter IV). Indeed, Hikayat Isma Yatim contains all the necessary motifs of the fantastic adventure narrative to perform the soothing function. The reader finds in it a love story about the king and the princess Mehran Langkawi hidden in a magical sapphire which was brought by an overseas merchant, the description of their happy marriage, the narration of Isma Yatim's rescuing the pregnant princess whom the envious elder wife of the king accused of an attempt to poison him, and much more. However, unlike the author of Hikayat Indraputra, the creator of Hikayat Isma Yatim uses amorous scenes (in the most expressive of them the king attempts to find the princess Mehran Langkawi in complete darkness, guided only by a wonderful aroma issuing from her; Roorda van Eysinga 1821:56-62), battle episodes, descriptions of various wonders and marvels as merely a canvas on which he embroiders the exquisite designs of his instruction. The wise hero of the hikayat, Isma Yatim, serves this purpose only too well. He differs from most characters of such tales in that he is not a prince but a man of letters and the king's advisor. As early as his childhood, having been trained by his tutor Sufian, Isma Yatim writes a hikayat, which at once becomes a textbook for his schoolmates with their parents' consent. Then he appears before the prime minister and reads him his new composition written specially for the ruler of the country of Indra Patani. The prime-minister, delighted at the good qualities of the hikayat and its exquisite style, assures the young man that it is 'more precious than gold and silver' and brings him to the ruler. The latter, even more delighted than the minister, accepts Isma Yatim into state service. Now he writes wonderful edifying works, 'entertains the king's soul' with various stories, plays musical instruments for his master and, having become 'the custodian of carpets and precious covers', weaves an 'unspeakably beautiful' carpet for him (Roorda van Eysinga 1821: 2-11). The list of arts and crafts mastered by the court writer is quite typical and explains much in the features of the artistic arrangement of fantastic adventure hikayat. Having become a statesman, Isma Yatim does not tire of displaying his wisdom and education. He settles a military conflict with Raja Safardan

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peacefully, rules the country for the benefit of the king and his subjects, keeps the king from unreasonable actions and, having become the guardian and mentor of the king's daughter, who replaces her father on the throne, marries her to the prince Indra Mempelai. This prince, as befits an enlightened heir to the throne, shares his time between the study of theology, military exercises and fine arts (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:172-3). The author of the tale uses every chance to turn the main hero or other characters into the mouthpiece of instruction on the qualities of the ideal husband and the ideal wife (the latter is presented in the elegant scene of a conversation between Chinese Lantern, Candle, Curtain and Peacock); on the merits of a ruler, a minister, an army commander, a merchant; on the ideal state arrangement and knowledge necessary for a young man of noble descent. As in all adab literature, the artistic and didactic aspects are inseparable in the hikayat, so that the instructions are offered in an aphoristic and figurative form and are easily remembered thanks to special mnemonic devices used by the author. For instance, the memorization of qualities of the ideal woman is facilitated by the fact that each of them is presented as coinciding with a certain letter in the Malay word perempuan 'woman', which is written in Jawi script with six letters: p-r-m-p-u-n. After the residents of the palace fell asleep around the princess, protecting her, Candle said: 'Listen, Chinese Lantern, why are all your eight daughters not married thus far?' Chinese Lantern began rotating on his thread, his bells began tinkling marvellously, and he answered: '0 Candle, it is not easy to have one's daughter married, because a woman must possess many perfections.' Having heard that Lantern and Candle were talking, the princess and Dewi Rum Diraja [1sma Yatim's daughter] woke up, and Dewi Rum Diraja sat up on her bed and began listening. At that time Candle, Candlestick, Oil Lamp and Curtain asked: '0 Lantern, tell us what those womanly perfections are, so that we can learn about them: Said Chinese Lantern: 'The perfection, of which the name begins with the letter 'pa', is that a woman must be p-roper for her husband: she must say exactly what he says: After hearing the answer given by Lantern, Peacock went out of the sapphire and said: 'True indeed are Lantern's words which reminded me of the following pantun: A rice-field owlet and a rice-field snippet, Tun Ali has broken a straw; They properly sit and properly stand What a pleasant Sight to the eye! The word 'properly' means that they make a perfect match: After listening to Lantern talking and Peacock singing, the princess smiled, and Dewi Rum Diraja took out her ear-stud and wrote with it all that Lantern said. Lantern resumed its speech and said: 'The perfection of which the name begins with the letter 'ra' is that a woman must r-ejoice the heart of the husband and his

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slaves and servants with her cordial words. It is such a wife who is praised by her husband! As for the perfection of which the name begins with the letter 'mim', it is that a woman must be m-erry, so that when her husband looks at her pretty face, his heart would always become filled with passion, and even if he is sorrowful, the sorrow would leave his heart. Such is the meaning of the letter 'mim: On hearing this, Peacock answered: 'True indeed are your words. Listening to them, I recall queen Balia Dari. When her royal husband abdicated the throne, her unspeakably beautiful face became radiant and she said: 'I have no gift to offer, except my pretty face and a tender word, such is my gift to you: Said Candle, Candlestick, Oil Lamp and Brocade Curtain: 'True indeed are your words; continue them, so that we can hear more: And the princess thought to herself: 'Lantern says the truth; my uncle, the prime-minister [that is, Isma Yatim], keeps me at home unmarried, because I do not yet know all the perfections of a woman: The princess rejoiced and did not want to sleep any longer, when listening to Lantern's speech. As for Dewi Rum Diraja, she wrote down all that it said.

Thus, Chinese Lantern enumerates six perfections of a woman's body and character and concludes his speech with the list of her spiritual merits: And the woman, who is well versed in the meaning of these letters, is called knowledgeable, because it is not in vain that the Most High bestowed them on the first woman, Eve, when He created her and gave her the name of perempuan. To these six perfections another six should be added, which are: the first, faith in Allah (iman); the second, obedience to Him (Islam); the third, cognition of His mysteries (ma'rifat); the fourth, profession of His unity (tauhid). As concerns the last two perfections, I must keep silence about them, because they are secret ones. Thus, a woman has twelve merits, and if she has mastered all of them, she is called perfect. (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:153-5; Winstedt and Blagden 1917:124-7.)

It is noteworthy that, as is seen from the mention of secret perfections in this passage and from some other passages of the text, Sufi motifs are not alien to Hikayat Isma Yatim too. However, as this work is a 'manual' of worldly wisdom, its author refuses to elaborate upon them, saying that he does not want to take the bread out of the spiritual tutor's mouth.

In a number of narratives which belong to the period of the deep Islamization of traditional Malay literature, that is to the late eighteenth-the nineteenth century, the colourful aesthetics of the seventeenth century, when HinduIslamic synthesis flourished, give way to a more reserved and 'monochrome' type of aesthetics, though more spiritual too. As it has been noted above (see Chapter IV), the main principle of this' ascetic aesthetics' was expressed most clearly in AI-Ghazali's Ihya 'ulum aI-din (the 'Revivification of religious sciences') that enjoyed great popularity among Malay literati precisely in the late eighteenth-the nineteenth century. As AI-Ghazali wrote:

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature Beauty is not limited to only visible objects; it is not reduced to only a harmonious combination of forms. [... ] You should know that the things beyond sensory perceptions can also be beautiful and good. [... ] When people speak of moral beauty they imply education, intelligence, good behaviour, courage, piety, generosity and other similar virtues. Many of them are perceived by the light of intrinsic intellect, not by the five senses. (Al-Ghazali 1980:234-5.)

Therefore, this type of aesthetics proved to be intimately related to Islamic ethics. Two remarkable features are characteristic for the narratives of that period. Firstly, they often focus on the topic of ideal family relationships, which are put to a test in extreme conditions. The wife who has to commit a sin precisely because of her limitless loyalty to her husband and who is expelled by him for this, in Hikayat Darma Ta'sia (the 'Tale of Darma Ta'sia', Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1989:74-82); the father who has to whip to death his beloved, though sinful, son to save him from torments in hell, in Hikayat Abu Samah (the 'Tale of Abu Samah', Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1989:26-55); the husband who has to leave his wife and son, whom he adores, in fear that his love for them might surpass his love for God, in Hikayat Sultan Ibrahim ibn Adham (the 'Tale of Sultan Ibrahim ibn Adham', see Chapter VIII) - such are the tragic heroes of these narratives. Secondly, a kind of parabolic pattern of narration underpins many such narratives, particularly those in the form of syair (for more details, see Chapter VII). In a nutshell this pattern is as follows. The protagonist (a hero or a heroine), who enjoys a happy life at the beginning of the story, suddenly finds himself/herself in great trouble; the original happiness can be restored only after a sincere prayer of the protagonist to God and His intervention. Turning to prose works, we find this pattern, for instance, in Hikayat Darma Ta'sia again. However, in a particularly elaborated form, the two above-mentioned features occur in Hikayat Maharaja Ali (the 'Tale of Maharaja Ali').

Hikayat Maharaja Ali (the 'Tale of Maharaja Ali') Hikayat Maharaja Ali is a good example of the purely Islamic variety of the genre of fantastic adventure hikayat. This work is almost completely free of elements of Hindu-Muslim synthesis and combines in itself traits of both linear narration and a framed tale. The approximately ten existing manuscripts of the work, of which the oldest dates from 1808 (Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:142), belong to two different recensions (Van Ronkel 1909:220-2) and, unfortunately, give us no clues to the time of their creation. 23 This hikayat is not mentioned in any of the old lists of Malay manuscripts of the late seventeenth-the early eighteenth century. However, the pathos of Hikayat Maharaja Ali testifies to its having been created in a period of profound Islamization.

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The same is evidenced by the use in it of a story that is also contained in Bustan as-salatin (middle of the seventeenth century) and by the tendency of some versions to make the main hero the ruler of Syria (Syam or Badagara Suryani, see Van Ronkel 1909:222). It seems that the hikayat was created between the end of the seventeenth century and the end of the eighteenth century - most probably, in the later half of that period. The most common recension of Hikayat Maharaja Ali can be summarized as follows. Maharaja Ali (in the other recension, Ali Padisyah), the childless ruler of a country named Badagra, inquires of astrologers whether he will have children. They tell him that he will have three sons, of whom the eldest will bring misfortune. The king and his spouse Hasinan love the boys very much and indulge the outrageous behaviour of the elder son, Baharum, who maims and kills the courtiers' children and rapes other persons' wives. Unable to tolerate these outrages, the subjects rebel, and the king has to leave his country. While roaming, he and his family are attacked by robbers who rob them of all their possessions; then the king's elder son becomes lost. The remaining four of them arrive in a country named Kabitan, ruled by Raja Serdala, and stay in a mosque, pretending to be beggars. Hasinan and her children beg for alms; the vizier notices her beauty and informs Raja Serdala. They entice her into the palace, while Maharaja Ali and his two sons continue their roaming in deep grief and arrive at a riverside. Maharaja Ali tries to ford the river, but is devoured by a crocodile; his sons are adopted by the ferryman. Meanwhile, Raja Serdala tries to cajole Hasinan into becoming his wife, and in order to win time she tells him the story of the misadventures of a prince who fell in love with a beautiful woman whom he had seen in a dream; he found her, but robbers took her away from him; in the end he regained her, thanks to the Prophet Sulaiman's wise judgement. Telling this story, Hasinan wanted to give Raja Serdala a hint that, according to Allah's Will, what belongs to another person will in the long run return to its true owner, or, in other words, that Raja Serdala must return her to her husband. However, Raja Serdala continues to exert pressure and is ready to resort to force. After Hasinan's prayer Allah smites Raja Serdala with paralysis, so that he has to stop his advances. In the meantime, the Prophet Isa Oesus) finds Maharaja Ali's skull. The skull asks him to pray to Allah for him, a former ruler, and raise him from the dead so that he can see his dearly beloved wife. The Prophet Isa revives him and brings him to the throne of Badagra, but neither the king nor his subjects recognize each other. His two sons, brought up by the ferryman, come to the palace to beg for money. Maharaja Ali fails to recognize them either and makes them his pages. The fame of Maharaja Ali's power and his ability to work miracles reaches Raja Serdala. Wishing to be cured, Raja Serdala sails to Badagra in the company of Hasinan. Maharaja Ali receives him as an honoured guest and sends his two pages to the boat to take care of Raja Serdala's alleged spouse. When the pages begin to talk, it occurs to Hasinan that they are her sons. She rushes to them, kisses and embraces them. The event is reported to Maharaja Ali who is enraged and orders the execution of his recent favourites. His servants take them to the jail, but

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature since they have no order from the king, the warder (who is also the executioner) postpones the execution. In fact, the executioner is the pages' brother Baharum. It appears from the boys' conversation that they are his brothers, and in the morning he takes them back to the palace. The situation is cleared up, Hasinan proves that she is Maharaja Ali's wife, and the five are reunited happily. Raja Serdala receives a minister's daughter as a wife and is sent home with honour. Maharaja Ali and his subjects recognize ,each other. (Blagden 1929; Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1989.)

Curiously, Hikayat Maharaja Ali, a work which explains each event by Allah's Providence and is, as we shall see, based entirely on Muslim sources, led A. Bausani to reveal the Hindu roots of the genre of classical hikayat in his detailed analysis of the tale. In fact, like any work of any genre, this tale is characterized by a so-called' memory of the genre'. What is meant is the preservation of certain generic features in the work, which were meaningful at the time of the formation of a particular genre and which lost their relevance at subsequent stages of its evolution. Nevertheless, these original features continue to influence an author using this genre without his realizing it and sometimes, according to circumstances, may become relevant again. The comparative method allows us to detect these latent features and trace the history of their appearance. This is what Bausani managed to do when he discovered, by comparing Hikayat Maharaja Ali with Hikayat Sang Borna, the sources of the genre model of the Malay hikayat in the Hindu idea of the avatara of a divine hero in this world, or when, proceeding from even more ancient ideas, he saw the boundary of the kingdom of the dead in the river forded by Maharaja Ali (Bausani 1979; see also Chapters I, V). It is noteworthy, however, that Bausani does not ask himself why and for what purpose a Muslim author composed Hikayat Maharaja Ali in around the eighteenth century, but evidently takes for granted that the tale was no more than a piece of light reading. Whereas, like his contemporaries and colleagues, the author of the hikayat used a genre model - which had probably come into being as early as the old Malay period but which had long since ceased to be regarded as having anything to do with Hinduism - in order to express a number of ideas consonant with the ideals of Muslim ethics at the time, and did this, for all the hikayat's seeming simplicity, with remarkable refinement. Actually, the content of Hikayat Maharaja Ali arises from the combination of two themes: -

The theme of the monarch whose love for his family is so overwhelming that it leads him to violate his duty as a just ruler; The theme of female fidelity.

These closely interlacing themes and the inner controversy within the first

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theme (the positive motif of love for one's family, including the deep mutual love of the spouses, versus the negative motif of the violation of one's duty because of this love) create an exceptionally taut ethical 'texture' for the narrative. Popular edifying mirrors for kings such as, for instance, Taj as-salatin clearly demonstrate how important the motif of justice was in Malay literature and how imminent, in the opinion of Malay authors, was punishment for tyrannical rulers, sometimes befalling them in this life and certainly overtaking them beyond the grave. This double punishment befalls Maharaja Ali when, blinded by his love for his son, he acts unjustly with regard to the victims of his son's cruelty and outrageous acts. His subjects no longer want to remain under the rule of the unjust monarch. He has to retire into exile, or his subjects will leave him. The emphasis on this alternative is the first masterly move of the author of the hikayat, a kind of a test allowing the reader a better understanding of Maharaja Ali's temper. Obviously, he is not an incorrigible tyrant, as is doubtless testified to by his decision to leave Badagra voluntarily and not to force his subjects to leave their homes in search of a better life elsewhere. Evidently, this decision of his is the first step towards repentance and reform. It is not accidental that the king's wife, the most positive character of the hikayat, supports his decision. Along with many other events in the narrative, the king's decision to withdraw into exile voluntarily is put by the author in the context of traditional Malay literature, which noticeably enhances its expressiveness and evokes additional associations in the readers. In a similar manner, the just ruler trying to avoid a bloody feud with his treacherous brother, which will be fateful for the country, retires into exile in story 4 from the short recension of Hikayat Bakhtiar (see below). Thus this parallel is an additional allusion to Maharaja Ali's potential justice. However, a problem arises here. In fact, some motifs of Hikayat Bakhtiar, used in this and other episodes of Hikayat Maharaja Ali, are also found in Hikayat Maharaja Puspa Wiraja (the 'Tale of Maharaja Puspa Wiraja', 1900), a work, which Winstedt relates to the Hindu period (Winstedt 1991:35-6). Proceeding from his, or rather Hooykaas's, idea of hikayat's being a product of Hindu fantasy, Bausani also regards these motifs as borrowed from Hikayat Maharaja Puspa Wiraja (Bausani 1979:17, 63-5). It seems, however, that the author of Hikayat Maharaja Ali leaned on Hikayat Bakhtiar, as is evidenced not only by the purely Muslim list of his sources as a whole, but also by some other facts. Hikayat Maharaja Puspa Wiraja is a 'linear story', while Hikayat Bakhtiar is a framed one. In Hikayat Maharaja Ali we also find the same device of framed narrative, which is introduced in the same way as in Hikayat Bakhtiar:

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Maharaja Ali's wife is brought to the raja's palace just as Bakhtiar was; She is threatened with death (she swears that she will commit suicide if Raja Serdala touches her) just as Bakhtiar was; Both heroes tell stories hinting at certain events in their lives to avoid death; Like Bakhtiar' s, H~sinan' s story also ends in moralizing.

Considering all this, as well as the fact that each of the corresponding motifs in Hikayat Maharaja Ali is found in both Hikayat Bakhtiar and Hikayat Maharaja Puspa Wiraja, the former of the above two works seems to be a more probable source of Hikayat Maharaja Ali. Human punishment of Maharaja Ali's unjust behaviour is followed by Divine Punishment. The king loses all his family and then his life. Not only is the reader reminded of the Divine Predetermination (takdir Allah) of each event (these words are found dozens of times in the tale), but Maharaja Ali himself is also aware of it. For instance, having lost his elder son, he says: 'It is because of Allah's Will that this has happened to me' (Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1989:86). The entire passage about Divine Punishment is arranged in a masterly fashion. It was Bausani (1979:51) who noted that the whole narrative was built on certain numerical correlations. The heroes are separated one by one and then are reunited in the same manner according to the scheme: 5 -) 4 -) 3 -) 2 / / 2 -) 3 -) 4 -) 5. On the whole, this observation of his is more or less correct, although it needs some improvements and additions. Studying Bausani's scheme from the angle of Divine Punishment, through the eyes of Maharaja Ali himself, one cannot but note the following. In the first part of the scheme (before the axis of symmetry) the story tells not only of the separation of the heroes but also of the king's gradual loss of what is most dear to him, his family, including the loss of his own life as a member of the family. Divine Providence deprives him precisely of that which made him violate his duty and become an unjust ruler. A more precise sequence of losses is: 5 -) 4 -) 3 -) 1 -) O.

Having left two sons on different banks of the river, the king remains alone (1) and dies (0). The complete disintegration of the family is emphasized by two expressive events. Fearing that the younger sons may get lost in the forest as the elder son did, Maharaja Ali ties them to trees on opposite banks of the river and dies in front of his sons, who are unable to move, in the river separating them. A ferryman adopts the boys, and they receive a new father. Maharaja Ali's family is no more. However, this is followed by an episode, which is not only the axis of symmetry of the entire narrative but also its turning point, after which the

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fateful sequence of losses is replaced by a symmetrical sequence of restitution. This is marked by two prayers to Allah, two appeals for divine Mercy, following each other almost without an interval: Hasinan's prayer for rescue from Raja Serdala's pursuit, and the Prophet Isa's prayer that Maharaja Ali should be raised from the dead. It is noteworthy that the story of the two prayers, in which the two themes of the tale are brought together, is nearly at the very centre of Hikayat Maharaja Ali. There are approximately ten and a half pages between the beginning of the hikayat and this story and about eleven pages between the story and the end of the narrative (Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1989:83-105). The story of the absolution of the hero and of the reunion of the family, which follows the prayers develops according to the same numerical scheme, but in reverse order (from regression to progression): o-) 1 -) 3 -) 4 -) 5. Maharaja Ali is dead (0); raised from the dead (1); accepts his younger sons into his service (the sons and the father make three); is reunited with the elder son (4) and, finally, with his wife (5). The family is complete. Such is the symmetrical, artfully balanced structure of the hikayat which completely reflects its ideological content. However, let us return to the dead Maharaja Ali. The Prophet Isa finds his skull and talks to it, and the skull requests him to pray to Allah for him so that the Most High might recall him to life. This episode is certainly an allusion to Hikayat Raja Jumjumah - the 'Tale of King Skull' (Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1989: 56-75 and Chapter V). Unlike in the latter tale, in Hikayat Maharaja Ali the skull does not mention his sufferings in hell. However, the reader knows about them from the story of King Skull. Tortures made the body of King Skull swell so terribly that it took a rider three days to cross his back. He was severely tortured by angels, he burned in fire, snakes wrapped themselves around his body, and he was stung by scorpions and centipedes and bitten by crocodiles. He was fed on red-hot fruit called Zuqqum, which were covered with barbs and shaped like a pig's head and he drank molten copper. The only thing that decreased his sufferings was the fact that he had generously given alms to the poor. Evidently, this is why Allah relieved him of these hellish tortures after a fervent prayer. Allah restored the king to life after hearing the Prophet Isa's prayer, and the king returned to Syria, abdicated and became a famous saint. However, such an ending was at variance with the intention of the author, who wanted to show not only the punishment of a ruler who forgot his duty, but also Allah's Mercy towards Maharaja Ali who made a false step but was not a hopeless sinner. As was the case with other sources too, the author of the narrative changed the end radically, having accentuated, by means of a hint at a well-known story, an important element in his narrative - Maharaja Ali's pUnishment as a ruler who infringed justice - and having taken from

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that story only what he needed. A comparison of the narrative with Hikayat Raja Jumjumah allows the conjecture that Maharaja Ali was forgiven precisely for that love of his family, which had brought Divine Punishment upon him. More exactly, it is the positive aspect of his love that played the same role for him as King Skull's generous alms played for the latter. In Hikayat Raja Jumjumah, King Skull implores the angels to take his wife and his children instead of him as his torture begins. The angels answer him:

o ye treacherous and vicious one! Why do you have so little love for your children and wife that you are ready to give them to us [to be tortured]? Why did you not wish to obey the Decrees of God Most High, whilst you were safe and sound? (Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1989:60.)

The request of Maharaja Ali addressed to the Prophet Isa echoes these words, as it were, but sounds as their direct opposite, as their deliberate reversal by the author: I beg you, 0 Prophet of God, if I am allowed to live again, let me meet my wife! After meeting her, I will gladly obey any Decree of my Lord, the Sovereign of the Worlds. (Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1989:96.)

The only thing Maharaja Ali's skull prays for is an encounter with his beloved wife. It is after this supplication that Allah raises him from the dead. Thus the hero of the hikayat receives retribution for injustice both in earthly life and after it, is purified by suffering and is pardoned by the Most High. The Prophet Isa gives him the throne of Badagra again, and before long the news of an unusually just king who is also endowed with the power to heal - a specific sign of sainthood - spreads all over the world. The author introduces one more impressive detail into the story of the new enthronement of the hero: the king does not recognize his former subjects, while they fail to recognize their former king. The historical roots of this motif were studied by Bausani (1979:62-3). From the angle of the actual meaning of the tale, the motif of the failure to recognize is a necessary device aggravating the collision of the narrative. However, this is not all there is to it: having suffered the loss of his family and being tortured in hell, Maharaja Ali reformed spiritually and became literally a new man. This is why his subjects do not recognize him as the former man. He, too, now sees them and his duty towards them in a new light, and this is why he does not recognize his former subjects. In order to emphasize this spiritual reformation of the king, Allah, or rather the author interpreting His Will, as it were puts a veil over Maharaja Ali's eyes and the eyes of his people. Then follows the already known story of the restoration of the king's family to him by the Mercy and Will of Allah. The veil falls off only when Maharaja Ali appears before the people, surrounded by his children and his

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wife, who have been restored to him. After that the people no longer see in him only a new person, but see both their former monarch (in the positive aspect of his personality) and the new one. As in most hikayat, at the end of the story the hero returns to its beginning, but in a new quality. As a result, Maharaja Ali turns out to be a kind of a Malay Job, whom the Lord deprived of all and then restored all to him. As was noted above, the other theme of the hikayat is that of female love and fidelity personified by Maharaja Ali's wife Hasinan. Two expressive episodes serve as a frame for the unfolding of the theme. At the beginning of the narration Hasinan does not hesitate to go into exile with her husband and share all the vicissitudes of his fate. At the end of the hikayat Hasinan is the only one who immediately recognizes her revived husband, because there can be no veil over the eyes of her love. Besides, Hasinan's love for her husband is coupled with her awareness of his duty as a ruler. It is not for nothing that she fears most of all that the violation of the just ruler's code of behaviour may disgrace his name and bring him ill fame. Thus, having learnt that the viziers demand that the king leave the country lest the people go to another ruler, she says: According to the habits of kings, only the one who has his country and subjects may be called king; but if he does not have subjects, who will pay him homage appropriate to a sovereign? If such is the case, we had better leave just now, before ill fame and disgrace have befallen us. (Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1989:85.)

If it is not Maharaja Ali who leaves but his people, there will be eternal dis-

grace for him in the eyes of all the rulers of the world. Similarly, when Maharaja Ali who had become a poor vagabond, a dervish, intended to go and ask for alms, Hasinan was afraid most of all that he might be recognized and dishonoured: '0 my lord,' - she says - 'don't go [to beg for alms]! As your name is probably known to all the world, people may recognize you. What a disgrace it will be for you, 0 the ruler of the world! However, no one can recognize me, so it will be better if I go.' (Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1989:86.)

Thus both major themes of the work - the ruler's duty and family love - are interlaced, though differently, not only in the character of the main hero but also in the character of the heroine. Loving her husband and fearing disgrace for him, Maharaja Ali's wife falls into Serdala's trap. The episode in Serdala's palace when Hasinan tells the inserted story is the main test of Hasinan's fidelity, which she passes honourably. An analysis of this episode in the context of the entire story of Hasinan allows us to understand not only how the second main theme of the narrative develops, but also why it develops in this particular way. The author of Hikayat

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Maharaja Ali opposes the theme of a faithful wife, so important for his work, to the theme of female infidelity and wiliness, so popular in Muslim literature as a whole, and in Malay literature in particular. As is usual in such cases, allusions to other pieces of literature serve to enhance the expressiveness of the author's idea. It is almost beyond doubt that the object of comparison here is the didactic story, well known in Malay literature, about a husband (Abdullah Jauhari by name) who so loved his wife that he gave half his lifetime for her to be raised from the dead, after which she betrayed him at once. This story is also found in Hikayat Bayan Budiman (Hikajat Bajan Budiman 1956:134-40), but that version of it which was used by the author of Hikayat Maharaja Ali, that is when the wife is recalled to life by the Prophet Isa' a prayer to Allah, first appears in the Malay language in Bustan as-salatin,24 from where it penetrated the long recension of Hikayat Bakhtiar (Brandes 1895; No 60. This is one more argument in favour of its use by the author of Hikayat Maharaja Ali). This assumption is suggested not so much by the fact that in Hikayat Maharaja Ali the Prophet Isa restores the hero to life (this motif is borrowed from Hikayat Raja Jumjumah) as by Maharaja Ali's request to revive him specifically so that he can meet his wife. With the same purpose, Abdullah Jauhari requests the Prophet Isa to revive his wife. Besides, in the latter story the Prophet Isa brings the wife and the husband together, while in Hikayat Maharaja Ali he prepares the first step towards their future reunion - he brings the hero to the throne. Thus the motif of the Prophet Isa's revival of the husband to reunite him with his wife allows the author of Hikayat Maharaja Ali to evoke in the reader associations with both these works at the same time, which he needs to do in order to enhance the message of his work. That the author of Hikayat Maharaja Ali alludes specifically to this story becomes even more obvious if we compare Hasinan's story with it. In both we find an identical set of motifs, but in the story of Hasinan the implication of these motifs is reversed, and the fates of Abdullah's wife and of Hasinan are, correspondingly, mutually opposed: Hikayat Maharaja Ali

The 'Story of Abdullah Jauhari'

The husband and the wife love each other very much. The husband dies. The Prophet Isa revives the husband. Because of her love for her husband, the wife finds herself in Raja Serdala's palace and enters conversation with him. Serdala urges the woman to marry him.

The husband and the wife pledge eternal love. The wife dies. The Prophet Isa revives the wife. Because of lack of love for her husband, the wife enters conversation with the king of Egypt. The king of Egypt urges the woman to marry him. The wife betrays her husband (and even

The wife remains faithful to her husband.

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Raja Serdala goes to Badagra with his retinue; the wife accompanies him. The husband meets his wife but does not recognize her. The wife is unjustly accused of infidelity. Things are cleared up, and the wife's innocence is established. The husband is reunited with his wife forever. The wife ascends the throne with honour.

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requests that he be killed}. The king of Egypt goes for an outing; the wife accompanies him. The husband meets his wife and does recognize her. The wife is justly accused of infidelity. Things are cleared up, and the wife's infidelity is established. The husband rejects his wife forever (takes back the half of his life-span that he gave her). The wife dies in disgrace.

Although situations related to some motifs in the story of Hasinan do not always coincide with those in the story of Abdullah Jauhari (for instance, Hasinan is accused of infidelity to Raja Serdala and not to her actual husband), the whole set of these motifs is absolutely identical in both stories, while their meanings are opposite. Thus we encounter a kind of 'war of books' once again, which can be found, for instance, in the episode of Panji from Sejarah Melayu (see Chapter 11). However, in Hikayat Maharaja Ali this composition of the narrative is designed to emphasize the fidelity of Maharaja Ali's wife. No less interesting is the composition of the inserted story, told by Hasinan to Raja Serdala. Its objective is not only to play for time, but, as in Hikayat Bakhtiar, to persuade the raja to give up his intention (to marry Hasinan in one work, and to execute Bakhtiar in another). Again a subtle literary allusion becomes Hasinan's weapon - in fact, a weapon in the hands of the author of the story. Hasinan's inserted story is intended to catch Raja Serdala's attention at once. Therefore it begins with the episode of a prince who fell in love via a portrait and who, by Allah's Will, discovered his sweetheart where it would occur to no one to look for her. However, this story was also intended to contain allusions to Hasinan's and Maharaja Ali's misfortunes. Therefore, just as in their case, the prince becomes a dervish, stays in a mosque with a muezzin, sets off on a journey with his wife who is absolutely devoted to him, is attacked by a band of robbers who take away all his possessions and even put him in a hole in the ground - bury him, as it were, from where he emerges safely - 'is resurrected'. This circumstance is, however, the author's interference, designed for the reader's memory, rather than for Raja Serdala, because, unlike the reader, Hasinan does not yet know about Maharaja Ali's death and resurrection. Like Serdala, the robbers' chieftain wants to marry the prince's wife. Hasinan needs this episode in her story to convince Raja Serdala that, accord-

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ing to the Will of Allah, such claims on other persons' wives will not have a happy end. For that purpose she (actually the author) in accordance with the Muslim pathos of the hikayat, resorts to the stories about the prophets as told in Qisas al-anbiya (the 'Tales of the prophets'). These are stories about mistakes made by the Prophet Daud (David) as he settled litigation, and the wisdom of his little son Sulaiman (Solomon) who corrected them. 2S However, the stories in Qisas al-anbiya concerned a quarrel of two peasants over a sheep, which had damaged the field of one of them, and a complaint by an old woman against the wind, which scattered her wheat (Hamdan Hassan 1990:586). Naturally, neither of them suited Hasinan's narration, which was designed to echo the story of Maharaja Ali's tribulations. Therefore, as in the case of Hikayat Raja Jumjumah, the author of the tale borrowed only their 'frame' - Daud's mistake corrected by Sulaiman - and inserted into it a suitable story, which he invented himself or borrowed from an unknown source. The escaped husband finds his wife and goes to the Prophet Daud to bring a case against the abductor of his wife. The latter brings respected witnesses - a qadi (judge), a bilal (muezzin), a khatib (preacher) and an imam - who confirm that they themselves married this couple. The Prophet Daud orders the execution of the 'impostor' prince, but his wife manages to find Sulaiman who interrogates each witness separately, commits their reports to paper and finds contradictions between them. He releases the prince and punishes the abductor and the false witnesses severely. This episode has a dual function. On the one hand, it shows Raja Serdala the consequences of abducting other persons' wives through an example, supported by the authority of the prophets. On the other, it gives the reader a hint about the end of Hasinan's story. Like the prince, she will be sentenced to death together with her sons, but will manage to prove her innocence. Thus, the inserted story told by Hasinan turns out to parallel the entire plot of Hikayat Maharaja Ali. Its first half alludes to the past, while the second foretells the future. Not being completely sure that Raja Serdala has understood her adequately, Hasinan concludes the story with a moral: Such is this story, 0 Raja Serdala. The Will and Power of God Most High act in such a way that any thing, which originally belonged to someone, eventually returns to its owner. {Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1989:85.}

However, Serdala is convinced neither by literary hints at the prophets' experience nor by direct references to the Will of Allah. He does not give up his pressure. Then Hasinan utters her prayer and Serdala is stricken with paralysis. Allah acts like 'the best of plotters' (Qur'an 5:34,8:30). Therefore, Raja Serdala's paralysis not only puts an end to his attempts on Hasinan's honour, but also makes him go to Maharaja Ali, famous as a healer, and thus

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bring the latter his lost wife. A similar device is found in Syair Bidasari. At the gravest moment of her life the heroine of the poem implores Allah to take her life. Allah 'fulfils' her wish, but in such a manner that she not only rids herself of her tormentor but is also granted a chance to meet her would-be husband (see Chapter VII). The hikayat is concluded absolutely in the spirit of the ending of the abovementioned story 4 from the short recension of Hikayat Bakhtiar. Hasinan arrives in Badagra on board a ship and meets her children. A touching, naIvely realistic detail is introduced here, testifying to the fact that Maharaja Ali's wife is not only clever but also impetuous in the expression of her feelings - in love for her sons. Embracing them, she exclaims: '0 my boys, the light of my eyes, I've come running as quickly as I could!' (Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1989:100). Then follows the unjust accusation of the mother and children of flirtation, the refusal of the jailer to execute the condemned at night and, finally, the acquittal of Hasinan and the reunion of the entire family. There is no need to dwell at length on this concluding episode. A complete parallel to the story from Hikayat Bakhtiar, although also adjusted to this plot (the executioner turns out to be their brother), similarly to other parallels in preceding episodes, serves to enhance the expressiveness of the scene and, at the same time, foreshadow the happy ending of the hikayat. 26 Such is the message of Hikayat Maharaja Ali, a work marking the complete Islamization of the genre of fantastic adventure hikayat and using the old genre structure for the expression of the most important ethical values of Islam, both political and personal. The author manages to present these values to the readers with true artistic mastery. His narrative, laconic but rich in expressive details, has a balanced, strictly symmetrical structure, ideally bringing forth the ideological implication of the work and the interlacing of themes that is typical of it. The expressiveness of almost every episode is enhanced by their associative echoing with one another or by allusions to certain works of literature, thus, through contrast or resonance, deepening the significance of each episode and introducing new shades of meaning into them. The author introduces these allusions, which always refer to Muslim edifying writings (two recensions of Hikayat Bakhtiar, Hikayat Raja Jumjumah, Qisas al-anbiya) with great artfulness, borrowing from these sources only the most necessary elements and transforming them creatively in conformity with his intent.

Framed tales Inserted episodes that brought didactic notes into the 'sound' of a fantastic adventure narrative are encountered in Hikayat Isma Yatim. The device

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of inserting a rounded story into the main narration plays an even more important role in Hikayat Maharaja Ali. However, only in the genre of framed tales, such as Hikayat Bayan Budiman (the 'Tale of the Wise Parrot') or Hikayat Bakhtiar, do edifying inserted stories represent a genuine basis of literary works.

Hikayat Bayan Budiman (the 'Tale of the Wise Parrot') This is a hikayat made up of stories told by a wise parrot, which are inexpressibly beautiful in their composition and which will bring benefit to everyone who listens to them. This was because the parrot was well versed in stories about kings and people who faithfully served those who were merciful to them. He told these stories as eloquently as if he were a human being, and he did not want anyone's name to be blackened or harm to be done to anybody. (Van Ronkel1909:83.)

Such are the opening words in one of the manuscripts of Hikayat Bayan Budiman (the 'Tale of the Wise Parrot'),27 the piece which is not only one of the earliest Malay translations, or rather adaptations, of Persian writings, but also the earliest example of framed narratives in Malay literature. These opening words do not leave any doubt that Hikayat Bayan Budiman represents one more piece of writing intended 'to instruct through entertainment', and not only the children of a worthy judge (qadi) as it is stated in it, but also much more important persons. For instance, four out of the eight stories included in Bab al-akal kepada segala orang yang besar-besar (the 'Gate of reason for grandees'), a work which the sultan of Patani read to admonish his prime-minister Firus, were borrowed from Hikayat Bayan Budiman (Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:141). At the same time, proceeding from the description of the social milieu, in which the action of the hikayat develops, and some peculiarities of the ethical concept inherent in it, Johns (1976:313) put forward the hypothesis that Hikayat Bayan Budiman emerged in merchant quarters of a Malay littoral city, possibly as a result of the recording of an oral tale. However interesting it may be, this hypothesis must remain speculation for the time being. Two manuscripts show that Hikayat Bayan Budiman undoubtedly already existed at the turn of the sixteenth century, if not earlier (Winstedt 1920b:6, 10).28 However, which stories exactly were included in the work at that time remains unclear, as the first manuscript contains only two and a half stories and ends abruptly, whereas the second one contains only ten stories. At the same time, some other manuscripts provide us with vague information about the earliest possible date of the hikayat. In their colophons we read: 'These are the stories from Hikayat Bayan [Budiman), which were told by Qadi Hasan [in 773 of Hijra of the Prophet, the year Dal], when he admonished his children and grandchildren. This is his hikayat which I heard [at that time]'.29 The

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name of Qadi Hasan as either the storyteller, or the writer of the work, or its translator and the date 773 of Hijra (=AD 1371/2) also occur in a few stories of Hikayat Bayan Budiman in these manuscripts. The above data have been interpreted differently by Malayists. Winstedt (1991:81-2) considered Qadi Hasan to be Jan unknown author of a lost Persian version' of Tuti-nama that had been the original of the Malay work, and dated the latter back to the Malacca epoch. T. Iskandar (1995:174), on the other hand, included the hikayat in Malay literature of the Pasai era and viewed Qadi Hasan as its Malay compiler and translator. However, at present it seems more likely that the version by Qadi Hasan dated 1371 was the Persian original of the Malay Hikayat Bayan Budiman. A mention of Qadi Hasan as the translator of the work and, consequently, of the Hijra year 773 as the date of its translation, which are encountered in one story, look like a rather awkward interpolation derived from the preface and the colophon of the work. 30 It was most probably intended to support the authority of the seemingly frivolous composition, by lending it the authority of a respectable qadi of former times. However that may have been, Hikayat Bayan Budiman is radically different in its structure from fantastic adventure narratives, even if they, like Hikayat Isma Yatim, are literally oversaturated with didactic elements. The most important difference is that individual components (stories) of the hikayat do not join one another in a linear succession, following the course of the hero's life, or rather the route of his wanderings, but are inserted into a frame-tale intended to arrange these heterogeneous stories into the unity of the whole work. The content of the frame-tale in Hikayat Bayan Budiman is as follows. Khoja Maimun, a son, is born to the family of a rich merchant Khoja Mubarak. Having grown up, he marries beautiful Bibi Zainab and, forgetful of trade, gives himself to amorous pleasures. Once he buys in a marketplace a rare parrot, which can speak and foretell the future, and a mynah several days later. The birds incessantly entertain Khoja Maimun with marvellous stories and one day they tell him about how absorbing sea travels are. The young merchant, delighted by their stories, decides to sail off on board a merchant ship to try his fortune overseas and entrusts his wife to the care of the birds. In the husband's absence Zainab falls in love with a handsome prince and asks the mynah's consent for her encounter with him. The mynah tries to hold her back, but enraged Siti Zainab kills the bird. The parrot who has decided to save not only his own life but also his master's honour pretends that he approves of his lady's decision and says that his fate resembles that of another parrot who was plucked by his lady. Inquisitive Siti Zainab asks him how it happened; the parrot begins his story and the merchant's wife forgets her intention, being carried away by the narrative. In the meantime, morning comes, and the date is postponed. The parrot tells her various stories day by day, until the merchant returns and Zainab avoids committing adultery.

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The framed structure of Hikayat Bayan Budiman fitted, for the achievement of the tasks of the adab literature, much better than the linear structure characteristic of Hikayat Isma Yatim (to say nothing of other fantastic adventure hikayat). The reason was that, in spite of the artful balance of narrative and didactic elements, this tale of a court man of letters failed, nevertheless, to create the most favourable conditions for the perception by the reader of what constituted the principal message of adab works, that is their edifying meaning. Whereas the framed structure, thanks to special literary devices discussed above (see Chapter V), allowed the reader to completely concentrate his mind on the didactic implication of inserted stories. Moreover, by portraying, even if schematically, the actions, thoughts and feelings of their heroes, the inserted stories dramatized the ideas, the embodiment of which they served, presenting them in the form of idea-images affecting both the intellect and the imagination and, therefore, particularly potent as a means of persuasion. Complete manuscripts of Hikayat Bayan Budiman include twenty-four (very rarely twenty-five) inserted stories, which, if taken together, represent a genuine encyclopedia of everyday life and state wisdom. Even a list of the inserted stories of which Hikayat Bayan Budiman is composed provides the reader with some, although incomplete, idea of the diversity and richness of its content. The work includes the following inserted stories (those of them which have counterparts in Persian 'parrot tales' are provided with two asterisks, whereas those, of which Persian sources are identifiable, with one asterisk): 1 The story about a parrot plucked by a merchant's wife.** 2 The story about Taifa, the sentinel immeasurably loyal to the king.** 3 The story about a wife who sent her jealous husband on a trade mission.** 4 The story about a carpenter and a jeweller. ** 5 The story about young parrots who disobeyed their parents.** 6 The story about four craftsmen and a statue which came alive.** 7 The story about the ruler of Hindustan who understood the language of animals.** 8 The story about the prince who obtained a wife and a kingdom thanks to his friendship with a sheikh, a snake and a frog.** 9 The story about the sculptor Farhad who fell in love with the king's concubine Shirin. * 10 The story about the princess who killed her husbands. * 11 The story about the king of Tor who saw in a dream that he became a married man.** 12 The story about the Prophet Sulaiman who refused to drink the water of

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13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

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life on a porcupine's advice (an amazingly profound narrative about the prophet who preferred death to immortality fraught with loneliness and the loss of all that he loved).** The story about Sabur who avoided a temptation. The story about the prince who became a dervish and king Kilan Syah who was killed because he made approaches to his minister's wife. The story about Harman Syah who rejected the love of his brother's wife. The story about Bibi Sabariya who became the king's mother. The story about the king who could send his soul into other people's or animal's bodies. ** The story about the husband who gave half of his lifetime to his wife.* The story about Khoja Astor and his mischievous Abyssinian slave. The story about Mansur Syah and his wife who managed to conquer her husband's heart. The story about Siti Hasanah who managed to secure a higher rank to her husband.** The story about the man who tested the faithfulness of his friends. The story about the prince who was crueler than his tyrannical father. The story about Sultan Adam of Baghdad who renounced the world, having heard a conversation of birds.*31

As we can see, only twelve of these stories have counterparts in the Persian 'tales of the parrot'. Although these twelve stories follow, by and large, the famous Tuti-nama by Nakhshabi (1330, see Nakhshabi 1979; Simsar 1978), they also contain some features characteristic of Jawahir al-asmar (the 'Pearls of nocturnal discourses', around 1315) by Nakhshabi's predecessor, Na'ari (or Saghari), which are lacking in Nakhshabi's work. 32 In this respect, the Malay Hikayat Bayan Budiman is similar to the translation of the 'tales of the parrot' into Turkish, so that the two works may have been traced to the lost, popular (that is not belonging to embellished, courtly literature) version by Qadi Hasan. 33 A comparison of inserted stories from Hikayat Bayan Budiman with their Persian counterparts34 show that the work of their Malay translator was usually based on quite an accurate retelling of his source, which sometimes included the translation proper of individual sentences, but more often the sentence-by-sentence paraphrase of segments of the original. The rendering of the story of Taifa (No 2) is typical in this respect.

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Tuti-nama by Nakhshabi (Simsar 1978:19)

Hikayat Bayan Budiman (Winstedt 1920b:39-40)

As the guardsman and the Shah were engaged in this conversation, an unearthly sound, a weird cry, came from the direction of the desert saying, 'I am going, is there anyone who can restrain me?' Once or twice this echo rang in the Shah's ears and upon hearing this voice and listening to this cry, His Majesty was nearly overcome and almost fainted. The Shah asked the sentinel: 'Do you hear anything?' He said: 'I have heard this voice for several nights, but since I am on duty, I cannot find out what kind of a voice this is nor can I explore this mystery. If Your Majesty will command me, I will go out and investigate it.' The Shah said: 'You may go'. The sentinel went forth. The Shah also left and started following him. When the sentinel reached the source of the voice, he saw a woman of beauty and grace who kept saying: 'I am going, is there anyone who can restrain me?' Finally the sentinel asked: 'Madam, who are you and what is the meaning of that which you utter?' The woman replied: 'I am the soul of the Shah of Tabaristan whose life-span has come to an end and whose appointed hour has arrived. I am going to open the door of fortune for someone else and bestow the remaining years of his reign on a rival.' The sentinel said: 'Oh ghost, you also say: "Is there anyone who can restrain me?" How can you be made to turn back? How can you be dissuaded from casting your shadow like a phoenix over his head?' The ghost replied: 'If you sacrifice your own son and give his life in place of the Shah, then I will abstain from going and the Shah will continue to live'.

One night the king of Tabaristan heard a voice, saying: 'I have gone from here! Who can turn me back?' [... ] The king of Tabaristan asked [Taifa, the sentinel]: "Have you heard this voice?' Taifa said respectfully: 'I have heard this voice for three nights, but I ignore it, as I am too busy with my duty [of a sentinel] in the palace of Your Majesty'. The king of Tabaristan said: 'Go and find out (literally have a look) what kind of a voice this is'. And Taifa went forth, following [the sound of] the voice. After reaching the source of the voice, he saw a woman most beautiful in countenance and lovely in appearance. Taifa asked her: 'Who are you and what do you wish?' The woman replied: 'I am the protectress of the palace of the king. Now I have deserted it and who can turn me back?' Taifa asked: 'What is the meaning of these words of yours?' The woman replied: 'The royal greatness (daulat) of the king has turned its back upon him and his life-span has become short'. Taifa asked: '0 woman, what one can do so that you will turn back to the palace of the king and Allah will increase his royal greatness and will extend his life-span?' The woman said: 'If you truly wish to show your devotion to the king and desire that his royal greatness will increase and his life-span will be extended, kill your son whom you love with all your heart. Then I will turn back to your king.'

Against the background of extensive passages, which represent a detailed retelling of the Persian text with their sentence-by-sentence paraphrases,35 the Malay peculiarities of Hikayat Bayan Budiman are particularly striking.

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Persian realia are often replaced by Malay counterparts, or rather those that are more familiar to the Malays. For example, the desert is transformed into a forest, bitter cold into the dry season (kemarau), bear-cubs, foxes and lynxes are substituted for parrot fledglings, mongooses and jackals. The themes of trade and navigation become far more prominent than in the Persian versions (compare Johns 1976:313). The hero of the story about a wife and her jealous husband (No 3) is unlike his Persian prototype a merchant, not a warrior. In the story about the king of Tor who saw his bride in a dream (No 11), the king's vizier equips himself with a portrait of the princess of Rum and sets sails in order to find her. His ship arrives in a country where he repeatedly asks captains whether they have seen the beautiful princess depicted in the portrait. Having concealed his true identity, he settles in this country, rents a warehouse, transforms it into a kind of studio and earns his living by selling portraits. Eventually, he is invited to the palace. All this shows him as much an artist as a navigator and a merchant. In contrast to it, the Persian versions only inform us that he arrived in Rum, started praising his artistic talent, and as a result, he was invited to the palace. The heroine of the story of Siti Hasanah (No 21) sails to a port in some country, where she is greeted by merchants and the syahbandar, who make enquiries about the goods that she has brought with her. Siti Hasanah asks the merchants to wait a little, since she has not paid a visit to the ruler, that is she has not yet been granted permission to trade. These typically Malay details are not found in Persian versions either. Another specific feature of the Malay translation is a characteristic combination of three components in it: the 'naive realism' (see Bausani 1979: 52-3), more pronounced than in the Persian versions; the greater dynamics of descriptions; and the artistic dramatization of the events portrayed. For instance, in the story about the 'Knowledge of the language of beasts', the hegoat not only expresses in words its reluctance to dive into the pond and pick up some grass for his wife (like in Nakhshabi's work), but first he actually dives, narrowly escapes the drowning and only afterwards decides not to repeat his experiment. Then there follows a dialogue also lacking in Persian text: the she-goat says that she will die unless the goat brings her the grass from the pond, the goat, however, makes a reasonable point: if he is drowned in the pond, she will find a young husband for herself, whereas if she dies, it is he who will marry a young wife. In the story about a prince, a dervish, a frog and a snake (No 8), the translator does not limit himself (like his Persian colleagues) to mentioning only that the prince saw a snake in the pond which was chasing a frog, its body bleeding, and rescued the frog. Instead, he introduces an elaborate story, quite in the spirit of the 'naive realism', about all this and turns the rescue of the frog into a dramatic scene. The frog begs the prince to save it, for he has to

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feed his wife and children, the snake, however, contradicts him by pointing out that the frog, in his turn, is the food for the snake's own wife and children, and if the snake sets the frog free, he should be given a compensation. Then the frog and, the snake pray to Allah, so that He will grant them the appearance of human beings, and become humans. Again, the Persian versions only dryly mention that they were transformed into human beings. The 'naIve realism', and the dramatization in particular, are especially characteristic of the story about Siti Hasanah (No 21). For example, the Persian works simply state that Hasanah regained consciousness after being stoned. In Hikayat Bayan Budiman she regains consciousness because her body is refreshed by cold drops of the night dew, whereas the Bedouin who discovers her, brings her water in a folded leaf in the Malay fashion. Individual sentences of the Persian versions are developed into the whole episodes. The Bedouin's wife does not want to look after half-alive Hasanah for she suspects that her husband may wish to take her as his concubine. And so the Bedouin has to swear solemnly that he will not do it. The scoundrel, who has secretly sold Hasanah to the captain of a ship, asks him to make sure that she does not see him leaving. In order to fulfil his request, the captain quickly puts Hasanah into a sampan (lighter), brings the heroine on board of the ship and, against her will, drags her down into the hold, in spite of her cries for help addressed to the merchants, who ignore them. Nothing of this kind is found in the Persian writings. Apart from the twelve stories in Hikayat Bayan Budiman that either closely or only roughly corresponds to those found in versions of Na'ari and Nakhshabi,36 the hikayat also contains another twelve stories that are absent in those versions. One of them (No 9) represents a kind of summary of the narrative about the love of Shirin, King Khusraw's concubine, for the artist Farhad, which is elaborated in countless Persian mathnawi-poems (for instance, in that by Nizami Ganjawi, see G. Yu. Aliyev 1960). Another story - the 'Princess who killed her husbands' (No 10) - fuses the theme of animals, whose behaviour should (or should not) be imitated, with the motif of the princess, a marriage to whom is fraught with unforeseeable dangers. This story looks like a contamination of the tale about the king of Tur from Tutinama (No 11) with the Persian tale 'Enchanted castle' (R. Aliyev et al. 1958: 161-84), in which the princess asks her fiances challenging questions and then murders those who are unable to give the correct answers. Similar tales often occur in manuscripts of popular Persian literature (Tumanovich 1981: 75,77). The same manuscripts contain yet another story from Hikayat Bayan Budiman, 'The man who gave half of his life to his wife' (No 18).37 Finally, the story about Sultan Adam (No 24) is closely linked to a series of tales about the well-known ascetic Ibrahim ibn Adham, which are also frequently encountered in popular Persian literature (Tumanovich 1981:70-3). However,

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the present author has failed to locate this particular story.38 As has already been noted, early manuscripts of Hikayat Bayan Budiman are incomplete and, therefore, they do not allow us to detect the precise number of stories that this work may have originally contained. For this reason, the reconstruction by Brandes (1899) and Winstedt (1920b), according to whom the hikayat in its complete (and possibly original) form, consist of twentyfour stories: twelve found in the Persian versions and twelve borrowed from other sources, is particularly interesting. Thus reconstructed, Hikayat Bayan Budiman seems to reveal a certain numerological design, just like the books by Na' ari and Nakhshabi, which by no accident contain fifty-two tales each. As a researcher of Jawahir ai-as mar remarks: Among the inhabitants of Iran as well as the western and the southern coast of India, there is an ancient belief that a necklace of 52 or 104 [52x2; V.B.] pearls brings health and happiness to its owner and protects him from misfortune. The author of the book [Na'ari; V.B.], who was certainly familiar with this belief, had 'hidden' the meaning of its title in the number of its stories. (Na'ari 1985:6.)

In the Muslim tradition generally and in the Malay tradition in particular, the numbers 12 and 24 (12x2) are considered to be 'lucky' and are related to the notion of perfection (Winstedt 1951:75). Remarkably, just as Hikayat Bayan Budiman, the famous Malay 'mirror for rulers' Taj as-salatin, also consists of twenty-four chapters. In this case the twelve doubled may symbolize the perfection of the Taj as-Salatin as a guidance bestowed, as it author Bukhari al-Jauhari writes (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:226), both by Allah on him and by him on the reader (for more details, see below). In the case of Hikayat Bayan Budiman, the number twenty-four may point to the perfection of both components of the work: its inserted stories, which originate from 'parrot's tale' proper and from 'non-parrot's tales'. Moreover, like Taj as-Salatin, Hikayat Bayan Budiman is one of the most important books of instruction in Malay literature. If this assumption is correct, Hikayat Bayan Budiman including twentyfour stories, indeed represents the complete text of this work.

Hikayat Bakhtiar (the 'Tale of Bakhtiar') A just king reigns in a certain country. One day he learns that his brother is going to rebel against him and, wishing to avoid bloodshed, he secretly retires with his wife to the impassable jungle. There his wife gives birth to a child of rare beauty from whose body a wonderful radiance spreads all around. The ill-fated parents have to leave the child in the jungle, entrusting him to Allah's Mercy, and continue their journey. A merchant named Idris finds the boy, adopts him and gives him the name of Bakhtiar. The royal couple wander for quite a long time before they reach a country of which the ruler has just died. Courtiers decide to release

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature an elephant for it to find a new ruler, and the animal selects the runaway king. In the meantime, Bakhtiar grows up, masters the art of reciting the Qur' an, learns to write and becomes a connoisseur of literary works of the olden times. One day Idris brings his stepson to the king's presence. The king is so much impressed by the young man's appearance and good manners that he accepts Bakhtiar into his service. As a courtier, Bakhtiar wins not only the love of the ruler, but also the hatred of his ministers, especially of the envious vizier Tahkim. To calumniate the young man, Tahkim talks his wife into stealing the shawl of the ruler's favourite concubine and placing it secretly with Bakhtiar. The innocent young man is accused of an affair with the concubine and thrown into jail. Tahkim insists on his execution. To postpone it, Bakhtiar tells the king five (in some manuscripts, four) stories. Meanwhile, Idris comes to the palace and tells the king how he found Bakhtiar in the jungle. The king recognizes his son and elevates him to the throne. (Von Dewall 1880; Djamaris 1978.)

Such is the frame-tale of the so called short recension of the Malay Hikayat Bakhtiar (the 'Tale of Baktiar'), a free adaptation of the Persian Bakhtiar-nama (the 'Book of Bakhtiar'), which, as Winstedt (1991:88) believed (probably mistakenly, see below), may have been composed in the late sixteenth century in the Sultanate of Johor. 39 However, this recension, in which even the frame-tale coincides with the Persian prototype only in general outlines, appears to represent a particular stage in the evolution and indigenization of the already appropriated Bakhtiar tale rather than the first attempt to introduce it into Malay literature. It seems more logical to assume that the initial Malay version of the Bakhtiar tale must have shown a greater similarity to the Persian prototype. This is all the more feasible as such a version does exist in Malay literature. To identify this version, a brief digression about the Bakhtiar tale in Persian literature itself is necessary. The earliest Persian version of the Bakhtiar tale and the only one that meets requirements of embellished, courtly prose is Rahat al-arwah (the 'Delight for souls') written in the early thirteenth century in Samarqand by Shams aI-Din Muhammad Daqa'iqi (Osmanov 1977:165-6). However, this tale is spread much more broadly in its 'unembellished' version entitled Bakhtiar-nama,40 which is found in popular manuscripts mostly of Indian and Central Asian provenance. As has already been noted elsewhere (V. Braginsky forthcoming c), it is precisely these popular manuscripts - used by oral storytellers as memory-aids or read by them aloud at public gatherings (Borshchevsky et al. 1963:5-10; Rypka 1968:652-4) - that frequently served as source-texts for translators from Persian into Malay. The frame-tale in Bakhtiar-nama (Ouseley 1883) runs as follows: Left by his royal parents in a desert, Bakhtiar was found and adopted by a gang of robbers and then rescued by a merchant who once brought him to the presence of the king Azadbakht, his father. Azadbakht does not recognize his son and, captivated by his appearance and good manners, accepts him into his service. Soon,

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thanks to his wisdom, the youth reaches a high position at the court. The king's viziers envy Bakhtiar, accuse him of an affair with the queen and insist on his execution. To postpone it, Bakhtiar tells the king nine stories of the damage that hasty decisions and the listening to slanderers can cause. In the end the chief of the robbers comes to Azadbakht, and the mystery of Bakhtiar's birth is revealed.

According to Noldeke (1891), characteristic of this version are not only a number of peculiar features of the content, but which is more important, a specific succession of inserted stories. It is the latter that clearly differs the popular version of Bakhtiar-nama from both Rahat al-arwah and Arabic counterparts of the Bakhtiar tale. 41 When exactly this specific succession emerged is not altogether clear. Discussing the popular Bakhtiar-nama, Ouseley remarked that he did not know of manuscripts of it, which are 'much older than the end of the seventeenth century' (Ouseley 1883:xli). This date may, however, be established with a somewhat higher degree of accuracy as the second half of the sixteenth century or the early seventeenth century at the latest. 42 Now, turning to Malay versions of the Bakhtiar tale, we can remark that Brandes (1895:201, 218-9, 229) had already drawn attention to the fact that the six stories making up the concluding section of the Malay Kalilah dan Daminah were borrowed from Bakhtiar-nama. He also established that one of the manuscripts from Van der Tuuk's collection43 contained the Malay translation of all the nine stories of Bakhtiar-nama, which followed each other in the succession characteristic of its popular version. Voorhoeve (1933) identified two more such manuscripts. 44 Thus, their discoveries allows us to single out a specific 'Persian recension' of the Malay Hikayat Bakhtiar, which includes nine inserted stories running in the following order (for the content of these stories, see Ouseley 1883; Gonggrijp 1892): 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

The unlucky merchant. Bahzad (or Bihzad), the impatient prince. Abu Sabar (or Sabir), the patient man. The king of Yemen (or Behkard) and his slave. The king who killed his two viziers (or the story of Dadbin [Malay: Dadaim]). The queen and her son by a previous marriage (or the story of the king of Abyssinia).45 The jeweller (or merchant) who drowns his sons (or the story of Hasan Malik Ceti). The story of Abu Tamam. The prince who grows up in a cave (or the story of the king of Persia [or Hijaz]).

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The date of the 'Persian recension' of Hikayat Bakhtiar is unknown. However, it is likely that it is precisely this version is mentioned two times in the old list of St. Martin's manuscripts as 'the story of the Persian king Asbah in Malay' (De Haan 1900:29~, 301). Winstedt (1991:88), and, incidentally, many students of Malay literature after him, believed that Hikayat Raja [AjamiJ Asbah was the Malay translation of the Arabic, not the Persian, version of the Bakhtiar tale. For this reason he identified Hikayat Raja Asbah (the title of which he found in Wemdly's list of Malay works, dated 1736) with Hikayat Ghulam, indeed a translation from Arabic. 46 However, Hikayat Ghulam was translated not earlier than at the beginning of the nineteenth century47 and therefore could by no means be mentioned either in the list of St. Martin or in the list of Wemdly. As St. Martin collected Malay manuscripts between the 1670s-1690s, we can assume that the 'Persian recension' of Hikayat Bakhtiar appeared not later than in those decades, and most probably a few decades earlier. A comparison of the popular Persian Bakhtiar-nama with its Malay 'Persian recension', which reveals a considerable degree of similarity with each other, confirms, by and large, what has already been said about the Malay reworking of the tales of the parrot. 48 Like in Hikayat Bayan Budiman, in the 'Persian recension' of Hikayat Bakhtiar, too, a greater part of the rendering represents a detailed retelling of the source-text in idiomatic Malay, interspersed with more or less accurate translations of some sentences and sentence-by-sentence paraphrases. Here is a characteristic example from the story about the impatient Prince Bihzad (Malay: Bahzad). Ouseley (1883:34-5)

Gonggrijp (1892:308-9)

It happened once that, being seated

Once prince Bahzad (text: Bahzada) was seated in front of his father's ministers, talking to them. A king's herald said to him: 'There is a certain story. If your slave tells it, Your Highness will surely enjoy listening to it.' The prince Bahzad said: 'Tell me this story, so that I can listen to it'. And the herald began to tell respectfully: 'One day, three years ago, I decided to set off on a trading journey to Egypt. However, when I was half-way to Syria, I was suddenly attacked by the Bedouins who plundered me of all my possessions. Being left all alone, I had to pass the night in the forest. Some time later I heard human voices which sounded deafeningly, just as it happens at the time of royal pageants. Then I saw a great

with several of his companions, he [the prince Bihzad] desired one of them to relate his adventures. The young man accordingly began his story in the following words: 'About two years ago, being in possession of considerable wealth, I purchased several beasts of burthen and, having loaded them with various commodities, I undertook a journey, but on the way was attacked by robbers, who plundered me of all my property, and I proceeded with a disconsolate heart until night came on and I found myself in a place without any vestige of inhabitants. I took shelter beneath a great tree and had remained there for some time, when I perceived a light and several

VI Prose works of the classical period persons who passed by with much festivity and mirth. After them came some who held vessels full of burning incense so very fragrant that the desert was perfumed by its delightful odour. When they had passed on, a magnificent litter appeared, and the curtains of the litter were thrown back, before which walked several damsels holding torches scented with ambergris. In this litter was seated a fair one of such exquisite beauty that the radiance of her charms far exceeded the light of the torches and quite dazzled my fascinated eyes [... ]. The next morning I proceeded on my journey and arrived at the city of Rum, the capital and residence of the Kaisar, and having made inquiries, I was informed that the beautiful damsel whom I had seen was the Princess Nigarin, daughter of the Kaisar, who had a villa at a little distance from the city, to which she sometimes went for recreation' .

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multitude of people with diverse musical instruments and, stricken with fear, hid myself in a [sheltered] place. From there I could see those people who carried many trays full of spikenard, and camphor, and ambergris on their heads. When people with musical instruments had passed by, I saw innumerable Chinese lanterns of most diverse shapes shining so brightly [that one could think that] the new day had come. At that time there appeared people who carried a litter with the throne adorned with all kinds of jewels and surrounded by lantern-bearers. On that throne was seated a princess, her countenance of exquisite beauty spreading around radiance. She wore full set of ornaments of pure gold studded with resplendent gems. And I begin to cry, remembering Your Highness. The next morning I asked a wayfarer on the road along which that pageant had passed: "Who was the one who had proceeded here last night, accompanied by many thousands of retainers?" He replied: "That was the daughter of the king of Rum". I asked: "And whereto was she going?" He replied: "She was going to amuse herself in the flower garden. In that garden there is a princess's bower with a pond and all kinds of toys and entertainments. It is precisely there that she was heading to for recreation.'"

In spite of the fact that the Malay translation is relatively close to the Persian original, a number of details of the latter are substituted, in Hikayat Bakhtiar, for those, which are more familiar to the Malay readership. For instance, at the Sight of a beautiful princess, Bahzad addresses her in his thoughts with traditional Malay endearments: '0 my lady, 0 the breath of my life (nyawa), 0 the skull of my head (batu kepaZa), 0 my royal beloved (junjungan makota)! Look at me, if only from the corner of your lovely eyes.' (Gonggrijp 1892:320.) In comparison with the source-text, in Hikayat Bakhtiar both the number of dialogues and a degree of dramatization of the text are on the increase, just as it happens in Hikayat Bayan Budiman. Now, however, it is not so much the artistic as the ceremonial dramatization (about it, see Bausani 1979:44-

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5}, supplemented by frequent repetitions that allow the translator to retell one and the same episode again and again. For instance, in the story of the unlucky merchant, the protagonist, who is accused of stealing the pearls, is first brought to be heard before a minister. On listening to both sides, the minister brings him before the king. The king gives orders to a council of ministers to investigate the case. They arrange a meeting, discuss the case and then go home. Finally the king discovers the truth from the pearl divers and summons the merchant to the palace again (Gonggrijp 1892:325-30). An attempt by Bahzad to marry the princess of Rum is described in a similar way. First Amir Mahmud, the prince's patron, goes to the king as his matchmaker. The king listens to him, they have a meal together and Amir Mahmud returns home. After that Bahzad himself pays a visit to the king and everything is repeated once more (Gonggrijp 1892:317-9). These ceremonial scenes, well-known to any student of Malay literature, are lacking in the Persian work in which in both cases the protagonist goes (or is brought) directly to the king who decides his fate without delay (Ouseley 1883:29-30, 41). As a result, deviations from the Persian original, which seem to be considerable frequently, do not add any new information to it, although they indigenize the Malay translation. Now, if we return to the short recension of Hikayat Bakhtiar with which this discussion began, we easily understand why Voorhoeve (1933:429) called this recension, as well as the long recension of the work, the pseudo-hikayat of Bakhtiar. The reason is that these two recensions show only too well how substantially Malay literature could transform Persian framed tales, their source-texts.49 Even the frame-tale in the short recension - which may have been written in the first half of the seventeenth century, most probably after the 'Persian' recension - differs conspicuously from its Persian prototype. As we can see from the above summaries, in the short recension, a king, Bakhtiar's father, has to leave his homeland in order to avoid the bloodshed, which the uprising of his younger brother may provoke. In his wanderings a sagacious elephant chooses him to be the ruler of another country. In the Persian work, the king is defeated by his rebel army commander only to regain the throne of his country shortly afterwards and no sagacious elephant is mentioned. The newly-born Bakhtiar is abandoned in the jungle, not in the desert as in Bakhtiar-nama, and is adopted and later brought to the king by a merchant named Idris, not by robbers. Accordingly, Idris, and not the head of the robbers reveals the mystery of Bakhtiar's birth to the king, his father. In the Persian version the accusation of adultery against Bakhtiar is motivated by the fact that in a state of intoxication he confused doors and fell asleep in the king's bed, whereas the motif of a shawl - a kind of Malay version of 'Desdemona's handkerchief' - so prominent in the short recension is absent.

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Capital punishment for Bakhtiar is demanded by ten viziers who, in turn, make their speeches before the king, and not by only one vizier, Tahkim, as in the short recension, and so on. If we add to this that none of the inserted stories in the short recension is found in the Persian work or in its Arab paraphrases, the originality of the Malay hikayat will be absolutely obvious. The short recension contains four (or five) inserted stories. 1 The story of a fowler who gave the ruler a magical bird as a gift and who was persecuted by the vizier Muhammad Jalus, who sets him difficult tasks, and whom the fowler defeats with the help of a clever sheikh; 2 The story of a fisherman who received a magic monkey from the Chinese emperor and became a king; 3 The story of a merchant Hasan whom the insidious vizier Abu Fazl wanted to destroy and the merchant's wise wife Siti Dinar who arranged the vizier's execution artfully; 4 The story of a king who fled from his palace to avoid a feud, was separated from his children whom he had nearly executed on a calumny, which was prevented by the keepers of the city gates; [5 The story of a queen and her golden fish].5o In contrast with some other framed hikayat, the connection between the frame and inserted stories is surprisingly organic in the short recension of Hikayat Bakhtiar, which adds unity to the entire work. The concatenation of ideas peculiar to it, such as the impermanence of life, the necessity of well thought-out decisions made without haste, the impermissibility of paying attention to the lies of courtiers and the eventual triumph of justice, is expressed in all parts of the hikayat, echoing one another by association and highlighting various aspects of its theme in turn. The frame-tale itself, with its motifs of unjust banishment of the king, ordeals that fell to the runaway's lot, his ascension to the throne and triumph over his brother who eventually repented, suggests an outline of Bakhtiar's fate. Then follow stories about the pUnishment of viziers who tried to calumniate innocent people and, finally, the fourth inserted story similar to Hikayat Maharaja Puspa Wiraja (1900), Indian in origin, which not only condemns hasty decisions but also describes events highly reminiscent of the story of Bakhtiar himself and his father, their separation and reunion. This story logically precedes the final episode of the hikayat: the recognition of his son by the king. In spite of the coincidence of some inserted stories (the story about the fowler, the story about a merchant and his wise wife Siti Dinar), the long recension of Hikayat Bakhtiar (Brandes 1899; Zainal 1963) is quite different from the short recension both in its content and structure. The date of its composition is unknown. As the long recension includes two inserted sto-

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ries, which are organic for the short recension, it post-dates the latter. At the same time, judging by the sources used by the author of the long recension (Goryayeva 1989:151-4; Jelani Harun 1999:272-3), of which the most important is Bustan as-salatin written between 1638 and 1641, it could not have appeared before the second half of the seventeenth century. The long recension resembles its Persian prototype no more than the short one. It begins with the episode telling of the just king of Turkestan who is attacked by the cruel ruler of a neighbouring country; the defeated just king and his wife have to flee into the jungle, where the queen gives birth to Bakhtiar. The style of the description in the latter episode is reminiscent of that of jungle scenes in Panji-romances (see Chapter III). Then pestilence destroys the tyrant's army and the king of Turkestan ascends his throne again. The shepherd Rasdas finds Bakhtiar and brings the young man to his father who, however, fails to recognize his son and accepts him into his service. Remarkably, the hero of the long recension resembles Isma Yatim even more than the hero of the short recension. He is also a well-educated connoisseur of adab who begins to admonish the king immediately after his appearance in the palace, also adorns the reception hall with carpets, and so on. As in the short recension too, an envious vizier slanders Bakhtiar with the help of his wife. Hoping that his innocence will be established over time, the youth asks the king not to make haste with his execution and tells him not five but sixty-seven or even one hundred and five (Voorhoeve 1969b: 374-5) stories,51 of which a considerable part are borrowed from Hikayat Bayan Budiman, the didactic mirrors Taj as-salatin and Bustan as-salatin, the Qur'an, hadith, and legends about the Arab poet and wit Abu Nawas, the caliph Harun aI-Rashid, and the others. Along with these plot-based stories, the long recension also contains instruction of different kinds, for instance, on how the king should take care of his health (Zainal1963:95-6). Thus, contrary to the short recension of Hikayat Bakhtiar, its long recension represents not a compact, harmoniously constructed literary work, but a voluminous mirror for kings, touching upon a wide range of themes (primarily, the theme of just and unjust rule). The role of the frame-tale is reduced to the minimum: it is turned into no more than an instrument for arranging the most heterogeneous material. Sometimes the ruler seems to be totally oblivious of the reason why Bakhtiar has been brought to him from the jail and begins to ask him about this or that aspect of correct behaviour. Such questions somewhat resemble headings of thematic sections in mirrors proper. The influence of different recensions of Hikayat Bakhtiar, incidentally just as Hikayat Bayan Budiman, on traditional Malay literature was considerable. Its impact on Hikayat Maharaja Ali and Kalila dan Damina has already been noted. Inserted stories from Hikayat Bakhtiar are not infrequently encountered in edifying anthologies, but probably particularly interesting is the the fact

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that quite a few narrative motifs and descriptions from this hikayat occur in Syair Bidasari (see Chapter VII). In fact, they are so abundant in that poem that Hikayat Bakhtiar and Syair Bidasari could be said to be like the male and the female version of one and the same plot. Each of these works tells of the protagonist who is endowed with the highest merit of his/her sex (wisdom and beauty, respectively), who, for this reason, is victimized by envious foes and who in the finale reveals his/her real identity and triumphs over the persecutors (for more details, see V. Braginsky forthcoming c). With the help of allusions to the motifs and patterns of Hikayat Bakhtiar, well-rooted in the intertext of Malay literature, the author of Syair Bidasari, like his colleague, the author of Hikayat Maharaja Ali, manages to express the message of his work in sharp relief.

Edifying mirrors raj-as salatin (the 'Crown of sultans') by Bukhari al-Jauhari raj as-salatin - the 'Crown of sultans' (Roorda van Eysinga 182752) is a didactic mirror for rulers, nobility and commoners. This work was completed by a certain Bukhari al-Jauhari in 1603 (Marre 1878:13, notes 1-2) and dedicated to Alauddin Riayat Syah, the sultan of Aceh in northern Sumatra, which flourished both politically and culturally at that time. The sultan was a great admirer of discourses with Sufis and was even honoured by them with the title of Sayid al-Mukammil, the Perfect Master or the Master of the Perfect Ones. It is likely that he was also regarded as a connoisseur and a patron of literature, for, besides raj as-salatin, a Sufi allegorical poem Ikat-ikatan 'ilm an-nisa - the 'Stanzas about the knowledge of women' (V. Braginsky 1993b: 77-119, forthcoming a), was dedicated to him. The language of raj as-salatin with its peculiar Persian calques, the Persianized style of the work, poetical insertions in the Persian verse-forms mathnawi, ghazal, ruba'i, the use of saj' (rhymed prose)53 and the character of its exordium - all this betray in Bukhari al-Jauhari a well educated Persian (or Persian-speaking) man of letters.54 It is also worth mentioning that Sufi ideas were not at all alien to Bukhari. They are expressed graphically in the first chapter of Bukhari's book, which discusses the problem of self-cognition as the way to know Allah. Particularly impressive is the list of sources quoted in raj as-salatin, which, according to its author, is based on no less than fifty odd Arabic and Persian works about religion and politics, statesmanship and civility (adab), history and ethics. Many of these sources are identifiable. Among them are Kitab 'aqa'id (the' Articles of faith') and Kitab sharh 'Aqa'id (the 'Commentary on the

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'Aqa'id"), which are popular treatises on Islamic theology, written in Arabic by two scholars from Central Asia: Najm aI-Din al-Nasafi (died 1142) and Sa'd aI-Din al-Ta£tazani (died 1387/8) respectively. Among the identifiable Persian sources referred to by Bukhari there are: Akhlaq-i Muhsini - the 'Muhsin's ethics' (1494) by Husayn Wa'iz Kashifi (Keen 1867); Siyar al-muluk - the 'Ways of kings' (1092) by Nizam al-Mulk (Darke 1960); Kitab al-asrar - the 'Book of mysteries' (around 1188) by the Sufi poet Farid aI-Din' Attar (Boyle 1976:xx); Tuhfat al-wuzara - the 'Gift to viziers' (tenth or eleventh century) (Ethe 1896:347); Tanbih al-ghafilin - the 'Instruction for the ignoramuses', the Persian paraphrase of Al-Ghazali's Minhaj al-'abidin - the 'Way of the faithful' composed by a fifteenth century author (Brockelmann 1898-1942, Supplement 1:752).55 Nasa'ih al-muluk - the 'Counsels to kings' is probably the Persian work with this title by Qiwam alDin Yusuf ibn Hasan (date unknown) (Bagley 1964:xx). Finally, Bukhari mentions Persian romances of the famous couples: Layli and Majnun, Khusraw and Shirin, Yusuf and Zulaykha, popular from the eleventh century, as well as the romance of Sultan Mahmud Ghaznawi and his loyal servant Ayaz, the earliest version of which was composed in the first third of the sixteenth century (Ethe 1896:250). The identification of all these works may have been useful, revealing how many pieces of Persian literature became known in excerpts to the Malays via Bukhari, had the present author not found one work in Persian which proved to be the source of a greater part of Taj as-salatin (about two-thirds of the book). This work is Nasihat al-muluk - the 'Counsel to kings' written by Al-Ghazali between 1109-1111 (Bagley 1964:xviii) and, incidentally, never mentioned by Bukhari. 56 The two works are similar structurally: both of them contain the religious part and the 'mirror for kings' proper. In both chapters similar in content follow in one and same order. Both are based on the 'root-branches' principle, although this principle (see on it below) is used differently in the two works. But this is not all there is to it. Taj as-salatin coincides with Nasihat al-muluk, not only structurally, but also textually, not infrequently page after pageP In other words a considerable part of Taj as-salatin is a translation of Nasihat al-muluk. This refers mainly to ten of twenty-four chapters of Taj as-salatin,58 although some passages from Nasihat al-muluk are occasionally encountered in other chapters of the book, toO.59 Thus, almost the whole text of Nasihat al-muluk has been translated by Bukhari, forming the most important part of his work. Needless to say, not all the titles of Bukhari's sources are merely 'embellishments' of the translation of Al-Ghazali's book. On the one hand, in the chapters of Taj as-salatin, which do not coincide with those from Nasihat almuluk, he has actually used the works referred to, moreover some of them

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(' Aqa'id by al-Nasafi for one) may have been available in Aceh in the late sixteenth-the early seventeenth century (AI-Attas 1988:7-8, 33). On the other hand, a number of stories used by Bukhari occur both in Nasihat al-muluk and in one of the sources specified by him (for example in Siyar al-muluk or Akhlaq-i Muhsini) and he probably turned to the latter for a comparison. And yet, it is evident that the long list of Bukhari's references needs a substantial abridgement. 60 This, however, does not cast doubt on either the erudition or the literary talent of the author of Taj as-salatin, who not only amplified AI-Ghazali's text, commenting on its particular passages and introducing variations into them, but also refined the simple rhetoric of his predecessor's work, embellishing it with saj' and verses. The saturation of Taj as-salatin with references to numerous Persian and Arabic writings finds an explanation in the task set by Bukhari. As we shall see, his creation was designed as a crown of edifying knowledge beneficial to everyone: the king, courtiers and commoners. To become such a crown it must have been based on 'a great number of most glorious and outstanding books, famous in all countries [... ] and composed by most renowned and celebrated scholars' (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:7). And in his striving to fulfil this task Bukhari sometimes succumbed to vanity and added fictitious titles to real ones. However that may be, our knowledge about Bukhari is so insufficient that we can only guess whether Taj as-salatin had been initially compiled by him in Persian somewhere in the Persian-speaking area and only later translated into Malay by an anonymous translator (this was the assumption of Van Ronkel (1889», or whether he compiled his book directly in Malay already after his arrival in the Malay world from that Persia-speaking area (this was the idea of Iskandar (1965a». The point is that the name of the author written in Arabic characters could be read as either Bukhari al-Jauhari - 'A Jeweller from Bukhara' or Bukhari al-Johori - 'A Bukharian from (the Sultanate of) Johor'. Unfortunately, Van Ronkel's remark that the reading of Bukhari's nisba as Johori deprives of meaning the verses in which he calls himself a jeweller does not help much to solve the problem. A good specialist in punning, Bukhari could hide, as it were, one word Oohori - 'from Johor') in another (jauhari - 'jeweller'), for both were written with the same characters. Moreover, Rouffaer derived the etymology of Johor from jauhar 'jewel', 'pearl' (quoted in BrakeI1979a:88). Proceeding from the fact that Taj as-salatin mentions the Great Mughal emperor Humayun (1535-1556), a hypothetical Persian original, if it actually existed, could have been composed after 1556, less than half a century before the Malay translation. However, this original has not been found as yet and, on all the available evidence, will not be found at all, since some passages in the book testify to its composition in the Malay world and for a Malay ruler

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by a man of letters who had spent enough time there to learn much about Malay life and nature, politics and culture. For instance, Taj as-salatin mentions dry and rainy seasons, buffaloes and tigers, such a measure of weight as tahil and many other realia (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:14, 35-6). Even if behind them some Persian realia 'transformed', so to speak, by a translator, are concealed, Bukhari's comparison of the fame of the sultan with a keris ('dagger') or his appeal not to read false hikayat, narratives much loved by Malays, point to the place of origin of the book more definitely. Particularly interesting for solving this problem is Chapter 21 of Taj as-salatin: on the relationship between Muslim rulers and their non-Muslim subjects. The subject matter of the chapter, revealing no stylistic differences from the others and therefore authentic, was quite topical for Aceh in the late sixteenth-the seventeenth century, when the sultanate was vigorously expanding its territory at the expense of the lands of 'unbelievers', particularly the Bataks. Besides that, the chapter directly informs the reader that it is written to explain to the rulers of' countries below the wind' (in other words, to Malay rulers) how they should treat 'unbelievers' under their jurisdiction. The fact that a greater part of Taj as-salatin is based on Nasihat al-muluk also increases the possibility of its being composed in Aceh rather than brought from elsewhere. For it is much easier to imagine Bukhari compiling his composition there, if what he needed for this were only a few writings (some brought by himself, some available locally), and not the entire library of books referred to in Taj as-salatin, which had to be somehow delivered to or found in Aceh. Since in the seventeenth century the direct ties between Persia and the Malay world were largely broken,61 Winstedt believed that 'the Malays must have got it [that is, the Persian original of Taj as-salatin] from an Indian source' (Winstedt 1991:96). It seems better to speak here not about the original, but about the author. A similar view was also conveyed by Drewes, who regarded Bukhari as a Muslim Tamil with Persian educational background and referred to the significance of Tamil jewellers (leba i) in the religious and cultural domains of Malays' life (Drewes 1986:57). Nonetheless, taking into account the nisba of the Taj as-salatin 's author, more likely is his coming to Johor or to Aceh from or, to be more exact, via northern regions of Islamic India. It was in the second half of the sixteenth century that the shaky political situation in Central Asia had at last been stabilized. Abdullah-khan II (1557-1598) ruled over Mawara an-Nahr, Khwarizm and Khurasan from the one centre, Bukhara, and established friendly relations with the Great Mughal emperor, Akbar (1556-1605). His time was favourable for strengthening religious, scholarly and literary ties between northern Muslim India and Mawara an-Nahr, first and foremost Bukhara. According to two tadhkirah (anthologies of poetry with short data about the authors), precisely in I

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that period not less than fifty poets migrated from Mawara an-Nahr to the cities of northern India. Some of them entered service at different princely or royal courts (Mirzoev 1963:1-3). Many Bukharian theologians and men of letters originated from the milieu of traders and craftsmen. Ibn Battuta (Gibb 1957:273-6), Hikayat raja Pasai (Jones 1987:37) and the Sejarah Melayu (Winstedt 1938a:178-9) unanimously assert that theologians and Sufi masters from Mawara an-Nahr and Khurasan enjoyed high respect in northern Sumatra in the fifteenth-the sixteenth century. Therefore it is hardly farfetched to assume that late in the sixteenth century an ambitious Sufi writer from Bukhara, unsatisfied for some reason with his position in India, set off further eastwards to try his luck at the court of Sultan Alauddin Riayat Syah of Aceh. He had good reason to expect a welcome there. Whoever the author of Taj as-salatin was, only a few works of traditional Malay literature could match his book in popularity. It has survived in about twenty copies, a considerable number for Malay writings. Translated into Javanese, it had been carefully studied, either in palaces of Yogyakarta and Solo or beyond their walls, even in the nineteenth century. It was regularly consulted to solve different problems, particularly those concerned with the science of physiognomy or the conditions under which women of royal descent were authorized to inherit the throne. The chapter on physiognomy from Taj as-salatin helped a great conqueror, the sultan of Aceh, Iskandar Muda, to recognize his prospective successor in the captive prince of Pahang, while Abdullah bin Abdul Kadir Munsyi made use of the same chapter to comprehend the character of Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles. Discussing with Raffles whether it is permissible for him to start trade for improving an unlucky financial situation, Sultan Hussain Syah also referred to the authority of Taj as-salatin (c. Hooykaas 1947:166, 173; Iskandar 1965a). It is probably to its adaptation of Persian wisdom to local conditions that Taj as-salatin owed its popularity and considerable influence on traditional Malay literature, particularly didactic. The short stories, or better the short novellas, collected in it found their way into various admonitory anthologies and framed tales. Thus, no less than ten such novellas were included into the long recension of Hikayat Bakhtiar (Goryayeva 1989:151-4), while the lists of qualities required of an ideal ruler, an ideal vizier and so on influenced the similar lists in Hikayat Isma Yatim. Even more interesting, if not curious, is the fact that in the most archaic and only superficially Islamized Salasilah Kutai - the 'Kutai genealogy' long quotations from Taj as-salatin were put into the mouth of a Hindu-Buddhist Majapahit king and of his famous prime-minister Gajah Mada, who taught the future Kutai ruler and his minister the code of royal conduct and the art of government respectively (Mees 1935:212-3, 217-9; W. Kern 1956:22-4, 127-8, 130-1). Bukhari al-Jauhari showed impressive literary skill in the well thought-

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out structure of all twenty-four chapters of his composition, which appear as well rounded, unified units. The topic treated in each chapter derives from a Qur' anic verse (56 quotations), or a hadith (26 quotations). These Qur'anic and hadith quotations, which more often than not open chapters, contain key-notions for the chapters concerned, for instance, the notion of 'this world' in the chapter about this world, that of 'justice' in the chapter about justice, 'intellect' in the corresponding chapter, and so on. In the main, religious and political, sections of Taj as-salatin only those phenomena become the matter of discussion, which are interpreted or at least mentioned in the Muslim religious Canon, representing the plenitude of true knowledge. So, the authoritativeness of the choice of a matter for discussion as well as the propriety of the discussion's point of departure are testified to by the Canon, first and foremost by the Qur'an. As a result, the 'semantic space' of Taj as-salatin represents, as it were, a field of interaction for the Qur'anic notions. 62 After the topic for discussion is introduced through a Canonical quotation, there follows an expanded commentary on it, explicating the multiplicity of meanings and situational manifestations of the notion concealed in the Divine Word, the unchangeable prototype of all things existing. This commentary, at crucial moments again substantiated by references to the Qur' an or hadith, reproduces (on a lower level) the paradigm of Divine Creation. Just as the multitude of things is brought forth from the 'fixed essences' (ayan al-thabitah) in the process of Creation, the multitude of meanings are brought forth from the eternal Word of God in the process of the proper commenting. The commentaries consist of standard elements repeated from chapter to chapter, including definitions of notions in question, usually etymological; various speculations about the notions, sometimes in the form of a catechism; elegant sayings of men of wisdom, explicating the notions; lists of their attributes and properties, and the like. 63 A special role in the commentaries is played by series of stories, or novellas, for example those about just rulers and tyrants, about wise and industrious viziers, about loyalty, generosity, and many other subjects. It is these novellas, which are the main' ornaments of the meaning' of Taj as-salatin, mentioned by Bukhari. But more than this: taken together, such novellas outline the contours of an interpreted concept, defining it without logical operation. At the same time, each novella, taken separately, enables one to contemplate different aspects of the concept in concrete images and to 'experience' it as causing an emotional response. This type of 'commentary through stories' reveals a medieval Muslim view of knowledge, understood not as an abstraction detached from the cognizant personality, but as an essence totally permeating his personality, transforming it as an inseparable unity of reason, feeling and will.

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Taj as-salatin's exordium, the first and the last chapters of the book, occupying the 'marked position' in its overall structure, as well as the chapter about intellect, exceptionally important in its context, end with verses generalising what was expounded in a form suitable for memorizing. In these cases the chapters begin with Qur'anic verses/hadith, developing through the stage of commentaries, and end condensed in verse again, this time created by the author. The chapter on the intellect (reason) provides a good example of the structure of chapters in Taj as-salatin: Allah Most Exalted says: 'Fattaqu'Llaha, ya uli'l-albabi', which means: be fearful of God Most Exalted, 0 you, possessors of the reason. As for uli'l-albabi, this expression refers to those who possess reason. Although there are many words for reason in the Arabic language, akal is most well-known among them, and the word akil ['intelligent one', 'possessor of the reason'] is derived by all the scholars from akal. In the Arabic language, akal means a cave in the highest mountain, which is difficult to reach for a human, while yet another meaning of it is 'something firm'. And because of the greatness of reason, the Holy Prophet, endowed with perfect reason, says: 'Awwal rna khalaqa'Llahu'I-'aql', that is: the first thing God created was reason. [... ] There are seven signs of the man whose reason is devoid of imperfections. The first sign: he does good to the one who has done harm to him, pleases his soul and forgives his wrongdoings. The second sign: he takes a humble tone dealing with those whose rank is lower than his and glorifies with all his heart those whose rank is higher than his. The third sign: he does his best to carry out and is quick to speed up every good business and praiseworthy deed. The fourth sign: he hates every dirty business and all wicked men. The fifth sign: he constantly utters the Name of God Most Exalted, asking Him to forgive his sins, and remembers about death and the grave. The sixth sign: whatever the subject, he talks about it with due knowledge in the right place and at the right time. The seventh sign: when facing difficulties, he relies upon God's Mercy and knows with certainty that the Lord can alleviate every difficulty, since nothing is difficult for Him; that is why he begs for His help in any trouble, as the Lord is truly Most Compassionate! Story. It is told that in the age of king Nusyirwan Adil [that is, the Just] there lived a sage who was famous for his wisdom and knowledge. Once this sage sent an epistle to king Nusyirwan, in which he instructed him in the meaning of reason and said: '0 the king Nusyirwan Adil, know that reason in the human body resembles the sun in the sky, of which the rays illuminate every comer of the world. Nothing can conceal itself from the light of the sun and nobody can go astray walking in its light. Everything, good or evil, is apparent to those endowed with reason, just like colours, white or black, are clearly discernible in the light of the sun. Therefore you should glorify reason, so that your reign may become perfect: When king Nusyirwan had read that epistle, he was very pleased by the words of the sage. Full of delight, he replied to the epistle and said: '0 sage, most sublime are your words and most excellent is your story that increases joy in the heart of those endowed with reason. 0 sage, the attire of reason embellished the reign and made perfect the deeds of all the kings who preceded me. Therefore, how can I

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature live in disagreement with reason, if it is the tree of all that is true? And how can I stay far from reason and ignore its advice, if it is closer to God Most Exalted than all that exists? 0 sage, the one endowed with reason is like a tree, which bears fruits most beautiful in their aspect. And because of its choicest fruits, this tree becomes glorious in the eyes of all people: everyone feels affection to it, and approaches it, and pleases his heart with it. Whereas the one devoid of reason is like a tree, which bears no fruit at all. Because of its barrenness, this tree will never become glorious in the eyes of people, and no one will feel sympathy for it, as it is vain and good for nothing. And this tree will be cut down and burnt to ashes, and everyone will keep away from it so that its fire will not bum him. Such are the ways of those who are endowed with reason and who are devoid of it!' Another sage asked wise Buzurjmihr: 'What is the thing that no human being can fail to have?' Buzurjmihr answered and said: 'The thing that no human being can fail to have is reason.' Then the sage asked him: 'And where lies the limit of reason?' Buzurjmihr answered and said: 'What can one say about the thing that no one can have?'64 [... ] Reason in a human body is like a king in his city, surrounded by servants who are ready to fulfill his orders. These servants are memory, understanding, thinking and will; they gratify the soul, which pacifies the body and embellishes it. For the soul in a human body is like an oil lamp in a house, which illuminates it with its light, so that a man endowed with reason never feels regret, as he does not carry out any action that can cause it. [... ] The book Sifatu'I-'aql wa'I-'aqil [the 'Properties of reason and of possessors of reason'] says that the existence of humans resembles a prosperous city, of which reason is the king, deliberation his minister, the tongue his envoy, and the word his epistle. Therefore, the merits of the king and the excellence of his rule become obvious thanks to the envoy's behaviour and [the eloquence] of words [in the epistle], as Bukhari says of it: Listen, 0 you who possesses reason: Truly reason is a tree of good works. Because of good works reason has its merits, Otherwise, these merits tum into opposite qualities. The one endowed with reason is rich, The one devoid of reason is poor. Even if you have known the meaning of the world, But still are deficient in reason, Your existence will remain vain, And your name will not become famous. If you desire to become rich and powerful, Ask for reason, which is your light. o my Lord, humble Bukhari Constantly prays to be granted peace and reason. (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:168-77.)

Offering to the reader a complete course in state wisdom and ethics and as a rule successfully avoiding the temptation to regulate his every step, raj

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as-salatin demonstrates its integral nature not only in the structure of an individual chapter, but also in its general layout and content. Two main principles underlie the composition of Taj as-salatin's. The first of them, connected primarily with the style of scholarly writings, is that of the 'trunk' (asl) and 'branches' (turu'; singular far'). The second, particularly characteristic of aesthetic, and correspondingly of literary, writings, is the principle of the 'focal point', the centre of gravity for all the diversity of a literary work's constructive elements. The 'trunk', or the basis, the basic principle of any phenomenon, is usually established or defined in an authoritative way, for instance, proceeding from Qur' anic teachings, as has just been shown in the analysis of the structure of the Taj-as salatin chapters. The 'branches' are minor aspects or semantic elements of the phenomenon/ notion in question, derivative from or specifying basic principle. They are deduced from corresponding 'trunk' through 'reasoning by analogy' or syllogism (qiyas), and represent results of intellectual work. Taken together, the 'trunk' and the 'branches' lay foundations for the combination of authoritative and rational principles, so characteristic of Islamic (and, naturally, not only Islamic) traditional knowledge. 65 In complex conceptual constructions, 'trunks' of different notions/ conceptions usually occupy positions either at the beginning of the work or at the beginning of its section-cores, around which thematically homogenous chapters are grouped. 'Branches' are placed closer to the end, either of the work or its sections. As a result, both the conception and the composition of the work develop through, on the one hand, 'a successive narrowing' and, on the other, 'a successive broadening'. Both of them display a sort of movement from the general to the particular and, at the same time, from the one and simple to the multiple, complex and detailed. Precisely this conceptual/ compositional development could be observed in Taj as-salatino The book begins with an explication of self-cognition as the way to know God and eventually the entire Universe, the topic of the most general nature. Then, the being of man and the world are treated in a general way. Then, there is discussion of the problems of power, of government and of rulers' qualities and obligations, that is, some particular aspects of human existence. Then Bukhari discourses on the social functions of dignitaries and common subjects, and, finally, on such specific matters as the science of physiognomy and separate human qualities (magnanimity, kindness, keeping one's word). However this, on the whole logical, principle of compositional development is not the only one in Taj as-salatino On a par with it, the principle of the 'focal point' is at work in the book of Bukhari. Such focal points occur not only in the various sections of the book, but in Taj as-salatin as in an integral whole.

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G.M. Wickens was the first who revealed the principle of the 'focal point' as a salient feature of classical Persian poetry, counter-opposing it to Western literature and philosophy with their 'dramatic development' of theme through conflict and its solution. He wrote: In Persian art and thought, however, we shall find nothing really comparable [to dramatic development]. [... ] Persian thought and utterance are by nature self-contained, inward-turning (not necessarily 'introspective'), radial or spoke-like around a number of immutable focal points. It is this focal aspect, which has often been recognised as characteristic of Persian architecture (the central courtyard), garden-layout (the medial pool), carpet design, mosaics and miniatures. Only now, however, when Professor Arberry has resolutely consigned so much dead wood to the flames, is the ground sufficiently cleared to allow the elevation of a tentative theory that this same focal conception may be one of the structural bases of Persian poetry as well. (Wickens 1952:240.)

The basis for his 'focal theory' Wickens found in Islamic theology with its concept of God, central in relation to the Universe, which is made of unchangeable realities. When analysing the compositional structure of Taj as-salatin (and, in passing, its content) in the perspective of Wickens' 'focal theory', we cannot but notice that the second integrative principle of the book draws on the focal concept of justice. Taj as-salatin begins with an introduction, or an exordium, including laudations to God, the Prophet Muhammad and his companions, as well as an explanation of the reasons for and ways of Bukhari's composing Taj as-salatin and its contents. Four sections follow the exordium. Three of them, thematically homogeneous and treating the principal matters of the work, form its main, or 'trunk' (asl), sections. The first section of Taj as-salatin (I), consisting of four chapters (1-4) (on self-cognition, on cognition of God, on the nature of the world, and on 'the last breath in the hour of death'), provides, in Sufi manner, a religious basis for the concept of state and its central figure, the ruler, whose main quality, according to Taj as-salatin, is justice. The greatness of the human being consists in the fact that in his essence is concealed the sublime and perfect image of the Creator. Through self-cognition, one can reveal this image to the world and become the perfect man designed by God to be His vicegerent on earth. The world, though changeable and transient, is not totally devoid of value and meaning. It is a place of trial, where the actions of humans determine their torment or bliss in the afterworld. The most severe punishments of all await the unjust ruler, for he, who contains the image of God and was designed to be His shadow on earth, is bound to imitate the Almighty in mercy and charity. Like Allah, who can hear 'the sigh of the most insignificant ant, living under the seventh layer of earth'

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(Roorda van Eysinga 1827:32-3) and who hurries to provide it with His help, the ruler must be aware of the troubles of each of his subjects and be ready to give them support. Injustice and tyranny, on the other hand, are nothing but rebellion against God and the Universe He harmOniously created. Thus, the notion of justice in Taj as-salatin not only has an ethical meaning, but an ontological one as well. In the second section of the book (II), consisting of five chapters (5-9) (on the dignity of the ruler, on just and unjust deeds of kings, on the character of the just ruler, on just non-Muslim rulers, on tyranny and the deeds of tyrants), the notion of justice continues to be illustrated and developed, but now on the social plane. The necessity of strictly adhering to justice makes the burden of state power so heavy that, in the beginning, it was imposed on the prophets, who were under the direct control of Allah, and only then transferred to worldly rulers. Making use of numerous examples taken from the lives of prophets, of the Prophet Muhammad's companions, of Arab caliphs, of kings of Persia, China and other countries,66 Bukhari al-Jauhari analyses various aspects of justice, represented as the ruler's care for the well-being of his subjects and the fair organization of the state. Based on self-renunciation, alien to arrogance and selfishness, the administration of justice, however, not infrequently calls for the ruler's severity. On the other hand, Bukhari emphaSizes again and again how God's wrath inevitably strikes the tyrant in the afterworld, or even during his lifetime, and how powerful the prayers of the oppressed, even non-Muslims, are. All these ideas are summarized, as it were, in a concise, although expressive, form in the novella about the ordeals of a 'fire-worshipper' (a Zoroastrian) and his wife, of which the style of narration is most characteristic of plot-based stories of Taj as-salatino It is told that in olden times there lived a king in the city of Basra, whose rule was so oppressive that no other king in the world was equal to him in cruelty in that age. This king gave orders to settle his slaves in such a place on the main road to Basra, which no one, heading to the city on some business, can fail to pass by, so that they would collect one dirham [a small silver coin] from every wayfarer. If someone going to Basra or from Basra could not pay one dirham for his passage, those cruel slaves detained him and did not release him from their toll-house. It is also told that in Basra there lived a fire-worshipper, very poor and miserable, who had no earthly belongings except for a donkey, which he kept to earn his living, as on this donkey he delivered all kinds of things to the houses of people. This was the fire-worshipper's only livelihood, and when he had no work, he starved for a day or two together with his wife who was pregnant and could not work for people and earn any money. And because of the hunger and hardships, the husband and his wife decided to leave Basra and move to some other place, for their sufferings became unendurable. As his pregnant wife could not walk, the

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fire-worshipper sat her on the back of the donkey and, himself on foot, departed with her from the city. Soon they reached the turnpike, which was guarded by the king's slaves who took one dirham from everyone intending to pass there. When the fire-worshipper with his wife approached the toll-house in which the king's slaves lived, they demanded that he should pay them two dirham. On hearing this, the fire-worshipper told them about his hardships and said that, because of their hunger, he and his wife had deserted their house and set off, through forests and plains, in search of a living, so that he did not have two dirham with him. At this, the king's slaves answered: 'If such are your circumstances, we shall take four dirham from you before we let you go: The fire-worshipper said: 'None of my belongings costs even one dirham, so where can I get as much as four? If you do not allow me to pass, I had better return to the city.' The king's slaves answered: 'Even if you wish to return to your city, all the same we shall take four dirham from you: And the fire-worshipper was dumbfounded, as he was permitted to go neither forwards nor backwards, and he could not make any sense of those oppressors' actions. After standing for a long time in the middle of the road, suffering from hunger and fatigue, the fire-worshipper decided to return to Basra. But when he was bound for the city, the king's slaves fell upon him and beat him up unmercifully, inflicting a great pain on him, and they pushed his pregnant wife from the donkey's back, so that she fell on the ground, and miscarried, and her child was stillborn. And the fire-worshipper with his wife began to cry bitterly struck by this disaster, about which they had no one to complain to and tell how hard and painful it was. Meanwhile, those cruel slaves cut off the tail of the fire-worshipper's donkey, and they pushed and dragged the husband until they threw him out of the turnpike, and they separated the wife from the husband and took her to their house. And the wife did not know where her husband had gone, while the husband did not know where his wife had been taken by those oppressors. As for the fire-worshipper's wife, she was in great sorrow and grief, because she was separated from her husband, and her miscarried child was stillborn, and she was taken by the cruel slaves to their house. In those troubles, about which no one knew except the Lord, she complained to Him, crying with the unbearable pangs, and said: '0 my Lord, You have surely seen the injustice of these oppressors and you are surely aware of how I have been maltreated by them, as nothing is unknown to You. So, to whom but You can I complain, and who but You will avenge the wrongdoings of these cruel men?!' While his wife, shedding tears, was saying these words to her Lord, the fireworshipper, also crying, took his donkey, and headed to Basra and soon reached the gate of that king's palace. In the end, he managed to present his complaint before the king and tell him all about the maltreatment that he had suffered from his slaves. To this the accursed king answered with laughter: 'Hey fire-worshipper, if the guards cut off your donkey's tail- too bad! - just be patient and it will recover. And if your child died - nothing to worry about either! - in their house your wife will surely become pregnant, so that another one will be born to you in due course'. After the fire-worshipper had heard the king's words, that were not proper to be heard by anyone ever, each of them inflicted a thousand torments on him, and burnt down his soul, and multiplied his sorrows. In despair he lifted up both his

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hands and fastened his eyes on the sky and said this prayer to his Lord: '0 Lord, the Creator of the sky and everything that fills it, You also heard the words of this cruel king and You also saw the misery of Your oppressed slave. And as You are the Just King, to whom but You can I complain about my unbearable sufferings? So, I wish You to bring down rightful punishment full of Your Justice upon all these oppressors!' With those words, the fire-worshipper went out of the gate of the oppressive king's palace, weeping bitterly, and he did not know either where he would go or where he would stay. When the fire-worshipper was going in sorrow and pain wherever his steps took him, he suddenly heard a voice from the invisible world, saying: 'Hey fireworshipper, glance back!' The fire-worshipper glanced back and saw that, by the Will of God Most Exalted, the earth had gaped and swallowed up the palace, and all the ministers, and all the commanders and everyone who happened to be standing nearby. And from the gap on the spot, where the palace had once stood, black water was bubbling up. And from that age until today this place in Old Basra is full of the black water, so that people come constantly to see this place, where God Most Exalted revealed His Wrath to them. (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:106-9.)

The third section (III) is devoted to counsellors and officials (ministers, scribes, messengers, courtiers), whose function is to strengthen the ruler in his understanding of justice as his kingly duty, to let his subjects know about his fair decrees and to inform neighbours about the ruler's intentions with the utmost accuracy. In the four chapters of this section (10-13), Bukhari stresses how necessary it is for a king to seek advice from wise ministers able to prevent him from taking hasty steps. He also reminds his readers that the pen of the scribe is stronger than the sword; that messengers, in carrying out their task, should conform to their ideal model, the messenger of God-the Prophet Muhammad; that nobles must be as faithful to their king as the Turkic slave Ayaz was to Mahmud, the sultan of Ghazna, but must not forget, at the same time, that a courtier too fainthearted to prevent his lord from arbitrariness and cruelty will be condemned as his accomplice on Doomsday. The fourth and final section (IV), contrary to the first three 'trunk'-sections, is a typically 'branches' one, quite diverse in its contents. It consists of eleven chapters discussing different matters in one or two chapters each. Generally these chapters are shorter than those in sections I-III and are grouped in semantically homogeneous sub-sections of a sort (IVa-IVg). Section IV begins with Chapter 14 on the right upbringing of children that will make them worthy servants of their lord. Then, in two chapters (15-16) it deals with the most important virtues forming the basis of the ruler's justice, notably generosity and intellect (reason). And it is intellect, indeed, that plays the main role in the formation of proper kingly conduct, for it is able to distinguish between the evil and the good, and teaches one to answer evil actions with good ones.

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After one chapter (17) summarizing the kingly virtues and containing a new definition of justice: do not do to others what you would not have done to you, there follow a number of sub-sections (IVd-IVf) of two chapters each, which treat the problems of a more specific nature. They are: on the science of physiognomy (18-19), which provide the right knowledge of people and enable one to treat them with justice; on subjects and fair attitudes towards them, Muslims and non-Muslims alike (20-21); on positive human qualities (22-23), such as kindness and magnanimity, with the unparalleled examples given by the Yemenite Arab Khatim at-Ta'i, as well as the ability to be true to one's word. The book concludes with sub-section IV g including an epilogue-chapter (24), in which the concept of justice is touched on for the last time: just rulers are a manifestation of God's Grace to peoples, unjust ones are a manifestation of His Wrath. Bukhari calls upon kings to read his book every day, for it is a faithful friend and adviser and, enjoying its words, to follow their meanings. Examining the overall compositional structure of Taj as-salatin (see Chart 3), it is easy to observe that each section of it, be it one of the larger homogeneous sections or smaller sub-sections, possesses a semantic core, for example, 'man as microcosm', 'king', 'dignitary', 'science of physiognomy', 'human qualities', and so on. All the chapters, which are constructed according to one and the same pattern (and unchangeable in this sense), are grouped around these cores, while the cores are linked by a radial connection with the notion of 'justice' central to the whole work. Thus, the linear, hierarchic aspect of the Taj as-salatin's composition, determined by the 'trunk'-'branches' principle, is complemented by and interacts with its' circular' compositional aspect. It is not fortuitous that Bukhari constantly calls his book a crown. Like the Persian, and, generally, Muslim garden, with its indispensable pond in the centre of it, the Persian crown is a centred, radial construction. Usually it consists of a four-fold diadem and a tiara or a round cap, the uppermost point of which is marked with an ornament (a plume, a jewel). Taj as-salatin in its schematic representation is none other than a projection of such a crown on a horizontal plane (see Charts 4-5). However, the ornaments of the crown should also not be neglected. First, according to Bukhari, each of the four sections in his book consists of perfect chapters. Their meanings are adorned with the 'jewels' of novellas and wise sayings ('jewels' are common metaphors for both). Their words are ornamented through Bukhari's making use of all three kinds of speech (prose, poetry and rhymed prose-san and all the forms of Persian poetry. Second, if we imagine that all four sections of the book are adorned with jewels, different in kind, size and price, we shall find a very precise analogy with the linear, hierarchic aspect of Taj as-salatin's composition, based on the 'trunk''branches' principle. As a result, Bukhari's crown-like model combines and integrates all the

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compositional and ornamental elements of the rhetorical construction of his book. There is nothing particularly unusual in the creation by a Central Asian man of letters of a work of such a type. Book-jewels occur quite often in the Arabic and Persian literary tradition. Suffice it to mention as an example the 'Book of the necklace' by Ibn 'Abd Rabbihi, an Arab writer of the late ninth-the first half of the tenth century. Like a crown, a necklace is a circular construction. Like a crown, it is inconceivable without precious stones, jewels or pearls. Hence the construction of Ibn 'Abd Rabbihi's book, including chapters entitled as follows: Pearl (The Book of kings) - Ruby (The Book of civility) - Emerald (The Book of valour) - Coral (The Book of noblesse) - Agate (The Book about benefits of knowledge) - Carnelian (The Book of eloquence) - Central Bead (The Book of good manners) - The Second Carnelian (Parables and proverbs) - The Second Agate (The Book of instructions) - The Second Coral (Stories about bedouins) - The Second Emerald (The Book of resourcefulness) - The Second Ruby (From the history of the Arabs) - The Second Pearl (On arts) - The Last Bead (Funny stories) (Ibn Rabbihi 1985: 226-452).

It is easy to see the complete similarity of Ibn 'Abd Rabbihi's book to a neck-

lace. Jewels of different kinds and values· follow each other in the same order and are symmetrically arranged on both sides of the central bead. At the same time, at least before the central bead, precious stones (and the corresponding books) are arranged hierarchically, somewhat resembling the order observed in Taj as-salatino The books after the central bead are usually less important and general in their nature than those before it. The last bead evidently represents a sort of fastening, connecting both ends of the string on which the jewels are threaded. The symmetry and harmonious correlation of parts, providing the possibility of building an integral composition from heterogeneous novellas is, according to Ibn Rabbihi, one of the main merits of his work: I had examined several books, similar to mine in content, and saw that the stories were not arranged according to their topics and suffered from incompleteness. Then I decided to compose my book in such a way that it embraces as many stories as possible. I have entitled this book the 'Book of the necklace' because of those pearls of speech that are gathered in it, and also because of its strict orderliness, harmony and the beautiful correlation of its parts, which make it like unto a necklace. (Shidfar 1974:111.)

The same 'beautiful correlation of parts' is characteristic of Taj as-salatin, as well as of a number of Malay works composed in the sixteenth-the seventeenth centuries. It is observable in the book, beginning with its exordium, which comprises three parts, namely relatively equal in size religious (100

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lines) and secular (83 lines) introductions and the contents of the work, which is approximately one third as long. The most interesting is the religious introduction, including twenty prose and five long poetic lines (with internal rhymes and final monorhyme) in praise of Allah; ten prose and five poetic lines (identical with previous ones in their structure) in praise of Muhammad; five prose and ten short poetic lines in praise of each of the companions of Muhammad: Abu Bakar (Arabic: Baqr), Umar, Usman and Ali. If we add that 24 chapters of Taj as-salatin with the exordium make 25 (5x5) structural units, the preponderance of the number 5, whether in the exordium or in the whole book including the exordium, will become evident. It is also not fortuitous, for it is precisely in the exordium that the comparison of Taj as-salatin with a crown is introduced for the first time. Number 5 symbolizes the circle in Islamic philosophy and mysticism. Thus, the circular structure of the book/ crown is corroborated once again. The exordium, however, is not included in the total count of chapters, of which the book numbers 24 (12x2). 12 was regarded as the 'perfect number' among Malay Sufis. In this case doubled 12 could symbolize the perfection of Taj as-salatin as guidance or instruction bestowed, as Bukhari stated, both by Allah on him and by him on the readers (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:226). The main part of Taj as-salatin includes four subdivisions: the basic ('trunk') part of three sections and the derivative ('branches') part of one section. Like the exordium, the main part consists of commensurable verbal massifs. Section I numbers 44 pages, section 2 - 69 pages, section III - 47 pages and section IV - 67 pages. Thus, the 'diadem of the crown' includes four alternating 'parts': two almost equal shorter ones (44 and 47 pages long) and two almost equal longer ones (69 and 67 pages long). On top of it, in the basic sections a certain symmetry in the number of chapters is observed: section I - 4 chapters, II - 5 chapters, III - again 4 chapters. The chapter concluding Taj as-salatin (8.5 pages) is almost as long as the exordium (9.5 pages) and, like the latter, is finished with Bukhari's verses. These provide the book with a kind of symmetrical frame. But even this has not yet exhausted the matter. It is quite obvious that the last chapter, Chapter 24, is of ambivalent character. On the one hand, it is a component of the main part of Taj as-salatin, while, on the other, it is a conclusion to the entire book. As a conclusion, this chapter, side by side with the exordium and the main part, is a structural element of the book as a whole. As a chapter with its specific number (24), it is an element of the main part of Taj as-salatino Moreover, it occupies a position within the derivative section, thus being also an element of it. The ambivalent character of Chapter 24 provides Bukhari with the possibility of creating a great many proportional divisions in the book, including Chapter 24 and the exordium in different groupings of structural elements.

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For instance, we can assert that the exordium, the basic part and the derivative part are linked by proportional relations, for all of them are threefold. The exordium consists of three elements: religious introduction, secular introduction, and contents. The basic part consists of three basic sections. The derivative part consists of two types of sub-sections (by one and by two chapters, respectively) and of one ambivalent chapter / conclusion. We can state that the derivative part is proportionally correspondent to the exordium and the basic part: 1 exordium + 13 chapters of basic part = 14 (= 2x [3+4]); 3 sub-sections of the derivative part by 1 chapter + 3 sub-sections of the derivative part by 2 chapters + the ambivalent chapter = 7 (=3+4).14: 7=2. We can assume that the derivative part is proportionally correspondent to the entire book: 3 elements of exordium + 3 sections of basic part + 6 subsections of derivative part + ambivalent chapter as an element of derivative part + the same ambivalent chapter as a conclusion = 14 (=2x [3+4]), while the sum of derivative chapter's elements = 7 (=3+4).14:7 = 2. Just in the same way, the frame of the Taj as-salatin is proportional to 24 chapters of the book: 3 sub-divisions of the religious introduction + the secular introduction + contents + conclusion/ ambivalent chapter = 6 (= 2x3). 24: 6 = 4. All the groupings and divisions of this kind are too numerous to be analysed here. Thus, as befits a real piece of jewellery, the construction of the Taj as-salatin is based on a great many 'harmonious', that is symmetrical and proportional, relations expressed by the numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. It is worth mentioning that all these numbers are concealed in the sum of the Taj as-salatin's chapters + its exordium: 24 (= lx2x3x4) + 1 = 25 (5x5). Apart from the compositional significance, the numbers underlying the Taj as-salatin have symbolic Sufi meanings. However, their analysis exceeds the limits of this study. 67 To sum up. Taj as-salatin is really an all-embracing book in content. It encompasses almost the entire circle of traditional Muslim knowledge from anatomy to mysticism. From a number of sources Bukhari draws information about Sufism and theology, about psychology and ethics, about the art of government and statesmanship. His method is, however, not so much scholarly as literary. It is based on quoting of all kinds of novellas, of traditions about prophets and righteous caliphs, historical anecdotes, and fragments from heroic epics and love romances. All these are generously adorned with refined apophthegms of Muslim and pagan sages and decorated with Bukhari's own verses of variegated forms. Thus, we face a typical adab work, if not a whole encyclopaedia, based on the fusion of 'trunk' -'branches' and 'focal' principles and elegantly constructed in such a way that all its proportional parts 'revolve' around the notion of justice, central to the book.

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It is impossible to learn now whether in fact the rulers of Aceh listened to this advice, just as it is impossible not to hear the notes of dryish rigorousness, which from time to time creep into Bukhari's narrative, or not to notice the narrowness of some of his ethical judgements. And yet one cannot but appreciate the nobility of his words about the high dignity of a human being and power of his intellect, about justice and religious tolerance at their true value. Real courage - something glorified in Taj as-salatin - was needed of the writer to say these words to Acehnese sultans who, like Alauddin al-Kahhar, massacred 'unbelievers' in thousands, or, like Bukhari's patron Alauddin Riayat Syah, in one day treacherously slaughtered most of the Acehnese nobility, or, like Iskandar Muda, did not hesitate to torture palace women personally and considered a bath in his victims' blood to be the best remedy for his disease (Lombard 1967:174-5, 218-22).

Bustan as-salatin (the 'Garden of sultans') by Nuruddin ar-Raniri The second well-known Malay mirror, Bustan as-salatin (the 'Garden of sultans'), was composed in Aceh in 1638-1641 on the orders of Sultan Iskandar Thani (the Second). Its author, sheikh Nuruddin ar-Raniri from the port city of Ranir (Rander) in Gujarat,68 was born to a mixed Arab-Indian family of religious tutors and scholars, who had maintained ties with the Malay world for a long time. After mastering the Malay language (probably still in his native city), receiving a good education and being initiated into the Rifaiya Sufi order, Nuruddin ar-Raniri arrived in Aceh in 1637, where he soon reached the high position of the supreme qadi, 'the Mohammedan bishop', as Europeans called him. In Aceh Nuruddin wrote many treatises on Islamic jurisprudence, theology and mysticism (see Chapter VIII) and launched a fierce attack against local Sufis who advocated extreme monism. Early in the 1640s he achieved mass repression of 'heretics' and the burning of their books, which he failed - or rather, did not want - to understand properly, driven by a desire to get rid of dangerous competitors, influential both at the court and in the villages (AI-Attas 1966:14-6; 1970:31-65). However, in 1644 his apparently defeated adversaries seized the upper hand over 'the cupbearer of the Prophet', as Nuruddin ar-Raniri used to call himself (Winstedt 1991:101), and forced him to leave Aceh (Takeshi Ito 1978). Nuruddin arRaniri died in his native Ranir in 1658. It is not unlikely that in creating his Bustan as-salatin,69 which resembled Taj as-salatin not only in its title, but also in the subject matter of whole sections and many novellas, Nuruddin ar-Raniri, a passionate polemicist, vied with his predecessor, trying to excel him and, thus, belittle the significance of his book. If such was Nuruddin ar-Raniri's intention, one cannot say that he achieved his ends completely (Iskandar 1964a:4-5). Nevertheless, it fell to the lot of the

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new mirror, qesigned not only to instruct but also to glorify Nuruddin arRaniri's royal patron, Sultan Iskandar the Second of Aceh, to influence Malay culture and literature considerably (Jelani Harun 1999:267-93). For instance, describing the park of the Turkish sultan, which he had never seen, the author of Hikayat Hang Tuah (the 'Epic of Hang Tuah') faithfully copied Nuruddin ar-Raniri's description of the pleasure garden of Iskandar the Second (Kassim Ahmad 1968:455-60). Then one of the editors of Sejarah Melayu, who wanted to embellish his chronicle with an imposing preface, copied it from Bustan assalatin in full (Winstedt 1938a:35), while compilers of adab anthologies invariably included the sheikh's novellas and parables in their collections. As to its content,7o Bustan as-salatin is an encyclopaedic compilation, so grandiose that no manuscripts have been preserved which contain all its books. Usually they were copied separately or by twos or threes at a time. Book (bab) 1 of the work, in which the creation of the heavens and the earth is discussed, describes the creation of the Prophetic Light of Muhammad (Nur Muhammad), the source of all that exists; the Preserved Tablet (lauh al-mahfuz), on which the destinies of all creations of Allah are inscribed; the Lofty Reed-Pen (qalam al-'ala), the Throne (arasy) and the Footstool (kursi) of God; angels, the Praised Banner of the Prophet Muhammad (liwa al-hamd), jinn and Iblis; the Lote Tree of the Uttermost End (sidrat al-muntaha), and seven celestial spheres. Book 2 describes deeds of the prophets, beginning with Adam, the first man, and up to Muhammad, 'the seal of prophets', as well as the history of kings of Ancient Iran, Byzantium and Egypt (prior to Iskandar Zulkamain), pre-Muslim Arabia and, finally, of the Prophet Muhammad himself and his four companions who began to spread Islam and, thus, marked the dawn of a new historical epoch. This new epoch and the further, eastward progress of Islam are described in the next five chapters (pasal) of the book, including the history of Arab caliphs, the Umaiyads and Abbasids, sultans of Delhi, rulers of Malacca and Pahang and, to conclude, sultans of Aceh up to Iskandar the Second, who is the actual hero of this section. The remaining four books of Nuruddin ar-Raniri's opus magnum, which cannot fail to evoke associations with Taj as-salatin, tell about principles of rulership and just kings (Book 3); pious kings and Muslim saints, in particular Iskandar Zulkamain and Ibrahim ibn Adham (Book 4); tyrants and their treacherous and oppressive courtiers, primarily viziers (Book 5); heroes who made themselves famous for their generosity and courage, as well as the institution of the holy war and military expeditions of the Prophet Muhammad (Book 6). Finally, the concluding, seventh book of the mirror expounds the lofty status of the intellect (reason akal) which is the source of all knowledge, including the sciences of music, physiognomy and medicine; the book finishes with

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a section on the features of women, their classification and characters, bad and good, embellished with a number of stories. This book, which, judging by the number of its copies, enjoyed the greatest popularity among readers, was singled out as a separate literary composition sometimes, known as Bustan al-arifin - the 'Garden of the wise'. Against the background of the far-reaching similarity between Bustan assalatin and Taj as-salatin, the features that make both works different become especially clear. While Bukhari's compact mirror is written, on the whole, in a simple, popular and emotional style, Nuruddin's treatise mainly reveals in its author a well-educated Muslim scholar, a pedant and a systematizer. The homogeneous prose style of Bukhari, who likes to resort to saj' here and there, stands in contrast to a more versatile and diverse literary manner of the Gujarati sheikh, who passes easily from a pompous panegyric full of metaphors to a fairly dry historical chronicle, exact in details and dates (Iskandar 1966:52-9), and then to a graphically clear novella, although without such embellishments as passages in rhymed prose. A typical example of Nuruddin ar-Raniri's panegyric style is as follows: At that time [that is, before Sultan Iskandar the Second ascended the throne] all the people [of the country] were similar to greenery suffering from unbearable heat, but as soon as the parasol of his power opened, all of them found shelter in its shade and bliss in the rain of his mercy that showered upon them. The hearts of people opened for joy, like flowers, which, refreshed by drops of rain, open their petals early in the morning and fill the country with their wonderful fragrance up to its remotest recesses. Then the breeze of his happiness blew, the sun of his glory began to shine, the banner of his sovereignty was hoisted and the flags of his good fortune began flying. The news about the justice of the king and his innumerable perfections spread all over his land, and ships from many countries arrived in his port. At that time the prosperity of Dar as-Salam [the capital of Aceh] increased exceptionally, food fell in price immeasurably, and the townsfolk of the city began to live in peace and harmony. (Iskandar 1966:44.) .

And here is an example of his historical style as represented in Book 2 of Bustan as-salatin: In year 170 of the Hijrah era, Sultan Musa al-Hadi deceased at the age of twentysix, after spending one year and three months on the throne. His subjects did homage to his brother born from the same parents, Harun aI-Rashid ibn Mahdi, whose mother's name was Khaizuran. After that Sultan Harun aI-Rashid ascended the throne. He appointed Yahya ibn Khalid as his vizier and made over all the matters of government to Yahya's hands. In the same year Harun aI-Rashid ordered his servant, [Abu Sulaiman] Faraj by name, to go to the city of Tarsus and make it prosperous and populous. In the same year Sultan Harun aI-Rashid ordered' Abd aI-Rahman from the Umaiyad family to fill with believers the Mosque Qartabah in the country of Andalus, which was formerly a temple of Christian idols. And he gave him about ten laksa [one laksa = ten thousand] of golden dinar to make a

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature mosque [from that temple]. In year 171 of the Hijrah era, the said' Abd aI-Rahman died. After his death his son Hisyam replaced him. He [that is, 'Abd aI-Rahman] died at the age of fiftytwo, after serving as the commander-in-chief in the country of Andalus for thirty years. He was tall and graceful, of a pinkish-white complexion, cross-eyed, and with a scanty beard on both [his cheeks]. [... ] In year 188 of the Hijrah era, the Sultan Harun [aI-Rashid] mustered a big army to invade the country of Rum and went to war from the city of Safsaf. When this news reached the Sultan Taqfur, he also took the field with all his troops. At that time he was suffering from three wounds. Both armies jOined battle, Taqfur was defeated, and many of his soldiers were killed. (Bustan as-salatin 186, 190; translation on the basis of Jelani Harun's transliteration.)

Finally, a specimen of the style of his novellas: Sheikh Muzni - may Allah have mercy upon him! - a disciple of Imam Shafi'i - may Allah be pleased with him! - once narrated: 'One night, when the moon rose and shone brightly, Imam Shafi'i and I went for a walk, entered the courtyard of a mosque and saw several people sleeping there. Having sat in a corner, we enter into a conversation. At that moment a stranger came running in and began to examine closely the faces of sleeping people one after another. After he left, Imam Shafi'i asked me: 'Hey Muzni, do you know whom he was looking for here?' I answered: '0 Imam, I do not know this.' Said Imam Shafi'i: 'He was searching for his runaway slave, an Abyssinian, who is blind in the left eye. Now his slave is in the jail. Call him back and inquire!' I called the stranger back and asked him as he approached: 'Tell me what brought you to this mosque'. He said: 'I was looking for my runaway slave, an Abyssinian'. 'Has he any special signs?' I asked. 'He is blind in the left eye,' answered the stranger. Then I said to him: '0 stranger, your slave is in the jail. Go and find him there.' The stranger hurried to the jail and found his slave in it. Then I asked Imam Shafi'i: '0 Imam, is it not your saintliness that told you the signs of the Abyssinian?' And he said: 'Hey Muzni, I guessed that the newcomer was looking for his runaway slave, by his entering the courtyard in a great haste; that his slave was an Abyssinian, by his examining the faces of black people only; that his slave was blind in the left eye, by how attentively he looked at the left side of their faces, and that he was in the jail I concluded from the following saying of the Prophet - may Allah bless him and give him peace! - who once remarked: 'Truly an Abyssinian steals when he is hungry and engages in fornication when he is well fed'. I supposed that that slave was hungry; if so, he had certainly stolen something, and if he had stolen something, he had doubtlessly been caught and thrown into the jail. (c. Hooykaas 1953:367-8.)

Usually Nuruddin ar-Raniri is indifferent to poetical insertions, but in those, which do appear from time to time, he imitates not so much examples of the Arabico-Persian verse as poems of his ideological opponents, the Sumatran Sufis (Voorhoeve 1968:278). However, even more interesting are peculiarities in the structure of the

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two mirrors, reflecting the different tasks set by their authors. Taj as-salatin is a theological and ethical treatise par excellence, demonstrating how harmoniously the Divine Law, the support of the Universe, finds its social embodiment in a state based on justice and reason. Even its historical digressions - for instance, the genealogy of Persian pre-Islamic kings - are no more than illustrations of that ethical conception thanks to which the Malays joined the family of civilized Muslim nations. On the other hand, Bustan as-salatin is a theological and historical treatise. It unfolds before the reader a dynamic picture of Creation, the point of departure for the world, and, primarily Muslim, history that continues it. After that, as if concluding the cause begun in the initial chapters of Sejarah Melayu (Winstedt 1938a:43-65), of which the recension of 1612 was wellknown to him (see Chapter 11), Nuruddin ar-Raniri incorporates the history of Malay states into this picture. Thus, by virtue of its history itself, traceable to Iskandar Zulkarnain - the ancestor of Malay and, at the same time, Persian kings who, in their turn, are linked with the dynasties of other nations - the Malay world finds itself rooted in the system of Muslim politics and culture. Only after this does Nuruddin ar-Raniri offer the new member of the world Islamic community the socio-ethical doctrine identical to that expounded in raj as-salatin, as well as fundamentals of Muslim education. How he does it, thus completing the structure of his historically based mirror, we have already discussed in Chapter V.

Historical literature Salasilah Kutai (the 'Kutai genealogy,) Along with the city-states of Sumatra and the Malay Peninsula, early Malay settlements also emerged in south and southeast Kalimantan (Borneo). It is from the territory of the later Sultanate of Kutai that the oldest Indonesian epigraphic vestiges dating from the fifth century originate, thus testifying to the inception of Malay statehood and the appropriation of Indic cultural elements in Kalimantan. Inscriptions on several sacrificial posts (yupa) narrate about three generations of Kutai rulers, the first of whom evidently bore a local Indonesian name. His son assumed the Sanskrit name of Ashvavarman and founded the dynasty, while his grandson held solemn Hindu ceremonies and gave generous gifts to brahmans, in memory of which the posts were erected. 71 Founded by newcomers from Sumatra, Kalimantan states maintained ties with Shrivijaya for a long time, and in the fourteenth century they became vassals of Majapahit. In spite of their conversion to Islam in the sixteenth-the

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seventeenth century, their rather isolated position and peculiarities of their cultural contacts resulted in many archaic elements of the Malay tradition being preserved in Kalimantan better than in other regions. 72 In particular clearly archaic beliefs of the Malays were reflected in Salasilah raja-raja di negeri Kutai - the 'Genealogy of kings (who ruled) in the state of Kutai', henceforth Salasilah Kutai - the 'Kutai genealogy' (Mees 1935). This mythological 'chronicle' was in all likelihood committed to writing in the nineteenth century. Nevertheless it faithfully conveyed the oral prototype that took shape before the middle of the seventeenth century.73 Especially interesting is the first part of the genealogy, devoted to the origin of Kutai rulers (Mees 1935:118-93). The main motifs of this narrative are widely spread in traditional Malay historiography, but it is only in Salasilah Kutai that they are presented as an integral whole, in which every motif occupies its original place and preserves its original meaning. To put it differently, only here do they make up the primordial Malay myth of the origin of the dynasty and, more broadly, the people over whom this dynasty is to hold sway. As has been noted earlier, in other historical works, these motifs, or rather their distant echoes, are more often than not torn out of their natural context, placed chaotically and frequently fused with elements of the epics about Rama, Panji and Iskandar Zulkarnain. The archaic nature of the initial part of Salasilah Kutai manifests itself primarily in the form of this composition. This form constitutes a combination of prose passages and unrhymed verses, which from the earliest times was most probably typical for the narrative practice of various ethnic groups of the Malay world. Besides, a great number of parallelistic formulas, common in the' sacred language' of Kutai priests and priestesses - these functionaries preserved their sacral significance even after the adoption of Islam (W. Kern 1956:13-22) - were incorporated into the text. To this should be added that the myth of the origin of the Kutai dynasty's ancestors was staged until recently during annual court festivals in which an important role was assigned to the Sultan of Kutai (W. Kern 1956:46-7). It is the sacral nature of the initial part of the genealogy and its ties with living rituals that ensured the preservation of the Malay dynastic myth in its original form. The myth begins with the story about how the elder of one of the four settlements making up Kutai, which had no king so far, finds a child, Batara Agung Dewa Sakti, who descended from heaven and later married the princess, Putri Karang Melenu, the stepdaughter of the elder of another settlement, born of the foam of the major local river Mahakam. The narrative of the elder and his wife who found the princess born of the foam is a good illustration of the combination of prose and verse in Salasilah Kutai: Then all the Mahakam river became clad in foam, and the elder of Hulu Dusun and Babu Jaruma [his wife] rowed to the middle of the river and, while they were

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rowing, strong waves nearly overturned their boat. [... ] Asked Babu Jaruma: 'Where is the cry of a child coming from?' Answered her husband: 'No matter how attentively I listen, I cannot understand who is crying: a child or the evil spirit puntianak. Said the wife: 'Listen to it more attentively.' The husband began to listen, staring at the middle of the river, and saw a baby amidst flakes of foam mounting like a hill. The mount of the foam, which hid it Was wrapped in a white cloud, A dark cloud hung over it like an umbrella, A double rainbow embraced it like a couple of parents. Golden sunset clouds appeared in the sky, The wind began to blow so softly That no one can say, if it blows or not. Drops of rain began to fall, And flowers opened all around. The elder and his wife hurried to the middle of the river, and Babu Jaruma saw a radiance in the foam similar to that of a bezoar-stone, which was so bright that one could not look straight at it. On inspecting the mass of foam closely, Babu Jaruma saw a child amidst the foam, lying on a flat gong, which was carried by two dragons on their heads. The dragons rested on the head of a bull, and the bull whose name was Lembu Suana stood on a rock: Its tusks and trunk are like those of an elephant, Its fangs resemble those of a tiger, Its forelock resembles that of a stallion, And its body is like that of a horse. Its wings and spurs are like a garuda's, Its tail is long like that of a naga [a dragon], Its body is clad in the scales of a fish Such is the bull named Lembu Suana! (Mees 1935:125-6.)

It is said in Salasilah Kutai that the prince descended from heaven in a shin-

ing golden ball. Another Kalimantan chronicle, Hikayat Banjar, calls him Suryanata, the Solar King, and adds that he could marry only a princess born of the foam, because the sun and water make up a perfect couple (Ras 1968: 93-4). Curious is a remote parallel between this myth and the inscriptions on sacrificial posts. They also mention not the bearer of an Indonesian name (possibly, a tribal leader), but Ashvavarman 'who, similarly to the sun [italics by the present author], brought up a glorious dynasty' (Poerba~araka 1952:9). However, the myth is not limited to the description of the marriage of the solar prince and the aquatic princess. Paduka Nira, the son born of this union, marries Putri Paduka Sura, the daughter of the earth, found in a bamboo trunk, and their descendants become rulers of Kutai. Therefore, the right of the Kutai dynasty to the throne is explained by the fact that its founders were personifications of cosmic elements (sun, water and earth) united in a sacred marriage. As these elements stand here for the upper world, nether-

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world and middle world, the whole mythological construction represents the unity of the Universe and its earthly projection, human society, that is to ensure their harmony and well-being. An exact analogy to the Malay dynastic myth can be found in the mythology of the Ngaju also living in south Kalimantan. The Ngaju believe that the original community that gave rise to mankind divided into two halves in prehistoric times as a result of a conflict: one half remained' above the clouds, somewhere in the sky' while the other settled down on the earth and also split into two. The union of all the three parts of this once integral community is the condition of prosperity of all its members and it is renewed annually during special rites (Ras 1968:94-5). At the same time, this myth evokes associations - and, thus, could have been the basis for the appropriation - of the Indic conception of cakravartin (see, for instance, Heine-Geldern 1942; Wolters 1970: 128-35), the ruler of the world or, rather, of the three worlds (compare Seri Tri Buana - the 'Lustre of the Three Worlds' in Sejarah Melayu). The story of the origin of the Kutai dynasty is followed in the chronicle by the description of how the dynasty founds the state (Mees 1935:194-263). Descendants of the 'princess from bamboo' together with Indra Mulia, the ruler of the neighbouring country Muara Kaman fly to Majapahit in order to learn court ceremonies and the art of rulership there. Having travelled through the sky, past the abode of gods, and seven earthly spheres, they finally reach Java, where the king of Kutai learns from the ruler of Majapahit, while his brother, the prime-minister, learns from the famous grand-vizier of Majapahit, Gajah Mada. Indra Mulia is not honoured with this possibility, returns home 'empty-handed' and has to establish laws on his own, which promises Muara Kaman nothing good. Having returned home, the brothers found a new capital and begin ruling in the Javanese spirit. It is noteworthy that laws and customs, presented as the heritage of Hindu-Buddhist Majapahit in the 'chronicle', were borrowed largely from Taj as-salatin, an Islamic mirror for kings (W. Kern 1956:23). Three generations later a Muslim missionary from Makasar arrives in Kutai and, after demonstrating his enormous 'secret powers' (sekti), converts the ruler and his subjects to Islam. The chronicle is concluded by the story of a long war between Kutai and Muara Kaman and of the victory of the former over its enemy, which remained true to Hindu traditions until the middle of the seventeenth century. It is not without reason that this victory is regarded as the triumph of the maritime Muslim sultanate over its rival, and possibly former suzerain, situated further inland (ParnickeI1980:128) - a situation typical for the Malay world.

Hikayat Patani (the 'Tale of Patani') Another piece of Malay historiography, Hikayat Patani ('the Tale of Patani'),

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differs markedly from Salasilah Kutai in its historical reliability. This fairly heterogeneous chronicle of the Sultanate of Patani, situated in the northeast of the Malay Peninsula, was composed between the seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries?4 Mythological episodes in the chronicle are rather brief. The hikayat mainly tells of the foundation of Patani, the miraculous conversion of its ruler to Islam, the relationships between Patani and its neighbours Siam and Johor, and other events of external and internal political life of the country under the rule of the local dynasty and the dynasty originating from the Sultanate of Kelantan (the middle of the sixteenth-the end of the seventeenth century). Although the majority of the events described in the chronicle actually took place, Hikayat Patani is a literary work in no lesser a degree than a historical record. This is testified to not only by the transparency and harmony of its linguistic style, which is close to that of Sejarah Melayu, but also by the very structure of the work, especially of its extensive first part telling of the rule of the local dynasty (Teeuw and Wyatt 1970:68-128). Out of a great number of events, the author of the first part selects only those, which, in his opinion, are typical for the history of Patani. This allows him to present the causes of the rise and the fall of the state, of order and chaos in its administration in a symbolical form, to glorify the might of the sultanate and its rulers and, thus, to turn it into an admonition for posterity. The author's 'literary approach' to history manifests itself in all the components of his work. It is observed in many episodes echoing scenes from Malay belles-lettres. Thus, its' ambassadorial' episodes call up associations with Hikayat Hang Tuah, the quarrel of army commanders attacking Patani resembles squabbles between commanders of raksasa in wayang plays, and so on (Teeuw and Wyatt 1970: 88-90). The same approach can be noticed in the art of vivid psychological characterization of personages, for instance, of the naughty and childishly cruel Sultan Bahdur or the excessively ambitious female-singer Dang Sirat, playing capriciously with the infatuated prince of Johor (Teeuw and Wyatt 1970:95, 116). Finally, this approach is manifested in the composition of the narrative made up of semantically and compositionally independent stories, passionless and laconic outwardly, but surprisingly graphic and psychologically tense thanks to the precision and expressiveness of every detail. The author's narrative manner is represented most completely in the 'tetraptych' about intrigues at the court of Patani (Teeuw and Wyatt 1970: 95-105), of which the subject matter (perfidiousness of courtiers, danger proceeding from their insinuations, devotion of ordinary townsfolk to the ruler) is somewhat reminiscent of Hikayat Bakhtiar and many episodes in the literature of mirrors. In fact, this 'tetraptych' itself is a kind of a mirror, of which the ideas are presented not through fictitious stories and direct didactic exhortations, but by references to real historical examples. Since three of

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the four stories in the 'tetraptych' are not related to each other directly, it is hard to say what was the real connection between events described in them. It is not ruled out that courtiers, who, for no obvious reasons, incited princes of Patani to rebellion and killed them afterwards in order to prove their noninvolvement with them, were urged by the country's prime minister (bendahara) who aspired for power. He was born to the ruling family of Sai, a citystate, of which the relations with Patani were rather complicated. Judging by earlier sections of the hikayat, these relations became threatening at the moments of the change of rulers on the throne of Patani (Teeuw and Wyatt 1970:235-7). Possibly, the bendahara, who strove to seize power, successfully removed all the male claimants to the throne with their hands. The story about the bendahara's rebellion against the queen of Patani is the culmination of the author's literary skill, which has already revealed itself in the first two strictly symmetrical stories of the tetraptych. The dramatic atmosphere of this episode is enhanced by a sharp contrast between the feverish activity of numerous characters and the silent inaction of the queen, the protagonist of the episode. The bendahara's army is approaching the capital inexorably, courtiers report on its progress to the queen every day and finally in a cowardly way abandon her. During all this time the queen utters no word and makes no gesture, as if stunned, but the persistent search for ways of salvation is guessed in her silence. As a last resort, she summons Raja Kelang, her father's favourite who, several pages before, brilliantly defended his king's honour by fulfilling an extremely delicate diplomatic mission. Raja Kelang refuses to come to her rescue, having presented a plausible excuse, and the queen utters her only' cue' in the whole episode. Simply a statement about the event outwardly, inwardly this 'cue' is full of despair and bitterness: 'Not only have all ministers and dignitaries abandoned me, but even Kelang, the late king's favourite, does not want to answer my call' (Teeuw and Wyatt 1970:101). The queen understands that she has remained all alone, so that henceforth she has to count only on herself. It is then that the decisive scene of the episode, full of symbolic meaning, takes place. The bendahara, at the head of his numerous followers, marches over the bridge leading to the palace. In complete silence he stops for a moment, having heard the muezzin's call to prayer, and then resumes the march. This act of crossing the bridge is symbolic enough in itself. However, even more symbolic is this pause and the continuation of the march, which might not have been mentioned at all, and which bespeak the bendahara's character: his calm and cool composure rather than the fierce and reckless impulse of a rebel, his hesitance of a Muslim who pauses to think about Allah who punishes traitors, and yet his resolve to go to the end. The queen, surrounded by a handful of her personal servants, comes out to meet the bendahara and stops on the upper step of the palace staircase.

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She is clad in a green baju (jacket) and has covered her shoulders with a yellow shawl. This only colourful patch in the emphatically 'colourless', 'black and white' episode cannot fail to draw the reader's attention to itself. The bendahara approaches the staircase. The army of rebels is at his back. Then something inexplicable happens: the queen silently flings the shawl to the bendahara - this is her first and only gesture; he wraps it round his head, throws his kris away and leaves, having rendered the queen due honours. Commanders, who do not understand the meaning of what has happened but who know the ways of Malay sultans only too well, expect reprisal in horror. However, the bendahara calms them saying that the queen has asked him to spare her life and that they have nothing to fear. It seems, however, that the bendahara understood more than he said. The queen really wanted to save her life and did it very delicately, by means of the symbolism of colours. According to Muslim tradition, green attire is worn by inhabitants of paradise. Thus, by putting on a green baju, the queen gave him to understand that she was ready to accept death without complaint and leave this perishable world. When she flung her yellow shawl to the rebellious bendahara, she hinted that, before her death, she was giving him uncomplainingly that which was the most precious for a Malay aristocrat: power over oneself and the country, because yellow was the colour of royal power with the Malays, which was forbidden to common mortals under the pain of death. As a 'weak woman', abandoned by her defenders, the queen could afford this gesture of self-humiliation, being aware that the bendahara, who had lived through the moment of enjoyment of longed-for power, would regard it as a dishonour to react to her humility with cruelty. No less expressive artistically is the last story of the 'tetraptych' about the boundless devotion of the religious preacher Abd al-Jabar to the queen, as well as the episode with the female-singer Dang Sirat (1'eeuw and Wyatt 1970:103-5, 115-21), which, although portrayed in a passionless manner outwardly, penetrates deeply into the psychology and passions of its heroes.

Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa (the 'Tale of Merong Mahawangsa') Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa (the 'Tale of Merong Mahawangsa')75 - the 'chronicle' of a neighbour of Patani to the south-west, the Sultanate of Kedah - once attracted much attention from scholars, as they hoped to draw from it information about the pre-Islamic history of this country, probably a stronghold of Shrivijaya on the Malay Peninsula. However, in spite of the fact that Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa preserved reminiscences of even such an early peninsular state as Langkasuka (emerged around the first century AD), the content of the work could not fail to disappoint them. Therefore, the hikayat was characterized in the end as one more' farrago of fairy-tales' full of errors

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and anachronisms, which offered the reader a set of trite motifs from fantastic adventure narratives instead of reliable information about the past.76 As Winstedt wrote, this 'Kedah annals' included: the story of a cannibal king cribbed from the Maha-Sutasoma-Jataka, the legend of an infant found in a bamboo that occurs in the Ramayana and so many Malay folk-tales, abduction by a roc, magic combats, the choice of a ruler by a sagacious elephant, all of these the very commonest incidents of Malay romance (Winstedt 1991:189, compare Winstedt 1938d:31).

It is true that Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa is of little value as a source on

early Kedah history. However, it seems highly unlikely that its author pursued the goal of the creation of such a source. He composed his hikayat in the first decades of the nineteenth century, which was a time of troubles in the history of Kedah, as, after a number of devastating raids from the neighbouring Sultanate of Selangor, a military intervention by Kedah's suzerain, Siam, threatened the country. Attempting to secure herself against it, Kedah sought an alliance with the British East India Company, which only resulted in the loss of a part of its territory and precipitated the attack by the Siamese, who in 1821 expelled Sultan Tajuddin, the ruler of Kedah.77 Although many events of those turbulent years found their reflection in the 'Kedah annals' in the form of fairly transparent hints and allusions, it is also doubtful that the creation of an account of the past, in which the present could be easily discernable, constituted the only task set by the author. His project was much more ambitious, as it seems. Proceeding from the Islamic historiosophy and drawing material from various literary sources and oral legends, he aimed at arranging Kedah traditions about the past in such a way that he could disclose and denounce the invisible forces of evil acting under the visible 'surface' of Kedah's history. It is precisely by effects of these forces that he tried to explain the misfortunes, which had befallen his country in both the past and the present, and in the ability of humans to gain a victory over them that he sought hope for the future. Quite surprisingly for a Malay historical composition, the hikayat begins with a fairy tale of the mythical bird garuda, which argues with the Prophet Sulaiman, declaring that it will be able to prevent the marriage of the prince of Rum with the Chinese princess. Although the garuda succeeds in sinking the prince's fleet bound for China and in abducting the princess, the prince and the princess nonetheless meet on the island of Langkapuri, and the Prophet Sulaiman delivers a short sermon on the inevitability of all that has been preordained by Allah (Dzulkifli bin Mohammad Salleh 1968:3-16, 20-35). This fairy tale, exemplifying the omnipotence of fate, is of a common type, characteristic of Muslim historiography. The subject of fate is addressed in Arabic works on the essence of the science of history, and is also the theme

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of separate tales, as in the Persian 'Story of the Prophet Sulaiman, the Bird Simurgh and Predestination' (Rosenthal 1968:261; Dun and Salimov 1977: 289-318). The Malay version of this fairy tale, which has borrowed a number of motifs from the Hikayat Seri Rama,78 was meant to express the first thesis of the historiosophical conception of the author. The destiny of Kedah could not be different, for Allah had preordained it. At the same time the motif of the sea-voyage of the princess's bridegroom allowed the author to 'deliver' Merong Mahawangsa - the founder of the Kedah dynasty - to Kedah, as this country lay on the way to China, whereto he was commissioned to accompany the prince of Rum. The Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa continues with a legendary-historical part relating the founding of the city of Langkasuka, the predecessor of Kedah, by Merong Mahawangsa and the city's rapid transformation into a prosperous and populous port. However, the founding of the city in the immediate proximity of Langkapuri, the habitat of the demons, gergasi (that is, raksasa), not only creates the present prosperity; it augurs future troubles as well, the reason being that Merong Mahawangsa, the son of celestial parents, marries a gergasi against his parents' wishes. The gergasi are the time-honoured inhabitants of Langkasuka, so Merong Mahawangsa not only found a state in the land of the demons but through him, the blood of heavenly and demonic creatures has mixed in the veins of the sovereigns of Kedah. Thus, the author takes yet another, not yet overt steps, in developing his concept: according to inevitable Predestination of Allah, Kedah is cursed, the town being defenceless against evil forces. As if in order to admonish his descendants, Merong Mahawangsa, when leaving Langkasuka, renames it Kedah Zamin Turan, which means the Turanian Kedah; for in Persian mythology as reflected in particular in Firdawsi's Shah-nama, Turan is the realm of the evil, against which Iran, the realm of the good, wages an unrelenting struggle. During the reign of Merong Mahawangsa's successor the country continues to prosper. His children not only rule in Kedah; they also found dynasties in neighbouring states: Perak, Patani and Siam (the real position of Kedah as a Siam vassal is, however, alluded to in an allegorical story about golden flowers that had been presented to a prince of Siam on the occasion of his birthday; Dzulkifli bin Mohammad Salleh 1968:55-9). But in the next generation troubles are augured by the marriage of prince Mahaindrawangsa, who, like his great-grandfather, marries a gergasi. Unable to restrain his son from taking this fatal step, the sovereign of Kedah dies, predicting that his grandson, in pursuing his demonic passions, will throw the country into deep trouble. And indeed, after Mahaindrawangsa's son, nicknamed Raja Bersiung (the Fanged King) accidentally tastes a dish in which some blood of the cook has dropped; he becomes a bloodthirsty cannibal. He devastates the

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country and his behaviour ultimately leads to an uprising and the overthrow of the tyrant (Dzulkifli bin Mohammad Salleh 1968:62-81). One cannot rule out that the story of the cannibal king reflected, even if in a hyperbolic form, reminiscences of a certain particularly cruel ruler, his deposition, and political chaos that followed it. Even more probable is the fact that in the portrayal of the legendary king of olden times a discontent with a real sultan of Kedah of the period of troubles (the eighteenth-the early nineteenth century) found its expression. All the more so, as the wars with Selangor and Siam's intervention can easily be guessed in the description of the chaos and disasters that struck Kedah after the expulsion of Raja Bersiung. For the understanding of the historiosophy of the hikayat's author, quite obvious literary sources of the cannibal-king story are, however, more important than such guesses. The most significant among these sources is the narrative of the cruel oppressor, King Dhahhak, expounded circumstantially in Shah-nama of the great Persian poet Firdawsi, the composition which, either directly or indirectly, influenced a number of Malay works, for instance, Hikayat Iskandar Zulkarnain, Hikayat Amir Hamzah, Taj as-salatin and Bustan as-salatin.79 The story told in Shah-nama is about the devil (Thlis) who, with the help of his culinary art, corrupts King Dhahhak, accustoming him to meat. As a reward, Dhahhak allows Thlis to kiss his shoulders. Immediately two snakes appear from his shoulders, torturing him terribly. In order to relieve his pain, Dhahhak every day has two youths executed, feeding the snakes on their brains. At last the Iranians, no longer able to stand the tyranny, which has devastated their country for a thousand years, rise in arms and overthrow the king (Levy 1967:11-25). The legends of the cannibal king and Dhahhak not only correspond in their general outlines, but also in numerous details, which allows us to assume that narrating about the evil deeds of Raja Bersiung the author borrowed his material from Shah-nama, or rather from a work in which this story was told on the basis of Shah-nama. The Persian roots of the Malay story are corroborated in a particularly remarkable way by the renaming of Kedah as Turan. However, as is the case with the episode of the garuda, the author of the hikayat narrates the Persian story quite freely, fusing it with the Sutasomajataka, which is similar in content in some degree (Winstedt 1991:114; Soewito Santoso 1975). The jataka allows him to emphasize the conflict by making the king himself a cannibal as well as born from a man and a demon-woman (in the jataka the cannibal was born from the union of a king and a lioness; Arya Shura 1962:288). In the story of the cannibal king the idea of Kedah as a 'second Turan' (contrary to the Persian tradition, the author of the hikayat probably considers Dhahhak to be a Turanian), which according to the Will of Allah is in the power of demonic forces, reaches its climax. The expulsion of the ruler is followed by a period of disturbances, which ends only after a wise elephant

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enthrones Raja Bersiung's son who was found in the forest and the Siamese gave him their support. But the forces of evil are still strong. The country is threatened with impending chaos, as the cannibal grandson's taste for wine makes him forget his state duties (Dzulkifli bin Mohammad Salleh 1968:288). At this point the exposition of Kedah 'history' halts abruptly, to be interrupted by a story of Baghdad sheikh Abdullah Yamani's travel with a devil. This episode is also fashioned after the model of Islamic sources. It is close in structure and meaning to the Qur' anic legend of the travels of the Prophet Musa and Khidr (Qur'an 18:59-81), and to the story of the Persian hero Khatim at-Ta'i and his wanderings with Death, described in a Persian fantastic adventure romance about this hero (Dun and Salimov 1977:144-8). Just as the characters from the Qur'an and the Persian romance, Syaikh [sheikh] Abdullah travels in the company of a supernatural creature and sees many mysterious and terrible events; however, his fellow-traveller prohibits him strictly either asking about their meaning, or interfering into their course. Apart from the above-mentioned works, this episode from Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa was influenced considerably by Hikayat Nabi dan Iblis - the 'Tale of the Prophet (Muhammad) and Satan' (for this hikayat, see Chapter VIII). In both compositions, Iblis flies into a rage when listening the recitation of the Qur'an, and in both he tempts humans with the help of his 'innumerable breed', that is, his children and grandchildren. However, along with these fairly common correspondences, the two works reveal a number of more particular coincidences. For instance, in Hikayat Nabi dan Iblis the Prophet Muhammad asks Satan: 'Where is your mosque?' Satan replies: 'In every bazaar.' (Jumsari Jusuf et al. 1984:83.) Whereas in Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa the shop of opium-smokers in the middle of a bazaar is called the 'mosque of Satan' (just as the place where wayang is performed and the arena for buffalo fights) (Dzulkifli bin Mohammad Salleh 1968:120, 126). Later, Satan tells the Prophet that 'every woman, whose only desire is to be admired by men, is my book' (Jumsari Jusuf et al. 1984:83), while in Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa we find the following scene: The chief of the devils [Satan] and the sheikh continued their journey and met a beautiful woman on their way. The head of devils said: 'Now I shall read my book [italics by the present author]: With these words he came closer to the woman, and lifted up the cloth hiding her breast, as if giving a signal. After that he pushed slightly a young man to her, who began to chat and flirt with the belle. (Dzulkifli bin Mohammad Salleh 1968:117.)

In fact, all the human vices mentioned by Satan in his conversation with the Prophet Muhammad occur in Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa too. However, contrary to Hikayat Nabi dan Iblis, in the latter they do not merely form a list, rather dryas it is, but are' dramatized' in short stories, or novellas, similar to

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the one quoted above. The travels of Syaikh Abdullah with the' chief of the devils' is the third principal component of the author's historiosophy, resembling in this respect the episodes of the garuda and the cannibal king. However, if in those episodes and in the preceding part of the hikayat generally the activity of the forces of evil was portrayed, so to speak, 'locally', and its full scope was not exposed, then the travels of Syaikh Abdullah enable the author to draw a panoramic picture of all possible vices - individual, social and political- and to point out their origin (the temptation by Thlis) and modes. In a series of novellas, similar to those, which are characteristic of framed tales and the literature of mirrors, a long train of sinners of every description passes before our eyes. Among them we meet an irascible peasant and a merchant who gives short weight to his customers; a fornicatress and a dice player, buffalo-fight fans and shadow play lovers; a greedy dervish and light-minded pupils with their cruel teacher; a lustful merchant with his debauched wives and even excessively warlike rulers. Needless to say, in agreement with the Islamic conception of Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa, Satan and his 'breed' are instigators of each of these vices. However, the author shows that the demonic forces not so much compel people to vice as help those who are innately depraved and prone to sin to take the definite step toward committing it. At the same time, the evil-doer never benefits by crime, in the end gaining nothing and perishing either together with his victim or alone, like the unjust judge in the following novella: After that they [Syaikh Abdullah and Iblis] went further and came to the homestead of a dignitary, a minister of the king of that country, who was famous for his arbitrariness. At that time a crowd of people gathered in his courtyard, seeking justice, as their property was taken away from them without any reason. One of them came with a complaint that his patch of land, and house, and enclosure had been seized by some person; another one demanded his boat that had been rented by a man who did not want to return it now; and yet another one wanted his slave-girl back, as so-and-so had kidnapped and married her. Meanwhile the chief of the devils came to that homestead. He approached the judge, sat close to him and, having crept to his ear, put into the judge's mind a secret idea that he should give orders to collect all the possessions of those complainants of various kinds, take them away from their owners, and deliver them to the house of the judge. After that the chief of the devils ordered his diabolical breed to go and take away goods, and children, and wives, and slaves of the complainants, and deliver them to the judge'S homestead and house. Even if the owner of those riches was a dignitary, they were ordered to strip him of them all the same. And the devils did their job: in an instant they brought together those possessions in the judge's house, which was built on his greed and desire to seize unlawfully what belonged to others. After that the head of devils mingled with the crowd of men and women, the owners of the property under dispute, and intermediaries who discussed cases

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with the two sides: that which demanded its right of ownership and that which resisted this demand. As for the judge, he did not pronounce sentence on any of them, but all of a sudden collected their property and took it away. When the complainants approached him, asking him to give back their belongings, he did not wish to talk to them and entered his house under the pretext that the time to enjoy some rice had come. As soon as the judge so unexpectedly disappeared, retreating to his house, the owners of the property understood that he had no intention of returning their goods. They flew into a rage, drew their swords and kris and, running amok, burst into the house of the judge. The minister [the judge is meant] was killed and never had another chance to enjoy the rice. And although a crowd of his children, and grandchildren, and slaves began to fight with the attackers, killing them and being killed by them, all the favourites of the minister could neither help him nor protect his homestead against the fire that blazed up, because there were too many people running amok. And the minister was burnt, and all his homestead was turned to ashes by the fire, and the wind dispersed them. Such is the lot of greedy and covetous ones!' (Dzulkifli bin Mohammad Salleh 1968:120-1.)

Both motifs mentioned above, the proneness to sin and the futility of evil deeds, are vividly represented in the story of the cannibal king, which thereby is interpreted as one of the links in the endless chain of devilish temptations. The tragedy of Kedah history is thus finally explained. At the same time, the travel of Syaikh Abdullah, just as earlier the voyage of Merong Mahawangsa, allows the author to bring his hero to Kedah. The sheikh converts the country to Islam, thereby exorcizing the demons and laying the foundation for the nation's subsequent prosperity. The author seems to imply that only devotion to the 'true faith' is capable of releasing Kedah from the ancient curse. Thus, Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa clearly reveals its Islamic tendency, which is observed primarily in the ideological content of the work and in the selection of the sources used in it. The Islamic tendency also leads to the marginalization of standard motifs of the Malay dynastic myth, such as the birth of the king and the queen of Kedah from the bamboo stem and the foam respectively. These motifs are stripped of their original meaning and pushed to the periphery of the narration. Finally, the same tendency manifests itself in the author's approval of the uprising against the tyrant, so uncommon in the original historical tradition of the Malays. By and large, the task of Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa is to interpret the hidden meaning of history and to serve as a kind of 'historical adab' designed to edify the ruler.

The historico-heroic epic Hikayat Hang Tuah (the 'Epic of Hang Tuah') Hikayat Hang Tuah (the 'Epic of Hang Tuah'),80 one of the pinnacles of clas-

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sical Malay literature, described as early as the eighteenth century by F. Valentijn (1724-26, V:316-7) as a 'very rare gem' and 'the best of Malay compositions', still remains a lagerly mysterious work which allows of opposed interpretations. 81 It is difficult to say to what extent Valentijn himself was conversant with this epic (Teeuw 1964a:339-40); however, his high assessment of it is not unfounded at all. The content of this voluminous book, which numbers about five hundred pages in printed editions, is briefly as follows. In the celestial kingdom, a son, Sang Sapurba, is born to king Sang Perta Dewa. Sang Sapurba descends on Mount Seguntang in the vicinity of Palembang, marries the princess, who was born from the foam emitted by a magical buffalo (also a demigod incarnated), and she gives birth to four boys. After the princes grow up, the envoys from the island of Bintan and from Singapura invite them to reign in their countries. The elder brother, Sang Maniaka, ascends the throne of Bintan and appoints four principal dignitaries of the country, of whom Bendahara Paduka Raja, his chancellor, is the most influential. This introduction is followed by the story of Hang Tuah himself, the son of a poor man who lives on the bank of the river Duyung, earning his livelihood by collecting firewood. After the birth of his son, which was preceded by a number of miraculous omens, Hang Tuah's father moves to Bintan and opens a small shop there, not far from the bendahara's kampung. Hang Tuah helps his parents in their trade and makes friends with the four boys from the same neighbourhood: Hang Jebat, Hang Kesturi, Hang Lekir and Hang Lekiu. Since then they are inseparable. At the age of only ten years, Hang Tuah accomplishes his first feat of arms: together with his friends he defeats a gang of pirates twenty-seven strong and helps a headman of Singapura to gain important information about the imminent attack of Majapahit against Palembang. The grateful headman introduces the gallant youths to Bendahara Paduka Raja. After a period of discipleship under a hermit who teaches them martial arts, the bendahara brings the friends before the king of Singapura, who makes them his retainers. Some time later the king establishes his new capital-city, Malacca, and becomes its Sultan. In the Sultan's service Hang Tuah accomplishes many heroic deeds. He accompanies his lord in the nuptial voyage to Majapahit and, having shown his wit and courage, helps the king to marry Raden Mas Ayu, the daughter of the batara ('monarch') of Majapahit, for which he is accorded the title of laksamana ('admiral'). Besides, in a duel with the greatest Javanese warrior Taming Sari, he manages to obtain the lucky kris of the latter. Afterwards, having been slandered by the envious courtiers, he abducts Tun Teja, the daughter of the bendahara of Indrapura (Pahang) and thus restores his good name. Tun Teja becomes the second wife of the Sultan of Malacca, which causes the wrath of the batara. To pacify him, the Sultan sends Hang Tuah to Java for a second time, since only he is able to fulfil successfully this extremely difficult diplomatic mission. In addition to this, as soon as Hang Tuah comes back, he has to repel an attack of Javanese pirates against Malacca. In spite of all his limitless loyalty to his lord, Hang Tuah falls into disgrace for

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a second time. The king lends his ear to the slanderers again and gives orders to punish the laksamana, who has allegedly committed adultery with one of his concubines. However, the bendahara secretly saves Hang Tuah from execution. Meanwhile, Hang Jebat occupies Hang Tuah's position at court, having become the new favourite of the Sultan of Malacca. The Sultan showers honours on him, but Hang Jebat, intoxicated with his power and at the same time unwilling to forgive the execution of his friend, rebels against the Sultan. He seduces his ladiesin-waiting and maids and in the end expels the monarch and his spouse from their palace. As no one can overpower Hang Jebat in fighting, the bendahara reveals to the Sultan that Hang Tuah is alive. The king summons Hang Tuah and orders him to destroy the rebel. The famous duel of the two friends - the most tragic episode of the narrative - takes place and Hang Tuah kills Hang Jebat. New daring exploits of Hang Tuah in the fields of diplomacy and war follow one after another. He sails off to China as the Sultan's envoy and, with the help of a ruse, manages to see the face of the Chinese emperor. In Siam, where he is sent by the Sultan to buy elephants, he gains the victory over seven most famous Japanese fencers. Finally he conquers the realms of Trengganu and Indrapura for the Sultan of Malacca. After that, however, there happens an event which does not bode well: during a pleasure sea-voyage the Sultan of Malacca drops his crown into the sea; when diving after it, Hang Tuah loses his kris that endows him with invincibility. After that both of them suffer from grave diseases. Soon the Portuguese attack Malacca. Although Hang Tuah successfully repulses their first invasion, he receives a serious wound in the sea-battle with the enemy. He departs for Rum (Turkey) for cannons and, on the way there, meets the Prophet Khadir, who bestows upon him a magical means that gives a proficiency in foreign languages to its owner. Then he visits Egypt, performs the pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina and, in the end, enjoys a new diplomatic achievement: the Sultan of Rum provides him with the cannons that he was seeking. Meanwhile, the Sultan of Malacca abdicates, preferring the life of the dervish to that of king, and his daughter, the Princess of Gunung Ledang, ascends the throne. Hang Tuah and Bendahara Paduka Raja also become dervishes and perform austerities in a dense forest. The Portuguese use this opportunity to capture Malacca, for which they resort to a well-known trick with a skin cut into thin strips. Later, on the orders of Sultan Mahmud of Bentan, the people of Malacca found the Sultanate of Johar and with the help of the Dutch expel the Portuguese from their native city. Hang Tuah, however, does not participate in this battle. According to a legend, he achieves immortality and becomes a saint of Allah and the king of the Jakun, inhabitants of the jungle of the Malay Peninsula.

So far the problem of dating Hikayat Hang Tuah remains unsolved. In a series of interesting articles on this hikayat, Parnickel asserts that the hikayat acquired its present shape in the Sultanate of Johor, during the 'golden thirty years' of its history (1640-1670s), so that its account of the valour displayed by laksamana Hang Tuah might have redounded to the glory of his very distant successor in that function, laksamana Abd al-Jamil, the most powerful courtier in Johor at that time (Parnickel 1962:148-9). Parnickel correctly

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observes that the tale reflects some of the events, which took place in Johor during the seventeenth century, and that in some of its episodes the author is apparently striving 'to project the present into the past' (ParnickeI1962:150). The study of the history of Johor by Andaya (1978) helps to confirm these conclusions and enables a more complete characterization of the objectives pursued by the author of the hikayat - all of which contributes to a more reliable dating of the work. The contents of the Hikayat Hang Tuah suggest obvious connections with events in Johor history between the late 1650s and 1680s, above all the conflict between Johor and the south Sumatran principality of Jambi. In the description of the confrontation between Malacca and Majapahit which runs through most of the hikayat (Kassim Ahmad 1968), Malacca features, in our view, as a natural symbol for Johor, while Majapahit stands for Jambi, since the rulers and aristocrats of this principality bore Javanese names and titles 82 and the principality itself was a vassal of the Javanese state of Mataram (Andaya 1978:86). The history of the Johor-Jambi conflict had its beginning in the year 1659, when the heir to the throne of Johor, Raja Muda, arrived in Jambi accompanied by a splendid retinue, and was married there to the daughter of the ruler, Pangeran Ratu, an event which at first glance seemed to hold out a promise of a mutually beneficial relation between both states (Andaya 1978: 84). Corresponding to this historical event is the account of Hang Tuah's and the Malaccan ruler's first trip to Majapahit and the latter's marriage to the Majapahit princess in the hikayat (Kassim Ahmad 1968:114-67). Raja Muda's marriage opened for him the way to power, which could not fail to alarm the sultan of Johor, Abd al-Jalil, and the above-mentioned laksamana Abd al-Jamil, who had vigorously supported the sultan's accession to the throne. Consequently both men made every effort to prevent the prince's wife from coming to Johor and, moreover, to put the blame for this on Jambi. In 1660, using the national navy, they forcibly removed the Raja Muda from the court of Jambi's ruler. But Raja Muda, upon his return to Johor, promised his father-in-law that he would send for his wife as soon as he could 'build a house for her'. Yet, shortly thereafter Raja Muda became engaged to the laksamana's daughter. The delays in the princess's removal to Johor and Raja Muda's new marriage angered Pangeran Ratu and pushed the two states on the brink of war (Andaya 1978:85-7). The first naval encounter between Johor and Jambi occurred in 1666, when Raja Muda brought his fleet to the island of Lingga. As interpreted in Johor, the incident boiled down to the following: Raja Muda set out from Johor motivated by his love for his father-in-law and his wife, and, upon his meeting near Lingga with an armada led by none other than Pangeran

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Ratu himself, sailed together with it to Jambi to pick up his wife. As they proceeded on their journey, the Jambians committed several acts of provocation as a result of which Raja Muda, who remained steadfast throughout the journey, was forced to change his initial plan. Meanwhile, using a Dutch mediator, the Sultan of Johor sought to assure Pangeran Ratu, concerned about his daughter'S fate, that Raja Muda was sending his laksamana to Jambi with instructions to convey his wife to Lingga, where the Raja Muda would be waiting for her (Andaya 1978:87-9). These events and their interpretation in Johar are apparently reflected in the episodes of Hikayat Hang Tuah which describe the marriage between the Malaccan sovereign and the Pahang princess Tun Teja, who was escorted to him by laksamana Hang Tuah, the anger of the Majapahit batara on this account, Hang Tuah's diplomatic efforts to resolve the crisis by peaceful means, and the extremely dangerous second visit to Majapahit by the Malaccan sovereign and Hang Tuah (Kassim Ahmad 1968:185-208, 234-80) - an episode that is not found in Sejarah Melayu, the main source for the hikayat. The hostilities between Johor and Jambi, which flared up after the events of 1666 consisted in sporadic attacks by the fleets of the two states on each other's territory. In one such raid in 1673 Jambi forces looted and burned down Johar's capital and took countless prisoners of war, as well as seizing the sultan's entire treasury (some four tons of gold) (Andaya 1978:97-9). In 1679, however, laksamana Abd al-Jamil had his revenge when he captured Jambi's capital and forced the son of Pangeran Ratu, Pangeran Dipati Anom, who deserted his army at the height of the battle, to return all the gold looted from Johor and make considerable reparations in addition. Following this victory, Johar established so close a relationship with the new ruler of Jambi that the two states actually concluded an agreement on joint military actions against Palembang (Andaya 1978:120-2, 134). It is highly probable that the historical events described above prompted the inclusion in the hikayat of an episode in which the batara of Majapahit is shown to be not at all satisfied with the Malaccan sovereign's second visit, for which reason his Patih Gajah Mada sends the warrior Marga Paksi and his brother to conquer Malacca. Having penetrated into the city, these men steal all the belongings of its wealthy merchants and loot the Malaccan sovereign's treasury as well. However, Hang Tuah ultimately gets the better of them and retrieves the treasures of both the sovereign and the merchants (Kassim Ahmad 1968:278-85). Though the episode of the plundering of the city does occur in Sejarah Melayu (Winstedt 1938a:139-40, Situmorang and Teeuw 1958:188-9), its interpretation and significance as given in the hikayat and in the chronicle are completely different. The 'Javanese part' of Hikayat Hang Tuah ends with a mention of the death of the batara of Majapahit and the accession to the throne of Java of Raden Bahar, who then establishes

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friendly relations with Malacca, and in fact, recognises its ruler as his suzerain (Kassim Ahmad 1968:375-7). It is only natural that the war enabled Laksamana Abd al-Jamil to consolidate his position in the state, firm enough though it had already been. In all likelihood he received around the year 1680 the title of Paduka Raja, an honour that had previously been reserved strictly for the bendahara. Subsequently, he appointed his sons to key administrative posts and, having definitely restricted the access of other courtiers to the sultan, became in essence the sole actual ruler of Johor (Andaya 1978:130-5, 140-1). All this could not fail to arouse the opposition of the Johor aristocracy and, above all, the bendahara, whose prestige had been greatly undermined. It was not until the death of Sultan Ibrahim and the removal of his juvenile heir to the bendahara's household, however, that this opposition openly challenged the laksamana. As a result, the bendahara in 1688 caused Abd al-Jamil to flee the capital, and later defeated his forces in a fierce naval battle, in which the laksamana was killed. The following is the description of Abd al-Jamil's end from one of the sources: A heavy fight took place, which lasted from the evening till the next morning. The Paduka Raja fought so fiercely and desperately that, if it had not been for the flight of his brother Akhir and his two sons the laksamana and the Temenggong to Pahang, the Data Bendahara's forces would have been defeated. He continued, nevertheless, to ward off his attackers, and when he ran out of shot, he used the Spanish rials he had on board his grab as missiles for his cannons. In this way he was able to hold off the attackers for quite some time before he was finally forced to go ashore to seek safety in the jungle. It took the Bendahara's men ten days before they captured the Paduka Raja. [... ] When the Paduka Raja was captured, the Dato Bendahara ordered a slave to kris him. (Andaya 1978:155-6.)

That same slave stabbed one of Abd al-Jamil's sons with a kris, the second son was executed and his body thrown overboard as the ship in which he was sailing passed Pahang. The two remaining sons escaped death by fleeing to Pahang (Andaya 1978:155-6). Though in a modified form, most of these facts are also to be found in Hikayat Hang Tuah, while it describes the treason of Hang Jebat and the battle between him and Hang Tuah which followed, as was to be expected, after the account of the latter's victory over Marga Paksi (Kassim Ahmad 1968:290-329). One finds in the hikayat the mistreatment of the courtiers and bendahara by Hang Jebat, appointed to the post of laksamana, in particular the fact that they were not allowed to see the sovereign; the granting of the title of Paduka Raja to Hang Jebat despite the warnings of Hang Tuah and Tun Teja; the flight of the sovereign from the palace to the house of the bendahara after Hang Jebat had in effect usurped power in the state; the prolonged and fierce fight between the heroes, in which Hang Tuah stabbed Hang

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Jebat with a kris; and even the passage of several days between the defeat and the death of Hang Jebat. Furthermore the hikayat tells us how Hang Tuah dispatches Hang Jebat's son to Indrapura (Pahang) after the Sultan of Malacca has ordered the child to be drowned at sea. Most of these details, however, are not to be found in the episode of Sejarah Melayu which served as source for this particular section of Hikayat Hang Tuah (Winstedt 1938a:112-4; Situmorang and Teeuw 1958:145). For all its limitations, the above comparative analysis suggests that Hikayat Hang Tuah reflects, in the allegorical form of a pasemon 83 of the the rivalry between Malacca and Majapahit, the real conflict between Johor and Jambi and the subsequent power struggle between the Johor laksamana and bendahara. It seems probable that Hang Tuah, said to have died after the victory over Marga Paksi, symbolizes Abd al-Jamil prior to the usurpation, while Hang Jebat is his double after the usurpation. 84 Inasmuch as this supposition is correct, Hikayat Hang Tuah could not have come into being before the 1679 victory over Jambi, and most likely was composed soon after the final triumph of the bendahara in his struggle against Abd al-Jamil in 1688. Pointing to this dating is a tendency, observed throughout the hikayat, to describe the relationship between Hang Tuah and the bendahara of Malacca as one of uninterrupted closeness and friendliness. Added to the allegorical character of Hikayat Hang Tuah and the absence of substantially different variant versions of the hikayat (compare ParnickeI1962:147), this tendency supports the view that the hikayat was composed all at once, and not gradually. Finally, the fact that the hikayat is mentioned by Valentijn in 1726 (probably some ten years after he actually saw it; Skinner 1963:50) sets an upper limit to its dating. To summarize, Hikayat Hang Tuah was probably composed in Johor on a single occasion some time between 1688 and the 1710s. One tends to believe that Hikayat Hang Tuah has won its exceptional place in traditional Malay literature not (or not only) because it made skilful use of a literary device to attain a local political object - that is, to honour the memory of Abd al-Jamil, a prominent statesman and conqueror of Jambi, subsequently to condemn him as a traitor and usurper, and to pay tribute to the wisdom and great virtue of the Johor bendahara, most probably Abd aI-Majid (who died in 1697, Andaya 1978:180) - but because of the hikayat's undeniable literary merit and profound ethical message. Although Hikayat Hang Tuah is, generally speaking, a national Malay heroic epic, it is difficult to define the genre to which it belongs with greater precision. On account of its extremely varied and diverse sources, it may justly be considered as an example of literary synthesis alongside many other works of the classical period of Malay literature. The backbone of the hikayat is made up, as was already noted, of accounts of the heroic deeds of Hang Tuah or such deeds of other personages in Malay

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history, which have subsequently been ascribed to him. These accounts, which are also found in Sejarah Melayu, sometimes appear in a strongly modified form in the Hikayat Hang Tuah. The hikayat includes no less than twenty such accounts with prototypes in Sejarah Melayu. Moreover, in the principal part of the hikayat (starting with Hang Tuah's fight with a man who runs amok and ending with his mission to China), nearly each scene (except for the countless descriptions of fights or repetitions with insignificant variations of earlier episodes) has parallels in the chronicle. As regards the motifs which are not to be found in Sejarah Melayu or which were so radically changed by the author of the hikayat that they are no longer identifiable with their counterparts in the chronicle (both of which are rare occurrences in this part of the hikayat), their origin is very difficult to trace. They may go back to an earlier cycle of oral legends about Hang Tuah,85 they may be borrowings by the author of the present version of the hikayat from works which had nothing to do with Hang Tuah, or they may be this author's own creations. The wayang plays, Panji-romances and some historical or rather pseudo-historical works, such as Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa (see this chapter above), testify that Malay writers enjoyed considerable freedom in the treatment of their sources and that the creative approach played a prominent part in the composition of works, which dealt with topical issues in traditional contexts. In addition to Sejarah Melayu, the anonymous author of the version of the hikayat that has survived to the present day also used Panji-romances (Winstedt 1991:46-7), most probably some work that was similar to Hikayat Cekel Waneng Patio This does not, however, detract in any way from the national character of this work, since the narrative style and motifs characteristic of Panji-romances had since long become the 'standard' language of tales about Java in the Malay literary tradition. Likewise, the author was evidently familiar with such works as Hikayat Seri Rama and Hikayat Pandawa jaya, both of which are traceable to Indian literature, and, at the same time, with Muslim Malay treatises, in particular the famous Bustan as-salatin by Nuruddin ar-Raniri, and finally, hagiographic literature and legends. 86 Thanks to specific compositional techniques and an integral ideological conception, the various narrative motifs borrowed from all these sources are joined into a fairly coherent whole in Hikayat Hang Tuah. Compositionally Hikayat Hang Tuah strongly resembles traditional Malay historical works, particularly Sejarah Melayu. It similarly consists of two parts, the first of which presents the myth of the origin of the Malay ruling dynasty - the descent of its founder on Mount Seguntang - and the second the history, or rather pseudo-history, of Malacca from the rise to the fall of this kingdom (this historical overview contains many anachronisms - another common feature of Malay historiography, which in the hikayat is, inter alia, related to its pasemon character).

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Both the hikayat and Sejarah Melayu possess breadth and scope - a quality that is lacking in some of the locally oriented later chronicles. The hikayat's place of action encompasses the entire Malay world, perceived as a single 'Malay land' (Parnickel 1959), as well as 'far-off' countries - Majapahit, Vijayanagar, China, Turkey and Siam. The hikayat is, moreover, rich in details that reflect specific aspects of the government and social structure of the Malay sultanates, of the court and urban everyday life, their marriage rituals and enthronement ceremonies, receptions given by monarchs and diplomatic etiquette, various amusements such as ball games, cockfights and chess, and even popular beliefs and superstitions - in a word, it presents a comprehensive, varied, lively and unique picture of medieval Malaya. All this, on the one hand, accentuates the kinship between the hikayat and Sejarah Melayu, while on the other hand, it shows up the sharp distinction between the specific atmosphere of the hikayat and the conventional, mostly extra-national background of the fantastic adventure romances, or the foreign colouring of Malay interpretations of Javanese and Persian literary works. But for all the affinity between Hikayat Hang Tuah and Sejarah Melayu, the two also have differences. Of these the most important is the absence in the hikayat of the genealogical element - a must in any chronicle, which, moreover, immediately changes the entire character of the narrative. In the hikayat we find only one monarch, one chancellor (bendahara) and one admiral (laksamana), namely Hang Tuah himself, throughout the whole of Malaccan history. Only one enemy - the Javanese - threatens the country at the time of its early development, and again only one - the Portuguese - in its' old age'. It is hardly conceivable that the erudite author of the hikayat did not know that Malacca was ruled by a series of sultans, assisted by several bendahara and laksamana, or that the situation Malacca had to face in its earlier period was not so unambiguous.87 Thus the diachronic succession of statesmen that is common in historical writings is purposely replaced in Hikayat Hang Tuah with a synchronic grouping of pseudo-historical character-symbols. At the superficial semantic level these symbols appear to be used to form a pasemon. Viewed in terms of their deeper meaning, however, they compress history, projecting the distant Malaccan past onto the recent Johorese past and so conveying the common meaning of two 'pasts' and their lessons and experience. Such objectives were not at all unusual for Malay chronicles, but one is Unlikely to find so consistent a historical account as an integral epic biography presented in them. Hikayat Aceh, a similarly heroicized biography of Sultan Iskandar Muda of Aceh (Iskandar 1958), is perhaps the best example of the work similar to Hikayat Hang Tuah in this respect. What were the most significant lessons of the 'two pasts' as seen by the author of the hikayat? The answer to this question can be surmised from the

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foreword to the work, containing the following significant statement: 'This is the hikayat of Hang Tuah, whose dedication to his master was boundless and who has rendered him countless services' (Kassim Ahmad 1968:1). Thus, we encounter here a problem familiar to us from from Hikayat raja Pasai and Sejarah Melayu, on the one hand, and Hikayat Isma Yatim and Hikayat Bakhtiar, on the other, that is, the problem of the relationship between the monarch, the Sultan of Malacca, a descendant of celestial beings, and his loyal vassal, Hang Tuah, son of a poor family from the River Duyung, who with his name meaning 'The Lucky One' or 'The One Who Brings Fortune' symbolizes Malacca's happy destiny (c. Hooykaas 1947:80). According to traditional Malay ideas, the monarch is endowed, by virtue of his supernatural origin and Divine Preordination, with sacral energy or power (daulat), which makes him a focus and a custodian of the social order. His subjects - both the people and the country, symbolized by Hang Tuah - are linked to him in a kind of sacral marriage. It is this inseparable unity between the ruler, as an agent of creative cosmic forces manifested on the social level in justice (' adalat), and his loyal subjects that guarantees, in the interpretation of the hikayat's author, the state's political success and prosperity until such time as the Will of Allah should put an end to its very existence. 88 If the conception described above provides an ideological focus for the hikayat, which has repercussions for practically all its episodes (compare Teeuw 1964a:349), the structural core of the work consists in the parallel biographies of the Sultan of Malacca and Hang Tuah, in whose interaction this conception finds its most complete expression (compare Kassim Ahmad 1968:xiv-xv). The two lives personify the destiny of Malacca, and this is crucial for the artistic manner in which the hikayat is composed, a manner that blends spontaneous realism with symbolic elements. The hikayat begins with the supernatural birth of both of its heroes; their youth is coincidental with the founding of Malacca, their maturity with its flourishing. On the same unfortunate day, when the Sultan of Malacca drops into the sea his crown, a symbol of his sacral power, Hang Tuah parts with his kris, which has ensured his and Malacca's good luck and invincibility. Thereafter both the sultan and Hang Tuah fall ill and are henceforth constantly tormented by fever and debility - maladies, which equally affect Malacca, now past its prime and showing signs of decrepitude. One of these signs is the defeat suffered in the Portuguese attack on the country, which follows in the wake of the heroes' illness and leaves previously invulnerable Hang Tuah with a serious wound. The second is the subsequently more dominant religious-mystical mood, which for the author evidently is also a sign of the old age of the heroes as well as their country. The hikayat concludes with the simultaneous departure of the sultan and Hang Tuah from Malacca to become dervishes - itinerant Muslim mystics. The link between them is

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severed for good now, while Malacca, having reached the end of the period allotted to it by Divine Predestination, is captured by the Portuguese. The symbolism inherent in the hikayat manifests itself in many episodes, two of them deserving special attention (compare Teeuw 1964a:350-1). In the first, the most unusual victory of a white pelanduk (mousedeer; albinos were thought to possess enormous magic power) over the powerful hunting dogs of a Javanese prince at the very place where Malacca was to be founded seems to be a distant portent of Malacca's future triumph over Majapahit. In the second, this triumph is proved inevitable by a victory scored by Hang Tuah over the greatest of Java's warriors, Taming Sari, and his acquisition of the latter's kris, a weapon imparting invincibility to its owner. This episode symbolizes the fact that Majapahit's good fortune is now passing on to Malacca. Incidentally, towards the end of the hikayat, another albino animal, a white crocodile, steals this kris from Hang Tuah, thus betokening the fall of Malacca. It deserves mentioning that the crocodile is a constant adversary of the mouse deer in Malay folk-tales and in the written Hikayat Pelanduk Jinaka (the 'Tale of the Resourceful Mouse deer'; Klinkert 1893:63-7). Being permeated by a single conception, the kaleidoscopic succession of episodes in the hikayat is similar to that in the 'inserted stories' illustrating particular notions from the didactic' mirrors for kings'. Moreover, the hikayat itself - in terms of its inner content - appears to be a kind of 'mirror', where history becomes a mentor. In dealing with the relationship between the ruler and the ruled, this 'mirror' is predominantly concerned with the role of the ruled, while the duties which the didactic treatises usually distribute among various groups of courtiers here are imposed on only one character - Hang Tuah. He is the greatest military commander, a wise counsellor, a sophisticated diplomat capable of defending his sovereign's honour, and a Muslim ascetic informing his sultan about the torments of sinners in the hereafter. To gain a more profound understanding of its character, the reader should take into consideration the didactic aspect of Hikayat Hang Tuah. The hikayat not only engages the reader's attention with its masterly description of the heroic exploits of the laksamana and his companions, but also offers him a correct solution, from the traditional Malay point of view, for the entire range of problematic situations in which its central idea is manifest. This helps to explain in particular the alleged 'belittlement' of the Sultan of Malacca, which is a stumbling block for some scholars.89 It is noteworthy that the image of this sultan does not include such conventional traits of a tyrant in Malay literature as sexual promiscuity, massive cruelty, and rapaciousness. For all his weaknesses, his rashness and his credulousness, the sultan is not presented as a tyrant - rather a regular way of portraying rulers in Malay literature (for instance, Hikayat raja Pasai, Sejarah Melayu, Hikayat Aceh, Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa, and so on). Accordingly,

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the fall of Malacca can not be attributed to his evil nature; instead, fully in accordance with the hikayat's conception of the embodiment of the country's destiny in the combined destinies of the sultan and Hang Tuah, the disintegration of Malacca is represented as being the result of natural ageing caused, in tum, by the termination of a span of time allotted to it by Allah. This notion, which is not alien to Javanese historiography either (Ricklefs 1974:176-9), is characteristic of the historical consciousness of later Islam, with its doctrine, evolved partly under the influence of Sufism, of cyclical development: rapid growth in the early phase, consolidation in the middle phase, and decrepitude and disintegration in the final phase (Braune 1971:4750). The idea of the inseparable unity of the monarch and his subjects and the cyclical conception of history explain the immediate replacement in the hikayat of defeated Malacca by a strong Johor. The ambiguity and variability in the portrayal of the sultan are conditioned not so much by the realism and symbolism inherent in the author's style, as by the didactic objectives he was pursuing. It is as unjustified to expect this character - an immobilis mobile of the plot - to possess strict integrity and consistency, as it is to try to construct a consistent picture of the monarch on the basis of different stories in the 'mirrors', which aim at resolving a specific, unconnected problem in each instance. Any reasonable and justified actions taken by the sultan in the hikayat not only point to his greatness, but also enable Hang Tuah to display his courage and statesmanship. Conversely, weaknesses and whims of the sultan make it possible to represent 'in person' such important notions of 'mirrors' as the need for a monarch to listen to his wise counsellors, to avoid rashness, and to tum a deaf ear to slander. Even more importantly, it is these weaknesses that help to test the subject'S loyalty to his sovereign. No matter whether Hang Tuah is commissioned with an affair of state importance or has to comply with absurd requests - to pick some fruits from a palm tree about to collapse, to rescue a horse from a cesspit, or to bring news from the hereafter - his loyalty to the sultan is always absolute and boundless. He becomes its living embodiment in the hikayat, precisely because only such a loyalty, according to medieval Malay ideas, can ensure peace, order and prosperity for the whole country and its people. As for the consequences of disloyalty, these are illustrated in the hikayat by the outcome of the tragic rebellion of Hang Jebat, Hang Tuah's adopted brother and the second-strongest warrior in Malacca. The moral of this episode of rebellion can be summarized in the words of the well-known Malay mirror Taj as-salatin (the 'Crown of sultans'): the will of even an unjust ruler must be done, not out of admiration for him, but out of the bitter necessity to avoid disturbances and revolts, which may drag the country into chaos and take the lives of countless subjects, both innocent and guilty (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:49, 224). This is exactly what happens in the hikayat when the sultan, egged on by slanderers, orders the execution of

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Hang Tuah and hands over his office of laksamana as well as his famous kris to a new favourite, Hang Jebat. Hang Jebat is overcome with confusing and conflicting feelings and passions. The first of these, arising immediately after his accession and his acquisition of the kris, is the intoxication with his power, which he was only able to acquire after Hang Tuah's ousting. But Hang Tuah had foreseen this and foretold the advent of bad times for Malacca. Upon realizing this, all of Hang Jebat's former friends and associates renounce him. The second of these passions, which grows in intensity as his rapture abates, is Hang Jebat's profound grief at the loss of a friend and his desire to take his revenge upon those who have brought him to ruin. Unrestrained, as befits a truly epic hero, these passions break loose from the command of reason - the highest virtue in the 'mirror' literature (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:169-77), fully embodied in the person of Hang Tuah - and engulf Hang Jebat. Once this happens, the author, irrespective of whether noble or base passions are involved, can only regard the man as an agent of destructive demonic forces. Starting off by slighting the courtiers and with self-aggrandizement (while Taj as-salatin considers the highest attribute of reason to be humility, which is so clearly manifest in Hang Tuah, compare Roorda van Eysinga 1827:170), Hang Jebat eventually proceeds to open revolt and the usurpation of power. However, this usurpation bears the marks of madness and, was it not for the character of the usurper and the tragic consequences of his action, even has a comical tinge. Having driven the sultan out of the palace and donned royal attire, thus profaning the sultan's regalia, Hang Jebat becomes the ruler not of Malacca, but of seven hundred palace women, hence the lord of a 'kingdom turned inside out' (Likhachev and Panchenko 1976:16-26), as it were, in which the death and life of its subjects is governed not by law and justice, but by the arbitrary will of its ruler alone. Passions rather than reason govern the relationship between the ruler and the subjects of this 'kingdom' - the amorous obsession of the palace women and the disturbed feelings of the rebel. The 'interior policy' of this 'kingdom' is uninterrupted orgy. Its 'foreign policy' is an equally endless battle with the soldiers led by Hang Jebat's former comrades in arms, now sent against him by the Sultan of Malacca. It only stands to reason that such a 'kingdom of chaos' is doomed to collapse, and that the unbridled wilfulness of its 'ruler' will inevitably result in the death of its subjects. This is what happens in fact when Hang Jebat kills all the palace women before going to do battle with Hang Tuah, who turns out to be alive after all, his life having been saved by the bendahara. Thus, despite the noble impulse to avenge his friend, which subdued the other passions in Hang Jebat's soul, the fight between the heroes assumes the dimension of a symbolic battle between the forces of harmony and those of chaos, between reason and blind passion. It is not fortuitous that, while

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understanding his adopted brother 's motives, Hang Tuah must inevitably fight him, and yet tries to convince him of the need to carefully weigh each step, or that Hang lebat accepts his challenge, convinced that once he has become a rebel he has to remain a rebel steeped in blood. Nor is there anything accidental about the juxtaposition of the calm resolve of Hang Tuah during the fight and the nervousness of Hang lebat, who is incapable of controlling his fury. Even when mortally wounded, Hang lebat is still prone to the raging forces of evil unleashed by his uncontrollable passions. Embodying the idea of the ' mirrors' that Divine Wrath will strike the country that has given birth to a rebel (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:224; compare Zahoder 1949:11), he runs amok, raging across Malacca and piling the bodies of his dead victims in the streets of the dty. But the author would not have been the outstanding writer he was, if he had forgotten for a moment the former virtue of his hero, the virtue which was previously evident from all his words and deeds. This being the case, Hang Tuah, after striking down the rebel, spends three days in mourning and silence, Hang Jebat is given a chance to die in the arms of his adopted brother, and Hang Kesturi weeps over the dead body of the one he has renounced only a moment before. And, as a kind of epitaph for the slain Hang Jebat, Hang Tuah observes that nothing is simple in life. To summarize, Hikayat Hang Tuah is a strongly national example of the written historical-heroic epic, in which history, in the traditional Malay sense of the term, is unfolded as a biog raphy of the main hero. In the process, its hidden didactic message is revealed .

Notes Mulyadi 1983:24-5. As the same passage also occurs in some copies of raj as-salalin (Mulyadi 1983:22-4), it is not quite clear whether it was interpolated from this work into Buslan as-salatin or vice versa. However, we cannot rule out the possibllity that this passage is a later interpolation in both raj as·salalin and Buslan as·salatin (for a special discussion of this issue see V. Braginsky forthcoming O. 2 For manuscripts of Hikayat lndraputra, see Mulyadi 1983:1-20; for the studies of the work. see bibliography in the book by Mulyadi (1983:309-15); the book also contains an extensive sum· mary (close to a translation) of the hikayat in English (pp. 207-77). There is also the complete translation of Hikayat lndraputra into Russian by V. Braginsky (1975c:5-244). 3 Matthes 1875:7, 32, 1884 (Buginese and Makasarese versions); Snouck Hu rgronje 1906, II:I48 (Acehnese version); Marrison n.d., 1:22-4, II:96-9; Van der Meij 2002 Oavanese version from Lombok, entitled Puspakrama); Salleh Yaapar 1976; Madale 1973, 2001:12-4; Minton 1929 (Magindanao and Maranao versions); MOussay 1995; Nara Vija 1976 (Cham version). A detailed analySiS of all these versions can be found in the article by V. Braginsky (forthcoming b). For more details about man uscripts of Hikayat Indraplltra in these languages, see Mulyadi 1983:26-7.

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About Nenek Kebayan, see Mulyadi 1983:30-2. In Ali bin Ahmad's edition (1968) the name of this king is spelt as Syahian; however, in the majority of manuscripts it is Syahsian (Mulyadi 1980:134).

5

In Ali bin Ahmad's edition (1968) the name is spelt as Nehran. For the arguments in favour of the conjecture Mehran, see note 129 to Chapter VIII.

6

For a more detailed discussion of the content of Hikayat Indraputra, see Chapter VIII, in which the Sufi aspect of the work is examined. For the sake of the further analysis the rhythmical structure of the summary is emphasized and the rhythm-setting words are italicized (compare Chapter V).

7

In Mulyadi's edition (1983) the name is spelt as Gur Akas; in Ali bin Ahmad's edition (1968) its spelling is Geragas. It seems, however, that Gurkasy as found in the Leiden manuscript Cod. Or. 1690 (Juynboll1899:123) or, rather, Gurkas (Persian: 'cave dweller') is the correct name of this ogre (see also Chapter VIII). Considering the fact that in older Malay manuscripts's' ('sin') is frequently written as 'sy' ('syin'), the equation Gurkasy = Gurkas is most probable. 8

Ali bin Ahmad 1968; Mulyadi 1983. Our analysis of Hikayat Indraputra is mostly based on the edition by Ali bin Ahmad (1968). In 1983 Mulyadi published a new edition of the hikayat, which, in spite of the editor's familiarity with thirty manuscripts of the work, is neither critical nor 'comparative', that is taking into account at least the major differences between the manuscripts. The philological tasks that Mulyadi set herself were limited to the choice of the oldest complete manuscript of Hikayat Indraputra (MS. Or. 53 kept in Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde, Leiden, and dated 1700) and its romanization. Consequently, we do not find in her edition either a textual history of the work, or an analysis of the link between its different manuscripts, or an attempt to establish a more or less reliable text of the hikayat. However, as is well known, the oldest manuscript (moreover the one copied roughly a century after the composition of the work) is not necessarily the best reproduction of the original text or even its best manuscript. Besides the lack of apparatus criticus, Mulyadi's edition shows at least two serious deficiencies. Firstly, it neither reproduces the spelling of Arabic words in the manuscript, which are frequently corrupted by Malay copyists, nor refer to their spelling in footnotes. Secondly, although the spelling of proper names, that varies in different passages of the manuscript, is briefly dealt with in the introductory part of Mulyadi's book, these variations are totally ignored both in the text edition and in the index of proper names. Again no attempt was made to compare their spellings in the manuscript used with those in other manuscripts for the establishing of their correct reading. However, since these names are more often than not meaningful, their understanding is quite important for the interpretation of Hikayat Indraputra (see Chapter VIII). On balance, Mulyadi's edition of Hikayat Indraputra can be used for the purposes of this study only as one of its manuscripts, not as its critical text. All the episodes of the hikayat, which, on the basis of Ali bin Ahmad's edition, are discussed and interpreted below and in Chapter VIII, have been compared with their counterparts in Mulyadi's edition. The comparison did not reveal significant differences between the two editions in these cases. 9

10 On the relations, both trading and cultural, between Deccan sultanates (Bijapur and Golkonda) and Gujarat with Aceh, see Marrison 1955:52; Lombard 1967:116-7; Andaya 2001: 39-43. The Significance of ties between Gujarat and Aceh (mainly via Cambay) is well known (Lombard 1967:117; Andaya 2001:41-2); however, almost equally important for Aceh were its ties with Masulipatnam, the port on the Coromandel coast, through which Persian or IndoPersian influences also reached north Sumatra. As Andaya writes: These Persians, who arrived in substantial numbers in the late sixteenth and early sev-

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature enteenth centuries, settled in both Bijapur and Golconda. The courts and administration of both kingdoms became dominated by three major Muslim factions: the Persians, the Daklmis (local converts), and the Habshis (Abyssinian Muslims). Together the Persian and Golconda Muslim communities provided the resources, which fueled this strong Muslim trade from the northern Coromandel centred on the port of Masulipatnam. [... ] Aceh so valued this trade from the Coromandel that it retained a permanent agent in Masulipatnam. (Andaya 2001:42-3.)

11

For some Persian poems using this plot, see Ethe 1896:252; Garcin de Tassy 1870, II:486.

12

About this poem and its author, see McGregor 1984:71-3; Weightman 1992.

13 'Abdul Haq 1944:19. Some more similar motifs are found in the story of the love of Manohar and Madmalati.

All the motifs from Nusrati's mathnawi listed below can be found in its summary by Suvorova (2000:25-6).

14

15 Below, Indraputra stands for Hikayat Indraputra (Ali bin Ahmad 1968), Hamzah, for Hikayat Amir Hamzah (Samad Ahmad 1987). All the motifs, which occur in the edition by Samad Ahmad, based on two manuscripts (Cod DBP MSS 4 and Cod DBP MSS 121) and a few lithographs kept in Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka, Kuala Lumpur, can be found in a detailed summary of the work, composed by Van Ronkel (1895:102-80), for which Leiden manuscripts (mainly Cod. Or. 1697, Cod. Or. 1698) were used.

Mulyadi (1983:33-4) compares her with the Javanese goddess of the Southern Ocean, Ratu (or Nyai Rara) Kidul.

16

17

Below Indraputra stands for Hikayat Indraputra in the edition by Ali bin Ahmad 1968.

18 A general configuration of the episode is as follows (Winstedt 1991:165-6; compare Ali bin Ahmad 1968:265, 274-314). A king does not want to give his daughter in marriage to the hero disguised as an ordinary man without kith or kin. Incited by the princess's suitors, the rivals of the hero, the king sets a difficult task as the condition of marrying her. Only the hero manages to perform the task. However, after it has been performed, the king breaks his promise and lays down yet another condition. In the end, the king enters into confrontation with the suitors and has to beg the hero to come to his rescue. With the help of his allies's armies that arrive at the city walls, the hero puts the suitors to flight. Among the details coinciding in the two works, the following could be mentioned. In Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati the hero disgraces Ratu Mengada, when he manages to catch the golden barking-deer (kijang) for Candra Kirana; while in Hikayat Indraputra the protagonist brings shame on suitors, the overseas princes, by catching the favourite parrot of the princess (ZainaI1965:65-7; compare Ali bin Ahmad 1968:288). Remarkably, both hikayat describe injuries and bruises of the luckless rivals of the hero and their tattered clothes in quite similar words. Afterwards, Cekel Waneng Pati shows his skills of horse riding and exercising with the spear to Candra Kirana, while Indraputra shows the same skills to Raja Syahsian (ZainaI1965:87; compare Ali bin Ahmad 1968:297-8). 19 Ali bin Ahmad 1968:40-1. For a similar description in classical Persian poetry, see Nizami 1946:417. 20 About the concept of adab, see Goldziher 1913; Krachkovsky 1954-60, VI:45; Gabrieli 1960; Pellat 1964.

VI Prose works of the classical period

481

The analysis of Hikayat Isma Yatim - the work almost as popular as Hikayat Indraputra (at present more than twenty manuscripts of this hikayat are known) - offered in this book is based on its old edition in Jawi letters by Roorda van Eysinga (1821). The only romanized edition of the hikayat, incomplete and inadequate from a philological point of view, was published by the Educational Service of the Straits Settlements at the beginning of the last century (Hikayat Isma Yatim 1910). Several years ago, the facsimile edition of one of its Leiden manuscripts (Cod. Or. 1693) saw the light of day (Tol and Witkam 1993a). Thus, until now there is no complete and reliable romanized edition of this important work. The number of studies of Hikayat Isma Yatim is also minimal. Apart from brief, purely descriptive sections in virtually every work on the history of traditional Malay literature, we can mention two articles, treating different aspects of it, by Siti Hawa Haji Salleh (1987) and Muhammad Haji Salleh (1988). Brief, although useful, information about the hikayat (particularly about its manuscripts and editions) can be found in the introduction to the facsimile reproduction by Tol and Witkam (1993a) referred to above. A number of excerpts from Hikayat Isma Yatim were translated into Dutch by Roorda van Eysinga (1825) and into Russian by V. Braginsky (1982:203-23). 21

De Haan 1900:299, 300. Isaac de Saint Martin had two copies of the hikayat, designated in the list as No 10 - in two volumes, and No 41 - in one volume.

22

23 For manuscripts of Hikayat Maharaja Ali, see Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:113, 142, 148; Van Ronkel 1909:220-2; Voorhoeve 1973:50. Bausani (1962) translated it into Italian, Brakel (Bausani 1979:18-42) into English. 24 The present author is indebted to Dr. Jelani Harun who familiarized him with his transliteration of this story from Bustan as-salatin, based on the manuscripts: Klinkert 14 (Leiden) and University of Malaya 41 (Kuala Lumpur).

In both Hikayat Maharaja Ali and Qisas al-anbiya the Prophet Sulaiman is seven years of age. Evidently, the author of Hikayat Maharaja Ali borrowed from the story about the Prophet Sulaiman a number of other motifs as well. Thus the episode about Maharaja Ali's elder son who went to the side of the road to urinate and got lost in the forest, which seemed a manifestation of the Malays' 'naive realism', resembles a story about Sulaiman who, like Maharaja Ali, yielded to the temptations of hawa nafsu 'passions', 'lower self' at a certain moment in his life and was punished by the loss of his magic ring when he went to relieve himself like the king's son. Afterwards, also similarly to Maharaja Ali, he lost his kingdom and had to r6am like a begging dervish, relying completely on the Mercy of Allah. Like Maharaja Ali, he was pardoned in the long run, and regained both his ring and his kingdom (Hamdan Hassan 1990:56-97). 25

26 Although motifs from Hikayat Bakhtiar play a particularly important role in the tale of Hasinan and her husband (especially in its concluding part), in fact, the author of Hikayat Maharaja Ali interlaced these motifs with those from Hikayat Bayan Budiman (Winstedt 1920b: 144-63, see also below on Hikayat Bayan Budiman, story 21). In the latter we find the story of a virtuous Siti Hasanah (see Hasinan), upon whose chastity several men have unsuccessfully made attempts. In the end, in the guise of man, she becomes the 'king' of a certain country, famous not only for 'his' justice, but also for 'his' healing powers. Hasanah's husband and her assailants stricken by different diseases sail off to the country of the 'king' -healer. The 'king' demands that each of them should confess the cause of his disease. Then she forgives and heals them and reveals herself to her husband (for more details, see V. Braginsky forthcoming c).

For the manuscripts of Hikayat Bayan Budiman (about twenty five), see Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:103,115,124,133,141-2,145,147; Van RonkeI1909:81-3; Iskandar 1999, 1:56-7, 81, 113-4,706, II:927; Voorhoeve 1973:54-5. For the editions of the work, see Hikayat Bayan Budiman 1956; Winstedt 1920b; Kaeh 2000 (Hikayat Khoja Maimun); the work was studied by Brandes

27

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature

(1895b, 1899b) and Winstedt (1920b, preface). A few tales from the hikayat were translated into Dutch (Bezemer 1903; Brondgeest 1919-20) and Russian (V. Braginsky 1982:225-30). The earliest manuscript of Hikayat Bayan Budiman (Bodleian Library, Pococke 433) can be dated from not later than 1600 (Winstedt 1920b:6; Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:103). Another remarkable manuscript of the work (India Office 2606) originates from Trengganu and was allegedly read by high officials of the sultanate 'in sorrow and at feast for its style and content' (Winstedt 1920b:10; Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:125). Although this manuscript dates 1808, the stories that it contains were, according to its preface, originally told (diriwayatkan) or read (?) in 1599. 28

29

See Winstedt 1920b:191; Iskandar 1995:173-74; see Brandes 1899:443-44.

The reference to Qadi Hasan as the translator of the Persian work appears only before the first story of Cod. Or. 3208, that is virtually in the place of the preface, and by the look of it it is a fusion of the phrase from the preface ('This is a hikayat translated from the Persian language into Malay') and the phrase from the colophon ('by Qadi Hasan'). See Cod. Or. 3208, p.47: 'Hikayat ini dipindahkan daripada bahasa Parsi kepada bahasa Jawi / / oleh Qadi Hasan' (Iskandar 1995:173) and 'Ini hikayat [... ] daripada bahasa Parsi maka dipindahkan kepada bahasa Jawi' (Winstedt 1920b:29) + 'oleh Qadi Hasan' (Winstedt 1920b:191).

30

31 Along with these inserted stories, some recensions also include Hikayat Nakhoda Muda (the 'Tale of the Young Captain') and Hikayat Maharaja Puspa Wiraja (the 'Tale of Maharaja Puspa Wiraja', Winstedt 1991:83). In their turn, some stories from Hikayat Bayan Budiman were incorporated into many Malay works, for example, in Hikayat Syah Mardan (see Chapter VIII and V. Braginsky forthcoming c). 32 For the edition and English translation of Nakhshabi's Tuti-nama, see Nakhshabi 1976 and Simsar 1978; for the edition and Russian translation of Na'ari's Jawahir al-asmar, see Saghari (Na'ari) n.d. and Na'ari 1985.Although these Persian 'books of the parrot' are traceable to the Sanskrit prose work Shukasaptati - the 'Seventy stories told by a parrot', they also contain some stories from other Sanskrit framed tales: Paricatantra, Vetalaparicavinshati - the 'Twenty five stories of Vetala' and Hitopadesha, as well as some 'legends that originate from the Persian and Arab folkloric and literary milieu' (D. Berthels 1979:9-10).

Although individual stories from Tuti-nama are not uncommon in manuscripts of popular tales (see, for instance, Tumanovich 1981: 12-3, 26-7, 32, 36-7, 43-4, 55-6; Rieu 1879-83, 11:760, 772; Ethe 1889-1930, I:column 438 (MS 477, 5), column 447-8 (MS 488, 4), 1903-37, I:column 524-26 (MS 797, 13, 27, 34)), we have so far failed to find Qadi Hasan's version in catalogues of Persian manuscripts. This is, however, not surprising, as popular Persian literature still largely remains an inadequately explored area, and a search for the version in question can be fruitful only in co-operation with experts in Persian writings. The fact that such popular Persian versions may have existed is confirmed by the late eighteenth century work Chehel-tuti (the 'Fourty parrots'), known in a number of manuscripts, but mostly in lithographs. This work is short (it contains from ten to thirteen stories, see Marzolph 1979:56-156; Borshchevsky et al. 1963:414-44), and it is written in very simple language without any rhetorical embelishments. 33

Needless to say, since we do not possess the version of Tuti-name that was used by the translator, our analysis may not be entirely accurate and will not allow us to establish in every case whether the differences between Hikayat Bayan Budiman and Na'ari's and Nakhshabi's works were put in place by the Malay translator or by a so-far unknown author of the Persian original himself. However, the comparison shows that the majority of stories in Hikayat Bayan

34

VI Prose works of the classical period

483

Budiman are quite close in their content to their counterparts in Nakhshabi's version, even if they cannot boast of rhetorical refinement of the latter. This, in its turn, leads us to suggest that there existed a considerable resemblance between the popular version of Qadi Hasan, with which the translator worked, and Tuti-name by Nakhshabi. 35

This questions the idea of Johns (1976:313) about the oral origin of the Malay version.

36 Remarkably; the plots of two more stories from Tuti-name by Nakhshabi occur in Malay literature. However we find them in Hikayat Bakhtiar, not in Hikayat Bayan Budiman. These are: 'The story of the daughter of the emperor of Rum and the anguish she suffered because of the presence of her son' from Tuti-nama = 'The queen and her son of the previous marriage' from Bakhtiar-nama and 'The story of the king Bahram, his two viziers Khassa and Kholasa, Bahram's cruelty, and how the daughter of Khassa obtained justice' from Tuti-nama = 'The king who killed his two viziers' from Baktiyar-nama. For these stories in Persian works, see Sirnsar 1978:307-22; Ouseley 1883:62-88; in Malay translations, see Gonggrijp 1892:357-61. The source of these stories is most probably the oldest version of the Bakhtiar tale written by Oaqa'iqi in the early thirteenth century. 37

Tumanovich 1981:22; Ethe 1889-1930; I:column 438,1903-37, I:colurnn 525.

38 Jones (1985:42-4, 265-9) summarized and briefly examined this story of Sultan Adam and a group of other stories on Ibrahim ibn Adham from Hikayat Khoja Maimun (MS Maxwell 18). a variant title of Hikayat Bayan Budiman. Stories of the latter group have little in common with the general content and message of the parrot's tales. Interestingly, however, that it 'derives from the Persian rather than Arabic branch of the legends about Ibrahim ibn Adham' and 'there are indications that it is from an Indian Persian source' (Jones 1985:272).

The earliest mention of Hikayat Bakhtiar is found in Werndly's list dated 1736 (Mulyadi 1994:32); for studies of Hikayat Bakhtiar, see Brandes 1895a; Voorhoeve 1933, 1969b; Goryayeva 1989; Goriaeva 1990. The short recension of Hikayat Bakhtiar was translated into Russian by Goryayeva (1989). 39

This version was repeatedly published (Ouseley 1801; Yeo Berthels 1926) and translated into English and French (Ouseley 1883; Lescallier 1805). Ouseley's translation was first published in 1801. However its re-edition of 1883 is much better, as it was provided by the editor, W.A. Clouston, with an extensive introduction and detailed commentaries in which the translation of many passages, omitted in Ouseley's book of 1801, can be found.

40

For more details on the 'story of Bakhtiar' in Persian and other literatures, see Horovitz and Masse 1960; Hanaway 1989 (and bibliographies in these articles).

41

42

An examination of St. Petersburg manuscript B 256 (Tumanovich 1981:39-40), including,

inter alia, Bakhtiar-nama, shows that this manuscript is virtually identical to the manuscripts

India Office 797 (Ethe 1903-37, I:column 524-6) and Asiatic Society of Bengal 301 (Ivanow 1924: 130-1). All the three manuscripts consist of one and the same works that follow in one and the same order. Therefore, they may well derive from a common archetype. Considering that some works of the manuscript India Office 797 have already been copied in 1616-19, and the whole manuscript dates from 1636, this archetype must have existed in the beginning of the seventeenth century or rather in the second half of the sixteenth century. 43

Namely Leiden Cod. Or. 3197[1], see JuynbollI899:155; Iskandar 1999, I:I07-8.

44

Leiden Cod. Or. 6069 and Cod. Or. 12.201. see Iskandar 1999, I:294, 642-3. Recently the

484

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

conclusions of Brandes and Voorhoeve have been summarized and somewhat supplemented by Goriaeva (1990). In Leiden MS Cod. Or. 6069 and in the edition of Kalilah dan Daminah by Gonggrijp (1892) the story of the queen and her son from Bakhtiar-nama is replaced by apparently Malay story of the love of a hornbill for a sparrow.

45

The same identification was also suggested by Brandes, who, however, later realized the difference between the Arabic and the Persian versions of the Bakhtiar tale (Brandes 1891, 1895b). Although the content of inserted stories in Hikayat Ghulam (like in Arabic tales of Bakhtiar generally) is, by and large, not unlike their content in the popular Persian version, these stories differ considerably from the Persian ones (and, consequently, from their Malay translation) in many important details and particularly in their succession, which is typically Arabic (see Goriaeva 1990:149). For the edition of Hikayat Ghulam on the basis of Jakarta manuscript Ml.555 (former v.d.W.132), see Nikmah A. Soenardjo (1978). 46

In Hikayat Ghulam we read that its original, once belonging to Habib Syaikh b. 'Alawi Saqqaf, was later translated into Malay 'by the learned Haji Abdulwahab of Siantan in Riau' whose 'grave is on the isle of Penyengat' (Wieringa 1998a:69-70). P. Carey (1979:88) adduces convincing proofs that witness to the fact that both Habib Syaikh b. 'Alawi Saqqaf and Haji Abdulwahab lived in Riau in the early nineteenth century.

47

In this case, however, we can compare the 'Persian recension' of Hikayat Bakhtiar with its actual source-text, which allows us to understand the principles of the translator's work more clearly.

48

49 For more than twenty manuscripts of the short and the long recension of Hikayat Bakhtiar and of its version entitled Hikayat Ghulam (the 'Tale of Ghulam', see above), see Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:118-9, 141, 150, 158 (SOAS. MS 12209 dated 1777), 161; Van Ronkel 1909:84-8; Iskandar 1999, 1:17, 19, 29, 107-8, 294, 299-300, 336, 642, 715. For editions of these recensions of the work, see Von Dewall 1880; Zainal 1963; Djamaris 1978; Nikmah A. Soenardjo 1978. For a summary of the long recension of the hikayat, see Brandes 1895b.

50

Von Dewall 1880; Djamaris 1978; Winstedt 1991:88-9.

For a comparison of different manuscripts of the long recension of Hikayat Bakhtiar, that contain a different number of inserted stories, see Goryayeva 1989.

51

For the list of some twenty extant manuscripts of Taj as-salatin, see Mulyadi 1983:292. Except the above-mentioned edition of it in Jawi by Roorda van Eysinga (1827), there are two romanized editions of the work by Khalid Hussain (1966; from a rather poor Leiden manuscript Cod. Or 3053) and Jumsari Jusuf (1979; from the Jakarta manuscript Br. 394); there are also translations of Taj as-salatin into Javanese (Pigeaud 1967:100), Makasarese (Matthes 1875:5) and Acehnese (Voorhoeve 1994:186). For the studies of Taj as-salatin, see Van Ronke11899; Winstedt 1920:37-8 (mainly based on the above article by Van Ronke!), 1991:95-7, 204-9 (summary); Iskandar 1965a, 1995:380-7; Liaw Yock Fang 1991-93, II:70-6; V. Braginsky 2000. Taj as-salatin was translated into Dutch by Roorda van Eysinga (1827) and into French by Marre (1878). There are also fairly long excerpts from the work in English (Starkweather 1901) and Russian (V. Braginsky 1982:312-32) translations, and its detailed summary by Overbeck (1927:47-112) in German.

52

Normally saj' in Taj as-salatin is rather primitive and repetitive and, more often than not, is based on the coincidence of the last vowel of the word and the enclitic '-nya' following it, for

53

VI Prose works of the classical period

485

instance, adanya - ketikanya. However, sometimes there occur rhymes of a better quality, for instance, sangat - bangat. Here is a typical example: Bermula akan orang yang tiada kurang budinya tujuh tanda ada. Tanda yang pertama: berbuat baik akan orang yang berbuat jahat akan dia, menyukakan hatinya dan mengampuni kejahatannya. Tanda yang kedua: merendahkan dirinya akan segala [orang] yang kurang [martabatnya] daripadanya dan bermuliakan daripada nyawanya segala orang yang lebih [martabatnya] daripadanya. Tanda yang ketiga: usahakan dengan sangat dan segerakan dengan bangat akan segala pekerjaan yang baik dan perbuatan yang terpuji. Tanda yang keempat: bencikan segala pekerjaan yang keji dan segala orang yang jahat. Tanda yang kelima: sentiasa menyebutkan nama Allah Ta' ala dan memintakan daripadanya ampun akan segala salahnya dan mengingatkan maut dan kubur. Tanda yang keenam: katakan barang yang dikata dengan tahunya dan pada tempatnya dan ketikanya. Tanda yang ketujuh: dalam sekalian kesukaran bergantung akan karunia Allah dan mengetahui dengan nyata bahwa Tuhan itu dapat memudahkan segala kesukaran dari karena pekerjaan itu tiada sukar padanya dan karena itu dalam sekalian kesukaran itu minta tolong daripadanya dari karena Tuhan itu amat mengasihani adanya. (Roorda van Eysinga 1827: 168; for a translation, see below, the excerpt about reason, paragraph 2.)

Taj as-salatin is one of very few Malay writings which shows an attempt to reproduce forms of Arabico-Persian poetry and saj'. This probably corroborates the assumption that the work was composed by an author originating from Bukhara (Malay authors always translated poetical insertions in the form of prose). However, a more thorough examination of Taj as-salatin witnesses to the fact that only the rhyming schemes of ruba'i (aaaa, aaba) and mathnawi (aa, bb, cC), which found counterparts in indigenous Malay poetry, were reproduced in the work correctly. No specimen of the poetical forms based on compulsory monorhyme (ghazal, qit'ah) in the Arabico-Persian verse preserved this monorhyme in their Malay rendering (V. Braginsky 1975a:121-5). Their omission may have been caused by either an insufficient expertise on the part of the translator in Arabico-Persian versification, or by the influence of the indigenous poetical tradition on him, or by both. However, different reasons can by no means be excluded, for instance that the translator's inadequate knowledge of Malay made him follow only some requirements of the Middle-Eastern poetics.

54

These Persian sources were identified by Van Ronkel (1899) with one mistake: Van Ronkel considered Tanbih al-ghafilin to be one of the compositions by Siraj aI-Din' Ali Khan whom he called 'a Persian and Hindustani poet born in 1489'. In fact Siraj aI-Din' Ali Khan Arzu was 'a major Indo-Muslim poet, lexicographer and litterateur (born in Gwalior" or Agra 1678/88 or 1689-90)' and whose Tanbih al-ghafilin is an essay in defence of the so-called 'Indian style' in Persian poetry (Siddiqi 1987:691). So, this work could by no means be quoted by Bukhari in 1603. Brockelmann (1898-1942, I:196, II:701, Supplement I:348, 715, 752/38e) mentions a number of books with this title, of which the Persian paraphrase of AI-Ghazali's treatise is the most likely one to be identified with Tanbih al-ghafilin referred to by Bukhari.

55

56 Nasihat al-muluk was written by AI-Ghazali in Persian and, in the twelfth century, translated into Arabic under the title of AI-tibr al-masbuk fi nasihat al-muluk (the 'Melted ingot [of gold] on advice to kings'). There is also the Malay translation of this Arabic version dated from the late seventeenth century (see Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:12; Jelani Harun 1999:125-6, 313-5). It seems likely that Bukhari al-Jauhari used the Persian original of AI-Ghazali's work. This can be confirmed not only by Bukhari's general orientation towards Persian 'mirrors', but also by his mention of the Persian, not Arabic, version of another Al-Ghazali's work, Tanbih al-ghafilin; by a verse from Nasihat al-muluk (Bagley 1964:94) quoted by Bukhari in Persian (Roorda van Eysinga 1827:127), and by a number of philological remarks concerning differences between the Persian original and the Arabic translation of Nasihat al-muluk which are found in footnotes of Bagley's book.

486

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

For instance, pp. 91-4 of raj as-salatin (Roorda van Eysinga 1827) coincide with pp. 27-31 of Nasihat al-muluk (Bagley 1964), pp. 113-21 coincide with pp.106-9, pp. 143-6 with pp. 113-8, and so on). 57

These are chapters: 'On the world', 'On death', 'On generosity', 'On reason and the reasonable ones' and chapters from 'On the characters of just kings' to 'On messengers' (that is, Chapters 3, 4, 7-12, 15, 16 of raj as-salatin). 58

For instance, in Chapters 'On the dignity of kings' and 'On justice and just deeds' (that is, in Chapters 5 and 6).

59

60 What is meant are in particular many sources on his list, of which the titles are as uniform as they are inexpressive. For instance five of such titles begin with Adab al-... (the 'Manners of..:), four with Sifat al-... (the 'Qualities of..:), three with Akhbar al-... ('Stories of..:) and so on. The present author failed to find any of them in the reference books on Arabic and Persian lieratures by Brockelmann (1898-1942) and Storey (1970-72), which was not surprising, as some of these titles proved to be a somewhat rephrased subtitles from Nasihat al-muluk.

See, however, above (note 10) about Persians coming to Aceh from or via Deccan sultanates, another possible, although less likely place of departure for the author of raj as-salatino

61

For more details about the relation of raj as-salatin with the Qur'an, see V. Braginsky 2000: 190-5.

62

Such definitions of notions are more typical of Arab-Muslim scholarship than logical definitions based on the genus of the notion and its particular species (Frolov 1987).

63

In other words, everyone cannot fail to have the intellect, but no one can have (= know) such a thing as its limit.

64

65

On the concepts of asl, far' and qiyas see Watwat 1985:23; Frolov 1988:52.

66

For the list of these kings in raj as-salatin, see Lombard 1967:156-7.

67

For some remarks on the numbers in question see V. Braginsky 1988a:273-4.

About him, see Voorhoeve 1951, 1955a, 1955b; Drewes 1955; Iskandar 1964a; 1966:2-10; AlAttas 1966:12-7, 1986:3-47; Daudy 1978.

68

For its partial editions, see Wilkinson 1900; Iskandar 1966:31-74; Jones 1974a; Grinter 1979; Nuruddin ar-Raniri 1992. At present, there has appeared a hope that this work, probably the most voluminous in classical Malay literature, will at last become more easily accessible to its students. Books (or Sections - Bab) 1-3,5 and partially 7 of Bustan as-salatin have already been romanized by Jelani Harun, and Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka (Kuala Lumpur) is planning their publication. Book 4 was transcribed in the PhD thesis by A. Grinter (1979), and a transliteration of book 6 was prepared by Khozin Affandi (1988). For the studies of Bustan as-salatin, see Kratz 1974; Saya Shiraishi 1990; Steenbrink 1994; Jelani Harun 1996a, 1996b. All the extant manuscripts of the work (thirty three in number) are described in the thesis by Jelani Harun (1999:58-76), see also Mulyadi 1983:294. There are translations of Chapter 1, Book 4 of Bustan as-salatin into English (Jones 1974a) and a few excerpts from the book into French (Lombard 1967:199-202, 2059,211-2) and Russian (V. Braginsky 1982:334-42).

69

70

C. Hooykaas 1947:174-5; Lombard 1967:152-3; Liaw Yock Fang 1991-93, II:51-6; the most

VI Prose works of the classical period

487

detailed description of the work is contained in the thesis by Jelani Harun (1999:77-85) who also enumerates numerous sources used by Nuruddin ar-Raniri to compile it (' Aja'ib al-malakut - the 'Wonders of creation' and Qisas al-anbiya - the 'Tales of the prophets' by AI-Kisa'i, Nasihat almuluk - the 'Counsels for kings', Ta'rikh al-rusul wa'l-muluk - the 'History of prophets and kings' by AI-Tabari; Shah-nama by Firdawsi; Rawdat al-manazir - the 'Garden of sights' by AI-Halabi; Mirsad al-'ibad - the 'Path of (God's) slaves' by Najm aI-Din al-Razi, and others). 71

Vogel 1918; Poerbatjaraka 1952:8-12; De Casparis 1986.

72

Mees 1935:7-23; Ras 1968:vii, 182-96; Coedes 1968:52-3.

Mees 1935:53-4. For the manuscripts of Salasilah Kutai, see Mees 1935:109-13; W. Kern 1956: 1-9. Besides two above-mentioned studies, Salasilah Kutai has been also examined and partly summarized by Ras (1968:81-3, 91-3, 104). 73

Teeuw and Wyatt 1970. For the manuscripts of Hikayat Patani, see Teeuw and Wyatt 1970: 25-50. The book by Teeuw and Wyatt includes a critical edition of the work and its complete translation into English.

74

Manuscripts of Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa are few. The work has been published three times: by Sturrock (1916); Dzulkifli bin Mohammad Salleh (1968; on the basis of one manuscript kept in Kedah Museum, dated 1898); Siti Hawa Haji Salleh (1970, 1991; on the basis of three manuscripts: Maxwell 16, the one copied for Wilkinson and the one published earlier by Sturrock). There are several studies of the work, among which the most important are those by Winstedt (1938d); Maier (1985,1988), and Siti Hawa Haji Salleh (1991). For more details on the studies by Maier and Siti Hawa Haji Salleh, see below, notes 76, 77. There are also incomplete translations of the hikayat into English (Low 1908) and Russian (V. Braginsky 1982:294-311) and its complete translation into Dutch (Maier 1978). 75

76 This one-sided, negative assessment has been reconsidered in the last decades. As an example, the introduction by Siti Hawa Haji Salleh to her edition of Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa (first published in 1970 and revised in 1991) can be mentioned. In the introduction, the scholar describes manuscripts of the work which she used or otherwise in the edition, traces their links with each other, and makes a number of interesting remarks about earlier approaches to the work, its historical value, literary style, time of composition, and Islamic elements. She also compares the hikayat with other Malay historical works in general and with those which originate from Kedah in particular (among them Syair Sultan Maulana - the 'Poem of Sultan Maulana', see Muhammad Yusoff Hashim 1980, as well as two compositions written in the early twentieth century: Silsilah atau tawarikh kerajaan Kedah - 'A genealogy or history of Kedah' by Wan Yahya bin Wan Muhammad Taib, the secretary of Kedah's sultan, and At-tarikh silsilah negeri Kedah - ' A History of Kedah' by Muhammad Hassan). By and large, Siti Hawa Haji Salleh's appreciation of the historical value and literary qualities of Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa is very positive. Another stimulating study of Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa was carried out by H. Maier. This work, markedly different in its approach and perspective from those by either Siti Hawa Haji Salleh or the present author, originally appeared in the form of PhD thesis (Maier 1985) and was .published in 1988. The theoretical basis of Maier's study is the concept of intertextuality. By examining a number of readings (interpretations) of the hikayat that reflect the stance vis-a-vis this work of early Western scholars (Low, Winstedt), traditional Malay readers/listeners, and their successors, that is contemporary Malaysian readers (scholars), Maier manages to show convincingly how much their interpretations depend on the socio-cultural context and literary conventions specific to each group of the readers. To put it differently, the scholar reveals how the meaning of Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa changes, when the work is shown to be included

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in distinct intertexts. Although there is a grain of truth in Siti Hawa Haji Salleh's remark that Maier does not pay enough attention to the structural unity of the hikayat, and, thus, his work is merely 'an example of intellectual 'play' of a Western scholar - basing himself on modem general theories - with one of the pieces of Malay literature' (Siti Hawa Haji Salleh 1991:xxxv), Maier's study, rich with fresh ideas and data, is undoubtedly much more than simply the result of a certain theoretical play. Suffice it to recall, for instance, the scholar's analysis of the place that Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa occupies in the framework of traditional Malay literature, both written and oral-aural (to use Sweeney's term), or his examination of literary conventions typical of it. Both of them are of considerable value for the understanding of the hikayat in question and traditional Malay literature generally. Even more importantly, Maier's examination of Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa represents an example of research - very rare in Malay literary studies - which aims to remind the reader of two substantial facts. On the one hand, any piece of literature 'lives' in a broader literary intertext, which, to some degree, transforms this piece into a 'collection of quotations', their use being determined by the authority of sources from which the quotations have been borrowed, that is the authority of the tradition, be it old or new. On the other hand, the interpretation of any literary work offered by a researcher also depends on the 'mental intertext', which is characteristic of this researcher, as it is precisely in this 'mental intertext' that he/ she includes the interpreted work, no matter whatever his/her intentions may have been. These two facts emphasized in Maier's study cannot fail to stimulate the student of Malay literature, who is attempting to understand the interpretation of a particular work at a particular time, to seek for methods of both the reconstruction of the 'mental intertext' typical for a certain milieu at that time and the minimization of the effect of his/her own 'mental intertext' upon the reading offered. No less important for a historian of literature is also the understanding of how, why and for what purpose the 'quotations' were combined and modified in a particular way to form a unique semantic structure of the literary work in question (see, for instance, the above analysis of Hikayat Maharaja Ali). 77 Winstedt 1938d:327. Hooykaas (1947:91) assumed that Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa was composed in the eighteenth century, and Winstedt (1938d:33) dated it back to the late eighteenththe early nineteenth century. The latter date seems preferable, since: - J. Low, the first student and translator of the work, found a manuscript of it in 1820 in Penang; - No other manuscript of the hikayat dates from earlier than the second half of the nineteenth century; - The genealogy in the work includes the name of Sultan Ahmad Tajuddin who ruled in 18031845; - The hikayat contains a number of allegorical stories and allusions that refer to historical events of the late eighteenth-the early nineteenth century, for instance a legend about an arrow, which could not appear before 1818 (Winstedt 1938d:32). A completely different date for Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa is offered by Siti Hawa Haji Salleh (1991:1vii-Ix). She assumes that the hikayat - to be more exact, its prototype - was composed 'around the seventeenth century or at the end of the sixteenth century at the earliest' (Siti Hawa Haji Salleh 1991:lviii). However, with the above-mentioned arguments in mind, it is difficult to accept such an early date. Moreover, as the reader will see, the structure of this composition is rather atypical for 'standard' Malay dynastic chronicles; the work betrays a good conversancy on the part of the author with Islamic historiography and its sources, which is more characteristic for the fourth stage in the evolution of Malay historical writings (see Chapter V); the hikayat seems to be a historical allusion (a kind of pasemon). Therefore, it is most likely, at least at present, that Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa was composed around the beginning of the nineteenth century, probably not much earlier than 1820, when Low saw a copy of it. Siti Hawa Haji Salleh argues that this date is doubtful, as the early nineteenth century was too turbulent a time in Kedah's

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history to favour the composition of the chronicle (Siti Hawa Haji Salleh 1991:lx). However, it is precisely in such periods of troubles that writings of the historical pasemon type - eschatological in their nature, though hinting at the imminent coming of better times - were vital for dynastic interests. As far as the hypothetical, older prototype of the hikayat is concerned, its existence is still to be proved. Many Malay dalang identify the residence of Rawana, Langkapuri, as the island of Langkawi, near the coast of Kedah (Sweeney 1972:258).

78

For instance, Bustan as-salatin contains the following remark about Dhahhak: 'After that the king Dhahhak al-Haitin [the correct reading should be Zulkhafaini, as in Bustan as-salatin:103] ruled, whose name meant the One-With-Two-Snakes-[Appeared]-From-His-Body. [... ] During his reign [... ] many deceits and oppressions took place' (Wilkinson 1900, II:11). It seems probable that the creator of Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa was familiar with this composition by Nuruddin ar-Raniri. At least, he mentions the name of its author in his hikayat (Dzulkifli bin Mohammad Salleh 1968:149-50). 79

80 Hikayat Hang Tuah has been preserved in twenty manuscripts (for the description, see Sulastin Sutrisno 1983:56-60; Matheson-Hooker 1991b); although their content is essentially the same (the length of the work is normally 150-180,000 words), there is one, rather late copy of it (Swettenham MS, dated 1882) which probably represents a variant recension in 112,000 words, also showing some other peculiarities (Matheson-Hooker 1991b:94-5). For the editions of the hikayat, see Niemann 1906, 1:1-103, 11:59-120 (in Jawi, partial); Shellabear 1908 (in Jawi); Hikajat Hang Toeah 1939; Kassim Ahmad 1968 (the first impression 1964). The work was translated into German (Overbeck 1922c) and Russian (Parnickel 1984) and summarized in detail in English (Sheppard 1969).

Studies on Hikayat Hang Tuah are numerous (particularly those published in Indonesia and Malaysia, see their bibliographies in Sutrisno 1983:385-95; Parnickel 1984:395-6). Among these earlier works studies by Teeuw (1960, 1961) are particularly important. In recent decades there have appeared a number of new works in which different aspects of Hikayat Hang Tuah are discussed (its structure, meaning, functions, literary style, characterization of the heroes, and so on) and diverse interpretations of either the whole work or its individual episodes are offered. Among them: Errington 1975,1979; Parnickel1976, 1978; Muhammad Haji Salleh 1983; Sutrisno 1983; Braginsky, V. 1990a; Matheson-Hooker 1991b; Kratz 1993; Chambert-toir 1994a.

81

For example: Pangeran Ratu, Pangeran Purba, Pangeran Adipati Anom, Pangeran Dipa Negara, Raden Mas Kulup, and so on (Andaya 1978:88, 122).

82

83 On pasemon, see Chapter III and Berg 1938a; Lohuizen-de Leeuw 1956; Ras 1976:65 (in Javanese literature); Winstedt 1938d; Hooykaas 1947:72-5 (in Malay literature). Chambert-Loir (1994a:41) does not agree with this interpretation of Hikayat Hang Tuah as a historical pasemon (the present author implies that this is only one aspect of the hikayat's meaning, in fact), but, unfortunately, he does not substantiate his disagreement.

84 The idea that Hang Tuah and Hang Jebat form 'two parts of a single T' has also been expressed by Parnickel (1974b:281), who, however, interpreted it differently.

That such legends, or even an oral epic of Hang Tuah once existed seemed probable enough to Overbeck (1922b), Winstedt (1961) and Parnickel (1960). However, Teeuw expressed serious doubts on this score (Teeuw 1961, 1964a:346-7). 85

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Parnickel1962:151-4. Motifs such as the abdication of the Malaccan ruler and his becoming a hermit, as well as the episode in which he eats the' forbidden' cucumber, indicate perhaps that the author of the hikayat was also familiar with Hikayat Sultan Ibrahim ibn Adham (the 'Tale of Sultan Ibrahim ibn Adham', see Chapter VIII). 86

Although Hikayat Hang Tuah seems to be an allusion (pasemon) to Johor-Jambi rivalry, the conflict between Malacca and Java also plays a definite role in it. As it was mentioned above (Chapter II), in the late fourteenth century the Javanese destroyed Palembang and banished its ruler Parameshvara, the future founder of Malacca. He, however, got the backing of the chiefs of the 'sea-faring' Malays, who constituted the main armed force (fleet) of Shrivijaya. Of decisive importance for Parameshvara was the assistance of the most powerful of these chiefs, the ruler of the island of Bintan (Wolters 1970:124-7, 138-40). Two centuries later this island became the home of the Sultan of Johor. It is possible that these events suggested to the author of Hikayat Hang Tuah that Bintan should be given such a prominent part in his work.

87

88 Among the considerable body of literature dealing with this conception, special mention should be made of De Josselin de Jong 1964 and 1980.

This interpretation of this character is basic for Parnickel (1974b:278), who regards the principal collision in the hikayat as being the usual epic confrontation between a warrior and a 'light-minded and cruel ruler'.

89

CHAPTER VII

Poetry of the classical period Although Malay oral literature is rich in diverse poetical genres using both rhymed and blank verse (V. Braginsky 1975a), only two forms of poetry are represented in written literature. 1 One of them, the above-mentioned syair, consists of a sequence of stanzas with continuous rhyming (aaaa, bbbb, ecce). The other, pantun, is a cross-rhymed quatrain breaking into two distichs (couplets): sampiran and isi (or maksud), which usually have no direct logical connection between them and are united by phonetic and/ or symbolic parallelism. In the latter case one of the terms of a parallel (sampiran) contains an allusion, explained, as it were, in the other (isi, maksud), for instance: Air dalam bertambah dalam, Hujan di hulu belum lagi teduh; Hati dendam bertambah dendam, Dendam dahulu belum lagi sembuh.

The deep river becomes deeper and deeper, As the rains in the upper course have not yet finished; The passionate heart becomes more and more passionate, As the old passion has not yet been cured.

Along with pantun and syair, some Malay literary works, for instance Hikayat raja Pasai and Salasilah Kutai, contain insertions in blank Verse (bahasa berirama), while in Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah, Hikayat Amir Hamzah, Taj assa/atin and some other works we find examples of Arabic and Persian poetical forms (individual bait of qasidah, mathnawi, ruba'i, ghazal and qit'ah). However, both indigenous blank verse and Middle Eastern poetical forms failed to be assimilated by Malay written poetry. Perhaps, only two genres: gurindam, rhymed aphoristic couplets, and selaka, a continuously rhymed quatrain close to pantun but not necessarily based on parallelism, coexist in it with pantun and syair, occurring, nevertheless, much more rarely than the two latter. The most well known collection of gurindam was created in the nineteenth century by Raja Ali Haji who prefaced it with a foreword on the difference between gurindam and syair (Netscher 1854b). In this collection titled Gurindam duabelas ('Twelve (groups) of gurindam'), thematically arranged rhymed aphorisms present rather uncomplicated didactic statements of the following kind:

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Apabila banyak berkata-kata, Di situlah jalan masuk dusta.

If you are talking to much, This is the way for a lie to creep in.

Or: Apabila orang banyak tidur, Sia-sialah sahajalah umur.

The one who spends much time in bed Just fritters his life away.

However, even much earlier, in the second half of the seventeenth century, gurindam were incorporated into Hikayat Isma Yatim, for instance: Yang kebaktianku ini tuanku mahamulia, Juga yang tahu akan dia (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:19).

About this act of devotion to my glorious lord, He will certainly know

One can judge about the form of seloka from the following specimen of the genre: Anak dara dua sepasang, Pakai baju pakai kerosang, Sebiji nanas, sebiji pisang, Belum tahu rezeki musang (Winstedt 1991:138).

Two young girls, Wearing jackets and broach-buckles, [They are like] a pineapple and a banana, Which have not yet been tasted by a musang.

As this quatrain alludes, the beauty of the two girls will surely attract admirers, because the musang ('civet cat') is a metaphor, which stands for a young man trying to seduce a pretty girl.

Pantun As is shown by Hikayat raja Pasai and Sejarah Melayu, pantun, originally an oral verse genre, entered the written literature as early as the fourteenth-the fifteenth century. Beginning with the late sixteenth-the early seventeenth century it became finally rooted in it, having replaced bait of mathnawi and qasidah, which were found in tales of the early Islamic period (strange though it may seem, even in Hikayat Seri Rama). From that time, pantun become an indispensable element of fantastic adventure hikayat and many narrative love poems as an ornamental component and a form of expression for the feelings and thoughts of their heroes. 2 The etymology of the word pantun is not quite clear. Brandstetter derives it from the root tun. The semantics of derivatives from this root vary in many Indonesian languages from its original meaning of 'row' or 'line' to that of 'words arranged [in prose or in verse]'.3

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Obvious 'relatives' (possibly, even direct 'ancestors') of pantun are found among relatively simple forms of folklore poetry: rhymed metaphoric expressions resembling riddles or proverbs in the form of riddles, which are based on obvious phonetic and less obvious semantic parallelism. Expressions of this kind consist of two verses: the first of them (uttered) is a riddle, while the second (unuttered) is the answer to it. Thus, a Malay youth who does not love a girl any more and who wants to tell her about it would probably say: 'Dahulu parang sekarang besi' ('Formerly a knife, now iron') - meaning that the rhymes of the verse suggest the utterance: 'Dahulu sayang sekarang benci' ('Formerly I loved you, now I don'f). The girl will answer with another metaphor: 'Pinggan tak retak, nasi tak dingin' ('The plate hasn't broken, the rice hasn't become cool') - alluding to the answer which is also connected with the 'riddle' by rhymes and assonance: 'Engkau tak hendak, kami tak ingin' ('You don't want, so neither do 1'). At first sight the connection between the 'riddle' and the answer in both utterances is purely phonetic. It seems, however, that the situation is in fact more complicated. First of all, the youth's riddle is about objects relating to the sphere of male activities (a knife, iron), while the girl's answer mentions objects used in female activities (a plate, boiled rice). The transformation of a knife into a piece of iron is the change of something useful into something useless (compare 'loved' - 'don't love'). The fact that nothing has happened to both the plate and rice indicates the girl's indifference to the change (compare 'you don't want, so neither do 1'). Thus semantic associations support phonetic associations connecting the riddle with the answer. Similarly, a combination of phonetic and semantic factors is the basis of the relation between the sampiran and isi in pantun. Even more obvious is the connection, phonetic and semantic at the same time, between the two parts of the following metaphoric utterance, in which the 'riddle': 'Pada cempedak baik nangka' ('The fruit of the nangka is better than the fruit of the cempedak') - contains a phonetic allusion to the answer: 'Pada tidak baik ada' ('It is better to have rather than nof). Since fruits of both cempedak and nangka are edible, although the former are less tasty than the latter, the proverb is enriched with an additional nuance: 'If you do not have what you like, you must like what you have' (Stiller 1971:xix). When written together with their 'answers', 'riddles' in such metaphoric expressions, both in their formal and semantic structures are highly reminiscent of pantun: 4 Pingan tak retak, Nasi tak dingin, Engkau tak hendak, Kami tak ingin.

The plate has not broken, The rice has not become cool; You do not want, So neither do 1.

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A classical pantun has a very intricate phonic organization, in which not only the end rhyme is taken into account, but not infrequently also phonic similarity (a rhyme or an assonance) between pairs of words in the first and the second part - in sampiran and isi, for instance: 2 dilurut 6 ayam

dengan

Jika

diturut

susah

4 batangnya 8 bijinya 12 datangnya

13 Gempar

14 alam

15 dengan

16 isinya

1 Jika 5 Disambar 9

1

10

2

3 pecah 7

11

3

4

If

dragged,

Will fall

hens

will break 7 on

If

I yield [the passion],

a misfortune

will come,

In commotion

[will be] the world

with

its inhabitants.

5 9

13

6

10

14

11

15

[rice] stems, 8 their grains.

12 16

In this quatrain from Hikayat Karis Mengindra (the seventeenth century), all the words are phonetically connected in pairs: 1-9 and 7-15 by word repetition; 2-10,3-11,4-12,5-13,6-14 by rhyme; 8-16 by assonance. Thus 'the consonance running through the entire line', which Wilkinson (1907:53) regarded as the basis of the structure of pantun, is presented very graphically in it. Besides, it is not hard to notice alliterations in the second and third lines (disambar-dengan, diturut-datang) of the pantun, as well as a complete phonic parallelism in both its parts. Naturally, by no means all pantun have such an exquisite phonetic organization. Nevertheless, as an obvious tendency, it is specific for the genre as a whole. Statistical research allows us to represent the phonetic structure of an average pantun in the form of Chart 6 (just as in the example above, figures refer to the number of a particular word in the pantun; the thicker is the line between a pair of figures, the more frequently words in this pair are connected by rhyme): This chart reflects the non-random nature of phonic correspondences in all 'vertical' pairs of words. Although such correspondences are obligatory only for end rhymes (4-12, 8-16), pairs 2-10 and 6-14 are also connected in about eighty percent of pantun; and the rest are connected in a smaller but nevertheless considerable number of cases. Besides, pantun demonstrate a horizontal

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Symmetry

1

2 5

9

6

10 13

4

3 7

11

12 15

14

8

16 Parallelism

Chart 6

symmetry, division into equal hemistichs, their boundaries being marked by rhyme or assonance, fulfilling a rhythmic function, and also vertical parallelism in the framework of which the rhyme and assonance of the sampiran fulfil a semantic function, hinting at the form and thus, to some extent, at the meaning of words in the isi (Altmann 1963:280-1). For the past hundred years the nature of the connection between the first and the second distichs of pantun has remained the main problem that researchers into this genre have tried to solve. Some of them - Marsden (1812), Pijnappel (1883), Overbeck (1922a), and Stiller (1971) - have insisted on semantic associations between the sampiran and the isi. Others - Van Ophuijzen (1904), partly also C. Hooykaas (1947, 1953) - have limited the role of semantic ties considerably, believing that the main function of the sampiran of pantun is to set up rhymes for the isi. Finally, a third group - Wilkinson (1907), Winstedt (1991:137-46; Wilkinson and Winstedt 1914) have developed the theory of the sampiran's phonic suggestiveness, or phonic allusions to what is to be found in the isi. It is only natural that there are examples of pantun corroborating each of these standpoints. In fact, all the above theories make the point of various stages in the evolution of parallelistic quatrains, singled out by A.N. Veselovsky in his article about psychological parallelism, based on an extensive comparative survey.s Such quatrains, widespread in the oral poetry of many peoples of the world,

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show an evolution from mythologically and/ or magically significant metaphors (compare Djajadiningrat 1933) via the process of their desacralization towards an aesthetic game. In the process of this evolution, the understanding of the aesthetic value of phonic similarity of sampiran and isi was accompanied by a growing complexity of the semantic fields of those motif-words from which they were formed. The same understanding also became the filter for selecting words associated with certain basic images and notions. As a result, the 'language' of correctly arranged pantun was formed and the rules of its further generation evolved. Mutually related pairs of words (sometimes denoted by the Malay term lambang meaning 'symbol' (Stiller 1971:xxi)) are basic units of this language. The lambang represents not merely pairs of words connected by rhyme, but pairs in which symbolic or conceptual relations can also frequently be traced. However, these relations are meaningful only within the framework of the pantun tradition and do not exist outside its context. Therefore, if the above-mentioned principles of the rhythmic and phonic structure determine the' syntax' of the pantun 'language', the totality of lambang is a kind of 'vocabulary' of this 'language'. Several lexical layers can be singled out in this 'language'. The first conveys common linguistic meanings, so that the common human psychological experience is sufficient in order to understand pantun made up of these lambang. For instance, it is easy to understand the meaning of the following pantun: Awan beredar di gunung tinggi, Nyala pelita ditaruh minyak; Duduk di mana tuan kini? Hilang di mata di hati tidak. (Fantoen Melajoe 1938:162.)

Clouds drift over a high mountain, A lamp burns, filled with oil; Where are you now, in what climes? Lost from view but not from the heart.

The parallel between the clouds drifting in the sky and the beloved one wandering far off, between the burning lamp and love, which is not extinguished in the heart, are quite obvious. As obvious are also lambang in the following pantun: Di mana tempat kuang bertelur? Di atas lata di curang batu. Di mana sedap abang na' tidur? Di atas dada di ruang susu. (Za'ba 1964:104.)

Where does a pheasant lay its eggs? Above the waterfall, in a ravine between rocks. Where does your lover desire to sleep? On your chest, between your breasts.

Here we find a parallelism between the images of a pheasant hen and the beloved one, a ravine between rocks and the cleavage between the beloved's breasts where the lover wants to lay his head. Remarkably, all the key-words in this pantun are linked with each other by rhyme (kuang (pheasant) - curang

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(ravine) - abang (lover) - ruang (cleavage)), while other words are also connected in pairs either by repetitions (di mana, di atas) or by assonance (tempat - sedap, lata - dada). The meanings of the 'words', which belong to the second layer are not so self-evident, because, apart from the common linguistic meanings, they have semantic connotations specific for the pantun tradition. Being recurrent, stable and socialized, that is, commonly used and commonly understood, symbols, they make up the very core of the 'vocabulary' of this tradition. To understand the lambang of this layer, it is necessary to know what aspect of the phenomenon the tradition is emphasizing with them, which metaphorical meaning is being made the point, and to which words the phoniC structure of a given word hints. Thus, the following example will certainly require a comment: Kerengga di dalam buluh, Serahi berisi air mawar; Sampai hasrat di dalam tubuh, Tuan seorang jadi penawar. (Winstedt 1991:140.)

Large ants in a bamboo stem, A flask filled with rose water; When I am gripped by passion, Only you are the healing potion.

To understand the meaning of this pantun, one must know that the Malays associate the mention of a large ant (kerengga) with pangs of love resembling the stings of the ant, while rose water curing these stings, on the other hand, symbolizes the love of the person who has caused the pangs (Nevermann 1956:67). Lambang of the second layer are used to form the most exquisite and refined pantun, which are expected not only to refer to an object, but specifically allude to its signs and manifestations and weave a light web of suggestive echoes from these allusions. In them moonlight, a ripe yellow betel leaf or a pomegranate symbolize the beloved one; her earrings are a symbol of virginity; duck eggs symbolize loneliness, fragility and an unsettled way of life. Flowers of basil (selasih) mentioned in the sampiran are a hint of the word 'love' (kasih) which is to appear in the isi. The association between these words can be explained by the fact that in India basil is 'the symbol of happy wedlock, pervaded by the essence of Vishnu and Lakshmi and annually married to Krishna in every Hindu family' (Winstedt 1991:142). To this one can also add that in classical Malay literature basil is always connected with intoxication. Kemboja (frangipanni) flowers are associated with death, jasmine flowers with marriage, and so on. No less specific for the second level are lambangs in which phonetic allusions Come to the fore. If the word hujan (rain) appears in the sampiran, it is a hint at a bujang, an unmarried young man, in the isi. The mention of rama-rama, butterflies often flying in pairs, prepares one for a line with bersama-sama, 'being

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature

together' or 'dying together' of a loving couple. The motif of 'dying together' we find, for instance, in the following pantun about lovers who inflame each other with passion, which is described in terms of cockfighting: Buah rembega dibawa pulang, Rama-rama terbang ke Jawa; Adik membega, abang membulang, Sama-sama membuang nyawa. (Taib Osman and Sham 1975b:18.)

Rembega-fruits6 are being brought home, Butterflies are flying to Java; You excite your fighting-cock, I bind the spur to a foot of mine, [Like they] we will breathe our last together.

The word-combination antara Jati dan Bintan ('between Jati and Bintan', two toponyms) alludes to the receptacle of the most intimate emotions which is antara hati dan jan tung ('between the heart and the liver'), while the word padi - 'rice' is regularly associated with hati - 'heart' or 'soul'. Sometimes two rows of lambang, those in which the phonic side is more prominent and those which are mainly symbolic, interlace, and if, for instance, the numeral lima - 'five' appears at the beginning of a stanza, the phonic allusion will connect it with the word delima - 'pomegranate' while the semantic allusion will provide the final answer: as we already know, the beloved one will be mentioned in the pantun. Lambang based on geographical and historical associations and on allusions to legends and literary works also belong to the second layer. For example, in the following pantun: Ke Teluk sudah, ke Siam sudah, Ke Mekah sahaja sahaya yang belum; Berpeluk sudah, bercium sudah, Bernikah sahaja sahaya yang belum. (Za'ba 1964:131.)

I have been in Teluk, I have visited Siam, Only to Mecca I have not yet been; I have embraced [girls], I've kissed them, Only married I have not yet been.

In spite of the opinion of Winstedt (1991:139) that this pantun has 'no connection between the two couplets but sound-suggestion', the toponyms Teluk, Siam and Mecca are not only phonetic allusions to the words berpeluk (embrace), bercium (kiss) and bernikah (marry). The degree of their remoteness from the singer indicates how far he went in his love affairs, while different 'values' assigned to these toponyms by the Malays are indicative of how seriously he assesses each of these events. In order to understand the following pantun from Sejarah Melayu: Telur itik dari Senggora, Pandan terletak dilangkahi; Darahnya titik di Singapura, Badannya terhantar di Langkawi. (Taib Osman and Sham 1975b:5.)

Duck eggs came from Senggora, The spread-out mat has been trodden on; His blood was shed in Singapore, His body was interred in Langkawi.

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It is necessary to know that it tells about a certain Tun Jana Khatib who

arrived in Singapore from Pasai and, having noticed that the queen was looking at him from the window, boasted of his skills in magic, splitting the trunk of an areca palm with the power of his glance. Tun Jana Khatib was executed for this reckless act and buried on the island of Langkawi. Commenting on the sampiran of this pantun, Winstedt (1991:141) noted that duck eggs symbolized the hero's loneliness and unsettled way of life, while 'the white soft screw-pine mats found in Malay houses and which it is discourteous to tread with shod feet' symbolized' a fair woman who flings herself down before a lover but whose advances he ought to meet with the utmost tact'. Thus, the sampiran points to an action committed by a visiting wanderer, while the entire pantun reproduces the story of Tun Jana Khatib fairly faithfully? Names of literary characters, which are a kind of condensed reference to a certain episode, so to speak, are also used as lambangs. Ken Tambuhan, Panji Semirang, Hanuman, Laksamana, Arjuna, Raden Inu Kertapati and others are mentioned in many pantun. For instance, here is a pantun from Hikayat Indraputra, which mentions Seri Rama and the famous dam over the sea by which he reached Langkapuri to free his wife Sita. The meaning of the pantun is that, like Rama, Indraputra overcame all the obstacles to achieve union with his sweetheart: Seri Rama menambang tasik, Tasik ditambang di padang temu; Sekian lama menanggung kasih, Barulah sekarang kita bertemu. (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:301.)

Seri Rama has built a dam across the sea, By crossing it, he reached a meadow of wild ginger; I've been in love with you for so long, But only now do we meet at last.

Finally, the third level, the least stable one, ensures the relative openness and, by virtue of this, viability of the system of the pantun 'language' as a whole. Belonging to it are 'spontaneous' lambang which are created in the course of that peculiar poetic game which is represented by pantun improvisation - jocular squabbles or flirting of young men and girls, exchanges of mocking allusions, indirect expressions and utterances resembling one another phonetically. It is rarely that such symbols are really imbued with content, and it is they that provide grounds for the theory of purely phonetic associations in lambang. Sometimes the best of them are, however, remembered, begin to be repeated and then pass to the second level. It is this kind of lambang that, ensuring variation in the framework of the genre, prevents pantun symbolism from ossification and encourages a spirit of competition with what was created earlier and what seemed the ultimate achievement among the creators of pantun. Like any miniature poetic form (Persian ruba'i or Japanese tanka), the pantun

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tolerates no excesses. All that can be omitted is omitted, the syntax becomes elliptic, the meaning is conveyed by a hint, which is understood thanks to cultural associations to which pantun are oriented and whose light they reflect. Passing to colloquial speech and becoming part of a greater whole, a pantun tends to be compressed into one line, nearly into one word - an allusion to its entire content. A very typical example of such compression is found in the conversation of two Malay youths in Henri Fauconnier's book The Soul of Malaya: Osman: 'Whence leeches?' Mat (pensively): 'The pole broke.' Osman (protesting): 'Why should you have lit the lamp?' Mat (laughing ironically): 'Formerly a lemon-tree grew on the other bank.' (Fauconnier 1948:98-9.)

What is this? A fragment from a drama in the theatre of the absurd? Not at all: a usual conversation which is absolutely clear to any neighbour of the youths who knew that they were discussing Osmans failure in love, using the first lines of pantun (their omitted parts are quoted in brackets below): Osman: 'VVhenceleeches? (They stick to legs in the field. Whence love? It penetrates the heart from the eyes.), Mat (pensively): 'The pole on the hill broke, (Rotang grows in the lasih forest. You can't blame anyone. Did you say that you loved?), Osman (protesting): 'Why light a lamp (If it has no wick? Why play with eyes [that is, flirt], If feelings are not serious?)' Mat (laughing ironically): 'Formerly the lemon-tree grew on the other bank, (Grew on the hill near the belimbing tree. Formerly you were a furious tiger, Now you've turned into a goat because of such a trifle.)'s

Much could be said about in the language of pantun. This is evidenced by

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the thematic diversity of works belonging to the genre of the pantun. Lovers expressed in it their joy of love and sorrow of separation, rivals made fun of each other. As was rightly noted by Stiller (1971:xxii-xxiii): 'Every second pantun could be interpreted as mockery. Similarly, it can be assumed that an amorous content is hidden in most pantun, although this is not seen at first glance'. However, the pantun tradition cannot be reduced to amorous songs only. With the help of pantun of strangers (pantun dagang) wanderers expressed their nostalgia for their homeland and complained of the hardships of life in strange lands: Asam pauh dari seberang, Tumbuhnya dekat tepi tebat; Badan jauh di rantau orang, Sakit siapa akan mengobat? (Alisjahbana 1961:219.)

Tamarind9 from overseas lands, Grows near the bank of a fish-pond; I am far-away in foreign climes, Who will cure my homesickness?

Or: Orang Padang mandi di gurun, Mandi berlimau bunga lada; Hari petang, matahari turun, Dagang berurai air mata. (Alisjahbana 1961:219.)

In the waste land a Padangman is bathing, With lime juice and pepper pods; When the evening comes and the sun sets, The wanderer begins to shed tears.

Edifying pantun (pantun nasihat) were used by elderly people to teach wisdom and the precious art of behaviour (sopan-santun, budi-bahasa) to the young and to instruct them in the tenets of religion. Saya tidak menanam nanas,10 Tanam kepaya di dalam padi; Saya tidak memandang emas, Budi bahasa yang saya cari. (Taib Osman and Sham 1975b:21.)

I did not plant a pineapple tree, I planted a papaya in the rice-field; I did not strive to amass much gold, I sought only intelligence and manners.

Or: Padi muda jangan dilurut, Kalau dilurut patah batangnya; Hati muda jangan diturut, Kalau diturut susah datangnya. (Za'ba 1964:168.)

Don't drag stalks of the young rice, H you drag them, the stalks will break; Don't follow desires of the young heart, H you follow them, troubles will come.

Incantations of shamans, children's and sailors' songs and even astrological treatises (Overbeck 1914b) were not infrequently written in the form of pantun. The performance of pantun by two choirs or in turns by a young man and

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a girl resulted in the appearance of such a form of joining lines in a series of quatrains as the so-called 'stitched pantun' (pantun berkait), in which the second and fourth lines of the first quatrain become the first and third lines of the second one, and so on. For example: A fig tree by the rice plot grows, With branches drooping to the brake [emphasis by the present author]; My heart is fain to see the rose, The rose beset by jealous snake.

The branches drooping to the brake A climbing creeper strangles them; To win the rose beset by snake, Devise a guileful stratagem. The creeping vine that strangles them, A gallant lad shall lop away; Devise a guileful stratagem, The serpent sentinel to slay. The climbing creeper lopped away, Dangles and droops about the tree; The serpent sentinel to slay, Shoot with a shaft of sorcery. Dangles and droops about the tree, And falls among the flattened rice; Shoot with a shaft of sorcery, And hit or miss the serpent dies. (Wilkinson and Winstedt 1914:197-8.)

Sometimes such concatenations of pantun, which were so loved by the heroes of traditional Malay love romances and which became known to and were recreated by European poets (A. von Chamisso, Victor Hugo, Lecont de Lisle, Charles Baudelaire, Ivan Bunin and others},l1 assumed an extremely sophisticated form. Thus, the author of the chronicle Misa Melayu completed the narrative about the sea voyage of Sultan Iskandar of Perak with a 'stitched pantun' in which the first distich described the sultan's palace in detail, while the second contained praise of its owner (Winstedt 1991:145). An anonymous poet described the attack on Malacca by Raja Haji, the Buginese 'viceroy' of Riau, in 1784 with the help of a 'stitched pantun' made up of many dozens of quatrains (Maxwell 1890). Such works occupy a position on the border between pantun lyrics and the narrative poetry of syair.

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Romantic syair Problems connected with the origin of the syair, the main genre form of classical Malay poetry, with the evolution, functions, thematic varieties and stylistic features of narrative poems were touched upon in Chapter V. It has also been mentioned that the genre form of syair was used in all functional spheres of classical Malay literature. However, syair relative to the sphere of benefit (be they· poetical versions of framed tales and edifying mirrors in prose or syair-mirrors for which prose' doubles' do not exist) do not seem to present sufficient interest to be analysed in the chapter devoted to major works of Malay poetry. All the more so, as they do not add much to those characteristics of the genres of mirrors and framed tales, which have already been given above on the basis of prose compositions. Therefore, only three kinds of narrative poems will be discussed below: romantic, allegorical and historical syair. Romantic poems and allegorical syair about animals and plants normally belong to the sphere of beauty. However, if interpreted in terms of Sufi doctrine, they can at the same time occupy a position in the sphere of spiritual perfection. To put it differently, by providing the uninitiated reader, who only grasps their superficial semantic structure, with the possibility of enjoying their beauty, these poems become a means of psychotherapeutic influence on the soul. However, for the initiated reader, who penetrates into their deep, symbolic meaning, the same poems - similarly to Hikayat Indraputra or Hikayat Syah Mardan (see Chapters V and VIII) - can serve as an instrument of transformation of the spiritual heart. It goes without saying that only some romantic and allegorical syair possess such a 'double-deck' structure and, accordingly, function. The genre of historical syair sometimes occupies a position adjacent to the sphere of benefit, sometimes within this sphere. Not at all lacking in originality, the works of this genre are not infrequently imbued with the element of beauty too, and are not devoid of literary value. As for syair composed for the sphere of spiritual perfection only, they will be studied in Chapter VIII together with religio-mystical prose works. The most numerous and heterogeneous are Malay narrative poems of a romantic (amorous adventure) nature. We can begin their survey with a fairly numerous poetical adaptations of synthetic hikayat and tales traceable to Middle Eastern plots and themes, for instance Syair Indraputra, Syair Si Miskin (Marakarma), Syair Syams ai-Bahrain, Syair Indra Bangsawan and Syair Jauhar Manikam. Syair paraphrasing Javanese literary works and poems composed in the Javanese spirit also belong to this group. Such are Syair Wayang Kinudang

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composed in Banjarmasin in 1875 (Liaw Yock Fang 1991-93, 11:208-9) and Syair Damar Wulan Gumsari Jusuf 1971), to mention only two examples. However, the most numerous among syair inspired by Javanese literature were those based on plots borrowed from Panji-romances, which played an important role in the formation of the Hindu-Muslim literary synthesis in Malay poetry. No fewer than a dozen Panji syair are known. Judging by the number of their manuscripts in different collections, Syair Panji Semirang and Syair Mesa Gumitar (rhymed counterparts of the hikayat with the same titles) as well as Syair Ken Tambuhan enjoyed the greatest popularity among them. 12 The last-mentioned seems to be one of the romantic poems equally attractive to both the Malay audience and European students of Malay literature. With only a few exceptions, scholars did not rate syair-adaptations highly. Overbeck, who regarded most of these works as merely awkward versifications, denied them the right to be called poems at all. Since such syair could be memorized more easily than prose compositions, he believed that they were written for mnemonic purposes only. More interesting, however, is another of Overbeck's remarks on syair-adaptations. Easily comparable with their prose counterparts, these poems, judging by his observations, show that the domination of descriptive elements over narrative elements in syair was even more conspicuous than in fantastic adventure hikayat (compare Chapters IV, V). As Overbeck wrote: When prose works are compared with syair based on the same plot, one can see not infrequently that the versificator worked rather carelessly. He dwelt at length on emotional scenes, captivating adventures, descriptions of duels, and the like, often omitting, however, all that was between them, that is the narration proper, or retelling it in an extremely fragmentary way. As a result, the connection between episodes is not always clear, which is unusual for prose works. (Overbeck 1938:302.)

Comparative studies of syair-adaptations and the hikayat from which they were derived promise to yield valuable data for determining peculiarities of the poetics of Malay narrative poetry on the one hand, and narrative prose on the other. Poems that combine the amorous theme with the theme of the persecuted heroine form one of the most interesting varieties of romantic syair, which - judging from the number of manuscripts representing it - enjoyed great popularity. The plot of a persecuted protagonist, particularly a little girl, a maiden, or a princess, is widely spread in oral tales of many Indonesian peoples, including those of southern Sumatra Gamaris et al. 1993:397-8, 415-7, 419-21, 434-5, 446-7, 479-81). This, as we shall see, is important for a number of reasons and could be conducive to the popularity of this kind of syair. The latter includes, inter alia, Syair Ken Tambuhan (the 'Poem of Ken

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Tambuhan'), Syair Bidasari (the 'Poem of Bidasari'), Syair Selindung Delima (the 'Poem of Selindung Delima') and Syair Yatim Nestapa (the 'Poem of the Unfortunate Orphan'). When studying literary schools of the Malay world, Iskandar (1995: 476-95) suggested that all these syair had originated from Palembang, its authors being the first who, in the eighteenth century, began to compose poetical adaptations of fantastic adventure hikayat. To confirm his assumption, Iskandar on the one hand refers to a number of Hindu-Javanese motifs used in these poems and a noticeable admixture of Javanese and specifically Palembang words in them (unfortunately, his examples of each are rather scanty), and on the other hand he points to their identical main topic. These features, according to him, distinguish Palembang syair from similar romantic poems created in the nineteenth century in Riau, with their more pronounced Islamic spirit. The idea of the origin of romantic syair (especially its above-mentioned variety) from Palembang seems to deserve attention. Incidentally, this idea had already been expressed earlier. For instance, Van Hoevell (1843:xxiv) considered that Syair Bidasari could only have appeared in a centre of MalayJavanese literary contacts, most probably in Palembang. As a confirmation, he quoted a great number of Javanese words from the poem13 and Javanese etymologies for its heroines' names, Bidasari and Lelasari (Van Hoevell 1843: xxi-xxiii). On the basis of obvious resemblances between the plots of Syair Ken Tambuhan and Hikayat Jaran Kinanti Asmaradana (the 'Tale of Jaran Kinanti Asmaradana'), a Panji-romance composed in Palembang, as well as Palembang and south Sumatra provenance (or connections) of a number of this poem's manuscripts, Teeuw (1966b:xvi-xix, xxxiii-xxxiv) cautiously assumed that it was written in Palembang, probably in the eighteenth century. There is no doubt that in the second half of the eighteenth (perhaps even earlier) and the first decades of the nineteenth century Palembang was one of the major centres of literary activity, in which Malay literature met with Javanese literature. Local authors created a great number of religio-mystical and historical compositions as well as belles-lettres. Manuscripts of numerous works in Malay, Javanese and Arabic were kept in the library of the Palembang kraton, many of them composed by sultans themselves, their relatives and retainers. Romantic and didactic syair and allegorical poems about flowers and birds, not infrequently showing remarkable experiments with the poetical form, occupied a place of honour among their compositions. Palembang manuscripts also included Panji tales and collections of wayang plays.1 4 Needless to say, all this corroborates the assumption that in Palembang there existed conditions for the creation of the above-mentioned anonymous romantic syair too. However, the problem of whether they (and whether all of them) were actually written in Palembang requires further examination.

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The area in which the extant manuscripts of Syair Ken Tambuhan were once spread testifies to a high degree of probability of a Palembang origin for this poem. Besides, all the three recensions of Syair Ken Tambuhan (about them see below) were, one way or another, related to Palembang and/ or Palembang copyists, and the prose prototype of one of them, Hikayat Andaken Penurat (see Chapter III), was composed by Ahmad ibn Abdallah of Palembang (Voorhoeve 1970). Therefore, it is most likely that Syair Ken Tambuhan not only originated from Palembang, but also continued its development and transformation there. Ras (1968:152, 190-1), nevertheless, believes that it was composed in Banjarmasin, another important centre of Malay-Javanese literary contacts and, at the same time, of syair-writing. The majority of manuscripts containing Syair Bidasari are either of Batavia (Jakarta) or Riau provenances. IS Some data, although rather inconclusive, allow us to guess that Palembang manuscripts of the poem might also exist. 16 Besides, like Syair Ken Tambuhan, Syair Bidasari reveals the complex of features, which Iskandar tends to associate with Palembang poems more conspicuously than two other syair of the group. To this we can add that its portrayal of the heroine's appearance and the protagonists' garments as well as its conventions of the' amorous etiquette' (see Chapter III) show obvious influences of Panji-romances. Even less clear is the place of composition of Syair (and Hikayat) Selindung Delima. This poem also contains a handful of Javanese words, and two of its manuscripts, including the oldest one, were copied in south Sumatra (Bangkahulu) in the early 1780s and in 1859,17 At the same time, three other copies originate from Minangkabau (and their language is markedly Minangkabauized), one originates from Barus, two from Malacca, and one more from Penyengat {Riau).18 Remarkably, however, all the three syair were known in Java in 1814 and were copied together in one and the same manuscript Raffles Mal. 7, included among those received by Raffles from Suradimanggala, bupati of Demak, in that'Year.19 Finally, as Iskandar (1995: 493-4) himself noted, Syair Yatim Nestapa contains virtually no Javanese words. All three extant manuscripts of this poem (each of the earlier mentioned syair exist in about a dozen copies!) are of Riau provenance,20 and one of them (Klinkert 145) informs the reader explicitly that the poem 'was composed in Riau' (karangan Riau, Van Ronkel1921a:62). On balance, an impression is created that Syair Ken Tambuhan, composed most probably in Palembang on the basis of an episode from a Panji tale (perhaps Hikayat Jaran Kinanti Asmaradana), served as a model for the author of Syair Bidasari - a typical specimen of Hindu-Muslim synthesis or, to be more precise, a kind of 'Muslim Panji-romance' (the term offered by Koster, see note 50). Although Syair Selindung Delima shares a number of characteristic features with Syair Bidasari, it is difficult to say something definite about its

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belonging to the poetical school of Palembang so far. As far as Syair Yatim Nestapa is concerned, it could have been written by an anonymous Riau author, who followed the model that had become popular thanks to the three poems mentioned above. Hence its similarity with them. As early lists of Malay works (lists of Isaac de Saint Martin dated 1696, Valentijn 1724-26 and Werndly 1736; Mulyadi 1994:27-33) include no titles of romantic syair, the supposition that this genre developed around the mideighteenth century presumably in Palembang on the basis of the fantastic adventure hikayat seems to make sense. There are prose prototypes of De Hollander's recensions of Syair Kim Tambuhan (see below) and Syair Selindung Delima, namely Hikayat Andaken Penurat and Hikayat Selindung Delima (Robson 1969; Van der Tuuk 1849:394-6). Syair Bidasari also mentions its original in the form of a hikayat (Van Hoevell 1843:1[Arabic pagination]). If Ahmad ibn Abdallah, the author of Hikayat Andaken Penurat, was the father of the wellknown Palembang Sufi Kemas Muhammad (Drewes 1977:227), his work could have been written in the mid-eighteenth century. As we shall see, Hikayat (and Syair) Selindung Delima - incidentally, just as Syair Bidasari - reveal some ideological and structural resemblances to hikayat of the eighteenth century (of the type of Hikayat Maharaja Ali; see Chapter VI). Like the latter these hikayat have a simpler and more plot-focused structure than their predecessors of the sixteenth-the seventeenth century, with their specific ornamental composition (see Chapter V). At the same time, relationships between fantastic adventure hikayat and romantic syair were complicated enough. If Hikayat Andaken Penurat is the basis of one of the recensions of Syair Ken Tambuhan (Voorhoeve 1970), then Hikayat Ken Tambuhan is, on the contrary, based on the syair of the same title (Van Ronkel 1921a:24) in its earlier recension published by Teeuw (1966b). The Hikayat Bidasari mentioned in the syair, which has not been found so far, may never have existed at all, and so on. Be that as it may, the possibility of the existence of romantic syair, which had no prose prototypes or which served as prototypes of hikayat should not be ignored either.

Syair Ken Tambuhan (the 'Poem of Ken Tambuhan') This poem - the elegant elaboration of an episode from Panji tales (the socalled Angreni-motif) - is evidently one of the earliest syair devoted to the theme of women and the prototype of a series of similar syair, although more Islamic in their spirit. In their tum, Syair Ken Tambuhan and these poems can be viewed as forerunners of many sorts of Malay and Indonesian works composed in the early modem and more recent periods, in which this theme enjoyed great popularity.

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Composed not earlier than the late seventeenth century, but more probably in the eighteenth century in Palembang, Syair Ken Tambuhan is now extant in more than a dozen manuscripts that form three recensions: -

The short recension published by De Hollander in 1856;21 The 'middle size' recension published by Teeuw in 1966, found in the majority of manuscripts and probably containing the earliest text of the poem; The long recension published in one of its variants by Klinkert in 1886.22

As the content of Hikayat Andaken Penurat - the tale of Ken Tambuhan and Raden Mentri - has been already summarized in Chapter III, it is convenient to trace salient features of these recensions by way of comparing them to this hikayat. The short recension of Syair Ken Tambuhan closely resembles Hikayat Andaken Penurat (see Chapter III), of which it obviously represents a poetical adaptation (Voorhoeve 1970). Edited by De Hollander in 1856 and even earlier translated into Dutch by Roorda van Eysinga (1838),23 the recension is, however, different from the hikayat and all other recensions, as it ends with the death of protagonists. Since the manuscript used by Roorda van Eysinga is no longer extant, it is difficult to say whether the tragic finale should be explained by the abrupt ending of this manuscript or by a better correspondence of such a finale to the Romantic tastes of the age, the tastes of the editor and translator included (compare Teeuw 1966b:xxvii). Although Teeuw's recension largely coincides with the hikayat in its plot, it shows a number of characteristic differences. Ken Tambuhan, or Raden Puspakencana as she was called before becoming a captive, is represented as a princess of Tanjung Pura, not of Lasem (some manuscripts narrate that, in fact, she was the princess of Daha, abducted by Batara Kala and found by the king of Kuripan in a forest). Accordingly, the entire action takes place in Kuripan, of which the prince, who falls in love with her, bears the name of Raden Inu. All this brings this recension closer to Hikayat Jaran Kinanti Asmaradana, its probable source (Teeuw 1966b:xvii-xviii). In the further part of the poem, which concludes with the death of the protagonists, the plot corresponds, by and large, to that of Hikayat Andaken Penurat. However, the resurrection of the lovers is described differently in Teeuw's recension. In the hikayat, Batara Kala transforms their ashes into two blue lotuses, from which they appear in due course, after the ritual incensing (Robson 1969:58). In Teeuw's recension, gods send Batara Kala, who has received the magical flower Gandapurawangi (or Wijayamala) from the heavenly nymph Sugarba (compare Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati, Chapter III), to Kuripan, where, with the help of this flower, he restores the hero and the heroine to life. A magnificent

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wedding is arranged. The king of Daha comes to the wedding, thus confirming the true identity of Ken Tambuhan, the intended bride of Raden Inu. In the end the protagonists ascend the throne as the rulers of both Koripan and Daha (Teeuw 1966b:xiii-xiv). The long recension, apart from many more or less considerable peculiarities (particularly in the story of the protagonists' resurrection), contains a fairly curious sequel. After the lovers are restored to life, Raden Inu marries once again and, at the request of pregnant Ken Tambuhan, sets off to find for her the Coco-de-mer (buah pauh Zanggi), which is on an island where lives Kencana Wati, formerly a fairy Blue Lotus, guarded by Garuda, once her lover Sangyang Durga Nata. By the Garuda he is captured and imprisoned until his son grows up and rescues him, killing the Garuda by a magic arrow got from a dewa, whom the youth had released from tiger form. (Winstedt 1991:133; for a detailed comparison of the three recensions, see Teeuw 1966b:xx-xxii.)

Since Hikayat Andaken Penurat, with its portrayal of the main characters not unlike that of the poem, has been already discussed in Chapter III, it is hardly necessary to analyse Syair Ken Tambuhan in detail here. 24 Nevertheless, we cannot fail to quote at least a few examples of exquisite descriptions so characteristic for this syair, which, according to Winstedt, is the best specimen of 'the classic style', imbued with 'a note of joy and beauty never again recaptured' (Winstedt 1991:132-33). The first is an excerpt from the story about the prince's hunt (Teeuw 1966b:18): The prince shot an arrow from his blow-pipe, And hit the parakeet, the love-bird blue-crowned, Which fell into a cempaka entwined by a creeper, Behind the high wall of the royal park. The wounded bird fell down slowly On the kain [cloth] that Ken Tambuhan was weaving. The maid Ken Tadahan said with respect: 'My lady, catch it, but try to be quiet' [... ] The parakeet jumped very gently To the edge of Ken Tambuhan's kain. With a tender smile said Ken Tadahan: 'This little bird gives love to people'.

In this stanzas, the cempaka (casuarina) tree and a creeper that entwined it are natural symbols of lovers, while the wounded blue-crowned parakeet (serendit), a messenger of love, symbolizes not only this feeling, but also Ken Tambuhan herself, who, after being 'hunted', as it were, by Raden Mentri in the royal park, is destined to die because of her love for the prince. Thus, this scene - as if permeated by 'stimulating agents' (vibhava) and 'symptoms'

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(anubhava) of the erotic rasa - heralds metaphorically the future course of events in the poem. The second excerpt - typical for the style of the poem no less than the first one - is a moving description of inseparable lovers, which on the one hand can be traced to the tradition of pantun lyrics (compare Alisjahbana 1961:256), and on the other evokes associations with the words of love that Maharaja Salya spoke to his wife Setiawati before leaving for his final battle in Hikayat Pandawa lima (the 'Tale of the five Pandawa', Khalid Hussain 1964:150). If you tum into the water of the sea, I'll become a fish on the sandy shore. r shall ever remain true to my word, As r am yours flesh and soul. If you turn into the full moon, I'll become the owlet longing for it. o my lady, 0 my pure gold, r plead you - please don't part from me. If you are a flower with its petals opened, Then r am a bee, [attracted by the nectar]. You instilled confusion into my soul, Don't you have pity on me at all? If you turn into a shadowy tree, I'll become a peacock [living in its branches]. o my lady, I'll never be far from you, For r can't leave you even for a moment. (Teeuw 1966b:30.)

Finally, the third fragment contains one of the most dynamic seascape sketches in Malay poetry in which animate nature, addressing the king through the voices of billows, birds and thunder, is trying to keep him from a dangerous journey: Deep in sorrow, the king was looking at the billows Throwing themselves on the shore with a roar, And rolling back, smashing against the rocks, As if forbidding him from putting to sea. Flights of birds were crying incessantly, Mixing their cries with the roar of the billows, The thunder rumbled high in the sky, As if bemoaning the glorious king. Lightnings were shining, their radiant flashes Reflected in the sea, glittering in the water. Everyone around him, full of pity and concern, As if commanded the king to return. (Brandstetter 1893:16-7.)

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Syair Bidasari (the 'Poem of Bidasari') A number of romantic syair, however, do not have prose prototypes (or such prototypes has been lost), do not belong to any specific group of narrative plots (for instance, to Panji tales) and reveal a number of peculiarities of structure, descriptive motifs and themes, which oppose them to fantastic adventure hikayat. The most popular among such romantic syair is undoubtedly the extensive (more than 7,000 lines) Syair Bidasari (the 'Poem of Bidasari'). Like Syair Ken Tambuhan and Syair Selindung Delima (see below), the poem was used as a play in different varieties of Malay theatre, beginning from the third quarter of the nineteenth century.25 About a dozen manuscripts of Syair Bidasari, resembling in its plot the fairy-tale of Sleeping Beauty, are known. These manuscripts belong to two fairly different recensions, which using the names of their first editors can be called Van Hoevell's and Klinkert's recensions. 26 The recension of Van Hoevell that will be examined in this book seems to be a courtlier one. It is better embellished with pantun and descriptions, more refined and structurally coherent. The recension of Klinkert gives an impression of a simplification and popularization of the latter. Be that as it may, it is precisely in Klinkert's recension that Bidasari's suffering in the palace is portrayed in a particularly graphic way, not infrequently through rather crude though expressive images. For instance, after the queen has beaten up Bidasari, all her body, covered with bruises, becomes 'blue, and green, and black'. The queen's maids remark that their mistress is ready to eat Bidasari alive, 'to chop her up like a cucumber salad with pepper' (Tuti Munawar 1978:74). Another scene, elaborated no less vividly, is the first meeting of Bidasari with the king, when the girl takes him first for a forest ghost and then for a robber. This gives her (or rather, the author) a good chance to show her inexhaustible stock of swearwords. During the whole scene Bidasari repeatedly hides herself behind her couch, trying to use it as a barrier between them, while the king strains every effort to entice her onto the same couch, though without success (Tuti Munawar 1978:131-9). This fairly comical episode is also much longer in Klinkert's recension than in that of Van Hoevell. Finally, it is precisely in this more' democratic' recension that ladies-in-waiting unanimously condemn the evil queen for her injustice towards Bidasari and say that she will be punished for this by Allah, who will curse her and send her to hell (Tuti Munawar 1978:73-4). Not infrequently scholars explained the literary merits of the poem from its allegedly Hindu origin, believing that it could be dated back to Malacca times (Wilkinson 1907; Stiller 1971; ParnickeI1980), or to the early period of the dissemination of Islam in the Malay world (Van Hoevell1843). It seems, however, that specifically Hindu or even Indian features of any importance are fairly scarce in the poem. A number of narrative motifs, Indian only in

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their remote origin and widely spread in Malay classical literature; a handful of typically fairy-tale toponyms and, to a lesser degree, personal names; the occasional mention of Brahma's and Indra's gardens, of Arjuna, the Pandawa and Korawa; certain descriptive cliches which were put through the Javanese 'filter' and, finally, the description of ceremonies which had been 'naturalized' in the Malay world a long time before - this is virtually all that the poem owes to the Indian literary tradition. At the same time, the motivation of key moments of the plot and the characteristic didacticism deriving from the literature of edifying mirrors, which permeates the ideological and ethical message of Syair Bidasari, have an obviously Muslim origin. In addition, didactic passages in the poem cannot fail to evoke reminiscences of those occurring in Hikayat Isma Yatim, with which the author (or authors) of the poem may have been familiar. This further creates the impression that the syair is a typical work of the classical rather than the early Islamic period. Thus we have a work of a synthetic nature again, which resembles classical fantastic adventure tales in this regard, but which surpasses most of them in its more solid local foundation and its Malay (or Malay-Javanese) general colouring. Being an exemplary narrative poem of sorts, Syair Bidasari allows us to form an idea of the artistic principles underlying the entire romantic variety of this genre and therefore deserves detailed study. As has already been noted, the genre form of syair entered Malay literature at the tum of the sixteenth century. Peculiarities of the metrical structure and the rhyme in Syair Bidasari testify to the fact that its appearance before the 1670s is unlikely (V. Braginsky 1991:138-51). At the same time, the earliest manuscript of the poem (Raffles Mal. 7) is dated 1814 (Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:133). Therefore, the most probable time of composition for Syair Bidasari is the second half of the eighteenth century (compare Bausani 1970:312; Iskandar 1995:477). The Muslim spirit of the poem, mentioned above, also corroborates this date. Besides, judging from some peculiarities of Syair Bidasari, it must have originated from an area of Malayo-Javanese literary contacts, most probably from Palembang, as Iskandar (1995:477-8) believes. All the more so as the composition of the most frequent rhymes in this poem, typical precisely for syair of the Palembang-Riau school, confirms his assumption (see Chapter V; V. Braginsky 1991:146-51). In the first stanza of Syair Bidasari (Van Hoevell 1843:1) a certain tale (hikayat) is mentioned, of which the poem allegedly represents a versified reworking. However, even if it existed, this hikayat has not been preserved, and at present we have only the poem, which, in Van Hoevell's recension studied below, is divided into five stories (kisah), or rather cantos.27 The syair begins with the story of a powerful sultan, the ruler of Kembayat (Cambay, a sea port in Gujarat), who enjoys a happy reign (the theme of joy

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(suka». The sultan's wife is expecting a child. The spouses live a carefree life until a disaster comes, suddenly turning their happiness into sorrow. Kembayat is attacked by a garuda which destroys it and scatters its residents. The sultan and his wife flee from the palace and, having surrendered themselves to the Will of the Most High, wander for many days in the impassable jungle. Completely exhausted by the wanderings, the queen gives birth to a girl of indescribable beauty. This scene, one of the best in the poem, gives an idea of its style which is characterized by an obvious predilection for ornamental descriptiveness and,' at the same time, by the attention paid to psychologically expressive human actions portrayed through realistic details of everyday life: The sultan went on with his wife, Leading her by the hand; They were looking for the bank of the river, [But, tired,] had to stop after every two steps. When the sultan reached the river bank, He saw a boat in front of him, With a deck and a cabin in the stem, 'Have a rest' [, he said,] 'let your legs hang down'. That was the night of the full moon, Which poured its radiance all around; The queen was exhausted because of birth pangs, And the sultan looked at her with compassion. Bright was the moon on its fourteenth night, At three in the morning it began to dawn; The face of the sultan also brightened With great compassion for his wife in pain. The gentle breeze came from the south, In the jungle wild cocks started crowing loudly, Their crows were answered by the cries of peacocks, As if these birds were greeting the sultan. When a cloud covered the edge of the moon, Making it similar to the face of a maiden, Who was bashfully watching her loved one, The queen gave birth to a daughter. The sultan's spouse gave birth to a daughter, Whose beautiful face matched that of Mandudari;28 The queen was suffering greatly in labour, And the sultan held her head on his lap. (Van Hoevell 1843:3.)

Being unable to cut through jungle thickets with a child in their arms, the spouses leave the newborn girl on the ship and go off, pouring out their grief in lengthy monologues, one of which is exquisitely styled as a lullaby. The first canto is concluded by the theme of sorrow (duka) in which, however, a gleam of hope is discerned:

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature The king and the queen set off on a journey. Alone, without companions or friends, They walked, tormented by deep sorrow, Along the road lit by the bright moon. The moonlight played on the tops of high mountains, Producing joyous iridescence. (Van Hoevell 1843:7.)

The second canto begins with the theme of joy again: N ow the story will be told, About a certain reputable merchant. Who was the owner of boundless wealth, Whose life was full of incessant joy. (Van Hoevell1843:8.)

This merchant, Lela Jauhara by name, lives in the city of Indrapura. The only thing that overshadows his life is the absence of children. One day he goes to the river in the company of his wife, hears someone's sorrowful weeping and finds a charming infant girl abandoned by her royal parents. He brings her home in delight, makes her his daughter and names her Bidasari. In order to protect his stepdaughter from the vicissitudes of life, the merchant takes the vital spirit from her body and transmigrates it into a fish made of pure gold. He hides the fish in a precious casket and immerses the casket in the pond inlaid in multicoloured marble in the midst of his pleasure park. Bidasari lives in the merchant's house, enjoying parental love and care, and grows into a girl of unequalled beauty. The sultan Johan Mengindra rules the city of Indrapura. Although two years have passed since he married the 'beautiful, well-behaved and eloquent' princess Lelasari, he still adores his wife, fulfills all her wishes and does not even think about another woman. One day the queen asks Johan Mengindra whether he could marry a second wife if her beauty and intellect proved equal to hers. The king tries to avoid a direct answer, but in the end admits half-jokingly that if such a woman really did exist, he could perhaps take her to the palace and 'make her my lady's friend'. Lelasari is enraged and, in spite of the king's comforts, either tender or passionate, the fear of a possible rival continues to torment her. The queen decides to send servants to a jeweller and orders a golden fan of unusual beauty, set with lapis lazuli and diamonds. When the fan is ready, Lelasari hands it to her ladies-in-waiting (dayang) and orders them to make a round of all the homes of courtiers on the pretext of selling the fan. In such a way they will probably find out whether there is a girl in Indrapura whose beauty is comparable with hers. The ladies-in-waiting set off to carry out the queen's order. This gives the author a chance to tell a few fairly funny stories portraying the inspection of the fan, the fuss thus made in the women's quarters of distinguished households, caustic questions by their inhabitants who

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wonder whether the queen has sunk into such poverty that she has to sell off her riches, and their debates with ladies-in-waiting over the price of the fan. Having failed to find belles worthy of the name in the families of courtiers, the queen's messengers decide to visit the kampong of merchants. After coming to Lela Jauhara's house, they are struck by Bidasari's beauty and realize immediately that the queen is no match for her. Bidasari likes the fan, and although the merchant's wife (who suspects a trick) is against the purchase, Lela Jauhara cannot deny anything to his daughter and yields to her tears. The ladies-in-waiting return home and tell the queen about Bidasari's beauty: She sweetly casts sidelong glances And smiles as befits one, lowering her eyes; Her skin has a sheen of a greenish cempaka Or that of a picture which is freshly painted. Her cheeks reminded us of two halves of a mango, Her shoulders, of a puppet in a shadow-play. As she chewed betel, we admired her throat That expanded delicately when she swallowed saliva. Her nose resembles a bud of jasmine, Her complexion, golden like the yolk of an egg, And radiant-white like crystal, is set off By her coiffure similar to unfolding palm blossoms. Her lips are red like a betel-quid first torn, The orchid in her hair, a match for her neck As elegant as the bump on an elephant's forehead, Imparts an even greater charm to Bidasari. Her teeth are like seeds in a cracked pomegranate, Her breasts are like the eggs of a golden oriole. We could not take our eyes off her, Beautiful like the queen of Mount Ledang. 29 Her thighs are shapely as those of a grasshopper [... j, Her calves, as two grains of rice in an ear [... j, Her heels, as two eggs laid by a hen [... j. The golden nail on her left hand matches Her fingers, as delicate as a porcupine's needles; Though many are the daughters of ministers here, None of them is equal to Bidasari in beauty. (Van Hoevell 1843:20-2.)

Beyond herself with anger and envy, Lelasari orders her ladies-in-waiting to be silent about the beauty of the merchant's daughter and sends one of them, Dang Baiduri, to kidnap her. Although Dang Baiduri manages to make friends with Bidasari, her abduction proves to be beyond her abilities. Besides, she feels sympathy for the girl and persuades the queen that the easiest way to entice Bidasari in the palace is simply to invite her there. Lelasari invites the girl on the pretext that, as the king and she have no children, she is ready to adopt her. The merchant and his wife, still tormented by foreboding,

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reluctantly let their daughter go, after instructing her in court etiquette (this episode evokes associations with Isma Yatim's instructions). As the queen sees Bidasari, she confirms the truthfulness of her servants' words about her beauty and decides to kill her. Comforting the scared girl with hypocritical promises to let her go home as soon as she wishes, she leads her to a dark room and locks her up there. Bidasari's torments begin. She spends days and nights in complete darkness, crying, calling her parents in vain and imploring her tormentor to release her. The queen tortures the girl in all possible ways, she beats and starves her; sometimes she makes a plait out of her kain, fixes it around the body of the fainted girl and drags her around, assuring her ladies-in-waiting that the girl made attempts on her life. Only the appearance of Johan Mengindra in the women's quarters of the palace makes the queen act more cautiously, but every time she manages to deceive him, saying that the cries and moans reaching him from remote chambers are only voices of romping children or the sobbing of a child whom she had to punish. To Bidasari's mournful inquiries about her guilt, Lelasari answers with cruel outspokenness that she is guilty of possessing such an overwhelming beauty that the king will not be able to resist its charm. It is for this reason that she is doomed to be imprisoned in this room forever. When Bidasari's suffering becomes unbearable, she addresses Allah in a prayer, imploring Him to take away her life: Then said Bidasari in a soft voice: '0 my Lord Allah, 0 Allah my Lord, Has your creature committed a sin so grave That You have no mercy on her any more? You deprived me of mercy, 0 Lord of Fates, Even as tiny as the edge of a nail! o One Divine, 0 Allah my Master, Please take my life without delay! Take Your slave's life here and now To satisfy the desire of the queen, Who, no one's match in cruelty and fury, Humiliates people in any way she likes. Though I was born unfortunate and humble, Never in my life I have hurt anyone; Now, separated from my mother and father, I cannot endure such torments any longer.' (Van Hoevell1843:37-8.)

This prayer of Bidasari, the powerful prayer of someone humiliated mentioned by Bukhari al-Jauhari in Taj as-Salatin, becomes the crucial point of the whole poem. The theme of sorrow and suffering, of which the notes became audible in the story about the attack of Garuda on Kembayat, is gradually

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reaching its peak. Only the death of the heroine can become its climax, and Bidasari does die, but her death entails unexpected consequences ... Seeking deliverance from her sufferings, the girl tells Lelasari about the mystery of the golden fish: she will die if the queen takes the fish from the casket, wears it as a pendant on her neck by day and puts it back into the casket for the night. The queen appropriates the fish and, as soon as she takes it from the casket, Bidasari falls down motionless. Her dead body is delivered to the merchant's house. Lela Jauhara and his wife bemoan their daughter who was lovely 'like the reflection of a flower in water'. However, at night, when the queen puts the fish back into the casket, the charms lose their power over Bidasari and she revives. Thus, at the inscrutable Will of Allah, who has heard the girl's prayer, her death is transformed into her salvation. Bidasari tells her parents about her sufferings in the palace. Listening to her tale, Lela Jauhara sheds tears, which, lit by candlelight, 'look like darkblue sapphires' in the darkness of the night. After that he utters one of the sharpest diatribes in classical Malay literature, cursing, in a purely Islamic spirit, his age, courtiers and the queen herself: Don't look for high rank and for noble birth, Seek perfect reason and the soul restrained; Avoid friendship with ladies-in-waiting, As they are venom, not a drug against it! The present age is the age of turmoil, When so many enjoy their villainy; Ladies-in-waiting are a treacherous lot, Unworthy admittance into the palace! Untrue to their promise or word, They only strive for wealth and riches, Which, 0 my brothers and companions all, Are signs that Doomsday is near at hand. Said Muhammad, the Seal of the Prophets: 'The Messiah's appearance will herald that day'; Ladies-in-waiting, though slaves by birth, Pave the path to the top by their calumnies [... ] Because the queen is cruel and fierce, She pays no heed to her people's opinion; She is so wayward in all that she does, As no one dares to forbid her a thing. Although a monarch lawfully crowned, She is an oppressor in her evil mind, Who does not know what justice means, Who does not fear the Only Lord. Is it a custom of powerful kings To punish subjects who commit no crime? Struck by the curse of God Who Is One, She herself will also perish one day. (Van Hoevell 1843:48.)

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Next morning Lelasari puts on her fish-pendant again and Bidasari collapses in a dead faint like the day before. This happens every day, but concern does not leave Lela Jauhara. The merchant fears the queen and her maids spying around. Therefore, he gives orders to build a house for his daughter in the midst of a thick forest. Around the house he lays out a garden with flower beds and a pavilion, of which the beauty is not second to that of Indra's and Brahma's heavenly pleasure parks, and settles Bidasari in that secluded place, behind seven high fences. After coming to life at night, Bidasari feels sad and lonely, like an owlet (pungguk) on a moonlit night. Like the first canto of the syair, its second canto that also begins with the theme of joy, is concluded by the theme of sorrow. Nonetheless, again, the promise of overcoming this sorrow is heard in the final lines: Bidasari's soul found a consolation In a lory-parrot which lived in the house, It became her friend and interlocutor, She spent every night talking to the bird. In addition, the merchant came to see her often, On the pretence of hunting a deer in the forest. (Van Hoevell 1843:53.)

As we shall see, the two concluding lines contain an allusion to the content of the following canto. The third canto also begins with the theme of joy, even double joy, as two heroes - the king Johan Mengindra and the queen Lelasari - experience this feeling at one and the same time, although for different reasons: Listen to this story, 0 my dear lords, People say that the king Johan Syah by name Was a famous ruler powerful and wise Whose life was full of incessant joy. As for his wife, the queen Lelasari, Her joy and jubilation were beyond description, From the day when she took Bidasari's life, Her every day was filled with joy. (Van HoevellI843:54.)

One night the king sees in a dream that the moon falls into his lap. In the morning he asks his minister to interpret his dream and learns that it heralds his second marriage. Johan Mengindra repeats that he will not marry a woman who is second to Lelasari in merits and that no such a woman can be found. The minister, who is not so confident of the fact, laughs and advises that the king should not give hasty promises, in order to avoid breaking them in the future. Eventually, this somewhat frivolous passage takes the form of a short didactic mirror on the qualities of kingly brides, four of which the vizier regards as the most important:

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She must be: firstly, your equal by birth. Secondly, the richest in the whole country. Thirdly, a belle of irresistible char. Fourthly, intelligent and well-behaved. (Van Hoevell 1843:56.)

The subsequent course of events is to prove, as it were, that it is precisely Bidasari who perfectly embodies this ideal. In the meanwhile, the king leaves the audience hall and returns to Lelasari. She feigns distress at his appearance, thus forcing the king to deliver a lengthy monologue full of tenderness, which concludes with a series of amorous pantun. Comforted by his oaths of fidelity and promises to bring her a couple of live deer from the forthcoming hunt, Lelasari falls asleep. The king, however, feels an unaccountable melancholy. He remembers his dream and looks at the moon, which has appeared in a gap between the clouds. Unable to fall asleep, he listens attentively to the plaintive voice of an owlet, the songbird longing for the moon, a symbol of the enamoured. The moonlit night and the owlet, to which Bidasari has already been likened at the end of the second canto, indirectly make the story of Johan Mengindra's insomnia suggestive of the future of the protagonists. Just like the scene with the wounded parakeet from Syair Ken Tambuhan, this story, also woven from what Sanskrit critics would call 'symptoms' of the erotic rasa, cannot fail to evoke a foreboding that their meeting is imminent. In the morning the king, followed by a cavalcade of riders, departs for the hunt. However, the day proves unlucky for them. In their futile searches for game hunters happen on the garden, which Lela Jauhara has laid out in the middle of the forest. The king's companions try to persuade him to leave the place as soon as possible, as it must have been an abode of evil spirits, but the king's inquisitiveness gets the upper hand over his fear and Johan Mengindra enters the palace alone. After passing through richly decorated chambers in which he finds nobody, the king opens the door of Bidasari's bedroom and sees a sleeping girl covered by a shawl on a bed. Having realized that she is not a demon but a human being, Johan Mengindra raises the shawl and nearly faints, struck by the girl's beauty. He falls in love with her at first sight and tries to wake her up, but to no avail. On leaving his betelquid, a sign of his love, in Bidasari's vessel and promising to come back the next day, Johan Mengindra departs only to spend another sleepless night. Meanwhile, Bidasari regains her senses, finds a betel-quid in her vessel and becomes terrified. However, seeing that nothing has disappeared, she decides that it was the mischief of a harmless forest spirit. The next day the king comes to Bidasari's house again. He notices that somebody has taken a bath and eaten fruits at night and decides to stay in order to uncover the mystery of the sleeping beauty. At midnight Bidasari regains consciousness. She is scared at the sight of the king, whom she first

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takes for an evil forest spirit and then for a robber, and tries to escape only to fall into his embrace. Having comforted the girl who has at last recognized her monarch, Johan Mengindra asks why she lives in the forest house. Bidasari admits that she is Lela Jauhara's daughter but she is reluctant to tell the king why her father hides her in the forest. Most of all Bidasari is afraid that the king, who is ready to ask the merchant for his daughter's hand, will bring her to the city, where she will again find herself in the trap of Lelasari's intrigues. Therefore, Bidasari tries to convince the king that a second marriage will enrage the queen. However, Johan Mengindra assures his new beloved that she says so only because she is not aware of Lelasari's merits. Everyone who has lived side by side with her even a short time, knows how kind she is and how just in her sympathies and antipathies. Bidasari finds herself in a desperate situation, described by the author with great psychological cogency. Confident of his wife's magnanimity, Johan Mengindra will certainly interpret her story as slander. At the same time, his inquiries are so insistent that her evasive answers, not devoid of cats let out of the bag ('Her Majesty made me her adopted daughter, / And life became hateful to me'), only increase his curiosity. Eventually, after countless assurances of love and promises made by the king to believe her every word, Bidasari tells Johan Mengindra about her torments at the palace and her death after Lelasari took away the golden fish. Shocked by his wife's perfidy, the king promises to bring Bidasari the fish, bids her goodbye and rides to the capital. When he is back in Indrapura, Johan Mengindra does not reveal his awareness of Lelasari's evil deeds. He says that he was delayed only because he wanted to entertain himself a little and reacts to his wife's reproaches by promising that next day he will not return home empty-handed. Otherwise, he laughs, he will buy her game at a bazaar. Most of his jokes are ambiguous and hint at his meeting with Bidasari and his desire to marry her. Playing with his wife, he, as if by chance, touches her breast and feels the golden fish under her garments. At night, however, he discovers that the golden fish has disappeared. This completely convinces him that Bidasari told him the truth. In the meantime, Lelasari has a strange dream: a thief stripped her of her kain, thus disgracing her, and vanished as suddenly as he appeared. In the morning, the meaning of the dream becomes obvious. As he embraces his wife before his departure, Johan Mengindra, suddenly snatches the golden fish off her neck and rides away, paying no attention to her curses and supplications. To her great surprise, Bidasari wakes up in broad daylight. Soon she hears loud sounds of an orchestra and hides herself behind her bed in fear. Then her parrot begins singing pantun, forecasting her meeting with the king before long:

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Betel-nuts are dipped in a crystal flask, Tun Malini is sowing the saffron grass; You are full of love, the king of passion, Your tryst will happen today at last. (Van Hoevell 1843:90.)

Soon the king appears in the forest house, finds Bidasari and hands her the golden fish. He sends for the merchant and his wife and orders his servants to summon all the subjects. On arriving at the king's call, Bidasari's stepparents see their daughter and the king sitting side by side and are amazed that they match each other as perfectly 'as Indra and a heavenly nymph'. The king receives Lela Jauhara kindly, reminds the merchant about their old friendship and asks for his daughter'S hand, after rejecting his humble assurances that the position of the king's maid is more suitable for Bidasari. Then Johan Mengindra orders his minister to have a city built in the forest. The minister begins his work by erecting a triple ring of walls with iron, copper and silver gates in them. The first gate is guarded by a host of jinn, raksasa and belligerent Abyssinians; the second gate, by detachments of spirits and peris, and the third, by a countless army of humans. Inside the walls palaces built of gold tower and marvellous parks rustle with their leaves. The parks are embellished with elegant pavilions, of which the main one, with its eight halls radiating from the central one, resembles an open flower. Forty-day-Iong pre-wedding ceremonies begin. All the king's subjects - the rich and the poor, ministers and commanders - are feasting and engaging in merrymaking. Goblets set with diamonds are passed around, and the unremitting interest of the guests in their contents allows the author to draw a funny picture of all-round intoxication: Even the cup-bearer was drunk as a lord, His eyes became bloodshot and flaming, Whatever he said was incoherent He roared like a tiger ready to attack. Inebriated, he swayed like a sweet-basil flower, Whereas the flower behind his ear Had drooped and covered it, faded and wilted Just look at these people - all are mellow and merry! (Van Hoevell 1843:95-6.)

The drinking is followed by the singing and dances of skilful dancers whose motley kains are spread like the tails of peacocks ready for a fight with each other. This so delights charming lady-spectators enjoying their performance that they even fail to notice that their buns have loosened. On the fortieth day the wedding ceremony takes place, after which the newlyweds, accompanied by Bidasari's pet parrot, withdraw into the bedchamber. Flapping its wings and dancing, the mischievous bird begins to sing nuptial pantun:

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Bidasari is angry to the insolent parrot and flings a nut at it, but the king only laughs at its jokes. This scene is amazingly reminiscent of the passage about the princess playing with peacocks from Hikayat Isma Yatim (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:53-4). The comical episode of the parrot's pranks concludes the description of the wedding merrymaking, and the following stanzas about the delights of the nuptial night are written in almost Sufi tones: In the meantime, night had fallen And opened all the gates of amorous passion. After the midnight Siti Bidasari Dozed off for a while on her quilt-mattress, Like the scent of a tuberose or an olive flower, Her fragrance made the world go round. She sank into slumber, full of melancholy, Her kain slipped off, exposing her waist, Slim like a shoot of the angsoka-tree, And the king kissed it, quenching his desire. Bidasari fainted and came to herself Only after the morning had already dawned, In sleep, her face was shiny and bright, As houris surrounded her in her dream. She slumbered, beholding Deeds of Allah, Contemplating raptly Attributes of Allah, And, intoxicated by the Grace of Allah, She dissolved, as it were, in the Sea of Allah. Stripped of her body, she saw herself In Jannat al-Mawa, the Garden of Mirrors,31 Her body and soul grew tired with joy, As she saw the houries merrily laughing. (Van Hoevell 1843:100.)

Bidasari spends several days in the company of the king in lovemaking and enjoyment. Her kindness overcomes the feeling of offence in her soul, and one day she asks her husband why he does not pay a visit to his first wife. The king does not want even to hear about it, but Bidasari insists, and in the end he agrees to go and see Lelasari. However, the latter turns her back on

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the king and says that now that he has become a 'merchant's son-in-law' and 'a jungle monkey's' husband, he is no longer her equal, because she was born into a royal family. Johan Mengindra tries to bring his wife to see reason, assuring her that Bidasari is not vindictive and that as soon as Lelasari overcomes jealousy 'venom turns into antidote / and the enemy will become a friend'. His words do not impress Lelasari a bit. She cries out to the king that he has disgraced himself before the whole world because of his stupidity and that he may be off to his beloved who is 'rough like a mat'. Johan Mengindra departs in anger, replying that no one can blame him for love, while she has really gained notoriety because of her cruelty and has deserved severe punishment. Thus, in complete conformity to the change in the heroine's fate, the third canto has a dual conclusion: Bidasari's sorrow is replaced by joy, while Lelasari's joy ends in sorrow. Now the king has found a wife who is endowed with three merits of an ideal spouse. The only merit that she lacks is noble descent. Therefore, the fourth canto is devoted to the disclosure of Bidasari's royal descent. This canto opens with the theme of sorrow: the ruler of Kembayat, who returned to his country after Garuda flew away, passes the time in sorrow for his lost daughter: Since the time that the king resumed the throne, He has been passing his days in mourning, Drying tears that welled up in his eyes, Unable to learn any news of his daughter. (Van Hoevell 1843:104.)

Meanwhile a son is born to the king and he is called Putra Bangsawan. When the boy grows up, he asks his parents about the cause of their sorrow and learns about his sister whom they left in the jungle. The young man undertakes to find her. He gathers all the merchants coming to Kembayat and inquires from them about Bidasari. Senapati, the son of one of Bidasari's nurses, comes to him among other people. Amazed by Putra Bangsawan's similarity with Bidasari, he tells him that Lela Jauhara adopted a girl found in the jungle who looks strikingly similar to the king's son. Both hurry to visit the king who confirms that Bidasari is really his daughter after a conversation with Senapati. Putra Bangsawan sails off for Indrapura in the company of Senapati and his friends. The merchant who by that time has moved to the jungle city receives him with joy and, having put luxurious attire on him, brings him to Johan Mengindra. Delighted townswomen whisper to one another that the young man is a copy of Bidasari and that he is as handsome as Arjuna. On arriving at the king's palace, Putra Bangsawan tries to pose as a wanderer without kith or kin, who is looking for his lost sister. However, the youth's appearance and manners betray his royal origin. Senapati dis-

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closes Putra Bangsawan's identity and tells Johan Mengindra that in fact this 'wanderer' is the son of the king of Kembayat, while Bidasari is his sister and, consequently, only the adopted daughter of the merchant. The king of Indrapura brings the youth to his young wife. Indra Bangsawan tells astonished Bidasari about the attack of Garuda and the wanderings of his royal parents. Only complete exhaustion after their long wanderings forced the king and the queen to leave their newborn child in the jungle, where the merchant found her. Everyone is extremely happy, especially the king who learns that Bidasari is of royal descent like himself. The news about this flies across the city and reaches Lelasari, thus making her humiliation complete. She complains of her fate, cursing her treacherous ladies-in-waiting, who abandoned her as soon as they learnt about the king's wrath. She repents of what she has done and sends a maid to tell the king of it. However, despite her supplications and intercession of Bidasari, who explains Lelasari's behaviour only by her jealousy and tries to persuade Johan Mengindra to relent and send ladies-in-waiting back to her 'elder sister', the king is not inclined to forgive offences so easily. He declines reconciliation with his wife, saying that it is probably only in the future that he will visit her and concluding his monologue with the following words: Let her experience grief for a while, So that she might know what her guilt is. H she stays alone in regret and repentance, She will sort out her sins much sooner. (Van Hoevell1843:128-9.)

The theme of joy concludes the fourth canto. Putra Bangsawan, who becomes Johan Mengindra's best friend, passes the time happily in the company of the king and Bidasari. Only one thing upsets him sometimes, namely that his parents cannot share his happiness in regaining his sister and finding a friend. The youth is going to depart for Kembayat to tell his father and mother that he has found Bidasari. The beginning of the last, fifth canto, just like the beginning of the previous one, is marked by a brief return of the theme of sorrow. It appears in Putra Bangsawan's tale about his father's grief at the absence of news about his daughter and in the words of Johan Mengindra who is deeply distressed by the thought of his friend's departure: His Majesty was in deep melancholy [... ] The king said, his face full of sorrow, As he suffered from both distress and regret [... ] (Van Hoevell 1843:130.)

However, everything turns out to the best advantage of all. A messenger is sent to Kembayat, and both problems are solved at one stroke. The ruler

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of Kembayat, accompanied by his army, hurries to Indrapura and solemnly enters its capital: Bristling with its shields and long lances, The army looked like a marching fortress, From the dust it raised, the moon had faded Like the face of a woman sunk in sorrow. Its swords and spears were shining brightly Like an island amidst the stormy ocean. [... ] His Majesty rode on the rogue elephant, Followed by carriers of his betel-bowls, Of standards with bells and the royal umbrella That was opened over the head of the monarch. Sounds of drums, clarinets and trumpets Merged in a thunderous, deafening roar. (Van Hoevell 1843:139.)

The touching meeting of Bidasari with her parents takes place, finally followed by general merrymaking. Ships are equipped which take the whole crowd to islands where ladies of the court gather pink and white shells. Putra Bangsawan asks his father's permission to go hunting. During the hunt an episode takes place which closely resembles the main plot of the poem and which is designed, as it were, to recall to memory its content by association. ChaSing a tiger, the youth goes astray and happens on an enchanted garden laid out in the midst of the forest by a king named Maharaja Lela. A two-headed !frit, the ruler of peris, has killed the king and keeps his beautiful daughter in captivity. Putra Bangsawan kills Ifrit, dispels charms and, having married the king's daughter, founds the city of Indranegara. The poem is concluded by the story of the happy rule of all three kings in their respective countries and of Lelasari's belated repentance. The theme of joy is triumphant eventually. Even this fairly generalized summary of Syair Bidasari reveals the compleXity, richness and diversity of its ideological content, the skilful use of traditional descriptive and narrative techniques, to which the author manages impart an additional refinement here and there, as well as his masterful command of metaphors, allusions and ambiguous, polysemic expressions. Thus, Syair Bidasari is neither one of the countless folk-tales about 'the persecuted heroine' (Meletinsky 1958:161-212), of which the archetypal features are, nevertheless, discernible in the plot of the poem, nor a common amorous romance about the union of a royal bridegroom with his bride. Motifs of such folk-tales and romances, which are present in the poem, are organically combined in it with elements of Muslim didactic literature. The poem offers to its reader a 'mirror' for noble ladies of the court, instructions on ethics, state wisdom and marital virtues, an eschatological based criticism of court mores and even the entire doctrine of Divine Predestination and fate. It is. noteworthy that these didactic elements do not simply play the role of more

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or less appropriate insertions. Their role is very active and, as we shall see, they largely determine the very structure of the poem. Even more importantly, the message of Syair Bidasari cannot be reduced to an entertaining, picturesque and sometimes amusing narration of its heroes' adventures either (in this regard, the poem is inferior to many hikayat and syair, for instance, Syair Raja Mambang ]auhari). The core of this message is the affirmation of a lofty ethical ideal. In its social aspect this ideal is presented as justice that was preordained in Allah's immutable Law from the very beginning of time. In its individual and characterological aspect, this ideal is presented as faith in the victory of kindness, humaneness and the ability to forgive over cruelty, intolerance and malicious arrogance. The presentation of this ideal, which is both direct, that is didactic, and indirect, is achieved, in the latter case, by the demonstration of mutual relations of heroes and of their psychology, albeit interpreted in a generalized rather than an individualized way, through their monologues, which add to the poem's lyrical as well as dramatic nature, and finally with the help of clear and well-motivated development of the plot, not complicated by a number of parallel lines in the narration. This makes Syair Bidasari a true work of art. It is this perfect elaboration of the three aspects of the poem, psychological, lyrical and that of the plot, combined with the exquisite descriptiveness, and rich euphonic 'texture',32 that allow us to regard the poem as an exemplary syair. Although the main means of arranging narration in Syair Bidasari is the plot rather than the composition (see Chapter V), the degree of compositional ordering of the poem is also very high. On the whole, the well-balanced and symmetrical composition of the poem, consisting of five parts or cantos, is close to what we have observed in Hikayat Indraputra. The two main principles of the composition of Syair Bidasari attract special attention. The first of them is the dominant role of the centre both in the composition of the poem as a whole and in the structure of its individual cantos, which adds the above-mentioned symmetry to it. Like in Hikayat Indraputra, the main canto of the poem is the central, third one. It is namely in it, just as in the ninth chapter of the hikayat, that we observe the complete change in the fate of its heroes, which assumes the form of a chiasmus in the poem: Bidasari's sorrow gives way to joy, while Lelasari's joy is changed into sorrow. The first (I-II) and second (IV-V) pairs of cantos, united by the theme of joy and the theme of sorrow respectively, are placed symmetrically with regard to the central third canto. Similarly, the most important event in every canto (the birth of Bidasari, her prayer to Allah, the encounter with the king, and the like) is placed more or less in the middle of each canto, adding balance to them. Finally, Bidasari's meeting with the king becomes the semantic and compositional centre of the poem as a whole.

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The second compositional principle of Syair Bidasari, which determines the character of the two main themes of the syair and creates its emotional background, is the principle of contrast. The study of the poem shows that these two themes (sorrow and joy) are invariably emphasized at the beginning and the end of every canto. They occupy contrasting positions both within the cantos and at their junctions, being placed symmetrically with regard to the central (third) canto and forming the complete cycle. II

III

IV

v

/ joy - sorrow / joy - sorrow / - [Bidasari: sorrow -> joy] - / sorrow - joy / sorrow - joy / [Lelasari: joy -> sorrow]33

Contrasting collisions of the theme of joy and the theme of sorrow make Syair Bidasari close to numerous tales about prince Panji, in particular to Hikayat Cekel Waneng Patio However, ideological bases of these collisions in the poem and in the Panji-romances are totally different. In the romances about Panji the contrast of joy and sorrow emphasizes the play of impersonal fate, arbitrary and changeable, the play, which is usually motivated aesthetically: its purpose is 'to continue the performance of the narrator'. On the contrary, according to the Muslim ethical message of the Syair Bidasari, the Lord of its heroes' joy and sorrow is God, Most Merciful and Most Compassionate. He who, according to Taj as-Salatin, hears even 'the Sighs of the smallest ant, living below the seventh tier of earth' answers ardent prayers of heroes who have surrendered themselves to His Will. It is He who transforms the joy of the oppressor (Lelasari) into sorrow and the sorrow of the humiliated one (Bidasari), into joy, though sometimes in an unusual, if not extravagant way, for, as is said in the Qur' an: 'Allah is the best of plotters' (compare Chapter VI). In our case, Bidasari, who cannot bear the torments, asks Him in prayer to take her life. Allah fulfils her request, but in such a way that through her death Bidasari acquires freedom. Moreover her death is only temporary. However, even this is not all. The fact that Bidasari is an unusual creature between life and death makes her stepfather hide her in the palace in the midst of the jungle. And this, in its turn, provides Bidasari with an opportunity to meet the king and disclose the real character of Lelasari. Thus the most important element of the Syair Bidasari, its religiously based ethics, is manifested in its compositional structure itself.34 It seems that future studies of Syair Bidasari will probably reveal three levels in the semantic structure of the poem. On the first level, it could be read as an essentially 'soothing', aesthetically valuable narrative, which was intended, at the same time, to express an important Islamic ethical message through its aesthetics (this level is examined in this book).

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On the second level (partly analysed by Millie (2000», Syair Bidasari was perhaps interpreted as a narrative about the interaction of a less Islamized milieu of the palace (kerajaan) and a deeper and differently Islamized milieu of city traders and craftsmen. These two 'centres of power' and their values are personified by, respectively, the queen Lelasari (in its negative aspect) and the king (in its more positive aspect) and the merchant Lela Jauhara. By her kerajaan origin, but upbringing in the merchant's family, Bidasari is a natural mediator between the two centres, while her marriage to the king and passage to the domain of kerajaan is probably intended to symbolize the synthesis of two sets of values (those of the court in their positive aspect and of the Islamic city) and a deeper Islamization of Malay culture generally. On the third level, the poem could be read as a Sufi allegory of the long and painful path to mystical union: the union of the seeker, unaware or forgetful of his/her genuine origin, with God, of the soul with the spirit, of Bidasari with the king. Even if only a hypothesis for the time being, this interpretation is alluded to by a number of motifs that occur in the poem. Such are, for instance: transmigration of Bidasari's soul, her sufferings in a dark place, her unconscious state in the daytime and resurrection at night, and particularly, the description of her nuptial night as a multi-staged fana (the Sufi passing away and beatific vision), leading to the 'death' in the Essence of God, symbolized by the Sea in which the seeker is drowned (compare Chapter VIII). It is true that some of these motifs are typical of fairy-tales as a genre. Yet it is precisely they that are broadly used in Sufi allegories. Bidasari's triumph over Lelasari, a personification of nafs, as Millie aptly remarks, fits this Sufi interpretation only too well.

Syair Selindung Delima (the 'Poem of Selindung Delima'), Syair Yatim Nestapa (the 'Poem of the Unfortunate Orphan') Close to Syair Bidasari in their subject matter, style, structure and a number of coinciding motifs are Syair Selindung Delima (the 'Poem of Selindung Delima')35 and Syair Yatim Nestapa (the 'Poem of the Unfortunate Orphan'). Syair Selindung Delima was not second to Syair Bidasari in its popularity either, as no less than twelve manuscripts of the poem are extant at present. The earliest dated one among them is Raffles Mal. 7 (1814, also containing Syair Bidasari); however its manuscript SOAS 40322 from Marsden's collection (Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:133) is older and dates from the late 1770s or the early 1780s (see note 17). Thus, Syair Selindung Delima was probably composed at the same, or only a slightly later, time than Syair Bidasari. However, while the latter resembles the story of Sleeping Beauty, the content of Syair Selindung Delima evokes associations with another well-known fairytale, that of Cinderella. 36

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After complaining about his ignorance of the literary art, because of which his poem resembles a fabric which falls to pieces and will, therefore, be rejected by readers (Van Ronkel 1921a:62), the author of the syair begins his narration. First, he describes the blessed rule of the king Dewa Peri (or, in another version, Dewa Syah Peri - the Lord of the Peri (Fairies)) in the city of Bandan Pirus. Then, as in Syair Bidasari, there follows the story of garuda's attack on the city. The monstrous bird destroys Bandan Pirus and kills the king and all the inhabitants of the city. Only Dewa Peri's children remain alive: his son Bangsa Kara (or Bangsa Gara, or Bang Sagara), the disciple of a Sufi sheikh from Tangjung Pura, and his daughter Seri Benian (or Banian). They manage to survive, because at the garuda's appearance Seri Benian hides in an iron chest and Bangsa Kara in a bamboo flute. The prince builds a boat to escape from the devastated city together with his sister. In the meantime, in spite of Bangsa Kara's warning, she eats a pomegranate, in which the prince of indra (one of the 'heavenly races'), Dewa Laksana, has been incarnated, becomes pregnant and gives birth to her daughter Selindung (or Selindang) Delima. Soon after that Seri Benian dies. Before her death she places the newborn child in a box and enjoins her brother never to leave the box and never to open it. After Seri Benian's death, Bangsa Kara sails off from Bandan Pirus. A remarkable feature of the poem is the abundance of maritime motifs in it, which occupy a few dozen stanzas. In the syair we encounter descriptions of the building of the boat, rituals related to its launching, its sailing across rough seas and arrival at ports, ceremonies of its meeting and, later, seeingoff in richly decorated sampan - lighters 'with wings like those of a garuda bird' (Syair Sari Banian n.d.:14, 18,38,48,67,81-2). Here is, for example, the description of Bangsa Kara's departure and sea-voyage: After ascending on board his boat, He weighed the anchor without a delay, The northern wind began to blow The boat raced, its speed indescribable. [... ] For three days and three nights Huge waves had flowed over the boat, The bow dived into them with a roll, The rigging hummed and the rudder creaked. [... ] For seven days and seven nights The huge waves had risen and fallen, Yet, with the Creator's blessing and help, The boat arrived in a deep bay. When he cast the anchor and furled the sail, The waves abated, the current grew weaker, The chain of mountains became distinct, Resembling ten men who stood at a distance. (Syair Sari Banian n.d.:18.)

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After his dangerous journey Bangsa Kara reaches the country of Pura. Its ruler has just passed away leaving no heir. According to the courtiers' decision, a new ruler is to be selected by a wise elephant, which gives preference to the young newcomer. Bangsa Kara ascends the throne of Pura, marries the late ruler's seven daughters and entrusts the box to the youngest of them, Putri Bungsu, his favourite, ordering her not to open the box in any circumstances whatever. But once when Bangsa Kara has gone hunting, the elder sisters are overwhelmed with curiosity and persuade Putri Bungsu to open the box. They find a charming girl in it, her face radiant like that of 'the most beautiful heavenly nymph'. Taking Selindung Delima for Bangsa Kara's younger wife (madu) and fearing that she might become their dangerous rival, they are ready to kill the girl, but Putri Bungsu stops them and makes them promise that they will care for Selindung Delima. The wicked six princesses (puteri keenam), however, abuse her in every possible way. They send the girl to watch rice scattered to dry and, when she is not quick enough to fulfil their order, beat her mercilessly. To console herself, Selindung Delima begins to sing. In a string of pantun she, not unlike Bidasari, surrenders herself to the Will of Allah: A little bird is dying in torment, A hawk is circling over the fortress; I feel like a goat is being skinned alive The pain is piercing all my body. [... ] A lantern is drifting down the river, In a pavilion the floor is riven; I bear the pain, but I feel no shame For these torments are preordained by Allah. [... ] Sun-hats for heads, covers for dishes, But behind which fence can I hide myself? If these torments are preordained by Allah To whom can I complain of my fate? (Syair Sari Banian n.d.:28-9.)

While she is singing, hens fall on the rice and start pecking it, for which the six princesses beat Selindung Delima again, now even more severely. After returning from his hunting, Bangsa Kara is going to visit Tanjung Pura. Selindung Delima, showing much courage, as the princesses continue to insult her, addresses the king with a request to bring a black stone and a shoot of rattan from the island of Bindu (or Bandu) for her. Otherwise, she predicts, a storm will prevent his boat from returning home. The king arrives in Tanjung Pura, spends many days in feasts and entertainments with the king of Tanjung Pura and completely forgets about the request of his wives' little maid. On the way back, as Selindung Delima has predicted, a storm falls upon his ship, and he cannot continue his voyage:

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The king's boat had sailed for a while, When a gale sprang up ahead of its bow, No one could see in the pitch darknessAt once the crew started lowering the sails. As they furled the sails and turned the rudder, The forceful wind started blowing again It cleared the darkness for a short moment, And the worthy king ordered his crew: 'Spread the sails and set them quickly The wind starts blowing from the stern!' But when they got hold of the halyards, The wind arose as strong as a typhoon. Now its strength became enormous, Everyone watched it in fear and horror The sails of the boat were all in holes, The ropes of the rigging were torn to pieces. (Syair Sari Banian n.d.:48.)

On remembering Selindung Delima's words, Bangsa Kara gives orders to turn the ship and direct it to the perilous island of Bindu, which is haunted by jinn and peris. On the island he finds a magical pond with golden banks in the midst of the park with numerous pavilions and the black stone and the shoot of rattan near the pond. Only after he brings them aboard the ship does he manage to return home safely. Selindung Delima gets the stone and rattan and goes to Puteri Bungsu - the only princess who is full of compassion for her - to ask for a piece of cloth. She makes a swing from the cloth, hangs it under the palace and 'entertains' the stone and rattan with swinging, singing another song: Swing, swing, 0 coiled rattan! My heart is hollow as if burnt out, Swing forwards - they hit me, backwards - they slap me, Whom can I tell about my pain? [... J Swing, swing, 0 stone and rattan, I've heard that once I lived with my mother, If she saw how they abuse her daughter, She'd look at me with compassion and pity. Alas, my fate, my unhappy lot! Wherever I am, I always sit brooding, Like a younger wife who, having been cheated, Now lives among those who hate her. (Syair Sari Banian n.d.:53.)

The six princesses come again, batter Selindung Delima, throwaway the stone and rattan and take away the exquisite cloth, Putri Bungsu's gift. However, even though crying with pain and shame, Selindung Delima remains as courageous and persistent as before. She receives another piece of cloth from the kind princess, makes a new swing and resumes her sing-

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ing. Although she is complaining to the stone and rattan of her suffering, her simple song more and more resembles an incantation, although a peculiar one - an incantation against vindictiveness:

o you, all goddesses of the black stone,

In pain are those who harbour vengeance!

It cuts them in pieces, rubs salt in their wounds,

Grinds into dust and brings to perdition [... J Swing, swing, 0 my piece of rattan, Listen, father and mother, to the song of your child The city of Puri is happy and populous, But I was born in Bandan Pirus. (Syair Sari Banian n.d.:55.)

Bangsa Kara listens to the girl's song and knows from it that she is the daughter of Seri Benian and Dewa Laksana, who was hidden in the box by her mother. Bangsa Kara runs out of the palace and embraces his niece. 'It is the Succour of Allah, the Lord of Eternity, that has saved your life, 0 my child!', he exclaims (Syair Sari Banian n.d.:56). Then, after learning that Puteri Bungsu saved her from death and was like mother and father to her, whereas the six princesses tormented Selindung Delima day and night, the king flies into rage. He is ready to execute his evil wives, but Selindung Delima, who is determined to reek revenge in her own way, implores him not to do it. She beats the six princesses and they run off in different directions. From this time on they have to earn their living by becoming, respectively, the guard of the well, the sweeper, the flower-cutter, the king's dog-keeper, the supervisor over the king's coolies, and the caretaker.37 Selindung Delima continues to swing her magic black stone and rattan, singing syair and pantun, which in the end forces her parents - now the king and the queen of the heavenly country Berangka Dewa - to appear before her. Seri Benian accuses her brother of breaking his promise never to leave the box with his daughter: it is his negligence that has caused all Selindung Delima's sufferings. Bangsa Kara repents of his carelessness and Dewa Laksana of his 'seduction' of Seri Benian, instead of asking her hand as befits a king. All forgive all and a great celebration begins. In the midst of general merrymaking Puteri Bungsu brings her six sisters to the palace and their wrongdoings are also forgiven. When the festivities come to an end, Dewa Laksana suggests to Seri Benian that she should return to Bandan Pirus and turn it into a populous and prosperous city again. Bangsa Kara provides them with numberless clothes, jewellery and royal regalia and sends with them his people, ministers and princes to restore the city to life. Dewa Laksana departs with his wife and Selindung Delima. He kills the garuda and builds anew the totally destroyed Bandan Pirus. Now the new palace, fortified with moats and pali-

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sades, towers over the city. The latter is complete with markets and houses of newly arrived merchants as well as Dewa Laksana's people, who descend from his heavenly country. Dewa Laksana and Seri Benian become rulers of Bandan Firus. Raja Dewa Angkasa from the powerful kingdom of Gunung Angkasa wishes to marry off his only son Dewa Udara and sails away to Bandan Pirus to arrange a match for him with Selindung Delima. His proposal is accepted and Dewa Laksana and Seri Benian send the envoy to invite Bangsa Kara with his seven wives to the wedding. They arrive in Bandan Pirus and a magnificent final celebration, described in more then seventy stanzas, takes place. After that the royal families return to their respective countries. Selindung Delima accompanies her husband Dewa Udara and her father-inlaw Dewa Angkasa to her new home in Gunung Angkasa. All the royal pairs live happily and regularly exchange envoys. While in Syair Selindung Delima the main theme is somewhat subdued by relatively independent stories of the heroine's mother and uncle, in Syair Yatim Nestapa 38 attention is focused completely on the adventures of its protagonists: the prince Asmara Dewa (Deity of Love, a name typical of Panji tales) and his elder sister Intan Cahaya (Shining Diamond). In the country of Indracita reigns the king Seri Maharaja. He has four wives who are referred to in the syair simply as Elder, Middle (Putri Tengah), Younger and Youngest (Putri Bungsu). Putri Tengah gives birth to two children: prince Ahmad Maulana and princess Seri di Awan (The Radiance-inthe-Clouds). Putri Bungsu also gives birth to the sister and brother Intan Cahaya and Asmara Dewa. The image of this restless and mischievous boy, the future male protagonist of the poem, is a special success on the part of the author. Here is, for instance, the scene of his encounter with Ahmad Maulana in the sultan's audience hall: Then exclaimed Asmara Dewa, Embracing his royal brother by the neck: 'I missed you and longed for you so much We have not seen one another for ages! Please, brother, catch a deer for me, Bring a mouse deer in a precious cage.39 I want to admire them and play with them Together with the son of Dato Seri Wangsa. If you fail to give me this present, 0 brother, I will never come to the palace again, I will never eat or drink any more, I will neither bathe nor wash myself!' (Taib 1968:46.)

Seri Maharaja loves beautiful and kind Putri Bungsu more than other wives.

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He spends days and nights with her, lavishes attention and care on his favourite, and cannot refuse her anything. At first, the life of Putri Bungsu's children is no less happy, and although the just ruler chooses his elder son Ahmad Maulana as his heir, he instructs the young prince to make no difference between his sister and his stepsister and stepbrother, as well as between his' four mothers'. However, Putri Tengah is jealous of her husband's youngest wife and seeks a way to ruin her rival whom she hates so bitterly. Once, on a gloomy and rainy day, when the ruler and Putri Bungsu are taking a rest in their bedchamber, Putri Tengah steals into the kitchen and talks the cook into adding poison to the youngest wife's meal. By mistake the servant who waits at the table places the dish near the sultan, and the latter dies in great pain. Putri Tengah accuses Putri Bungsu of poisoning her husband, and Ahmad Maulana, who trusts his mother unquestioningly, throws her into jail without investigation. Just as in Syair Bidasari or Syair Selindung Delima, the plot of Syair Yatim Nestapa begins to unfold as a step-by-step narration of the protagonists' descent into the 'abyss of suffering'. Putri Tengah and her daughter victimize the children of Seri Maharaja's favourite. At first they are banished from the palace. Then they are deprived of all their possessions and jewelry. Finally, after Ahmad Maulana learns that the brother and the sister nevertheless continue to visit their mother secretly at night, he chains them up 'like monkeys', forces them to look after chickens and puts them under lock and key after sunset. For the meetings with her children, Putri Bungsu is incarcerated in a dungeon, sealed with a heavy lid and left there without food and water. The effect of the story about Asmara Dewa's and Intan Cahaya's trials and tribulations is greatly enhanced by the skilful contrast with their former happy life amidst general love. Gradually the children's despair reaches its height. When life becomes worse than death for the brother and the sister, they, just like Bidasari, appeal to the Creator with a prayer, after which the plot develops as a step-by-step narration of their relief of suffering, symmetrical to its previous part. The children pray ardently to Allah, while simple-hearted Asmara Dewa sings a sorrowful song about his unhappy fate to comfort himself. A court maid, who, full of pity for the brother and the sister, releases them and advises them to flee from Indracita, hears his song. The children flee and hide themselves in the jungle. Like the seascapes in Syair Selindung Delima, the description of Asmara Dewa's and Intan Cahaya's wandering in the jungle amounts to hundreds of lines, thus playing an important role in Syair Yatim Nestapa. Therefore brief remarks on the 'vision of the forest' in this poem and in classical Malay verse generally seem not out of place here. This vision had little in common with the popular idea of a multi-layered maze of enormous trees supported by buttress roots and festooned with lia-

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nas, strangling figs and bright, 'predatory' orchids. It was equally different from the expert knowledge of the botanist who could count thirty species of plants on a spot of only eighty square meters. Usually Malay poets seemed not to notice all this richness and diversity. After sending their unfortunate hero, Asmara Dewa for one, into the forest, they confined themselves to the information that the sun's rays had never penetrated into the thicket, and the undergrowth had covered all around. The mention of the latter is quite understandable: more often than not, the hero was to cross the jungle, and the forest trails were quickly overgrown with thorny bushes and the shoots of climbing palms (rattan). Complaints of the exhausted Asmara Dewa to Intan Cahaya are a typical example of such forest descriptions: 'Where is the place we are heading for? There is no trail, we can't go further, Thorns and spikes prick our hands all over, While in front of us are only high mountains. The forest is dark beyond expression, Rays of the sun don't penetrate it, The jungle is full of thorns and spikes, Their stings are painful beyond description. [... ]' For seven days they do not know Which way is the sea, which way is the land, Tangles of shrubs are unusually dense, Thorns and shoots of rattan cling to the hair. (Taib 1968:84-5.)

Beauties of the jungle found themselves in the poet's field of vision only when a gap or a space appeared in the dense mass of vegetation, be it the edge of the forest, a glade or a river bed. After their long roaming through the jungle, Asmara Dewa and his sister were happy enough to find such a gap: They went out straight to the edge of the jungle, To the river that flowed between stony banks. With its fresh water and lovely strand, This place was frequented by many wayfarers, One could not fail to admire the charming bank, Crossed by a chain of enormous flat stones. Almond-trees, rose-myrtles, rhododendrons4o grew there, On the smooth ground of peerless beauty, The pellucid river meandered through the forest, While drinking, you felt how cold was its water. (Taib 1968:87.)

If the forest as such was viewed as something negative, gaps in it, particu-

larly rivers crossing the forest, were, on the contrary, assessed as positive objects. The principal means of communication between humans, the river

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guaranteed that Asmara Dewa and Intan Cahaya would not go astray any more. All the more so as upstream it ceased meandering and, by the shortest way, led the children out of the jungle to the human world. It made the river even more beautiful: Upstream the beauty of the river increased, Its banks did not wind and turn any longer. Its water, clear like silvery pearls, Emitted radiance beyond compare. (Taib 1968:89.)

One more tapas (mentioned in Syair Yatim Nestapa only in passing, Taib 1968:82) was associated with gaps in the jungle. Not infrequently the eyes of Malay poets, just as the eyes of their Indian or Javanese colleagues, rested on a pair of trees in full bloom, as if embracing each other in such a gap, bees (or rather bumble-bees) humming around their flowers: After approaching a shady angsana 41 Which grew beside a cempaka-tree,42 Their flower buds of various colours, Puspakencana43 stopped for a while. In the lovely buds that had only just opened, Bees were sucking nectar with a loud hum Which was sweet and melodious beyond compare, Like the voice of a lover coaxing a beauty. (Teeuw 1966b:99.)

Although this description has been taken from the scene of the death of Ken Tambuhan, dying because of her love, usually its counterparts were intended to create a languid erotic atmosphere conducive to amorous emotion, serving as its' stimulating agent'. However, no matter to which of the forest tapai we might tum, they were constantly permeated with sounds of the jungle. As it seems, Malay poets even better heard the forest, particularly voices of its 'feathered population', than saw it. Those voices became especially distinct at the break of dawn and before sunset. Therefore, describing either of them, the poet never forgot to mention birds. For instance, in the narrative of Asmara Dewa's and Intan Cahaya's hardships in the jungle we read: While they were going, the dawn broke Wild cocks were crowing on the right and the left, Birds were flying hither and thither, As if they wished to greet the princess. (Taib 1968:83.)

Or in another portrayal of early morning: In the jungle wild cocks started crowing loudly, Their crows were answered by the cries of peacocks (Van Hoeve1l1843:3).

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And here is a description of the coming evening: When the sun dimmed and became gloomy Like the face of the one who is full of anxiety, Mynahs started crying, robins chirruping (Teeuw 1966b:116).

Incidentally, oral storytellers were even more attentive to the voices of birds. No wonder that in the oral version of the Rama tale (Maxwell 1886) daybreak is heralded by the calling of a pheasant, the crying of a peacock, the crowing of a cock, the chirruping of magpie robins, the cooing of pigeons and the low murmur of a quail. Let us return, however, to the story of Asmara Dewa and Intan Cahaya. While forcing their way through the jungle, the brother and sister meet first a swallow that shows them the path and then a dragon (naga) which, instead of devouring the children, helps them out of the forest and gives them a magic stone which cures all diseases. In the end the orphans reach the border of the country called Indranegara and settle in the house of the elderly flower-maid Nenek Kebayan, a favourite personage of Malay romantic narratives. Asmara Dewa, who has assumed the name of Yatim Nestapa (Unfortunate Orphan), cures the daughter of Johan Syah - the country's ruler - bitten by a snake, and marries her. The princess's grateful father raises the youth to the throne. At the court of the ruler of Indranegara his nephews, the princes Dewa Syahdan and Dewa Persada, are being brought up, as their native city of Belantapura has been devastated by the same tireless garuda. Asmara Dewa makes friends with the two princes and marries his sister to Dewa Persada. Loving her passionately, Dewa Persada tries repeatedly - alas, to no effect! - to arrange a tryst with her via his servants (panawakan) who, as befits genuine panakawan, every time find themselves in a comic situation. After that, all the three princes attack Indracita, which has fallen into complete decline and desolation in the absence of the royal brother and sister. They defeat Ahmad Maulana, release Putri Bungsu from the dungeon and place there wicked Putri Tengah, who dies before long. Then Asmara Dewa forgives Ahmad Maulana who has repented and leaves him as the ruler of Indracita. His sister Seri di Awan becomes the wife of Dewa Syahdan. Asmara Dewa's last exploit is his victory over the garuda and the liberation of Belantapura, where Dewa Persada ascends the throne, while his brother Dewa Syahdan receives the country of Karangan Mega (Garland of Clouds) as a gift. Thus, the poem reaches a happy ending and its strictly symmetrical plot is concluded with a few stanzas of moral lesson, with the repetition of lines so characteristic of the Palembang school of syair-writing.

o my lords and my brothers all, Strive to ponder your every action, Always avoid envy and perfidy,

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature Lest you suffer from them yourselves! Avoid resolutely envy and perfidy, Think of their effect on your future, Lest, by the Will of Allah, your Lord, Disasters befall you without delay. (Taib 1968:191.)

The similarity between Syair Bidasari, Syair Selindung Delima and Syair Yatim Nestapa can hardly be doubted. Syair Ken Tambuhan also shows a considerable closeness to them, its peculiarity being conditioned not so much by the theme and ethical message of the poem as by its belonging to the sub-genre of Panji-romances with their specific motifs and tapai. As we have already noted (see Chapter V), in all these syair the principal conflict is instigated by intrigues in the women's quarters of the palace. The hero's elder wife (or wives, or mother) victimizes his favourite younger wife (either actual or only potential, and her children when she has them) or his new beloved. The heroine (or she and her children) suffers humiliation, abuse and persecution or even death only to triumph over her (or their) tormentors and reunite with the beloved (or regain their status). An expert knowledge of the atmosphere typical of the women's quarters calls to memory the words by a researcher of Syair Ken Tambuhan. He explained the realistic elements of the poem by its possible link with or even origin from the milieu of the court female singers (biduan) perfectly familiar with the life of women in the palace (Parnickel 1980:125). We will return to this problem again. No less remarkable is the fact that resemblances between the poems of Bidasari, Selindung Delima and Yatim Nestapa are not confined to a great number of similar motifs resurfacing again and again, but can also be traced in the structure of their plots. Just as in Hikayat Maharaja Ali (see Chapter VI), in the first two syair the part of the plot related to the protagonist follows the parabolic pattern, with its happy beginning; the descending line of the protagonist's growing suffering; the protagonist's prayer to God at the lowest point of the parabola, when the suffering becomes unbearable; and the ascending line of the gradual restoration of the original happiness and harmony. Although lacking a direct prayer to God for His help, the plot of Syair Selindung Delima is also based on the same parabolic pattern, as this prayer is substituted in the poem for the protagonist's song about her suffering which, according to her, has been predestined by God, to whose Will she completely surrenders. Immediately after her song, Bangsa Kara returns from hunting and begins to draw, as it were, the ascending line of the parabola: he sails off to Tanjung Pura and brings the stone and rattan to the girl, who with their help restores her parents to life and triumphs over the evil princesses. Allah proves to be 'the best of plotters' again and, as it is said in Hikayat [sma Yatim, 'the best of storytellers' (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:1). The parabolic pattern of the plot in the prose and poetical compo-

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sitions mentioned above derives from the Islamic doctrine of Divine Predetermination and fate, complicated and not devoid of contradictions. Usually these notions are designated by terms kada (Arabic: qada) 'immutable Divine Predetermination' and kadar (Arabic: qadar) 'vicissitudes of fate through which this predetermination is actualized in the life of humans' (for more details, see Macdonald 1961a, 1961b). A student of traditional Urdu drama, of which the plots are typologically similar to those examined above, has made the following important remark about them: This doctrine [that is the doctrine of qada and qadarl is an authentic prototype of the scheme, both ideological and that of the plot, which underpins the Urdu drama. The virtuous protagonist is endowed with a favourable predetermination, but, because of his qadar, he has to endure a number of severe trials. Confused by them, he sometimes takes the qadar for his genuine and final fate and laments it. However, in these lamentations there is not even a hint at his discontent with the highest divine verdict (qada). 'The guidance of reason and religion'44 releases the hero from the vicious circle of sufferings caused by his qadar, and brings him the reward predetermined by his qada. The destiny of the antagonist is a mirror image of that of the protagonist: his qada is unfavourable, but through his qadar he achieves some short-lived successes and victories. (Suvorova 1985:114.)

There is no need to delve more deeply into this doctrine here, as well as the conception of kasb (or iktisab) - 'accepting for one's self' the Action of Allah (the only genuine Agent) (Macdonald 1961a:200) - closely related to it and intended to explain the mechanism of free choice (in our case realized, respectively, in the actions of the protagonist and the antagonist).45 Suffice it to say that the remark quoted is completely applicable to the Malay poems in question. Interestingly, the plot of Syair Ken Tambuhan, one of the Panjiromances based on the conception of the play of impersonal fate, rather than on that of a personal God's Mercy, reveals a somewhat different plot pattern. To continue mathematical metaphors, this pattern is a kind of sinusoid of the heroine's 'ups and downs': she is a princess and then a captive slave of the queen; the prince's love raises her and then becomes the cause of her death; she dies and then is restored to life. Thus, in spite of all their Hindu-Javanese features and echoes of indigenous magic rituals,46 in the poems of Bidasari, Selindung Delima and Yatim Nestapa the Islamic spirit is much more obvious than in Syair Ken Tambuhan.

Syair Putri Akal (the 'Poem of the Ingenious Princess'), Syair Sultan Abd al-Muluk (the 'Poem of Sultan Abd al-Muluk') The content of syair in which the protagonist is a woman can by no means be reduced to the theme of the persecuted younger wife. At least two more syair, that extol womanly virtues and have been preserved in several manuscripts,

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deserve to be discussed here at some length. One of them - Syair Putri Akal (the 'Poem of the Ingenious Princess') - was probably composed in Riau, whereas another one - Syair Sultan Abd al-Muluk (the 'Poem of Sultan Abd al-Muluk') - was undoubtedly written in Riau. Riau - the seat of sultans of Johor and their Buginese viceroys (yamtuan muda) in the eighteenth century - by the mid-nineteenth century has turned into the focal point of Malay culture and literature. After Johor lost a great number of its territories in 1824 by the Treaty of London, and Riau virtually became a dependency of the Dutch, who effectively controlled its economics and politics, the local Malay-Buginese nobility was left little choice but to limit itself to the development of religious and cultural domains. By and large, this situation was not unlike that in central Java, where similar causes served as incentives for the remarkable refinement of culture and literature in the dependent principalities of Yogyakarta and Surakarta. The heart of the intellectual life of the Riau Archipelago, the small island of Penyengat, became an important centre of religion and mysticism (see Chapter VIII). Famous for the Muslim zeal of its populace and the prolificness of its Islamic scholars (the most renowned among them being Raja Ali Haji), it was frequented by authoritative ulama from Indonesia and overseas countries and maintained close ties with Mecca and Cairo (Sham 1987a:1835). At the same time, religious studies of the Penyengat nobility 'were complemented by an interest in historical and recreational literature', of which the language 'was considered [... ] of the highest and purest kind' (Matheson 1983:5,7). Interestingly, Riau authors of this recreational literature - first and foremost, numerous members of the yamtuan muda family - preferred poetry (syair) to prose (hikayat) (Klinkert 1868:312) and created all kinds of syair: historical, allegorical, edifying and romantic. 47 Poets of the local school, who wrote romantic syair and whose names are usually known, to some extent continued the Palembang tradition, with which, as the Riau manuscripts of Syair Ken Tambuhan, Syair Bidasari and some other Palembang poems show, they were conversant only too well. Nonetheless, even if almost indistinguishable from Palembang syair in their form (particularly in the preferred structure and set of rhymes, see Chapter V), Riau poems reveal a number of characteristic features in their content. Considering the 'intensity of Muslim feelings in Riau' (Matheson 1983:5), it is little wonder that they are more Islamic in their spirit and full of Middle Eastern (or Indo-Persian) motifs. The heroes whom the reader regularly encounters in them are Arabs, Persians or, at least, people from those climes, from some 'windward country'. Equally often their action is unfolded against a Middle Eastern background. For instance, Syair Siti Zawiyah (the 'Poem of Siti Zawiyah' by Bilal Abu, before 1834) transports the reader to Basra, Syair Madi (the 'Poem of Madi' by Raja Abdullah, 1849) to Persia,

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Syair Kahr Masyhur (the 'Poem of Kahr Masyhur' by Raja Abdullah, around 1858) to Baghdad, Syair Sidi Ibrahim bin Khasib (the 'Poem of Sidi Ibrahim bin Khasib' by Haji Ibrahim, 1865) to Egypt and so on. Even in the fairly rare Riau romantic poems of the synthetic type, such as Syair Sultan Yahya (the 'Poem of Sultan Yahya' by Daeng Wuh, the late 1840s) and Syair Raja Damsyik (the 'Poem of the King of Damascus' by Haji Ibrahim, 1864) the accent has clearly shifted to the Middle Eastern component. 48 Specific features of the elaboration of the womanly theme in Riau poems also distinguish them from Palembang romantic syair. Syair Putri Akal (before or around the 1850s; Sjair Puteri Aka11965), of which the plot may remind the European reader of medieval fabliaux and early Renaissance novellas, is to an even greater extent reminiscent of stories of female artfulness and ingeniousness, known to the Middle Eastern reader from writings like the' Arabian nights' and the Sindbad-nama (the 'Book of Sindbad'), and to his Malay colleague from Hikayat Bayan Budiman, Hikayat Bakhtiar and Hikayat Nakhoda Muda (the 'Tale of the Young Captain').49 Syair Putri Akal can be summarized as follows: In a country named BelantadurC in a high tower-palace on a riverbank, lives the daughter of the ruler of that country named Ingenious Princess (Putri Aka!). The fame of her beauty reaches Damascus, and the prince of Damascus sails off for Belantaduri to marry his beloved whom he has never seen. She rejects his proposat and the aggrieved prince arranges a feast on board his ship, anchored in the estuary not far from the princess's tower, to entertain himself. During the feast he takes from the box his marvellous golden doll, which can beautifully dance, and complains of his fate to it. The princess sees the doll from her palace and, wishing to obtain the plaything that she likes, tells her father that she is ready to marry the prince of Damascus. The king who regards his daughter's words as one more whim does not want to pay attention to them. Then Ingenious Princess sends one of her ladies-in-waiting, Puspa Candra (Moon Flower) by name, to the ship. The lady, having pretended to be the princess, spends two nights with the prince and receives the doll as a present. Ingenious Princess is delighted. On the following morning she sends her maids armed with jars to the pier, where the girls begin to play, splashing water on the prince's sailors. When the sailors, becoming angry, begin to chide them, the girls tell them laughingly how their ingenious lady cheated their master. The ashamed prince is enraged but, desirous to avenge himself, he suppresses his wrath and proposes to Ingenious Princes again. The ruler of Belantaduri, tired of his daughter's caprices, gives his consent. The princess, who anticipates trouble, is brought to the ship, which sails off for Damascus without delay. En route the prince gives way to his anger and gives the princess to his servant, ugly Si Lamat. On reaching home, he marries the bendahara's daughter. Nevertheless the princess manages to preserve her chastity, making her simpleminded husband press coconut oil or thread beads all night long. Once Ingenious Princess shows the golden doll to the bendahara's daughter and agrees to give it to her, if the latter shares the bed with Si Lamat at night and shows the princess to

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature her husband's bedroom 'decorated with painted clouds'. The bendahara's flippant daughter is so fond of the doll that she cannot decline the princess's proposal, and from that time they exchange husbands. Soon both women become pregnant and give birth to sons who are exact replicas of their fathers. The prince is boundlessly astonished to see his flat-nosed and bug-eyed son devoid of any signs of royal origin. However, his surprise does not last long: one day Si Lamat's supposed son runs into the 'nursery' by chance, and first the bendahara and then the prince himself recognize the heir to the throne of Damascus in him. Having implored Ingenious Princess's forgiveness with great difficulty, the prince marries her, punishes Si Lamat severely and sends his former wife to her parents' home.

Another poem, Syair Sultan Abd al-Muluk (Roorda van Eysinga 1847; Sham 1993:459-730), was composed in Penyengat in 1846. Roorda van Eysinga, referring to Raja Ali Haji - the well-known Riau historiographer, grammarian and religious writer - ascribed the authorship of the poem to him. Von Dewall, on the contrary, believed that Saliha (or Raja Zaleha, Sham 1987a: 204), a younger sister of Raja Ali Haji, was the actual author of the syair, whereas her brother only carried out its final editing (Van Ronkel1909:321). Considering that the syair seems to be fairly unusual in the context of Raja Ali Haji's poetry, such a possibility cannot be ruled out completely (see, however, Iskandar 1995:542-3). Syair Sultan Abd al-Muluk is devoted to the faithfulness rather than artfulness of women. This poem, numbering about 3600 lines and known in no less than five manuscripts,50 begins with a story of Sultan Abd al-Muluk who ruled the country named Barbari together with his spouse Siti Rahmat. After some time Abd al-Muluk sets off on a journey and visits the kingdom of Ban. The arrival of the sultan's ships in Ban is one of the most vivid episodes of the poem. As the ships are approaching, Siti Rafiah, the daughter of the Ban ruler, sends her ladies-in-waiting to fetch a spyglass, complaining that she cannot see anything otherwise: The ladies hurried to fulfill the order They took the spyglass on the tripod, And brought it to the high room of Rafiah, So that she could inspect all the boats. When she had finished looking at the fleet, Ladies-in-waiting rushed to the tripod, But Ratna Jumala took away the glass And exclaimed: '0 Allah! 0 my dear Lord! This way you will see nothing at all, Don't snatch the spyglass from one another!' But Mahaibat grabbed the glass at once And started giggling, covering her mouth. After joking and laughing, the ladies-in-waiting

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Began to look through the glass more intently, They handed it over to each other in turns, Admiring the weapons of mighty young heroes. [... ] The ladies saw captains of every description: Some of them with beard, others with moustaches, Some wore turbans with hanging fringe, Some were heavyset, others tall and slender. Still others, like tigers ready to attack, Strolled about the deck, clenching their fists, Some, with hookahs incrusted with rubies, Puffed black smoke out of their mouths. (Klinkert 1913:267-8.)

Abd al-Muluk falls in love with Siti Rafiah and marries her. Both wives love each other like sisters, and the country of Barbari flourishes until one day a disaster befalls it. Syihabuddin, the ruler of Hindustan, wishing to avenge his uncle, whom the former ruler of Barbari put into prison for an attempt to sell him a consignment of rotten fabric, attacks Abd al-Muluk's army, defeats it, takes him and Siti Rahmat prisoners and delivers them to Hindustan. There he entreats Siti Rahmat to become his wife, but neither promises nor tortures can make her betray her marital commitments. The actual protagonist of the most eventful, second part of the poem, is, however, not so much Abd al-Muluk as his younger wife Siti Rafiah. During Syihabuddin's onslaught she manages to escape into the jungle where she gives birth to a son in a hermit's hut. Striving to find and rescue her husband, she entrusts the child to the holy man and sets off on a journey. She changes her clothes for a man's and reaches the country named Barbahan, where she kills its wicked usurper-vizier and becomes the 'king' only to help Jamaluddin, the legitimate heir to the throne, come to power eventually. Then she reaches the border of Hindustan and penetrates the palace, disguised as a merchant. Learning that the population of the state suffer from the tyranny of its unjust and despotic sultan, she plots against him together with the courtiers. Supported by the grateful inhabitants of Barbahan, they dethrone the ruler of Hindustan and imprison him, releasing Abd al-Muluk and Siti Rahmat. Abd al-Muluk guesses that his saviour, wearing man's clothes, is none other than Siti Rafiah, but dares not believe it, and Siti Rafiah has to identify herself. All the three are happy beyond measure. In the meantime, Abd al-Gani, Siti Rafiah's and Abd al-Muluk's grown up son, wanders in search of his parents and, passing through Barbahan, arrives in Hindustan. There he is arrested on a false charge and is brought to the ruler for trial. Abd al-Muluk recognizes his son, generously reimburses the hermit who has brought him up and raises the prince to the throne of Ban. Both poems, Syair Putri Akal and Syair Sultan Abd al-Muluk, possess all the compulsory features of romantic syair, such as dramatic tension, the

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important role of lyrical and psychological elements in the narration and so on (see Chapter V). Both reveal the skill of their authors in plot construction and their keen eyesight for expressive details of the hero's behaviour and the setting in which the action takes place, that they managed to describe not without a characteristic realism. And yet both syair clearly differ from such works as Syair Bidasari, Syair Selindung Delima and Syair Yatim Nestapa. On the one hand, their heroines are active women who know how to achieve their goal, not the suffering women as in the above-mentioned poems. On the other hand, these Riau syair are almost completely devoid of that specific charm which was imparted to the latter poems by the synthesis of HinduJavanese and Middle Eastern elements in the system of descriptions, imagery and representation of the atmosphere of the events. In fact, this synthesis has almost disintegrated, and, characterizing the Riau syair, we cannot but notice that these works are obviously Middle East-oriented poems, purely Islamic in their spirit and colouring. 51 Before concluding the examination of the above six poems, it is reasonable to return to the question of their connection with the tradition of Malay court female-singers, biduan. This question, rather important for the study of possible oral prototypes of the syair (Parnickel 1980:120) and its evolution, is a part, as it seems, of a more general problem of the common and the specific in prose and poetical forms of Malay romantic epics and differences in their functioning. The study of romantic syair creates the impression that their authors were more concerned with the tastes and expectations of the female audience and with the womanly theme than the authors of hikayat. This is confirmed, in particular, by the titles of a great number of romantic poems, named after the heroine rather than after the hero, though the latter is highly typical of hikayat. Even a cursory review of syair, described in the five main catalogues of Malay manuscripts,52 corroborates this observation. Among thirteen romantic poems available in no less than three copies,53 nine are named after the heroine, and in three of the four remaining ones (Syair Sultan Abd al-Muluk, Syair Yatim Nestapa and Syair Sultan Yahya) female characters playa role at least as (or even more) important as male characters. To this should be added that Syair Sultan Abd al-Muluk probably and Syair Sultan Yahya undoubtedly were written by women, Raja Zaleha (Saleha) and Daeng Wuh respectively (for Riau woman authors, see Sham 1987a:204-5, 207). Thus, in the framework of Malay love epics as a whole, the romantic syair proves to be a kind of a female counterpart of the 'more masculine' hikayat. It goes without saying that this is a tendency rather than the rule. However, we cannot rule out that it is precisely the opposition between the female and the male kinds of epic that, at least partially, explains the emergence of the above-mentioned features, contrasting the romantic syair to the fantastic adventure hikayat.

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Passing to the problem of how and in what milieu romantic syair functioned, we cannot fail to ignore the remark by the Indonesian scholar Zuber Usman (1960:152), who noted that their performers were, as a rule, women. In the nineteenth century romantic syair, first of all, the above poems with a woman as protagonist (Syair Ken Tambuhan, Syair Bidasari, Syair Selin dung Delima, and others) formed the bulk of the repertory of several kinds of musical drama, performed either by mixed or by purely male troups of actors (Skeat 1966:520; Kerckhoff 1886:303-14). However, there are grounds for believing that originally the composition of court musical dramatic companies was female rather than male and that, just as in one of the forms of the Cambodian drama, they gained their mixed nature after they' ceased to be a palace entertainment' (Sheppard 1974:133). At least the Patani 'royal opera' was made up, in the seventeenth century, exclusively of female singers, while men were musicians in it (Teeuw and Wyatt 1970:115-6, 257-9). The form of court musical theatre called mayong, known in Kelantan as early as the eighteenth century, and in Patani even earlier (Sheppard 1974: 134) was also exclusively female. Incidentally, its repertory included a play about the king Raja Tangkai Hati, based on the well-known conflict between the elder and younger wives with all the requisite suffering and the final triumph of the latter (Sheppard 1974:139). The same was also the composition of the Kelantan 'royal ballet' (ashik) company, the social status of its 'prima ballerina' being high enough for her to become the ruler's concubine (Teeuw and Wyatt 1970:258). In Hikayat Patani the sultan's favourite wife, who nearly ascended the throne, is Dang Sirat, the main singer (biduan) of the abovementioned 'royal opera'. The Sultan's love for her resulted not in literary but in quite real strife between the queen of Patani and Dang Sirat and cost the latter her life (Teeuw and Wyatt 1970:115-21). Incidentally, there is a special poem (Syair Dang Sarat, such is the name of the biduan in it; Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:108) narrating these events. We do not know whether female singers in court companies performed syair, but the fact that they were sung in the nineteenth century Malay theatre makes this assumption quite plausible. Be that as it may, works closely resembling syair were undoubtedly performed in the female quarters of the palace as is testified to, in particular, by the episode from Hikayat Isma Yatim, describing the nocturnal longing of the ladies of the court and the sultan's concubines and junior wives: Then Dang Mandu Lela began to sing various stanzas (bait) in a very melodious voice, accompanying herself on a tambourine (rebana), while Dara Cita Hati joined her, also chanting bait that sounded most exquisite. Tun Jiwa remembered the caresses of the king and began to sing the 'song about young Sultan Khairanullah' to comfort herself. Tun Ratnawati, recalling her lover, sang the 'song about a charming and handsome young man'; Tun Mandu Dewi, suffering from her

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature passion for the king, consoled herself with the 'song about a youth who longed, concealing his passion' (lagu bujang samar dendam lela merindu). Tun Pasir Dewi recalled sorrowfully how the king, when taking her from the house of her father, his minister, had promised: 'I will prefer this girl to all my numerous concubines.' Tun Mahadewi Ratna longed for those days, when the king had brought her to a secluded chamber for the pleasures of love, and tried to dispel her sad thoughts with the 'song about a lovely little spirit'. (Roorda van Eysinga 1821:55-6.)

Another fantastic adventure tale, Hikayat Karis Mengindra, provides an idea of what such songs might have been. In this hikayat, the female court singers, who want to hint to the hero that his love for women is obviously excessive (precisely the same saddened the wives and concubines of the king in the passage quoted above), sing to him something similar, the 'song of a youth intoxicated with love' (lagu bujang muda mendam hayali). This lengthy song with a fairly developed plot tells about a young prince who fell in love with the princess Jamjam Kemala Dewi. However, on knowing that the amorous prince has many other wives, the princess repudiates him, jumps into a gulf and turns into a goldfish. No efforts on the part of the prince as well as his talks with the princess's nurses and astrologers help him to meet his beloved again, and the only thing left for him to do is to turn into a hawk and shed tears, perching on a tree by the gulf in the vain hope of seeing the goldfish (Khatib Abd. Hamid 1962:112-5). This song cannot fail to evoke associations with Malay allegorical poems like Syair Ikan Tambra (the 'Poem of the Carp'; Spat 1903:277-88) or Syair Burung Pungguk (the 'Poem of the Owlet', see below). This permits us to conjecture that songs from Hikayat Isma Yatim, even if not syair per se (which is not at all ruled out) resembled syair a great deal. It is noteworthy that one of the allegorical poems, Syair Kumbang dan Melati (the 'Poem of the Bumblebee and the Jasmine Flower'; Van RonkeI1921a:34) was designated in the manuscript by the same term ikat-ikatan ('composition in verse (or consisting of stanzas),), which was used to denote poems performed by female singers in Patani (Teeuw and Wyatt 1970:115, 258). Thus, in spite of the heterogeneous and fragmentary nature of the available data, their sum total allows us to assume that the milieu of female palace singers, ladies-in-waiting and concubines of Malay rulers, as well as of their younger wives and relatives, was the preferred domain for the functioning of a considerable proportion of romantic syair. It is precisely in this domain and for this audience that they were often created, reflecting its ideals, norms and tastes.

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Syair Sinyor Kosta (the 'Poem of Sinyor Kosta') Discussing Syair Bidasari, we saw that the mercantile classes had played an important role in Malay romantic syair. This role clearly increased in the works of this genre written in the nineteenth century, which were deeply rooted in the Islamic tradition, such as Syair Sultan Abd al-Muluk, Syair Sultan Yahya (or Syair Saudagar Budiman, the 'Poem of the Wise Merchant') and Syair raj al-Muluk. 54 In the first and second syair mentioned, female characters disguise themselves as merchants. Furthemore, the third syair introduces a prince who also makes use of the same disguise. As soon as a real merchant appears on the scene as the primary character, this provides the instigation for the development of the plot. There are also a number of syair which deal specifically with the theme of merchants. These works are: Syair Abd as-Sam man - the 'Poem of Abd asSamman', Syair saudagar - the 'Poem of a merchant', Syair Siti Kubah - the 'Poem of Siti Kubah', Syair saudagar bodoh - the 'Poem of a stupid merchant' (composed in 1861 by Raja Kalzum, the daughter of Raja Ali Haji of Riau), Syair dagang berjual beli - the 'Poem of a trader who sells and buys' (written in 1843 in Singapore by Tuan Simi (or Siami)), and several other syair in a similar vein. 55 Unfortunately, most of the syair mentioned above are only available in manuscript form, so their contents are known only from notes which are far too concise, for example: 'Syair Saudagar tells the story of the love of a merchant for Siti Lela; this particular syair is permeated with the atmosphere of the life of merchants and contains lengthy descriptions of love' (Van Ronkel 1921a:78). Nonetheless, even these sorts of notes and the few syair which have been published56 prove that in these syair the theme of women and the theme of merchants are closely intertwined, with the result that the contents of the works in this genre tend to be rather more 'democratic' compared with the fantastic adventure hikayat. A combination of these two themes forms the special characteristic of Syair Sinyor Kosta (sometimes Kista; the 'Poem of Sinyor Kosta'), or Syair Silambari,57 which is perhaps the best as well as the most popular of mercantile syair. This is obvious from a fairly large number of manuscripts of the poem that originate from Pinang, Riau, Malacca, Palembang and Singapore. Discussing some of these manuscripts, namely Klinkert 150, Klinkert 170A and India Office 2609B, Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor (1986:14-7) singled out three recensions of the poem: A, Band C, each of them showing a number of specific features, particularly in their concluding parts. Teeuw's stimulating study of the syair (Teeuw 1992a) by and large confirms this classification and adds to it the Palembang recension (D). Thus, now we can distinguish between the following four recensions:

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Recension C, the shortest (143 stanzas) and probably the earliest one, which is contained in a manuscript from the India Office collection (IOL 2609B), copied on 9 January 1806 in Penang by the scribe Ibrahim for John Leyden (Van der Tuuk 1849:390; Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:123). A salient feature of this recension is its referentiality: the action unfolds against the background of Malacca under Dutch rule. The high Dutch official (kapitan Belanda), who is 'very strict in maintaining order and law' (Teeuw 1992a:513), is mentioned and even his name is quoted. The romantic element is relatively weak, whereas the portrayal of sea-battles plays an important role in the narrative. Sinyor Kosta falls in the second battle, and the Chinese merchant Ce Koa receives back his concubine Lela Mayang, a happy ending for the Chinese merchant. Recension D, the longest one (739 stanzas), which was most probably composed by Sultan Mahmud Badruddin of Palembang as a 'soothing story' (penglipur cinta) before his banishment by the Dutch to Ternate in 1821 (Pijnappel 1870:152) or, according to Drewes (1977:225-6), between 1803 and 1811. This recension has also been preserved in only one manuscript, Cod. Or. 1895 (Leiden, Wieringa 1998a:148-9), copied in 1863. The background of the action is Batavia (Jakarta), and the author shows a good knowledge of the Dutch, their way of life and customs. Contrary to other recensions, Sinyor Kista is here a Dutch clerk, not a Portuguese merchant. If compared with C, D shows 'more elaborate descriptions and is more literary in nature'; in addition to this it contains many Javanese words (Teeuw 1992a:522, 527). Although its referentiality is still fairly pronounced, it is the romantic element that plays the most important role. The recension is rich in overtly erotic scenes and amorous pantun. Differently from kapitan Belanda in C, the 'ruler' of Batavia is not inclined to help the Chinese merchant (here Ceng Go), whose wife has left him for Sinyor Kista. As a result, Sinyor Kista with Lela Mayang manages to return to his native country (its name is not mentioned) safely, where the protagonist's mother warmly welcomes the lovers - a happy ending for Sinyor Kista. The wedding of the main heroes is followed by the marriage of Sinyor Kista's faithful servant from Bandan to Lela Mayang's maid, of which the description forms an additional complication of the plot. Recension B (359 stanzas) is also known in only one manuscript (Klinkert 170; Iskandar 1999, 1:742), now from Riau. The action takes place in Malacca. Although, similarly to C, the description of two sea-battles occupies an important place in B, the romantic element in it is much more conspicuous. Besides, many stanzas of B are identical with those from A. With the help of the Dutch Ce Koa wins the second sea-battle, and Sinyor Kosta dies killed by a shell. When Lela Mayang sees that her lover is dead,

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she stabbs herself; they turn into a dragon and a python and dive into the sea. Ce Koa is greatly disappointed, as he has not succeeded in getting his concubine back. - Recension A (434 stanzas) is found in the manuscripts Klinkert 133 and 150 (Iskandar 1999, 1:729, 735) dated from the second half of the nineteenth century, and in a few lithographic editions (eleven Singapore and Penang publications between 1871-1908 according to Proudfoot (1993:475-7)). One of its manuscripts (Klinkert 150) was copied by Ibrahim of Tanjung Pinang, Riau, about 1850. As Ibrahim probably composed one of the versions of Syair Burung Pungguk (the 'Poem of the Owlet'; Raja Iskandar bin Raja Muhammad Zahid 1966:5), Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor believes that he was also the author of recension A. The plot of A unfolds in an unspecified port-city. Contrary to Band C, the romantic theme is central in A, whereas the battle-theme is considerably reduced in it. Remarkably, if in Band C two sea-battles are required for the Chinese merchant to win the victory over Sinyor Kosta, then in A the procuress has to pay two visits to Lela Mayang for Sinyor Kosta to be able win her heart. Band C double the portrayal of the battle, whereas A doubles the portrayal of amorous relationships. Although this recension finishes with a happy ending for Sinyor Kosta, his happiness, as we shall see, is not unclouded. Notes of moral condemnation are still quite distinct in the concluding part of the poem in this recension. The textual tradition of Syair Sinyor Kosta (which demonstrates, inter alia, that one and the same story could be elaborated in Palembang and Riau at roughly the same time; compare above) testifies to the fact that for about sixty or seventy years several poets were engaged in transforming and reworking this poem. 58 Teeuw tends to connect this with the element of orality, so characteristic for traditional Malay literature. He is undoubtedly correct, stating that the transformation of the syair was by no means a gradual corruption of its hypothetical archetype. On the contrary, this process represented a continuous chain of creative acts, one of their incentives being the endeavour of each poet to compose a version of the poem that could meet the requirements, expectations and tastes of a particular targeted audience. There is little doubt that recension D, with its good knowledge of the ways and manners of Dutch officials in Batavia, which are held up to ridicule in it, with its long erotic scenes and more refined style than in other recensions (Teeuw 1992a:520-8), may have corresponded well to the tastes of the Palembang court in the early nineteenth century. To this can be added that recension D also mirrors, as it seems, Palembang literary conventions, if not a 'literary fashion' common there at that time. One example of these conventions is the concluding part of this recension, narrating the wedding

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of Sinyor Kista's and Lela Mayang's servants, whereas the protagonists seem to have 'totally disappeared' (Teeuw 1992a:527) from the stage. Regarding its function in the structure of the syair, this story is similar to the long final episode from Syair Bidasari, which probably originates from Palembang too. Just as in the Palembang version of Syair Sinyor Kosta, in that episode the protagonists disappear, and the poet concentrates on Putra Bangsawan who loses his way in the forest, kills the evil Ifrit and marries the beautiful girl whom he has rescued from the monster (see above). In both cases an additional plot is introduced, which, although relatively independent, cannot fail to evoke clear associations with the main plot, thus reproducing it on a different level. Just before the end of the poem, the additional plot as if reminded the reader of the principal points of the major narrative and put the figures of the protagonists and their actions in a new light (in Syair Sinyor Kosta this twofold effect is achieved through the opposition of high and low heroes, very much in the spirit of wayang plays and Panji tales; compare Teeuw 1992a:527). Another example of Palembang literary conventions is the regular use of a stylistic device reminiscent of that found in the 'stitched pantun', characteristic for recension D. What is meant by this is the way of making a connection between stanzas, when' a subsequent stanza is linked with the preceding one by means of repetition [frequently with variations] of a line or a part of the latter' (Teeuw 1992a:528), for instance: Cuma ada gundah kita, Kalau tidak bagai kata, Sebab nampak Sinyor Kista Sangat cantik bercerita [italics by the present authorJ.

I am worried, however, That he will not keep his promise, Since, it seems, this Sinyor Kista Is too good at telling stories.

Sangat pandai berbicara, Dari itu kita kira [... J. (Teeuw 1992a:523.)

He's too eloquent at talking, That is why I always think that [... J.

Although a similar device is encountered in Syair perahu 2 (the 'Poem of the boat 2'; see Chapter VIII), it is used much more consistently in both Syair Sinyor Kosta and Syair Raja Mambang Jauhari, also written in Palembang (see an example from it below), roughly at one and the same time. Audiences targeted specifically by the authors of other recensions are less obvious. Teeuw believes that recension A was intended for the reader / listener 'who expected a syair full of amorous feelings and humour, of which the style and motifs were known to him from romantic poems similar to Syair Ken Tambuhan and Syair Bidasari' (Teeuw 1992a:515). It is true that in comparison with recension C, overtly moralistic in its nature (the seducer of someone else's wife must be punished!), recension A better corresponds to this defini-

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tion. However, were the expectations of its reader, thus postulated by Teeuw, and his ideas of a good syair at variance with those of the court milieu of Palembang? Moreover, Syair Ken Tambuhan and probably Syair Bidasari were composed precisely in this milieu. Reasons for Teeuw's assumption that recension A may have enjoyed popularity among people of mixed Chinese descent are even less clear. It is notably in this recension that the Chinese merchant is defeated and disgraced, whereas in recension C he wins the victory and lives happily with Lela Mayang. Therefore, it seems safer, for the time being, to define the audience of recensions A, B and C as primarily the townsfolk of Malay littoral cities, whose literary tastes, although less refined than those of the court nobility, shared many common features with the latter. The textual tradition of Syair Sinyor Kosta shows many features of oral literature, inter alia, copious variations in the narrating of the basic story. Nevertheless, all its recensions contain quite a few stanzas that coincide literally or almost literally, witnessing to the poem's being transmitted and transformed in the written tradition and once having an archetype of some sort. The fact that the reconstruction of this archetype is difficult, if possible at all, because of its free, creative reworking by different authors, is quite another matter. We should not forget either that in written Islamic literatures, Arabic, Persian, Urdu and Turkish and so on, there existed the tradition of 'responses (or replies)', nazira, of some poets to the verses of others. While writing his nazira, the poet not only used as many elements of his predecessor's composition (the same metre, rhyme, imagery) as possible, but also strove to either surpass him in the artistic quality of the poem, elaboration of its theme, richness of allusions, semantic nuances and hues, or interpret its plot in a fresh and unexpected way, introduce new episodes, reconsider and change old ones, and so on. The number of such nazira was immense. 59 Probably it was not only an orientation to a particular audience, but also a 'competition' between poets, similar to nazira, that brought to life different recensions of Syair Sinyor Kosta and other syair as well. Seeing that the Palembang recension of Syair Sinyor Kosta, probably the earliest and most interesting from the literary viewpoint, still remains available only in Teeuw's summary and quotations,6o we shall turn to its Riau recension (A) perhaps composed (but more probably copied) by Ibrahim of Tanjung Pinang around 1850 (Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1986). With considerable skill the writer of this recension depicts the everyday life, thoughts, and customs of the merchant class in Malay society. Moreover, the lines of Syair Sinyor Kosta in this, just as in all other recensions, consist of eight syllables - a feature that is completely foreign to the genre of syair. This peculiarity of the poem can be explained either by the tendency to omit affixes, thus bringing the language closer to colloquial, or, considering the Palembang connections of the syair, by the imitation of mostly or purely octosyllabic

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metres of Javanese macapat poetry, Asmaradana and Kinanti respectively, which in the nineteenth century were employed specifically in 10ve-poetry.61 Be that as it may, the language of Syair Sinyor Kosta is (or rather, is stylized as) the colloquial, which was the language of intercourse in the trading ports. It is for all these reasons that the picture of such a trading port takes shape before the eyes of the reader of Syair Sinyor Kosta. We can imagine that harbour in, let us say, the eighteenth or early nineteenth century and it is as if we see the city with the fortified palace of its raja and the multiracial kampongs which surrounded it; brick warehouses and houses with tiled roofs; the stalls of the goldsmiths where generous purchasers with money to bum bought jewellery for their concubines; various sorts of markets, of which the fish market scores the most mentions; the harbour with the many-oared sampans which resembled centipedes (seperti jari lipan), busily plying to and fro from the trading vessels to the shore. The reader's imagination conjures up the inhabitants of the harbour introduced in tum by the author: Indians who were addicted to dicing; Chinese who strolled the streets in an orderly manner while they fanned themselves, or drank arrack enjoying the performance of female dancers; the skilled Balinese embroiderers; the debt-laden Javanese; and many more of that ilk. All of them were connected with commerce, so we are able to discover the complete hierarchy of their world: rich merchants; fetur, or factors (senior representatives of trading companies); clerks; heads of wards; fiskal, or the tax officials. We are even informed that the Balinese procuress (a kind of personification of Nenek Kebayan from fairy-tales) sought to make a living by selling embroidered cushions. Even the system of imagery in Syair Sinyor Kosta is imbued with the atmosphere of trade. When describing the splendour of the clothes of the characters in the traditional way, the author of the syair does not forget to mention the price of each item of clothing and of each adornment. He lays particular emphaSiS on the woven textile and, like a dealer at his stall, spreads them out for us to view - multicoloured bolts of satin, flowered silk, shawls, and expensive kain embroidered with flowers. Even better, the metaphors for love in the syair are also often borrowed from 'the language of commerce', for example the conversation between characters about buying and selling pillows which is stage-managed by the procuress (a pillow is one of the symbols which is commonly used in love-pantun, for instance in expressions such as 'to sleep on one pillow, to speak of love', or 'sweet indeed is it to share one pillow', while 'two heads on one pillow' is the symbol of a pair of lovers who are locked in an embrace (Winstedt and Blagden 1917:166; Zainal Abidin Bakar 1991:286). The daily life of the merchant community in Syair Sinyor Kosta is not only implied indirectly through the development of the plot, but it is even

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referred to directly in several scenes. For instance, the protagonist of the syair, a certain Sinyor Kosta, arrives in the harbour from Portugal, he rents a brick warehouse, unloads his wares from the ship, and confides them to the care of a factor with shifty eyes (Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1986:55). On another occasion he drops into the stall to remind the factor that the monsoon is due very soon and the time would be ripe for the homeward voyage. He asks whether there has been a demand for his goods. The factor bemoans the fact that only half the goods have been sold, and to cap it all a great number of Javanese have come to borrow. The enraged merchant orders the goods to be sold for whatever price they can fetch and sends his servant, who is a native of Bandan, to claim the debts (Ini Shayer Silam Bari 1887:20-1). Before he leaves he loads his ship, takes on supplies of food and water and then summons the kampong head to pay the rent (Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1986:86). Be this as it may, the writer of the Syair Sinyor Kosta did not sharpen his reed-pen to describe the traders waiting for the monsoon to change. The syair also tells the story of a love. The characters of this love story who live in the Malay town come from many different races: there are Sinyor Kosta from Portugal, Lela Mayang who is of Burmese (or Mon) descent from Pegu, her master who is a Chinese merchant, and the widowed procuress who hails from Bali. The description of daily life offers the writer ample opportunity to paint a fairly telling portrait of all the characters just mentioned, while giving specific personal details about each of them, above all the character of the procuress. For instance, observe closely her behaviour the first time she meets Sinyor Kosta: The sweet Milam with the bold mouth, Highly skilled in the art of deceit, In every three words two would rhyme, When someone came she served the arrack (Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1986:62).

And this is the way the two of them part: Then Milam the widow walked away, Waving her hand as she left, Calling a greeting with her head cocked to one side, Like a peacock preening its feathers (Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1986:64).

So it was that Sinyor Kosta arrived to trade in such a commercial port. Strolling about at his leisure he caught sight of the beautiful Lela Mayang - the concubine of Ce Koa, a Chinese merchant - who was sitting on the window sill. Sinyor Kosta closed his parasol, cocked his pink cepiau (a sort of hat) and stood gazing at Lela Mayang. He quickly lost his heart, but the charming object of his passion only thought fleetingly that the buck who wore 'the diamond patterned

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature knee-breeches' was far more handsome than her portly husband, then forgot about him. Sinyor Kosta went to see the 'elderly widow' who was known to be a procuress and asked her to give Lela Mayang a 'diamond worth seven hundred', that is 700 rial, and to persuade her to meet him. However, even though the concubine of the Chinese merchant was attracted to the elegant Portuguese gentleman, she refused to reciprocate his feelings. Even so, she still felt a little regretful after the old widow had left her. Sinyor Kosta was smitten by the pangs of unrequited love, which cast him down (but his spirits quickly rose as soon as the Balinese procuress had served him 'fiery brandywine' until he 'was as drunk as a lord' and began to make eyes and to flirt with a small and charming maid of the widow). Passion flared once more and he sent the old widow again to confront his beloved. The procuress took a 'garland of sena flowers' (karang bunga sena) which were sprinkled with' a magic potion' and' one handkerchief embroidered with flowers' belonging to Sinyor Kosta which it was customarily believed preserved the scent of the body of the person who gave it and ... a substantial portion of the same sort of magical potion. Therefore, this second attempt was successful. The procuress gave the beauty a chased ring set with precious stones, which was even more expensive and urged her to flee with the Portuguese merchant. As a token of her willingness Lela Mayang also sent her beloved a handkerchief, likewise scented, and a promise that she would cure his 'illness'. Sinyor Kosta concluded his business in great haste and made his vessel shipshape, thereby startling Lela Mayang who had begun to be suspicious that he was about to deceive her. The next morning he returned to the shore. By happy chance the Chinese merchant was giving a party at his house and while the host and his guests were intoxicated and had fallen asleep, Sinyor Kosta eloped with Lela Mayang and sailed to his homeland after saying farewell to the bustling town and the cuckolded husband with a salvo of cannon fire. The Chinese merchant went to the raja and in his fury offered to pay whatever the cost so that the violator of his self-respect could be pursued and captured. Alas, the chase on the high seas proved a total failure because the doughty Portuguese won the sea-fight, and his defeated enemy had to return empty-handed. The Chinese merchant had lost more than his concubine; the writer calmly reports that he was completely bankrupt because he had overspent on chartering ships in order to pursue Sinyor Kosta (yet another touch of the mercantile!). The procuress, accused by the upset Chinese of getting a good profit for her services, acted the innocent. Meanwhile the loving couple arrived in Sinyor Kosta's home country. But the tone with which syair ends is rather different from that with which it began. Sinyor Kosta's parents are angry that he has kidnapped someone else's concubine. He himself begins to have second thoughts about the rightness of his action. Here the syair ends or perhaps the writer did not have the opportunity to finish it. (Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1986.)

The plot of Syair Sinyor Kosta is indeed both interesting and attractive, besides being quite funny. The text is full of descriptions of the pangs of love, which are set out according to the tradition of Malay poetry. Even so, it is not these descriptions, which make the work so expressive, but a sort of cinema toI

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graphic style', as it was, presenting every single stage of the intrigue to which we are the witnesses. For instance, this 'cinematographic style' is made clear in the attention the writer gives to certain gestures and movements of the characters in the syair. Furthermore their hands are never still but always busy holding or doing something. For example, we first meet Lela Mayang when she is playing with a pet bird (in this way the author subtly emphasizes the tedium of the life of the beauty who lives in the house of the Chinese merchant as if it were a prison, and afterwards Lela Mayang is compared directly to a bird in a cage). Or, for instance, the beautiful Lela Mayang combs her hair carefully until' a fly alighting on it would not be able to gain a foothold'. Whenever the Balinese procuress sits she is always embroidering a pillow in front of a mirror with a scalloped edge. Sinyor Kosta also holds an umbrella or a wine glass, fans himself or tries on his 'pink capiau' which makes him resemble a lighted wick. Fairly lengthy scenes successively give birth to very revealing pictures before the eyes of the reader, as if the latter were watching a film. Let us take a look at one of them, for instance, the scene of the meeting between Lela Mayang and the procuress, which shot for shot reflects the changes of movement and facial expression of the beauty following the 'tide' of the feeling within her soul.

Shot 1: Lela Mayang sits with her back to the widow while she greedily inhales the perfume of the flower which the latter has brought her; she scarcely pays any attention to what the procuress is saying and only occasionally casts a sideways glance in her direction. Nonetheless, the silver tongue of the widow evidently does not pass unheeded (nor is the scent of the love potion without effects). Shot 2: Lela Mayang is sitting chewing a betel quid; her head bowed as she feels the passion of desire begin to inflame her heart. The procuress is not slow to realize that her endeavours have met with success and her eloquent stream of coaxing and praise flows on unabated. Shot 3: Lela Mayang still bows her head but begins to draw long sighs and her eyes brim with tears as she contemplates the sufferings of Sinyor Kosta. Shot 4: She smiles for the first time and says that she is willing to elope with the Portuguese merchant. Shot 5: She laughs joyously as she listens to the seloka, or ribald verses, eloquently recited by the elderly widow. Here this particular scene ends. Shot 6: Full of pride at the success of her enterprise, the procuress crosses the fish market to announce her victory to Sinyor Kosta and just for a moment the reader (or the audience of this first Malay 'film') is given

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a 'close-up': the hair-bun of the widow is decorated with such an overabundance of flowers that she is clearly a figure of fun because her head resembles a 'crown of flowers' (Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1986: 78-83). The party in the house of the Chinese merchant is also presented like a film (or perhaps more appositely like the scene from a wayang kulit performance): Our heroine was seated behind a filmy curtain, The old widow lighted a brightly burning candle, Then the eligible sinyor cast sidelong glances, At the face of Lela Mayang. He was obviously ogling her, Our heroine was like a picture, Illuminated by the candlelight, Her golden complexion was without imperfection. A dancer of joget began her performance, Sinyor Kosta was prevailed upon to sing, That dandy of a sinyor showed real talent, His voice sounded like a flute. The sinyor sat down on a bench, The dancer danced to his song, When she drew close to the sinyor she sat on his lap, Her behaviour was most pleasing. [... ] When the night was well advanced, The many bottles of arrack were brought out, The Chinese drank a lot of jars, The splendid sinyor pretended to follow suit. [... ] The body of the drunken Chinese sagged, The tip of his beard grew moist, The sinyor pressed the jars upon him, The eyes of the Chinese grew dim. (Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1986:94-5.)

We see a popular dancer sitting in Sinyor Kosta's lap while he sings with the musicians. Meanwhile the shrewd procuress had placed a candle on the other side of the curtain and Lela Mayang hidden there watches the dancer and pays more and more attention to the object of her passion. Moreover, the Portuguese merchant has the opportunity to admire the beauty of his beloved who 'is illuminated by the candlelight' passing through the diaphanous curtain. The author of Syair Sinyor Kosta once again gives evidence of his talent in his word picture of the elopement of the lovers. Having downed a cup of arrack for courage, Lela Mayang, who was completely enveloped in a loosely woven blue cloth, immediately goes out first. Sinyor Kosta and his faithful bodyguard from Bandan follow her. They are stooped because they

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have to carry between them the heavy coffer with the 'bride price' which had not been forgotten by the beauty who had kept her wits about her, despite being madly in love. They all hasten to leave kampung eina, which was very densely populated, shunning those residents who are strolling about in the street. However, no sooner does the author of the syair allow his characters to get into the sampan which will take them to their ship, than he has exhausted all sorts of Malay words for being in a hurry, like hastily, rapidly, quickly (Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor 1986:97-9). The special style of poetry, characteristic of Syair Sinyor Kosta, not only affects the sense of sight of the reader, who can easily imagine the particular scenes and characters as if he or she is watching a film. The sense of smell of the reader /listener is also overwhelmed by the scent of the many sorts of flowers which are mentioned on almost every page, no less so the sense of hearing: the author not only indicates all sorts of noise and clamour, rustling and susurration, the high tones and low tones, and the loudness or the softness of the voices of his characters, but simultaneously creates a phonetic 'texture' which is both very complex and very rich. We shall make do with several illustrations of this alliteration here: Milem masuk muka pintu [... ] Buang lambai sambillalu [... ] Milem sulang sinyor senyum [... ] Lalu kata milem balu [... ]62

The old woman entered the door [... ] Waved her hand while passing by [... ] She gave the cup - sinyor smiled [... ] The old woman started talking [... ]

Thus, there we have Syair Sinyor Kosta, a realistic syair, which forms a bridge of a sort between love syair and historical syair. In Winstedt's opinion: 'it is alive and novel in style and topic, being in fact one of the few genuinely Malay works' (Winstedt 1991:135). The only thing, which raises doubts here is whether in fact there were few such genuinely Malay works.

Syair Raja Mambang Jauhari (the 'Poem of the King Mambang Jauhari') Alongside syair based on the woman and the merchant themes (or on their combination), which are more or less specific for the verse variety of classical Malay narratives, there are many poems similar to fantastic adventure hikayat in their compositional structure and content. We have already mentioned syair, which are direct paraphrases of certain hikayat (for instance, Syair Indraputra and the like). A number of syair of the same kind, which, however, do not have prose counterparts, may also be mentioned. Some of them were clearly inspired by pieces of Arabic and Persian (or Indo-Persian) literatures, others by Javanese works (such are, for instance, Syair Sungging - the 'Poem of Sungging', Van RonkeI1909:332-3, Syair Raja Darma Adil- the 'Poem of the King Darma Adil', Van RonkeI1909:343, and so on). Finally, yet

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other poems (Syair Sultan Yahya, Syair cinta berahi - the 'Poem of the passionate love', Djadjuli 1961:91-133) are of a synthetic nature. As follows from the discussion of Riau syair, poems of Middle Eastern inspiration, similar to Syair Kahr Masyhur and Syair Sultan Mansur Syah Gempita - the 'Poem of Sultan Mansur Syah Gempita' (Van Ronkel 1909:337-8, 330-1; Klinkert 1880), are especially numerous, while some of them are direct adaptations of Arab and Persian writings (Syair Sidi Ibrahim bin Khasib, Syair Taj al-Muluk - the 'Poem of Taj al-Muluk', Liaw Yock Fang 1991-93, 1I:219-20). Syair Raja Mambang Jauhari - the 'Poem of the King Mambang Jauhari' (Spat 1902a, 1903:297:331) is the most interesting artistically and, at the same time, a fairly popular poem of the fantastic adventure hikayat type. Its manuscripts amount to no less than five 63 and represent at least two different recensions (see below). One of these manuscripts (Cod. Or. 1896) numbers about 8,200 lines, and this syair may, therefore, be considered as one of the most extensive in Malay poetry. Although Syair Raja Mambang Jauhari is the fruit of literary synthesis, it seems that Javanese motifs prevail over Arabico-Persian motifs in it. Besides, a noticeable admixture of Javanese words and some morphological peculiarities of the language betray the Palembang origin of the poem. In fact, Syair Raja Mambang Jauhari was created in Palembang in the early nineteenth century. Judging by the data contained in manuscript Cod. Or. 1896, its author was Pangeran Panembahan Bupati, alias Pangeran Adikesuma, a brother of the Sultan Badruddin exiled by the Dutch to the island of Ternate (Drewes 1977:226-7). Apart from Syair Raja Mambang Jauhari, ,Pangeran Panembahan Bupati also composed the allegorical Syair Kembang (or Bunga) Air Mawar - the 'Poem of the Rose' (Drewes 1977:201) and religio-didactic poem Syair patut delapan (the 'Eight-fold poem'). 'More remarkable on account of its composition than on account of its content' (Drewes 1977:227), this syair owes its title to the fact that not only the ends of verses but also the ends of hemistichs rhyme in it according to the pattern; aaaa, bbbb, and so on, for example: Awal tersurat / suatu rencana, Tamsil ibarat / kaku tak kena, Peri darurat / gundah guIana; Penghibur ghairat / fakir yang hina. Fakir yang hina / belajar ngarang, Pikiran nona / kalbu tak terang,

I begin to write a certain composition, Its similes and parables are stiff and improper, As I am deep in anxiety and sorrow; It's merely a soother of the humble dervish.

The humble dervish is a novice at writing, With girlish thoughts and the heart not enlightened, Hence his poem incoherent, unworthy, Ikatan [tak] bena / janggal dan kurang, imperfect, Misallaksana / sebiji kerang. Resembles no more than a shell on the seashore. (Van RonkeI1908:357; for another example, see Van HoeveIl1843:xvi.)

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Alongside the octosyllabic verse of Syair Sinyor Kosta, this is another interesting experiment by Palembang poets with the form of syair. It is not ruled out that Syair Raja Mambang Jauhari, also intended 'to comfort its author's dismayed heart', was written sometime before 1819. At least in the anonymous Syair perang Menteng dated from that year, courageous defenders of Palembang were compared not only with the wayang heroes Arjuna, Salya, Boma and others, but also with Dewa Syah Peri, one of the protagonists of Syair Raja Mambang Jauhari (Drewes 1977:225). The content of a longer recension (about 4,200 lines) of Syair Raja Mambang Jauhari (Cod. Or. 1896 according to Spat 1902a) is as follows. The city of Zamindur Alam, which is situated above the clouds, is ruled by king Langkara Indra, the happy father of his only daughter Kesuma Indra famous for her beauty in all the heavenly realms. When the girl reaches the age of fourteen, her father dies, leaving his daughter to the care of his faithful vizier. Kesuma Indra is the fiancee of a heavenly king Dewa Syah Peri from Belantapura, who has a palace in Zamindur Alam and often visits it, entertaining himself there with wayang performances. After the raja's death Dewa Syah Peri requests the vizier to speed up preparations for the wedding ceremony, but the latter decides to postpone it for one more year and sends a messenger to inform all the vassals about his decision. In the meantime, the prince gives orders to build for his fiancee a palace of precious stones surrounded by the park with cool ponds, fragrant flower gardens and lanes strewn with small diamonds which glitter, rolling under the feet of strollers. The princess's palace is called Asmara Brangta (Love Longing) and now the prince can enjoy the sight of his beloved from a chamber in his Zamindur Alam palace. For seven months he beholds her beauty from afar and at last, unable to withstand such a trial, he nearly penetrates the princess's bedroom under the cover of night, but at the last moment he manages to suppress his impulse. However, uncertain whether he would be able to cope with the temptation in the future, Dewa Syah Peri decides to leave for his homeland for the remaining one hundred days. To avoid causing grief to the bride, he conducts preparations for the departure in secrecy, and after a feast in the palace of Asmara Brangta on the last day of his sojourn, the prince leaves for Belantapura in a flying chariot next morning. The princess is in sorrow, but her four faithful companions - Lela Kencana (Priceless Gold), Ratna Pekaca (Pure Diamond), Ratna Mengindra (Royal Diamond) and Lela Cumbuan (Charming Seductress) - relieve her loneliness and dispel her grief. The action continues in another heavenly country, Belantaindra, ruled by the powerful king of spirits Mambang Jauhari who has no equal in magic knowledge and secret powers. The king is not married, because he cannot find a bride who would be his match and, having learned about the death

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of Langkara Indra and Dewa Syah Peri's temporary departure, he decides to abduct the princess Kesuma Indra. He turns into a bumblebee, while his four devoted servants, Kuda Jauhari, Kuda PahIawan, Kuda Sentika and Kuda Prawira (whose names are quite suitable for a Panji-romance) turn into birds. After seven days of uninterrupted flight they reach Zamindur Alam and land unnoticed in the park of the Asmara Brangta palace. At that time Kesuma Indra and her companions, wearing their best garments, come to the pond to bathe and pick flowers. After refreshing themselves, the girls decide to return to the palace. On the way there, they exchange jokes, make flower garlands, and the frolicking princess flings a bundle of flowers at Lela Kencana. The latter exclaims, startled: 'Ah, mambang!' (mambang is the name not only of the hero of the syair, but also of a kind of spirit, so her exclamation sounds approximately like 'By gosh!'). Her companions interpret her words in their own way and embarrass Lela Kencana, asking her what exactly she knows about Mambang. Thus the appearance of the main hero on the stage is prepared implicitly. While the princess is bathing, Mambang Jauhari (still as a bumblebee) watches her secretly. Kesuma Indra's beauty staggers him and he loses his senses, so that his faithful bird-servants have to make a lot of efforts to bring him to life, splashing water on him with their wings and claws. Having regained his senses, Mambang resumes a human appearance and hides behind a nagasari tree. However, one of the maids notices him and informs the princess about his appearance. The princess sends her companions to find out who has penetrated into their garden, and, through their intermediary, Mambang exchanges exquisite speeches with Kesuma Indra. The princess requests the young man to withdraw and thus relieve her of gossip, but he assures her that he loves her so passionately that he would not survive even a day in separation from her. These words impress Kesuma Indra, especially because her companions have vied in admiring Mambang's good looks. Nevertheless she decides to flee from the palace to the city. Having learned that a mysterious abductor has penetrated into the princess's palace, the vizier of Zamindur Alam sends an army against him, but to no avail. Mambang's friends turn into savage beasts which, being killed, revive as even more terrible monsters. As for Mambang, he shoots an arrow, which sheds a shower of glowing charcoals on the enemy. Night interrupts the battle. The vizier reinforces the princess's guard and sends a messenger to Dewa Syah Peri. In the meantime the four friends headed by Mambang, who is not as patient as his predecessor, fly as bumblebees to Kesuma Indra's palace. But even a bumblebee cannot penetrate it, and Mambang has to become a mosquito to achieve this end. He squeezes himself through a tiny hole into the princess's chamber and sees in the light of Chinese lanterns one hundred

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belles sleeping around the lady's bed. Then Mambang assumes a human appearance, sits on the edge of the bed and gallantly kisses the hand of his beloved. She wakes up, and a terrible turmoil breaks out in the palace. Mambang assures Kesuma Indra's companions that love alone brought him there and swears that he would fulfil any order of their lady. The princess is charmed by the youth but, wishing to save her reputation, demands that he find out Dewa Syah Peri's intentions and asks solemnly for her hand from the vizier. Mambang withdraws, and Kesuma Indra spends the rest of the night in great anxiety, thinking about her bridegroom, the fate of her country and anticipating the coming of hard times. In the meantime, Mambang confers with his friends and decides to bring his army to Zamindur Alam. He writes a letter, raises it into the air with the help of magic incantations and delivers it to Belantaindra with the force of his glance. On learning from the vizier's messenger that it is Mambang Jauhari who is hiding himself in Kesuma Indra's pleasure park as a bumblebee, the enraged Dewa Syah Peri immediately undertakes an expedition against his rival. His warriors fly mounting wild birds, horses of fire and flying thrones. Swords and lances blaze, music sounds. The prince's army is so numerous that it covers the sun like a thick cloud. Mambang's long absence begins to cause concern in his country. Just at the moment when his vizier is wondering whether he should send people in search of the king, the letter, delivered by magic, falls in his lap. The vizier commands his people to assemble, and the army of spirits, who have turned into iron-beaked birds, rhinoceroses and tigers, soars into the sky. The vizier himself who assumes the appearance of a lion heads the army. After seven days of journey the army reaches Zamindur Alam and lands on the plain of Saujana. The vizier thrusts his discus into the ground and a sky-high wall of the shining copper appears from it and surrounds the camp of the spirits. Then he turns into a parrot, flies to the Asmara Brangta Park and finds Mambang and his companions there. At the same time impenetrable darkness gathers all around, and Dewa Syah Peri's army lands at the other end of the plain. Having appealed to his magic ring, Dewa Syah Peri surrounds his camp with an iron wall and at once goes into action against the enemy. As in Hikayat Pandawa jaya (the 'Tale of the victorious Pandawa'), the battlefield is likened to a sea of blood amidst which mountains of dead bodies rise and corpses of horses float. Dewa Syah Peri fights against two commanders of the spirits who have assumed the shape of a lion and a dragon. He sends a shower of fire upon them, then, having turned into a terrible ogre (raksasa), he throws rocks at his enemies. At last Mambang himself enters the battle. It seems at one time that he has been killed, but at the next moment the ruler of Belantapura recovers, and both warriors mount the magical birds - wilmana and garuda - to continue their fight in the air.64 They

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fling rocks, erupting volcanoes and arrows at each other, and their arrows tum into a mass of fiery serpents. The battle in the clouds is seen from Kesuma Indra's palace. She watches it together with her companions, fearing Dewa Syah Peri's wrath in case of his victory and hoping that Mambang, whose nocturnal visit she cannot forget, will win. Besides, the ruler of spirits is clever, good-looking and has exquisite manners. The girls express their feelings in a chain of 'stitched pantun'. The battle lasts for several days. At last Mambang manages to chain his enemy's entire army and hit the prince with a discus. Dewa Syah Peri disappears. Mambang begins to land, and this causes an unusually strong hurricane which carries all the defeated army God knows where. On learning about Dewa Syah Peri's defeat, the vizier of Zamindur Alam decides to give the country and Kesuma Indra to the victor. Preparation for the wedding begins. The vizier builds a palace for the newlyweds on the top of a mountain of precious stones. An artfully sculptured dragon from whose mouth water pours surrounds its foot. Magical animals made of precious stones guard the approaches to the palace. Then the vizier sends messengers to the vassals, and each of them, with their people wearing special colours, arrives with gifts for the young couple. Mambang sends messengers to bring presents for the bride, after which he heads a long procession moving to the city. Merrymaking accompanies their progress: the spirits play with volcanoes, engage in jocular battles and arrange wayang performances. At the gate Mambang is met by his garuda that delivers him to the palace where the wedding ceremony takes place. Then the newlyweds withdraw to the bedchamber and the guests continue to feast. In the morning the spouses go for an ablution, but first they are weighed with a hill of precious stones, the price of which equals that of the entire kingdom, being placed on the other scale. However, this hill cannot counterbalance the newlyweds, so six more such hills have to be placed on the balance. This episode, although with a less pessimistic finale, evokes reminiscences of Hikayat Iskandar Zulkarnain (Leeuwen 1937:231), as well as Hikayat Indraputra (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:294). Merrymaking continues. Mambang jokes with the princess's four companions and they pay him with the same, asking him whether he is always so deft at penetrating into the palaces of legitimate kings, taking advantage of their absence. Then the author of the poem resumes the story of Dewa Syah Peri. The hurricane threw him together with his army on a mountain where he is lying breathless. Batara Kala, the lord of fates in Panji stories, finds the prince in such a deplorable condition, pities him and decides to bring him back to life. He explains that Mambang's magic powers are so great that one cannot even dream of defeating him. However, one can get revenge on the offender by abducting his sister, the beautiful princess Puspa Indra who lives in Bandar

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Permata (Diamond City). The second part of the poem is absolutely symmetrical with the first. Having turned into a bug, Dewa Syah Peri penetrates into the chamber of Puspa Indra and, sitting on the curtain woven with golden flowers, giggles while listening to the story with which ladies of the court entertain the princess. Then he charms them into sleep, becomes a giant and brings the palace with all its inhabitants to his country. Mambang with his army hurries to rescue his sister, and a new battle, equally Homeric but less successful for the king of spirits, begins. This time Dewa Syah Peri chains Mambang's army but cannot overcome Mambang himself. At last Batara Kala appears and assures the enemies that the battle might continue until Doomsday and puts an end to the hostilities. Dewa Syah Peri's mother requests Mambang Jauhari in exquisite expressions to marry his sister to her son and is granted consent expressed in a no less exquisite form. The wedding follows, described in almost the same words as the previous marriage, after which Mambang returns to his wife and tells her about all that has happened during that time. Kesuma Indra rejoices at the reconciliation of the two rajas. There is also another, shorter (about 2500 lines) version of the poem (Cod. Or. 1943; Juynboll 1899:22) in which Dewa Syah Peri dies on the battlefield during the second war. Neither version seems quite complete, but one can agree with Spat (1902a:334) that they are concluded with 'significant events, which in fact could be the end'. Spat notes the similarity of Syair Raja Mambang Jauhari to many traditional Malay writings. Thus, in his opinion, attempts to abduct a princes and a struggle for her, as well as Batara Kala's role of intermediary in the settlement of the conflict, are typical motifs of Panji tales; battles in which the heroes exchange shots of magical arrows and turn into animals are reminiscent of Hikayat Berma Syahdan, while the impossibility for the protagonist to overcome finally his opponent evoke associations with Hikayat Seri Rama (Spat 1902a:334-5). Although this is true, one cannot fail to notice that a combination of all these motifs is also found in Hikayat Indraputra. Chapters V-VI of this hikayat, which narrate Indraputra's encounter with the princess Seri Ratna Gemala Mehran and his battle with the prince of peris, Dewa Lela Mengerna (compare the battle of Mambang Jauhari with Dewa Syah Peri whose name means 'the king of peris'), along with Panji tales, could have been a source of Syair Raja Mambang Jauhari. Interestingly, in Hikayat Indraputra (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:49, 60-5, 107,294,331-2) we find counterparts even for such minor details of the syair as: -

The exclamation of a maid, which accidentally coincides with the hero's name;

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-

The creation of animals from precious stones, which guard the princess's palace; - The weighing of the hero against all the treasures of the country; - The building of the copper wall; - The transformation of characters into bumblebees and birds. A comparison of the two works shows that, by limiting himself to only one or two lines in the development of the plot, the author of the 'hikayat type' syair could concentrate all his attention on descriptive elements, surpassing in this respect even Hikayat Indraputra, which seems to be saturated with these elements to the highest degree. Pangeran Panembahan Bupati, whose poem, with its perfectly symmetrical composition, is not second to the best of syair, cannot but astonish the reader with the 'festive nature' of his descriptions. He obviously had a special preference for a detailed and elaborate portrayal of battle scenes, extending for many pages, and of all kinds of treasures and jewels. In the latter he showed himself a worthy brother of the Palembang sultan, one of the richest of the Malay Chieftains and is literally said to have Godowns stored with Dollars and Gold hoarded by his Ancestors (Raffles' letter to Lord Minto, quoted by Drewes (1977:238».

Another remarkable feature of the poetics of Syair Raja Mambang Jauhari, which has already been mentioned above, is its regular repetitions of the last words of one stanza at the beginning of the following stanza, for instance: Di dalam hati tentu tak gundah,

Tetapi jangan kita permudah, Kalaukan tidak bagai yang sudah, Perihal dunia laksana roda?

There is no anxiety in my heart, Yet, we should not belittle the danger, What if now it happens not like before, As the ways of the world resemble a wheel?

Laksana roda jalan berputar, Yang di atas jadi ke bawah terkitar, Berubah-ubah dengan sebentar, Kadar yang sudah tidaklah gentar.

They resemble a wheel rolling, Its top goes down, its bottom goes up, In one moment everything changes, But be not fearful of what has happened.

Gentar tiada sekadar itu, You should not be fearful of what has happened, Yang di hadap itu belumlah tentu [... ]. Because, the future is still uncertain [... ]. (Spat 1903:309.)

This device - incidentally reminiscent of that very wheel, of which the bottom becomes the top - is used in the syair (especially in monologues and dialogues of the heroes) with an amazing consistency. This may reflect, in a stylized form, the influence on the poem of 'stitched pantun', all the more so as their examples are found in it from time to time (Spat 1902a:339). However,

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it is not ruled out either that such regular repetitions are, at the same time, designed to enhance the magic effect which Malay tradition ascribed to it, as it seems. As Klinkert noted: According to my copyist, [this poem] originates from pre-Islamic times, some Malays highly appreciate this work and lend it to be read only secretly and are reluctant to allow it to be copied, because not everyone can possess it (Van Ronkel 1921a:68).

Iskandar connects these words with a prohibition to read 'literature of the Hindu era', allegedly imposed on common readers by the zealously Islamic ruling classes of Riau, from where Klinkert's copy of the syair originates (Iskandar 1995:518). Although this might be true, the above-quoted assessment of Syair Raja Mambang Jauhari can also be explained by the fact that the poem tells about great and bloody battles of heavenly creatures endowed with limitless magic power (sekti). In this case, the attitude towards the syair could be somewhat akin to superstitious fear of wayang plays based on Bharatayuddha, which depicted equally horrible battles and were staged only rarely, on strictly defined occasions.

Historical syair In its genesis, the genre of historical syair is most probably traceable to Malay oral songs glorifying outstanding figures (usually rulers) and their heroic deeds (mostly on the battlefield). Just as these glorifications, known only from indirect sources (Lombard 1967:142; Teeuw and Wyatt 1970:116) and perhaps similar to Old Russian slava ('praising songs') or medieval French chansons de geste, historical syair more often than not contain the description of wars waged by Malay sultans. Battle scenes in such syair are, as a rule, interspersed with panegyrics addressed to their royal heroes who not infrequently were patrons of the poets - creators of these syair. The oldest historical syair about a war which has been preserved until our days is Syair perang Mengkasar (the 'Poem of the Makassar war') by End' (Endk) Amin, dated from the seventeenth century (Skinner 1963). In the eighteenth century a number of poets followed End' Amin's example. The earliest among them was Abdurahman of Banjarmasin, the author of Syair Hemop (the 'Poem of Hemop', that is Van Imhoff, the GovernQr-General of the Netherlands Indies; Rusconi 1935). This poem tells of the uprising of the Chinese in Batavia (Jakarta) in 1740 and the war of the VOC against the ruler of Madura, Cakraningrat. Among other things, the syair contains an enthusiastic description of old Jakarta, its cosmopolitan populace and the economic

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activity of the Dutch: In Jakarta there are a lot of houses Tens of thousands inside and outside the fortress, Their roofs of tiles, their walls of stone, In every wall there are glazed windows. You'll see in Batavia many wondersThe Dutch control both water and wind, Which saw for them all day and all night, Producing hundreds of thousands of planks. (c. Hooykaas 1952:399.)

Two other war-syair composed in the eighteenth century are Syair perang Kaliwungu - the 'Poem of the Kaliwungu war' (Van RonkeI1909:346; Mulyadi 1987) by Abdulkadir, which tells of the anti-Dutch upheaval in Semarang in 1763, and Syair perang Siak - the 'Poem of the Siak war' (Goudie 1989; Teeuw 1992b; Koster 1997:127-60). The latter, devoted to the heroic struggle of the Siak army under the command of Sultan Ismail against the Dutch and its tragic defeat, was created either by End' Abdullah in Tambelan (Tujuh Pulau) in 1764 (such is the opinion of Goudie), or by Tengku Muhammad, a nephew of Sultan Ismail, between 1781-1791 (such is the assumption of Koster (1997:129-31)). The nineteenth century was particularly rich in syair of this type. As early as the beginning of the century, around 1810, Syair Sultan Maulana - the 'Poem of Sultan Maulana' (Muhammad Yusoff Hasyim 1980; Skinner 1985), narrating of a war for Junk Ceylon (Phuket), was composed. Somewhat later, in 1819, an anonymous Palembang poet wrote Syair perang Menteng - the 'Poem of the war waged by Menteng', that is the Dutch commissioner H.W. Muntinghe (Woelders 1975:189-225). This syair tells of the victory won by the people of Palembang over the Dutch troops under the command of Muntinghe and the army of his Malay ally Raja Akil. According to the poem, the battle began after a crowd of Palembang hajis who had worked themselves up into frenzy during the Sufi zikir, assaulted a Dutch officer. The greater part of the poem describes how courageously the Palembangmen defended Sultan Mahmud Badruddin's fortified palace against the Dutch attack. This having been repelled, the defenders inflicted heavy casualties on the enemy and forced him to retreat to the island of Bangka. This event was preserved in the people's memory in the form of the proverb: Pelabur habis Palembang tak kalah - 'Though supplies were exhausted, Palembang stood its ground' (Drewes 1977:201). Among later syair treating the battle-theme we can mention Syair perang Johor - the 'Poem of the Johor war' (Juynboll1899:18) dated 1844; Syair perang Banjarmasin - the 'Poem of the Banjarmasin war' (Atja 1967; Liaw Yock Fang 1991-93, 11:230-1) and Syair peperangan Pangeran Syarif Hasyim - the 'Poem of

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the war of Pangeran Syarif Hasyim' (Matheson 1983:1-2, 12-8; Arena Wati 1989b) written in 1870 by Raja Daud, the stepbrother of Raja Ali Haji of Riau. Two latter poems contain accounts of the Banjarmasin War of 1862. The same group of poems also include Syair perang Cina di Manterada - the 'Poem of the war of the Chinese in Monterado', that is in Mampawa, west Kalimantan (Arena Wati 1989a) and Syair perang Wangkang - the 'Poem of the Wangkang war', place in southeast Kalimantan (Mutiara 1979a) composed by its eyewitness Haji Sulaiman (Van RonkelI909:348), Syair perang Aceh - the 'Poem of the Aceh war' (Block 1885) and some other war-syair appeared at roughly that time too. Apart from war-poems, historical syair include a number of works describing various remarkable events from the life of royalty. Raja Chulan's poem about a pleasant sea-journey of Sultan Iskandar of Perak, representing a part of Misa Melayu dated 1761, is a relatively early syair of this kind (Raja Chulan 1968:116-84). This poem was followed by some other works about royal sailings, such as Kisah (or Syair) Engku Putri - the 'Story (or Poem) of Engku Putri' (Iskandar 1995:531), composed in 1831, or Syair perjalanan Sultan Lingga ke Jahar - the 'Poem of the journey to Johor of the Sultan of Lingga' (Matheson 1983:43), written in 1894 by Khalid Hitam. In the nineteenth century there also appearred syair about the ascension to the throne, for instance Syair tabal - the 'Poem of enthronement' (Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:127-8) and Syair Sultan Bustami - the 'Poem of Sultan Bustami', syair about royal weddings; the splendour of kings' palaces; the death of monarchs, similar to Syair Sultan Mahmud di Lingga - the 'Poem of Sultan Mahmud of Lingga' (Van Ronkel 1909:349), and so on (Matheson 1983:46). Sometimes not only Malay kings, but also Dutch officials are honoured with such syair. Syair De Braw (the 'Poem of De Braw') is a characteristic example. This poem which tells of the Dutch resident of Palembang who expelled the vizier of this sultanate, informs the reader, in passing, of the festivities arranged in the city, of its markets, and even gives recommendations about where to buy and what can be bought there (Van RonkelI909:347; Liaw Yock Fang 1991-93, 11:305). On the border with the above-mentioned group of poems we find syair about topical events of every description. Such is Syair Bima - the 'Poem of (the sultanate of) Bima' (Chambert-Loir 1982), which was written by Khatib Lukman of Sumbawa in the early nineteenth century to tell about the death of Sultan Hamid, the ruler of Bima, followed by the enthronement of Sultan Ismail, and, at the same time, about the eruption of Mount Tambora and the attack of pirates. Comparable to these episodes from Syair Bima are the poem of the conflagration in Singapore by Abdullah bin Abdul Kadir Munsyi Oumsari Jusuf 1972; Skinner 1972), the syair about the eruption of Krakatau, and the like. Not infrequently the local Chinese or people of Chinese descent were the authors of such poems (Winstedt 1991:136).

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Finally, one more group of historical syair include works similar to palace chronicles of sorts. The above-mentioned Syair perang Siak (or Syair Raja Siak - the 'Poem of Siak King'; Kosim 1978) can be quoted as an example. In this poem the genre of war-syair is combined with the genre of genealogical chronicle, albeit in verse, which expounds some events in the history of Siak from the first half of the eighteenth century until the capture of its capital Seri Indrapura by the Dutch in 1761 (Goudie 1989:1-227). Another example is Syair Muko-Muko (the 'Poem of Muko-Muko' composed in the early nineteenth century by Raden Anom Zainal Abidin65 ), a genealogy of rulers of Muko-Muko, a sultanate in Sumatra, who reigned in the nineteenth century. Sometimes these versified chronicles are quite whimsical. For instance, Syair mimpi (the 'Poem of the dreams', dated 1811, Van RonkeI1921a:80; Iskandar 1999,1:286), another historical syair from Muko-Muko, describes events that took place in the Muko-Muko palace in the form of thirty-five dreams seen by dignitaries and princesses of this country. Although individual scenes from everyday life are sometimes portrayed in historical syair with amazing realism and love for expressive details, not many of them have real artistic value. Nevertheless, they undoubtedly hold much of interest for historians. The reason is that, being focused on particular events and frequently described by eyewitnesses, historical syair are less dependent on traditional historiosophic conceptions than dynastic chronicles in prose (compare Matheson 1983:30-1). They are not imbued with didacticism as much as the latter either, although didactic notes are not at all foreign to them.

Syair perang Mengkasar (the 'Poem of the Makasar war') Syair perang Mengkasar (the 'Poem of the Makasar war'; Skinner 1963) or Syair Sipelman (the 'Poem of Sipelman', the Dutch admiral Comelis Speelman is meant), which was created circa 1670 and has reached us in three manuscripts,66 is not only the earliest historical syair, but also the most remarkable one in literary respects. Makasar, a state in south Sulawesi, which reached the peak of its might in the early decades of the seventeenth century, was possibly the most serious rival of the Dutch East India Company (VOC) in its struggle for a monopoly in the spice trade. This resulted in a prolonged and bitter fight between the two political forces, which ended in the complete defeat of Makasar in 1669. The poem tells consistently and in detail about: -

The preparation of troops of the East India Company for the coming expedition and the departure of the Dutch fleet under the command of Admiral Comelis Speelman for Makasar. The military counsel held by the Makasarese, during which their com-

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manders declared their devotion to Sultan Hasanuddin and their readiness to offer the enemy resolute resistance. The first defeat that the Makasarese suffered at the hands of the Dutch and their Buginese allies led by Arung Palakka (Tunderu) on the island of Buton. The reinforcement of the Dutch army with the troops of the ruler of Ternate. The uprising of the Buginese, who were Makasar's tributaries, and its suppression by Hasanuddin's brother, the sultan of Tallo'. The powerful artillery bombardment of Makasar and protracted skirmishes in the region of Galesong and near the fortified settlement of Batu-Batu, which resulted in the signing of the treaty in the village of Bungaya. The defection of some of the Makasarese commanders to the Dutch and the launching of the second campaign. The beginning of a new series of fierce fights and, finally, the fall of Makasar after a long siege.

An emotional epilogue concludes the poem: And so Makasar 67 was defeated, Its fate being in the hands of God Almighty. Although in a wrteched state I have composed this ballad So that report of it may reach other lands. I ask Your Highness' pardon, One cannot fight against the will of God. They showed themselves a poor sort of Muslims Did the Bugis, Butonese and fiendish Ternateans. Five years the fighting lasted Without any fall in the spirits of the Makasarese. Our soldiers were overjoyed When they saw, in the enemy, a target for their weapons. No sign of fear did the Makasarese show When they fought with the infidels. Who knows, if the army had not been short of food, And opposed, moreover, by the infidel Dutch. (Skinner 1963:217.)

The greater part of the events of the Makasar war was described quite adequately in the poem, so that 'the picture of the fighting that emerges from the narrative is remarkably close of that given by European historians' (Skinner 1963:12) on the basis of Dutch sources, in particular, the report of Admiral Speelman himself. This syair is a work by a person who was obviously well conversant with the progress of hostilities. When he was not an eyewitness himself, he normally warned that, as he had been absent for some

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time, he had to tell about those particular events from hearsay. The fact that the author of Syair perang Mengkasar was so well-informed is not surprising, since he was none other than Enci' Amin, a Malay from Makasar and Sultan Hasanuddin's secretary, mentioned not only in the poem, but also in Dutch archive materials. He was in charge of his master's correspondence and, most probably, was the author of a draft of the Bungaya Treaty (Skinner 1963:18-22). Interestingly, not only is the poem signed by Enci' Amin - a rare phenomenon in Malay literature of his time - but it also contains his self-portrait, evidently inspired by autobiographical stanzas by Hamzah Fansuri and somewhat stylized in the spirit of portraits of heroes in Panji tales: When the council was at an end, Enci' Amin was summoned to draw up a letter. It was well composed and contained no mistakes; It was concisely worded, without any flourishes. This Enci'. Amin was a clever fellow, Of rather small stature but well built. The eagle-wood scent that he always used Made his body give out a fragrant odour. Enci' Amin was a man to be envied,68 By birth, a Malay of Makasarese descent; Graceful and attractive in his movements, Like the curling shoots of the angsoka tree. (Skinner 1963:91.)

Enci' Amin makes more than one appearance in the poem and even goes so far as to violate traditionally impersonal narration with direct expression of his emotions. Thus, indignant at the behaviour of the Dutch during the signing of the Bungaya Treaty, he exclaims: 'It made my blood boil!' (Skinner 1963:191). Writing about a lucky attack by his countrymen, he is unable to suppress his delight: 'Good for you, Malays! Brave fighters all, / they attacked the division of the Butonese and the Christians' (Skinner 1963:169). These facts are indicative of certain changes in the concept of authorship and the enhancement of the individual principle, characteristic at least for some works of Malay poetry of the seventeenth century. Syair perang Mengkasar also allows us to form an idea of the erudition of its creator, who often paraphrases or even quotes, literally or close to the original, verses by the Sufis of Aceh: Hamzah Fansuri and the anonymous author of the poem Ikat-ikatan 'ilm an-nisa (the 'Stanzas of the science of women') (Skinner 1963:23-4, 257). His mastery of Sufi terminology allows the hypothesis that Enci' Amin was a member of one of the Sufi orders (Qadiriya or Khalwatiya) which were popular in Makasar at that time. According to data provided by the poem, his patron, Sultan Hasanuddin, also occupied a prominent position in the Sufi hierarchy. However, Enci' Amin's literary

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interests were not at all limited to religious literature alone. As we shall see, he was obviously conversant with profane literature and the repertory of the wayang theatre too. Skinner even admits that, as Hasanuddin's Malay secretary, Enci' Amin was likely to have devoted a part of his time to reading, discussing and copying manuscripts and sometimes even to 'lecturing' on some works of Malay literature (Skinner 1963:27). All this impressive literary knowledge was used by Enci' Amin to create a poem, which was intended to perpetuate the exploits of Makasarese warriors, to glorify the wisdom and valour of Sultan Hasanuddin (who was praised in a fairly lengthy' ode' in the introductory part of the syair and in two shorter panegyrics in its main part), and to show Indonesian rulers and their subjects the danger coming from the Dutch. The structure of the poem composed by Enci' Amin is most remarkable. Especially noteworthy is its introductory part, made up of a religious preface (stanzas 1-12), a dedication, containing a panegyric to Hasanuddin (stanzas 13-24) and stereotype apologies for the lack of literary experience (stanzas 25-28). In its turn, the religious preface consists of praises to Allah (stanzas 1-4), to the Prophet Muhammad (stanzas 5-8) and to the four pious caliphs (stanzas 9-12). This makes the structure of the introductory part strikingly symmetrical. As Skinner (1963:41) notes: 'It [the introductory part] appears to revolve around the number 4 and can be formulated mathematically as: (x + x + x) + 3x + x = 28, where x = 4'. Skinner believes that the number 28 - the number of stanzas in the introductory part - symbolizes the lunar cycle and probably plays the role of a talisman of sorts in the poem. On comparing the introductory part of Syair perang Mengkasar with a number of prefaces to other syair and establishing its uniqueness, the scholar assumes that this symmetrical construction reflects Enci' Amin's individual style of writing. It is true that such an introduction seems to be untypical for the syair tradition. However, we find a close parallel to it in the preface to Taj as-salatin which, like the Sufi works quoted by Enci' Amin, was composed in Aceh in the seventeenth century. As we have already mentioned (see Chapter VI), the preface to Taj as-salatin also consists of three parts: relatively symmetrical religious (one hundred lines) and a secular (eighty-three lines) introductions and an exposition of the content of the book, which is roughly three times shorter. Religious introductions to both writings are especially close to each other. In Taj as-salatin twenty lines of prose and five long lines of poetry (with the monorhyme and internal rhymes that enhance their solemnity) are devoted to praising Allah; ten lines of prose and five poetical lines similar to the preceding ones are devoted to praising Muhammad; and five prose lines and ten shorter poetical lines rhyming in pairs (mathnawi) are devoted to each of the four pious caliphs. Thus, although numbers underlying the composition of prefaces to Syair perang Mengkasar and Taj as-salatin are different (the

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number four in the former and the number five in the latter), the principles of numerical correlation of parts and of hierarchy of objects to be praised are observed strictly in both. The same principle of numerical correlation of parts is also used consistently in two more works of the seventeenth century from Aceh, namely in Kitab al-harakat (the 'Book of motion') by Syamsuddin of Pasai and in the Rencong version of Syair perahu (the 'Poem of the boat', see Chapter VIII). With this in mind, we can explain the peculiarities of the preface to Enci' Amin's poem not so much from his individual manner as from his following conventions, if not a 'literary fashion', introduced by north Sumatran Sufis into Malay poetry just a few decades before. Regarding the number of introductory lines, it most likely had a mystical meaning. For instance, in the scheme of creation by Ibn al-' Arabi, the twenty-eight names of Allah correspond to twenty-eight lunar mansions and twenty-eight letters of the Arabic alphabet, each of them symbolizing a certain manifestation of the One Being, and all of them together revealing the sequence of stages in Creation (Bakhtiar 1976:63). The composition of the poem becomes less rigid when the author passes to the description of events. However, the sense of proportion does not leave him here either. This is clear, for example, from the distribution of panegyrics to Sultan Hasanuddin and the author's mentions of himself in the poem. The panegyrics normally appear on the border between the end of one episode and the beginning of another, thus playing the role of 'a curtain coming down between the acts of a play' (Skinner 1963:30). The remarks about Enci' Amin himself, which are inserted roughly after every one hundred stanzas of the poem, add to a rhythmic flow in its compositional unfolding. Both kinds of 'interruption' are skilfully coordinated with the distribution of the reader's attention. Not affecting the dynamics of the narration about battles, they nevertheless constantly remind the reader of the sultan to whom the poem is dedicated and the poet by whom it was written. Finally, Enci' Amin follows the hierarchical principle not only in the introductory but also in the main part of the syair. Therefore, the number of stanzas allotted to a certain commander is a sure indication of the author's assessment of his merits and influence at the court. Like the creators of most classical Malay works, the author of Syair perang Mengkasar fails to give a general overview of the events described. His syair is made up of a number of separate episodes, each of them being focused on the image of a certain character painted by a few characteristic strokes. In this respect Enci' Amin's manner somewhat resembles that of the author of Sejarah Melayu. Even if not as gifted as the Malacca chronicler, the 'bard of Makasar' sometimes manages to create vivid descriptions of participants in the war. However, this usually refers not so much to the portraits of Makasar commanders who, in complete conformity with the author's patriotic senti-

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ments and his status as a courtier, are idealized to meet literary stereotypes, but to the portrayal of their adversaries. Writing about hostilities, Enci' Amin is able to remain impartial to some extent. For instance, although he tirelessly stigmatizes the Dutch and their allies as dogs, devils, liars, thieves, infidels, the ones cursed by Allah, and so on, he notes Admiral Speelman's courage, Captain Joncker's military skills, and sangfroid of Captain Dupont who, under the enemy's fire, calmly aims his artillery piece with the help of a spyglass. Glorifying the Makasarese and especially members of the Malay community of Makasar, Enci' Amin does not deem it improper to mention the lack of coordination in their leaders' actions and to tell the truth about losses or desertion of Makasar warriors from the battlefield. Besides, ironical intonations are inherent in many stories by Enci' Amin. They are particularly characteristic for the episode (very typical of his literary style) with Speelman's ill-starred envoy who was ridiculed by both the enemy and his own comrades-in-arms: The Admiral's envoy was an insolent Bandanese, Full of fiery words. He was chased back to his ship in a trice Without being given time to answer back. A fitting servant for the Admiral! A handsome face and an empty head. He gave himself the airs of a sheriff's officer But back he went to the ship. As soon as he saw Speelman He exclaimed, stretching out his hands: 'Your Highness, Admiral, 0 my most noble master, I've been chased like a hunted stag! When I gave them your Highness' letter They all roared with laughter. They sat there making fun of me, Smiling and laughing the whole time.' The Admiral, listening, laughed To hear the Bandanese using Javanese words: 'It was your own silly fault, That the Makasarese laughed at you: The hot-tempered Captain Joncker Who had been sitting listening restlessly burst in: 'The great lout is an absolute coward.' To the envoy he said: 'It's because you're frightenedSwelling out your nose like a heron's beak, Your eyes as big as gongs, You can sit there with your legs crossed But if anyone speaks to you, you hide your face. Giving yourself the airs of a great lord, Why, you can't even speak properly.

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature What's the good of your wearing a man's scarf? You're only fit for eating dollops of gruel, like a child.' To conclude the incident of this stupid hind, The envoy spoke absolute gibberish. After being insulted in a most overbearing manner,69 He was given a cup of arrack by way of consolation. (Skinner 1963:135, 137.)

It goes without saying that Enci' Amin's attention was focused not so much

on 'inserted novellas' of this kind (although there are a few of them in the poem) as on battle scenes also presented in a fragmentary, 'dotted line' manner, for the description of which the war that lasted for three years provided enough material.7° The story of the battle near the Makasar fortress of Batu-batu (Skinner 1963:160-79) is artistically one of the most expressive among these scenes. This story gives an idea of how historical reality was transformed into a Malay literary work and how elementary narrative units emerged from which, had the author's intention been somewhat different, a 'historical allegory' (pasemon) may have been constructed. The outline of the battle of Batu-batu is quite historical. At the night of 2 September 1667, Dutch ships dropped anchor not far from this place. The next morning the Dutch and their allies, under the cover of cannon fire, fortified their position on the shore and started hostilities, which lasted for two months with varying success and ended in the signing of a peace treaty in the village of Bungaya. This is the plot of the episode, and although Enci' Amin admits that he had to rely on second-hand information for a considerable part of the narrative, which resulted in many factual mistakes, the events are described by and large adequately, the participants of the episode being real people who fought and died near Batu-batu. At the same time, in a number of cases the description of these real events is presented as a sequence of slightly altered 'quotations' from literary works. For instance, describing the preparation of the Dutch for the battle, Enci' Amin writes: Comelis Speelman drew up his army in battle array: On the right wing were the savage Bugis, Ambonese and Moluccans made up the head of the array 71 Drawn up with their muskets and tall spears. The thievish Butonese made up the left wing While there was a reserve of Dutch and Bugis. When they saw the Makasarese advancing to 'parley' The damned infidels broke and ran. The Commander-in-Chief became the body of the array, Similar to a stout fortress.72 The drums were beating loudly Making a thunderous noise. One division was commanded by Captain Joncker

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Who became the tail of the array?3 His standard had a design set against a striped field And his cornets and sergeants drew up their men. (Skinner 1963:165.)

This scene is strongly reminiscent of the description of how the Pandawa formed up their army for a battle in Hikayat Pandawa jaya (the 'Tale of the victorious Pandawa'). Such descriptions of battle formations, which are numerous in this work, seem to be rather rare in other hikayat?4 Praising the courage of Makasar commanders, End' Amin compares them with heroes of the same Hikayat Pandawa jaya, Hikayat Sang Bama and Hikayat Seri Rama: Karaeng Pattunga was like Gatotkaca; He bore himself like Sang Jaya Amarta?5 Although in command of only a small detachment, As soon as he saw the enemy his one desire was to hurl himself upon them. [... ] Both sides attacked in strength, As in the battles fought by Maharaja Boma. [... ] Karaeng Mamu bore himself like Sang Samba, Dressed all in red, He fought like an angry lion, Racing to get at the enemy. Karaeng Bonto was like Sang Arjuna, Wearing his coat of mail; He fought like Maharaja Rawana As he attacked the division of the wretched Moluccans. (Skinner 1963:167, 169.)

The poet saturates the description of the battle with paraphrases from Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah; his familiarity with it is probably also indicated by the shower of abuse addressed to the enemy, which is very typical of that hikayat in which foes of Ali's family rarely appear on the scene without being branded first as oppressors, dogs, villains, rioters, hypOCrites, ones cursed by Allah, and the like. There was a deafening din and a thunderous clamour, As the cowards fled shrieking. The brave stayed, shouting out defiance, Advancing to the attack with savage fury. The heads of the slain were like so many marbles, Lopped off by the mail-clad warriors. There was no counting the heads of the Butonese and Ternateans Rolling about along the shore. There were thirty-three Dutch heads Cut off by our young warriors. They presented them to the Sultan And were rewarded with gold and a horse to boot. [... ]

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The fighting was now extremely confused; Both sides were mixed up, and the noise was deafening. (Skinner 1963:173.)76

Finally, laments for the fallen in End' Amin's poem are probably traceable to Hikayat Sang Barna which seems to have merged in his memory with Hikayat Pandawa jaya, where similar, although normally shorter, laments occur not infrequently either: There was a great to-do amongst his servants, As they ran about beating their breasts: They tore their hair and threw down their des tar ['head-cloths', 'turbans'], As they staggered around, weeping. The Syahbandar's son came forward Hugging and kissing his father's corpse, holding it tight. 'All the people here are ready, Waiting for you to go out and see them. o father, take me with you, I cannot bear to remain here, mourning you. If only I might bear arms, This very moment I would die in battle against the infidels.' And so he wept bitterly. His mother, the Syahbandar's wife had fainted away. [... ] The next man to fall was the son of the Customs Supervisor [... ] His mother and father came to embrace the body Which they hugged and kissed, weeping all the while. ,Ah, my son! See your mother In confusion and distress. Were you not the very light of my eye? Why do you now forsake me? Speak but one word to your mother, Open for one second these eyes, my son. See all these people here gazing at you At the wounds on your blood-smeared body. Your mother's voice is hoarse With inviting you to come to see her; The food is ready And your mother, hardly knowing what to do, awaits you. My darling, my very life, Your mother is like a mad woman. Where am I to go to find you? It is difficult for your mother to contain herself.' (Skinner 1963:175,177,179.)77

The abundance of quotations' from descriptions of great battles in the poem is most probably explained not only by following literary tradition, but also by the author's task as a panegyrist. It can be assumed that the 'bard of Makasar' strove to express, though indirectly, the idea that the war with the I

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Dutch was not second in its scale to battles between the Pandawa and the Korawa, and, like battles fought by Muhammad Hanafiyah, was essentially a holy war against the infidels. It is not accidental that precisely the latter epithet is regularly applied to the Dutch and their allies (also Muslims, like, incidentally, Muhammad Hanafiyah's enemies), whereas Makasar warriors who fell in the war against them are invariably awarded the title of syahid, martyrs. If, however, instead of comparing the participants in the battle with fictitious literary characters, the author had replaced them with these characters, retaining the set of events intact, the poem would have acquired the nature of a genuine pasemon. The way from 'quotations' to such a transformation was not particularly long, and Syair perang Mengkasar helps us to imagine its mechanism rather clearly. Literary sources of End' Amin's poem are also interesting from another point of view. Data obtained through their analysis testify to the fact that literary synthesis was inherent not only in many romantic syair but also in historical syair. Fused into a single whole in Syair perang Mengkasar were elements of Malay Sufi poetry, narratives of the Javanese and Middle Eastern origin and fantastic adventure hikayat, the fruits of this synthesis themselves. This is confirmed, in particular, by the portrayal of the sultan of Tallo's ship, which cannot fail to evoke reminiscences of similar descriptions in Hikayat Indraputra - the work that had enjoyed popularity in Aceh (probably among Sufis, see Chapter VIII) only three decades before Enci' Amin composed his poem: The drums were beaten and the fifes shrilled. The captains marched off, a great host of them, The bodyguard followed behind, waiting on the King Who was borne along like a bridegroom? The ship the King of Tallo' was to sail in Was carved in a pattern of drifting clouds and curving lotus leaves. The King had his quarters in the Flowery Column,78 Waited upon by his ministers, men of intoxicating eloquence. The ship was of the type called pelang,79 Carved in fretted lines, Stamped with sparkling gold leaf So that it glittered and shone in dazzling fashion. Its beauty was indescribable; It looked as if it had come down from heaven. Encountering it at sea One would think it to be some monstrous animal. It took two hundred and sixty oarsmen to row the ship And the oars were gold-mounted; They shone like so many torches, The cheering and shouting was deafening. Each lord had his own vessel Which was well armed.

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They were all of them overjoyed And their shouts rent the air. 80

Thus, the knowledge of what kind of person Enci' Amin was and the possibility of reconstructing the circle of his reading to some extent allow us to form a better idea of the milieu of Malay literati, from which Malay literary synthesis originated.

Allegorical syair An important place in classical Malay literature belongs to allegorical syair, a peculiar counterpart of prose parables and animal tales. Judging from the data of various catalogues of manuscripts, there are about thirty such poems, more often than not devoted to the theme of love. This theme is sometimes elaborated in an ironical spirit or as a parody (Koster 1997:217-51), and sometimes in an edifying and didactic manner (V. Braginsky 1993b:140-5, see also Chapter VIII). Amorous allegorical poems tell, for instance, about the lori that saw a cempaka flower in a dream and fell in love madly with it; about a bumblebee's passion for a jasmine flower; about the love of a tropical insect for a butterfly; the sea fish kakap's love for a beautiful carp 'similar to a sapphire in appearance', or a mosquito'S infatuation with a fly.81 In syair of this kind we can hear an echo of both romantic and historical poems, because some of them contain fairly transparent allusions to 'scandals in real life' (Winstedt 1991: 136), either urban or court. Some of such syair touch upon 'social issues', so to speak. These include a poem of the unhappy love of an owlet for a noble moon lady (see below), or a poem about relationships between a 'plebeian' sparrow and an aristocratic hornbill. The group of edifying allegorical syair is represented by poems in which birds, fish, flowers and even vegetables of every description give themselves to serious conversations and debates about religious, ethical and philosophical problems. Many of these syair are in fact Sufi allegories or at least contain Sufi elements, and the entire group is closely connected with the literature of the sphere of spiritual perfection, in which allegorical elements are combined with direct expositions of certain concepts or, not infrequently, are absent altogether (see Chapter VIII). Be that as it may, the border between the two types of allegorical syair is rather uncertain, and writings belonging to the group of amorous allegories also sometimes display a Sufi colouring. The geography of dissemination of allegorical syair is extensive. A great number of them were created in Palembang and in the Riau Archipelago, as well as in Aceh and Barus, in Batavia Oakarta}, the Malay Peninsula, eastern

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Kalimantan and in other areas of the Malay world (c. Hooykaas 1947:75). By all the evidence, the milieu in which allegorical syair arose and functioned was rather heterogeneous too. Some of them were created by various persons of rank, including royalty, as, for instance, Syair Nuri (the 'Poem of the Parrot'; soon after 1821 ?), composed by Badruddin, the sultan of Palembang;82 Syair Kembang (or Bunga) Air Mawar (the 'Poem of the Rose Flower'; around 1839?), written, as has been mentioned above, by his brother Pangeran Panembahan Bupati (Drewes 1977:201, 226-7; edited in Antologi 1980:89-99); Syair Kumbang Mengindra (the 'Poem of the Kingly Bumblebee'; the 1850s), composed by Safiah, the daughter of Raja Ali Haji of Riau (Van Ronkel 1921a:93; Matheson 1983:42), and so on. At the same time, first Overbeck and then C. Hooykaas expressed the idea that some allegorical syair were written in the milieu of traders. They believed that their authors could have been either merchants, who frequented certain ports and started love affairs with local women while waiting for a favourable monsoon, or these merchants' beloved ones. Reluctant to identify themselves by their names, they preferred to be mentioned in their syair as flowers, birds or insects (Overbeck 1934:127; C. Hooykaas 1947:75-6, 1953:76-7). It is difficult to say now whether this assumption is correct or not. Perhaps, certain lines from Syair [kan Tambra (the 'Poem of the Carp'; Spat 1903:27788) may be quoted in favour of it. Among other things, this poem informs the reader that the beautiful she-Carp lives in the estuary of the river (where Malay ports were situated), whereas the Kakap-fish,83 that fell in love with her, lives on the high seas (does this mean that he symbolizes a merchant?) and that they could meet only after rains had fallen in the mountains. The latter statement may serve as an allusion to the end of the rainy season, after which merchant ships began to arrive in Malay seaports (Van Leur 1955:158). Unfortunately, these indications are very uncertain and may have different interpretations. It seems that allegorical poems, just as syair generally, became especially popular from the early nineteenth century. However, there are grounds to believe that the genre itself had formed earlier. Its roots are discovered in Malay oral literature - in etiological myths and songs, in legends and fairytales about animals, birds and plants, in shamanistic rituals and incantations accompanying them (see, for example, Skeat 1966:109-316). Folkloric elements, mentions of specifically local flora and fauna, reflections of characteristic features of Malay everyday life and mentality - all this allowed some researchers (Overbeck (1934, 1938:332) was one of them) to regard allegorical syair as probably the most original genre of classical Malay poetry. It is noteworthy that, penetrating the folkloric milieu, allegorical syair were easily adopted by it and began to function according to its laws. For instance, as late as the 1930s, the Dutch archeologist F. Schnitger heard in Siak (east Sumatra)

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the famous Syair Ikan Terubuk dan Puyu-puyu (the 'Poem of the Shad and the Climbing Perch'), which was sung during a magic ritual to entice shads into fishermen's nets (Schnitger 1964:65-70). Images and situations, similar to those typical for allegorical poems, also appeared in Malay literary works long before the beginning of the nineteenth century. Winstedt (1991:136) noted in particular: In prose romances like the Hikayat Koraish [Menginderallove-verses are bandied between fishes, in the Hikayat Isma Yatim between peacocks. And though those verses are in pantun form, their setting may have suggested the many short poems like those on the Owl in love with the Moon [... l [that is, allegorical syairl.

An even closer parallel to allegorical syair can be found in the already quoted lagu bujang muda mendam hayali (the 'song of a youth intoxicated with love') from Hikayat Kuraysy (or Koris) Mengindera (the 'Tale of the Royal Kuraysy (or Koris)'), which was mentioned above by Winstedt and dated by him from the seventeenth century (Winstedt 1991:56). It is not ruled out that it is songs of this kind, developed in conformity with the requirements of the syair form that served as the source of the amorous variety of this genre. The emergence of the mystico-religious variety of the allegorical syair was, evidently, influenced by Hamzah Fansuri's poems, among which we find Sufi allegories of the Pure Bird (Burung Pingai), of the Tuna-fish that attained unity with the Most High (Ikan Tongkol/lkan Tunggal)84 and of the Whale (or the mythical Elephant-fish - Gajahmina) which was ignorant of the true Path of Cognition.85 At the same time, referring to obvious analogies to both kinds of allegorical syair found in literatures of the Middle East, particularly in classical Persian poetry, some scholars tended to view indigenous features of these Malay poems as something superficial and to search for their genuine sources far beyond the Malay world (Van Ronkel1922a). In Chapter VIII we shall have to return to the problem of whether allegorical syair were indigenous or borrowed works. Before that, however, it is necessary to discuss individual specimens of this genre in more detail.

Syair Ikan Terubuk (the 'Poem of the Shad') The most widespread allegorical poem is perhaps Syair Ikan Terubuk (the 'Poem of the Shad'), or Syair Ikan Terubuk dan Puyu-puyu (the 'Poem of the Shad and the Climbing Perch'), known in at least seven copies. 86 Referring to Sejarah Melayu, Klinkert (and, after him, some other scholars) believed that this allegorical and somewhat comic tale is based on the real story of an unsuccessful attempt by the prince of Malacca (represented by the Shad) to marry the princess of Siak (the Climbing Perch).87 However, Overbeck (1934:117) did not find a corresponding passage in Sejarah Melayu. Therefore,

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more convincing, as it seems, is the interpretation of the poem by Maier and Koster (1986:212-6), who assume that in the form of a parody the syair reflects the punitive expedition of Raja Alam (the expelled sultan of Siak), organized by the Dutch in Malacca, against Siak in 1761. As they write: Prince Terubuk could be identified with Raja Alam, Princess Puyu-puyu could be identified with Sultan Ismail [the young ruler of Siak at the time of the expedition] - and the SIT [this poem] narrates how Raja Alam attacks Siak and manages to drive Sultan Ismail out (Maier and Koster 1986:212).

The two authors quote interesting materials to substantiate and confirm this assumption. Who composed Syair Ikan Terubuk and where exactly it was composed remain unknown. The only manuscript containing date of copying (11 April 1876) is Leiden Cod. Or. 2276E, but the syair was most probably written earlier. Proceeding from some Hindu motifs (unspecified by him) and an admixture of Javanese words, Iskandar (1995:470-1) suggests that Syair Ikan Terubuk was composed in Palembang and considers it one of the earliest allegorical syair. Although this cannot be ruled out, Iskandar's arguments are far from decisive. All the more so as the poem's content is related to Siak (judging by Syair perang Siak, one of the centres of syair-writing88), its Leiden manuscript Cod. Or. 2276E was copied in Bengkalis, and the poem was well known in Siak, where it was used in magic rituals of local fishermen (see above). Therefore, before further study, Siak is probably a more likely place for its composition. The content of Syair Ikan Terubuk is as follows. 89 In the waters of Malacca, not far from Tanjung Tuan, lives the young prince Shad (or Hilsa). One day the Kelesa-fish (?) tells him about the beauty of the princess Climbing Perch living in Tanjung Padang, and the Shad falls in love with her at once. After visiting Tanjung Padang and making certain that the news is true, he gathers his ministers and captains and tells them that at the last full moon he enjoyed the sight of the Perch and now he cannot live without her. He asks for advice and help from those gathered, and the Shark, the Dolphin, the Catfish, the Mackerel, the Conger-eel, the Mud-eel and the rest vye to offer their help in abducting the Perch, boasting of their courage and strength. Only the Siakap (= Kakap, see above) warns the Shad against hasty action and, as a confirmation of his opinion, tells him the famous story of how the Swordfish perished when it recklessly attacked Singapore. According to Siakap, the Perch is aware of the impending danger and is ready to counter it duly. But the Siakap does not know who of the Shad's subjects divulged this plan. In the meantime, the princess Perch lives happily in her river pool. One day the Conger-eel, who has betrayed his lord, the Shad, comes to meet the Perch and informs her that the Shad is going to abduct her and is only waiting for the next full moon to bring his army and thus to achieve his end. The princess Perch is in despair, believing that her last hour is approaching. She bursts out crying and invites her ministers and ladies-in-waiting - freshwater fish - for a council.

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature They discuss the situation. Some fish believe that, as women, they are unable to oppose the Shad's army; other fish, on the contrary, insist on a battle. Princess Perch says that she has nothing against becoming the wife of the Shad who is not at all unpleasant to her, but he is a sea fish, while she is a freshwater one, and therefore their marriage promises nothing good. Seeing tears in their queen's eyes, the ladies-in-waiting begin to comfort her. Some are ready to follow her into captivity in order to avoid separation, while others pin their hopes on heavy rains and fishermen's nets, which may prevent the attack. Still others suggest fleeing to forest swamps. While the fish are deciding what to do, the Conger-eel performs a very frivolous dance. The enraged fish Sekapar bows to the princess and deals him such a strong blow that the Eel falls down senseless. However, having come to, he does not at all repent of his improper behaviour, but begins to sing a string of pantun about the Shad's passionate love for the Perch. All the fish castigate him, but the princess says that in spite of the impending danger she does not see why they should not cheer up a little. Alas, her courage is enough only to utter these words, after which she begins to shed tears again. On learning about their queen's distress, all her old servants and commanders pay visits to her. They are eager to fight for the Perch's honour and each of them calls the name of a sea fish with which he is ready to fight. The Carp assures the gallant warriors that they will be unable to oppose the army of the Shad and that a sincere prayer to Allah is the Perch's only hope for salvation (just like in Syair Bidasari or in Syair Yatim Nestapa). The princess withdraws to her palace and spends the whole night until dawn in prayer. A terrible storm breaks out by morning during which the Perch's parents descend from heaven and bring an indescribably beautiful tree, which they plant in the middle of the river pool. The princess Perch jumps into that tree immediately and hides herself in its foliage. Sitting there, she decides never to see her bridegroom and ponders over the fate of the fish Kelesa that, according to a Malay legend, became the wife of the Cormorant. In the meantime, having waited until the full moon, the Shad sets off on a military expedition, heading the choicest warriors. His army approaches the opposite shore of the Strait of Malacca, when the wind rises and moves the driftnets onto the warriors. Later, when the Shad with his fish stop for a rest in Bukit Batu, fishermen lower the nets and catch them all mercilessly. Only the Shad himself manages to escape. On realizing that his marriage with the Perch is contrary to Allah's Will and learning that the princess is hiding herself from him in the tree, the grieved lover returns home and spends the rest of his life in disconsolate sorrow for the bride he has lost forever.

In another recension of Syair Ikan Terubuk (Jakarta v.d.W. 241; published in Antologi 1980:156-66) neither the strong wind, nor driftnets, nor fishermen are mentioned. The Shad with its army returns to his homeland. His heart is broken, as the Perch and all her subjects have hidden themselves from him in the tree. However, quite soon he finds consolation in the arms of that very Kelesa-fish (in Antologi: Gelesa?) which, in the above summary of the poem, was the first to tell him about the beauty of the princess Climbing Perch.

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Syair Burung Pungguk (the 'Poem of the Owlet') Another typical example of the allegorical syair is Syair Burung Pungguk (the 'Poem of the Owlet') preserved in four manuscripts, more than once lithographed, and published by students of Malay literature. 9o The date and place of the composition of this poem are unknown. Perhaps it was written about the middle of the nineteenth century. On the basis of some peculiarities of its style and contents, Raja Iskandar bin Raja Muhammad Zahid (1966:5-9) tends to consider that Syair Burung Pungguk belongs to the Riau poetic school. Iskandar (1995:470, 472-3), on the contrary, numbers it among Palembang syair and even believes that it predates Syair Ken Tambuhan. Although it is true that the poem contains Javanese words, Iskandar's proofs seem insufficient for the solution of the problem so far. The author of the syair is also unknown. According to Raja Iskandar bin Raja Muhammad Zahid, Ibrahim of Tanjung Pinang (Riau), mentioned in the manuscript of the poem dated 1865, may have been its author. However, it is more likely that he was only a copyist of this manuscript, who attached a preface to it. The story of the ill-starred love of the Owlet (pungguk) - a Malay counterpart of the nightingale - for the Moon is widely spread in Malay folklore. For instance, it is thus told in the myth of the origin of the sunbird. One day Pungguk fell in love with the Moon Princess and proposed to her. The Moon answered that she would agree to marry him if she were left alone until she had chewed her betel-quid in peace, but before she finished chewing it she threw it onto the earth where it turned into the sunbird. The princess requested Pungguk to find her quid of betel, which the latter was certainly unable to do, and the engagement was cancelled. This is why the owlet 'is longing for the moon', to use a Malay proverb, and exemplifies 'a sad lover' (Skeat 1966:122). At the same time, the pungguk is not only the symbol of a true and unhappy lover in Malay folklore, but also the embodiment of self-confidence and excessive expectations: Pungguk forgot his place, He imagined that he could reach the moon (Wilkinson 1934, II:122).

Although Pungguk is presented as a disappointed lover in the poem, the plot of this syair differs radically from the above myth. The last echo of mythological elements, largely turned into literary embellishments in this writing created according to all the rules of Malay love canons, are its etiological ending and the apparently purposeful confusion of traits of a human being and a bird and a human being and a celestial body in the images of its protagonists. Thus, in some stanzas of the poem Pungguk is called a youth of a noble descent who stretches his arms as if in prayer, adorns his head with a beautiful kerchief, and so on. In other stanzas Pungguk is shown sitting on

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the branch of a tree with ruffled feathers, leaning his beak on it, or flying, and sometimes is called a bird openly. Similarly, the Moon is shining from the nocturnal sky and at the same time is presented as a beauty of a 'tender height' with thick hair and a slender neck. Usually Syair Burung Pungguk is interpreted as an allegorical story (possibly, having a real prototype taken from life) of the love of a young man of not very noble descent for a lady of a much higher social status who, above all, was engaged to an aristocrat, represented as Garuda in the syair. 91 Correspondingly, Planets and Stars are assigned the role of the Moon's maids; the Thunder, the Lightning and the Eclipse are her guards, the Cloud is a gobetween of the lovers (compare the Cloud in the famous poem Meghaduta ('Cloud the Messenger') by Kalidasat and so on. At the same time, Syair Burung Pungguk is saturated with Sufi (or, possibly, quasi-Sufi) symbolism. For instance, the Nocturnal Bird, which cannot see in daytime, symbolizes the cognizant who prefers spiritual sight to physicat while the Moon is the symbol of the innermost essence of a human reflecting the Divine Face, which for this reason the cognizant must reveal in himself. Noteworthy are also such motifs of the poem as: -

The Pungguk's celestial origin and his constant 'memory of the circle (of Being?)' (consisting of the arc of descent, tanazzul, and the arc of ascent, taraqqi); The suddenness of his passion for the Moon; The unmotivated danger of meeting the Peacock, which threatens to impair the attainment of the goal (sometimes the peacock symbolizes the misleading beauty of the phenomenal world); The flight to meet the Moon only after it has called the bird (compare the famous saying by a Sufi saint Rabi'ah al-Adawiyah: You shall turn to Him, if He turns to you); The necessity of regular prayers, ascetic exploits and the suppression of passions for reunion with the Moon.

All these motifs are highly characteristic of Sufi allegories (see Chapter VIII) and they allow us to assume a mystical aspect also in Syair Burung Pungguk. Finally, one cannot fail to notice that exquisite imagery and plot make Syair Burung Pungguk artistically one of the most attractive allegorical syair. The poem, which its author calls 'fiction' that he heard and committed to paper (Raja Iskandar bin Raja Muhammad Zahid 1966:6), begins with the story of how passion for the Moon suddenly flashes in the Pungguk's soul as he hears the sound of distant thunder. The Pungguk is beside himself with anxiety; he is dashing around the forest, embarrassing its winged inhabitants with moans. Finally, he perches on a branch of the banyan-tree, his

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feathers in complete disorder because of squalls of wind, and stares at his beloved in sorrow. This permits the author to resort to the Malay's favourite description of the night and the lover suffering beneath its cover. The description is remarkable for the fact that it is given from the point of view of the Pungguk himself with the panorama of the starry sky filling all his field of vision. Besides, it follows largely the model of pantun lyrics: the first pair of lines describes the picture of the starry sky, while the second tells about Pungguk's psychological state. The full Moon poured its bright light, The stars twinkled like diamonds in a necklace; The Pungguk's suffering was beyond description, He longed for the Moon that shone in the overseas lands. The Pleiades arose, their arrangement perfect As if the distance between them was measured by a compass, All the stars had already appeared in the sky, The Pungguk stared at them deep in sorrow. [... ] At midnight the Pungguk came to his senses And saw the Fighting Quail high in the sky And the Belt of Orion with its three stars Which blinded his eyes with their shining. [... ] The Pungguk's suffering was indescribable; He looked at the stars of the Southern Cross; The Moon was pouring its radiant light, But for the Pungguk it remained inaccessible. [... ] Stars began to arise in the eastern sky, Their light was reflected in the waters of the sea; The passion continued to torment the Pungguk While he waited for a message from his beloved [... ] On the following night the Moon shone again, Voices of the birds were heard here and there Peacocks were crying in the ravine between rocks, Field-crickets were chirping, building their nests. (Raja Iskandar bin Raja Muhammad Zahid 1966:36-8.)

Completely exhausted, the Pungguk faints and nearly dies of love pangs, but at that moment one of the stars of Capricorn appears before him and brings a box with a curative drug from the Moon. Having regained courage, the Pungguk flies to Banjaran Sari, the pleasure park of the Moon, accompanied by his brother. Delighted by its beauty and the proximity of his beloved, he is about to begin singing, but his brother keeps him from the act, wisely explaining that excessive merrymaking may attract the attention of the Moon's guards: the Thunder, the Lightning, the Eclipse and the Thunder Cloud. Thus the theme of danger is introduced. Adding a specific colouring to the theme of love, it makes up the pivot of the poem, which enhances its

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integrity and prevents the reader's attention from wandering. The atmosphere of trouble will thicken further in the story of the second meeting of the lovers, and will reach a culmination in the episode of the clash between the Pungguk and the Garuda. For the time being, the Pungguk indulges in a conversation with the inhabitants of the park. Some of them are trying to keep him from a rendezvous with the Moon, scaring him with numerous hardships and obstacles. Others, on the contrary, are trying to encourage him. The Lotus explains to the Pungguk that he is too delicate, while the attainment of the goal will require great efforts. He is supported by the Orion, saying that, although 'the flower (that is the Moon) is ready to yield, it will be far from easy to pluck it'. The Pleiades intimidate him with the king's wrath. The Dove warns him against undue haste and unrestraint in the expression of emotions, while the Cloud and the Rain Cloud insist that if the Pungguk really loves the Moon he must fly to her bedchamber without delay. The Pungguk spends forty days in the park and hurries to the palace at last, encouraged by the Paradise Bird. The Clouds accompany him as far as the Moon's bedchamber, concealing him from the eyes of potential enemies. The Pungguk is trying to entice the Moon into pleasures of love and showers innumerable compliments upon her, calling her a nymph of paradise, the sweet comforter in sorrow, a flower in full bloom which the bumblebee is going to abduct. The Moon is listening to him, leaning her head on her hand, and remarks in fear that the Pungguk is singing something incoherent, 'as if he has eaten intoxicating mushrooms' and, in spite of the Mercury's reproaches that she has sought this meeting herself, feels bored and weeps, reluctant to reciprocate. The Pungguk departs and flies over mountains, the sea and 'the coast of pearls' in despair. On the Mackerel's advice, he devotes himself to asceticism on a mountaintop, imploring the Most High to grant him another tryst with the Moon. After some time the Moon remembers the enamoured and, overwhelmed by sudden passion, promises to comply with all the Pungguk's wishes, if he visits her one more time. The Cloud who assumes the role of a go-between flies for the Pungguk and brings him to the Moon. In spite of warnings of the Stars about danger, the second meeting proves luckier than the first, and the lovers indulge in the delights of love, being concealed by 'the canopy of clouds'. When they part, the Moon gives Pungguk her kain (cloth) adorned with 'the precious stones of nine kinds' as a present, and both swear never to part in life or death. The Pungguk leaves the Moon's bedchamber, but happens on her bridegroom the Garuda on his way back. Having recognized his bride's kain, the Garuda gathers all the birds and attacks the enamoured. The Pungguk bares his sword and scatters the hordes of enemies 'like Arjuna', but the Garuda's

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commanders, the Hawk and the Biram Gandasuli wound him and drown him in the sea. The Pungguk dies. They pull him out onto the shore and leave him there unburied. The grieving Moon sends Stars to find out what has happened to the Pungguk, and they bring her news of his death. The sobbing lady remembers her promise to die together with her lover, but the pale-yellow Gandasuliflower (the Malay symbol of infidelity) persuades her to calm down, lest the Hawk hear her loud sobbing and kill her, having guessed the reason. The frightened Moon grows silent, not daring even to bemoan the deceased. A mushroom grows from the Pungguk's remains and then turns into a usual pungguk, an owlet. Since then all its descendants feel grief at night and sing sorrowful songs, while on the night of the full moon they leave their nests and rush towards the luminary shining from the sky.

Notes For a useful deSCription of all genres of traditional Malay poetry, both oral and written, and a discussion of their origin, structure and social functions, see the book by Harun Mat Piah (1989). Among older publications of pantun, the collection edited by Wilkinson and Winstedt (1914) and Pantoen Me/ajoe (1938) are most representative (both have retained their significance until the present). A number of more recent collections, such as Zainal Abidin Bakar (1983); Pantun pilihan (1988); Yamin (1990); Ridhwan et al. (1990), are also worth mentioning here. Bibliography of pantun studies (especially in Indonesian and Malaysian journals, see, for instance, Ismail Hussein 1978a, 1978b) is quite extensive; besides the works quoted in this chapter, we can refer to two important studies published in the 1980s: Muhammad Haji Salleh (1980) and Daillie (1988). Winstedt (1991:136-7). Bipartite (sometimes tri- or quadripartite) poetical formulas, once widely spread in the folklore of many peoples of the Malay Archipelago, represent the most archaic examples of the 'arranged words' of this kind. The verse structure of these formulas was based on repetitions of whole poetical units, or lines; lexical repetitions marking the beginning (anaphora) or the end (epiphora) of such units; and the syntactic parallelism of lines. By analogy with the oldest forms of Indo-European poetry, Gonda (1947:5) denoted such formulas with the Latin term carmina. Various combinations of elementary carmina - in which the role of the syntactic parallelism and phonetic repetitions grew over time, whereas the role of repetitions of whole lines and words diminished (compare Bowra 1962:75-86) - engendered all the diversity of verse forms of Malay and Indonesian oral poetry. At one 'pole' of the latter we encounter mythological 'poems' and incantations of shamans as well as litanies of priests. In the island of Nias and among the Dayak of Kalimantan and the Toraja of Sulawesi, these religious functionaries constructed their sacred texts from bipartite, parallelistic carmina, in which one and the same thought was expressed, although in different words, in the first and in the second line (Steinhart 1937; Van der Veen 1965; Gonda 1947:7-8). At the other 'pole' we find various sayings, proverbs, riddles and four-line songs (similar to bolingoni of the Toraja), more often than not also parallelistic and bipartite. Poetic forms of both types were very popular in Malay oral poetry too (Skeat 1966; Pamuntjak et al. 1956; Dussek 1918), which allows us to believe that it is from their continuum that pantun originated as a separate poetical genre.

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4 At present we can hardly answer the question of whether the genre of pantun originated from such riddles or the two genres represented separate branches that had grown more or less simultaneously from the same tree-trunk, which is the oldest Malay carmina. It is quite obvious, however, that archaic belief in the magic power inherent in words, sounds and literary works was the primordial background against which the semantic and phonetic symbolism of each evolved (Djajadiningrat 1933; V. Braginsky 1975a:77-85). The same belief also gave rise to Malay phonetic taboos, professional jargons of hunters, miners and peasants, and special kinds of phonetic substitutes for words, forbidden for various reasons (c. Hooykaas 1953:59-60). Equally vague is also the problem of external influences, which could have played their role in the final stage of the pantun's evolution. For instance, Overbeck believed that the pantun originated from a blend of the Malay riddle and the Sanskrit shloka and tried to find pantun-like shloka in Ramayana by Valmiki and Shakuntala by Kalidasa (Overbeck 1922a). Winstedt, on the other hand, referred to parallels between pantun and some songs from Shi-ching (the Confucian 'Book of songs') and assumed that 'the Chinese too had a hand in moulding the Malay pantun to its present shape' (Winstedt 1991:138). However, quatrains similar to the pantun are so widely spread in oral and written lyric traditions of the world (Veselovsky 1940:125-99; Prampolini 1951; Frings 1960) that such parallels are hardly convincing. All the more so, as the regular migration of the pantun from oral to written literature and back can, better than any influence, explains the reasons for both formal and semantic sophistication of the best specimens of this essentially national genre.

Veselovsky (1940:125-99). According to Veselovsky (1940:125-99), the psychological parallelism originated from still undifferentiated animistic beliefs, which identified human existence with the life of nature. After the appearance of poetry, the psychological parallelism began to fulfil aesthetic functions. This triggered the independent development of each of correlated images (parallels) that originally made up simple pairs like 'the sun = an eye', 'a tree bends = a girl bows'. As a result of such a development, the complexity and diversity of the semantic field of each image increased conSiderably. At the same time, the evolution of one of the parallels could and, not infrequently, did outstrip the evolution of the other, which led to a gradual decay of the psychological parallelism and its transformation into the syntactic and/ or rhythmico-phonetic parallelism, devoid of semantic associations on which the unity of the two images in a pair had earlier been based. 6

Rembega - a tropical plant Calotropis gigantea (Wilkinson 1932, II:327).

7 Proceeding from his interpretation, Winstedt (1991:141) offers the following paraphrase of the pantun: 'A rolling stone, afar he wandered, / Was broke for bold offence he gave; / In Singapore his blood was squandered, / Remote Langkawi holds his grave'.

For the first pantun of Osman and the second pantun of Mat, see, for instance, Taib Osman and Sham (1975b:97). The translation is conditional; the word asam means different varieties of tamarind, but also some other plants with sour fruits; asam pauh, as Wilkinson (1932, 1:49) assumes, is Buchanania sessilifolia. Here the tree with sour fruits is a metaphor for a wanderer who, being far from his homeland, is full of distressing (sour, bitter) emotions, compare the mention of lime juice and pepper in the next pantun. 10 In Taib Osman's collection: ranas, the word which is absent in Malay dictionaries; probably a misprint for nanas - 'pineapple'.

For studies of the 'stiched pantun' in European poetry, see Daillie (1988:17-35); Voisset (1997); V. Braginsky and Diakonova (1999:101-2,109-26).

11

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12 For recent editions of and studies on syair based on plots from Panji-romances, see Harun Mat Piah (1980a) and Yustan Aziddin (1981); a summary of one more poem of this kind can be found in the book by Liaw Yock Fang (1991-93, 1:208).

13 See numerous examples in the notes to his edition of the poem (Van HoevellI843:242-403), although not always indisputable.

The earliest extant manuscript most probably originating from Palembang is Kitab seribu masa'il (the 'Book of one thousand questions', see Chapter V). This manuscript dates from 1757 but Pijper (1924:73) believes that it was composed in Palembang earlier. For general surveys of Palembang literature, see Drewes (1977:199-237) and Iskandar (1995:440-518). Drewes (1977) also published a few Palembang Sufi texts. A number of Palembang historical works have been edited by Woelders (1975), and some allegorical poems from the sultanate are included in Antologi (1980). Overbeck collected a number of Palembang wayang tales and Panji-romances (Kratz 1980 with a bibliography of excerpts and summaries of them published by Overbeck). For the library of Palembang sultans and the fate of its manuscripts, see Voorhoeve (1964, 1980) and Iskandar (1986) (and also Vergadering der directie 1867; Van den Berg 1880). It should be noted, however, that all authored Palembang syair date from the early nineteenth century. 14

Iskandar 1999, 1:52, 59, 727, 730; Wieringa 1998a:175, 189-91; Van RonkeI1909:315; Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:117, 120, 133, 137. For a discussion of the British manuscripts of Syair Bidasari, see also Jamilah Haji Ahmad 1989:xii-xviii. Manuscripts of Von Dewall (v.d.W) and Klinkert (among them we find the copies of Syair Bidasari: Klinkert 128 and 135 (Iskandar 1999, 1:727,730) and v.d.W 256 (Van RonkeI1909:315)) were collected mainly in Riau. 15

16 One of its manuscripts (Klinkert 128; obviously old, according to Iskandar (1999, 1:727)) is written on dluwang (Javanese paper). Can this witness to its Javanese or Palembang origin? Another manuscript of Syair Bidasari was once kept in the collection of the Algemeene Secretarie (the General Secretariat) in Batavia (Vergadering der directie 1867:43; Voorhoeve 1980:77), of which a considerable part consisted of Palembang manuscripts seized in 1821 after the kraton was taken by the Dutch.

17 What is meant here is MS 40322 from Marsden's collection, which is kept in the library of SOAS in London (Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:163). This manuscript was received by John Marsden from Bangkahulu between the late 17708 and the early 1780s (SOAS MS 40320/2, no. 3 and 4) and subsequently found its way into the collection of manuscripts of William Marsden, John's brother. The author is most grateful to E.U. Kratz who provided him with this information.

Iskandar 1999, 1:70-1, 164-5, 640, 733; Wieringa 1998a:224; Van RonkeI1909:318-20; Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:125, 133, 148, 163.

18

19 Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:133. On Suradimanggala and manuscripts received from him by Raffles, see Chambert-Loir (1980:38) and Jones (1987:vi, 1992:15-6).

20

Iskandar 1999, 1:730, 734; Van RonkeI1909:315.

21

Republished by Robson (1969:107-37).

22 Teeuw's recension (in its complete form, Teeuw 1966b:xxi) is found in manuscripts Cod. Or. 1965, 1997,3375 (Iskandar 1999, 1:60, 69, 177), SOAS 12914 (part B) (Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:159) and in a manuscript from the National Museum of Singapore (Teeuw 1966b:235-6).

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The text of Syair Ken Tarnbuhan, very close to that of Klinkert's edition, is contained not only in the manuscript Klinkert 149 (Iskandar 1999, 1:735), but, as it seems, in v.d.W. 247 (Van Ronkel 1909:313) too. Teeuw (1966b:xxv) believes that this text emerged in the process of oral transmission and was committed to writing in Riau. As there are two Riau manuscripts of the poem, this assumption seems plausible, if their wording is meant. However, the characteristic sequel of the long recension (see below) also occurs in Cod. Or. 3375 related to Palembang and Cod. Or. 1997 related to Bangka, which shows that the long recension (different in its wording from Klinkert's text), like Teeuw's recension, probably developed in Palembang. 23 The earliest translation of several excerpts from Syair Ken Tarnbuhan into English was published by Marsden (1812); apart from Roorda van Eysinga's (1838) Dutch and Overbeck's (1926a) German renderings of the poem, there are also partial translations of it into French (Marre 1887), Italian (Bausani 1963) and Russian (ParnickeI1996:25-51).

All the more so as many aspects of Syair Ken Tarnbuhan, both philological and literary (its structure, characterization of heroes, poetical devices), have been already examined by Teeuw (1966b) and Parnickel (1980:122-5). Two more recent studies by Koster and Maier (1982) and Koster (1997:161-98), which have significantly contributed to the understanding of not only this poem, but the syair tradition generally; deserve mention here. The first of them, on the basis of Syair Ken Tarnbuhan, discusses the principle of 'variation within identity' in the poetics of syair, the role of narrative and descriptive formulas for their composition and the methods of their sung performance. In the second study; Syair Ken Tarnbuhan is viewed in a broader context of Panji tales generally to distinguish between two levels of their interpretation. On a more superficiallevel the poem can be read as a means of mediation between 'the demands of individual happiness' and 'the laws of social hierarchy', between 'love for love's sake' and 'love for the sake of status, power and property' (Koster 1997:8). However, on a deeper level Syair Ken Tarnbuhan - through its circular plot developing from the exile of the protagonist 'from a state of clear fixed identity' to her 'return' and the restoration of her true identity - denies and, at the same time, asserts the established order and aristocratic values (noble origin, royal status). In its deepest meaning, Syair Ken Tarnbuhan, similarly to other Panji-romances, proves to be a drama of commemoration, in which the protagonist moves from forgetfulness (of her identity; but also of rules and norms of Malay kerajaan) to remembrance. 24

25

Kerckhoff 1886:305; Skeat 1966:520; Bujang 1975:151.

The first of them, published by Van Hoevell (1843) in Jawi script, probably on the basis of Leiden manuscripts Cod. Or 1942 (A in his publication), Cod. Or.1963 (B) and Cod. Or. 1964 (C) (Wieringa 1998a:175, 191), still remains the best edition of the poem. This recension of the syair was published again by Jamilah Haji Ahmad (1989), who used its earliest extant manuscript (Raffles Malay 7, dated 1814) as the the basis for her edition and collated it with four other manuscripts from British collections (Jamilah Haji Ahmad 1989:xii-xviii), of which some did not draw attention before. The second recension of Syair Bidasari was first published by Klinkert (1886) and republished by Tuti Munawar (1978). Cod. Or. 1964 was romanized in the MA thesis by J. Millie (2000), who compared this manuscript with Jamilah's edition, which allowed him to reconstruct some incomplete stanzas and quote a number of interesting variant readings. His careful transliteration is all the more important as both Tuti Munawar's and Jamilah's romanized editions are full of mistakes and misprints, which seriously damage their texts. Syair Bidasari was translated into Dutch (Van Hoevell 1843:167-421), English (Starkweather 1901:3-89) and French (De Backer 1875). There are also its Makasarese version (in prose; Wieringa 1998a:177) and Philippine version in the Maranao language (Millie 2001:403-6). Although one of the best Malay romantic poems, the syair is insufficiently studied. Jamilah Haji Ahmad (1989:xii-xliv) examined some philological issues related to the work and provided a brief survey of its theme, structure (on the basis of Propp's method) and characterization of the

26

VII Poetry of the classical period

591

heroes. Aesthetic aspects of Syair Bidasari (particularly the interaction between the themes of suffering and fate, which determines its structure and message) are analyzed in the interesting article by Muhammad Haji Salleh (1991b). The only detailed study of the poem is, however, the unpublished thesis of Millie (2000) (see note 33 in this chapter). Van Hoevell (1843:viii) believed that Syair Bidasari consisted of six cantos. However, the sixth canto of his edition does not begin with the word kisah - the only compulsory indicator of a new canto in the poem, whereas the word-combination tersebutlah perkataan ('it is narrated'), which possibly confused him, occurs repeatedly within many cantos (for instance, Van Hoevell 1843:9,70,86). It is obvious that Van Hoevell's cantos 5 and 6 forms one canto, namely canto 5.

27

28

Mother of Seri Rama, an epitome of womanly beauty in Malay literature.

A beautiful fairy also possessing demonic features to whom Sultan Mansur Syah of Malacca proposed in Winstedt's recension of Sejarah Melayu, and Sultan Mahmud Syah in Abdullah's and the 'long' recensions.

29

30

Candra Kirana's brother from Panji-romances, famous for amorous adventures.

The Garden of Mirrors - the third of paradisiacal gardens, the abode of martyrs and those who were truly fearful of God during their life (Wilkinson 1932, II:117).

31

Here is only one, though typical, example: a refined interlacing of the alternating consoIS', 11', 'm', and 'b/: After midnight Siti Bidasari Hari pun sudah tengah malam, Dozed off for a while on her quilt-mattress, Terlalailah siti di atas tilam, Like the scent of a tuberose or an olive flower, Bunga zaitun, sundal malam, Her fragrance made the world go round. Baunya semerbak memutar alamo (Van HoeveIl1843:100.)

32

nants If,

33 / stands for the borderline of cantos; [... ] for the third canto having a dual finale: Bidasari's sorrow is replaced by joy, while Lelasari's joy turns into sorrow.

The above-mentioned unpublished MA thesis by]. Millie (2000) offers a different interpretation of Syair Bidasari. The most interesting aspects of the work are the author's analysis of the poem in the context of ideological concepts of Malay court culture (the culture of kerajaan), his identification of a certain' common narrative' related to these concepts and typical for a number of court poems, and the investigation of both oral and written features of Syair Bidasari. At the same time, several pOints in Millie's interpretation of the poem may provoke some doubt. It does not seem very likely that the threat to the dynastic continuity, which may have constituted Bidasari's alleged non-royal origin, was as important to the Malay poet as the author of the thesis believes, and that Lelasari embodied the feminine ideal of Malay court culture, paradoxically combining its moral values with base characteristics of the egotistic corporeal soul. Millie's approach to the didacticism of the poem and the relationship between the culture of kerajaan and Islam in it also needs further thinking-over. These points will probably be revised in the final version of the work, with the complete text and translation, which is forthcoming with KITLV Press.

34

Sometimes this work is also called Syair Seri Benian (the 'Poem of Seri Benian') and Syair [ndra Laksana (the 'Poem of Indra Laksana). There is also its prose version Hikayat Selindung Delima, of which the manuscript Malay C.6 (102715) (Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:125), originating from Malacca and dated 1808, was summarized by Van der Tuuk (1849:394-6; see also Winstedt 1991:133; Iskandar 1995:490-2). Besides, just like Syair Bidasari and Syair Ken Tambuhan,

35

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature

it is known as a play popular in different forms of Malay theatre (see Kerckhoff 1886:305; Skeat 1966:520; Bujang 1975:151). Finally, there is its Minangkabau version dated 1848, in which the heroine's name is Silinding Denglima or Sidanglima (Wieringa 1998a:224). Although between only 1871 and 1899 the syair in question was lithographed in Singapore under the title Syair Sari Banian (or Syair Sari Banian Salindang Delima) five times (Proudfoot 1993: 471) and later lithographs of the poem are also fairly numerous (one of these later litographs is used in this book), until now there is no scholarly, romanized edition of it. Special studies of this interesting syair are also lacking. For the content of Syair Selindung Delima, see Van Ronkel (1909: 318-20) and Liaw Yock Fang (1991-93, II:215-6). 36

In Hikayat Selindung Delima (which is very close in content to the syair, differing from it only in minor details; for a summary of it, see Van der Tuuk (1849:394-6) and an Indonesian translation of the latter by Iskandar (1995:491-2» and some manuscripts of the poem the six princesses are made the heroine's maids, but soon are forgiven.

37

In some manuscripts (see, for instance, Van RonkeI1909:315) and all lithographs (Proudfoot 1993:557-8) the name of the protagonist is Yatim Mustafa (or Mustapa) - the Chosen Orphan; accordingly, the poem is entitled Syair Yatim Mustafa. The poem was first published in Jawi by Klinkert (1886) and later republished in Latin characters by Taib (1968). There is a translation of it into Dutch by Spat (1897).

38

Actually, in 'the cage of suasa', that is, 'pinchbeck; gold with a large admixture of special alloy (not with the aim of lessening its value but of improving its appearance and its quality)' (Wilkinson 1932, II:491).

39

In the original: ketapang - 'Indian almond-tree (Terminalia catappa)'; kemunting - 'rosemyrtle (Rhodomyrtus tomentosa)'; senduduk - 'a rhododendron-like shrub (Melastoma polyanthum)' (Wilkinson 1932, 1:585, 554, II:433).

40

Although a sena-tree is mentioned in this line, the angsana-tree, 'a magnificent shade-tree (Pterocarpus indicus), (Wilkinson 1932, II:430», which appears in the next line, is identical to it. Hence the translation.

41

Cempaka, 'the champak (Michelia champaca)' (Wilkinson 1932, 1:205); an evergreen tree with white or yellow flowers.

42

43

Puspakencana - Golden Flower, a name of Ken Tambuhan when she was a princess.

The words in quotes are taken from AI-Razi's discussion of the subject in question (Macdonald 1961a:200); one should also remember that some Islamic authors use the terms qada and qadar in the meaning explained above, while others, on the other hand, call 'predetermination' qadar and 'fate' qada. Needless to say, the latter usage does not change the crux of the matter.

44

For more details on the conceptions of qada, qadar and kasb generally and in Islam in Indonesia in particular, see Fauzan Saleh (2001).

45

The magic significance of the black stone and rattan shoot (related to the return of the dead to life) in Syair Selindung Delima still awaits an examination; on the magic function of the swing in a number of Indonesian traditions, see Kruyt (1938).

46

47 Matheson 1983:41-4. On the cultural, intellectual and literary history of Riau, see Matheson and Watson-Andaya 1982; Sham 1980, 1983, 1987a, 1987b, 1993; Matheson 1983, 1987; Iskandar

VII Poetry of the classical period

593

1995:519-92. For the list of Riau poems, see Matheson (1983:41-4); for the genealogy of the yamtuan muda family; from which the most of their authors originated, see Sham (1987a:21O-2). On the Riau chirographic tradition, see Hamidy and Raja Harnzah 1985; Mujizah and Rukmi (1998). 48

For summaries of all these poems, see Iskandar 1995:528-9, 533-9, 581-4.

Syair Putri Akal is known in three manuscripts, of which none mentions the time and place of its composition. The Jakarta manuscript of the syair (Bat. Gen. 21, now Mal 21) belongs to the collection, which mostly consists of manuscripts of Sumatran provenance (Behrend 1998:xx). The text of this manuscript, published in Jakarta (Sjair Puteri AkaI1965), is discussed below. Two other manuscripts are kept in Leiden. These are: Cod. Or. 1771 (Wieringa 1998a:138-40) from the Delft collection dated between 1842 and 1864, when it was transferred to Leiden University Library, and Klinkert 156 originating from Riau. Although these data are certainly inconclusive, Syair Putri Akal may have been written before or around the 1850s, probably in Riau. Sham (1987a:209), 'on the basis of the theme, style and background' of the poem also includes it in the group of anonymous Riau syair. There are several lithographic editions of the poem (the first of them, entitled Syair Putri Akil, appeared in Singapore in 1870, see Proudfoot 1993:431) and its translation into Dutch (Spat 1902b). 49

One, v.d.W. 257 (Van Ronkel 1909:97-8, Behrend 1998:333), in Jakarta and four, Cod. Or. 1740,1748,3368,7342 (Wieringa 1998a:97-8, 106; Iskandar 1999:25, 28, 174,426), in Leiden. Syair Sultan Abd al-Muluk was first published by Roorda van Eysinga (1847) in Jawi characters and after that lithographed twenty-five times between 1867 and 1920 (Proudfoot 1993:104-7). For the recent Romanized edition, see Sham 1993. Roorda van Eysinga's edition is accompanied by an abridged Dutch translation of the poem. In 1884 there appeared the reworking of the syair by Lie Kim Hok, titled Syair Siti Akbari (the 'Poem of Siti Akbari', Zaini-Lajoubert 1994; Koster 1998). There are also a Sundanese poetical adaptation and a number of theatrical versions of it (Kerckhoff 1886:305; Skeat 1966:520; Nafron Hasjim 1984a; Dumas 2000). 50

Compare Winstedt 1991:134. However, Koster finds in Syair Sultan Abd al-Muluk a number of features characteristic for Panji tales and comes to the conclusion that this poem, as well as Syair Siti Zubaidah (the 'Poem of Siti Zubaidah'; Abdul Ghani 1991), is a kind of 'Islamized Panjiromance' (Koster 1998:99). Just as in Panji-romances, in these syair the protagonist (usually the hero, but sometimes the heroine too) 'is temporarily exiled or exiles himself (or herself) from a state of just law and clear fixed identity'. The protagonist finds himself (or herself) in 'a state of tyranny, alienation, forgetfulness, mistaken identity, uncertain meaning and improper erotic desire but ultimately effects a return home and to true identity and just law by acts that recall his (or her) true status' (Koster 1998:100, compare his remarks about the structure of Panji tales, particularly that of Syair Ken Tambuhan (Koster 1997:173-4, 195-8)). Although Koster's idea of 'Islamized Panji-romances' undoubtedly deserves attention and, as has been noted above, is probably applicable to such poems as Syair Bidasari, it, nevertheless, remains too general so far. The structure described by Koster is quite typical not only for Panji tales, but also for narratives of Muslim India, such as the dastan about Gul Bakawali by Niha1chand Lohori (Dekhtyar 1979). This dastan was, incidentally, translated into Malay in the second half of the nineteenth century (Siti Hawa Haji Salleh 1986). 51

52

Juynboll1899; Van Ronke11909, 1921a; Voorhoeve 1973; Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977.

They include: Syair Bidasari (12 copies), Syair Selindung Delima (12), Syair Ken Tambuhan (10), Syair Si/ambari (Syair Sinyor Kosta) (6), Syair Mambang Jauhari (5), Syair Siti Zawiya (5), Syair Siti Zuhra (4), Syair Sultan Abd al-Muluk (4), Syair Sultan Yahya (4), Syair Putri Akal (3), Syair Ratu Juwita (3), Syair Panji Semirang (3), Syair Yatim Nestapa (3). These syair account for 76 of 104 copies of romantic syair mentioned in the above catalogues. 53

594 54

The heritage of traditional Malay literature Sham 1993:459-730; Liaw Yock Fang 1991-93, II:219-21; JuynboIl1899:25-6.

55 Van RonkeI1909:340, 1921a:72-3; Voorhoeve 1973:57-8; Muhammad Haji Salleh 1991c:1556,1994.

Apart from Syair dagang berjual beli, only one poem about merchants, namely Syair saudagar bodoh, has been studied so far in the interesting article by Wieringa (1997).

56

The meaning of the title is somewhat unclear. Silam or silem (which in some manuscripts is virtually used as the personal name of the procuress) means 'old woman', 'old lady' (Wilkinson 1932, II:140), while bari = bahari means 'of olden times' and 'fresh', 'attractive', 'beautiful', 'charming' (Wilkinson 1932, 1:65). Therefore, the title may be translated as the 'Poem of the charming old lady' or the 'Poem of the charming procuress'.

57

58 Teeuw (1992a: 511-20) formulates, with due caution, a hypothesis about the development of the textual tradition of Syair Sinyor Kosta. He believes that recension C, the shortest, most referential and preserved in the oldest manuscript, probably precedes all other recensions. Recension B represents a kind of link between C and A. On the one hand, B is almost equal to A in length, and about half of its stanzas find exact counterparts in A. On the other hand, B shows a number of significant similarities with C: in both the action takes place in Malacca, in both the theme of sea-battles occupies an important place and Sinyor Kosta falls in one of such battles. However, it is precisely recension B that allows us to observe those changes which finally caused the emergence of recension A: the Chinese merchant, in B, fails to get Lela Mayang back; although the lovers die, they tum into the dragon and the python and, being inseparable even in death, are 'glorified as Romeo and Juliet of sorts' (Teeuw 1992a:519). Thus, the development of the poem continues via the tragic story with romantic elements, contained in B, towards a romantic tale per se with a happy ending, that is recension A originating from Malacca or Riau (where its earliest manuscripts are found) and recension D from Palembang. 59 For instance, there were tens, if not hundreds, of 'poetical replies' to 'Layla and Majnun' and 'Khusraw and Shirin' by Nizami Ganjawi, each of them showing a number of peculiarities.

Teeuw 1992a:520-8. This recension was also examined in an unpublished M.A. thesis by Dumas (1985). For studies of Syair Silambari, besides the works by Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor and Teeuw mentioned above, see also Van der Linden (1937:106-16) and Iskandar (1995:510-16). 60

61 Although, by and large, Teeuw's reconstruction of the development of Syair Silambari seems to be sound, this feature of the poem is a kind of challenge to it. If it is true that the unusual, octosyllabic verse of the syair, which occurs in all recensions of the poem, evolved as an imitation of Javanese metres (Kinanti or Asmaradana), then Palembang becomes the most likely place of its origin. There are no chronological obstacles for such an assumption, as it seems, since Palembang recension D could have been composed between 1803 and 1811, while recension C appeared in 1806. Therefore, we may speculate about recension C as a moralistic response to D, followed by the return to the romantic syair contained in recension A via recension B. In this case, the sequence of Malacca-Riau recensions C -> B -> A of Teeuw's reconstruction remains unchanged. At present, however, this is no more than a guess, nevertheless showing that the development of Syair Silambari still needs further elaboration. Probably we shall find it in the long-awaited edition of the Palembang recension by KITLV Press.

Many examples of this kind have been collected and classified by Mohd. Yusof Md. Nor (1986:50-3).

62

63

One manuscript of Syair Raja Mambang Jauhari is kept in Jakarta (v.d.W 264, Van Ronkel

VII Poetry of the classical period

595

1909:336), it numbers about 5000 lines and probably originates from Riau. Four others are in the collection of the Leiden University Library (Wieringa 1998a:150-2, 177, 181; Iskandar 1999, 1:42, 52, 56, 731): Cod. Or. 1896 (about 8200 lines), presented to the library by Baron Sloet van de Beele in 1867 and having 'a fine Palembang binding', thus perhaps from Palembang or a copy of the Palembang manuscript made at the General Secretariat; Cod. Or. 1943 (about 5000 lines); Cod. Or. 1955 (about 7200 lines) dated 1834; Klinkert 137 (about 4600 lines) from Riau. The syair was summarized in detail and partly published by Spat (1902, 1903). About it, see also Drewes (1977:216,226) and Iskandar (1995:516-8). This scene, which evokes reminiscences of the fighting between Batara Kresna who mounted Garuda and Sang Boma who mounted Wilmana, is probably a proof of the author's conversancy with Hikayat Sang Barna. 64

Van Ronkel 1921a:82; Iskandar 1999, 1:286; Kathirithamby-Wells and Muhammad Yusoff Hashim 1985.

65

The poem in Skinner's edition (1963) numbers more than 2000 lines (534 stanzas). Its extant manuscripts (all of them incomplete) are: two London manuscripts SOAS 40324 (lacking stanzas 1-13) and SOAS 12902 (only stanzas 1-15), both from Marsden's collection, probably originating from Sumatra and dating from the eighteenth century (the second dated 1791); one Leiden manuscript Cod. Or. 1626(3) containing stanzas 1-73, which was copied by Cornelia Valentijn, the wife of Franc;ois Valentijn, in Ambon around 1710. One more manuscript containing stanzas 1-434, of which the whereabouts are unknown at present, was auctioned at Sotheby's on November 27 1974; that manuscript from the collection of Sir Thomas Phillips was copied in 1702. For the manuscripts of Syair perang Mengkasar, see Skinner 1963:47-50; Jones 1975; Brakel 1976b; Wieringa 1998a:26-7. For the studies of the syair, see Skinner (1963:1-64,1985:308-12) (the reply to Koster) and Koster (1986b, 1997:97-125). 66

Here and below the Macassar of Skinner's translation was replaced by Makasar and capital letters were used at the beginning of all lines.

67

68

Literally: 'was not a miserable one'.

69

Literally: 'disgraced like a woman'.

Examining Syair perang Mengkasar as a specimen of Malay heroic (perhaps a more precise definition would be heroico-historical) epic, Koster (1997:97-125) emphasizes the role of oaths and words of courage, uttered by loyal vassals in the presence of the sultan, in the structure of the poem. According to Koster, these oaths are a cornerstone of the feudal order of kerajaan, something similar to a written contract. A long disjunction between the oath and the action of the one who had sworn it was considered unacceptable. 'Where it occurred it had to be set right in one-way or another by poetic justice: the narrative punishment of cowards and traitors' (Koster 1997:6). Since the tragedy of the defeat in a war, that disturbed the kerajaan order, was a major problem for the heroic mode of Enci' Amin's discourse, he strove to ignore this problem as much as possible, portraying almost all the battle episodes as a "'frischer, frohlicher Krieg" (a vigorous, merry war)' (Koster 1997:6). 70

71

In Skinner's translation: 'the main body:

In Skinner's translation: 'The Commander-in-Chief [Malay text: Kapitan Amirall commanded the centre / like unto a stout fortress:

72

73

In Skinner's translation: 'Who was in charge of the rear:

596

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

Compare, for instance: 'When the armies stood facing each other, Betara Kresna and Maharaja Darmawangsa drew up their army in the battle array named Garuda Bayu. Sang Arjuna became its beak; Maharaja Derpa, the head of the array; Sang Bima, the left wing and Sang Seta Jaman, the right wing; Maharaja Darmawangsa and kings, the Pandawa's allies (?), made up the body, while Sang Satyaki became the tail.' (Khalid Hussain 1964:104.) 74

75

Either Yudistira or Jayadrata, Skinner (1963:277).

Compare the following excerpt from Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah: Fighters of both armies mixed up so that it was impossible to say who was who among them, and no other sounds were heard except battle cries of the warriors, the rattle and ring of weapons, rumble of clubs and deafening uproar of the fighting [so it seemed as if] Doomsday had come. The heads of the dead rolled around like balls; the bodies of warriors were scattered all around. (BrakeI1975:218, compare BrakeI1975:208, 255.) Interestingly, among a dozen and a half descriptions of battles collected by Brakel (1979b), the image of heads rolling like balls on the battlefield, traceable to the Persian original of the story of Muhammad Hanafiyah, is found only in two (in Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah and Hikayat Si Miskin). 76

77 Compare: As soon as the king's wife Dewi Jembuwati and [the princess] Dewi Tunjung Sari [Samba Prawira's mother and wife] heard that Batara Kresna had come with the corpse of the prince Samba Prawira, they jumped to the ground and rushed to meet Samba Prawira's chariot [... ], failing to fix their hair so that it scattered down their shoulders and touched the earth. [... ] And Dewi Jembuwati threw herself down on the ground near her son's corpse, while Dewi Tunjung Sari hugged his corpse, weeping, and then fainted, fell down and did not come to herself. [... ] Dewi Jembuwati began to cry bitterly, saying: '0 my son, the fruit of your mother's heart and the light of your mother's eyes! Why don't you want to greet your mother who has come to meet you? What is your mother's guilt against you that you have forsaken her? If so, your mother would rather die together with you!' [... ] When Dewi Tunjung Sari came to herself and saw Samba Prawira's corpse again, she resumed weeping and said: 'Why are you silent, my husband? Why don't you want to greet your wife who has come to meet you? What is your wife's guilt that you have forsaken her, leaving her to suffer from such distress? I will rather kill myself in order to die with you and never part with you again: (Sang Bama 1959:305-6.) 78

Or rather' sat on the flowery-seat (the seat similar to a flower)'.

According to Wilkinson (1932, II:231) 'an old type of trading-ship'; Skinner (1963:257) quotes a description of the ship called belang, the State Vessel with the prows raised up sharply and beautifully carved and painted, which is moved by the rowers who 'ply their oars in time to the rhythm given out by musicians playing upon percussion instruments'.

79

Skinner 1963:115, 117. In Hikayat Indraputra entertainments of the princes in the sea Bahr al-Isyk (sometimes Bahr al-Asyik) is described in similar words: Ships (lancang) and boats (pelang) made of gold, silver and a precious alloy (tembaga suasa) and set with various jewels were sailing in the sea. Each ship and each boat was adorned with flowers, pearl decorations, carvings and spiral-shaped designs [...] Princes were sailing in these ships, trying to overtake one another. They made their ships, embellished with jewels, collide with each other and amused themselves in any possible way. All the princes entertained themselves in the middle of the sea with a deafening noise and played various musical instruments, such as viols and four-stringed lutes, loudly. (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:103.)

80

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597

The portrayal of the sea journey of Indraputra and his allies to his homeland (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:322-6) is reminiscent of this description from Syair perang Mengkasar too. Similar to it is also a representation of the wedding procession in Hikayat lndraputra (compare the representation of the King of Tallo' as a bridegroom), which mentions the palanquin in the form of a wild animal, carried in front of the procession, and the 'flower-throne' of the newlyweds (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:221), that evokes associations with the flower-seat in the boat of the King of Tallo'. A number of such syair were summarized by Overbeck (1934). For a representative collection of allegorical syair, see Antologi 1980. The collection includes ten poems: Syair Bayan Budiman (the 'Poem of the Wise Parrot', here one of the versions of Syair burung - the 'Poem of the birds'), Syair buah-buahan (by Muhammad Bakir; about him see Chambert-Loir 1984, 1991); Syair Bunga Air Mawar (the 'Poem of the Rose' by Pangeran Panembahan Bupati of Palembang), Syair burung (the 'Poem of the Birds'; one of its recensions was composed by Raja Hasan of Penyengat), Syair Burung Pungguk (the 'Poem of the Owlet'), Syair lkan Terubuk dan Puyu-puyu (the 'Poem of the Shad and the Climbing Perch'), Syair Kumbang dan Me/ati (the 'Poem of the Bumblebee and the Jasmin Flower'), Syair Sang Kupu-kupu dengan Kembang dan Balang (the 'Poem of the Butterfly, the Flower and the Grasshopper'), Syair Nyamuk dan Lalat (the 'Poem of the Mosquito and the Fly') and Syair Nuri (the 'Poem of the Parrot' by Sultan Mahmud Badruddin of Palembang). 81

82

Drewes 1977:201, 226; Koster 1996; for its edition, see Jumsari Yusuf 1976,1978.

According to Wilkinson (1932, 1:495), this fish (Lates spp) is the "'Cockup" of India; Palmer of Queensland; Dutch: "kaalkop"'.

83

When written in Arabic characters, the words tunggal (here 'one with') and tongkol (tunafish) are identical; this is a characteristic example of Hamzah Fansuri's penchant for playing on words (for more details, see Chapter VIII).

84

Doorenbos 1933:33-9, 57-60; Roolvink 1964:243-55; Drewes and BrakeI1986:113-27, 136-43, 194-208, and Chapter VIII.

85

There are three manuscripts of the poem in the collection of Leiden University Library: Cod. Or. 2276E (copied on 11 April 1876 in Bengkalis by a scribe who was born in Padang; Cod. Or. 2276F is a romanized copy of Cod. Or. 2276E) and two undated copies, most probably of Riau provenance, Klinkert 160 and Klinkert 188 (Wieringa 1998a:453-6; Iskandar 1999, 1:97, 739, 747). Four more manuscripts of the poem (all undated) are kept in Jakarta. They are v.d.W. 241, v.d.W. 242, v.d.W. 243 and v.d.W. 259 and also originate from Riau (Van RonkeI1909:355-6). As manuscripts Cod. Or. 2276E, published and studied by Meijer (1984) and v.d.W. 241 published in Antologi (1980:156-66) show, there are at least two recensions of the syair, longer and shorter respectively. For lithographic editions of Syair lkan Terubuk (nine between 1871 and 1902), see Proudfoot 1993:519-21; for the studies of the poem, see Overbeck 1934:115-7; C. Hooykaas 1947: 72-6; Meijer 1984; Maier 1993:212-21; Maier and Koster 1986; Iskandar 1995:470-2.

86

87

Klinkert 1868:370; Hooykaas 1947:73-5; Antologi 1980:10.

Incidentally, Maier and Koster (1986:213) find interesting parallels to Syair lkan Terubuk in Syair perang Siak.

88

Overbeck (1934:115-7), based on the Singapore lithograph of 1320 H (1902); see also the important study of the poem by Maier and Koster (1986).

89

There are three Leiden manuscripts of Syair Burung Pungguk: Cod. Or. 5641 from Java (belonging to the collection of a certain Banten syaikh) with year 1269H (1878-1879) on the title

90

598

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

page of the manuscript and Klinkert 163 and 165 without dates but with year 1863 in their watermarks, both from Riau, the copying of Klinkert 165 was finished at the end of 1865, its owner (or copyist) Ibrahim of Tanjung Pinang (Iskandar 1999, 1:210, 740, 744). One manuscript, v.d.W. 241, is kept in Jakarta; it is undated and also most probably originates from Riau (Van Ronkel 1909:355). The syair was lithographed ten times between 1881 and 1915 (Proudfoot 1993:428-30) and published in Latin characters by Overbeck (1914a) and Raja Iskandar bin Raja Muhammad Zahid (1966). There is an English translation of the initial part of the poem by McGlynn (1976). For the studies of the work, see Raja Iskandar bin Raja Muhammad Zahid 1966; Iskandar 1995: 472-6. 91

2.

Overbeck 1934:117; C. Hooykaas 1947:173; Raja Iskandar bin Raja Muhammad Zahid 1966:

CHAPTER VIII

Muslim hagiography and Sufi literature As has already been noted, a greater part of classical Malay writings belongs to the third sphere of the literary system, that is, to the sphere of spiritual perfection.! The works of this sphere are usually intended to comment on and clarify the theology and mysticism of Islam, Muslim law, ethics and so on and display a mainly scholarly and technical character. No wonder, therefore, that the majority of these works lack an aesthetic component. Even if important for the study of Islam in the Malay world, they present little of interest for literary examination. However, two kinds of writings in the sphere of spiritual perfection undoubtedly deserve to be studied from the literary point of view too. The first of them is represented by the genre of hagiographic hikayat, including biographies (mostly legendary) of the prophets generally and the prophet Muhammad in particular, as well as episodes from the lives of saints and other pious people. The second kind embraces a number of genres of Sufi literature. Although the symbolic method of expression is, one way or another, characteristic of Sufi literature as a whole, we can distinguish between two varieties of writings in Malay, and not only Malay, Sufism: the Sufism of learned treatises (kitab) and 'poetic Sufism', no matter whether its compositions are written in verse or in prose. The kitab Sufism differs from its poetic counterpart in its more scholarly nature; it is more intellect-oriented and more consistently resorts to metaphysical terminology for the expression of its ideas. On the other hand, poetic Sufism, although identical to the former in its doctrines, presents them in a more emotional way, using, first and foremost, various symbolic codes, be they manifested through individual symbolic images or through sequences of such images, intimately connected with each other. One cannot overestimate the role played by kitab Sufism and the literature of kitab generally in the transformation of Malay literature from the very beginning of the Islamization of the Archipelago. However, poetic Sufism, represented by diverse symbolic and allegorical compositions in the form of hikayat and syair, also played an important role in both the mystical practice of the Malays and their literary history.

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On the one hand, poetic Sufism provided verse texts to be sung or recited by participants of the Sufi zikir (ratib), thus facilitating their experience of the sense of unity with God. But this is not all there was to it. The same poetic writings supplied seekers of cognition of God (ma'rifat) with sequences of meditative symbols capable of defining individual Sufi concepts without logical operation. The latter would necessarily reduce these concepts to their rational aspects only, whereas the 'definition' via symbols allowed the seeker to 'live through' the concept in its entirety in the process of intensive meditation (musyahadah), or, to put it differently, to perceive the concept with his integral 'self' - the unity of thought, emotion and will (see Chapter V). Finally, prose and verse works of poetic Sufism, permeated with the element of beauty, not only expounded Sufi doctrines in an attractive form, but also served as an important tool for their memorization. Sometimes they performed this function by means of a peculiar - for instance, numerical - compositional structure of a work, and sometimes by means of its plot or clusters of motifs that presented sequences of symbols in a fascinating way, thus facilitating their memorization. On the other hand, the influence of poetic Sufism on classical Malay literature was also very deep. It is precisely from the Sufi milieu that the principal genre form of Malay written poetry - syair - originated. Such literary genres as the edifying mirror, the fantastic adventure hikayat, the religious-ethical (or didactic) discourse and some others were either created, or transformed, or acquired their final form in the framework of poetic Sufism. Later the Sufi patterns or prototypes of these genres, devoid, completely or partially, of their mystical purport, were used widely for the creation of works outside the sphere of spiritual perfection. Moreover, poetic Sufism paved the way for the creation of a Hindu-Islamic synthesis in Malay literature, which remained one of its most remarkable features from the late sixteenth to the first half of the nineteenth century. No less important was the role of Sufism in the formation of the self-awareness of classical Malay literature with its teachings of the beauty and the didactic benefit of a literary work (see Chapter IV). Be that as it may, in spite of its unquestionable significance, poetic Sufism still remains much less studied than kitab Sufism. It is for this reason, coupled with the aesthetic value of its compositions, that poetic Sufism will be discussed in this chapter at greater length than the literature of Sufi treatises.

Hagiographic tales about the Prophet Muhammad Say: 'If men and jinns banded together to produce the like of this Koran, they would never produce its like, not though they backed one another: We have indeed turned about for men in this Koran every manner of similitude; yet most

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men refuse all but unbelief. They say: 'We will not believe thee till thou makest a spring to gush forth from the earth for us, or till thou possessest a garden of palms and vines, and thou makest rivers to gush forth abundantly all amongst it, or till thou makest heaven to fall, as thou assertest, on us in fragments, or thou bringest God and the angels as a surety, or till thou possessest a house of gold ornament, or till thou goest up into heaven; and we will not believe thy going up till thou bringest down on us a book that we may read: Say: 'Glory be to my Lord! Am I aught but a mortal, a Messenger?' (Qur'an 17:90-5; Arberry 1983:312.)

Thus, the historical Muhammad never ascribed any supernatural powers to himself and regarded the Divine Inimitability of the Qur' an as the only sign of his prophetic mission. However, his pious descendents, proceeding partly from the needs of preaching, partly from the desire to win the 'war of prestige' with other religions, ascribed to him not only numerous wonders, demanded by those who 'refused all but unbelief', but even 'greater signs'. In doing so, Muslim authors confirmed their right to include fantastic motifs, borrowed from popular legends and various apocryphal sources, into Muhammad's hagiography (sirat), referring to the falsely interpreted saying by the Prophet: 'You may speak anything praiseful about me, but not what the Christians say about Jesus [which means that Muhammad did not lay claim to his divinity]' (Krymsky 1902:94). Fantastic tales about Muhammad also played an important role in Malay hagiography, which, like the literature of mirrors, provided edifying specimens and examples to follow, but, contrary to the latter, these specimens and examples were related to the spiritual rather than social life. No wonder that these tales were usually recited at the festivals in honour of the Prophet, especially at the festival of his birthday (maulud). Malay versions of Muhammad's hagiographies began to appear between the early sixteenth and the early seventeenth century (Winstedt 1991:69-70) under the influence of Persian or, to be more exact, Indo-Persian literature. One of the oldest among them - Hikayat Nabi wafat (the 'Tale of the decease of the Prophet') - could have been dated as early as the age of Malacca.2 These hagiographies, composed in the form of hikayat and later quite often translated from Malay into Javanese, Sundanese, Acehnese, Buginese, Makasarese and other languages of the Archipelago (Winstedt 1991:69-72; Van der Meij 1996:12), normally did not follow the sirat by such Arabic authors as Ibn Ishaq, Ibn Athir and Ibn Hisham, with their much higher historicity and reliability (on their sirat, see Gibb and Kramers 1961:547-9). Neither were they voluminous compilations covering the entire life of the Prophet, similar to their Arabic contemporaries Khamis fi ahwal al-nafs al-Nafis ('Five detachments [of words] about the soul of the Precious One') or Insan al-'uyun fi sirat ai-Am in al-mamun (the 'Essence [literally: pupils of the eyes] of the biography of the Faithful One in whom we have faith' (Krymsky 1902:96-9)}.

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On the contrary, Malay hagiographic hikayat represented comparatively brief separate works narrating, as a rule, spiritually most important episodes from Muhammad's life. Saturated with numerous stories about his supernatural powers and miracles (mu'jizat), they fully met the requirements of Malay neophytes with their age-old beliefs and tastes. The life of Muhammad, the stages of which these tales portray, begins with Hikayat Nur Muhammad (the 'Tale of the Light of Muhammad') or Hikayat kejadian Nur Muhammad (the 'Tale of how the Light of Muhammad was created'). This hikayat narrates Muhammad's pre-existence as the Light of Prophecy, from which the entire Universe was created and which afterwards descended upon each prophet. The content of the tale, translated from Persian probably at the end of the sixteenth century,3 runs as follows. First Allah created the Light of Muhammad to which he said that it is incumbent for humans to perform the 'five pillars' (lima rukun) of Islam. The Light of Muhammad had praised Allah incessantly for fifty years. After that from the Light of Muhammad Allah created a 'sublime and most beautiful bird'. Ali ibn Abi Talib was its head, Hasan and Husain were its eyes, Fatimah az-Zuhra was its neck, Abu Bakar and Umar were its arms (?), Harnzah ibn Abd al-Mutalib was its tail, Abbas its back, Khadijah al-Kubra its feet. Allah ordered the Light that acquired the form of the bird, to swim in 'the seas forming seven tiers (tujuh petala laut)', namely the Sea of Knowledge, the Sea of Subtlety, the Sea of Patience, the Sea of Intellect, the Sea of Thought, the Sea of Mercy and the Sea of Light. After the Light had swum for ten thousand years in each of these seas, it was ordered to go ashore and shake itself (bergerak dirinya). From drops of water that fell from its body 124,000 prophets and thirteen messengers were created; from drops that fell from its eyes appeared four angels: Jabrail, Israfil, Azrail and Mikail; from drops from its ears, nose, shoulders, arms and so on there appeared the WellGuarded Tablet, the Lofty Pen, the Throne, the Footstool, the seven tiers of paradise, the sun, the moon, the wind, water, earth and fire (elements), the Lote Tree of the Uttermost End (sidrat al-muntaha), the paradisical Tuba-tree, and so on. Later this Light was granted to the Prophet Adam, from whom it came to the Prophet Sis (Seth), then to the Prophet Ayub Gob} and then to the Prophet Musa (Moses). After the creation of the four elements Allah sent the Light of Muhammad to them, and all the elements became Allah's faithful servants. The human body is made up of these elements, and their properties determine the temperament, or the character, of a human being. The merit gained by the reading of Hikayat Nur Muhammad is equal to that of seven pilgrimages (haji) to Mecca. The merit of the one who reads it every day or every night is not second to the merit of a martyr killed in the holy war (mati syahid). (Inilah Hikayat Nur n.d.:3-9; Djamaris 1983.)

It deserves mentioning that the Light of Muhammad is represented as Pure

Bird (Burung Pingai) in a few syair by Hamzah Fansuri (see below) and in Bustan as-salatin by Nuruddin ar-Raniri. Nurruddin also quotes a story telling of how Allah created a tree with four branches and called it Syajarat al-Yakin - the Tree of Certainty. Afterwards He created the Light of Muhammad 'in

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the form of a peacock and placed it on the top of that Tree'. The peacock had uttered the formula of tasbih (Subhan Allah - 'Glory be to God!') for 70,000 years. After 70,000 years it saw itself 'in the veil [covering God] which was similar to a mirror'. As the peacock's reflection was 'unspeakably beautiful', it, full of gratitude, prostrated itself five times before Allah. After that five daily prostrations became obligatory lfardu) for every Muslim (Wilkinson 1900,1:8). The story of the 'metaphysical birth' of Muhammad is followed by the tale about his physical birth. Sometimes - as in Hikayat kejadian Baginda Rasulullah (the 'Tale of the origin of God's Blessed Messenger'), an enlarged recension of Hikayat Nur Muhammad, and some other works - this tale is a direct continuation of the story of the mystical Light. Sometimes it represents an individual hikayat, for instance, Hikayat Nabi lahir (the 'Tale of the birth of the Prophet'). When Muhammad was born, many miracles took place: the idols in the temple of the pagan Meccans fell on the ground, the throne of the Persian king Kisran (= Khusraw) began to sway with such force that the king fell down from it, all the fires of fire-worshippers (majusi) were extinguished, there was an unbearable heat throughout the world, and milk appeared all of a sudden in the breasts of Muhammad's future wet-nurse Halimah. At the age of two years, two angels cut his chest open with a sword, took out his heart and purified it with holy water. The Angel Jabrail presented Muhammad with a paradisical staff, which, if he drove it into the ground, could fulfil his every wish, and so on (Jumsari Jusuf et al. 1984:26-8). The tale of the Prophet's birth is followed by two hikayat about his miracles. The first of them is Hikayat Nabi mi'raj (the 'Tale of the Prophet's ascent'), narrating Muhammad's nocturnal journey to heaven, when he was 'at the distance of two bows or even closer' from the Creator (on mi'raj, see Gibb and Kramers 1961:381-4; Samarrai 1968). Mentioned in Werndly's list of Malay works, published in 1736, Hikayat Nabi mi'raj may have been composed as early as the seventeenth century. Its content is as follows. Allah ordered the Prophet to present himself before Him. On mounting the paradisical animal Burak, half-horse and half-woman, Muhammad departed from Mecca to Jerusalem, accompanied by the Angel Jabrail and seventy other angels. Having reached Jerusalem, he ascended from the mosque AI-Aksa to the seven layers of heaven. In the first heaven Muhammad saw the enormous ocean separating earth from heaven and innumerable stars as big as mountains; in that heaven sinners were tortured in the hellish fire. In the second heaven he saw the ocean of white water, which could be crossed only after a six hundred year voyage. In the third heaven Muhammad met his father and mother. Although doomed to be fried on a red-hot frying pan for their sins, they did not allow their son to intercede for them. In the fourth heaven the Prophet saw the Angel of Death seated on the golden throne. In the fifth heaven he met God's prophets of olden times: Ismail, Ishak, Yakub Oacob)

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The second miracle performed by the Prophet was the splitting of the Moon. The tale of this miracle, to which there are allusions in the Qur' an (Surah 52: 12) and which waS written on the basis of a number of hadith (Ismail Hamid 1983:56), also enjoyed a great popularity in all Islamic literatures. We do not know the exact date of composition of its Malay version entitled Hikayat bulan berbelah dua (the 'Tale of the moon split into two') or Hikayat mu'jizat Rasulullah memanggil bulan (the 'Tale of the miracle of God's Messenger who summoned the moon'; also known under other titles). However, as a fairly similar work was created on the Coromandel coast of South India in 1583 and, according to a local legend, was even used to persuade the king of Ceylon to embrace Islam (Marrison 1955:65), it does not seem too far-fetched to assume that its Malay counterpart was composed around the same time, that is, in the late sixteenth-the early seventeenth century. The popularity of the tale in the Archipelago is further corroborated by the fact that it was translated into Buginese and Makasarese (Winstedt 1991:71). Hikayat bulan berbelah dua, 4 which could not fail to amaze the reader by its powerful images full of truly cosmic magnificence, can be summarized as follows. Abu Jahil (Arabic: Abu Jahl), Muhammad's sworn enemy, complained to the ruler of Mecca, Janu Malik (in some versions, Habib ibn Malik), that, although Muhammad styled himself the Seal of the Prophets and the Last of the Prophets, he, unlike his predecessors, had not yet shown any sign of his high mission and therefore must be considered an impostor. On Janu Malik's order, Muhammad arrives at the plain where all the Meccans gather and works the greatest of miracles to refute Abu Jahil's accusation: Then all who were on the plain looked at the main road. At that very moment the Sun faded, covered, like by a cloud, by a host of angels who followed the Prophet Muhammad, the Messenger of God. Then, in the twinkling of an eye, the full Moon of the fourteenth night shone forth in the sky, as bright as the rising Sun. And the crowds saw the Messenger of God approaching the plain and were amazed and bewildered by the wondrous manner in which he appeared on it. [... ] And the Messenger of God performed two prayers, and finished them with a blessing, and said, addressing the ruler: '0 king Janu Malik and you Arabs,

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behold the Greatness of God, the Lord of the Worlds, who works His Might upon all His slaves!' After saying this, he looked at the Moon and exclaimed: '0 the Moon, descend to me by the Might of the Lord of the Worlds, and may His Will be fulfilled by His slave upon whom this was bestowed!' And the Moon descended from the sky to the House of God [that is, the Kaabal. It circumambulated the House of God seven times and approached the Messenger. When the Moon approached him, it stopped and uttered the testimony of faith, exclaiming: 'I testify that there is no God but Allah and I also testify that Muhammad is the Messenger of God!' And the Moon's testimony of faith sounded as loud as a thunderclap, so that all the infidels, who refused to believe in the Messenger of God, shuddered with horror and fell on the ground unconscious. Having professed its faith, the Moon entered the right sleeve of the Messenger of God and emerged from his left sleeve. Afterwards it split into two halves, of which one headed for the east and the other, for the west. And when the Moon arose to the sky again, both its halves were joined together as before, and there was no crevice between them. (Mulyadi 1968:25-7.)

Staggered by what they had seen, the king and all the Meccan nobility embraced Islam. Meanwhile Muhammad worked one more miracle: he wrapped Janu Malik's daughter, who had been born without arms and legs, in his cloak (al-burdah), and both the arms and the legs were restored to her at once. However, according to another recension, even the miraculous splitting of the Moon did not satisfy the king of Mecca, who continued to persist in his unbelief and ordered the Prophet and his closest friend, the future righteous caliph, Abu Bakar (Arabic: Abu Bakr) to be arrested. He agreed to accept Islam only after Muhammad defeated him in war (Mulyadi 1968:36-7). The next group of Muhammad's hagiographies includes the tales of the wars that the Prophet waged against various enemies of Islam. Although based, to some extent, on historical events described in Arabic and Persian works of the maghazi genre,S Malay hikayat of this group are so much embellished with fantastic details and full of mistakes of all kinds, including misinterpretations of Arabic words from the originals, that their historical background is almost indiscernible. As typical examples of these war-stories, one can mention Hikayat Raja Khandak (the 'Tale of King Khandak'), Hikayat Raja Lahad (the 'Tale of King Lahad') and Hikayat Raja Khaibar (the 'Tale of King Khaibar') (Liaw Yock Fang 1991-93, 1:258-60, 279; Ismail Hamid 1989:42-3). The last-mentioned tale is no more than a distant echo of the battle between Muslims and the Jewish tribe of Khaibar that took place in 628. Characteristically, the name of this tribe was transformed in the hikayat into the name of the infidel king, Raja Khaibar, who was portrayed as an epitome of despotism and cruelty. Besides, he worshipped the Sun, murdered innocent merchants and, in the end, launched a war against the Prophet, only to be defeated and killed by his son-in-law, 'Ali ibn Abi Talib. The Prophet's antagonists from two other hikayat do not differ much from

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this villain. Raja Khandak and his son Raja Badar are powerful kings who, with the help of magic, hold sway over humans and jinns. Both are fictitious figures: the name of the former, meaning 'moat', originates from the defensive moat once surrounding Medina, while the name of the latter originates from the village Badr, where Muhammad won his first victory. The royal father and son do everything in their power to eradicate Islam until both fall at the hand of the same' Ali. The etymology of the name Raja Lahad is not so obvious. It may be a derivative either from the Arabic word lahd 'grave', implying the grave in which Muslim warriors killed in the battle of Uhud were buried, or from Mount Uhud, where that battle took place. King Lahad rules a great country situated at the distance of one year's march from Mecca. With his countless army he invades Mecca and begins a war against the Prophet, which lasts for three months. In one of the battles of that war the Prophet's uncle Amir Hamzah falls, but, just as in all other wars mentioned above, the tireless' Ali manages to smash the army of the infidel king. Although the Prophet Muhammad is the one who declares every war against enemies of Islam, and who shows great courage in the most dangerous situations and receives God's commands to be conveyed to his faithful captains, it is not he but Muslim warriors striving to die as martyrs, especially the fearless and valiant' Ali ibn Abi Talib, who are the main heroes on the battlefield. Because of his thunderous war cry the sky almost falls down to the earth. He attacks his foes so fiercely that he almost wounds the great bull, which supports the earth, with his sword Zulfikar. 'Ali's warlike mood is so dangerous for the entire world that Allah has to send the Angel Jabrail to him again and again, asking him to restrain his belligerent heat, if only a little. 6 One of the most famous tales about Muhammad was Hikayat Nabi bercukur (the 'Tale of the Prophet's shaving'). Translated into a number of languages of the Archipelago (Javanese, Sundanese, Buginese, Makasarese), this work most probably belongs to the earliest hagiographies of Muhammad. After the victory over Raja Lahad, Allah told His Messenger that he should be shaved. The one who shaved the Prophet was the Angel Jabrail himself. The Prophet was shaved in the presence of his Light. When the shaving was over, Muhammad's head was covered with a shining leaf of the paradisical Tuba-tree. None of his 126,666 hairs fell down to the ground, as the host of houris, who had ascended from Heaven to watch the Prophet being shaved, managed to catch one hair each and then bound it around their right hand as an amulet. (Inilah Hikayat Nur n.d.:26-31.)

Finally, Hikayat Nabi wafat (the 'Tale of the decease of the Prophet') narrates of the last hours of Muhammad's life.

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After the morning prayer in the mosque the Prophet Muhammad was reclining at home, when the Angel Jabrail and the Angel of Death suddenly presented themselves before him to convey the word of God that his predestined hour of death was coming. They also gave instructions about what should have been done on the eve of the Prophet's decease. Muhammad told all this to his wife Aisyah and his daugther Fatimah, who began to weep bitterly. The Prophet, however, ordered them not to cry, beat their breasts or tear their hair and gave them his last injunctions. Then, supported by 'Ali, he returned to the mosque, recited prayers in a melodious voice and said his last farewells to the muezzin, the four companions and other Muslims. On saying his prayers, the Prophet Muhammad asked all those whom he had ever hurt to declare it, so that he might be able to expiate his guilt. Everyone who was present in the mosque kept silence, shedding tears. Only a certain Akasah declared that once the Messenger of God had dealt him a blow with a whip. In spite of angry protestations from the people, who felt pity for the Prophet, weak and unwell, and were ready to take his place, Muhammad ordered that his whip be brought at once. However, when the whip was brought and the Prophet took off his clothes, Akasah saw the navel of Muhammad and, amazed with his justice, threw away the whip. Right at that moment his face shone and was transfigured as the face of a denizen of paradise. After that the Prophet returned to the house of 'Aisyah. Meanwhile, Jabrail and the Angel of Death came to Muhammad once again, now to take his soul. After the Prophet had breathed his last in the midst of those whom he loved, all the seven gates of paradise were flung open to accept his soul. (Inilah Hikayat Nur n.d.:31-44; Jumsari Jusuf et al. 1984:86-108.)

Alongside the above-mentioned tales about individual episodes from the Prophet Muhammad's life, there is also a work in which some of these episodes are combined to make up an integral whole. This work, entitled Hikayat Nabi (the 'Tale of the Prophet'), usually includes the stories about: -

Muhammad's birth, miracles accompanying it and his childhood; the nocturnal journey of the Prophet to heaven (mi'raj) at the age of thirty years; Abbas who refused to believe in Muhammad's mi'raj; the Prophet's family, in particular his son-in-law' Ali ibn Abi Talib and Ali's children, Muhammad's grandsons Hasan, Husain and Muhammad Hanafiyah, to whom the Prophet presented clothes of different colours, these colours alluding to their fate in the future.

Although this composition of Hikayat Nabi is more or less stable in all recensions of the work, in some recensions the story of the Light of Muhammad precedes the episode of his birth, whereas in others the episode about the Prophet's family is followed by various additional stories (Jumsari Jusuf et a1. 1984:21-33).

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Hikayat Nabi was mentioned by Valentijn in 1726 (Mulyadi 1994:30). However, the date of composition of this work may have been considerably older. The point is that the influence of Hikayat Nabi is obviously discernible in one of the recensions ('recension y' according to Brakel) of Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah (for a summary of this recension, see Winstedt 1991:182-7). The earliest manuscript of 'recension y' dates from 1689. Nevertheless, another manuscript of it once belonged to the official of the British East India Company William Mainstone who died in 1688 (about him, see Jones 1984:124-5), and therefore may date from the 1670s (Brakel 1975:46-7, 75, 80). If Hikayat Nabi did really influence this recension of Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah, we can assume safely that the former predated the latter and was composed around the mid-seventeenth century, if not in the first half of that century. As we have seen from the above summary of Hikayat Nabi, apart from the tales already discussed, this work contains an episode about a certain Abbas, which is in fact the famous story about the 'relativity of time'. Abbas, one of those who had listened to the Prophet's narrative of his mi'raj, could not believe that such a long journey could have been made in the twinkling of an eye. On the way home he bought a pigeon and asked his wife to cook it. In the meantime he set off for the river Nile to bathe and dived into the water. At that moment the earth trembled, and, when Abbas went ashore, he could neither recognize the place where he had bathed nor find his clothes. To his horror he also noticed that his appearance had changed into that of a female. On the bank of the river unknown to him Abbas met an old woman who invited him into her house and married him to her son. In the female appearance Abbas lived with his husband for seven years and gave birth to seven children. One day he came to the place where he had bathed seven years ago and dived into the river once more. The earth trembled again and, having come out of the water, Abbas found himself on the bank of the Nile. He was a man again and his clothes lay exactly where he had left them. Even the position of the sun in the sky had not changed. When returning home, he saw that his wife was still cooking the pigeon that he had brought her. Then Abbas believed in the story told him by the Prophet and repented before him. Oumsari Jusuf et al. 1984:32-3.}

Although all the hikayat about the Prophet Muhammad were intended to educate the reader in the spirit of piety and moral values of Islam, there is one group among them in which the didactic element is particularly pronounced. Unfortunately, it is difficult to establish dates for the majority of these tales, as they neither occur in the old lists of Malay works nor come to us in early manuscripts. Two hikayat of this group are edifying mirrors of sorts for women and men respectively. These are Hikayat Nabi mengajar anaknya Fatimah (the 'Tale of how the Prophet instructed his daughter Fatimah', Jumsari Jusuf et al. 1984:34-44) and Hikayat Nabi mengajar Ali (the 'Tale of how the Prophet instructed' Ali', Jumsari Jusuf et al. 1984:44-52). In the first hikayat

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Muhammad explains to Fatimah about the family and household duties of the ideal wife. A good wife must immediately respond to her husband's call and cook for him every day. Her face must shine with happiness when she has her husband and his friends to dinner. She must anoint her body with fragrances and properly adorn herself with jewellery and finery, when leaving for a mosque or a feast. She must pray for her husband's health and well-being, teach her children to recite the Qur' an and always remember that' a man is a terrestrial paradise for a woman' Oumsari Jusuf et al. 1984:41). There are ten merits and ten sins of the wife with regard to her husband. For each of the merits she will be rewarded by God in a special way. For instance, if a man is trying to seduce someone else's wife and she manages to withstand the temptation, she will become an intimate friend of God (wali Allah) in paradise. If she asks her husband's permission to pray, or to keep the fast, or to give alms to starving people, God will make her 'the chief of all the houris (bidadari) of paradise' Oumsari Yusuf et al. 1984:40). As far as the sins of the wife are concerned, they are: swearing at her husband, stealing his property, looking at him with a gloomy expression on her face, adorning herself with jewelry without his permission only to draw attention of other men, killing a baby in her womb and, particularly, committing adultery. For each of these sins the wife will be punished by God with a special hellish torment. The most severe punishments are in store for those women who did not perform a ritual ablution before saying their prayers or beginning the fast and who 'exposed some parts of their body [... ] or bathed naked' to seduce men. As the Prophet says: 'Precisely this is the gravest adultery, as a woman [for a man] is like rice and her breasts are like side dishes [to be eaten with rice]'. Punishing for this kind of adultery, angels of hell 'will tear the lips of such a woman and hang her upside down over the hellish fire, so that her head will be below and her shoulders above, and they will pour melted copper and [cram] zakkum-fruits into her mouth' Oumsari Jusuf et al. 1984:42). Not much is said in the hikayat about the duties of a good husband. However, he is called on to be a well brought up human, not a fierce beast in his sexual behaviour. For this, he should be skilled in 'nine kinds of kisses and embraces [... ] and in nine kinds of caresses', as a woman 'is like a fragrant flower or a delicious sweetmeat. When picking up this flower, you should ask permission of its owner and not behave like a thief: Oumsari Jusuf et al. 1984:43.)

Another recension of this mirror for women is entitled Hikayat Fatimah berkata-kata dengan pedang Ali (the 'Tale of how Fatimah talked to 'Ali's sword', Jumsari Jusuf et a1. 1984:62-8), which begins with the remarkable scene of Fatimah's asking Zulfikar, Ali's sword, about how many enemies he has killed. 'Ali, who by chance hears their conversation, thinks that his wife is speaking to a strange man and, beside himself with jealousy, accuses her of infidelity. However, the Prophet, in the presence of 'Ali, asks Zulfikar with whom Fatimah has just talked, and the sword confirms that she has talked to

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him. 'Ali feels guilty and asks Fatimah to forgive him. After that the Prophet instructs his daughter as in Hikayat Nabi mengajar anaknya Fatimah. Both recensions of the tale of Fatimah reveal obvious parallels with the discussion about good and bad qualities of women in Hikayat Isma Yatim (see Chapter VI). Hikayat Nabi mengajar Ali is also known in two recensions which, however, differ from one another much more than the tales of instruction given to Fatimah. One of them is the Sufi recension fairly similar to the episode from Hikayat Syah Mardan in which the wise man Lukman aI-Hakim exhorts Syah Mardan in the truths of Islamic mysticism (see below). In the hagiographic tale, the Prophet Muhammad, in the same way, answers the questions of Ali about the four stages of the Sufi Path (syariat - the Law, tarikat - the Way, hakikat - the Truth and ma'rifat - the Cognition); the Sufi meaning of syahadat ('profession of faith'); the essence, attributes and the spirit of a human being; and about the genuine hearing, seeing, word and desire (or 'soul', the word nafsu used may mean both) in the human body. In contrast with this, the second recension of the work possesses a completely moralistic nature. Muhammad teaches' Ali that he should always be patient, show humility in his relations with other people and be faithful in friendship. He also enumerates 'five [actually ten] things that illuminate the heart of humans' and 'five things that extinguish the light in their heart'. Among the 'things that illuminate the heart', apart from several religious merits, the Prophet mentions the following: to stroke the head of an orphan, to look at the face of mother and father, to see a green colour and running water. Among the 'things that extinguish the light in the heart' he names excessive love for women and fragrances? gluttony and so on. Muhammad also gives Ali advice about the time proper for different kinds of activity, including the good time for a wedding. The Prophet says that paradise is intended for the generous and the firm in their belief, whereas hell is intended for the stingy, greedy, envy and for hypocrites. We must grant the requests of the elderly and other people, even if they are not Muslims. Finally, he exhorts' Ali about the ten' guides' (hadi) who / that help to protect the self of a human being from committing sins. They are: the Angel of Death, the grave, Munkar and Nakir (the angels of the grave), hell, the Scales, and so on. Just as in the tales of Fatimah, the Prophet teaches about those who will enter paradise and those who will be sent to hell, constantly emphasizing the value of generosity. As he says, there is the inscription on the gate of paradise: 'It is prohibited to admit the greedy and the mendacious!' Oumsari Jusuf et al. 1984:44-52.)

It is precisely about generosity and compassion for the poor that Hikayat Nabi

dan orang miskin (the 'Tale of the Prophet and a poor man', Jumsari Jusuf et al. 1984:68-73) narrates. This hikayat is interesting not only because of its content but also because its plot forms a perfect circle, as if illustrating the idea that a good cause never remains unrewarded, and someone's possession always returns to its owner in the end.

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Once Fatimah met a poor man and, overwhelmed by pity and compassion, she gave him her golden ornament studded with diamonds, the most beautiful and most treasured possession she had. On the way to the market, where he was going to sell the ornament and buy some rice, the poor man ran into 'Umar, the Prophet's companion. At once recognizing Fatimah's jewellery, 'Umar took it away from the poor man, as he thought that he had stolen it. Later 'Umar returned the ornament to Muhammad. The poor man complained to the Prophet of Umar's action, and, on selling the ornament in the mosque for one thousand dinars, the Prophet gave the money to him. It happened that the one who bought the ornament was a certain Siti Ma'wa, who at that time was going to give something to Fatimah. So she added the ornament to her presents. On receiving Siti Ma'wa's presents, Fatimah recognized her ornament and was very much distressed, as she thought that the alms which she had given to the poor man so sincerely were not pleasing to Allah. Right at that moment the Angel Jabrail presented himself before her to convey the word of Allah who said that Fatimah should not have been distressed: her alms pleased Him and precisely because of it He rewarded her for her merit with present even more valuable than the one which she had given to the poor man. Gumsari Jusuf et al. 1984:71-3.)

The group of hagiographic works, which contains the Prophet's exhortations about the duties of humans in their worldly and religious life, also includes Hikayat Nabi dan [blis (the 'Tale of the Prophet and Satan', Jumsari Jusuf et al. 1984:73-86) composed in the form of a dialogue. Allah sends an angel to Thlis, Satan, with the order that Satan must present himself before the Prophet Muhammad and answer truthfully all the questions the Prophet wishes to ask him. The Prophet asks the One Accursed by God (La'nat Allah) about many issues. Who and why is Satan's sworn enemy? What does he feel when the community of Muslims fulfils its religious obligations? Who can destroy him? Who is always together with him? Whom does he love and what does he like? And so on. Satan answers that his sworn enemies are pious people of all kinds and those who are sincere in their faith, but particularly women devoted to God and their husbands. When people say prayers, he begins to tremble; when they recite the Qur' an, he feels that all his body is utterly crushed. People who give alms in secret destroy him. When he hears the call to prayer (azan), his face becomes black. Oppressors are his counsellors; markets are his mosques; women, whose only desire is to show men how charming they are, are his sacred books (kitab). Those who dissipate orphans' property are his servants. Arrack is his favourite drink, the sound of lutes and rebecks (rebab) is his music, mendacity is the guidance that he gives to people, and so on. Hosts of male-devils are concealed in his right thigh, and hosts of female-devils in his left thigh. Therefore, every time when he rubs his right thigh against the left one, thousands of devils are born in the world to tempt humankind.

Thus, Hikayat Nabi dan [blis opens before the reader a broad panorama of multifarious human merits and vices - of all that should be either accepted

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or rejected by a good Muslim faithful to God and His chosen Prophet, two most dangerous enemies of Satan. The work is also intended to reveal with the help of which kinds of people Satan manages to 'lead astray God's slaves'. With its detailed list of sins and human qualities that please the heart of Satan, Hikayat Nabi dan Iblis cannot fail to evoke associations with the description of the journey of Syaikh Abdullah Yamani with Iblis from Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa (see Chapter VI). As we have already noted, the influence exerted by the former on the latter is quite obvious. The reading of hikayat about the Prophet was regarded by both their authors and their audience, not particularly well-versed in theological subtleties, as a highly pious occupation which promised good both in this world and in the world to come. No wonder that Hikayat Nabi bercukur concludes with the following words: And the Prophet said: 'Whoso cherisheth not this story, I am not his Prophet. Give

it not to unbelievers and heretics, but whoso cherisheth it, the mercy and blessing

of Allah shall descend upon him, no thief shall enter his house, no enemy prevail against him.' (Winstedt 1991:72.)

The learned orthodoxy, on the contrary, looked down on these tales, not infrequently condemning them for being primitive and unreliable and even more often for their allegedly Shi'ite bias, which they saw, first and foremost, in an excessive aggrandizement of Ali and, especially, his descendants. Probably there was a grain of truth in this opinion. At least, none other than Ali (later his son Muhammad Hanafiyah) is portrayed in hagiographic hikayat as the greatest warrior of Islam and, in fact, as the rescuer of the early Muslim community from its innumerable enemies. It is notably Ali whom the Prophet instructs personally in the secrets of life and death and, in addition to it, in the truths of Islamic mysticism. And it is Ali who appears in Hikayat bulan berbelah dua as the only person courageous enough to protect the Prophet from Abu Jahil's accusations. Be that as it may, the status of Ali in Sunnite Islam, particularly in Sunnite Sufism, was also very high.

Sufi hagiographies Classical Malay literature is not particularly rich in Sufi hagiographic writings, which enjoyed a great popularity in the Middle East (especially in Iran) and Islamic India. In Malay literature we do not encounter voluminous compendiums describing the life of many dozens and even hundreds of Sufi saints, similar to Tadhkirat al-awliya (the 'Memorial of the saints', the thirteenth century) by Farid ai-Din' Attar or Nafahat al-uns (the 'Breezes of intimacy', 1476) by 'Abd ai-Rahman Jami. Nonetheless, we find a few remarkable tales of eminent Sufis

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among Malay Islamic works. Some hints about a familiarity with such tales, either in an oral or in a written form, occur as early as the Malacca period in Sejarah Melayu (see Chapter 11). However, the earliest dated composition containing a number of episodes from biographies of Sufi saints and their sayings is Bustan as-salatin by Nuruddin ar-Raniri (written between 1638 and 1641), particularly its book 4 (Jones 1974a; Grinter 1979). This book includes stories (more often than not legendary) about Hasan al-Basri (642-728), Rabi'ah alAdawiyah (died 752 or 801), Sufian al-Thawri (715-778), Ibrahim ibn Adham (died 782), Fudayl ibn 'Iyad (died 803), Muhammad ibn Sammak, and Abu Said al-Kharraz (died between 892-899). Alongside this compilation, there were also Sufi hagiographies in the form of individual hikayat.

Hikayat Rabi'ah (the Tale of Rabi'ah (al-Adawiyah)'), Hikayat Abu Yazid al-Bistami (the Tale of Abu Yazid al-Bistami') Hikayat Rabi'ah (the 'Tale of Rabi'ah') and Hikayat Abu Yazid al-Bistami (the 'Tale of Abu Yazid al-Bistami'), which is also known under the title Hikayat Syaikh Abu Yazid al-Bistami (the 'Tale of Sheikh Abu Yazid al-Bistami'), are characteristic examples of hikayat about individual Sufi saints. Composed not earlier than in the second half of the seventeenth century, if not later, these works tell of the first woman wali (God's intimate companion) in the history of Islam, Rabi'ah al-Adawiyah mentioned above, and one of the greatest masters of the Sufi Path, Abu Yazid (Bayazid) al-Bistami who died between 872 and 877. Hikayat Rabiah quite anachronistically tells that initially Rabiah was a maid in the house of Junaid Baghdadi, another famous Sufi wali (died in 910) who opposed the doctrine of 'sobriety' to that of 'mystical intoxication'. However, full of the desire to serve her only lord, Almighty God, she later left her master. Four sheiks tried to embarrass Rabiah by asking her difficult questions, but she easily gave correct answers to all of them. In the end, a certain king, fascinated by Rabiah's incomparable beauty, proposed to her, but she rejected his proposal and, having repudiated the greatness and temptations of the world, spent all her life in constant devotion to God. s

Hikayat Syaikh Abu Yazid al-Bistami, which is based on an Arabic source, either the tale with the same name or the narrative entitled Kitab masa'il al-ruhban (the 'Book of questions (asked by) the monks', Ismail Hamid 1983:176}, tells the following story. Abu Yazid al-Bistami had performed forty-five pilgrimages to Mecca (haji), but still was uncertain of their usefulness. For this reason, once, when he was very hungry, he sold merits of all his pilgrimages to a Bedouin merely for one flat dough-cake (apam). All of a sudden Abu Yazid felt so ashamed by what he had

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in devotion to God. On taking this decision, he left for Rum (here Byzantium).

On the way to Rum Abu Yazid met a Christian monk who offered to let him stay at his house. While staying with the monk, Abu Yazid tried to convert his host to Islam as best he could, but failed. One day the monk invited Abu Yazid to visit his monastery, so that his new friend could listen to a sermon by the abbot who was famous for his eloquence. In the guise of a monk Abu Yazid came to the monastery's church of Saint Simon (Semaun), wearing a holy belt (zunnar) round his waist, a cross on his chest and special headgear. Even so, the abbot felt Abu Yazid's presence and said that until a Muslim, who was about to disturb him, remained in the church he would not begin the sermon. To reveal Abu Yazid's ignorance, the abbot presented him with a great number of difficult questions. However, as God granted him His Divine Assistance (taufik), Abu Yazid answered all the questions. He, in his tum, asked the abbot only one question: 'What is inscribed on the gate of paradise and serves as the key to this gate?' Neither the abbot nor the monks knew the answer (which was the testimony of faith: 'There is no God but Allah'). Then Abu Yazid worked a miracle: he asked the icon of Jesus Christ to speak, and the icon fulfilled his request. All the monks were so staggered that they at once embraced Islam and departed for Mecca to worship Allah in all sincerity. (Ismail Hamid 1983:179; Van Ronke11921a: 278-9.)

Finally, as soon as Sufi orders (tarikat) became widely spread in the MalayIndonesian world in the late eighteenth-the early nineteenth century, elaborate hagiographic works about the founders of the Qadiriyah and Sammaniyah orders were composed. These were Hikayat Syaikh Abd aI-Qadir al-Jilani (the 'Tale of Sheikh' Abd aI-Qadir al-Jilani'), a translation of the Javanese manakib, 'glorification of merits', of this saint (Van RonkeI1909:418-21, 512; Ismail Hamid 1989:108-9), and Hikayat Syaikh Muhammad Sam man (the 'Tale of Sheikh Muhammad Samman').9 In both works place of pride was allotted to miracles worked by 'Abd aI-Qadir and Muhammad Samman, and both emphasize their devotion to God and their high dignity before Him. Interestingly, both the stories from Bustan as-salatin and the hikayat about Rabi' ah and Abu Yazid alike tell of the saints who lived in the age of early Sufism. At the same time, all these stories are focused on their protagonists' ascetic exploits, repudiation of riches and family life and the conversion of the infidels to Islam by means of difficult questions (compare Kitab seribu masa'il), rather than on their specifically Sufi deeds. For instance, the most famous of Abu Yazid's exploits - his journey to heaven, imitating the Prohet's mi'raj and symbolizing his attainment of the state of fana ('self-negation in God') (Arberry 1966:105-10), is not even mentioned in Malay Sufi hagiographies. The same set of features is also characteristic for Hikayat Sultan Ibrahim ibn Adham (the 'Tale of Sultan Ibrahim ibn Adham'), a work probably earlier and undoubtedly more popular and expressive than Hikayat Rabi'ah and Hikayat Syaikh Abu Yazid al-Bistami.

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Hikayat Sultan Ibrahim ibn Adham (the Tale of Sultan Ibrahim ibn Adham')

Once Sultan Ibrahim ibn Adham, the celebrated king of Iraq, gave orders to reinforce his capital and, when new walls had been erected, he gathered all his subjects and told them to find at least one defect in the builders' work. All the subjects vied to express their admiration at the perfection of the bricklaying and only one old dervish remarked, addressing the ruler:

o

Raja of Iraq! Your wall is in truth high and strong; moreover the moat is extremely wide and deep. But in the end it will be destroyed: this is its flaw. [... ] The Most High and Great Lord alone will not be destroyed, will not disappear. Gones 1985:71, 73.}

On hearing this, the sultan abdicated and decided to leave not only his kingdom but also all his worldly possessions and withdraw to seclusion. However, his courtiers followed him and persuaded the sultan to return. On his way back he saw a blind heron which stood with its beak wide open, and fish jumped into it. Astonished by Allah's Mercy for those who surrender completely to His Will, Ibrahim ibn Adham felt ashamed at his lack of determination and abandoned his kingdom forever. Such is the beginning of the long recension of Hikayat Sultan Ibrahim ibn Adham (the 'Tale of Sultan Ibrahim ibn Adham'), which possibly was written some time between the late seventeenth and the early eighteenth century by a certain Syaikh Abu Bakar of Hadramaut or on the basis of the story told by him (Jones 1985:36-40). The short recension of the hikayat (Jones 19831°), which will be analysed below, contains no such episodes; there Ibrahim suddenly leaves his kingdom once and for all.!l However, in its spirit, content and principal ideas, the short recension differs from the long recension but very little. The historical Ibrahim ibn Adham had never been either a sultan of Iraq or a sultan at all. He was most probably born around 730 in Balkh (now in north Afghanistan) to a family of Arab military settlers and spent the greater part of his life in Syria, giving himself to asceticism. This did not prevent him from taking part in a number of Arab expeditions against Byzantium after one of which he died in 777 or 782. Subsequent generations of Sufi were so impressed by stories about Ibrahim's good deeds, his self-abnegation and rejection of luxury, in which he spent his early years, that the life story of the ascetic entered into all Sufi hagiographic collections (Jones 1971:985-6). The canonical structure of an 'entry' in such collections included individual episodes from the life of the saint, normally unrelated to each other, which alternated with his sayings (see, for instance, Arberry 1966:62-79). Although the narrative of Ibrahim ibn Adham in Bustan as-salatin had precisely this structure (Jones 1974a), it did not take root in Malay hagiographic tradition.

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Not Nuruddin ar-Raniri's section (pasal) split up into short, independent narrative quanta, but the hikayat, with all its customary components and dramatic plot, was to become popular among the Malays.12 Outwardly, Hikayat Sultan Ibrahim ibn Adham shows a great similarity to a usual fantastic adventure tale. It begins with the typical description of a powerful kingdom and its glorious ruler. Next, in accordance with the rules of the genre, When dawn was near, but before the animals emerged to look for their food, before the stars had become dim, and before the birds had flown from their nests, the sultan emerged from his palace alone. Oones 1983:14.)

He stops to have a rest near a solitary tree, and sees some object floating by in the river. This belongs to a beautiful girl who lives in seclusion. Overwhelmed by longing he sets out in search of the girl and finds her in a wonderful garden, with all the conventional appurtenances, such as a pond, elegant pavilions and fruit trees. He marries her, and leaves her, after which she gives birth to a son, Muhammad Tahir, who is anxious to see his father. After long wanderings the two finally meet. The motifs, their sequence and composition are stereotypic for such romances, if in this case somewhat incomplete. However, it would be difficult to find a work more distant from the fantastic adventure hikayat in its tone, conception and value system than the Hikayat Sultan Ibrahim ibn Adham. The underlying idea of fantastic adventure hikayat is the omnipotence of reason, which makes order out of emotional chaos and enables one to acquire all the good things of life and worldly greatness. This ability is repeatedly stressed by the hero's knowledge ability and courtesy. The pathos of the story about Ibrahim ibn Adham resides in his aspiration, born of faith, to the indestructible values of the world to come, which are accessible only to those who have renounced their individual self and all earthly blessings. This aspiration is realized in the consistent portrayal of Ibrahim ibn Adham's asceticism. The fantastic adventure hikayat end with the hero's enthronement. The Hikayat Sultan Ibrahim ibn Adham begins with his abdication, followed by his wanderings, not in quest of adventure but in order to visit the holy places. The hero of fantastic adventures, when finding an object belonging to the beautiful lady - for instance the girl's tresses, floating down the river in a golden bowl - falls in love, losing his head in anticipation of the tryst. After eating half of the pomegranate he had found floating past in the river, Ibrahim is appalled by his sin: he has assuaged his appetite with a fruit belonging to someone else (Siti Saleha). For the heroes of fantastic adventure hikayat, marrying an unattainable lady and begetting a son by her are the most important stages on their path to glory. For Ibrahim ibn Adham, despite, or

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rather because of, his great affection for Siti Saleha and his son Tahir, the two events are the very trials distracting him from the real goal of his life, devotion to God. Thus, this romance does not tell of the chain of attainments: wife ~ kingdom ~ son, but of the chain of successive renunciations of all these values, reversing the significance of each stereotypic episode and creating a kind of Sufi' anti-romance' in the full sense of the word. Among other episodes from Ibrahim ibn Adham's life, Nuruddin arRaniri mentions one in which the ascetic saw in his dream the Angel Jabrail holding a sheet of paper. 'What is this paper for?' asked Ibrahim ibn Adham. 'I am writing down the names of those whom Allah loves [= those who love Allah]', said Jabrail. 'Will you please note my name below the names of those who love Allah Most High [... ]?' requested Ibrahim ibn Adham. Suddenly he heard the voice of God, saying: 'Gabriel! Note down the name of Ibrahim ibn Adham ahead of all the other names.' (Jones 1974a:29.) Contrary to this story, however, of the two inseparably connected forces leading the Sufi to perfection - fear of God and Divine Love - it is the former that plays the decisive role in the Hikayat Sultan Ibrahim ibn Adham. The latter, the force of Love, found its most complete expression in works by Malay Sufi Hamzah Fansuri.

Hamzah Fansuri The French admiral Beaulieu who visited Aceh in 1620 described, in his memoirs, the visit of a stranger to the sultan: [That man] calls himself Xerif [that is, Syarif] Nephew of Jesus Christ. He is an Arab ['a Muslim' in the early English translation] or from thereabouts and a great Doctor in the Law of Mahomet. Here he has a reputation for his prophesizing. He came, wishing to make some remonstrances, to the King of Achen [that is, Aceh], who has not at all been moved by them and ordered him to stay at home and not to meddle with his unruly manners, so that the oracle was bewildered for a while, and fell silent as if suddenly struck dumb. And still he is taken for one of the most pious and honourable people of Achen [... ] This Pandita or Xerif is an almoner, and I heard from the Portuguese that he had often helped them, although always [trying] to persuade them of the delights of Mahomet and the world to come. (Beaulieu 1664:70-1.)

The sultan to whom the 'prophet' came was the famous conqueror-king Iskandar Muda who was so maniacally irritable that on the day before the full moon none of his courtiers dared to approach him (Lombard 1967:174). The 'prophet' who vexed the sultan with his 'unruly manners' may have been Hamzah Fansuri,13 the greatest Malay Sufi poet and prose writer. Probably it is notably futile attempts of this kind to instruct rulers that finally persuaded

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Hamzah to keep away from the court. Remembering that the Prophet himself forbade 'to befriend oppressors' (Drewes and Brake11986:76t he also taught his followers to avoid the company of kings and emirs:

a you who have chosen the path of dervishes,

Don't make friends with the raja and the emir, As God's Messenger who brought good tidings and warnings Has forbidden [division into] the low and the great. 14

Hamzah Fansuri belonged to the number of the founders of literature, whose works heralded the birth of Malay classical poetry. This does not mean, however, that before him the Malays had no poetry at all. Both Malay folklore and the only extant epitaph written in the Sanskrit metre Upajati (Stutterheim 1936, Marrison 1951) testify to its existence, but that written Malay poetry in the form of syair which we know began precisely with him. Hamzah stood at the cradle of Malay learned religio-mystical literature. This does not mean again that the Malays were not conversant at all with such a literature before. However, learned treatises in the Arabic and Persian languages which existed in the Malay world and even the only commentary on one of them, mentioned in Sejarah Melayu and written in the fifteenth century in Pasai, were not yet Malay in the true sense of the word, unlike Hamzah's writings. Hamzah was a deeply religious Malay Muslim. However, the Creator about whom he taught, brought forth the Universe from non-being and sustained its existence, conforming His infinite Will with His eternal Wisdom and Justice, and showed no likeness whatsoever to those oppressive rulers (zalim) who were so abundantly represented in Malay history of Hamzah's, and not only Hamzah', times (AI-Attas 1970:441-2). Hamzah was a Sufi, that is a Muslim ascetic and mystic, who sought Union with God and who found it on the Path of Love. It is this form of Sufism, with its doctrine that not only human beings but also all living creatures and even inorganic nature were blood brothers of the Sufi (AI-Attas 1970:404-5,430), was in those days the highest manifestation of humanness in the Malay states, which cannot boast of humane ethics. Moreover, it is this kind of Sufism that provided the only form of discourse that made it possible, if not to restrict the arbitrariness of Malay rulers, then at least to admonish them and, as a Russian poet once said, 'call for mercy to the fallen' (Rayfield et a1. 2000:113). Far from being always successful, these remonstrations and admonitions were always fraught with a great risk. Hamzah Fansuri was born in the city of Barus (Fansur) on the west coast of Sumatra, probably in the second half of the sixteenth century.1 5 The city was famous not only as a prosperous trading port attracting Arab, Persian and Indian merchants and the place where the best camphor was gathered

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in those days - it was also an important theological centre: first Buddhist (from the eighth century) and later Islamic (Brakel1979a:89-92). One cannot rule out that, when still in Barus, Hamzah Fansuri learned the Arabic and Persian languages. After that, in search of a deeper knowledge of Sufism, he travelled much, visiting Baghdad, the centre of the Qadiriyah Sufi order with which he became affiliated, the holy cities Mecca and Medina and Kudus in Java.1 6 It seems likely that Hamzah experienced the long-desired Union with the Supreme Reality after he had returned from Kudus and settled in Shahr-i Naw (New City), a small settlement surrounded by the jungle about one day's travel from the capital of Aceh. 17 He believed that there he attained his real being, was born anew, and therefore he styled himself sometimes as Hamzah of Barus (or Fansur) and sometimes as Hamzah of Syahr-i Naw. We have already noted (see Chapter V) that Sufism was in great vogue in Aceh during the rule of Allauddin Riayat Syah and Iskandar Muda when Hamzah lived and worked (v. Braginsky 1999). A well-educated Sufi who had reached spiritual enlightenment, he could see every now and then rather vulgar manifestations of that fashion. The throne hall of the sultan was named the Abode of Perfection, the river in the sultan's park was known as the Abode of Spiritual Love, and even the flagship of the sultan's navy was called the Mirror of Purity (Iskandar 1958:16, 33, 259; Al-Attas 1970:16-7). Hamzah, who taught that the Most High is closer to those loving Him than 'their jugular vein', tells ironically in one of his best poems about refined youths and decrepit old men who became Sufis all of a sudden and rushed to forests in search of the Creator: Manifold and diverse are the ruses of God Who can appear as father or mother, As He is skilful in changing His garments, Humans are always in great confusion [... ] He is very artful in veiling Himself, He can hide Himself even stripped off His garment, As His garment is also none other than He, He always plays with His genuine Self. Therefore, all people, the young and well-breed As well as the old whose hair is grey Spend in seclusion month after month, Seeking for God in the dense jungle. In our days everyone is a 'Sufi', Everyone 18 has become a 'passionate lover', Everyone has become a 'man-of-the-spirit' Hence, tartness and wrath hold sway on the earth! [... ] Nowadays everyone has become a 'wayfarer', Everyone styles himself 'the forbidden tree', Everyone has 'renounced' his worldly possessionsAnd sails his ship right onto the rocks!

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature Everyone calls himself' a thunderbolt' now, Everyone has become' a radiant torch', Everyone has become the foe [of all others] And is constantly tempted by fleshly desires! Everyone has made a 'sacrifice' of himself, Everyone has attained the state of 'nakedness', Everyone can quote a 'clear proof'A saying from Mecca, a verse from the Qur' an. The Light of God is shining brightly Within all humans - His numberless servants, He is both the arrack and the cup of a palm-leaf o my child, don't seek for Him far away! (Drewes and BrakeI1986:96, 98.)

However, not only the vulgarization of Sufism was Hamzah's concern. Even more caustic was his criticism of those Malays who still resorted to yoga practices in order to attain the Divine Reality (Al-Attas 1970:18-9; Brakel 1979a: 73-7), and, at the same time, of orthodox ulama, influential at the court, who, like the qadi of Aceh, tended to see an apostate in every Sufi (Al-Attas 1970: 20-3). After his death, which may have taken place some time in the middle of Iskandar Muda's reign (1607-1636), this attitude towards ulama seems to be among the reasons for the execution of Hamzah's disciples and the burning of his books in front of the main mosque of Aceh, Bait ar-Rahman. Trying to enlighten his fellow-countrymen, particularly those who 'were not versed in the Arabic and Persian languages' (Al-Attas 1970:297), Hamzah Fansuri became the initiator of the geme of kitab, a prose learned treatise, in Malay literature and wrote a kind of Sufi trilogy in this geme.1 9 The first of these three writings, Syarab al-asyikin (the 'Drink of lovers'), is a relatively simple and brief systematic manual for those embarking upon the Sufi Path. It is made up of seven chapters explaining: -

The stages of the Sufi Path: syariat (the Law), tarikat (the Way), hakikat (the Truth) and ma'rifat (the Gnosis) (Chapters I-IV); The sequence of the manifestations of God's Essence and the Attributes of the Most High (Chapters V-VI); The doctrines of Divine Love and gratitude to the Creator (Chapter VII).

Hamzah's second treatise, Asrar al-arifin (the 'Secrets of the gnostics') is also a kind of a Sufi compendium, but it is designed for a more advanced reader. This work is arranged as an auto-commentary on fifteen syair quatrains (bait), which, in conformity with the traditional method of Muslim education, were intended to be learned by heart. Some idea of content and style of Asrar al-arifin may be derived from the commentary on the concluding quatrain, which is a kind of autobiography of Hamzah as a Sufi:

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Though Hamzah Fansuri is insignificant, His reality is close to the Noble Essence; Though only a bubble whose form is gross, He is always in union with the Subtle Ocean. [... ] Know that [the verse] 'Though Hamzah Fansuri is insignificant' implies the following: although he is insignificant, he is firmly convinced of what he says and he does not utter vain words, even if he is feeble in any deed of his - be it devotion and asceticism, seclusion, self-restriction and the renunciation of the world - and inexperienced in knowledge and Gnosis. As the Most High says: 'Knowledge has been given to you, but only a little' [Qur'an 17:85]. [... ] Another interpretation of Hamzah's insignificance is that he does not possess independent existence. Since he does not possess it, he does not possess attributes and deeds either, consequently he is inSignificant. Know that [the verse] 'His reality is close to the Noble Essence' implies the following: although he is insignificant, his reality is inseparable from the Most Glorious Essence, as the latter is the Master of his motion and rest, and thanks to It, he sits and stands, sleeps and wakes, stops and walks. [... ] For, Hamzah is like unto a shadow. If the master of the shadow had not set him in motion, how could Hamzah have begun to move? Chess pieces are another analogy. All of them have the wood of a tree as their origin, and from that wood various pieces are then carved and are named the king and the queen, the bishop and the knight, the castle and the pawn. Thus, many pieces appear from a piece of wood. When they say during a game: king, queen, bishop, knight, castle, pawn - all these are only names but not the reality of the pieces. Yet, the pieces are close to him who has carved them and who plays with them, because his hand touches them constantly and the pieces move only due to the motion of their owner's hand. [... ] Know that [the verse] 'Though only a bubble whose form is gross' implies the following: a bubble is a particle of foam, gross in its form, but since the origin of foam is water, a bubble is subtle [in its essence]. [... ] They say about foam that it is gross because its form and name are different from those of water, but in its reality it has neither form nor being, and its name is also illusory and unreal, because foam dissolves in water time and again. [As Hamzah is a 'bubble', then] his power and will, hearing and sight, reason and Gnosis - all that we see in him originates from 'water' and not from himself. [... ] Know that [the verse] 'He is always in union with the Subtle Ocean' implies the following: sublime means refined [in its essence]; foam is in constant union with water because foam is something gross, whereas water is subtle. When [the bubbles of] foam burst, it returns to water again. Therefore, they say that foam is in union with water. 20

Finally, the third part of Hamza's 'trilogy', the treatise Al-muntahi (the' Adept') is devoted to the interpretation of the well-known hadith 'The one who knows himself knows his Lord'. While explaining it, Hamzah mentions a number of mystical symbols (the tree, the sea, and so on), very briefly commenting on them, and abundantly quotes sayings by Sufi masters and poets. The title of the book is quite understandable: it is intended only for the initiated.

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Hamzah's 'trilogy' reveals a fairly complete idea of his teachings. He followed the tradition of the founder of the Qadiriyah order, Sheikh ' Abd aI-Qadir al-Jilani (or 'Abdul Qadir Gilani), in his ethics, and the classical Sufi school wahdat al-wujud (existential monism) of Ibn al-' Arabi and' Abd aI-Karim al-Jili in his metaphysics. 21 On the basis of their conceptions, Hamzah Fansuri expounds the doctrine of the perpetual and never-ceasing creation of the Universe. Divine Love sets this creative process in motion. The Universe comes into being as a series of manifestations - first spiritual and then material - of the Divine Essence. Just as a seed contains an entire tree, the Essence embraces the entire plenitude of Being, but in its potential state. In the transcendent aspect (tanzih), the boundless Ocean of the Divine Essence is not one with its manifestations, which are similar to the waves on its surface. At the same time, in its immanent aspect (tasybih), the Essence is inseparable from manifestations as the ocean is inseparable from the waves. Therefore, in a sense, the Essence is present in all, even in things impure and foul (AI-Attas 1970:313, 433). The series of manifestations through which potential things, originally dormant in the form of fixed essences (Arabic: al-a'yan al-thabitah, Malay: ayan sabitah), or ideas, in the Divine Consciousness, acquire their actuality, reaches its culmination in the creation of man. Man unites in his 'self' all manifestations, both spiritual and material, and thus represents an exact, although diminished, copy of the Universe - a microcosm. That is why, in order to cognize God and attains mystical Union with Him, man should not 'look around' - suffice it to turn to self-cognition. Metaphysically speaking, this implies the traversing by the Sufi (the gnostic) of the entire Path of Creation in reverse order, rejecting one by one all the veils (manifestations) which conceal the true essence or the true self of Man. In the ethical aspect, self-cognition is the purification of the true self or the spiritual heart from all attachments and passions. This purification of the spiritual heart being completed, the gnostic will see the shining Face of the Lord within its depths and return to the Creator still in his lifetime, closing the eternal circuit of manifestations. Thus, a wave will return to the bosom of the ocean, or, using other Hamzah's symbols, a tree will return to the seed, a golden coin (dinar) to the gold, and a bird to the nest. The Path of mystical self-cognition is unspeakably hard and thorny. However, the Divine gift of Love makes it easy and smooth. The Divine Love intoxicates the enamoured gnostic, delivering him from fear, self-interest and avarice and finally from the very sense of his individual self separated from the Beloved One. On totally transforming the gnostic, it turns him into a trusted slave of the Beloved One who can be forgiven any clumsiness or transgression (AI-Attas 1970:295-6, 414). It is as the greatest eulogist of this Love, as opposed to the petty prudence - if not cowardice - of common sense

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(reason), that Hamzah Fansuri entered into Malay literature. He wrote on the selfless courage of the truly enamoured: Then he [the truly enamoured] will not fear tigers which the reasonable one fears, nor elephants, nor snakes, nor fire. [... ] The truly enamoured is not frightened by hell and is not attracted by paradise, for God alone is his only desire. If one is endowed with these qualities, he is undoubtedly enamoured of God. Any other person is enamoured of the rice freshly cooked, not yet of God the Most High. (Al-Attas 1970:327.)

Prose compositions by Hamzah Fansuri are not dry writings of pedantic scholars, usual in the Malay Sufi literature of later times, but works of a gifted man of letters, abounding in impressive imagery and displaying a refined mastery of the word. To confirm this, it is sufficient to refer to the discourse, based on a play on antonyms, on how Allah created from '[His Name] the Gentle One those who are firm [in faith] and from [His Name] the Irresistible One those who are overpowered [by infidelity]' (AI-Attas 1970:323). Even more exquisite is the arrangement of pairs of rhyming terms, namely tajrid-tafrid ('exclusion-seclusion'), tanggal-tunggal (' extrication-isolation'),22 menafikan-mengisbatkan ('negation-affirmation', actually 'negate-affirm'), in the interpretation of the hadith 'Die before you die!': To die means to surrender one's self completely to the Most High through exclusion [italics by the present author] and seclusion, which are extrication and isolation. The first term implies one's extrication from one's home and wealth, from one's friendship with kings and ministers. The second term implies one's isolation from the company of people. Thus, the exclusion is extrication from one's self, whereas the seclusion is one's being in isolation with God, or, to put it differently, they are the negation of one's self and the affirmation of God [... ] When one has achieved the extrication from one's self, one is in isolation. In other words, when one has performed the extrication from one's companion [that is, self], one abides in isolation [with God]. And on attaining the isolation [with God], one gains the name of the enamoured and the intoxicated, because those are called the enamoured who have completed their extrication from their self. (AI-Attas 1970:326-7.)

Numerous symbolic images in Hamzah's works are, as a rule, simple, easy to grasp, plastic and expressive. Such is, for instance, the image of water in all its manifestations: mist and clouds, rain and streams, rivers and the sea (AI-Attas 1970:316-7). Or the image of the tree with a mighty trunk, many branches, twigs and leaves, and with all that is associated with the tree: the soil and the rain fertilizing it, the seed from which the tree grows, and its fruits: bitter and sweet, green and red, white and black (AI-Attas 1970:268-9). No less abundant, in Hamzah's writings, are also images and similes borrowed from the life of various groups of the population of Malay cities, especially from the life of skilful artisans: potters making jars and pots; smiths

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forging daggers; carpenters building strong houses, surrounded with fences; jewelers and shipbuilders (Al-Attas 1970:253, 261, 268, 300). An even more important role in Hamzah's prose is played by the imagery connected with trade prevalent in Aceh and Barus. Hamzah knew the properties of camphor, which was the main item of trade in Barus. He compared the four stages of the Sufi Path with a merchant ship. The keel of the ship is shariat, its planks are tarikat, the load is hakikat, and the profit from the sale is ma'rifat. 'If the keel falls apart, the ship will certainly sink and then we will lose both the profit and the money spent on equipping the ship, and will suffer losses', wrote Hamzah (Al-Attas 1970:300). However, in Asrar al-arifin Hamzah calls upon the Sufis not to bemoan losses or rejoice in the profit. For him, profit is the negation of the world, while loss is the attachment to it (Al-Attas 1970: 279). Finally, one of the most important of Hamzah's symbols of the unity of God and the Sufi was gold and an Ashrafi dinar, the golden coin which was issued in Egypt in 1426, became wide-spread in Iran and, according to Hikayat Aceh, was in circulation in Aceh in the epoch of Sultan Alauddin. 23 However, in a particularly graphic way Hamzah's ideas are embodied in the variegated images of his syair - the verse form created (or introduced) by himself as a synthesis of Persian poetics with devices characteristic of Malay oral poetry, which became the principal genre of Malay verse in the later period. 24 As has been noted above, Hamzah's syair were rather short (they usually consisted of fourteen to seventeen bait, or stanzas) and showed a certain similarity to Persian ghazal (see Chapter V). At present, more than thirty such syair by the poet are known (Drewes and Brakel1986:42-143). These the later tradition joined together into larger poems: Syair sidang fakir (the 'Poem of the assembly of dervishes'), Syair Burung Pingai (the 'Poem of the Pure Bird') and Syair Ikan Tunggal (or Ikan Tongkol) (the 'Poem of the Unique Fish (or the Tuna fish)'). Hamzah's syair can be divided into two groups. One of them, didactichomiletic, includes poems resembling kitab and directly professes the Sufi doctrine. In the other group, symbolic, the same ideas are expounded in a more indirect manner, through Sufi symbols. As a rule, didactic-homiletic poems begin with the address: '0 all of you who are called humans (or: straying ones, dervishes, commoners, and so on)' (Drewes and Brakel 1986:42-80). An address of this kind is followed by an interpretation of a Sufi concept, usually abounding in quotations from and allusions to the Qur'an (one syair of this group, nineteen bait long, contains thirteen Qur'anic quotations; Drewes and Brakel 1986:163), in hadith and sayings of the Prophet's companions and Sufi saints. These quotations are so skilfully included in the text that they do not affect its semantic integrality. Not infrequently the didactic-homiletic poems repeat what has been said in Hamzah's prose works. However, sometimes they supplement prose

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writings, introducing new shades of meaning and nuances into them. An example is the syair on 'mystic nakedness', which implies the self of the Sufi, stripped of passions and creaturely attributes on the Path of Cognition. That Gnosis is really most amazing, It is the garment 25 of saints, whose fate was happy, On gaining Gnosis, one becomes an enamoured Whose station is close to the Lord of the Universe. Those saints were faithful to the Word Divine, Their worship was guided by the holy Qur' an, As the sign and the proof of Union with God They always donned the garment of nakedness. How astonishing were the men-of-the spirit, Who claimed to be naked, yet were constantly clothed, Their play with laymen was verily perfectTheir self was naked, not their body! [... ] This nakedness, foreign to a feeble sparrow, Is the attire of the glorious phoenix; If you are fearful of death and burial, How can the light permeate your being? Generations of lovers have handed down This secret of nakedness from the Seal of the Prophets, Everyone who dons it will gain true certainty, Forgetful of this world and all its religions. (Drewes and BrakeI1986:64, 66.)

Hamzah's didactic-homiletic poems differ conspicuously from his symbolic syair. Discourses in the plain language of metaphysics almost disappear in them, the number of Qur' anic quotations diminishes dramatically and sometimes they are presented not in the Arabic but in Malay, as, for instance, in the lines about the Most High, 'plotting and resourceful' (Drewes and Brakel 1986:96), echoing the Qur' anic expressions 'Allah is the best of plotters' (Qur'an 3:54, 8:30). A greater part of the verse space in such syair is occupied by symbolic images, which allow the poet to express the doctrine in a metaphorical way. Not infrequently the portrayal of these images is quite elaborate and dynamic, for instance: Even if the Beloved is near to you, How can you embrace Her, wearing a sarong? You have managed to tear it? That's not enough! She won't sit on your lap - you are not her match. (Drewes and BrakeI1986:102.)

The meaning of this stanza is the same as in the above-quoted lines about the mystical nakedness: the sarong is the creaturely principle of the self; the torn sarong implies an incomplete self-renunciation. However, no metaphysical explanation of these terms is given in the poem. In one of the following stanzas, intimacy with the beloved is promised to him who will

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put on her clothes - again with no explanation. Thus, what the reader can actually imagine after reading these stanzas is nothing but a love scene, the 'face' of a symbol (see Chapter V), which becomes penetrable only with the help of something extraneous to the syair. In this case, this is Lama'at (the 'Flashes') by the Persian poet Fakhr aI-Din Ibrahim Iraqi (the fourteenth century): When the Beloved would exalt the lover, He first strips from him the garments collected from all worlds, and clothes him with all His Names, and seats him in His own palace. (Iraqi 1982:124.)

Without knowledge gained either from books or from a tutor, the Sufi meaning of Hamzah's symbolic syair cannot be understood. It is notably this feature that, first and foremost, distinguishes them from his didactic-homiletic poems. Like Hamzah's prose works, his symbolic syair betray the unmistakable influence of classical Persian Sufi poets, such as 'Attar, Rumi, Sa'di, Iraqi and others.26 Even so, no less unmistakably, his syair reveal deep national roots. It is not fortuitous that a connoisseur of Hamzah's writings remarked about the 'intemallandscape' of his poems: It conjures up a convincing picture of sixteenth century Malay society, a society

where at night one walks around with a torch, goes dressed in a sarung and a kain of cotton, where the beloved wears flowers behind the ear, where money is tied with strings, where one runs like a deer, swims like a whale, or sells arak, where this world is likened to a dice, where a fringed umbrella represents the highest outward symbol of rank, where fences are plaited and one pays nightly visits to the kampung {compound} of the beloved, and where the relationship between Divine and external existence is likened to that between a coconut and its shell. {BrakeI1979a:95.}

Be that as it may, three 'big symbolic images' - the sea, the beloved and the wine - are the foundation of Hamzah's poetry and the centre of gravity for other 'minor' symbols. It is noteworthy that all the 'big symbols' are found in quotations from Iraqi's poetry on two successive pages of Asrar al-arifin. Just as the definition of the syair in this treatise of Hamzah provides a key to the understanding of its poetical form, these quotations provide a key to the understanding of the imagery of the most interesting syair by the poet. These are: The sea is always the same, when it heaves, then it becomes waves. People say 'waves', but in reality it is the sea. I went in seclusion with my beloved, and there is none but us; [And if there is other than me, then her existence is inadmissible.]

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The glass is fine and the wine is clear, Their resemblance is indistinguishable As if it were wine without a cup, And as if it were a cup without wineP

The three 'big images' - the sea, the beloved and the wine - presented precisely with these semantic shades and nuances, constitute, as it were, three 'buds' of Hamzah's image system, from which it springs up, then developping in many different ways. To put it differently, they are similar to three 'beads' around which the process of its crystallization takes place, or three 'centres of gravity' attracting and holding in their 'orbits' all smaller and more scattered' particles'. No less important, however, is that each of the 'big images' not only appears in combination with the others in compositionally complex syair, but not infrequently they unfold into whole poems. The same images / symbols also determined the physiognomy of the most significant trend in the history of Persian Sufi lyrics, to which Iraqi, Shabistari, Maghribi, Shah Ni'matullah and Jami belonged and with which Hamzah, who brought its traditions to Malay soil, was associated. It is noteworthy, however, that the order in which the quotations from Lama'at appear in Asrar al-arifin corresponds exactly to the importance attached to each of the 'big images' in syair by the Malay poet, rather than in poems by his Persian tutors. Even judging only from the frequency of a particular image in verses of a particular poet, we can notice that in Hamzah's poetry the image of the sea invariably occupies the first place, then follows the image of the beloved, and, finally, the image of wine (Braginsky forthcoming a). In the pieces by Persian poets the order is reversed, and the image of the sea occupies the last place. Therefore, if the quotations from Iraqi point to the source of Hamzah's inspiration, then the order of these quotations indicates, even if unconsciously, Hamzah's preferences which have brought to life peculiar features of his poetry. Similarities between poems by Hamzah and by Iraqi and other Persian poets mentioned above are not limited to just the coincidence of the 'big images'. Both in Hamzah's and in their verses, these images can be interlinked or interlaced within the confines of a line or bait. However, the Persian poets were more skilful at such an interlacing: in their poems the 'big images' were not only juxtaposed, but, quite often, they could merge or even 'tum' into one another. This is how Hamzah combines the images of wine and the beloved: This wine [italics by the present author] is pure, its colour is clear, He who drinks it attains intoxication and jana, Possessing the beloved named the Eternal. (Drewes and Brakel1986:106.)

And this is how Iraqi transforms the same images into one another:

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The loved one's wine-red lips supplied the cup, They named it 'Lover's Wine' and drank it up. (Browne 1956, III:126.)

Hamzah combines the images of the sea and of the beloved: Seek for the Sea of Life Eternal, Be not content with a gulp of water, Grasp the true meaning of what water is, As your Beloved is present in it. (Drewes and BrakeI1986:108.)

And Iraqi 'turns' the sea into wine through a metaphor: Such a heart possesses a Spiritual Resolve, Which could gulp from the flagon of the sea, A thousand draughts of wine and still beg one more. (Iraqi 1982:109.)

The greatest number of coincidences with Persian poems is observed in Hamzah's syair about the wine of mystical cognition. Almost each motif that forms this 'big image / symbol' in Hamzah's verses has a counterpart in Persian Sufi poems, particularly in Iraqi's Lama'at (the 'Flashes') and Shabistari's Gulshan-i raz (the 'Rose garden of mysteries'), the works which were well known to Hamzah and much quoted by him. Here are some examples:

Hamzah Fansuri

Persian poets 28

The glorious wine from the Creator's hands Our cup-bearer is the Lord Himself Is the drink of those who are enamoured. Who provides all of us with the purest wine ('Abdul Qadir Gilani (Ismatov 1986: (Drewes and BrakeI1986:98). 194». This drink is not a worldly radiance It brings us all to the Sublime One

(Drewes and BrakeI1986:100).

From the scent of its [wine's] dregs which fell on the earth Man ascends up till he reaches heaven. (Shabistari 1978:8).

(Drewes and BrakeI1986:100).

The creature world is ever dizzy therewith [that is, with that wine], From house and home ever wandering astray (Shabistari 1978:89).

You've drunk it - and pilgrimage is performed (Drewes and BrakeI1986:100).

Pilgrim's staff [... ] have they given as ransom for these dregs [of wine] (Shabistari 1978:82).

Your homestead with its woven fence, Exchange for a cup of the strong arrack

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It [the wine] is most appropriate for the In the street of wineshops, when days of the fast should I pray? And for those five times when you say your Since my drunkness and sobriety alike prayers are all the same as prayer (Drewes and BrakeI1986:100). (Iraqi (Lama'at:40)).

o saqi,29 fill a cup with that wine: my

heart, my religion [... ] Can drinking be my liturgy? Then my Faith will be to sip the Beloved from this chalice (Iraqi (Lama'at:75)).

A pure wine in a clear cup -

30

Though two in name, they are one in nature. Drain away the entire sea, Drink it up to the end without fear (Drewes and BrakeI1986:100).

So clear is the wine and the glass so fine, That the two are one in seeming (Iraqi (Browne 1956, III:130)). [A real Sufi] could gulp from the flaf flagon of the sea A thousand draughts of wine and still beg one more (Iraqi (Lama'at:109)).

Take the Law of Muhammad as your shining torch, Wash with this wine your entire body, All but the Law take for your foe And only then your hair will fall out! [That is, you will get rid of your creaturely attributes]. (Drewes and BrakeI1986:102.)

[... ] washing off in that pure wellreeked wine All colour, black and green and blue. Drinking one cup of that pure wine And thence becoming Sufis cleansed from qualities.

In its deepest source your body is pure:

Saqi, fellow drinkers, wine and cup all He (Iraqi (Lama'at:1l0)). That Being [the Being of God] is one, but its aspects are a hundred thousand, Its form is the glass and its meaning the wine (Shah Ni'matullah (Browne 1959, III:

Its hidden is wine, its manifest - a cup; You are both the cup-bearer (saqi) and the one who drinks This is how Mansur has become Nasir [Nasir is a Name of God]. (Brakel 1979a:83.)

(Shabistari 1978:82.)

472).

The second 'big symbol', the Divine Beloved, occupies all the space of three syair. Here is one of them:

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature There is the Beloved on a hidden plain, Who conceals Herself in Her seekers' dwellings. Her every order is most imperious, To seek for Her is everyone's duty. That Beloved does not cover Her face, She appears openly in the midst of the market To sell arrack in the cup of a palm-leaf, With which every lover is drunk as a lord. Her plain is abundant in poisons and potions, That impregnable place is encircled with walls, As She is surrounded by invisible servants, How can you make a proposal to Her? [... ] She is always guarded by a legion of servants, Day and night Her dogs bark very loudly, Whatever She claims - fulfil Her desires, Otherwise things will not go well. Even if the Beloved is near to you, How can you embrace Her, wearing a sarong? You have managed to tear it? That's not enough! She won't sit on your lap - you are not her match. That Beloved craves for that life of yours, So, take this bearing to achieve your goal! Don't be fearful of spears from JavaOtherwise you'll become a laughing-stock! With the shield of Ahmad across your shoulder, Set off to Her kampung to enjoy your tryst, Don't linger, entering Her compound, So that you can see your Beloved One. Take away the curtains one after another And sit beside Her as close as you can, Put on the clothes of the Beloved, So that you'll engage Her in sweet disports. Her palace is on top of a mountain, Many roads wind and fork on its slopes, Appeal to Her mercy and plead for Her help, So that She might let you under Her veil. When you fight against Her every enemy, You'll manage to grasp your Beloved's torch, Then be obedient to whatever She tells you, So that your body may merge with Hers. (Drewes and BrakeI1986:102-4.)

At first sight, Persian motifs in Hamzah's poems of the Beloved are almost as abundant as in his poems about the wine. To spare the reader a great number of examples taken at random, we will confine ourselves to only a few motifs coinciding in love lyrics of the Malay poet and of 'Abd aI-Rahman Jami. Moreover, Hamzah was well acquainted with Jami's verse, which, being a kind of consummation of the classical trend in Persian Sufi poetry, shows an

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average variant of both its imagery and its conventions of love behaviour. 31 In the lyrics of both poets, the Beloved One lives in a high house behind a firm fence. Innumerable slaves and watchdogs guard her. She is very artful in hiding herself and escaping the lover's gaze, although her favourite hiding place is none other than his heart. For Hamzah, she resides on the plain 'abundant in poisons and potions (antidotes)'. For Jami, she herself is both 'a cup of poison' and 'a healing balm'. The lover is ready to sacrifice his life in order to win her love. Therefore, in Hamzah's lyrics he is represented as a courageous warrior (hulubalang), he is not afraid of Javanese spears, and so on. Jami expresses the same idea as follows: Jami, only he is worthy of love, whose heart is courageous as that of a warrior, So, be firm like him and ready to sacrifice your heart unhesitatingly Oami 1971:76).

Hamzah personifies this courage and selflessness in the image of a firefly attracted by a candle and burning in its fire (Drewes and Brakel 1986:86). Jami, like any other Persian poet, incessantly varies the motif of a candle and a moth. In Hamzah's poems, the Beloved sells wine to enamoured ones in the midst of an overcrowded bazaar. For Jami, she also appears in a bazaar, although the wine is sold not by herself, but in accordance with conventions of Persian love poetry, by her 'poetical twin-brother', the cup-bearer (saqi) with whom all Sufi-customers fell in love. This cup-bearer is a not infrequent guest in Harnzah's syair too. All these are of course just usual Persian images. However, in at least two of them there appears something, which is not a commonplace. Thus, the substitution of moth for firefly adds not only a peculiar twist of meaning to the Sufi symbol (for the firefly resembles a 'spark of flame', and as such it originally possesses the nature of the candle's 'bigger flame' in which it merges), but also a specific Malay colouring. The same is true of the image of the cup in Hamzah's syair, which represents not the precious chalice or goblet of Persian poetry, but merely a palm-leaf rolled in a special way or half a coconut shell. In general, everyday Malay life is reflected in Hamzah's love lyrics much more vividly than in his wine poetry. The coiffure of the Beloved One is adorned with a flower; she wears a sarong from motley fabric around her hips and a flower garland around her neck. Her bed is concealed behind a manylayered curtain (a mosquito-net) and her house is decorated with a specifically Malay pattern. A woven fence surrounds the house of the enamoured. He wears a samping (another kind of cloth around the hips) and provokes his Beloved's wrath by counting golden coins and threading them on a string just like a Malay money-changer.

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Remarkably, many of the most important motifs of Persian love poetry are completely lacking in Hamzah's verse. His Beloved is always shown as if from a distance. There is no mention whatsoever of her tresses, cheeks, eyes, lips and moles, which literally overfill Persian Sufi poems. Besides, another favourite Persian 'big image' - a garden full of roses and nightingales, narcissi and violets - does not occur in Hamzah's syair either. Even more important, however, is the fact that the conventions of lovers' behaviour in Hamzah's syair differ radically from those found in Persian poems. According to these conventions, reflected inter alia in Jami's ghazal, the Beloved One lives in a house, which seems to be made up only of the walls, the door and the threshold, or even of the door and the threshold alone - the rest is mentioned very rarely. The Beloved One is an embodiment of both beauty and cruelty. She is as coquettish as unapproachable. She evokes love in the hearts of her admirers, piercing them with the arrows of her eyelashes or catching them in the snare of her tresses. She attracts and entices the enamoured only to repudiate him mercilessly, leaving no hope whatsoever for their intimacy even at the cost of his life. The enamoured who is ready to sacrifice himself to his beloved is only rarely rewarded even with a favourable glance, to say nothing of a kiss. The enamoured invariably strives to visit his beloved's alley. He kisses the dust on which she might have stepped. He incessantly walks around her house and, like a lunatic, starts a conversation with its walls and door. He spends long nights in the dust on her threshold. He sweeps it with his eyelashes and strikes up an acquaintance with his Beloved One's watchdogs. Nonetheless, he never manages to step over the threshold and enter the house. The enamoured one's unrequited love is a kind of painful affliction. Because of it he endlessly sobs, laments, sheds tears. His body becomes skinny, his face yellow. Only in fantasies and dreams does he dare to embrace his Beloved, although even dreams about her seem too impertinent to him. Completely different love conventions, which are much more favourable to the lover, are encountered in Hamzah's poems. It is true that his Beloved One also resides behind walls, which are difficult to climb over, or in a palace on top of a mountain, to which lead only steep and thorny paths. Her character is also changeable and she is able to disappear and hide herself at any moment. However, having realized the enamoured one's determination to sacrifice his life for her, she immediately becomes his 'intimate and cordial' friend. Moreover, the Beloved One, witty and captivating all and everybody, is particularly gracious to those who are able to 'step gracefully' and 'call tenderly' and she allows them to 'tame' her. A selfless possessor of these qualities should arm himself with the determination of a fearless warrior and set off for the house of his Beloved One. Not lingering at her door, he should enter her bed-chamber, resolutely take away

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the many-layered curtain and sit down just next to her ('0 no, you will not sit beside me!', the hero of Jami's ghazal would exclaim in despair in this situation). Having sat her on his lap (the hero of ghazal by Amir Khusraw Dihlawi (1975b:67) could only allow himself to 'touch her knees with his forehead deferentially, kneeling before her', as a brahman kneels before his idol), the enamoured should passionately embrace the Beloved, inflame her heart with love and persuade her of his being ready to meet any desire of hers. Then things will take a turn for the better and he will unite with his Beloved. Thus, according to Hamzah, the main obstacles for the lover are the hardships of the way to the Beloved and her amazing ability to disappear and change her appearance, rather than her controversial character as in Persian poetry. Moreover, sometimes the Beloved One of Hamzah's syair spares the enamoured even these hardships, sending to him a messenger accompanied by warriors who pave the way for him. Providing the obstacles have been overcome (or removed) and the enamoured is courteous and ready to sacrifice his life, his success is ensured. Even a superficial familiarity with Malay fantastic adventure hikayat is sufficient to recognize the etiquette of their erotic scenes in the love conventions of Hamzah's syair. This Malayo-Javanese etiquette is typical of works that already existed in Hamzah's time, such as Panji-romances and Hikayat Sang Barna, of which the protagonist, Samba Prawira, was as invincible on the battlefields and irresistible in bedchambers of ladies as Inu Kertapati. Two types of erotic etiquette, which differ from one another depending on the hero's and the heroine's social status (the heroine is not noble while the hero is; the heroine is noble while the hero is not), have been discussed above (see Chapter III). The third type of conventions is characteristic for the erotic behaviour of protagonists who are equals and whose love is mutual. Although close to conventions of the noble hero's behaviour in its openness and passion, this third type is devoid of even a shade of coercion or compulsion: its love enthusiasm is not at all aggressive and its tenderness is not impatient. A good example of erotic descriptions of this type is encountered in the narrative of the mutual love of Samba Prawira and Dewi Januwati, spouses in their previous incarnation who have been separated in the present birth. It is precisely this set of conventions, even if supplemented with some elements of the second type, more metaphoric and indirect, that was reflected in Hamzah's poetry and, therefore, deserves special attention. (In the following discussion and quotations from Hikayat Sang Barna, those features which Hamzah Fansuri's poems share with the love episode in question are italicized.) Separated from Samba Prawira and taken prisoner by the giant Sang Boma, a terrible chthonic monster, Dewi Januwati lives in a palace, situated on a golden mountain, surrounded with a high wall and guarded by an army of raksasa (compare the palace of the Beloved One in Hamzah's syair). Having learnt

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about her lover's whereabouts and suffering in separation from him, Dewi Januwati sends to him her confidante, a heavenly nymph Nila Utama, who must bring him to the impenetrable palace (compare the messenger with warriors, paving the way for the enamoured in Hamzah's lyrics). After the nymph fulfilled her request, he [that is, Samba Prawira], accompanied by Nila Utama, entered the palace of gold and then the princess's chamber. He found Dewi Januwati sitting all alone on her sleeping platform set with jewels. Her hair was uncombed and her eyes swollen with tears - yet this only increased her beauty. Prince Samba Prawira approached her unnoticed and sat on the sleeping platform beside her. Dewi Januwati gave a start and looked around. Without delay, Samba Prawira embraced her, sat her on his lap and began to kiss her, saying: '0 my lady, radiant like a mountain of gold, 0 the quintessence of my soul, 0 my little sister who can destroy me and bring a disease on me [compare the motif of the Beloved as a poison in Hamzah's syair]. If I had not met you just now, I would surely have died of sorrow.' (Sang Barna 1959:119.)

On remembering how Samba Prawira, summoned by Wisnu, abandoned her in his previous life, Dewi Januwati pretends to be angry and 'without saying a word to him, begins to cry'. However, her feigned anger is no more than a test of her lover's feelings. Well aware of this, Samba Prawira immediately demonstrates his readiness to sacrifice his life in order to regain Dewi Januwati's favour: 'If you, 0 my lady, do not want to grant me forgiveness at once, what is the use of my life? Then, 0 my royal little sister, you had better kill your husband, who committed an offence against you, so that I may die without delay -life is detestable to me'. With these words, Prince Samba Prawira took out his dagger from behind his waistsash and gave it to the princes, saying: '0 my royal little sister, take my dagger and kill me, the one who has sinned against you, right away!' (Sang Barna 1979:120.)

As soon as Samba Prawira has passed the test for selflessness, Dewi Januwati forgives him and quickly pushes away his hand holding the dagger. There follows the required monologue of the enamoured, who, as Hamzah would say, knows how 'to approach gently with flattering words' (Drewes and BrakeI1986:92), and the happy finale:

o my lady and my little sister, 0

my soul which is like unto a flower, allow me to die together with you, 0 my darling, a blossom of the royal garden! Please, look at me kindly, if only with the corner of your eye shining like lightning, so that you might heal the love-disease which resides in my body, if only a little [compare the motif of the Beloved as a healing potion in Harnzah's syair]'. Dewi Januwati bowed her head and smiled, as she listened to the unspeakably sweet words spoken by Prince Samba Prawira. On seeing the princess smiling, Samba Prawira was unable to restrain himself any longer. He embraced her, and sat her on his hip, and carried her to the bedchamber. (Sang Barna 1979:120.)

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Thus, the love conventions of this scene coincide completely. with those elaborated by Hamzah in his poetry. This, however, is not all there is to it. Many motifs of Hamzah's love syair are found in the pantun tradition already discussed. Although we cannot doubt that this tradition did exist in the Malay world as early as the fifteenththe sixteenth century, all the pantun which reveal parallels to Hamzah's poems have been recorded rather recently. Therefore, it is not clear what is new and what is old in them, what originally belonged to the oral tradition and what was later borrowed by it from written literature. Nevertheless, the similarity, if not the identity, of love conventions in pantun and early love hikayat, as well as the resemblance in the metre, rhyme and euphonic structure between pantun and Hamzah's syair, allow us to assume that the poet could also have drawn from these oral poetical miniatures some images and conventions of love descriptions. By Hamzah's time, these conventions may well have been shared by written prose and oral poetry. Let us compare individual motifs of the erotic etiquette in Hamzah's poems and in pantun, following their order in the above discussion. The Beloved lives on top of a mountain (Harnzah: 'Her palace is on top of a mountain', Drewes and BrakeI1986:104): The ge/am and kenanga trees fell down And crushed together the shelter for seedlings. The bee is dreaming of nectar, but, alas! The flower grows on top of the mountain. (Za'ba 1964:99.)

Here the bee is a usual symbol of the enamoured one, and the flower, of the beloved. The enamoured is intoxicated with passion, but the fence (wall) and numerous guards prevent him from satisfying it (Harnzah: 'That impregnable place is encircled with walls', 'She is always guarded by a legion of servants', Drewes and BrakeI1986:102): A fig is drifting to the water-hole, A pelican runs into floating logs. My heart is drunk, when I see the moon But she is encircled by the fence of stars. (Za'ba 1964:142.)

The stars stand for the servants of the moon, which symbolizes the beloved. The enamoured sees in his beloved both the love poison and the antidote for it (for Hamzah, the plain where she lives 'is abundant in poisons and potions [antidotes]" Drewes and BrakeI1986:102): A papaya grows on a mountain slope, In the garden leaves of coffee are green.

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In order to reach his beloved, the enamoured is ready to abandon all his kin (Harnzah: 'Give up your children, abandon your wife, / So that your love may be truly mad!', Drewes and Brakel1986:100): Sweet rice and rice with coconut milk, I've torn off leaves from the stem of basil. Rejecting mother and forgetting brother, To love alone I'm faithful forever. (Za'ba 1964:103.)

The path leading to the house (or the palace) of the beloved is dangerous and most difficult to traverse (Hamzah: 'The path to Her is most winding', 'As the path is full of pointed thorns, / How can you traverse it, if dark is the night?', Drewes and Brakel1986:94, 104): Greasy curry is cooked with bitter shallot, Meat is roasted in oil with smelly garlic. Overgrown with scrub was the slippery path Only my love has brought me to you. (Za'ba 1964:101.)

As usual, the price of love is life (Harnzah: 'That Beloved craves for the life of yours, / So, take this bearing to achieve your goal!', Drewes and Brakel 1986:104): Why build a barn amidst the field, If you won't keep your rice in it? Why embrace and swear love, If you're not ready to die for me? (Za'ba 1964:137.)

Under certain conditions the beloved yields herself to taming (Hamzah: ,Approach Her slowly, calling tenderly, / So that you can tame the Beloved One', Drewes and Brakel1986:92): 'Where are you hurrying, hey Ce Akup?' 'To our market, to buy some oil'. If there is much feed in the cage A wild bird will become tame. (Za'ba 1964:137.)

The bird is another symbol of the beloved. To tame her, the enamoured must go to the tryst resolutely (Hamzah: 'Set off to Her kampung to enjoy your tryst, / Don't linger, entering Her compound, / So that you can see your Beloved One', Drewes and Brakel1986:104): The cat has caught a tiny nestling Basil has grown under the ladder.

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Behind twelve doors you are locked up But all the twelve my love will open. (Za'ba 1964:102.)

There, in the house (palace), the beloved is hidden behind curtains or veils (Hamzah: 'Take away the curtains one after another / And sit beside Her as close as you can', Drewes and BrakeI1986:104): 'Where is the owl whose hoot I've heard?'

'On the kapok-tree, near the mango'.

'Where is my love, dainty and light?' 'Behind the veil, on her quilt-mattress.' (Za'ba 1964:103.)

Having seated his beloved on his lap, the enamoured gives himself to loving caresses (in Hamzah's poetry we find a negative image: in a certain situation 'She won't sit on your lap - you are not her match', Drewes and Brake11986: 102.): Many kinds of pumpkins are very sweet, But the papaya is much sweeter. To sleep behind the curtain is sweet To hold you on the lap is much sweeter. (For the Malay original, see Winstedt and Blagden 1917:164.)

Finally, the moment of union has come (Hamzah: 'Then be obedient to whatever She told you, / So that your body might merge with Hers', Drewes and BrakeI1986:104): While writing a letter the Chinese, Takes the kalam with a hairy tip.32 As long as we are in the vale of life Our bodies will be merged in one. (Za'ba 1964:104.)

Kalam, 'a reed-pen', is a common symbol of the male organ. Considering these numerous parallels with both Malay amorous hikayat and pantun, it is obvious that Hamzah's syair glorifying the Divine Beloved differ considerably from his wine poems. In Hamzah's verses about mystical love, the Persian imagery seems to be no more than a pattern embroidered on the Malay cloth. On the contrary, in his syair in which the 'big image' of the sea and navigation is elaborated, the cloth is most likely Persian, but the Malay pattern on it is so dense that sometimes it completely hides the cloth from our view. Hasan Fansuri, one of Hamzah's disciples (about him see below), once called his master's maritime imagery a 'sum total of all symbols' (Doorenbos 1933:62). This definition is absolutely true. The image of the sea attracts all the love and wine symbolic motifs of Hamzah as well as a great number of

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sea motifs, both indigenous and adopted from his Persian tutors. Moreover, filling the verse space of several syair from beginning to end - something unprecedented in Persian Sufi poetry - this image is elaborated through a mass of details, which, although endowed with mystical meanings, are so congenial to the soul of the Malays, the nation of seafarers. Two very typical passages quoted below allow us to achieve some idea of the sea symbolism in Hamzah's poetry: The China Sea is immensely deep, It begot all races of the Universe, Be they jinns, or angels, or sons of men All of us will be drowned in the same Sea. It is strewn with reefs; its shores are extensive,33 Its bays are beautiful like quiet enclosures, 34 It is to that Sea that you should swim, So that you can see it without delay. Tempests constantly rage in the Sea, At any time they ravage its surface, Nonetheless, submerge into it entirely, So that you'll gain spiritual merit. Listen, all of you, who recite the Qur' an, Don't seek for the Sea in a distant land, Don't run away from the clear water, So that you'll become the radiant sun! [... ] Never pay heed to cold and to heat, Renounce both your desire and greed, Bum them away like a candle of wax Then your endeavour will achieve its end! (Drewes and BrakeI1986:134, 136.) The Sea of the Truth is immensely deep, The world has sprung from Its motionless waves, Its beginning is foreign to day and to night, And the world will sink again in that Sea. So, listen attentively, 0 you, seeker, There is neither ebb nor flow in that Sea, You won't see the sky in the mouth of Its rivers,35 There many sailors have been stranded on the reefs [... ] Its primordial depths cannot be fathomed, Its final revelations have many faces, Its Innermost Being is concealed eternally, Though innumerable are Its beautiful Names. If you don't want to endanger yourself, Renounce your noble origin and riches, Don't linger on the island of radiance, So that you'll come close to the Exalted. Swimming there, don't cling to a log,36 Let the mighty tide carry you along,

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Don't spare your ship, approaching the shore, So that in the end it may reach the dock. Drown your 'self', 0 my dear sir, In that Sea which has no compeer, Array yourself in the cloak of Unity, Don't be heedless, diving for the pearl [... ] You are the Sea Most Exalted yourself, The mirror reflecting the Eternal One, If the turbid water you replace by limpid, You'll attain Union with the Lord Divine. (Drewes and BrakeI1986:140, 142.)

The semantic field of Hamzah's maritime symbolism is formed by some fifty nouns and verbs - the principal' colours' of his pattern as it were - to which about one hundred attributes of different kinds add specific hues. Sometimes these hues are quite diverse. For instance, in syair of the poet, we come across about forty attributes for the word 'sea', fourteen attributes for the word 'wave', six for the word 'ship'. When recounting matters to do with of the sea and navigation, Hamzah describes extended shores37 and islands enticing in their radiance, quiet bays with slightly rippling water and perilous narrow river-mouths, coral reefs, currents and breakers, horrible storms which suddenly fall upon the sea so that it violently 'flares up'. He remembers, as it were, pleasant sailing on the 'gentle billows' so different from the 'mighty waves' which threaten to take the seafarer captive. The sea in Hamzah's syair is inhabited not only by pearloysters from traditional Persian poetry, but also by shoals of fish so stupid that, of their own volition, they head straight into Malay basket-traps (bubu). In the sea lives the fish-elephant (gajahmina) or the whale, swimming on the very surface, and the wise tuna-fish, which hides itself in the depths of the sea. In one syair the sea reeks with the stench of fish, and in another ships furrow it. When talking about ships, Hamzah cannot resist mentioning their helmsmen, decks, rudders, planking and docks, where the ship will be raised on special supports for repairs after returning to the port:

o wanderer, know your' self',

Build a ship from it, to return home, Leave the rudder fixed, don't tinker with it, So that you may come to your native land. Raise and sit on the upper deck, Weigh your anchor once and for all, Fit the free-board 38 of the Law Divine, So that your ship won't swerve from its course. You want to see the expanse of the sky Then don't forget of points of the reefs, Hold the rudder tight, be on the alert, So that you can sail straight into port [... ]

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature The helmsman knows his bearing well, As he always sails in the pleasant sea, Your ship is covered with no planks, That's why it has neither peer nor match. Concentrate your mind on Abul Kasim!39 Who always stands upright on the deck, Both the helmsman and builder of his ship, To the Haven of Unity he has piloted it. (Drewes and Brakel 1986:112.)

To these we can add that Hamzah's vessel is undoubtedly a merchant ship for which the change of monsoon is the clear sign to set sail for its native port. As Hamzah writes in one of his poems: Life in this world is like that of a merchant, When the monsoon starts blowing, we return home (Drewes and Brakel1986:80).

And again, just as in Hamzah's love poetry, some motifs of seamanship evoke reminiscences of those in written and oral Malay romances, while others are cognate to those in pantun: A yellow ship is sailing at night; Towards the estuary its bow is turned; Weigh all things manifest and hidden Never follow your raging passions. Towards the estuary the ship is sailing, The current is swift, the rapids are many; If you follow your raging passions, The ship will sink - the disaster will strike you. The current is swift, the rapids are many, Before you sail off find a skilful pilot; If your ship sinks, this means that you Have pawned your soul and disgraced your name. 'Why are you sailing at night upstream?' 'I like fishing when the moon is bright: 'How will your ship advance upstream, If the river-mouth is blocked by reefs?' The shining moon in the ship's cabin Its radiance reaches the upper reaches; 'If the merciful God gives me His help The ship will pass, when the tide is high: (Za'ba 1964:87-90.)

Many pantun clearly echo Hamzah's maritime poems, although, unlike the above quatrains, the poet describes navigation on the high seas rather than sailing upstream or downstream. However, during his voyage to Kelantan,

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Abdullah bin Abdul Kadir Munsyi recorded a number of sea pantun proper, which also evoke associations with Hamzah's syair: A knife of iron with the handle of gold, A chopper's handle and blade from iron; Don't be drowned in the stormy seaIts waves are beating one against another. Sometimes in one shawl, sometimes in two The son of the king used to wrap himself; The anchor is weighed and, amidst the rocks, The ship is sailing, searching for an isle. I've turned the angular sail to the wind, And pray, when raising the square one; I entreat the Prophet to help me, though I accept whatever has been predestined. (Kassim Ahmad 1981:78-3.)

However that may be, the 'intemallandscape' of the sea syair by Hamzah, just as of his other poems, represents a symbolic reality, every component of which has its specific meaning interpreted either in the syair itself, or in the auto-commentary on them by the poet (AI-Attas 1970:233-96), or in the commentaries by Syamsuddin of Pasai, another eminent Sufi from Aceh of the seventeenth century.40 For instance: -

-

-

'Immensely deep sea' symbolizes the incomprehensible Divine Essence; 'sea without currents', 'sea without ebbs and flows' - God's Being preceding the Creation; 'tempestuous sea' - God's Being in the process of Creation; 'wind' and 'storm' - God's Creative Word ('Be!'); 'waves' - the created worlds; 'bubble' - an individual existence. 'Wanderer' or 'merchant' personifies the gnostic; 'vessel' or' ship' - his body or his 'self'; 'the ship without planking' - the spiritual body bestowed on the gnostic; 'keel', 'free-board', 'anchor-rope' - the Muslim Law (syariat), 'anchor' - Gnosis; 'pearl' - the essence of the gnostic in God's knowledge; 'to dive for the pearl' or 'to sail' means to tread the Sufi Path. 'Reef' symbolizes an obstacle on the Path; 'stupid fish' - the one who seeks Gnosis outside his 'self' and for this reason cannot find it; 'elephant-fish' or 'whale' - the one who cannot gain Gnosis, in spite of his understanding of God's Greatness; 'tuna-fish' - the perfect gnostic; 'bay' or 'gulf' - the 'threshold' of gnostic's unity with God; 'port' - the locus of Unity; 'to be drowned in the sea' means to attain Unity.

Even such an incomplete list of symbols bears witness to the fact that in terms of maritime symbolism the poet could expound his doctrine virtually in full. 41

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To conclude, we can note that, just like the analysis of peculiarities of the syair form, the interpretation of images of the Beloved and the sea in Hamzah's poetry reveals elements of both the Persian and the Malay tradition. Thus, these images cannot be derived from one source only. As in so many cases discussed earlier, they are fruits of the literary synthesis. The indigenous Malay imagery conditioned the poet's choice of favourite symbols, while the Persian imagery confirmed that his choice is acceptable for Sufi writings.

Sufi prose in Aceh of the seventeenth century Syamsuddin of Pasai Hamzah Fansuri was a Sufi of a somewhat emotional type who, for all his erudition, relied primarily on his own spiritual experience and was familiar only too well with all the troubles and joys of a human being on the Path of spiritual quest. On the other hand, his junior contemporary Syamsuddin of Pasai (died 1630), the tutor and advisor of Sultan Iskandar Muda and Shaykh aI-Islam of Aceh, seems to represent a different type of spiritual seeker. He was a thinker who, although not at all alien to mystical experience, paid no less, or even more, attention to systematic discourse in his search for the knowledge of God, a spiritual tutor in whose exhortation ethical motifs and abstract speculation prevail. As Van Nieuwenhuijze (1945:31) aptly put it: 'in both cases the tone is the same, though the timbre is different'. Although Syamsuddin preferred to expound his teachings in metaphysical terms, he also, here and there, introduced symbolic images and metaphors into his writings. For instance, in one of Syamsuddin's treatises, we find an elaborate doctrine of correspondence between various parts of the eye and ontological worlds and psychic-somatic levels (see Chapter IV). The white of the eye corresponds to the World of Humanity (nasut), the dark ring around the iris to the World of Dominion (malakut), the iris itself to the World of Omnipotence (jabarut), and the pupil of the eye to the World of Divinity (lahut) (Van Nieuwenhuize 1945:139). Even more interesting are the images of the sea and the boat to which, probably following the example of Hamzah, Syamsuddin also resorts in his works. This is, for example, the description of the Divine Sea from Syamsuddin's poem included in Kitab al-harakat: The sea becomes utterly quiet and limpid, All the forms manifested entirely vanish, All the words turn into silence there, And every allusion disappears from the mind (Y. Braginsky forthcoming a).

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And here is how Syamsuddin uses the image of a boat to express the idea that God is the only Lord of the gnostic's soul: The [human] body is similar to a boat, which is under the command of its captain, each boat with its own captain. The Arabs use to say, ' Al-arwah fi'l-ajsad ka'l-mallah fi'l- safini', which means: 'It is absurd to have two captains in one boat.' The same refers to the human body: it is absurd to have two entities, which are in command within it.' (Doorenbos 1933:215, compare Van Nieuwenhuijze 1945:320.)

Not much from the once considerable literary heritage of Syamsuddin has reached our time. Among his writings we find an orthodox catechism Mir'at al-mu'minin (the 'Mirror of the faithful'), a Sufi treatise Jauhar al-haqa'iq (the 'Essence of verities') composed in Arabic, and a few brief Sufi works and fragments in Malay, such as Kitab al-harakat (the 'Book of motion'), Nur addaqa'iq (the 'Light of subtleties') and some others.42 Besides, in the 1960s-70s his commentaries on a number of Hamzah Fansuri's syair, which most probably are fragments from Syamsuddin's treatise Syarh ruba'i Hamzah al-Fansuri (the 'Commentary on ruba'i by Harnzah Fansuri'), were discovered. 43 Like most early Malay Sufis, including Hamzah Fansuri, Syamsuddin is mostly preoccupied with problems of the unity of Being, the origin of multiplicity from unity, the Perfect Man (insan al-kamil), and, in the practical aspect, with the doctrine of zikir (dhikr), that is, the incessant recollection of God's Names and repetition of the formulas of syahadat and tauhid, which lead to direct contemplation of the Ultimate Reality. As in Hamzah's case, the sources of Syamsuddin's mystical philosophy are found in writings by Ibn al-' Arabi and AI-Jili. However, the doctrine of the manifestation of the Absolute differs to some extent in Harnzah's and Syamsuddin's ontology. Hamzah's system, like the system of' Abd aI-Rahman Jami, includes five manifestations, or stages of the determination, of the indeterminate, incomprehensible Essence, of which the fifth stage - that of "'materialization" of spirits into the World of Matter' (AI-Attas 1970:72) - embraces the determination of innumerable entities of the physical world. Unlike Hamzah's system, the ontology of Syamsuddin, which is traceable back to the treatise Tuhfat al-mursala ila ruh al-nabi (the 'Precious gift to the spirit of the Prophet', 1590) by Ibn Fadlillah al-Burhanpuri (Voorhoeve 1965:127-48), is seven-fold (the so-called martabat tujuh, or 'seven-staged' system). This system describes the unfolding from absolute unity towards the multiplicity of the world of creations through the following stages:

- Ahadiyat - absolute, unmanifested, incomprehensible unity; - Wahdat - synthetic unity of potentialities of Being; - Wahidiyat - analytical unity of potentialities of Being or unity in multiplicity;

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alam arwah - the world of spirits, or logoi, of things; alam misal - the world of ideas, or eidoi, of things; alam ajsam - the world of physical bodies; alam insan - the world of man, that is the Perfect Man.

The first three stages are eternal, uncreated and do not possess an outwardly manifest (actual) Being; they are the Being of the Universe in Divine Consciousness. The next three stages possess outwardly manifested Being, are creations and subject to destruction. These are various levels of the actual, not potential, Being of the world. At the same time, three created stages are parallel to uncreated stages, representing their external aspects, or manifestations, in the form of, respectively, the absolute (alam arwah), synthetic (alam misal) and analytical (alam ajsam) unity.44 Finally, the last stage, that of the Perfect Man, is the lowest and, at the same time, the highest of the manifested ones, for it contains all the stages from Wahdat to the world of physical bodies. In including in himself all the manifestations of the Absolute, the Perfect Man acts as a spiritual reality through which the creation returns to the Creator. He is a microcosm, which is similar to macrocosm (the Universe), both physically and spiritually. By traversing the ontological stages in reverse order (or, to put it differently, by actualizing potentiality, hidden in the depth of his 'true self' - diri hakiki), the Sufi who has burnt his 'imaginary self' (diri wahmi) in the flame of Divine Love can achieve the desired Union with the Most High. 45 It is precisely this system that, thanks to its logical consistency and clarity, became the basis for the theory and practice of the Malay Sufi and remained most influential during the seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries. After its appropriation by the Sufi of Aceh, the system of seven stages spread to Minangkabau (its first proponent there was Syaikh Burhanuddin, Dobbin 1983:123-4), Palembang (see, for instance Sair as-salikin - the 'Path of seekers' by Abd as-Samad al-Palimbani), Banjarmasin (see Ad-durr an-nafisi - the 'Precious pearl' and Majma' al-asrar - the 'Collection of secrets' by Muhammad Nafis al-Banjari), Patani (see Manhal as-safi - the 'Source of purity' by Daud al-Fatani) and many other areas of the Archipelago. 46 A particularly important role in its dissemination was played by numerous disciples of Abd arRauf of Singkel, the khalifah (head) of Syattariyah order in Aceh. In his works Syamsuddin invariably emphasized the esoteric nature of knowledge presented by him, the hardships of the mystical Path and the impossibility of treading it, if an experienced and knowing master does not guide the Sufi. However, the wide spread of Sufism in Aceh in the first three decades of the seventeenth century in the atmosphere of still strong influences of old shamanistic ideas and especially Tantric yoga, which had assimilated many elements of local beliefs (Brakel 1979a:73-4; V. Braginsky

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forthcoming a), resulted in the far-reaching distortion of Hamzah's and Syamsuddin's doctrines by their followers. Particularly difficult for the understanding was the doctrine of the relation between the Creator and the creation, Allah and the world and, within this doctrine, the subtle distinction between the external, bodily self and the internal, spiritual self (a divine image or a 'sparkle' of God's Spirit in man), which required a full mastery of the Sufi terminology. As a result, the beliefs of the rank-and-file members of the Aceh Wujudiyah (the local followers of wahdat al-wujud) assumed, not infrequently, rather crude pantheistic forms, as can be seen from the following fragment from the so-called 'Collection of anonymous treatises': Whoever understands this will realize that his coming is from God and that his return is also to Him, and that the being of his visible [that is, manifest, external] self is none other than that of God. [... ] Man's visible attributes are in fact none other than those attributes of God, which are hidden [that is, internal], and his visible acts are none other than God's, which are hidden, for the visible world manifests His hidden attributes. If this is so, then his being, attributes and acts are one with those of Almighty God, the Great, the Exalted. Oohns 1957:57; AI-Attas 1970:476-7.)

Needless to say that neither Hamzah nor Syamsuddin ever taught that the manifestation of the internal, or hidden, through the external, or manifest, testifies to their complete identity (compare AI-Attas 1970:27-8).

Nuruddin ar-Raniri Nuruddin ar-Raniri47 (died 1666), a moderately orthodox Sufi and a connoisseur of fiqh from Gujarat, who achieved a high position at the court of Iskandar the Second, the successor to Iskandar Muda, was an irreconcilable opponent of the Aceh Wujudiyah. Aimed against Wujudiyah were such of his writings as Hal az-zill ('Concerning the shadow') and Syifat al-qulub (the 'Healing of the hearts') (Van Nieuwenhuijze 1948), Tibyan fi ma'rifat al-adyan (the 'Explanation of faiths') and Hujjat as-siddiq Ii daf' az-zindiq (the 'Proof of the truthful for the refutation of the heretics') (Voorhoeve 1955a; AI-Attas 1966:80-142, 1986), and, finally, Asrar al-insan fi'l-ma'rifat ar-ruh wa'r-Rahman (the 'Secrets of man (revealed through) the cognition of the Spirit and the Merciful One').48 Although in these treatises by Ar-Raniri we do not find, as it seems, any direct evidence of his familiarity with works by Ahmad Sirhindi (1564-1634) - an eminent Indian Sufi famous for his fierce polemics against wahdat alwujud49 - on the whole the Gujarati syaikh's ideas are close to those of the Sufi school wahdat al-shuhud (empirical monism), which was developed by Sirhindi (compare Drewes 1986:56-7). Both authors share the obvious prefer-

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ence for the Law (syariat) and 'soberness' to ecstatic experiences, both draw a sharp borderline between God and the world, and both are tireless in their attacks on what they consider heretical, primarily pantheistic, tendencies in Sufism (Farman 1963:873-83). Proximity of Ar-Raniri's views to the wahdat al-shuhud doctrine is particularly noticeable in his treatise about the shadow, strongly resembling some of the epistles from Sirhindi's Maktubat (the 'Letters', Siddiqi 1963:1571; see also Ansari 1986). In his polemical writings Nuruddin ar-Raniri accused Hamzah and Syamsuddin of adherence to the heretical doctrine of the immanence of the Creator in creation, the belief in the eternity of the world, the unwillingness to recognize the uncreated nature of the Qur'an and 'self-deification'. Nuruddin attempted to prove that their views did not differ much from those of Zoroastrians and Christians, Vedantists and Mahayanists, Qadarites, Mutazilites and the falasifah, oriental Peripatetics - all this at one and the same time. No wonder, therefore, that in his heresiological exercises Nuruddin arRaniri represented many fundamental concepts of Hamzah and Syamsuddin in a distorted, if not caricatured, form. No less important, however, is the fact that, just like the rank-and-file members of the Wujudiyah, he frequently misunderstood the mixed Arabic-Malay terminology of his opponents (for instance, Nuruddin ar-Raniri failed to comprehend the cardinal difference between the Malay term ada, used by Hamzah mostly for external existence, and the Arabic term wujud - 'internal existence' in Hamzah's terminology (AI-Attas 1970:148-72)). Finally, more often than not he chose for his attacks such esoteric works as Hamzah's Al-muntahi (the' Adept') in which this terminology was not explained, since, having been interpreted in his other writings, it was expected to be known to the reader (AI-Attas 1970:29-30). Although at first glance Nuruddin ar-Raniri's major ideological opponents were Hamzah and Syamsuddin, he actually fought not so much against them, already dead at that time, as against their disciples equally influential among townsfolk and the court nobility of Aceh. Nuruddin arRaniri's hunting for heretics was intended not only, and probably even not so much, to protect the purity of Islam but also to win Syamsuddin's position in the Muslim community and at court. As is usually the case, a not entirely 'pure' motive engendered not quite 'pure' means, as becomes obvious from Nuruddin's Tibyan fi ma'rifat al-adyan: When this group of the adherents of the heretical, godless and straying Wujudiyah, comprising the followers of the devious Syamsuddin as-Samatrani [another nisba of Syamsuddin of PasaiJ, made its appearance [... J, they held a dispute with us in the presence of the sultan, the greatest among the pious of his time [Sultan Iskandar the Second is meantJ [... J, who established the faith of Allah with a firmness worthy of amazement. And they said: 'God is our self and our being, while we are His Self and His Being'. To refute their false statements and absurd

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convictions, we wrote a treatise, explaining the differences between [such symbols as] the shadow and the Possessor of the shadow [Hal az-zill is most probably meant]. [... ] And we told them: 'Verily, your claims for self-deification are like the claims of the Pharaoh who said: 'I am your Lord the Most High' [the Qur'an 79: 24], therefore, verily, you are the infidels.' Then their faces grew sad, and they bowed their heads, because they were guilty of syirk.50 And all the Muslim ulama issued afatwa, proclaiming them infidels, and sentenced them to death. [... ] Some of them agreed with the fatwa of their infidelity, some repented, but some refused to repent. And a part of those who had earlier repented committed an apostasy and returned to their former convictions. [... ] And they were exterminated by the army as infidels. Praise be to God, the Lord of the Worlds! (Voorhoeve 1955a:3-6, Arabic pagination.)

One should not be misled by Nuruddin ar-Raniri's words, which create an impression of a great number of the 'infidels' being executed. As can be inferred from another work of his, Fath al-mubin 'ala al-mulhidin (the 'Obvious victory over heretics'), a few members of the Wujudiyah were meant who were killed when they made an attempt to offer resistance to Iskandar the Second's messengers (Voorhoeve 1969a:372). At about the same time as the 'heretics' were done away with, in the late 1630s-early 1640s, Hamzah's and Syamsuddin's books were solemnly burned before the mosque Bait ar-Rahman in the capital of Aceh. Thirty-five years after the event, rumours turned this auto-da-fe into a probably fictitious story of the burning of the members of Wujudiyah themselves. However that may be, around 1675 these rumours made an anonymous author send letter to Medina to the then head of the Syattariyah order, Mula Ibrahim al-Kurani. The letter contained the question of whether such actions were compatible with the laws of syariat. Mula Ibrahim answered they were not, emphasizing that the prosecutors did not trouble themselves with an understanding of the metaphorical meaning of the words spoken by the followers of the Wujudiyah. To this he added the reference to a hadith according to which the words of a Muslim should not be interpreted unfavourably as long as there are chances for their favourable interpretation (Voorhoeve 1951:366). However, Nuruddin ar-Raniri's triumph was not lasting. In 1644, after the death of Iskandar the Second and the enthronement of his widow Sultanah Taj al-Alam Safiyatuddin (reigned 1641-1675), the old polemic burst out with a fresh force. This time it was won by a certain Saif ar-Rijal (whose name, meaning the Sword of Men, is incidentally identical to the title of one of Hamzah's writings, Doorenbos 1933:62-3), a Minangkabau by birth and a follower of Wujudiyah who had just returned from Surat to Aceh. Saif ar-Rijal was supported by some courtiers, evidently vexed by the influence of a foreigner in the capital. Sultanah Taj ai-AI am Safiyatuddin herself was requested to settle the dispute, but she refused to interfere, referring to her

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incompetence in theological issues. After the end of the polemic, which continued for a month, Nuruddin ar-Raniri had to leave Aceh in such haste that he had no time to complete his last work in Malay, Jawahir al-'ulum fi qashf al-ma'lum (the 'Essences of sciences in the revealing of the objects of knowledge') (Takeshi Ito 1978:489-92).

Abd ar-Rauf of Singkel In spite of Nuruddin ar-Raniri's uncompromlsmg struggle against the Wujudiyah, in his writings (including those of the polemical nature) he proceeded from the same doctrine of the seven stages of Being as his opponents. The same doctrine was also the basis of the teaching of Abd ar-Rauf of Singkel (1615-1693),51 another celebrated Sufi from Sumatra. The tomb of Abd ar-Rauf was and still is a popular place of pilgrimage. His name was surrounded by legends. According to one of them, Abd ar-Rauf was the first who converted Aceh to Islam (Liaw Yock Fang 1991-93, 11:67); according to another, his sermons brought back to a virtuous life the women from the brothel which Hamzah Fansuri allegedly had opened in the capital of Aceh (Snouck Hurgronje 1906:20). Needless to say, neither of these legends has anything to do with historical realities. However, both emphasize the role of Abd ar-Rauf as a teacher and a preacher, and this was true to fact. As Johns wrote: The bent of his mind is practical, and he had the concern of a religious teacher for his pupils. Thus his work is always based on a concern for them: to enable them to understand Islam better, to warn them of dangers, to help their devotions, to preserve them from error, and to warn them against intolerance. Gohns 1975:47.)

Abd ar-Rauf is the first of the Malay Sufi authors about whose education, teachers and Sufi pedigree we have relatively complete information. At the age of twenty-six or twenty-seven he left for Arabia in search of knowledge. In the 'epilogue' (Riddell 1990:223-38) to one of his major Sufi works, Umdat al-muhtajin (the 'Support of the needy'), he wrote that he had studied in various cities of Yemen (Zabid, Moha, Bayt al-Faqih, and others), then in Doha in the Qatar Peninsula and, finally, in Jedda, Mecca and Medina, and mentioned several dozen teachers who taught him external' lfiqh, recitation of the Qur'an, exegesis, and so on) and 'internal' (Sufism) disciplines. Apart from this, the 'epilogue' contains a list of eleven Sufi orders (Syattariyah, Qadiriyah, Kubrawiyah, Suhrawardiyah, Naksybandiyah, and others) with which Abd ar-Rauf was affiliated (Shaghir bin Abdullah 1991, 1:131). In Medina Abd ar-Rauf became a disciple of Ahmad Qushashi (died 1661), the 'Pole of his time' and the head of the Syattariya order, and of the already mentioned Mula Ibrahim Kurani (died 1690), a prominent Islamic scholar, who succeeded to Ahmad Qushashi. 52 A follower of Ibn al-' Arabi's I

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teaching, Ibrahim Kurani is famous as the author of more than one hundred works which were not infrequently written in answer to the questions of his disciples. Particularly interesting is his treatise !thai al-dhaki bi sharh al-Tuhfa al-mursala ila ruh al-Nabi (the 'Presentation to the discriminating in explanation of the Gift addressed to the spirit of the Prophet') written specially for the Malays who, as they told him, used Tuhfat al-mursala ila ruh al-Nabi by Ibn Fadlillah al-Burhanpuri as a manual of Sufism, which provoked many disputes (Johns 1975:51-2). In 1642, after spending nineteen years in the Middle East and becoming so accustomed to the Arabic language that later, in one of his works,53 he complained of faults in his Malay, Abd ar-Rauf received from Mula Ibrahim permission to disseminate the Shattariya doctrine among his countrymen and returned to Aceh. There he energetically started his preaching activity and even visited Banten in Java with that purpose. In Aceh Abd ar-Rauf also showed himself as a prolific writer on Islamic law and eschatology, Qur' anic exegesis and Sufism. Quite a few of his works came to our days.54 His Sufi treatises include, inter alia, the following books. Umdat al-muhtajin - a work in seven chapters discussing Sufi metaphysics and, in particular, the practice of zikir (dhikr) (Rinkes 1909:59-91). Kifaya al-muhtajin (the 'Sufficient for those in need') - a book on the Light of Muhammad, the creation of Adam, fixed essences and the unfolding of the physical world from them, the practice of zikir; the work ends with two spirituallineages (silsilah) of Abd ar-Rauf, those of the Syattariyah and Qadiriyah (Shaghir bin Abdullah 1991, 1:117-23). The treatise was composed at the request of Taj al-Alam Safiyatuddin (1641-1675), Abd ar-Rauf's patroness, and could have been written either still in Mecca (Voorhoeve 1952a:87) or soon after his return to Aceh around 1642. Therefore, it would be interesting to learn whether the treatise had something to do with the polemic between Nuruddin ar-Raniri and Saif ar-Rijal and whether the Sultanah was really as ignorant in theological issues as she claimed to be or she simply did not want to interfere in the polemic. Daqa'iq al-huruf (the 'Subtleties of letters', Johns 1955) - a treatise, which begins with a discourse about peculiarities of the Sufi terminology and contains a commentary on two bait from Ibn al-' Arabi's verse, pertaining to the Fixed Essences and letters symbolizing them. Particularly interesting is a passage from this brief composition, in which Sufi symbolism of the mirror appears in its fully developed form: Almighty God is a mirror to the mystic who sees in Him in detail his own conditions, and the mystic is a mirror to his Lord who sees in him Himself and His Names and Attributes to the extent of the receptivity of the mirror. [... ] Sometimes the forms in the mirror are small because the mirror is small; at other times long because the mirror is long; sometimes they move because the mirror moves; at

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Bayan tajalli (the 'Explanation of the descent of manifestations', Voorhoeve 1952a:102-5) - a brief treatise on the seven grades of Being, seven Attributes (Life, Knowledge, Power, Will, Sight, Hearing, Speech) of God and the difference between voluntary death (mati ikhtiyari) and forced or necessary death (mati idtirari). If the latter is physical death, the former is the cognition of the fact that the seven Attributes in their true Being belong only to Allah; in relation to humans they are no more than shadows of the latter. After renouncing these attribute-shadows and perishing in the constantly performed zikir 'There is no God but Allah', man dies with a voluntary death and returns to the Primordial Non-Being, or - to put it differently - returns to Allah and attains Union with Him lfana). Risalat adab murid akan syaikh (the 'Epistle on the norms of the disciple's behaviour in regard to the sheikh') - a treatise written in 1687 (Iskandar 1999, 1:462) about the meaning and the rules of the relationship between the Sufi master and his disciple and their mutual obligations. 55 In the introduction to the brief version of the above work, Risalat mukhtasara fi bayan shurut ashshaikh wa'l-murid (the 'Short epistle on the explanation of conditions of the master and the disciple'), Abd ar-Rauf informs the reader that his composition was written at the request of his compatriots and condemns local syaikh who do not understand the true mission of the master and egotistically strive for this position only to gain a high rank and prestige (Van RonkeI1921a:142). Along with Abd ar-Rauf's Sufi works, worthy of mention are his: Tarjuman al-mustafid - the first tafsir (a commentary) on the Qur'an in Malay (see Chapter V). Mir'at at-tullab (the 'Mirror of the seekers') - a handbook onfiqh, adjusted

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to everyday needs, which was also commissioned by Sultanah Taj al-Alam Safiyatuddin (Voorhoeve 1952a:109) and completed by Abd ar-Rauf in 1663 (for this date and the publication of the work, see Abd ar-Rauf 1971). A commentary on Arba'in ahadith (the 'Forty traditions') by Nawawi (died 1277), a popular collection of the Prophet Muhammad's traditions in Arabic, translated into Malay and commented on by Abd ar-Rauf; the work was commissioned from him by the third Sultanah of Aceh, Inayat Syah Zakiyatuddin (1678-1688).56 Lubab al-kashf wa'l-bayan lima yarahu al-muhtadar bi'l-i'yan (the 'Essence of the exposition and explanation of what the dying sees in his vision') - an eschatological treatise written by Abd ar-Rauf in Arabic and translated into Malay by Katib Seri Raja. The work tells of visions of the dying at the threshold of death, attempts by the devil to seduce and convert him to Judaism or Christianity and methods to predict the time of death; the best way for the dying to defend himself against the devil's temptations is the uttering of zikir 'There is no God but Allah'.57 Even this brief survey of Abd ar-Rauf's writings shows that, following Ibrahim Kurani's example, he tended to abide by the middle way in Sufi doctrine and practice, avoiding the extremes of both excessive pedantry and unbridled ecstasy. It is noteworthy that he never mentions in his works ArRaniri, with whose writings he was obviously familiar. Instead, as if alluding to the memorable tragic events, he quotes a hadith: 'Let no Muslim call another Muslim an unbeliever. If he does so, and it is true, what is there to be gained by it? And if it is not true, the accusation is turned back upon himself' (Johns 1975:53-4).

Sufi prose of the eighteenth-the nineteenth century Syihabuddin and Abd as-Samad of Palembang and the school of Riau Obviously, the desire to keep to the golden mean, typical for Abd ar-Rauf, was not in the nature of the majority of the rank-and-file Malay Sufis among whom the ideas of the Wujudiyah in the specific form of the doctrine of the seven stages remained predominant until the mid-eighteenth century (and partly even later). In all likelihood, this teaching well suited their emotional constitution: it seemed to them that it was enough to know the scheme of the descent and the ascent of the Divine Being and practise zikir in order to achieve the desired Union with the Ultimate Reality in the quickest possible way. Remarkably, in Malay Sufi literature of the seventeenth-the early eighteenth century the exposition of the problems of metaphysics and 'theosophical mysticism' prevailed over the discussion of practical problems of internal

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preparation of the soul for Union, of its long gradual purification in the process of which moderate Sufis like AI-Ghazali attached so much importance to the fulfilment and interiorization of the norms of syariat. For learned Sufi masters (whose insufficient number was a regular topic of Malay Sufi treatises) this tendency was usually no more than a question of emphasizing certain aspects of a generally well-balanced doctrinal system. In the case of their 'flock', which preserved many elements of magical beliefs, this not infrequently resulted in serious distortions of the system as a whole. Needless to say, this situation could not fail to provoke an orthodox reaction, enhanced by the growing role of syariat in Sufism, which was typical for late Islam in the Middle East and India, as well as by the establishing of AI-Ghazali's system as the theological basis of education in Mecca (Snouck Hurgronje 1931:160-2), the main centre where the Malays came in search of it. The early stage of this reaction was Nuruddin ar-Raniri's polemic against Wujudiyah, its later stage was the formation of more orthodox, shariatic Sufi schools in Palembang, on the Riau Islands and in some other religious centres of the Malay world. As we have already noted, the roots of Wujudiyah are found in works by Ibn al-' Arabi and AI-Jili, and its immediate source is Tuhfat by Muhammad ibn Fadlillah al-Burhanpuri. The roots of the Palembang school were different. They are traceable to the teaching of the Sufi saint from Baghdad, AI-Junayd (died 910), and its immediate sources are Risalat fi'l-tawhid (the 'Epistle on tawhid'; sometimes also called Hikam - the 'Wise sayings') by the Damascus sheikh Wali Raslan (died 1369) and two commentaries on it: Fath ai-Rahman (the 'Victory of the Merciful') by Zakariya aI-Ansari (died 1520) and Khamrat ai-khan (the 'Wine from the inn') by 'Abd aI-Ghani al-Nabulusi (died 1731) (Drewes 1977:2-3). AI-Ghazali's works also had a comparable effect on the Palembang school. The earliest work that came out of that school is Risalat (the 'Epistle') by Syihabuddin of Palembang, which was composed around 1750 and represented a brief commentary on the Muslim credo (syahadat). In this work Syihabuddin condemns severely those Sufis who, as soon as they have stepped onto the Path of cognition and before they have won a victory over their inner syirk (reliance on anything or anyone except Allah), dare to interpret the formula 'There is no God but Allah' as 'There is no other being except the Being of Allah'. Such an interpretation is permissible only to adepts of the highest rank, while in the mouth of the novice it is an expression of infidelity. According to Syihabuddin, it must be forbidden for beginners in Sufism to read books about the seven stages of Being. Instead, they should be encouraged to study the writings of orthodox mystics, as this will protect them against heretical delusions typical of the seventy-two deviant sects. At initial stages (as well as at all the subsequent!), every step of a Sufi must be based on

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syariat. After these admonitions, there follows an exposition of the doctrine of the Sufi Path, which leads from speculative knowledge (ilmu yakin) to the true, experimental knowledge (hak yakin) (Drewes 1977:105). Similar problems are discussed in Kitab mukhtasar (the 'Brief exposition') by Kemas Fakhruddin, a Palembang ulama of the following generation, which represents a Malay translation of Risalat fi'l-tawhid by Wali Raslan alDimashqi, complemented with excerpts from the commentaries by Zakariya aI-Ansari and 'Abd aI-Ghani al-Nabulusi. Judging from his works, Kemas Fakhruddin, who spent several years in India, mainly specialized in translations of Arabic religio-mystical works, not infrequently on the orders of his patrons, Sultan Ahmad Najmuddin of Palembang and his successor Sultan Muhammad Bahauddin (1774-1804) (Drewes 1977:220-1). Abd as-Samad of Palembang, the prolific Sufi author who wrote both in Arabic and in Malay, was Kemas Fakhruddin's younger contemporary. He spent a considerable part of his life in Mecca, where he settled in the 1760s, created all his works and became a fervent adherent of Muhammad al-Samman, the founder of the Sammaniyah order. Abd as-Samad joined the order, greatly contributed to its establishment and dissemination in Aceh and Palembang, and even composed a special poetical work in Arabic intended for performance during Sammaniyah zikir (ratib) (for ratib, see Snouck Hurgronje 1906, II:318-48). Abd as-Samad's erudition made him an influential figure not only in Sumatra but also in Java. Suffice it to say that his letter of recommendation was sufficient to guarantee pilgrims on their way home from Mecca a hospitable reception by Javanese rulers. Among Abd as-Samad's works we find Malay translations of Bidayat al-hidayat (the 'Beginning of guidance') by AI-Ghazali and Lubab al-Ihya 'ulum aI-din (the 'Essence of the Revivification of the religious sciences'), the abridged version of the major work of that great theologian, composed by his brother Ahmad ibn Muhammad al-Ghazali or by himself (Drewes 1977:223). In translation, their titles are respectively Hidayat as-salikin (the 'Guidance of travellers') and Sayr as-salikin ila ibadat Rabb al-Alamin (the 'Way of travellers towards the worship of the Lord of the Worlds') (Drewes 1977:222; Abd asSamad al-Falimbani n.d.). Abd as-Samad worked on the latter writing from 1779 to 1788. Of considerable interest is also the treatise Tuhfat ar-raghibin (the 'Gift to those thirsting'), probably also composed by Abd as-Samad,58 in which the author interprets the Muslim concept of faith, quoting extensive fragments from Tibyan fi ma'rifat al-adyan by Ar-Raniri and condemns in passing still widely practised animistic sacrifices to local spirits (Drewes 1976). Finally, in the 1780s Malay Sufi hagiography was replenished with two biographies of the founder of the Sammaniyah order. One of them, Hikayat Syaikh Muhammad Samman (the 'Tale of Sheikh Muhammad Samman',

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Aliudin Mahyudin 1980), was translated from Arabic by Syihabuddin's son Muhammad Muhiddin. The other, Nafahat ar-Rahman fi manaqib ustadhina al-a'zam as-Sam man (the 'Breath of the Merciful in the praise of our greatest master Samman') was composed by Kemas Muhammad ibn Ahmad who drew the data for his book from Arabic sources (Drewes 1977:224-5). Quite similar to the Palembang school of Sufism was the Riau school which flourished in the late eighteenth and the nineteenth century in Penyengat, a small island of the Riau Archipelago. The proximity of these schools to one another is corroborated, in particular, by the preface to Bustan al-katibin (the 'Garden of scribes') by Raja Ali Haji, a member of the Naksybandiyah order and a highly respected ulama (Watson-Andaya and Matheson 1979:112-3; Sham 1993:64). As the preface shows, Raja Ali Haji regarded Zakariya alAnsari and AI-Ghazali as the major authorities in the matters of theology and mysticism, and Sufism of an emphatically orthodox type as largely a means of ethical perfection. 59 In 1809 Sabil al-hidayat (the 'Path of guidance'), a Sufi treatise by the Hadrami scholar Ahmad ibn Hasan of Terim, was translated in Penyengat (for this book, see Sergeant 1950; Van Ronkel 1909:428), and in 1836 Kitab al-hikam (the 'Book of wise thoughts') was written there by Tajuddin Abu'l-Fadl ibn Muhammad (Archer 1937; Winstedt 1991:105). In the nineteenth century the same type of emphatically shariatic Sufism became widely spread throughout the Archipelago, in such places as Banjarmasin, Sambas, Minangkabau, Aceh, and in the Malay Peninsula, for instance, in Patani. All the major Malay authors who wrote about its issues lived in Mecca for a long time, all of them studied there three main branches of Islamic knowledge: fiqh, usuluddin and tasawwuf (Sufism). AI-Ghazali defined this three-fold knowledge in the following way: fiqh is similar to a pot of rice which is always neccessary in everyday life, usuluddin resembles a medicine essential for the healing of spiritual diseases and infidelity, whereas tasawwufis none other than the true Path towards gaining the perfect knowledge of God (Snouck Hurgronje 1906:9; Matheson and Hooker 1988:35). As faithful followers of the Ghazalian Sufism, late Malay writers showed a rather sceptical attitude to the system of seven grades of Being, particularly when novices were allowed to study it. Moreover, it was rumoured that Meccan ulama prohibited this system. Information about this ban is found in Syair Mekah dan Madinah (the 'Poem of Mecca and Medina') by Syaikh Daud of Sunur, a Minangkabau poet and religious teacher perhaps belonging to the Naksybandiyah order, who performed his pilgrimage to Mecca around the 1830s.6o Among other things, he wrote in that poem: 61 The doctrine of the seven stages of Being Is now prohibited in the city of Mecca, Some books on this doctrine are cast out,

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Its mufti is banned, though not its adepts. Ulama from Mecca and from Medina As well as those from Egypt and Kufa Agreed that they had to forbid this teaching, As it only deluded all the beginners. (Syaikh Daud:34.)

It seems, however, that like the majority of Malay Sufi writers of his time,

Syaikh Daud sought a proper place for the martabat tujuh system within the Sufi doctrine, rather than rejecting it completely. Similarly to that majority of writers, he divided seekers of the mystical truth into three categories: novices or beginners (orang mubtadi), those who are in the middle of their learning (orang mutawasitah) and adepts (orang muntahi). Disciples of the first two categories should study AI-Ghazali's works, such as Ihya 'uIum aI-din, Lubab aI-Ihya (the 'Essence of the Revivification'), Bidayat aI-hidayat and Minhaj aI(abidin (the 'Way of the faithful') as well as commentaries on Hikam by Wali Raslan al-Dimashqi, for instance the commentary on this book by 'Abd alGhani al-Nabulusi. Only students of the highest rank, the adepts, should be allowed to study treatises on the seven grades of Being: The third part is knowledge of Reality, Which is useful only for the adepts, For those intermediate it is harmful It can destroy you, like a strong poison. The seven grades belong to this part, This teaching is the cloak of the adepts, And of all the saints of noble rank For them the Lord and the slave are one. (Syaikh Daud:36.)

To emphasize that he means orthodox adherents of the doctrine of martabat tujuh, Syaikh Daud of Sunur adds without delay: They are one and yet they are also separate Or at least not united in every respect Uniqueness and Eternity are surely excluded, As they would be absurd in any creature. (Syaikh Daud: 37.)

The same view of the system of the seven grades was characteristic for such authoritative Malay Sufi scholars as Abd as-Samad of Palembang, Muhammad Nafis al-Banjar and Daud ibn Abdullah of Patani. 62

Daud ibn Abdullah aI-Fatani Syaikh Daud al-Fatani (of Patani), who was born in the 1740s and died, very advanced in years, in the 1840s, was probably the most prolific kitab writer in the history of Malay religio-mysticalliterature, and has about fifty treatises

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to his credit. Having received his initial religious education in Patani and perhaps in Aceh, he left for Mecca, where he lived until his last days, studying with many famous religious and Sufi teachers, both Arabs and Malays (for instance, Abd as-Samad al-Palimbani and Sheikh Muhammad Samman). Later, he himself became a teacher, extremely popular among Jawah - the community of Malay-Indonesian origin in Mecca, and a member of at least three Sufi orders: Syattariyah, Sammaniyah and Syadiliyah. Being a universally educated ulama, he wrote and translated books on: jurisprudence (fiqh), among which his major work was Furu' al-masa'il wa usul al-masa'il (the 'Branches and trunks of questions'); sources of Muslim religion (usuluddin), Islamic eschatology, mi'raj of the Prophet, Sufism, and so on. 63 Although in his Sufi views Daud al-Fatani largely followed Al-Ghazali, whose Bidayat al-hidayat (the 'Beginning of guidance') and Minhaj al-cabidin (the 'Way of the faithful') he translated into Malay, his treatise Manhal as-saJi (the 'Source of purity') shows that he was also a proponent of the doctrine of the seven stages (martabat tujuh) in its moderate version. 64 Manhal as-saJi, which, according to Syaikh Daud, was composed at the request of a few members of the Jawah community, consists of an introduction, exposition of the doctrine of the seven stages and teaching about the Sufi Path, a dictionary of Sufi terminology, conclusion and instructions for disciples. No doubt the work was intended to provide the orthodox interpretation of martabat tujuh, but perhaps also to defend this system from attacks by its opponents and prohibition. Several facts confirm this assumption, it seems. When quoting treatises by orthodox Sufis - Ibn 'Ata'ullah (a famous Sufi writer of the thirteenth century from the Syadiliyah order), Wali Raslan ad-Dimashqi, Qasim Khan (died 1697), Nuruddin ar-Raniri, Abd as-Samad Palimbani - Syaikh Daud always mentions their names. And yet he does not mention the names of either Muhammad ibn Fadlillah al-Burhanpuri or even Abd ar-Rauf of Singkel, although he quotes extensive passages from their writings. Moreover, he uses all the terms of martabat tujuh except only one - the name of this system itself. He is very cautious in the interpretation of the problem of the Fixed Essences (ayan sabitah) - a crucial point for the differentiation of the orthodox position from the heterodox one - and resolves it on the basis of Nuruddin ar-Raniri's views. In addition to this, he gives a detailed orthodox description of the Sufi Path, ends his work with a glossary of Sufi terms and tirelessly reminds the reader of how essential their correct understanding is. To make his treatise more easily understandable for his Jawah disciples, Syaikh Daud al-Fatani frequently resorts to various symbolic images. For instance, he quotes the passage about mirror symbolism from Daqa'iq al-huru! by Abd ar-Rauf (see above) or develops in great detail a famous Sufi metaphor of the gnostic as a traveller: 65

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Some masters compare the one who is on the Path to God with a traveller who endeavours to set forth on a journey, stopping off at various stations. It is imperative for such a traveller to know his way and provide himself with provisions, and a vehicle, and companions, and weapons to fight against enemies and to frighten them off. Similarly, it is imperative for a wayfarer [on the Sufi Path] to find a Master who has already trodden that Path, for such a Master knows [what is in store for him], both good and bad. It is also imperative for the wayfarer to provide himself with provisions, that is, with the fear of God; a vehicle, that is endeavour; companions, that is, those who tread the same Path as himself; and weapons, that is, the recollection of God's Names, to frighten off his enemies, that is devils and his own evil passions. Like the traveller [mentioned above], he will pass through several cities and villages, staying there for a while and then continuing the journey to his destination. Like the traveller, the wayfarer will also pass through several stations well known to the people of God. There are seven such stations.

However that may be, particularly exquisite and expressive are Syaikh Daud's symbolic portrayals of the states of proximity to God which are attained by the gnostic experiencing fana. In these states the Sufi enters into the 'palace' or the 'house' of his Lord, sits beside Him and, like His intimate friend, exchange glances with Him, immersed in their conversation. There are two such portrayals in Manhal as-safi, which, at the same time, represent none other than explanations of the Sufi terms related to the above-mentioned states: As his endeavour to attain God arises and increases, he gets used to asking God for help on his way to Him. However, in the course of his journey, the vehicle of his endeavours will always remain unsteady in its determination [to reach the goal], until he attains the Presence of Holiness, and the Carpet of Intimacy, that is, the place of the Reciprocal Disclosure, and Confrontation, and Companionship, and Conversation, and Contemplation, and Gazing. [... ] By the Presence of Holiness the place is implied whither he strives in order to purify himself completely. By Carpet of Intimacy the place is implied where the wayfarer becomes intimate with his Lord. By the Reciprocal Disclosure the state is implied in which the mystery of Divinity is revealed. By Confrontation the state is implied in which the wayfarer remains face to face with God, for the veils of Darkness and Lights are lifted. By Companionship the state is implied in which God and the wayfarer sit side by side, for the wayfarer is free from two kinds of syirk and 'all others' except God. By Conversation the state is implied in which the wayfarer'S Innermost Heart is absorbed in intimate conversation with God. By Contemplation the state is implied in which the wayfarer contemplates God in every atom of existence, to such an extent which is proper to him, and when he makes certain that 'God encompasses all things'. And by Gazing the state is implied in which God's presence permeates every action of the wayfarer. According to some masters, the Mystery is the word concealed, that is, a hidden

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It is notably such portrayals, which cannot fail to evoke associations with

Hamzah Fansuri's poems about the Divine Beloved, that reveal how close is the link between the Sufi terminology and symbolic descriptions of amorous scenes in Sufi plot-based allegories

Sufi poetry in Aceh of the late sixteenth-the seventeenth century As Winstedt once remarked: 'There have been many verses written on religious and moral subjects since the time of Hamzah but none have had his fire and gusto' (Winstedt 1991:135). It is true that the majority of post-Hamzah religio-mystical syair are treatises in a poetical form rather than pieces of poetry as such. Nevertheless, not infrequently we find among syair of this kind pieces that deserve attention not only from the student of religion but also from the researcher of literature. To the number of such pieces belong, inter alia, syair by Hamzah Fansuri's disciples and poets of what could be called his 'circle' or 'poetical school', composed in the late sixteenth-the seventeenth century. The scanty information available allows us to consider Hasan Fansuri, Abd aI-Jamal and the anonymous author of Ikat-ikatan 'ilm an-nisa (the 'Stanzas of the knowledge of women') as the poets of Hamzah Fansuri's circle. 66

Hasan Fansuri and Abd aI-Jamal Poems by Hasan Fansuri, although important since they reflect the process of transition from Hamzah's system of the five grades of Being to the seven-grade system and provide us with information about Hamzah's life and teaching (Doorenbos 1933:62-3, 70-2), are not particularly interesting in poetical respects. However, even in Hasan's syair Sufi teachings, for instance the doctrine of the hidden, spiritual entities and their manifestation in the

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world of things, are elucidated not only through metaphysical terms, but also through symbols and images borrowed as a rule from the works by Hamzah Fansuri, his spiritual tutor: Three symbols are lofty beyond compare, They are clear evidence for all the beginners, The first is gold and a golden coin, The second, the moon and the sun radiant. A wave and the sea unite all the symbols, From of old these pairs remain inseparable, Their hidden is a coconut, their manifest is its husk. Such are these symbols, all the three are appropriate. (Doorenbos 1933:62.)

Much more interesting are poems by Abd aI-Jamal who, in complete conformity with his name (the Slave of the Beautiful), devoted many lines to the glorification of Being as supreme Beauty: . This Being is full of infinite loveliness, Its beautiful attributes are beyond compare, It completely encompasses all God's servants, So, contemplate It and don't be heedless! This Being is full of infinite purity, Its beautiful attributes are transcendental, Its Essence acquires countless forms So beautiful is the face of the Beloved. (Doorenbos 1933:72-3.)

Like didactic-homiletic poems by Hamzah Fansuri, the majority of Abd aI-Jamal's syair, also short incidentally, begin with the appeal '0 you [... 1' and the indication of a group of Sufis whom he addresses. However, unlike pieces by his predecessor, flexible and variegated in their composition, Abd al-Jamal's poems reveal a structural uniformity (compare Drewes and Brakel 1986:22-3). After a brief exordium, including this appeal to the audience, the topic of the syair - a particular Sufi doctrine - is introduced, which is afterwards explained, in the main part, purposefully, exhaustively and without deviations. A conclusion or a takhallus stanza, containing the name of the poet, again as in Harnzah's verses, follows the main part. But this is not all there is to if: the stanzas of Abd al-Jamal's syair are also structured in a uniform way. The first pairs of lines contain a term or terms from the respective doctrine with either its/their explanation (in each stanza from a somewhat different angle) or a call to take a particular action. The second pairs - a kind of refrain - either sum up the knowledge thus gained or informs the reader about the result of the action taken: Know the Remembered and the one who remembers, Bring together the Praised and the one who praises,

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Let all the four be the goal of your actions Then your testimony will become perfect! Know the Dividing One and what is divided, Bring together the slave and his Lord eternal, Let all the four be the goal of your actions Then your testimony will become perfect! (Doorenbos 1933:74.) There are eleven such stanzas in the above poem, and since the last words of each stanza remain unchanged, the same rhyme is repeated in it forty-four times. It goes without saying that this and other syair by Abd aI-Jamal are 'terminological dictionaries' of sorts, provided with the rhyme to facilitate their memorization. However, they are constructed in this particular way not only to serve as such' dictionaries'. The persistently imperative intonation of the poems, their no less persistent, bewitching rhythm and the monotonous flow transform them into a peremptory appeal: 'Do it! Do it! Do it!' and consequently, provided the terms of a doctrine are properly contemplated, into a potent instrument of meditation. Thus, the striving to merge inseparably the mental and emotional effort - a sine qua non of any Sufi act - manifests itself again in the poetics of Abd aI-Jamal's syair (compare Chapter V). Perhaps, the poem about the Supreme Beloved, in which each of the unified stanzas includes a favourite Sufi verse from the Qur' an (2, 109): 'Wherever you turn, there is the face of God' is even more eloquent evidence of this: As your Beloved is not hidden from you, Don't be oblivious - for, wherever you tum, There is the face of God - become one with Him! Such is the path of the Perfect Man. As your Beloved is not of this world, Don't be inconstant - for, wherever you tum, There is the face of God - concentrate on Him! Such is the path of supreme contemplation. Your Beloved is named Covered-with-Mystery, So, don't be forgetful- for, wherever you tum, There is the face of God - merge into Him! Such is the path of those mad with love. (Doorenbos 1933:79.) Stanzas with this structure are repeated seventeen times with only slight variations. Almost each word in its direct sense evokes an emotional response and in its terminological meaning, a mental one. It is easier to imagine the recitation of these lines in the tense atmosphere of a zikir than their quiet reading, so to speak in a cell, although perhaps both ways of performing them coexisted in the Sufi practice. Abd aI-Jamal concludes his poem with the following takhallus stanza:

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Abd aI-Jamal is a sinful slave, Who has written this syair, overwhelmed by love. As he is constantly drunk with wine, Granted him by the Lord Himself. (Doorenbos 1933:81.)

Then, without an interval, he passes to a syair about the wine of Gnosis, and everything is repeated: This wine is the most transparent beverage Being drunk with it, you'll never feel dizzy, On partaking of it, you'll attain to closeness. Such is this sport, its delights incomparable! This wine is the most enjoyable beverage Being drunk with it, you'll never feel sober, On partaking of it you'll forget your companions. Such is the encounter of the Lord and a servant! (Doorenbos 1933:81.)

The uniformly constructed stanzas about wine will sound eleven times like the continuous drumming of a tabor (rebana) accompanying the zikir, which now has somewhat changed its rhythm. And perhaps they will bring the reciter to the brink of ecstatic self-forgetfulness, before allowing him to 'return to the earth' with the first sounds of the next takhallus quatrain. Incidentally, one of Abd al-Jamal's poems is remarkable notably for its takhallus stanzas, of which there are five instead of the usual one. Besides, representing the picturesque nature of the parts where the author has settled, this syair can readily be taken for a specimen of landscape lyrics, so rare in Malay Sufi poetry: Abd aI-Jamal is a sinful slave, Who lives on the shore of the Dazzling Bay. That place inaccessible teems with tigers, But by God's Grace he is good at imagining.67 The Dazzling Bay is truly amazing, Over it the Ravined Mountain towers, The path to its top is bright and shininV, Having lost their way, wayfarers stray there. The Ravined Mountain is high immeasurably, The river winds around its slopes, The unspeakable beauty of these parts Throws into confusion the mind of wayfarers. Abd aI-Jamal is a lonely bachelor Who renounced his self without regret To spend all his life on the Foreign Shore68 Teeming with crocodiles, full of sharp reefs. Abd aI-Jamal is a heedless man At the Well of the Putat69 he lives on the shore.

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature On seeing that place, he composed a syair,7D So that his friends might know the way. (Doorenbos 1933:65-6.)

However, like Hamzah's takhallus stanzas, these, too, have a symbolic meaning. In them Abd aI-Jamal portrays the soul of the Sufi, which has reached the Footstool (kursi), has reunited with the Spirit and, in the state of 'tranquil soul', sojourns in paradise (in its spiritual, Sufi interpretation). The Dazzling Bay and the Ravined Mountain stand for Heavenly Waters and the Throne of the Creator (arasy) towering over them. This is the 'locus' where God's Attributes of Beauty (Jamal) and Greatness (jalal) are in constant operation, and this, in Hamzah's five-fold system, corresponds to the second grade or determination of Being. The river which winds round the slopes of the Mountain symbolizes the stream of Divine Creative Energy, or Grace (rahmat) pouring down into the world. The Foreign Shore (or the Shore of Humans), where Abd aI-Jamal lives, represents the border between the world of humanity (alam nasut) and the world of Divinity (alam lahut), usually called the Barrier (barzakh). The Putat-tree and the spring under it are symbols of, respectively, the paradisical Lote Tree of the Uttermost End (sidrat al-muntaha) and the paradisical spring kautsar (Arabic: kawthar). Tigers, crocodiles and reefs symbolize obstacles on the Path to Union (AI-Attas 1971:37-49). Thus, the entire landscape is no less than a spiritual topography, traceable to the Qur'an. It portrays the 'locality' in which Abd aI-Jamal's soul abides after it has achieved a high stage on the spiritual ascent, but has not yet penetrated beyond the last veil separating it from its Lord.

Syair Bahr an-Nisa (the 'Poem of the Sea of Women') However may that be, the piece of poetry also belonging in all likelihood to Hamzah Fansuri's school, which is particularly interesting by both its literary qualities and its elaborate symbolism, is Ikat-ikatan 'ilm an-nisa (the 'Stanzas of the knowledge of women') or Syair Bahr an-Nisa (the 'Poem of the Sea of Women'). This poem, known not only in Malay, but also in Buginese and Acehnese versions (Drewes and Brakel 1986:19-20), was composed by an anonymous poet and dedicated to the Sultan of Aceh, Alauddin Riayat Syah Sayid al-Mukammal (or Mukammil, also Syah Alam) who reigned from 1589 to 1604.71 The poem tells of the tempestuous and perilous sea called the Sea of Women, into which the gnostic is to set sail. After crossing this sea, his ship will reach a mysterious bay on the shores of which the Fortress of Omnipotence (Kota Kudrati) is situated. The fortress is surrounded by seven walls successively following one after another in layers. In those walls, there are four gates with near them the stations (makam), which correspond to

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the stages on the Sufi Path. The goal of the gnostic seeking Union with the Supreme Reality is to penetrate the fortress. Syair Bahr an-Nisa can quite easily be divided into several sections thanks to the repetition in its stanzas of a number of key-terms. If represented schematically, the content of the poem is as follows (the figures below point to the numbers of the stanzas). 1-5 6-7 8-9 10-8 10-1 12 13-4 15-7 18 19-20 21 22 23-34 35 36-8 39-42

The description of the Sea of Women. The conditions under which one can sail off into that sea. The fortress in the bay of the Sea of Women. Four gates of the fortress: The gate of syariat (the Law), The gate of tarikat (the Way), The gate of hakikat (the Truth), The gate of ma'rifat (Gnosis). The general concluding characterisation of the gates. The station with the barrier (barzakh); the first stage of jan a ('selfeffacement'). An introduction to the description of the stations above the gates. The first station above the gates, which is similar to the shell of a pearl-oyster and a bean; the second stage of jana. The second station above the gates, or the station of 'those pounded into dust', the Prophet Muhammad and the Perfect Man. The necessity to imitate the actions of the Prophet Muhammad. The doctrine of Absolute Love. The doctrine of mystical conjugal Union.

Although a detailed analysis reveals such a remarkable feature of the work as conspicuous echoes of erotic symbols and sexo-yogic practices of Tantrism in it (V. Braginsky forthcoming a)/2 Syair Bahr an-Nisa is not a Tantric poem as such. The strategy of its author represented an attempt to Islamize its Tantric elements and, by means of a Sufi reintepretation of them and a transformation of the Prophet Muhammad into the first adept of the doctrine explained in the poem, to create a Sufi work about Islamic Gnosis (ma'rifat) and the Prophet's mi'raj as the genuine path to gain it (compare Johns 1970:149-50). Motifs of mi'raj are so plainly present in the poem that they allow us to take seriously some works describing it as a source of the syair, alongside Hamzah's oeuvres. 73 For instance, before the miraj commenced the angels Mikail and Jabrail had opened Muhammad's body and washed away his last imperfections and delusions with water from the well of Zamzam. This is reminiscent of the words of Syair Bahr an-Nisa that the waters of the Sea of Women, originating from the well of Zamzam, fill in 'the mind, the soul and

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the heart'. After his purification, the Prophet visited the seven heavens and, after seeing the paradisical Well of lcautsar and the Lote Tree of the Utter Limit (sidrat al-muntaha), reached the Barrier (barzakh) separating the heavens from God's Throne. In the syair, the counterparts of those episodes are the narration of the Prophet's visit to the stations near the seven walls symbolizing the heavens and the description of the wall without a gate, which is barzakh, and the well behind the sixth wall. When in the seventh heaven, Muhammad was offered wine, milk, and honey, of which he chose milk. Consequently, in Syair Bahr an-Nisa a vessel filled in with milk is a symbol of ma'rifat. This vessel appears precisely in the section about the seventh station. After reaching the Barrier, Jabrail left the Prophet who, alone, approached God's Throne at the 'distance of two bows or closer' and contemplated the Countenance of the Most High, or, in Sufi terms, he attained Union. All this is mentioned in the syair with the appropriate terms, such as 'distance of two bows', 'the true vision', and so forth. Moreover, the poem contains the section about the seventh station, where the Prophet abides in uninterrupted Union with Safiah (Arabic: saftyyah - pure), his Beloved One. This name as well as the names of women at the first four stations is those of the Prophets's wives (about them, see Hughes 1986:400-4). Remarkably, in some Persian works, for instance in the mathnawi Haft pailcar (the 'Seven belles') by Nizami Ganjawi (the twelfth century), the mi'raj of the Prophet is represented as a sea-voyage.74 As we have already seen in the passage about the helmsman navigating his ship to the Port of Unity, Hamzah Fansuri also portrayed mi'raj in the same manner. Finally, the author of Syair Bahr an-Nisa introduces some characteristically Persian motifs into his description of mystical marriage and concludes the poem only after opposing the True (Absolute, mutlak) Love to a false love. Now we can discuss the basic Sufi symbols of Syair Bahr an-Nisa, particularly those of the sea and navigation, in a more detailed way. The central symbol of the poem, as is evident even from its title, is the Sea of Women. In the Malay Sufi tradition, just as in the Sufi tradition generally, the sea (ocean), as we have already seen, usually symbolizes God's Essence in Its innumerable ontological modes. This is precisely the symbolical meaning that the sea bears in the poems by Harnzah Fansuri. Although we cannot totally exclude the possibility that the meaning of the sea in the syair is identical to the above-mentioned (notably, in Arabic dhat - 'essence' is of feminine gender, which allows the Essence to appear in the guise of the Divine Beloved in Sufi allegories), it is more likely that the Sea of Women represents something different in the poem in question. In Sufi doctrines, the female principle of the human being is first and foremost the soul, which is opposed to the male principle, namely the Divine Spirit. It is in the Spirit that the soul, after experiencing a number of transformations, is 'drowned' at the end of the Path

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(Bakhtiar 1976:18-23). Therefore, we can assume that the Sea of Women in Syair Bahr an-Nisa represents the sea of soul; the latter is quite a common Sufi symbol (see, for instance, Ritter 1955), and as such it is opposed by the author to the second 'flowing sea', or the sea of Spirit. When interpreting the central symbol of the poem, we should take into account that the psychic constitution of the human being in Sufism can be represented, though with some degree of simplification, as a system of concentric circles. The outermost of these circles is the soul (to be more exact, the carnal or the animal soul) governing the functions of movement and the perception of the particular and viewed as a kind of' subtle body'. The next circle is the heart capable of perceiving the universal. The carnal soul and the heart as the sum total represent the female principle of the gnostic. In the depths of the heart, which make yet another circle, the Divine Spirit (sometimes the ,eye of the heart') is concealed, while in the depths of the latter, that is, in the centre of the entire system, the Divine Essence (sirr, rahasia - 'mystery') abides. It has already been noted that the Spirit is the gnostic's male principle. Arriving at the Essence, it represents such a complete integration of both the principles that we cannot in fact speak of either of them with regard to It (Bakhtiar 1976:13). Nevertheless, the Essence not infrequently appears in Sufi allegories as if It is a woman, the Supreme Beloved of the gnostic. By rephrasing somewhat the above summary of Syair Bahr an-Nisa, one can say that the poem tells of Gnosis, which is gained as the Sufi treads the Path consisting of four stages. These stages are syariat (the interiorization of Muslim Law), tarikat (the ascetic suppression and transformation of the base qualities of the soul), hakikat (the regaining of the gnostic's true 'self' and permanent abiding in it), and ma'rifat (plunging completely into genuine Gnosis). After that, there follows the attaining of the three-fold fana by the gnostic, or his final renunciation of his self (including even the Gnosis) and his Union with the Supreme Reality. The mystical journey into the depths of one's self (the microcosm) is represented in Syair Bahr an-Nisa, just as in other Sufi allegories, as a movement in some space (the macrocosm). Therefore, the mystical psychology (or rather pneumatology) of the poem proves to be intimately related to cosmographical ideas symbolically interpreted in it. The poem starts with the description of the sea, which is extraordinarily perilous for the seafarer. It is precisely this part of the syair that is particularly expressive as a piece of poetry: The Sea of Women is full of delights, Its depths are complete with all that is perfect, Its delicious waters are those of Zamzam,75 They fill the mind, the soul, and the heart. Its waves blaze with the fire unquenchable,

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Its breakers rise and fall incessantly, The world is shaken by its mighty turbulence, Many ships and boats have sunk in that sea. Its powerful surges are immensely fierce, Its reefs are as sharp as pointed spears, Ships navigated by unskilful pilots Will strand on the reef and break into pieces. Its trenches are deep beyond comparison, Its currents enchant with their bee humming, They sound languorously like flutes of bamboo, Their sweet endearments inspire melancholy. In the dark abyss of the Sea of Women, There abides an extremely poisonous dragon, With seven strong horns his head is embellished If the pilot is timorous, the ship will perish. [... ] You wish to set off on this dangerous voyage Then avail yourself of a durable boat, Have its keel sheathed with Khurasan iron, So that you can sail in the Sea of Women. (Y. Braginsky 1993b:256-7.)

As we recall, at the psychological level the Sea of Women is the sea of the soul, while at the cosmographicallevel it is nothing less than the Muhit, the Ocean, which encircles the earthly disc (sometimes sphere or hemisphere) and is inaccessible for ships. We can deduce this, first and foremost, from the line of the poem 'its strong turbulences shake the [whole] world violently', since this turbulence must encompass or encircle the earthly world to shake it in its entirety. The Sea of Women is full of perils not only because of its waves, reefs, and rocks, but also because of the dragon concealed in its abyss and the currents enticing the sailor by their singing. The terrible dragon is an indispensable inhabitant of Muhit; sometimes the Ocean itself is portrayed as an enormous serpent coiling itself round a column representing the earth (Wensink 1918:25). As for the dangerous singing of the currents, all the evidence points to this motif being reminiscent of a more widely spread theme of the enticing singing of 'marine maidens' (a kind of Siren). Both motifs occur in the description of the Muhit in the Iskandar-nama (the 'Book of Alexander the Great') by Nizami, which echoes the portrayal of the Sea of Women from Syair Bahr an-Nisa. The dragon lives in the western part of the Ocean, and anyone who is unlucky enough to see it immediately dies. The 'marine maidens' inhabit its eastern part, driving sailors mad with their ravishing singing (Nizami 1986:608, 611, 642). After sailing over the Ocean, or rather crossing it (the gnostic's progress towards his true essence, or self, and Union is the radial centripetal movement, the boundaries of the concentric circles being crossed in its course), the gnostic finds himself in the bay near the Fortress of Omnipotence. Seven walls (or concentric fortifications) encircle the fortress. There are gates in

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the first four walls and, near them, the stations of four wives of the Prophet Muhammad. Together with the fifth wall, which has no gate, thereby representing a kind of barrier, these four walls are situated on one and the same plane, whereas the sixth and the seventh walls tower above the plain (they are 'above the gates' in the walls) like two steps or two storeys. Therefore, it is only too obvious that a mountain towers above the shore of the bay, while the fortress is situated partly at its foot, partIy on its slope. There is also a spring or a well between the sixth and the seventh circle of walls; a river, which originates in this well flows down from the mountain and debouches into the bay. We can safely localize the well behind the sixth wall, since the place of confluence of the river and the bay (the 'bifurcated estuary') is behind the fifth wall (at the fifth station), while the station behind the seventh wall is above the well. So, the gnostic finds himself in the bay at the foot of the mountain, and the river debouching into that bay begins in the well on the mountain and flows down over its slope. As has already been mentioned, all the components of this symbolic 'landscape'76 have both macro- and microcosmic meanings. In Syair Bahr an-Nisa, the seven-horned dragon stands for the passions from which the gnostic must purify his soul and, at the same time, for lower levels of the Universe, which are the spheres of elements (water, earth, air and fire) and the heavens of the Moon, Mercury, and Venus, each of them being above the other. The bay, which has been reached by the gnostic after his crossing of the sea of the soul, symbolizes the heaven of the Sun and, alongside with it, the heart of the gnostic. The seven walls encircling the Fortress of Omnipotence personify the five higher heavens, those of Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, the heaven of Immobile Stars and the Starless Heaven, as well as the spheres of the Pedestal (kursi) and the Throne (arasy, Arabic: 'arsh) of God. At the microcosmic level, the same walls symbolize the four aspects of the gnostic's soul on its Path to perfection (nafsu amarah - the 'wrathful soul', nafsu lawamah - the 'repenting soul', nafsu safiah - the 'pure soul' and nafsu mutmainah - the 'tranquil soul') and three stages of fana. The four gates stand for the four stages of the Sufi Path (syariat, tarikat, hakikat, ma'rifat). The mountain with the fortress at its foot and on its slope represents a peak in the Qaf mountain range. This mountain range is situated behind the Muhit, embracing the earthly world and thereby serving as its boundary. The layers of heavens (sometimes those of paradises which are easily confused with the heavens) are fixed on the Qaf. The place of 'confluence of the two seas', the sea of the world or the soul and the sea of God or the Spirit which are separated by the Barrier (barzakh), is also situated there. Since both the Arabic word bahr and the Persian word darya imply not only 'sea' but also 'river', we can surmise that it is the river flowing down from the mountain that represents the second 'flowing' sea of the Spirit. Moreover, a number of

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commentators on the Qur'an have interpreted the expression 'the confluence of two seas' (al-majma' al-bahrayn) precisely as the confluence of the river with the sea (Barthold 1965:545-6). In its turn, the river originates in the well, which is nothing less than the kautsar given by God to the Prophet Muhammad and situated in the heaven of the Pedestal, in the highest of paradises. As a result, when recounting stories of the sea and navigation across it, of the bay, the river, the mountain and the fortress, Syair Bahr an-Nisa offers the gnostic a complete, though very much compressed, exposition of the Sufi Path doctrine, embracing both its psychology and cosmology. With the description of the fifth station the narration of fana of the gnostic begins and its portrayal in the syair is particularly interesting. In the poem, fana is attained in three stages, which Malay Sufi treatises not infrequently represent graphically as three circles. The first circle symbolizing the gnostic's merging into God's Names (to be more exact, the perishing of the nominative aspect of his self in God's Names) is drawn with the line of the diameter across it, which stands for those Names. The second circle, symbolizing the gnostic's merging (in the above sense) into God's Attributes, is drawn with the dot in its centre. Finally, the merging of the gnostic's essence into God's Essence is drawn in the form of the third empty circle (Johns 1957:84, 86). It is precisely as the sequence of such circles that fana appears in Syair Bahr an-Nisa. The circle crossed by the line of the diameter is made up of the above-mentioned 'two bows', which touch one another at their ends and by their bowstrings, and ~ although not as impeccably graphical- of the 'two seas'. The syair portrays the latter in the form of the bifurcated river-mouth and the bay. The 'two seas' are separated by the wall without gate (the fifth station), yet they are brought together in some mysterious way (for this, see V. Braginsky 1993b:107). In the erotic aspect, this station represents a threshold of sorts to Union per se, the station of the still intact vulva. The circle with a dot inside it is portrayed as the round ('bean-like') shell of the pearl-oyster, representing another substitute for the symbolic vulva of the Supreme Beloved, into which the end of the gnostic's penis is inserted symbolically. Although this portrayal is reminiscent of a lingga-yoni in projection, it is not too difficult to find obvious Sufi parallels to it. For instance, in the allegorical poem 'Yusuf and Zulaikha' by Jami (the fifteenth century) we read: Since she ardently desired his pearl, She made her body into a shell Oami 1964:176).

Finally, the third, empty circle is represented in Syair Bahr an-Nisa in the form of a round vessel (bejana) from which the milk standing for ma'rifat is poured out. After permeating, that is entirely transforming, the self of the gnostic, ma'rifat itself becomes the last 'veil' preventing the gnostic from Union with the Supreme Beloved, for which reason, at this stage, it must be renounced

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(AI-Attas 1970:288). There is little doubt that the symbol of the milk poured out of the vessel, which is closely associated with the culmination of the act of mystical unity, is not devoid of an erotic connotation either. This symbol seems to allude to the effusio semenis in which the Union culminates. 77 However, neither Sufi symbolism nor even the echoes of Tantrism preserved in Syair Bahr an-Nisa form the deepest layer of the poem's maritime symbolism. Diachronic analysis is an instrument for revealing this layer by means of comparison of the syair with archaic west Indonesian myths and rituals, primarily shamanistic rites and rites de passage, within the framework of which the Malay symbolism of the ship germinated and played an important part (see below). Syair Bahr an-Nisa, in particular, demonstrates some interesting correspondences to the indigenous Malay motif of the 'nuptial boat' crossing the sea to bring the groom to his bride (in Syair Bahr an-Nisa to his Divine Bride). This motif, which has numerous parallels in rituals of the Ngaju and the Batak, was well-known in the Malay Peninsula, but was preserved in especially complete form in the nuptial ceremony of the Serawai and the Paminggir of southern Sumatra, who speak the dialects of the socalled Middle-Malay (Midden Maleisch) language (Gittinger 1974, 1976). Be that as it may, the motif of the 'nuptial boat' appears only as an almost indistinct, deeply concealed foundation, which is radically transformed and spiritualized in Syair Bahr an-Nisa. 78

Syair martabat tujuh (the 'Poem of the seven grades of Being') by Syamsuddin of Pasai Poems by Hamzah Fansuri were frequently quoted and commented on by Syamsuddin of Pasai who could probably also be counted among poets of the Hamzah school. The only poetical work by Syamsuddin known so far is his poem about the seven grades of Being from his work Kitab harakat (the 'Book of motion'), which is provisionally called here Syair martabat tujuh (the 'Poem of the seven grades of Being'). This syair clearly betrays the influence of Hamzah's poetry, even if the Sufi doctrine expounded in it (martabat tujuh) differs from that of 'the father of the Malay syair'. Syamsuddin's syair is essentially a mystical treatise (kitab) provided with rhythm and rhyme. 79 However, as one scholar has aptly remarked, even its rhythm 'stumbles here and there under the enormous pressure of the philosophical content' (Parnickel 1980:108). The reason for Syamsuddin's composing his kitab in the form of syair is fairly obvious. An excerpt from the introduction to Undang-undang Minangkabau (the 'Code of Minangkabau laws'), quoted by Iskandar (1995:425), is helpful in its understanding in this and in a great number of similar cases:

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These laws are in verse, so that they'll be clear, So that you can learn them without an effort, And they easily enter the heart in your chest.

However, from time to time the kitab-like syair by Syamsuddin of Pasai offers to its reader expressive poetic images in the spirit of Hamzah's verse. The compositional structure of Syair martabat tujuh, which is based on the numerical, or rather numerological, correlation of its parts, cannot but attract attention either. The structure of the poem, amounting to thirty-five stanzas, can be represented as follows: Stanzas Stanzas Stanzas Stanzas Stanzas Stanzas Stanzas

1-5 6-7

8-9 10-1 12-4 15-7 18-9

The doctrine of Absolute Being The first stage (Ahadiyat) The second stage (Wahdat) The third stage (Wahidiyat) The fourth stage (alam arwah) The fifth stage (alam misal) The sixth stage (alam ajsam)

5 2 2 2 3 3 2(3)

Since the descriptions of all preceding stages contain a unified number of stanzas, it may be supposed that the section on the sixth stage in the original text also consisted of three stanzas. 20-2 The seventh stage (alam insan) 3 In this section man is considered as the last stage of manifestation of Being, which unites in itself all others (beginning with the Wahdat). It is concluded by the stanza that introduces the term 'the Perfect Man'. Stanzas 23-7 The 'potentiality' of the Perfect Man 5 As a being created 'in the image of the Merciful', the Perfect Man carries this image (rahasia - 'mystery') in himself. This section differs formally from the preceding one in that the first word in its first stanza is not 'man' (insan), but Adam. Stanzas 28-32 The' actualization' of the Perfect Man 5 The way for this' actualization' is Gnosis (= the return to the Source of Being). The section is formally separated from the preceding one by the absence of the word 'man' (insan) in its first lines. Stanzas 33-5 Conclusion 3

Stanzas

Thus, if omitting the conclusion, we concentrate only on the exposition of the doctrine, the formula of the compositional structure of the poem is:

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5+

2+2+2

+3+3+3+3

The Absolute Being (the beginning of manifestations}

The first three stages

The second four stages

+5

671

+5

The Perfect The Perfect Man (actuality: return, Man (potentiality) Gnosis}

The specific features of this structure are: -

The exposition of the doctrine begins and finishes with symmetrical sections, each of which numbers five stanzas. - The number of stanzas about each of the three uncreated stages of Being and each of its four created stages is unified: two and three respectively. The number of stanzas on the three uncreated stages is one less than the number of stanzas on the four created stages, which is evidently related to the idea of the increase of plurality in the process of the descent of manifestations (tanazzul). - The description of the stage of the Perfect Man (insan al-kamil) is followed by a further elaboration of the doctrine of the Perfect Man, so that the whole part about him is discussed in many more stanzas than any other stage. The continuation of the part on the Perfect Man is divisible into two sections (on his potentiality and actuality), symmetrical again and numbering five stanzas each. This number, symbolizing a circle (Bakhtiar 1976:105), may have been chosen by Syamsuddin because, on the one hand, it well describes Being which manifests itself completely through the arc of decent (tanazzul) and the arc of ascent (or return, taraqqi). On the other hand, the same number can equally well describe the Perfect Man who originates from God and returns to God along the circle consisting of these two arcs. - The idea of motion (the poem describes the descent from God and ascent to God) is expressed in Syair martabat tujuh both implicitly and explicitly. Its implicit expression is based on the number six, which symbolizes the motion (Bakhtiar 1976:105). The number of stanzas on the three uncreated stages is six (2+2+2), the number of stanzas on the four created stages is twelve (3+3+3+3) = 6x2. Explicitly the same idea is expressed through the consistent growth of the number of stanzas devoted to each uncreated stage (2 stanzas), each created stage (3 stanzas) and each section of the doctrine of Perfect Man (5 stanzas), hence: 2 -> 3 -> 5. Therefore, the title Kitab al-harakat, that is the 'Book of motion', fits perfectly not only the content, but also the form of Syamsuddin's work. As we shall see, even more elaborate is the numerical structure of Syair perahu 1 (the 'Poem of the boat I'), for which the poem of Syamsuddin may have served as a kind of prototype.

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Poems by Abd ar-Rauf of Singkel and his disciple Mansur Although individual syair-like stanzas occur in Bustan as-salatin by Nuruddin ar-Raniri, the successor of the tradition of religio-mystical syair after Syamsuddin's death was probably Abd ar-Rauf of Singkel. At least, he is explicitly called the author of Syair ma'rifat (the 'Poem of cognition') in its Leiden manuscript Cod. Or. 12.199[5] (formerly Oph. 78) copied in 1859 in Bukit Tinggi.BO The poem discusses four constituent parts of Islam: faith (iman), submissiveness to God (Islam), the doctrine of God's unity (tauhid) and the cognition of God (ma'rifat) which crowns these components. Only those who understand the meaning of the four-fold teaching are perfect believers. Otherwise, they are among innumerable people who are misled. They mistake 'tigers for deers and a high mountain for a plain, they wish to walk on the sea and on the edge of a knife, for immunity from poison, to put an egg on the tip of a horn, to be suspended by a single hair' (Iskandar 1999, 1:640). The author quotes the famous hadith: 'The one who knows himself, knows his Lord' and explains - in the spirit of moderate Sufism - that the cognition of God is equal to the correct understanding of iman, Islam, tauhid and ma'rifat; only through the knowledge of these four one can cognize God's Essence. In the above-mentioned copy of Syair ma'rifat, as in the majority of its manuscripts, the poem contains the second part: an exposition of twenty Attributes of God (sifat duapuluh) and Islamic eschatology. However, the oldest manuscript of the syair dating from the eighteenth century (Jakarta Malay 83, pp. 2-32) does not include this sequel (Voorhoeve 1952a:116). The poem by Abd ar-Rauf - which, if it really was composed by him, is roughly contemporaneous with the spreading of syair from the domain of religion and mysticism to other domains of Malay writing (see, for instance, Syair Perang Mengkasar in Chapter VII) - is interesting in several respects. First of all, it is one of the earliest long poems, amounting to hundreds of stanzas. Along with this, Syair ma'rifat confirms convincingly that Hamzah Fansuri's poems, the earliest Malay syair, continued to influence this verse form at the next stage of its development from short pieces similar to ghazal to long poems containing hundreds and even thousands of quatrains. Taking into account that, according to a number of Sufi silsilah ('pedigrees'), Abd ar-Rauf originated from 'the family of Hamzah Fansuri' (V. Braginsky 2001a:29), it is little wonder that Syair ma'rifat is full of reminiscences of and paraphrases from Hamzah's works. Here is only one example of the echoes of Hamzah's images in the description of the four components of Islam in the syair:

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Syair ma'rifat by Abd ar-Rauf

Asrar al-arifin by Hamzah

They resemble the fruit of a coconut palm Though four words, but the meaning is one, Many people stumble on this very point, As their cognition is not perfect as yet. Its husk is similar to the Law, Its shell is similar to the Way, Its flesh is similar to the Truth Its oil is similar to Gnosis itself. (Iskandar 1995:426.)

The illustration is like a coconut with its husk and its shell and its flesh and its oil. The Law is like its husk, the Way is like its shell, the Truth is like its flesh, Gnosis is like its oil. (AI-Attas 1970:413.)

Another remarkable feature of the poem by Abd ar-Rauf is a further development of another of Hamzah's symbolic images in it that is the image of a tree, which plays an important role in works of the 'father of syair'. In Syair ma'rifat tree symbolizes the unity of the above-mentioned components of Islam: The dervish narrates what you will find, While seeking for the science of cognition This will be a tree with its four branches, Of which the fruits will be hard to reach. The trunk of the tree is immensely tall, No one can count its numerous fruits, Their radiant colours are full of beauty, You should pick them up and bring them home. [... ] This is a metaphor for the humble dervish The tree, which has a number of meanings; If the trunk of the tree is devoid of perfection, Branches and boughs are useless for it. But when the trunk is perfect and flawless, The tree is complete with boughs and branches, It surely has both fruits and blossoms Let us focus on them all thoughts of the heart. Let us think over as well as we can What this tree is which is so perfect Its leaves and fruits, not being the same, Have, in addition, many different names. (Iskandar 1995:425-6.)

Alongside boat, bird and house (or fortresst the tree was one of the most important 'big symbols' of Malay Sufism. Like other 'big symbols', this one also stood for a certain structurally arranged entity able to develop organically and was used as a means of integrating more particular (' smaller') symbols into an inseparable whole. At the same time, the symbol of the tree played a significant part as a meditative symbol (for Sufi meditation, see

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Chapter V). In the process of meditation, the 'smaller' symbols embodied notions represented as parts of the tree, its branches, leaves, flowers and so on. It is worth mentioning that the portrayal of the tree in Abd ar-Rauf's poem is fairly close to that found in Syair perahu 1 (on this poem see below): This tree is truly immensely tall, Although huge, it sprang from a seed, Its perfect fruits are not hidden, Truly perfect, they are not veiled. (V. Braginsky 1993b:273.)

In another Malay Sufi work, Hikayat Si Burung Pingai (the 'Tale of the Pure Bird', see below), the tree-symbolism appears in a particularly elaborate form. In that hikayat, a colossal tree, which the Prophet Muhammad sees, is Syajarat al-Yakin (Tree of the True Sureness) - the tree representing the whole Universe as the sacred text: [... ] this was the tree called the Tree of the True Sureness, its trunk was the reedpen, its buttresses were the tablets, its bark was the paper, its sap was the ink, its leaves were the letters, its fruits were the lines, its germ was the only dot [from which the Universe has sprung]. It has three branches, it was sprinkled with rose water, it was splashed with khalembak [here, a kind of scent] and musk mixed with spikenard. The sap was dripping from its trunk, spreading around the fragrant aroma. (V. Braginsky 1993b:314.)

The popularity of tree symbolism in the milieu of Malay Sufis can hardly be explained only by the fact that it played the important role in Middle Eastern Sufism.81 It seems likely that there was also another precondition for its wide spread, namely the great significance of the symbolism of the World Tree in mythology and ritual of the Malays and other peoples of the Archipelago both in the pre-Hindu and in the Hindu epoch, some traces of which were preserved until at least the first half of the twentiethth century.82 Thus, like many other key symbols of Malay Sufism, the symbol of the tree could also have resulted from the religio-cultural synthesis. Finally, one more salient feature of Syair ma'rifat is a carefully worded and cautious exposition of Sufi ideas by its author, so characteristic for Abd ar-Rauf, the teacher and preacher who always avoided any extreme judgements. To become certain of it, it is sufficient to compare the interpretation of the above-mentioned hadith - 'The one who knows his self (Man (arafa nafsahu), knows his Lord (fa-qad (arafa Rabbahu), - in Syair ma'rifat and in Hamzah Fansuri's poems: Syair marifat by Abd ar-Rauf

Hamzah Fansuri's poems

Before you go in search of knowledge,

God's Messenger spoke: 'Man arafa nafsahu, I

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You should cognize who you are in reality -

And then you, verily, know your Lord.' Man 'arafa nafsahu - if you know your self,- If you really have become his servant, Fa-qad 'arafa Rabbahu - then you know your Don't seek for anything except His Face. 83 Lord. The Face of God is the root of words, It abides within your entire being. [... ] Know your self with its creaturely nature, Know your Lord with His Essence EternalThese two are by no means identical, Or: They are not the same, they are not similar. Our Lord who is foreign to space, (Iskandar 1995:426.) Manifests Himself in the human form. This proves that 'The one who knows his self, Knows his Lord' - no doubt of it! (Drewes and BrakeI1986:46, 60.)

We cannot fail to notice that the borderline between God and man, between the Eternity of the former and the created nature of the latter, is drawn much more clearly in Syair ma'rifat than in Hamzah's poems. All the more so as the author of Syair ma'rifat does not say a word about God's manifestation in the human self. For him, as it seems, the cognition of God through the cognition of the human self means the knowledge of their differences rather than their similarities, as takes place in the doctrine of Hamzah, where God permeates the whole being of a Sufi, His true servant. The tradition of Sufi syair was continued by a disciple of Abd ar-Rauf, named Mansur. Similarly to his master, who composed the treatise Daqa'iq alhuruf, Mansur was also deeply interested in the symbolic meaning of letters. It is precisely this theme that he discusses in Syair ta'rif al-huruf (the 'Poem of the cognition of letters', Van RonkeI1909:362), in which mystical connotations of Jawi letters are connected with their forms (on such connections, see Chapter IV). The number of Sufi syair written between the seventeenth and the nineteenth century, especially versified kitah intended to facilitate the memorization of Sufi doctrines, is fairly large. However, the majority of them, a far cry from works by Hamzah and the poets of his circle, offer little of literary interest. Nonetheless, two groups of post-Hamzah poems (and compositions in rhythmical prose close to them) undoubtedly deserve attention. In these works we find a remarkable elaboration of two more 'big symbols', those of the boat and the bird. Alongside a number of original features, both groups reveal obvious reminiscences of Hamzah Fansuri's poetry, which in alllikelihood remained a source of inspiration for poets, thus continuing to exert its influence on the course of the development of Malay Sufi poetry.

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Sufi poems of the boat Contrary to Javanese Sufism with its not infrequently idiosyncratic symbolism,84 Malay Sufism and Sufi literature are usually regarded as phenomena much more similar to those typical of the Middle East. Although this is largely true, the study of a number of motifs, images and in particular 'big symbols' widely spread in Malay Sufi literature of the seventeenth-the nineteenth century reveals a remarkable feature. The point is that the Malay tradition seems to show a certain preference for such symbols which are found not only in Middle Eastern Sufi writings, but also have their counterparts in indigenous pre-Islamic myths, rituals and beliefs, inter alia, of shamanistic origin.85 As is well known, the Sufi doctrine of the Spiritual Path can be represented, in literary works, through a number of 'big symbols', or rather symbolic codes: erotic, vinous and horticultural as well as maritime (or navigational) and ornithic and so on. The first three codes are especially typical for Middle Eastern Sufi poetry, particularly Persian. The navigational code is less often used in it and in all likelihood does not serve as the basis for individual extensive poems. 86 On the contrary, the Sufi images of love and wine are less widely spread in Malay poetry; instead, elaborate mystic poems of the boat (and, incidentally, of the bird) are fairly common in it. As we have already seen, the symbolism of the boat, the sea and seafaring played an important part in poems by Hamzah Fansuri (Drewes and Brakel 1986:112, 126-43) and in Syair Bahr an-Nisa (V. Braginsky 1993b:77-119, 25663) composed between the late sixteenth and the early seventeenth century, as well as in some works by Syamsuddin of Pasai (see above). However, this symbolic code reached its final development in two poems of the boat in which the entire Sufi doctrine was expressed in its terms through the specific symbolization of all parts of the boat. These poems are: -

-

The poem of the boat (henceforth Syair perahu 1) which came to us written in Rencong letters, although it was originally composed in Jawi script in Aceh of the second half of the seventeenth century, probably by Syamsuddin of Pasai or by one of his disciples (V. Braginsky 1988a:18). The poem of the boat (henceforth Syair perahu 2), which became well known after its publication by Doorenbos (1933:16-21) who mistakenly regarded it as Hamzah Fansuri's work (V. Braginsky 1975b; Drewes and BrakeI1986:18).

The preference of Malay poets and readers for notably this symbolic code is undoubtedly related to the fact that, from time immemorial, the Malays had been a nation of skilful sailors and shipbuilders. No less important is, however, the possibility that still at that remote time they had created, as it seems,

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a complicated symbolism of the boat. This symbolism, reflected in their oral tradition, was perhaps not dissimilar to that preserved by many non-Islamized ethnic groups of the Malay Archipelago, the Ngaju and Batak in particular. It is precisely its echo that one still can discern in Malay Sufi poems of the boat, even if they are deeply Islamic in their content and tenor.

Sources of boat symbolism in Malay Sufi literature Similarly to many other Sufi symbols, the symbol of a boat (ship) originates from the Qur' an in which the motif of a ship lfulk) belongs to the most widespread (it occurs twenty-seven times there) and performs numerous functions in relation to other key motifs. First of all, the ship is one of the signs pointing to the Greatness and Mercy of Allah, and for this reason it is regularly incorporated into the context of the narration about Allah's creative activity, such as the creation of the heavens, the earth and the rain, mountains, trees and useful animals, as well as the regulation of the succession of day and night and of the motion of the sun and moon (Qur'an 14:37, 16: 3-17,22:62-4,29:62-3,31:24-8). Just like all this, the giving of the ship to man is a great act of Divine Mercy, for the ship allows him to travel from place to place and procure food and ornaments from the depths of the sea (Qur'an 16: 14). Besides, the ship serves as a means to test one's faith, because in stormy weather seafarers appeal to Allah in terror, 'making their religion His sincerely' (Qur'an 10:23-4, 29:65, 39:29-31) and when He saves them they 'tum away' from their Saviour, 'associate others with Him' and' are insolent in the earth, wrongfully' (Qur'an 17:69, 29:65). The apostasy from faith in the One God must, naturally, entail a punishment from God. This led to the association of the ship with the key motifs of Islamic eschatology and the doctrine of post mortem retribution (Qur'an 29:64,40:72-7,45:8-10). The ship-sign is closely related to two other Qur' anic vessels. One of them is the Ark of the Prophet Nuh (Noah), considered as the prototype of the ship-sign and endowed with all cosmic and eschatological associations of the latter (Qur'an 54:9-15, compare 11:39-45), and the other, the so called 'ship of the orphans' (Qur'an 18:78), which is associated with the motif of death. These vessels play an important part in the Sufi exegesis of the Qur'an. 87 Arabic and Persian Sufi works partly appropriated and partly radically transformed the Qur' anic motif of the ship, so that it acquired a number of new connotations, more often than not negative. As in the Qur' an, the basic elements which form the semantic field of the ship are sea, storm, favourable wind, pearls and land (an island or a shore), endowed, however, with symbolic meanings and influencing, in a way, the symbolism of the ship itself, which begins to interact with them. At the same time, the main reason that caused the transformation of the ship motif is also easily explainable.

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Since the Supreme Truth (the Divine Beloved, God) is represented by the boundless sea, union with it can be attained only by being drowned in the sea, which renders the ship an obstacle. As Jalal aI-Din Rumi wrote, he who seeks union should 'stop keeping afloat' (Javelidze 1979:245). A certain role in this transformation might also be played by the very identification of the ship with a sign, that is, something which only hints at the Supreme Truth, or points towards It, thus serving as a mediating term between It and the gnostic (the 'veil' in Sufi parlance), but which is by no means the Truth Itself. Besides, the connection between the boat and Divine Mercy was, by all the evidence, understood in the mundane sense (food, travelling, ornaments) and faith, in its exoteric aspect, while in the 'deliverance to the land' the boat was viewed as an instrument of the return to polytheism, shirk. Such an understanding can already be found in one of the earliest Sufi texts containing ship symbolism, the 'Revelation about the Sea' by the Egyptian mystic Niffari (the tenth century). The ship, according to Niffari, is a symbol of religious Law (faith understood exoterically) and generally of all secondary causes ('veils'); rescue after a shipwreck means a return to the phenomenal world which separates the Sufi from God (Nicholson 1966:746). AI-Ghazali (1980:208) also interpreted the boat as a symbol of secondary causes. The symbolic identification of the ship with secondary causes gave rise to a whole spectrum of negative interpretations of the ship as something external and, correspondingly, of little value, as opposed to the internal, positive, valuable. It could symbolize both external, bookish, rational knowledge useless in the cognition of the Supreme Truth and the external aspect of man, his body. In its turn, the symbolism of ship-body evolved in two directions. Because the body seeks sensual pleasures, it becomes a kind of ship-sensuality travelling through the sea of pleasures to the island of lust (Jami 1935: 460). Because the body is mortal, the sea voyage begins to represent death, and the boat becomes a symbol of the tomb (Ye. Berthels 1965a:79). Although various forms of negative assessment prevailed in Middle Eastern Sufi symbolism of the ship, they were not the only ones. In any case, a ship is a means of transportation, a mediator of a sort, and its use entails overcoming dangers, and therefore a ship voyage could serve as one of the symbols of the Path to the Supreme Truth. The symbolic use of a ship as a mediator between various spheres of existence is found in works by AIGhazali (1980:213), alongside his interpretation of the ship as a symbol of secondary causes. Besides, being associated with the Sufi concept of the Path, the ship presents itself as a symbol of dhikr. It is one of the Divine Names whose continual remembrance 'Sufi masters call the sacred barque that carries man across the ocean of the spiritual path to the shore of the spiritual world' (Nasr 1963:382). The Qur'anic sources of this interpretation are evident. It is traced back to the motif, described above, of calling upon Allah

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(invoking His Name) by sailors caught in a storm and of their 'deliverance to the land', which in this context means the shore of the spiritual world. The ship as a symbol of the Divine Name is also found in a ghazal by' Attar (Arberry 1958:135) and in the 'Story of the Western Exile' by Suhrawardi Maqtul (Nasr 1963:381-3). The work by Suhrawardi is particularly interesting, as it unites several symbolic connotations of the ship, both positive and negative. Every symbolic connotation was, in this treatise, assigned its proper place: at the lower stages of spiritual ascent (the purification of body and carnal aspects of the soul), a boat was considered indispensable, while at more advanced stages it should have been rejected (sunk, destroyed). Thus, thanks to the multiple stages of the Sufi Path, positive and negative connotations of the boat symbolism could be systematized into one integral whole. Although boat symbolism was not alien to Middle Eastern Sufism, lengthy poems containing a systematic exposition of Sufi doctrine entirely in terms of this symbolism seem to be found only in the Malay world. The reasons for this are clear. As the Dutch historian and sociologist Schrieke (1955: 232) once rightly remarked, an element from without can find its way into a culture because it has found in that culture' a congenial substratum'. As for the Qur' anic and Sufi ship symbolism, brought to the Malays by Islam, it found not only a 'congenial substratum' in their culture, but also a kind of a powerful resonator which immediately singled out this particular symbolic theme from among a great many others (the symbolism of the beautiful lady, wine, rose garden, and so on). Boat symbolism dating back to the times of the magico-religious complex of the Dongson bronze, if not to the neolithic epoch, has survived virtually to this day among many peoples of the Archipelago who were not subject to Islamization: the Bataks, the Iban, the Ngaju, the Toraja Bare' e. A similar kind of symbolism has, apparently, been characteristic of the culture of the Malays, both in the Malay Peninsula and Sumatra, from time immemorial. In all probability, interlaced in it were ideas of mediation between the sensually perceived and the supra-sensual worlds, of life, death and their cycle, where death is 'at the same time the end of one life and the beginning of another'; of the dynamic unity of the cosmos and its mutually opposed parts; of 'the communion of man with the cosmic powers governing life' (Revunenkova 1974:170-8). In many traditions of the Archipelago, various types of ritual boat are endowed with cosmic symbolism and actually represent a personification of the Cosmos, thus resembling the World Tree, with which they are closely connected. Cosmic symbolism is obvious in, for instance, the Batak 'boat of the dead' with its three masts which symbolize, respectively, the Upper world (the sky), the Middle world (the earth) and the Nether world (the bowels of

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the earth or the sea} (Revunenkova 1980:165). But this is not all there is to it. In the mythology of the Ngaju and inhabitants of Nias the symbolic boat is considered to be created precisely from the World Tree or from its fragments (Scharer 1963:28-9; Steinhart 1937:62). Symbolic boats in the myths and rituals of the Archipelago, in particular in those related to weddings, burials, festivals of the dead and seances of shamanistic healing, function as a link between the Middle, the Upper and the Nether worlds, of which the boundaries are penetrable for them as personifications of the Cosmos. These ties are established either thanks to voyages of spirits and deities to the world of humans or as a result of journeys by humans to various worlds inhabited by spirits and deities. A variant of the journey of the latter type is the journey of the soul of a dead man to the country of the dead. All sea voyages to supernatural worlds are connected with the overcoming of dangerous obstacles and are directed by a special helmsman endowed with great magical powers - a human being (priest or shaman) or a spirit/ deity (J. Hooykaas 1956:291-3). For instance, in the Ngaju tradition the role of such a helmsman of the 'ship of the dead' and the guide of souls to the Hereafter was played by Tempon Telon, the most powerful of the sangiang (spirits) who lived on the river Jalayan in the estuary of which the celestial World Tree, Lunok (banyan tree), grew. Many dangers awaited the ship piloted by Tempon Telon: fiery whirlpools, waterfalls and numerous monsters threatened the travellers, but the helmsman-spirit skilfully guided the ship through all these obstacles. In the end, after traversing the entire Cosmos, the ship reached the shore of the country of the dead and Tempon Telon awakened the soul of the deceased to a new life. The deceased was washed in the pool of the water of life, revived, resettled in a village of the dead which matched his status and entered the community of the dead (Stohr 1966:176). All these events were narrated in detail in the long songs, which the Ngaju priest sang during tiwah, the grandiose festivity in honour of the deceased (Stohr 1966:32, 176; Scharer 1966: 694-9, 754-5). Such epic songs, which are also known from oral literatures of the Batak, the Toraja, the people of Nias and other ehtnic groups of Indonesia, are essentially similar to incantations of Malay pawang (shamans) sung during the seance (for instance the incantation about the 'yellow [or golden] ship' -lancang kuning, Skeat 1966:643) and in the course of the sacred dance main puteri. Although the latter represents a highly theatralized ritual, if not a kind of drama, in its core it is none other than the same seance of healing, when, in the state of trance, the soul of the shaman sets off in search of the soul of the patient that has left his/her body (Gimlette 1929:70-7; Revunenkova 1980:114-25). Although only the 'ship of spirits', of which the cosmic symbolism is fairly vague, is represented in extant shamanistic rituals of the Malays, their oral

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epics (cerita penglipur lara), in particular the 'Tale of Raja Ambong' (Maxwell 1887), have preserved all the basic motifs mentioned above. Magic ships in these epics are built from the World Tree, which makes them an embodiment of the Cosmos, and sail off on a dangerous voyage to the beyond, first and foremost to the country of the dead, but also to the Upper world, the heavenly spheres. Even more clearly the original ship symbolism is manifested in the tradition of the Malay-speaking Paminggir of south Sumatra. The ship and, to a still greater degree, the two types of cloth (palepai and tampan) with the ship design play the role of the most universal symbols in the life of the Paminggirs, structuralizing all its ritual manifestations (Gittinger 1974, 1976). On the whole, the south Sumatran data corroborate the assumption that pre-Islamic Malay symbolism of the boat and navigation was hardly much different from the one which we encounter in archaic religions of western Indonesia.88

Syair perahu 1 (the 'Poem of the boat I') An archaic mythological and ritual background of Malay Sufi symbolism of the boat is particularly obvious in the Rencong Syair perahu 1 (the 'Poem of the Boat I'), which like the syair by Syamsuddin (see above) consists of a number of sections describing the path of descent and the path of ascent in terms of martabat tujuh and pays much attention to the conception of Perfect Man. 89 If we mentally disengage ourselves for a while from its Sufi content and Muslim terminology (which is a purely conventional act) and explore only the basic plot of the poem, we shall immediately recognize in it the familiar theme of a voyage of a 'ship of the dead' or of its epic counterpart to the world beyond. A boat made of a gigantic tree, in which the World Tree is readily recognizable, sails off from the mouth of a river: This tree is of extreme height, Although enormous, it sprang from a seed, Its perfect fruits are not hidden at all, Verily perfect, they are not veiled. Your boat is named Herald of the King, It grew originally on a boundless plain [... ]. (stanzas 5-7.)

A skilled craftsman who commands supernatural powers made the boat: The expert artisan named the Beauty Has built this boat in the Omnipotent's Estuary [... ] (stanzas 8).

The description of the boat abounds in Cosmic symbolism: its fastening hooks, or nails, are stars; the scoops for removing water are the sun and the moon (stanzas 14, 16); and the boat itself is doubtless a personification of the Cosmos. It traverses the entire Cosmos:

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The destination is the shores of the other world: The Shore of Allah is the name of its haven. [... ] Its sailing master's name is the Centre of the Circles, [... ] His place is not behind the passengers, He knows well when the wind changes. This master is wise; he is truly an expert In navigating the boat on the boundless sea [... ]. (stanzas 49-50, 79.)

The captain or the ship owner (nakhoda), who is no less experienced in the hardships of seafaring, is also on board the ship: He sounds the depth in the Sea of the Necessary, He knows its every depression and reef, He is perfectly aware of its quiet islands. This captain is neither hidden nor unseen, He wanders around all the countries and lands [... ], He knows well the reality of wind. (stanzas 64-5.)

Both the captain and the pilot obviously belong to the supernatural world. They carry human beings likened to birds (souls?) in their boat: They are odd birds, which can climb mountains, Though these birds are unable to fly [... ] (stanzas 85-6).

The 'close-up' of the captain and the pilot and the 'general view' of the passengers strongly resemble the large figures of the guides of souls and the small ones of the souls themselves as depicted on the Batak 'ship of the dead' (Revunenkova 1974:173, illustrations on pp. 163-9). All sorts of danger threatens the boat, but it overcomes diverse obstacles: Your numberless foes will come to assail Your ship, if it runs upon coral reefs. [... ] There are numerous reefs and shallows there, Treacherous rocks and dangerous islands. (stanzas 71, 76.)

Eventually the boat reaches its destination which, judging by the circumstance that it is attainable only to those who 'have tasted death', is the kingdom of the dead: The moment of complete humility has come, You've forgotten yourself, seeking the forbidden. [... ] Be vigilant, 0 you who are in forgetfulness,

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Don't exaggerate the significance of hell. [... J When your death comes, don't be fearful! (stanzas 92, 94.)

Such is the archaic background of Syair perahu 1, the mythological and ritual archetypes of which are traced quite clearly in the poem, although they are not as tangible in it as in the above deliberately selected fragments. However, this background, which goes back to the primordial Malay conception of souls travelling in a boat, a symbol of the Cosmos, to the world beyond as well as to the older habits of verbal expression of this conception, serves in Syair perahu 1 only as a frame or form. This form unites the semantically heterogeneous Sufi symbols into a coherent integral whole. Moreover, being sufficiently capacious as it is, it also helps to expand the potential of Sufi boat symbolism, making it possible to incorporate other, 'non-boat' sequences of symbols and expound the whole doctrine 'staying on board ship', so to speak. At the same time, all these symbols organized into an integral poem do not at all preserve their mythological connotations, but instead acquire their Sufi meanings, becoming symbols at that stage of their evolution when an image and a notion are mentally strictly distinct. These two sides of a symbol are now purposely syntheSized and do not represent an inseparable unity of primeval mythological syncretism. The tree growing in the centre of a boundless plain is no longer the former World Tree of mythology, but a spiritualized, 'speculative' Sufi Tree of Creation. According to 'Attar, who described it in detail, the seed from which this tree has sprung is the Light of Muhammad, its root is the Universal Intellect, branches of its root are the Universal Soul, branches of the tree are heavens, and the gardener who has grown this tree is God himself (Ye. Berthels 1965a:365). Although in Syair perahu 1 the boat continues to symbolize the Cosmos, this is now the Sufi Cosmos described in terms of the doctrine of the seven stages of Being (martabat tujuh). The movement of the boat through the Cosmos symbolizes now the return of a soul from earthly life to its source, the Creator, while the world beyond is not at all a material 'village of the dead' of myths and rites, but the highest of spiritual worlds where an individual soul merges into the Universal Soul. The pilot of the boat is the Prophet Muhammad in his aspect of the pre-eternal Logos and the prototype of the Perfect Man. The obstacles and perils threatening the seafarers symbolize attachment to the world of forms and to phantoms of the ever-changing imagination. The seafarers themselves are the enamoured ones who seek Union with the Supreme Beloved. Finally, death is transformed into the state of fana when the soul achieves this Union, having abandoned the last manifestations of its individual existence and even the Gnosis itself by means of which it treads 'the path of the return'.

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Such is the synthesis of the old and the new elements, of the mythological background serving as a 'frame' and the Sufi symbolism in Syair perahu 1. At the same time, the influence of indigenous, old Malay tradition obviously reinforced positive connotations of the boat symbolism. If, for instance, in Suhrawardi's 'Story of the Western Exile' the gnostic sails in the boat only halfway, in the Malay poem he covers the entire Path in the boat and is capable of reaching the supreme spiritual world in it. The boat in the syair is to be destroyed only for the sake of attaining the final Union. Be that as it may, the unfolding of the Sufi teaching through the boat symbolism still retaining mythological overtones is not the only remarkable feature of Syair perahu 1. The manner of this unfolding also is of great interest. When expounding the doctrines of the seven stages of Being and the Perfect Man, the anonymous author of the poem showed his close conversance with Malay Sufi literature by skilfully entwining in his poem no less that twentynine quotations, both overt and hidden, from the works by Hamzah Fansuri, Hasan Fansuri, Abd aI-Jamal and Syamsuddin of Pasai (V. Braginsky 1988a: 268). However, he was not only an erudite Sufi, but also an expert poet who, basing himself on Hamzah's traditions and never going beyond the limits of describing a ship, managed to provide a complete and systematic exposition of his conceptions. The numerous quotations which sometimes make the poem resemble a 'collage' do not at all detract from his talents and merits as the creator of probably the most original Sufi poem in Malay. Surprisingly resourceful and 'visual' are his assimilations of parts of a ship to Sufi terms, and by studying these we straightway comprehend the birth of the new 'nautical' terminology of the Sufi Path. These assimilations, always meaningful, are based on: -

-

A direct iconic similitude of the terms of comparison: for example, the identification of the deck-supports with the letters lam-alif, of the pegs with the stars, of the bailers with the sun and the moon. A similitude of actions: an anchor submerging in water is cleansed, therefore the anchor of the boat is called 'the path of purification'; the boat cannot move without a sail, therefore its sail is called 'it will not move' (in addition this is an allusion to the hadith: 'Not one single atom moves except by God's permission', AI-Attas 1970:442), and so on. An identification through an intermediate 'mythologeme' of a sort, for instance, the Holy Spirit appears as a spark when the angels strike an iron chain against a rock (Johns 1957:165-7), therefore the anchor-chain of the boat is assimilated to the Holy Spirit.

Through identification with earlier Sufi symbolism (the bailers = the sun and the moon), the new nautical symbolism absorbs all the plenitude of

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the semantic relations of the former. This allows for the development of the conceptual content of the poem by means of trains of associations that reach both terms of an identification, thus giving rise to the poem's extremely complicated and intensive symbolic texture. A typical example of this bilinear development of a theme is found in stanzas 14-9, related to the eschatological concept of 'the Pool of the Prophet' (hawd): The pegs of the boat are named Stars, They have borne this name from the past to the present,90 This drink, intoxicating, inducing dizziness, Will grant you truly countless mercies. This intoxication is not just a mercy! Resulting from the Immanence and Manifestation, It is the mirror of utmost clearness, Reflections therein are constantly changing. Its bailers named the Two Luminaries91 Point to the effacement by the Lord and by the Prince, Their origin is one, it is not disparate, They have sprung from 'I was the hidden Treasure'. These bailers belong to the Lord of Two Worlds, They have always been His docile servants, They completely encompass all the seekers, In the midst of the plain they deceive mischievously. Its bailing-well is named the Prayers, Its thoughts are directed toward the kiblat, [... ]92 Whereto the community comes to gather. Glorify Allah and abnegate yourself Only then will your Gnosis be like the oil, When the wind starts blowing, the foam quivers, Such is the Being manifesting its Will. (Y. Braginsky 1988a:280.)

As one of the most important eschatological symbols of Islam, 'the pool of the Prophet' acquires in Syair perahu 1 a Sufi interpretation. According to Muslim tradition, near this pool the Prophet Muhammad will assemble his community on the Day of Resurrection (AI-Atlas 1975:20-1). Describing the pool, Muslim authors usually mention the following details: [... ] its jars are numberless as stars [compare the pegs called 'stars' in Syair perahu 1]. [... ] It is filled by spouts from Paradise, one gold, the other silver [compare two bailers called in the syair the Sun and the Moon, the most frequent comparison for which being gold and silver respectively]. (Gibb and Kramers 1961:137.)

The parallel to the pool itself is represented by the bailing-well of the boat, the gathering-place of Muhammad's community. Drinking from the pool symbolizes the acquisition of the mystical knowledge (ma'rijat), which is mentioned in the last stanza of the fragment quoted above. The replacement

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of spouts by bailers comparable with two luminaries allows us to associate the new boat symbols with the old ones of the sun and the moon, the first corresponding to the grade of Wahdat and the reality of Muhammad (hakikat Muhammad), whereas the latter to the grade of Wahidiyat and the reality of man (hakikat insan) (Johns 1957:69). The author of the poem displayed no less mastery in arranging its composition. The poem consists of a number of thematic sections, each of which (except the introductory and the concluding one) begins with one 'sectionintroducing stanza' containing an identification of a certain part of the boat (incidentally an object or a person associated with it) with a Sufi concept. Each 'section-introducing stanza' is followed by one or more 'commenting stanzas', which, in some way or other, treat of the matters related to and prompted by these identifications. If we write down the number of stanzas in each section in their proper order, the compositional structure of Syair perahu 1 will have the following schematic representation: 6+2+2+2+2+2+2+3+3+3+4+4+4+6+6+[3]+6+3+3+3+3+3+3+3+6+6= 6* / 6(2) + 3(3) + 3(4) + 6 / / +2(6)+[3]+3(3)+4(3)+6/6* tanazzul (the descent) taraqqi (the ascent). Notes: 1 The numerals in brackets refer to the number of stanzas in sections, while the numerals outside brackets refer to the number of sections with an equal number of stanzas in them. 2 The asterisked numerals separated from the others by a slash do not represent standard sections (do not consist of one 'section-introducing' and one or more 'commenting' stanzas) and form a kind of frame for the whole poem. 3 The numeral in square brackets stands for the section, which is a later interpolation into the poem. 93

The schematic representation of the composition of Syair perahu 1, at which we have arrived, is interesting for many respects. If we remove the 'frame' of the poem (the first and the last non-standard sections of six stanzas each), omit the interpolation and divide the rest of Syair perahu 1 into two with the boundary (/ /) between the parts after the last section devoted to the exposition of the seven-grade system, then both parts will be compositionally symmetrical: -

Both contain thirty-nine stanzas each; The sets of sections, which contain an equal number of stanzas, are arranged symmetrically: 6(2)+3(3)+3(4) and 2(6)+3(3)+4(3); or: 12+9+12 and 12+9+12; Both parts are symmetrically concluded by sections of six stanzas.

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The first part of the syair is devoted mainly to an exposition of the path of descent (tanazzul), and the second part to an exposition of the path of ascent (taraqqi). It is not surprising, therefore, that these parts are equal in the number of stanzas and that the numerals, which occupy the bracketed position in schematic representation of the first part, occupy, conversely, the position outside brackets, in the schematic representation of the second part: 6(2)+3(3)+3(4) in the first part versus 2(6)+3(3)+4(3) in the second part. To this should be added that the increase in the number of stanzas in sections at least in the first half of the poem (2 -> 3 -> 4) is, most probably, related to the idea of the plurality increasing as the Being descends the grades. The compositional structure of Syair perahu 1 is based on the numbers 2, 3, 4, 6 and, implicitly, on the number 7. The latter appears, for instance, in the sum of the sections containing the exposition of the seven-grade system (the section on the stage of the Perfect Man excluded), that is 3(3)+3(4)=21 stanzas, which number is divisible by 7 (3x7) and, thus, implies it. The numbers 2, 3, 4 and 7 have a wide range of mystical meanings in Sufism and make up the basis of the doctrine of the seven stages of Being. These stages break into two groups, which include, respectively, three (unmanifest Being) and four (manifested Being) stages, that is a triad and a tetrad (Van Nieuwenhuijze 1945:126-30). It is not by chance, therefore, that three stanzas are devoted to each stage of the triad, while four stanzas are devoted to each of the first three stages of the tetrad. More complicated is the problem of the functioning of the number 6 in Syair perahu 1. It seems that one can explain its appearance in the text as symbolizing the 'six directions' and the idea of motion (Bakhtiar 1976:105). This is all the more so because the central symbol of the poem is a means of locomotion, a boat (see above on Syamsuddin's poem). Interestingly, the number 6 occurs regularly in Syair perahu 1 in combination with the number 2, thus making 12 (6x2), which is 'the perfect number' among Malay Sufis (Winstedt 1951:75). In this case it may symbolize the complete cycle of motion (the arcs of descent and ascent). Finally, the frequent use of the number 6 in Syair perahu 1 may be associated with the fact that in the process of the 'return' the boat may attain only the second grade (Wahdat), which is the sixth one from the last grade, that of the Perfect Man. Thus, the number 6 symbolizes a whole complex of concepts: 'motion', 'the passage of the complete cycle of motion', and 'the attainment to the stage of Wahdat'. Such is the harmonious compositional structure of the poem, based on strict symmetry and Sufi numerology, in which the content of the doctrine is encoded. It seems, however, that the structure of the poem is not due exclusively to a desire for harmony or for a beautiful proportion of parts or else to a desire to inculcate Sufi concepts in composition. There could be one more, no less important circumstance that determined the architectonics of

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the poem: the specific nature of traditional Muslim education in the Malay world. Johns has convincingly demonstrated that Sufi education among the Malays was inculcated by means of learning certain comparatively short texts by heart, followed by interpreting and commenting. As Ibrahim alKurani, referring to accounts of his Malay disciples, wrote in the second half of the seventeenth century: when a child grows up, Allah bestows upon him the light for their [that is, the texts'] complete understanding, and this is not hard for him, since he already knows the expressions in which the texts are reproduced, because he has learnt them by heart. (Quoted by Johns 1975:50.)

In all probability, this was precisely the method of teaching kept in mind, when Harnzah Fansuri wrote his treatise Asrar al-arifin (the 'Secrets of gnostics', Al-Attas 1970:233-96), which consists of fifteen stanzas and a line-byline commentary to them. It is interesting to note that these fifteen stanzas also functioned without commentaries or with commentaries of varying length. 94 One may surmise that Syair perahu 1, containing a concise but complete course of Sufi knowledge of Sumatran Wujudiyah, was intended to be an instrument of this very method of teaching. This is another reason that brought to life such features of the poem's strict composition as: -

The symmetry of the parts on the descent and the ascent; The expression of the number of its sections and stanzas by mystical numbers; A definite order in which these numbers go; The logical order (from the bow to the stern) in which the parts of the boat are identified with Sufi concepts.

All these features served as an important mnemotechnical instrument. Without it, it would have been extremely difficult to memorize the sequence of stanzas and their number in the sections of this poem lacking any plot.

Syair perahu 2 (the 'Poem of the boat 2') Another poem of the boat, Syair perahu 2, has been, for a long time, ascribed to Hamzah Fansuri. 95 Hamzah's authorship is doubtful, however, as the poem seems to reflect a later, more moderate stage in the development of Sufism in the Malay world (V. Braginsky 1988c:238-9). This, as well as a number of salient features of the style and rhyme of the poem shows that it was composed in the late eighteenth or rather in the early nineteenth century.96 As the opening stanza of Syair perahu 2 shows, this poem is a kind of

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sermon. Accordingly, as in any sermon, in this one too the main idea, or a content nucleus, and the devices adopted for its propagation, or a formal core, predominate over all the other elements and determine the structure of the entire work. The theme of the syair is a Sufi's (gnostic's) striving after Gnosis of God. He starts on a mystical journey (an allegory for the way of knowledge). The instrument of cognition is knowledge of the nature of God attained through a state of ecstasy, since the poem, although a sermon also possesses the nature of zikir. As a result of the journey, after passing through a number of stages of perfection, the gnostic identifies himself with God. 97 So the main idea of the syair is identification with God in an ecstatic state. As a corollary to the above-mentioned, the poem contains certain devices for the expression of the idea of identification of the gnostic with God, and certain devices for the expression of the ecstatic state of the gnostic. The combination of the two kinds of device provides a formal core, which is determined by the content nucleus and which in its turn determines and subordinates the other artistic devices. These devices can be divided into two major groups: external structure, or the level of the general composition of the poem; and internal structure, or all levels below the compositional one. In the first part of the poem, coinciding with stanzas 1-23, we have the dynamically developing subject of a mystical journey: This is a composition, a laudatory poem, Written in the form of an exquisite syair, Rectifying the way to the point of transition, Where your faith is already perfect. Know 0 youth, you should know yourself! Your body is like unto a boat, Your earthly life does not last long, Your eternal abode is in the beyond. o youth, who is knowing and wise! Avail yourself of a rudder and a compass. And also equip your boat with rigging Such is the way of perfection for man! [... ] Be truly vigilant day and night! For the raging sea grows ever deeper, The wind is strong; the waves are restless, Take care lest the boat sink. [... ] The time for Unity has come, A fair wind has begun to blow The company of the wise navigate the boat, They are sailing fully equipped.

From the point of view of the content, this represents the definition of the aim of the gnostic stepping onto the mystical Path. In the second part of the poem (stanzas 24-73) this dynamic moment gives place to the static one.

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Here not the journey but religio-mystical knowledge as such is described, and obviously, now that the aim is defined, the only thing that is left to do is to determine the ways of attaining it. This is described as follows: 'Being of God' is the name of the boat, 'Knowledge of God', the name of its hold, 'Faith in God' is the name of its rudder, 'Certainty in God' the name of its pilot [... ] Be steadfast in the search for knowledge; In the grave you will lie alone Munkar and Nakir will come to visit you there, Asking whether you have prayed? [... ] Know yourself, 0 you young wanderer, [Unless you do not] sleep supine under the planks of the grave, Tremendously dark and cold will it be there, And with whom will you speak then?

The static and dynamic parts of the poem are connected by stanza 28: 'But God knows best' is the name of the coast, 'God's Will' the name of the harbour, 'God's Omnipotence' is the name of the roadstead, 'Blissful Paradise' the name of the land.

The ambivalent character of this stanza is obvious, for here we find the static element that is typical of the second part of the poem and at the same time the element of motion typifying the first part. The idea of motion is expressed indirectly. It is conveyed through certain visual images of landmarks picked out by the seafarer: first we see a distant coast, then a port, and finally the very country of our gnostic's destination. The author is, as it were, saying to the reader who is startled by the sudden break in the uncompleted motion: 'Our aim is fixed, now let us pass on to the ways of its realization - the gaining of knowledge'. The second (static) part of the poem is divisible into four sections. The first of these comprises the above series of identifications. The second tells of the tortures in the grave for those who have ignored the knowledge during their lifetime. Both sections could be understood as religious rather than mystical in their purport (stanzas 36-37, concluding these sections, even enumerate the five religious obligations incumbent on a Muslim, the so-called rukun Islam). There are the third and the fourth sections which determine the mystical nature of the original long recension of the poem, interpreting two zikir formulas: La ilaha ilia Llah ('There is no God but Allah') and Hu Allah ('He is God'). The third section is of particular importance to our analysis: it is there that the gnostic comprehends his identity with God (the fourth section, though

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playing a prominent part in exposition of the Sufi doctrine characteristic of Syair perahu 2, does not add much new to the literary study of the poem): La ilaha ilia Llah is the ultimate word, Concentrate your Gnosis completely on Him, Eliminate all generic differences Then the slave and the Lord are no longer different.

The slave, or gnostic, and Allah, the Lord, have become one. The two parts of the poem, dynamic and static, are linked together by the stepped comparison, or, to be more precise, progressive assimilation. This device runs through the entire poem as a function of the content nucleus, and is responsible for this specific form of its overall structure, chosen in preference to any other. This means that it forms a constituent part of the formal core of the poem. Each consecutive upward step brings the gnostic closer to universal knowledge, and forms the point of departure for the subsequent development of the poem. In other words, such assimilations provide only the necessary impulses for each successive part, marking the progressive stages of: lack of knowledge -> knowledge -> Union with God. There are three stages in the poem. At the first one, the gnostic is compared with a boat. Naturally, in this figurative representation the ocean becomes the symbol of transient, treacherous temporal life, while the longedfor island represents God. Then, at the next stage (stanzas 24-8), the boat is compared with wujud Allah (God's Being). The gnostic realizes that its rudder is iman Allah (faith in God), its anchor is tauhid (the faith in unity of God), and so on. Finally, at the third stage, the gnostic experiences his unity with God (stanza 43). The basis underlying the stepped structure is something like a syllogism: if the gnostic is a boat and the boat is God's Being, then the being of the gnostic and the Being of God are one and the same. The mechanisms for the creation of such quasi-syllogisms have been clearly revealed by Winstedt (1951:75). Even with the most superficial glance at the poem, we cannot help noticing the large number of lines which are regularly repeated, such as, for example: 98 Make fast the rigging of your boat! (stanza 4). Make fast the rigging of your boat! (stanza 6). Boats [frequently] sink and break up there (stanza 7). Boats are crushed [by the waves] and sink there (stanza 15).

In the dynamic part of the poem there are some thirteen such pairs, and sometimes trios, of lines which are repeated with minimal variations, such as the replacement of a word or its substitution by a synonym. Moreover, in

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nine cases the position of the repeated line in the stanza does not alter. It is quite likely that this repetition of lines in pairs may go back to such a genre of Malay oral poetry as pantun berkait ('stitched pantun'), all the more so as the mystical poetry of Malays was closely connected with the pantun tradition. Interestingly, though normally each stanza of a 'stitched pantun' repeats the second and fourth lines of the preceding one, now in the position of the first and the third, sometimes there occurs another type of repetition of lines in this genre. For example (the lines with repetitions are italicized): If you should go to Tanjung some day, Send me from there a new jacket; If you should turn into a bird, Then I shall turn into a bough. If you should go to Tanjung some day, Buy me there a new clasp knife; If you should turn into a bird, Then I shall turn into a snare. If you should go to the sea some day, Send me a live he-crab from the sea; If you should turn into glutinous rice, Then I shall turn into coconut cream. If you should go to the sea some day, Find me a live she-crab in the sea; If you should turn into curly hair, I'll become a flower to put in it. (Alisjahbana 1961:25-6.)

Here both the lines with complete and those with incomplete repetition retain the same position in the stanza. The structure of the lines with incomplete repetition does not alter; what does change is the final rhymed word only. The lines with complete repetition come mostly in pairs and trios. It is a very similar technique of repetition of whole lines that is found in Syair perahu 2. The repetitions obviously stress the unity, integrity and coherence of the work, at least of its first part. However, as this poem represents a sermon, the semantic function of the repeated lines deserves particular attention. There are three principal types of statement repeated again and again, namely: The ripples are turbulent, the waves are enormous. Make fast the rigging of the boat. Or: Don't budge from [your] compass reading. Let your voyage to that island be successful!

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Thus, the author is warning about the dangers of the journey, talking about the necessity of careful preparation and urging the traveller on. The numerous cases of repetition of non-changing lines emphasize these themes, performing an intensifying function. However, this function is not fulfilled by the repetition of lines only - an important part is also played by the repetition of basic words in the first part of the poem (stanzas 6-21). For example, in an enumeration of the dangers of the forthcoming journey, the name of each of these is repeated as follows: ombak (wave) eight times; angin (wind) three times; taufan (hurricane) three times, ribut (storm, gale) three times, hiu, paus (shark, whale) five times; laut (sea) five times. Or the adjectives qualifying these words are repeated, as follows: banyak (many) seven times; rencam (stirring) six times; keras (strong) three times; cabuh (roaring, turbulent) three times. In other words, in the extract, numbering about 300 words, ten words (hiu and paus were counted together) constituting 15.2 per cent of the whole, instead of the 3.3 per cent to be expected if none of these ten words was repeated. An unusually large number of repeated words runs through the entire poem, although not always as obviously as in the first part. Certain set combinations of words occur in a great many stanzas; for example, siang dan malam (day and night) is repeated in stanzas 20,21,38,41,44,51,55,56, 58 and 68, the formula La ilaha illa Llah in stanzas 12, 14, 26, 38-53, and the formula Hu Allah in stanzas 57-73. Pertinently, the repetitions, occurring under the influence of pantun berkait and featuring throughout the poem, determine the syntactical structure of the non-repeated lines. Where we do not find repetition of the entire line in the proper sense of the word, we often find its echo, which is achieved by formal parallelism that is the repetition of the syntactical structure of the lines concerned. But this is not all there is to it. If we compare the repetitions in Syair perahu 2 with repetitions in works of a similar type in which the cognition of God is accompanied by strong emotional tension, we may arrive at the conclusion that the technique of repetition in our poem is designed to create an inner rhythm in the poem, a rhythm that is beyond the usual rhythm of syair. Repetitions of various kinds, from the repetition of whole lines to that of the syntactical structure of lines, crop up again and again and, like the persistent beat of a drum, stir the reader up and drive him into a state of ecstasy, which reaches its peak after the sixteen-times repeated formula La ilah illa 'llah and seventeen-times repeated formula Hu Allah. It is just like the mounting tension of the Sufi zikir. An analysis of the sound level of the poem also prompts the idea that its internal structure reflects an atmosphere of zikir. This analysis shows that 60 per cent of the euphony of the poem is accounted for by only two sounds:

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'I' and 'h'. Any other pair of sounds, which might be regarded as representing a poetic device comes a long way behind this particular one. The sounds 'I' and 'h' therefore form the phonetic core of the poem, which is dominant throughout the entire text. It is especially prominent at the beginning (stanzas 2-18) and in the zikir sections 3 and 4 (stanzas 32-67). In the majority of cases 'I' and 'h' are used in combination with the vowel' a', thus forming the sound combinations 'ah', 'a!', 'ha' and 'la'. Examining the rhyme structure of the poem, easily the most prevalent rhymes are seen to be 'ah' (seven stanzas), 'uh' (six stanzas), 'lam' (five stanzas) and' a!' /'il' (two stanzas), in other words, rhymes which also contain the sounds 'I' and 'h', the phoniC effect of which is reinforced in this case by their emphatic position, for instance: Itulah laut yang maha indah, Ke sanalah kita semuanya berpindah, Hasilkan bekal kueh dan zuadah, Selamatlah engkau sempurna musyahadah.

Truly that sea is of sublime beauty, It is thither that all of us will move some day; Provide yourself with victuals and rice cakes, Let your perfect contemplation be successful!

It seems likely that the sounds 'I' and 'h' are repeated so frequently in Syair

perahu 2 because they are elements of the name of Allah and of the formula La ilaha illa Llah - the keywords of the poem. 99 In stanzas 1-11 these sounds as it were prepare the way for the introduction of the formula by presenting it first at the phonic level, while after the introduction of the formula (stanza 12) and the name of Allah (stanza 24) the entire poem finally becomes attuned to this sound combination. Because of this phonic organization, God's name in the poem is present, as it were, in words which have nothing to do with it in ordinary daily speech. Thus, the repetition of whole lines, individual words and phonemes is the second constituent of the formal core. Progressive assimilation determines the external structure of the poem, while the system of repetition determines its internal structure. Such is the poetical structure of the two poems of the boat, of which the first is based on Sufi numerology, and the second on a syllogism of sorts. At the same time, both reveal their close links with the indigenous oral tradition, which in Syair perahu 2 is not limited only to the impact of the 'stitched pantun' either. Suffice it to say that its description of the boat crossing the sea resembles that which occurs in the already mentioned incantation about the yellow ship, while the longed-for island evokes associations with the bank in the sea, where the mythical tree Pauh Janggi - the destination of the yellow ship - grows (Skeat 1966:6-9).

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Sufi poetry and rhythmical prose about birds Only with due caution can one speak about certain Sufi features of Syair Burung Pungguk (see Chapter VII). However, in a number of writings in the form of both verse and rhythmical prose, remotely resembling that syair, the Sufi elements or even the Sufi content of the entire work are unmistakable. The motifs of a journey in search of a bird and of birds that have gathered to talk about a certain issue, which brought to life another symbolic code ('big symbol') used in quite a few Malay Sufi or quasi-Sufi compositions, betray an apparent influence of the mathnawi Mantiq al-tayr (the 'Parliament of birds') by Farid ai-Din' Attar (died 1229).100 The content of this mathnawi is briefly as follows. Birds gather to elect a king. The wise hoopoe tells them that their king is Simurgh, the phoenix, who lives in distant lands and the path to whom is very dangerous. At first the birds are full of enthusiasm to go in search of Simurgh, but when they realize the difficulties of reaching him, they became afraid of the journey and begin to look for pretexts to remain at home. The nightingale is infatuated with the rose and cannot leave her; the hawk is satisfied with his position of a king's servant; the finch is too weak and is afraid of travelling, and so on. The hoopoe refutes their arguments, and in the end the birds set off on the journey. They stop for a rest on the way and elect the hoopoe their leader. They feel scared again at the sight of a boundless desert spreading before them, and one of them addresses protests and complaints to the hoopoe. After he has comforted them, the birds ask the hoopoe questions about the path and Simurgh. The last question concerns the duration of the journey; answering the question, the hoopoe tells the birds about the seven plains which they have to cross (the plain of seeking, the plain of love, the plain of independence (istigna), the plain of oneness, the plain of confusion, the plain of poverty and the plain of death). Then follows the description of the journey itself on which the majority of the birds die. At last they arrive in the country of Simurgh, but his messengers send them back. Nevertheless, the birds implore Simurgh to meet with them. They find out that there are only thirty of them left by now (si murg means thirty in Persian) and that Simurgh and they are one that is that they are none other than Simurgh.

Such is the story told in this mathnawi, which also includes about two hundred inserted novellas illustrating various concepts of the Sufi doctrine (for an English translation of the poem, see Darbandi and Davis 1984). Various works by Attar were sporadically quoted in Malay writings. For instance, his Asrar-nama (the 'Book of mysteries') was used by Buhari alJauhari, the author of Taj as-salatin (1604). Besides, one cannot exclude that, like early translations of some pieces by Sa'di, Rumi, 'Vmar Khayam and a few other Persian poets (Bausani 1968), a translation of Mantiq al-tayr into Malay may have existed in the seventeenth century. At least, in the earliest list of Malay manuscripts belonging to Isaac de St. Martin and dated 1696

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we find, among other works, Montak el taijoer or the conversation of birds. In the Malay language' (De Haan 1900:300). In any case, clear evidence of the conversance with Mantiq al-tayr in the Malay world is found in several writings by Hamzah Fansuri. 101 I

Poems about the Pure Bird (Burung Pingai) by Hamzah Fansuri Turning to the consideration of Malay poems about birds, we should note that none of them conveys the entire content of Attar's mathnawi, or at least does not convey it in an explicit form. There are two groups of works influenced by Mantiq al-tayr, with a specific part of Attar's poem being used in each. Literary works belonging to the first group omit the conversation between the birds and the hoopoe and concentrate on the qualities of Simurgh and the path to him. The works of this group, which seem to appear at the turn of the sixteenth century, begin with syair by Hamzah Fansuri. There is no doubt that Hamzah was familiar with Mantiq al-tayr: A quotation from this mathnawi (from the part about the birds which, astonished by the wonders of the path, yielded and returned home) is found in his prose treatise AI-muntahi (the Adept'): I

I

I

Baz ba'di dar tamasha-u tarab, Tan faro dadand farigh az talab.

Some of them to the spectacle and joy Gave themselves [completely] and gave up the quest [for Simurghj.1°2

A number of syair by Hamzah Fansuri - sometimes they were regarded, in the Malay tradition, as a single work entitled Syair Burung Pingai (the 'Poem of the Pure Bird') - were obviously inspired by Attar's poem. In Leiden manuscript Cod. Or. 2016 (Doorenbos 1933:33-9) there are five bird syair which follow each other in such a succession that they form a kind of semantic unity, not unlike Mantiq aI-tayr. 103 Attar begins his mathnawi, addressing each bird with a special greeting in which he describes its specific features and calls the bird to reject its external self' so that it could attain unity with God. In the concluding part of the mathnawi, the birds, which have already trodden the Sufi Path, do reject their external self' and comprehend that they are none other than Simurgh himself (Darbandi and Davis 1984:30-2, 218-20). In his first syair about Burung Pingai, Hamzah Fansuri states that, although the Pure Bird is neither a lory, nor a dove, nor a peacock, nor a crow, nor a parrot, each of them has something in common with Burung Pingai in its habits. This is possibly a hint at their identity, even if potential so far, with the Pure Bird. Remarkably, all these birds, with the only exception of the lory, are mentioned in Mantiq al-tayr. Just as Attar's mathnawi, syair by Hamzah I

I

I

I

I

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Fansuri are full of appeals to renounce one's 'external self', for instance: 'Abandon your being, seek for another one!' (Drewes and Brakel 1986:118, compare 116, 124-6). And again just as in Mantiq al-tayr, as soon as this goal has been achieved, the comprehension comes that the seekers and Burung Pingai are identical: Listen to me, 0 you, the wanderers, This Bird is none other than all of you, You should amass knowledge of it, So that your being may become exalted. (Drewes and BrakeI1986:122.)

Although the journey in search of the mystical Bird (Burung Pingai, Simurgh) is not mentioned in Hamzah Fansuri's syair directly, all of them are written as a kind of guide explaining the way to it for the wayfarer: 'This [poem] is the course for all the friends', as Hamzah Fansuri puts it in the first syair (Doorenbos 1933:35). Accordingly, appeals to set off on the Sufi journey are constantly heard in them: This enterprise of yours, 0 wanderer, Is good for nothing in the eyes of the wise; Better get ready the boat of unity To sail in the sea which has no reefs. (Drewes and BrakeI1986:118.)

Or: Be really vigilant, 0 you, wanderer, Constantly fight with your carnal soul, Tum your whole body into the nest Think only of this; don't be absent-minded!104

Apart from the major, structural correspondences, Mantiq al-tayr and Hamzah Fansuri's bird syair also show a number of more particular coincidences. The description of Burung Pingai echoes the portrayal of Simurgh in the mathnawi by 'Attar.1 05 Even more important is that, according to 'Attar, Simurgh became known in the world after it dropped one feather, when flying over China, while in Hamzah Fansuri's syair Burung Pingai wanders around all the countries (Doorenbos 1933:34), constantly dropping its feathers (Drewes and Brakel 1986:120). Associations of Burung Pingai with China, although fairly vague, also occur in the syair - its voice is constantly heard in the Chinese lantern (tanglung, Doorenbos 1933:34). Usually 'bird without feathers' ('uryan - 'naked') symbolizes the Sufi who has renounced his 'external self'. Nevertheless, in one of Hamzah Fansuri's poems this bird is directly identified with Anqa that is Simurgh: This nakedness, which is not that of a sparrow, Is the garment of Anqa, the bird most famous (Drewes and BrakeI1986:66).

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However that may be, there is an important difference between Mantiq al-tayr and Hamzah Fansuri's poems of the Pure Bird: in' Attar's mathnawi Simurgh symbolizes God, whereas in the syair Burung Pingai is a symbol of the Light of Muhammad (Nur Muhammad). For this very reason, Burung Pingai possesses not only many features of Simurgh, but also those of the hoopoe, the syaikh of all the birds, which set off to find Simurgh. Like the hoopoe, Burung Pingai gives help to the seekers on their mystical journey (Doorenbos 1933:34). On the beak of the hoopoe the word Bismillah ('in the name of Allah') is written. This word embodies the entire Qur'an in Sufi symbolism, while on the body of the Pure Bird is written the Qur' an. Remarkably, in Mantiq al-tayr the hoopoe - a personification of the true enamoured who always wanders after he has left Simurgh's palace - condemns a certain bird which pretends that it lives only for the sake of its love for Simurgh (Darbandi and Davis 1984:33, 144). A similar motif is also encountered in the first of Hamzah Fansuri's syair about the Pure Bird: This Bird, well aware of your pretence, Is always enamoured, its love never ceases, It makes it a wanderer and a stranger (Doorenbos 1933:34).

The description of Burung Pingai as the Light of Muhammad forms the core of Hamzah Fansuri's bird syair: Its broad wings are called the Scripture, The holy Qur'an is inscribed on its body, Its legs are God's Mercy and Bounty, It always perches on the hand of the Merciful. The Spirit of God is also its spirit, The Secret of God is this bird's body, The Light of God is its eyes and seeing, The Light of Muhammad is with it forever. The Tryst with God is the name of its love, Its speech is none other than the Voice of God Its heart is the Merciful and the Compassionate, It worships the Lord in complete purity. (Drewes and BrakeI1986:120.)

Burung Pingai sprang from the Light of God, it worships God ceaselessly, it 'forever disports under the Footstool of the Creator', it is always full of love for Him, constantly inebriated with the wine of His Unity and Gnosis (ma'rifat) and always abides in mystical Union (wasal) with Him (Drewes and Brakel1986:114, 118, 120). Since Burung Pingai symbolizes the Light of Muhammad, it is little wonder that, alongside Mantiq al-tayr, a certain version of the tale about the mystical Light of the Prophet also served as source of inspiration for Hamzah. However, it is difficult to say now whether that tale represented the Malay

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hikayat or its prototype in Arabic or Persian. Not only the identification of the parts and features of the Pure Bird with cosmological and ontological concepts in Hamzah Fansuri's syair may be traced back to the tale of mystical Light. Just as Hikayat Nur Muhammad and its prototypes, these syair tells of the creation of the Light before all the elements of Being, the origin of the entire Being from the Light and the transference of It from the Prophet Adam to other prophets up to Muhammad: The Bird of Light sprang from the Radiance To abide constantly at the Lofty Pedestal, From its Light derived the rich and the poor, The lord and the slave - every human being [... ] It is namely Ahmad, the first of the prophets, Who sprang from the Light of the God most pure, All the world radiated from his Light prophetic The earth took shape and also heaven [... ] After the Universe had been manifested, The bird appeared in the form of Adam, Then it came as the messenger, as the Seal of Prophets, So that his community would not perish. (Drewes and BrakeI1986:122-4.)

Hikayat and andai-andai of Si Burung Pingai in rhythmical prose Hamzah Fansuri's selection of only one theme from Mantiq-al-tayr as well as the influence of both the mathnawi by 'Attar and a narrative of the Light of Muhammad, characteristic for his poems about Burung Pingai, are also found in Hikayat Si Burung Pingai (the 'Tale of the Pure Bird') and Andaiandai Si Burung Pingai (the 'Epic of the Pure Bird'). However, in these works Hamzah Fansuri's approach to his topic is further elaborated by means of the incorporation of a number of important motifs from Mantiq al-tayr, which do not occur in his syair. Hikayat Si Burung Pingai, which probably originated from Minangkabau or at least was known there around the second half of the seventeenth century,106 was written in Jawi letters, in rhythmical prose close to the popular Malay blank verse (bahasa berirama), abounds in folklore epic formulas derived, in particular, from the shamanistic tradition (for instance, from the invocation of a soul, which has abandoned the patient's body, by the shaman; see below) and, at the same time, shows signs of influence of Hamzah Fansuri's bird poems. Andai-andai Si Burung Pingai written in Rencong script appeared not later than the middle of the eighteenth century and is probably traceable to the above-mentioned hikayat. 107 The andai-andai contains not only some Sufi terms, but also a few pantun and reproduces the form of the popular South Sumatran epics composed in blank verse (Voorhoeve 1940). These

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two works are so interesting from a literary point of view and so important for the understanding of extensive, plot-based Sufi allegories (see below), of which they are a kind of model, that they deserve closer examination. The first part of the hikayat is almost identical with the andai-andai and differs from the latter mainly in its more elaborate style, a greater number of written elements and a more obvious Sufi symbolism. 108 The most noticeable peculiarity of the andai-andai is that it begins with a story of the mysterious bird Kangkila which laid seven eggs: it 'laid them on the earth, it brooded them in the sky' - as the andai-andai puts it (this expression also occurs in the hikayat). The birds Raka-raka, Riki-riki and Raja Nyawa (that is The King of All Souls), in turns, had brooded the eggs for nine months, nine days and nine nights each.109 In the end, the Islamic prophets Idris, Musa, Ibrahim and so on, down to the Prophet Muhammad, hatched out from six eggs, and Si Burung Pingai from the seventh one. A similar story is found in the hikayat, too, but there Si Burung Pingai itself laid the eggs from which the prophets came. After that in both the hikayat and the andai-andai the following is narrated (the summary below is mostly based on the story as it is told in the andaiandai; however, all the major differences between the two works are also mentioned). Si Burung Pingai is the most beautiful bird. It has a beak of gems, a head like an ivory casket, feathers like tapestry with a yellow pattern, wings like Chinese fans, talons of pearls, and so on. This bird is the favourite of Sidang Budiman, its owner, the pet bird of the assembly of the wise, the ward of God's Messenger. It sings like a biduan-singer, and its songs sound like the music of a lute, a one-stringed violin and a bamboo-flute. So beautiful is the voice of Si Burung Pingai. Once upon a time, its tether, called Pelinggam Cahaya (Luminous Marble?), broke and Si Burung Pingai flew away. No one could tie the ends of its tether with each other, and no one knew where Si Burung Pingai was now. Then there is a description of Si Burung Pingai's and Sidang Budiman's house, standing on the right side of the road, with its posts and porch. After Burung Pingai had flown, the house fell into decay: lianas entwined themselves round its posts, insects made their nests in its kitchen, planks of its floor and its rafters got loose, and stars became visible through many holes in its roof. Sidang Budiman was very saddened when he knew that his favourite bird had deserted him. Three months had passed since it flew away, and for three months he had not eaten rice; three years had passed since it flew away, and for three years he had not drunk water. All the time he only lamented, saying: 'Alas! My bird has vanished. I tried to catch it but failed, I tried to pursuit it but it came to nothing!' At last, he put on the sarong that reached his heels and the jacket that reached his knees, took the rope and the rod of one fathom in length and set off in search of his bird. He looked for it everywhere, crossing rivers and plains, but could not find it. Once he stopped in the midst of a very broad plain, turned his face in the direction of the kiblat, said a prayer to God and suddenly saw Syaikh Mandurakin (Abdurahim?). Sidang Budiman asked the syaikh whether he had seen his bird in that place. Syaikh Mandurakin answered that he had seen it, but

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then the bird had flown away again. Sidang Budiman continued his journey, asking everyone whom he met about Si Burung Pingai. His manners were those of an inebriated one, his questions were those of a madman. After a long quest he met Syaikh Mandurasah and asked him about the bird too. The Syaikh Mandurasah answered: 'Don't be so sad, don't grieve so much. Your bird was here, but now it has flown away. If you wish to find Si Burung Pingai, close your eyes and renounce your body and soul. Only then will you manage to meet the bird.' Sidang Budiman did as he had been told and in an instant he reached the gates of heaven and six boundless plains where six kinds of plants grew. At the crossing of seven roads he met the Angel Hisan Huseman whom he asked which of the roads he should choose. Hisan Huseman told him that six of those seven roads were intended for six types of people who died six different kinds of death. To look for Si Burung Pingai in heaven, he should take the seventh road.

The author of the hikayat informs the reader that he heard his tale in the assembly of the learned (sidang pandita), calls Si Burung Pingai a heavenly nymph (bidadari kayangan) and does not mention either two syaikh or the Angel Hisan Huseman. Instead, during his journey Sidang Budiman meets a certain nameless old man who tells him that he has been seeking for Si Burung Pingai for long years, but still cannot find it. The decision to head for the seven heavens is taken by Sidang Budiman himself. Sidang Budiman crosses all the plains and comes to the first heaven. There he meets Mariam, Nabi Isa's Oesus's) mother, and asks her about Si Burung Pingai. Mariam tells him that the bird is not here and advises Sidang Budiman to look for it in the second heaven. The second heaven is that of the Prophet Musa (Moses), the third, of the Prophet Ibrahim (Abraham), the fourth, of the Prohet Idris (Enoch), the fifth, of the Prophet Muhammad, the sixth, of God's Messenger (that is Muhammad again?). In every heaven Sidang Budiman gets one and the same answer: Si Burung Pingai has been here shortly, but now it has flown away. The sixth heaven is more beautiful than all the others. Its foundation is made of diamonds, its walls are made of glass, its top is crowned with a jewel. Thunderous sounds are heard there: like the sounds of rain, but not of the rain, like the sounds of a wind, but not of the wind. These thunderous sounds come from the bathing place of God's Messenger. His bathing place is a pool which is named the River, its water is called the Drink of Purification (Saraban Tahura = Syarab at-Taharat), its fish is called Lunang-Lunang (?). In the upper reaches the fish say prayers (or dance llO ), in the lower reaches the fish utter litanies. Sidang Budiman asks gatekeepers, a male and a female Ethiopian (janggi), to open the gates for him. They say that he should recite the syahadat formula, so that all the twelve locks of the gates might open. After reciting the formula, Sidang Budiman enters into the sixth heaven. He meets the Messenger of God only to learn that he should continue his journey and reach the seventh heaven. Sidang Budiman comes to the gates of the seventh heaven, the loftiest one, of which the owner is Tuwan Makadum (the Lord himself?). Again he hears thunderous sounds: like the sounds of rain, but not of the rain, like the sounds of a

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature wind, but not of the wind. The sounds come from the bathing place of Tuwan Makadum, which is again the pool named the River, its water is called Jamjam (the water of the paradisical well Zamzam), its fish is called Lunang-Lunang. They say prayers in the upper reaches, they utter litanies in the lower reaches. The gatekeeper is a jackal (or a radiant guard 111). Sidang Budiman recites the syahadat formula once more, it opens all the twelve locks of the gates and he enters into the seventh heaven. Sidang Budiman asks Tuwan Makadum whether Si Burung Pingai is here. Tuwan Makadum replies: '0 Sidang Budiman, if you wish to know the answer, first listen to my metaphorical words: know how to behave yourself - never look left!' Sidang Budiman looks around and sees Si Burung Pingai under the Great Mosque. He rejoices and pleads with the bird to return home with him. However, the bird sings a pantun, of which the meaning is that it has already lived in the earthly world, but the real life is only in the Hereafter. Also in the form of a pantun, Sidang Budiman replies that he has already wandered in search of Si Burung Pingai for many years, his body has become tired and his soul, orphaned. But as soon as they met, he has managed to return home in a wink.

Contrary to the andai-andai, the hikayat does not mention Sidang Budiman's meetings with Mariam, Ibrahim, Idris and other prophets. Instead, it quotes the names of all the heavens that Sidang Budiman has visited, which are: Jannat an-Na'im (the 'Garden of Delights'), Jannat al-Adnan (the 'Garden of Eden'), Jannat al-Muntaha (the 'Garden of the Lote Tree'), and so on; the seventh heaven is called Jannat al-'Aliya (the 'Loftiest Garden'). The portrayal of the seven heavens in the hikayat also differs somewhat from that in the andaiandai. The author of the hikayat every time describes in detail the loveliness of heavenly nymphs (bidadari), the beauty of paradisical palaces and pools in the banks encrusted with jewels, garments of the nymphs woven from golden threads, heavenly gardens with their trees full of fruits and their fragrant flowers. However, neither the jackal, the guardian of the gates in the Loftiest Paradise, nor the twelve locks of these gates, which are opened with the key of the syahadat formula, are mentioned. In the hikayat Sidang Budiman finds Si Burung Pingai not under the Great Mosque, but under the Footstool (kursi) at God's Throne. After that there follows an extensive narrative lacking in the andai-andai. The Pure Bird prostrates itself before the Throne and praises Allah. This praise is so powerful that the pillars of the Throne become soft like the fragrant pearl (mutiara kesturi). Allah sends Jabrail to order the bird to return to the earth. The bird says that it will not return until Allah forgives the Muslim community. Moreover, nothing on the earth can bear its weight. Allah tells the bird via Jabrail that He had forgiven all sins of the Muslim community before He created heaven and earth and made the glass dome that hangs without ropes and stands without pillars and the doors of which are always open (a symbol of the spiritual heart). This is the home for the bird. The bird flies to the glass dome with twelve doors: the first is the mind, the second is bliss, the third is the renunciation of senses, and so on, and

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settles in it, in spite of the dome's assurances that it is too poor and miserable to bear the bird's weight. The bird finds the entire macrocosm in the dome, as well as the pond of the Prophet and the tree Syajarat Hak al-Yakin or Syajarat al-Yakin (the Tree of the True Sureness). In that tree hang the garments of the Prophet's wives (Hadijah, Salamah, Maimuna and Aisya) as well as of his daughter Fatimah. They put on their garments and decide to swing on the swing, which has the form of a golden board set with various jewels: They swing on the swing fixed on the Moon, They rock on the board on the Eastern Star, On the white stone they put it and swing, On a drifting cloud they lay it and rock. When they swung: The wind ceases to blow without delay, The waves subside and disappeared And all the flowers open their petals. 112 After swinging they swim in the pond of the Prophet, the waters of which are named the waters of Zamzam, and the river flowing into it is called Bahr alKadim (the River of Eternity). The waters in the pond are most fragrant; the rocks surrounding it are made of emerald, the ground is of ambergris, the sand is of gold, the grass is of turmeric (compare the portrayal of the miraculous country in Hikayat Indraputra and other fantastic adventure hikayat). Then they sprinkle themselves with scents, set out on a journey in search of the Pure Bird and, after reaching the plain of alam lahut (the World of Divinity), they pick flowers. Their garland is the essence of paradise. It is worn only by Prophet Muhammad, Hasan and Husain. Then follows a conversation between Hasan Basri and the Prophet Muhammad. Hasan Basri is astonished at the sight of the tree Syajarat al-Yaqin, the trunk of which is the kalam, and so on (the above description follows).113 From the trunk streams fragrant water - only the pious who have sought for knowledge from tutors strenuously and who have cognized God can drink it and bathe in it. They alone can find the Pure Bird. Then they feel fragrant smells of all kinds and 'feelings merge into feelings, thoughts into thoughts and mystery into mystery' - their reward is the encounter with God, they receive heavenly attire and drink the wine called Syaraban Tahuran (Syarab at-Taharat - the Drink of the Purification). Those who have reached the Pure Bird and have surrendered to its power, they are called the Pure Bird, as they have achieved Union with it. Those who desire to find the Pure Bird must go to the plain of syariat, thence to the plain of tarikat, then to the plain of hakikat and finally reach the plain of ma'rifat. There they will find the Pure Bird, created by Allah for the sake of the Prophet and his community. Its head is the Throne (arasy), its heart is the Footstool (kursi), its blood is the Water of Life.

The influence of Hamzah Fansuri's bird poems is often felt in the hikayat and, through the latter, in the andai-andai: in both writings the mystical bird

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is called Burung Pingai, and in both the portrayal of the bird is apparently inspired by Hamzah Fansuri's syair. Here is an excerpt from the description of Si Burung Pingai in the hikayat: Its head is like a precious stone, Its eyes are like the Eastern Star [Venus], Its forehead is like a peerless pearl. [... ] Heavens and hell appeared due to it, The manifest and the hidden appeared due to it; The beginning and the end appeared due to it, The little and the big appeared due to it. [... ] The sky and the earth are its cage, The earth is its perch, The wind is its tether, Tasbih 114 is its food, Tahlil is its drink, Tahmid is its praise, Takbir is its deed. (V Braginsky 1993b:304-5.)

Many lines of this description, which is repeated many times in the hikayat, are either direct quotations or paraphrases from the bird poems by Hamzah Fansuri. For instance, it is said, both in Hamzah Fansuri's syair and in the hikayat that 'heaven and earth are its cage' and 'the Spirit of God is its spirit (nyawa),. In the hikayat, letters are inscribed on the bird's body; in Hamzah Fansuri's syair, the Qur'an is written on it. In the hikayat, the bird abides in a house with doors, which never close; in Hamzah Fansuri's poem, it lives in a house without a curtain in the doorway (Drewes and Brakel 1986:114, 120). The motifs of Burung Pingai's bathing in the paradisical river and of its becoming intoxicated with the water from this river, which is none other than the Drink of Purification/ Cognition, are also found in both syair by Hamzah and in Hikayat Si Burung Pingai (Drewes and Brakel1986:116, 118; V. Braginsky 1993b:313-5). The number of such coincidences can be easily multiplied. Yet, unlike Hamzah Fansuri's poems, both in the hikayat and in the andaiandai the search for the Pure Bird is described directly. In the two latter works Sidang Budiman, who departs to seek for Burung Pingai, has to visit seven paradises corresponding to seven plains in 'Attar's mathnawi. It is noteworthy that in the andai-andai these paradises are regularly confused with plains (padang) and are often called so. This significant detail lacking in Hamzah's syair allows us to assume that Mantiq ai-tayr may have influenced Hikayat Si Burung Pingai not only through Hamzah Fansuri's poems, but also directly (or through some other intermediary work). However, the journey in search of Si Burung Pingai in the two Sumatran narratives is undertaken not by birds but by a certain man, Sidang Budiman. For this reason, it seems more accurate to view their motif of the search as

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an ambivalent motif. On the one hand, the bird symbolizing the Light of Muhammad is sought by a man; on the other, this bird itself seeks for (flies to) Allah, just as the birds in Mantiq al-tayr fly to Simurgh, Its personification. To this can be added that, when Si Burung Pingai arrives at the Divine Throne, Allah sends the Angel Jabrail to meet the bird and persuade it that it should return to the earth. The episode with Jabrail as Allah's envoy sent to Si Burung Pingai, which does not occur in Hamzah Fansuri poems either, reminds us to some extent of Simurgh's envoys who also tried to persuade the birds that they should return home (Darbandi and Davis 1984:214-7). Be that as it may, the name Sidang Budiman is rather odd, as it means the Assembly of the Wise. Evidently it owes its origin to a verse from another syair by Hamzah Fansuri, which, incidentally, contains one more stanza obviously inspired by Mantiq al-tayr: In search of the Opposite,115 the assembly of lovers Set off on a journey to the Sacred House; On the way they constantly lost the companions So, only the noble attained their goal. (Drewes and BrakeI1986:104.)

This stanza and the one following it contain indirect references to the birds' journey in search of Simurgh and the death of many birds during the journey, so that only thirty of most determined among them reached their destination. Therefore, it does not seem too far-fetched to asume that it is Hamzah's assembly of lovers (or the enamoured)' (sidang asyik) that was transformed in the hikayat and andai-andai into one man bearing the odd name Assembly of the Wise. In the end Sidang Budiman manages to find the bird residing under the Footstool of Allah. In Hamzah Fansuri's poem, the Footstool is also the bird's abode. Then, after a number of episodes, we read in the hikayat: And it is precisely those who have reached the Pure Bird and submited themselves to its power, be they humans or jinns, who are named the Pure Bird', which is one more expression of the main idea of Attar's poem, a rather close one to that which we find in Hamzah Fansuri's syair quoted earlier. However, not only the mathnawi by Attar and syair by Hamzah Fansuri exerted their influence on the story of Sidang Budiman's ascension to the heavens. A number of details in the description of the seven paradises and questions about Sidang Budiman's identity presented to him by their gatekeepers most probably betray the impact of a certain version of the mi'raj narrative (see this chapter, above). This amalgamation of the bird and mi'raj motifs may have been facilitated by the popularity of stories about the spiritual ascension to heavens in Malay-Indonesian traditions of the pre-Islamic era, both shamanistic and Hindu-Buddhist (for the latter, see, for instance, Noorduyn and Teeuw 2000). Thus, partly through Hamzah Fansuri's poems, partly directly or via a I

I

I

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translation/reworking, which has not been preserved, 'Attar's mathnawi influenced the writings of the Sufi from the hinterland of Sumatra, semi-folkloric in their style and form. In these writings, as it seems, the motifs of Mantiq al-tayr were fused with those from the tales of the Light of Muhammad and the mi'raj of the Prophet.

Poems about the conversation of birds The second group of works inspired by 'Attar's mathnawi is largely different from the first. Instead of a description of the birds' journey to Simurgh, we find in poems of this group a detailed elaboration of the theme of the birds' conversation with their syaikh who is represented not by the hoopoe, a stranger to the ornithic world of the Malay Archipelago, but by the lory (nuri). The choice of the lory as the leader and tutor of the birds is hardly accidental. It seems that it is based on a play on words: nuri means 'lory' in Malay and, in Arabic, also 'luminous'. Incidentally, in Hamzah Fansuri's poems of the Pure Bird this bird is often referred to as burung nuri, the 'luminous bird' and the 'bird of light'. It is the lory - nuri - the bird full of the light of knowledge that proves to be worthy to take over the office of the syaikh from the hoopoe of ' Attar's mathnawi. Poems about the conversation of birds, which are usually called Syair burung (the 'Poem of birds'), are fairly numerous in Malay literature. At least two major recensions of such poems can be distinguished. It is more convenient to begin the discussion with the second recension, which is closer to ,Attar's mathnawi, as it tells about the necessity for the birds to embark on a journey in search of Sufi Gnosis. The content of the poem representing this recension in manuscript Cod. Or. 3341 (copied in 1841) is briefly as follows. The Prophet Sulaiman, the lord of beasts, birds and jinns, invites all the birds: first of all the Lory (Nuri), an 'honourable preacher', then the Cassowary, the Bat, the Hawk, the Woodpecker, the Turtle-Dove, the Peacock, the Crow and the rest, and asks the Lory in their presence what the means for the prolongation of life is. The Lory (who seems to regard the Sufi Gnosis as such a means) shows his wisdom and tells a story about his friend who complained of blindness and numbness, which prevented him from knowing God. He explained to his friend that the Path of Knowledge was hard and that it was not an easy task to find one's bearings in the sea of life. In a similar manner he convinces an anonymous bird and the Blackbird who fears hardships, which might appear on the Path that in the final analysis all is in the hands of God. Then the Lory teaches the birds the Path of Salvation, which is to relieve them of condemnation beyond the grave, censures the haughty, curses the apostates, encourages those who believe that all efforts are in vain, and reprehends those who, even in a mosque, are preoccupied with worldly affairs. The Lory, a 'divine bird', does not tire of warning of difficulties on the Path to the Country

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of Perfection and concludes his speech with the well-known Sufi hadith: 'He who knows his self knows his Lord'. The sincerely enraptured birds extol the Lory (Van Ronkel1922a:187-8).

One might assume that an influence of of 'Attar's two mathnawi is observed in this poem, namely Mantiq-al-tayr and Bulbul-nama (the 'Book of the Nightingale', Yeo Berthels 1965a:340-53). In the latter poem birds argue with the nightingale on more or less similar matters also in the palace of the Prophet Sulaiman. It is more likely, however, that as the source for the initial part of the poem use was made of the tale of the Prophet Sulaiman from Qisas al-anbiya (the 'Stories of prophets') in its Malay version (Hamdan Hassan 1990) and/ or the well-known story from Hikayat Bayan Budiman (the 'Tale of the Wise Parrot') in which Sulaiman asks the beasts and birds about the means of attaining eternal life (Hikajat Bajan Budiman 1956:84-7). The fact that one of the Malay bird poems belonging to the second recension of this group bears the title Syair Bayan Budiman (Antologi 1980:14-33) also corroborates this assumption. The first recension of Syair burung, on the basis of Klinkert's information, is usually considered to have been composed by Raja Hasan, a son of Raja Ali Haji of Riau, in 1859. (Van Ronkel 1921a:90; Matheson 1983:42). This recension includes a number of heterogeneous manuscripts and is, in fact, a set of variants, similar in their general content but sometimes widely different in details. 1l6 Its earliest Paris manuscript Mal.-pol. 245 (Syair burung:1-24), without the beginning and the end, dates from 1826 and, in its turn, is a copy of an earlier original. Therefore, Raja Hasan could hardly have been the author of either the first recension of Syair burung (dated 1826) or its second recension (dated 1841). It is more probable that he either simply copied a manuscript of the first recension or composed one of its variants, which, in terms of the Malay concept of authorship, was virtually one and the same. All the poems of the first recension treat not so much of Sufi Gnosis (ma'rifat), as of gaining religious knowledge. They discuss such issues as the components of religion (din): iman (faith), Islam, tauhid (the unity of God), and - only in this context - ma'rifat, as well as the achievement of ritual purity (taharat), the rules for Muslim burial, and so on. However that may be, the general outline of the plot can obviously be traced back to Attar's mathnawi. Twenty-nine (in some manuscripts, forty) birds get together. Nuri, the Lory, suggests a sincere discussion of the most important problems of their lives. In this discussion the birds' complaints of their ignorance, weakness and predilection for amassing wealth, characteristics that they give to themselves and subsequent questions - all this evokes associations with the brief sections full of protests, complaints and excuses of the birds in Mantiq al-tayr, which

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precede the description of their journey. However, the birds' questions have nothing to do with Simurgh or the Pure Bird. Their only goal is to deepen their understanding of religion. Each bird has a particular character or rather is portrayed as an embodiment of a particular feature of the human character (sometimes similar, if not identical, features are represented by several birds). Not infrequently these features find their counterparts in Mantiq al-tayr. For instance, in 'Attar's mathnawi a certain cowardly bird complains that it is too weak for a journey. In the Malay poem Peacock, its double, says: I want to study to get the blessing, But I cannot move my body any longer. If the teacher lived somewhere nearby, I would come to him hobbling with a stick. (Syair burung:4.)

To the boastful bird of 'Attar, or possibly to his bird satisfied with its spiritual progress, corresponds the rice-eating finch (gelatik), which says: Then Gelatik, the finch, started singing And answered them in a lovely voice: 'Though grammar and logic is all I know, I don't feel despair, not a bit, not a drop!' (Syair burung:5.)

To the greedy bird of Attar's poem (Darbandi and Davis 1984:102) corresponds a friend of the plover (kedidi) about which the plover tells the following: I

One of my friends did not care at all That he had forgotten all that he knew, Carried away by purchase and sale, He only thought of silver and gold. (Syair burung:5.)

There are great many such characteristics in the poem. They are followed by questions, which are posed not by the birds, as in Attar's poem, but by the Lory himself. The birds answer those questions, and the Lory only checks the accuracy of the answers and makes the necessary corrections. This is the major difference between the first recension of the Syair burung, on the one hand, and both Mantiq al-tayr and the second recension in which the Lori instructs the birds just as the hoopoe did, on the other. Since the plot based on a conversation of birds is a convenient framework for a didactic composition, it seems that in Malay literature it served as a model for the genre of the religio-mystical discourse in which animals, fish, flowers and even letters (see, for instance, Tan Tjhan Hie 1827; Wieringa 1998b) took part and which was arranged in the form of a syair. In any case, we do not know of syair of this kind dated prior to 1826, the year when the Paris manuscript of Syair burung was written (however, this manuscript already included poems of conversations between fish and letters). The I

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influence of 'Attar's poem is even less obvious in such syair than in the first recension of Syair burung. It seems, however, that it is present in it in an indirect form. These syair-discourses do not seem particularly interesting in literary respects. Some vividness is added to them only by the spirit of the traditional Malay school characteristic for them, and by the fact that, presented as the disciples of that school, are birds (or other representatives of flora and fauna) with their innate qualities, as well as disputes arising during the discussions. Thus, one of the birds complains that she would be happy to learn but has no money for it; another charges her caustically with a lie, remarking that if she wanted to study she could borrow money from her. In answer to the complaint of a bird that she is too old and remembers nothing, her friend says that she must have dozed during lessons instead of learning, and so on. However, this is only a respite for the reader, preparing him for the following topics of the rhymed lesson, which is the major subject of syair-discourses. Thus, the Malay tradition turned at least twice to Mantiq ai-tayr, the poem that exerted a considerable influence on Malay literature. The first time, at the turn of the sixteenth century, this led to the creation of Hamzah Fansuri's syair and later of Hikayat Si Burung Pingai. These works were written in the spirit of the Sufi school wahdat ai-wujud and developed the motifs of the search for the Pure Bird (a counterpart of Simurgh and a symbol of the Light of Muhammad) and of the Sufis' Union with it. Having appeared first in the framework of high literature, so to speak, the works of this kind gradually penetrated into the folkloric, or semi-folkloric, Sumatran milieu, where after a fairly deep transformation, they persisted until the end of the eighteenth century (the time when Marsden bought Andai-andai Si Burung Pingai in Bangkahulu, south Sumatra). Considering that Hamzah Fansuri's syair about the Pure Bird were written in Aceh, we can notice that the works related to this aspect of the content of of Mantiq ai-tayr followed in the wake of Islam as they spread in Sumatra: Aceh -> Minangkabau -> south Sumatra. For the second time' Attar's mathnawi seems to be resorted to in the first decades of the nineteenth century. Poems created in that period and belonging to the two recensions are characterized by a concentration on the motif of the conversation of birds. It is developed in either the Sufi spirit (more moderate than before) or as purely religious poems. This is characteristic for Islam in the Malay world in the nineteenth century in general and in Riau, where at least the first recension of Syair burung, typical for this group, may have been written, in particular (see above). It is difficult to say now whether there was a link between the two groups of poems inspired by different portions of Mantiq ai-tayr. However, the existence of such a link seems not altogether impossible. This is probably

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confirmed by the prose Hikayat Burung Barau-barau (the 'Tale of the YellowCrowned Bulbul'), both in its content and in the fact that the Paris manuscript Mal.-pol. 79 of this hikayat, dating from the early nineteenth century, also includes Hikayat Si Burung Pingai. Hikayat Burung Barau-barau can be summarized as follows: Various birds accompanying the Prophet Sulaiman gather on the plain Husyayum and form an umbrella over his head. Sulaiman withdraws to the palace and falls asleep. Barau-barau (the Yellow-Crowned Bulbul) suggest a conversation, but the Heron says that it is better to remain silent, referring to the Prophet's saying: 'He who speaks separates with the listener; he who keeps silent meets with him.' The Oriole takes an intermediary position in the dispute: 'If you know, it is better to speak; if you do not, it is preferable to be silent, because words may be both useful and harmful.' The rest insist: 'If the faith is true, the words will also be correct, and vice versa.' The noise raised by the birds awakens Sulaiman who, angered, sends the hawk to find out what the matter is. Barau-barau explains the essence of the dispute and flies to Sulaiman. The latter asks it what the advantage of speech over silence is. Barau-Barau tells him three stories. In the first story, a certain man says to the Angel of Death that he has long yearned to meet him and now he sees him at last. The Angel of Death who has never heard anything of the kind feels embarrassed and refuses to take his soul. Another man greets Munkar and Nakir in the grave and says that he knows who their Lord is, who their Prophet is, where their kiblat is, who their imam is and who their brothers are. Astonished Munkar and Makir do not lash him. Finally, a third man must go to hell, but with the help of Jabrail he manages to talk Malak Ridwan, the guardian of the gate of paradise, into letting him into paradise ostensibly in order to see Allah and tell the sinners about it, so that they repent of their sins. However, when the time comes for him to return to hell, he refuses, saying that his arrival to paradise has been predetermined by Allah. Allah pardons his sins and allows him to stay in paradise. If these three persons did not speak, their fate would have been entirely different. Then Sulaiman calls the Heron and asks what the advantage of silence over speech is. The Heron tells him the following story. A certain Sidang Darwis found in the field a speaking skull, which warned him against speaking. Sidang Darwis decided to give the scull to the king, counting on a good reward. On his way he met two people and explained to each of them that he was delivering a marvellous thing to the king. The king was surprised by Sidang Darwis' story, gathered his courtiers and ordered them to talk with the skull. The viziers, commanders and wise men tried to fulfill the king's order, but the scull kept silence. The enraged king ordered Sidang Darwis to be executed. Therefore, concludes the heron, it is better to be silent than to talk. (Hikayat Burung Barau-barau: 20-36.)

On the one hand, in Hikayat Burung Barau-barau, just as in the second recension of Syair burung, the motif of the conversation of birds before the palace of the Prophet Sulaiman, who himself takes an active part in it, occupies an important place. On the other hand, one of the main characters of the hikayat is a certain Sidang Darwis (Assembly of Dervishes) whose name is similar

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to that of the protagonist of the hikayat and the andai-andai about Si Burung Pingai, Sidang Budiman (Assembly of the Wise), and in particular to the name Sidang Arifin (Assembly of gnostics) which is also mentioned in the two latter works. Another remarkable detail of Hikayat Burung Barau-barau is that on the way to the king's palace Sidang Darwis meets several people. These meetings, unnecessary for the development of the plot, cannot, however, fail to evoke associations with Sidang Budiman's encounters with an old man, syaikh and angel during his journey in search of Si Burung Pingai. Unfortunately, the place (or places) where Hikayat Burung Barau-barau and the second recension of Syair burung were composed still remains unknown. Could they have been written in south Sumatra, in Palembang, for example? As we know, many allegorical syair about birds and animals, Syair Nuri among them (see Chapter VII), originate from that area. At the same time, the works about Si Burung Pingai were also spread fairly widely in south Sumatra. To this can be added that, as we have seen too, there are definite similarities between the poetical schools of Palembang and Riau, both in the content and in the form of poems composed there. The Sufi schools of these centres of Malay culture were no less similar in the first half of the nineteenth century (Drewes 1977; Archer 1937; and this chapter above). If Hikayat Burung Barau-barau and the second recension of Syair burung were actually composed/reworked in Palembang or, at least, in south Sumatra, then the entire history of the development and transformation of Malay writings about birds, from Hamzah Fansuri to Raja Hasan of Riau, would become clear enough. However, at present all this is no more than hypotheses. Even so, it is not hypothetical at all that, like the poems of the boat, the works of the birds reflect all the stages of the evolution of Malay Sufism (and of its symbolism) from more extreme (Hamzah Fansuri) to more moderate forms (the schools of Palembang and Riau) and, finally, to religious poems with only isolated, not particularly significant Sufi elements. To conclude. As happened quite often, a relatively strong influence of Mantiq al-tayr was not perceived literally, so to speak, by Malay traditional literature. Like other Persian (and not only Persian) writings, Tuti-nama and Bakhtiar-nama for example, the mathnawi by 'Attar served primarily as a creative stimulus for this literature, having provided it with a convenient framework to be filled with diverse motifs, including indigenous ones.

Indigenous basis of the works about birds The synthesis of Sufi and indigenous elements, which can be traced back to archaic Malay-Indonesian myths and rites, partly of a shamanistic nature, has been already revealed in Malay boat symbolism. It is not unlikely that the same mythological and ritual background predetermined that special

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attention which the Malay Sufi tradition paid precisely to Mantiq al-tayr. All the more so, as counterparts of all the major motifs of the hikayat and the andai-andai about Si Burung Pingai and of two recensions of Syair burung can be found not only in 'Attar's poem, but also in Malay folklore of apparently pre-Islamic origin. The first major motif, that of the bird-demiurge somewhat resembling Simurgh or the Pure Bird, is found, for instance, in Andai-andai Burung Meraka-raka (the 'Tale of the Meraka-raka bird'), a mythological narrative from Serawai, south Sumatra, in a Middle Malay dialect. It begins as follows: When the earth, the sky and the wind had not yet been created, there was the Bird Meraka-raka that originated from Raja Nyawa (the King of Souls). She laid an egg, which consisted of nine parts. The parts of the egg corresponded to the parts of anthropomorphic Serawai's body.117 At Allah's consent, the bird broke that part of the egg which contained Serawai's feet, and the earth appeared; then it broke that part where Serawai's head was, and heaven came into being; then, the part where its forehead was, and the sea appeared; then, the part with its back, and there appeared hills and mountains; then the bird broke the part where its head (again!?) was, and there appeared the moon and the sun; then, the part with its face, and the dew and the rain appeared; then the part where its back (again!?) was, and there appeared stones, rocks, grass and vegetation. One more part (in fact, two!) remained which the bird tried to break but failed. (Helfrich 1904:241.)

It is worth noting that both the bird Meraka-raka (in the form: Raka-raka) and

the bird Raja Nyawa are also mentioned in Andai-andai Si Burung Pingai. A similar myth is found in the incantation book of a shaman from Perak (in the Malay Peninsula) kept in Maxwell's collection. According to this myth, in the beginning the whole world was an ocean. There was only the Primordial Shaman, that is Allah (Dewata Mulia Raya). He created a bird and named it the First Shaman. The Universe and all that filled it, including shamans and their magic tools, would come from this bird. Then the bird named First Shaman broke 'the frame of creation' (baluh jadi; compare the egg in the Serawai myth) and heaven, earth, air, wind, and so on, appeared from it (Winstedt 1950:326). Obvious Muslim influence is observed in both myths: Allah figures in them as the primordial creator; He creates the bird, which creates at His will, as the Light of Muhammad does. Generally speaking, the influence of Hikayat Nur Muhammad on the Perak myth is very likely. At the same time, similar cosmogonies of ethnic groups which were not Islamized, in particular the Batak and the Ngaju, show that the Malay myths are based on ancient, preIslamic beliefs common to many peoples of the Archipelago. For instance, in the cosmogonic myth of the Ngaju one of the two demiurges, Mahatala - the deity of the upper world (the sky) - is portrayed as a hornbill (Scharer 1963:

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27-9). Even more important is the fact that the motif of the bird-creator also occurs in one of the myths of the Batak (north Sumatra). Here is a summary of it: When Ompung Mula Jadi began to create all that he has created, he first made the bird Tambala Hut Tektek Balanja Omas and settled it in a banyan tree turned upside down that grew in a heaven (the upper world). The bird laid eggs the size of a jar in the branches of the banyan tree. After a long time had passed, voices began to be heard from the eggs, asking Ompung Mula Jadi to break the shell. First Ompung Mula Jadi was going to break the eggs in that place where the head of the fledgelings was; then, in the place where their eyes, ears, mouth, belly, neck, shoulders, back, legs and so on were. Every time the voices from the eggs said that the shell should not be broken in this particular place, otherwise people would suffer from the corresponding diseases: those of the head, eyes, ears, and so on. In the end, Ompung Mula Jadi asked where he should break. The voices from the eggs replied: break where the ribs are. Instead of fledgelings, three anthropomorphic creatures appeared from the eggs. Ompung Mula Jadi named them Batara Guru Sahala, Tuan Harajaon Sori and Tuan Balabulan (or Mangalabulan; these three are debata na tolu, three major deities of the Batak). The bird laid three more eggs. Three girls came out of them and became wives of the debata na tolu. 118

It is not difficult to note a similarity between this myth and the tale of the crea-

tion of the world by a bird in both Andai-andai Burung Meraka-raka (especially because in another version of the Batak myth the eggs were broken by the bird itself; Tobing 1956:57-60) and Andai-andai Si Burung Pingai in which Muslim prophets appear from the eggs of the bird Kangkila. It goes without saying that in the latter the influence of Hikayat Nur Muhammad is more obvious. The second major motif of Sufi writings about the bird - its flight to the beyond and the journey in search of it - also finds counterparts in myths and shamanistic rituals of the people of Serawai and in archaic traditions of other peoples of Indonesia. According to the beliefs of Serawai shamans (dukun), humans have two souls: nyawa titipan abiding in the heart and nyawa iwan abiding in the respiratory organs. When nyawa iwan leaves the body, it enters into Burung Pingai, which thus functions as the soul-bird. People deserted by their nyawa iwan are tortured by nightmares, in their dreams they go on journeys, and sometimes they even lose their senses. It is no wonder that in one of the Serawai myths Burung Pingai as the soul-bird shows such people the way to the realm of the dead. The content of this myth is as follows. Once Allah travelled and found an egg. On His orders, the egg was hatched by the bird Secinta Kasih and the bird Siap Peraja Nyawa (=Raja Nyawa). Sidang Badiman (= Sidang Budiman above), Sidang Maripin (= Sidang Arifin above) and Burung Pingai appeared from the egg. Burung Pingai wished to go to paradise (sorga agung) and agreed with the other two that after forty days it would return to them. On the way, in Padang Rencam Kuku (the Plain of Sharp Claws?), Burung

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In this myth narrated during the festival of the dead Sufi elements, which may have penetrated into it through the hikayat or the andai-andai about Burung Pingai, are superimposed on an ancient Indonesian foundation: the ritual of sending the soul-bird off to the land of the dead.12° Another prototype for the motif of the bird-soul's flight to the supernatural world was the practice of invoking the soul that had abandoned the body. This practice, an important element of shamanistic healing, was well known to the Malays. It is noteworthy that in Hikayat Si Burung Pingai we find lines that can be traced back to the corresponding incantations used by the pawang. To make certain of it, it is sufficient to compare Sidang Budiman's lamentations with the incantation of this kind. Lamentations of Sidang Budiman

Invocation of the soul by pawang

Since the Pure Bird had deserted me, My house has fallen into decay [... J: All the planks of my floor have got loose, The walls have become full of cracks, Stars are shining through holes in the roof. (V. Braginsky 1993b:306.)

Come here, 0 soul, I am praising you, Come here, I'm sitting and waving to you, Come back to your home and home-stead, To your floor - all its planks have got loose, To your roof - stars are shining through it. (For the Malay original, see Skeat 1966:587.)

However, Indonesian shamans often did not limit themselves to requesting the souls to return to the body. Usually, during the seance, the shaman fell in a trance when, according to the beliefs, his soul departed to search for the soul of the patient, which had flown away. On the way the shaman's soul, like Sidang Budiman, passed through a number of heavens and found

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the soul of the patient somewhere in the kingdom of the Lord of the Souls (compare Raja Nyawa in the Serawai myth or Allah in the hikayat and the andai-andai about Si Burung Pingai). Such beliefs were typical of the Bataks and the Iban (Quaritch Wales 1957:85), as well as of the Toraja (J. Hooykaas 1956:291-3) and other ethnic groups. Finally, talking birds and birds symbolizing various qualities of the human character are found not infrequently in Malay etiological myths, legends and fairy-tales (Skeat 1966:109-32 and Chapter VII). This kind of ornithic folklore was the basis on which, under the influence of 'Attar's mathnawi, the third major motif of Malay writings about birds, the motif of their parliament was formed. Thus the problem of the origin of Malay bird narratives cannot be explained simply by the borrowing of motifs from' Attar's poem. For each of their components we can find both a Muslim source (Mantiq al-tayr, Hikayat Nur Muhammad) and an indigenous source (creation myths, shaman's rituals, ornithic folklore). Like poems of the boat, poems and hikayat about birds are literary works with a dual motivation pointing to the synthesis of local rituals and myths on the one hand, with radically reinterpreted Middle Eastern Sufi writings on the other. Again, it is notably the synthesis of the two traditions that explains the popularity of religio-mystical works about birds in the Malay world. Even if not in the above words, Hamzah Fansuri most probably comprehended this well enough, when he introduced the image of Burung Pingai, the Pure Bird, to make the concept of the Light of Muhammad more understandable to his compatriots.

Sufi plot-based allegories in the form offantastic adventure hikayat All the Sufi poetical works discussed above, even if they do not represent the direct elucidation of Sufi doctrines, can broadly be classified as 'static allegories' (see Chapter V) without any plot or with only a very simple plot like that of Syair Bahr an-Nisa or Hikayat Si Burung Pingai. However, familiarization with the obvious symbolic nature of these poems and with symbols that occur in prose treatises (from the writings by Hamzah Fansuri to the works by Syaikh Daud al-Fatani) facilitates considerably the identification and interpretation of the much less evident, although much more elaborate, symbolism of plot-based 'dynamic allegories'. On the surface, the dynamic allegories are almost indistinguishable from ordinary fantastic adventure narratives. Yet, on a deeper semantic level they reveal an intricate combination of most variegated symbols of the Sufi Path, its stages, transformations experienced by the soul at each stage, and so on. Although the principal function of fantastic adventure narratives was to

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comfort (that is harmonize) the soul of the reader by means of the beauty of the sound and content, sometimes the works of this genre performed various additional functions too, primarily the edifying one. For instance, the author of Hikayat Syah Mardan (the 'Tale of Syah Mardan'), the work mentioned above more than once, promised his readers and listeners that his hikayat would help them to achieve perfection not only in the art of love ('[amorous] disports of young people') related to the comfort of the soul, but also in the 'knowledge of God', the law of the Prophet and the science of rulership (see Chapter IV). And he did not disappoint them: even though a fantastic adventure narrative in its structure, his work touched upon all these issues. The mention of 'knowledge of God', which implies Islamic theology and mysticism, is particularly interesting for us. As Drewes aptly remarked, the theme of path and travel, central to all hikayat of this kind, 'owes a great deal to mystical symbolism and terminology' (Drewes 1975:12). No wonder, therefore, that the influence of Sufism on Malay belles-lettres was not dissimilar to its influence on literatures of the Middle East, Muslim India and Java with their numerous' double-decked' romantic narratives, Sufi allegories in fact. The works of the Hikayat Syah Mardan type are particularly important for the understanding of the hidden meaning of the dynamic allegories. On the one hand, these works contain a narrative component, which is based on a well-developed plot (or composition) 'threading' individual motifs, which on a deeper level, prove to be Sufi symbols. On the other hand, the same works include a doctrinal component (the explanation of the system of the seven stages, of the correspondence between the macro- and microcosm, and so on), which, in one manner or another, provides an intra-textual exposition of these symbols. By means of comparison of the two components, the researcher receives an opportunity to establish certain correlations between their structural units. For instance, a blacksmith who, in the narrative part of the work, has forged a knife can symbolize God, the grade of Ahadiyat and the stage of the Cognition (ma'rifat) of the Sufi Path. A pen, a tablet and a pearl mentioned in the narrative part can symbolize the grade of Wahdat and the stage of the Truth (hakikat). A shell, a casket, seven heavens, seven mountains, a sevenstoried palace, a flying bird - all these constituent parts of the narrative component can symbolize the grade of Wahidiyat and the stage of the Way (tarikat), and so on. Thus, the works similar to Hikayat Syah Mardan, alongside Syair Bahr an-Nisa and Hikayat Si Burung Pingai with their impressive and, at the same time, understandable symbols, are the key texts and guides of sorts for the interpretation of dynamic allegories lacking in intra-textual explanations of any kind. They are all the more important, because, as the present author is becoming more and more certain, the number of such allegories

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without a doctrinal component may prove to be considerable. For instance, one cannot rule out that Hikayat Berrna Syahdan and Syair Bidasari might have been read by the initiate as Sufi allegories too.

Hikayat Syah Mardan (the 'Tale of Syah Mardan') Surviving in at least thirty manuscripts (most of the fantastic adventure hikayat rarely appear in as many as ten copies) and hence evidently a popular work, Hikayat Syah Mardan (the 'Tale of Syah Mardan')121 was apparently composed in the seventeenth century (not before the last decade of the sixteenth century and not later than 1736),122 A comparison of the first part of Hikayat Syah Mardan (that is, the part preceding the narration of the heroic deeds of Raden Panji Lelana, the son of Syah Mardan) with Javanese writings on king Angling Darma, which are similar with Hikayat Syah Mardan in their plots (Drewes 1975), allows us to reconstruct the prototype of the hikayat, which includes the following basic motifs: -

The schooling of the hero (Syah Mardan) in the art of transmigrating his soul; The migration of the hero's soul into the body of a parrot and his penetration, in this disguise, into the women's quarters of the palace and his subsequent amorous adventures there; The hero's success in curing the 'mute' princess by asking her riddles; The perfidious capture of the hero's temporarily empty body by the soul of his teacher, or the vizier, and the recapture of his body by the hero's soul through cunning. 123

All four motifs appear to be of Indian origin (Tawney 1968, 1:37-9, IV:46-8); however, it is not clear whether they were borrowed from Hindu India once and for all, or whether the borrowing was twofold: first from Hindu India and then Muslim India - because all of these four motifs occur in Middle Eastern, above all, Persian, literature and folklore,124 Equally unclear is where and when the four motifs became one whole, since the third motif is absent from Indian and Middle Eastern works which incorporate only the first two motifs (though the second without the amorous adventures) and the last one. Hikayat Syah Mardan opens with a narration of the birth to the ruler of a country called Dar al-Khatan of a son named Syah Mardan. After the usual description of the prince's merits, there follows an account of the arrival in Dar al-Khatan of a wise brahman from the land of Dar al-Kiam (Arab. Qiyam), who knows the tongue of birds and who teaches Syah Mardan both this tongue and the art of transmigrating his soul into various bodies and objects.

718

The heritage of traditional Malay literature Having completed his training with the brahman, Syah Mardan goes out to see his teacher off when he suddenly loses sight of him and realizes that he has become lost in a dense forest. After wandering in the woods for a while, Syah Mardan happens upon a palace in which he finds princess Rakna Kemala Dewi, a captive of a demon (raksasa) who has abducted her from her parents' beautiful garden. The princess brings Syah Mardan some water and later becomes his wife. However, he refuses to slay the raksasa and soon abandons Rakna Kemala Dewi so that he can go on with his search for the teacher. Moreover, Syah Mardan resolutely refuses to take his wife with him, thereby incurring her anger and punishment - the princess turns him into a parrot. Disguised as a parrot, Syah Mardan flies to the country Dar al-Khiyam, where he finds himself at the palace of princess Siti Dewi, beautiful as a 'red flower on a golden tray, lit with radiant sun-beams'. The princess is enraptured by the bird's seven-hued plumage. She stretches out her hand towards the parrot, which at once perches on her palm, though previously it has evaded similar overtures from the princess's maids. Siti Dewi orders a golden cage for the parrot and afterwards never lets it out of her sight. One night the bird assumes a human form and becomes the princess's lover. The ruler of the country finds out that his daughter has been 'taken advantage of' and, unable to find the guilty party, is about to kill the parrot in a fit of rage. However, as soon as he knows that the 'parrot' is in fact prince Syah Mardan, his wrath is assuaged and he gives his daughter in marriage to the prince. Syah Mardan does not stay with his wife for long, however, presently resuming his wanderings under the name of Indrajaya.

As we see even from the above summary of the story, Hikayat Syah Mardan contains many narrative motifs typical of the fantastic adventure hikayat. Both the characters of its dramatis personae and the setting in which they act do not show much difference from that variety of hikayat either. Nonetheless, Hikayat Syah Mardan is not an ordinary fantastic adventure tale.125 It is not fortuitous that we stop summarizing the tale precisely at the moment of the hero's parting from Siti Dewi. Syah Mardan has already visited two kingdoms and has married two princesses. Two more kingdoms to be visited and two more princesses to be married are in store for him in the story. And it is exactly here, in the very middle of the symmetrical structure of the hikayat that the tone of the narration changes remarkably: So, Indrajaya [another name of Syah Mardan] took his leave [... ] and set forth. [... ] And [on his way] he saw many wonders of God Most High, and crossed most spacious plains and climbed the highest mountains. Wherever he happened to be at the time [of the prayer], there he would pray, unwilling to miss [the time of the prayer] and fail in his [religious] duty. And he paid heed to nothing but his self, which he cognized and contemplated day or night [emphasis by the present author]. (Hikayat Syah Mardan:21.)

Anyway, Syah Mardan's aspiration to perfect his self does not leave him without a reward. The wise hermits Salamuddin (or Salahuddin in some

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manuscripts) and Lukman aI-Hakim, who reside on the high mountains, reveal the mystery of self-cognition to him. In some lonely mosque on the seashore, the same mystery is further elucidated to him by the leader of syahid, the martyrs of the 'great holy war' (jihad besar), the war against their individual self representing the abode of evil passions. Even in the wedding chamber, which is hardly the most appropriate place to discuss the problems of mystical ontology, the prince tirelessly deliberates upon precisely this topic or, on the contrary, lends his ear to his wives' commentaries on Sufi teachings. As an outcome of his encounters with all these male and female gnostics, Syah Mardan (and, consequently, the reader) learns about the Sufi doctrine of the seven grades of Being (Ahadiyat, Wahdat, Wahidiyat, and so on) and the four stages of the Sufi Path (syariat, tarikat, hakikat, ma'rifat); about the isomorphism of the macrocosm (the Universe) and microcosm (man) and the symbolic meaning of prayer as a means of ascending to God; about the genuine essence of men, that is the Perfect Man, and meditation (murakaba) and contemplation (musyahadah) on God by those who have given themselves up to Him completely, which means those liberated from the individual self. Thus, Hikayat Syah Mardan is heterogeneous in content and includes two kinds of component: narrative components (the wanderings proper of the hero), and doctrinal components (the exposition of Sufi teachings for the benefit of Syah Mardan). It is as if two beams of light emerge from the central area of the hikayat's compositional structure, the area in which its Sufi doctrine is expounded. One of these beams illuminates the genuine meaning of the events, which have already happened to the hero in the past. Another beam, directed to the future, is to illuminate the meaning of events, as yet hidden, that will happen to the hero in the second, symmetrical part of the work. Illuminated by these two beams, the narrative components of Hikayat Syah Mardan appear as an embodiment of the ideas that are revealed through its doctrinal components, while the hikayat's doctrinal components, representing a number of dialogues, form a kind of mental prototype for the events that have happened or are to happen. In the light of these beams, the hidden meaning of the birth of the prince Syah Mardan (the 'Ruler of Men'; a clear hint of his status as the Perfect Man, though potential at this point) in Dar al-Khatan (the Country of Circumcision; a symbol of initiation into Islam) becomes quite obvious. This episode indicating two poles of the Sufi Path provides the hero with a point of departure for his future allegorical ascent. The arrival of the brahman symbolizes the coming of a herald from the World of Divinity, who is the Divine Spirit, while the wanderings of the hero in the forest, after the brahman has mysteriously disappeared, allude to the fact that the hero, having become aware of his ignorance, decides to embark on the Path of a Sufi (Mangkunagoro 1957:13).

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Syah Mardan's marriage to Rakna Kemala Dewi and his inability to free the princess from the raksasa shows that the hero has already attained the stage of syariat. However, at this stage the aspirant, here Syah Mardan, still cannot completely purify and control his carnal soul. His marriage to the princess Ratna Dewi symbolizes his attainment of the stage of tarikat, at which the soul continues to be the captive of the body (compare Syah Mardan in the form of the bird, which stands for the soul, living in the cage, that is in the body). Besides, at this stage the aspirant can reach spiritual spheres only in sleep (compare Syah Mardan-parrot who regains his human appearance only at night). The doctrinal part of the hikayat is followed by the account of how Syah Mardan, after taking leave of the leader of syahid and the angel, who has handed over to him the four jinns (symbols of the four aspects of the perfecting soul) given by Allah, continues his journey. He reaches a town on the seashore, abandoned after it has been attacked by monstrous garudabirds. On the top of the seven-storeyed palace he finds two huge shells and, under them, the king and the queen of the town as well as their daughter Candrasari. With the help of his jinns Syah Mardan kills the garuda-birds (passions) and marries the princess Candrasari. This story is an allegory of the 'white death', the hero's victory over avidity, gluttony and other passions of the carnal soul, the purification of his soul and the attainment of the stage of hakikat. The episode concludes with the newly-weds discussing the correspondence of microcosm to macrocosm, which is proof that Syah Mardan has gained the knowledge of the entire doctrine of the ascending arc of the Sufi Path (taraqqi), and its final stage, the stage of the Perfect Man. The achievement of that last stage is the subject of the concluding part of the hikayat. The most expressive episode of the concluding part is that telling of Syah Mardan and the princess Julus al-Asyikin asking and guessing riddles (V. Braginsky 1993b:316-27, based on the text of Hikayat Syah Mardan:54-62). This episode not only harmoniously blends the narrative and doctrinal components of the hikayat, but also sums up its entire Sufi doctrine in the elegant form of symbolic riddles, refined, full of hidden allusions and arranged in a strictly symmetrical composition based on the number four. Upon leaving the palace of Candrasari, Syah Mardan sits down under a tree to meditate. While there he is kidnapped by a garuda eager to avenge the death of its relatives; the kidnapper's fledgling, however, refuses to eat the holy man and instead sends his father (or mother, according to another manuscript) to convey him to the country of Dar al-Kiyam (Arab. Qiyam), where the prince finds his brahman at last. The beautiful daughter of the local ruler, whose name is Julus al-Asyikin, is mute (both her name and her muteness symbolically indicate that, after his corning to Dar al-Kiyam, Syah Mardan has reached the stage of ma'rifat). The king announces that he will give the princess in marriage to the one who manages to cure her. Thirty-nine princes, all eager suitors, are trying in vain to make

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her talk and when they fail they are thrown into prison. Syah Mardan accompanied by the brahman goes to see Julus al-Asyikin and, by sending his soul into various objects, asks the princess all sorts of riddles from there. For his part, he pretends not to know the correct answer. The princess finds it impossible not to correct him and thus her muteness is proved to be faked. By inducing Julus alAsyikin to talk, Syah Mardan fulfills the condition made by the girl's father, and the two are married in a gala ceremony.

How did she manage to guess the riddles and their symbolic meanings? To answer these questions one should first examine the set of 'speaking objects' or, to be more precise, the objects into which Syah Mardan's soul transmigrated and through which it spoke. There were four of them: a curtain, a candle, a receptacle for betel, and a nutcracker (compare the motif of speaking candle, lantern, curtain and peacock in Hikayat [sma Yatim, Chapter VI). To establish the symbolic meaning of the above objects we should know that, for the Malay, betel or a receptacle for it personifies betrothal,126 while the first meaning of the word kelekati (or kelekatu), 'a nutcracker', is an insect flying toward a lamp, a flying ant, or the proverbial 'moth at the candle' (Wilkinson 1932, I:537). Therefore, viewed for their symbolic significance, the three last objects (a candle, a receptacle as a symbol of the beginning of lovers's union, and a 'moth') are congruent with the Sufi conception of the 'moth's path', that is a Path of 'sure knowledge' of the Most High (Schimmel 1975a:141-2). The 'moth's path' consists, as a rule, of three stages: the first - ilmu yakin, or 'sure knowledge' - the moth sees the candle and tells about what he sees; the second - ain yakin, or 'sure vision' - the moth touches the candle flame with the tips of its wings; and the third - hak yakin, or 'true sureness' - the moth flies into the flames and is burnt up, which means that it reaches complete union with the candle, his Beloved One. This is exactly how the 'moth's path' is described in one of the parables from Mantiq al-tayr by Attar (1961:125). Alongside the three-stage 'moth's path', in Sufi literature which is based on the doctrine of the seven stages of Being there is found the conception of the four-stage path. This consists of ilmu yakin, ain yakin, hak yakin and kamal (or akmal) yakin -'perfect (or the most perfect) sureness' (Van Nieuwenhuijze 1945:345). Ilmu yakin corresponds, in the four-stage conception, to the stage of syariat and implies knowledge acquired by means of reason and proof, similar to the way of concluding that where there is smoke, there is fire. The other kinds of sure knowledge are related to the stages of tarikat, hakikat and ma'rifat respectively (Drewes 1977:91, 96-7). Thus, in a description of the 'moth's path' in terms of the four-stage ascent, the three stages of Attar begin with tarikat, the old symbols are given meanings at one remove (from ain yakin) and are supplemented by kamal yakin (the burning of the moth). Moreover, the old symbols are now preceded by a new symbol (smoke whose presence

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suggests fire) corresponding to ilmu yakin and syariat. This explains why a curtain is included among the objects visited by Syah Mardan's soul, and it also suggests that the 'moth's path' in Hikayat Syah Mardan consists of four stages related to syariat, tarikat, hakikat and ma'rifat. Now we can link each of the four riddles asked by the prince with one or another of these concepts and the terms correlated to them. The connection between the objects visited in turn by the hero's soul and the four stages in the' moth's path' is also attested by their position in relation to the princess Julus al-Asyikin: each one is closer than the other. The curtain is at some distance and behind her back, so that none but Syah Mardan can see the princess (compare the notion of the invisible fire and visible smoke at the stage of ilmu yakin). The candle is near the princess (compare the visibility of the candle at the stage of ain yakin). The betel receptacle is within her reach (compare the moth touching the fire with the tip of its wing at the stage of hak yakin). And, finally, the nutcracker is in her hands (compare the moth entering the fire, is 'seized by the fire' at the stage of kamal yakin). No less indicative is the central symbol of the riddles in Hikayat Syah Mardan, namely the tree, an object stressing the connection between the contents of the riddles and the concepts of syariat, tarikat, hakikat and ma'rifat. The first riddle is concerned with four trees, that is, with the symbol of the tree at the stage of external knowledge (ilmu yakin), which corresponds to syariat. At this stage, as is to be expected, Being is seen in its aspect of multiplicity (compare multiplicity of plants to an external observer belies their common essence, which is water in Hamzah Fansuri's works, AI-Attas 1970:268-9). The object of the second riddle is a single tree, which symbolizes the stage of tarikat, the Path. 127 The traditional Malay symbol of the tree as the Path finds graphic expression in Syair perahu 1 (see above), which is based on the doctrine of the seven stages of Being: Hear this allegory, 0 all you doers: The man is like a tree of travellers, Whose trunk grows from 'Be thou! - and it becomes', Seek it, 0 you who are coming back. (V. Braginsky 1988a:282.)

The third riddle is not about a tree as such but about a piece of wood from which a statue has been carved, that is, about the essence (hakikat) of the statue (compare the symbol of chessmen made of wood whose essence is, in Hamzah Fansuri's words, 'the wood of one tree-trunk'; AI-Attas 1970:293-4). Therefore, this riddle refers to the stage of hakikat. In the fourth riddle the symbol of the tree disappears completely and mystical subjects (the conception of the Perfect Man) are discussed in a straightforward manner. This is fully in tune with the doctrine as it is concerned with ma'rifat, since at this stage the individual self of the Sufi is completely eliminated and he can con-

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template the Beloved without any veils (compare Syair perahu 1 at the end of which the traveller must 'break up the boat', a symbol of both the self and the Path, V. Braginsky 1988a:284). Now that the general significance of the riddles has been ascertained, a more detailed interpretation of their content becomes possible. It is sufficient to analyse only one, for instance the first, riddle to reveal how intricate their symbolic 'texture' intended to convey the Sufi doctrine of the hikayat is. The first riddle of Hikayat Syah Mardan tells of a prince and his four friends - sons of a minister, a craftsman, a scholar, and a merchant - going on a journey. On the way they encounter four beauties who decide to seduce the young men. The first one of them unfastens her hair, the second bares her breasts, the third shows them her fingers, and the fourth, her teeth. The question is: what is the meaning of these actions? The correct answer is given by Julus al-Asyikin: the first woman wants to inform the youths that she lives in a house beside an areca palm; the second, that a coconut palm grows near her house; the third implies that an unnabi-tree (from which henna is produced) is near her house; and the fourth indicates that she lives near a pomegranate tree. The prince and his travelling companions apparently are symbols of the seeker who is to become a Perfect Man and of the four stages of his ascent during which he should gain control over the four aspects of his soul. Also pointing to such a possibility are the 'professional backgrounds' of the seeker's friends. The minister who is often referred to in texts as the reason of the ruler (A. Berthels 1970:22), symbolizes the stage of hakikat and the 'pure soul' (nafsu safiah) associated with intellect. The craftsman, who makes things or 'physical objects', signifies the stage of syariat and the 'wrathful soul' (nafsu amarah), which correspond to the physical world. The merchant (saudagar, this word is a synonym of dagang which means both 'merchant' and 'traveller, wanderer') is a symbol of the stage of tarikat ('way, path') and the 'repenting soul' (nafsu lawamah), which manifests itself at this stage. Finally, the scholar, the man of knowledge (ma'rifat), stands for the stage of ma'rifat and the 'tranquil soul' (nafsu mutmainah) inherent in this stage. To understand the implied meaning of the actions of the four beauties is more difficult, however. The association between an areca palm and hair (the hair-style of a Malay beauty is routinely compared to this palm's blossom - mayang; Wilkinson 1932, 11:117) and between a coconut-tree with its round fruits and breasts (another popular simile) is clear enough. Malay women use henna to decorate their fingers and palms, hence the association between the unnabi-tree and fingers. Teeth are associated with a pomegranate because it is a standard in Malay literature to compare the red teeth of a beautiful girl (red because of betel juice) with the seeds of the pomegranate, which one can see through a crack in the fruit (Wilkinson 1932, 1:267).

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But these associations only reveal the external aspect of the symbolic meaning of the riddle. The internal meaning is based on the fact that the four above-mentioned trees have erotic connotations in Malay literature. Thus the nut of areca palm (pinang) wrapped in a betel leave is a symbol of match-making (compare the verbal meaning of pinang 'to make matches') (Wilkinson 1932, 1I:269). Henna produced from the unnabi is assigned an important part in the marriage ritual (Skeat 1966:377). The pomegranate is a symbol of a beautiful girl's lips (Wilkinson 1932, 1:267; Winstedt 1961: 227). And the coconut bitten through by a squirrel is symbolic of the loss of virginity (Winstedt 1991:227); conversely, the undamaged nut is a symbol of virginity (compare symbols of bored and unbored pearls in Arabic and Persian literatures). It follows that all the four trees are a symbolic indication of the Divine Beloved, who appears at the stage of syariat in Her aspect of multiplicity (multiplicity of trees and girls with which the travellers are confronted). At this stage one can only judge the Essence of the Beloved from her external manifestations, such as her actions, and this is reflected in the hikayat in the characters of the prince and his companions as they answer the riddles of the beauties' actions. The symbolic significance of the trees and their number (four) apparently serves as a means of conveying the idea that at this stage of sure knowledge (ilmu yakin) the seeker can only attain an indirect glimpse of knowledge about the stages of the Sufi Path towards Union. The areca palm symbolizes the betrothal as the beginning of the Path, corresponding to the stage of syariat. The knowledge of the purity that is of the perfection of the Beloved, is conveyed by the coconut palm which corresponds to tarikat (the coconut in the shell, with which the hikayat author compares the girl's breasts, is a symbol of tarikat in Hamzah's Asrar al-arifin, Al-Attas 1970:295). The wedding, symbolized as the unnabi-tree, corresponds to hakikat, while the Union, to which the pomegranate alludes, to ma'rifat. Incidentally, the pomegranate in Persian Sufi tradition is the fruit of the fourth garden of paradise (the Garden of Essence) and symbolizes the 'multiplicity in Unity, in the station of Union, conscious of Essence' (Bakhtiar 1976:57). An analogous analysis of all the four riddles of Hikayat Syah Mardan (V. Braginsky 1990:123-6) shows that the whole Sufi doctrine of the work is recapitulated through them. However, the work does not finish with this recapitulation, since, even after the marriage to Julus al-Asyikin, the hero has not yet trodden the most important part of his Path. After staying in Dar al-Kiam for a short while, the newly-weds, accompanied by the brahman, return to Syah Mardan's home country. On the way, the prince defeats an army of thirty-nine of Julus al-Asyikin/s rejected suitors (their inability to cure the princess and imprisonment symbolize the low level of their spirituality

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and their failure to gain control over their carnal souls; the dungeon is a standard symbol of the body). The battle over, the three of them reach an unnabi-tree covered with fruits (a symbol of wedding). The princess asks her husband to pick up some fruits for her. Not an adept climber of trees, Syah Mardan shoots a monkey, transmigrates his soul into its dead body and goes up the tree. While he is there, the brahman is overcome by a passion for Julus al-Asyikin, so he sends his soul into the lifeless body of Syah Mardan and attempts to seduce her in this disguise. The princess exposes the trick and repels his advances. The brahman, still in Syah Mardan's body, and Julus al-Asyikin arrive in Dar al-Khatan, where everyone takes them for the real prince and his consort. But Julus al-Asyikin is loyal to her true husband; she thinks up a plan to get rid of the brahman and, with this aim in mind, she sends the minister (mangkubumi) to him with a proposal for arranging a ram fight. If the brahman's ram wins, the princess will give the brahman her hand and heart, she says. After this she sends a courtier to fetch the monkey. The monkey climbs down from the tree and finds shelter in the house of Maharajalela. During the fight the brahman's ram scores a victory, but Julus al-Asyikin feigns inconsolable grief and beseeches the brahman to resurrect the dead animal. He complies and sends his soul into the ram, who comes back to life; but while this is taking place, the soul of Syah Mardan, wasting no time, reoccupies its own body.

The concluding portion of Hikayat Syah Mardan offers a symbolic presentation of the most important Sufi concepts of fana ('self-effacement') - baqa ('persistence in God') and the Perfect Man. The achievement of the stage of the Perfect Man is, here, a two-step process. A first step - a 'journey to God' - calls for the renunciation of individual will, knowledge and, finally, individual being as such, which together amount to the purification of the Sufi's Divine Self, now able to merge into God. This is fana and 'intoxication', the ecstatic experience of Unity (compare Shabistari 1978:xii, 32-7). The definition of fana by 'Abd aI-Karim al-Jili can greatly facilitate the understanding of the passage under review: When God desires to reveal Himself to a man by means of any Name or Attribute, He causes the man to pass away lfana) and makes him nought and deprives him of his [individual] existence; and when the human light is extinguished and the creaturely spirit passes away, God puts in the man's body, without incarnation (hulu/), a spiritual substance, which is of God's essence and is neither separate from God nor joined to the man, in exchange for what He has deprived him of; which substance is named the Holy Spirit (ruhu'l-quds). And when God puts instead of the man a spirit of His own essence, the revelation is made to that spirit. God is never revealed except to Himself, but we call that Divine spirit' a man' in respect of its being instead of the man. (Nicholson 1921:128.)

However, having reachedfana and, therefore, become a saint (wali), the Sufi does not necessarily remain in the state of ecstatic Union. The condition of 'intoxication' is followed by 'sobriety', a new 'separation', which is the second step along the Path known as 'journey in God'. The Sufi descends to the

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phenomenal world, passing through all the stages of his previous ascent in reverse order. His self returns from non-being, albeit in a totally transformed state, having acquired (or rather having revealed) the Attributes of the Most High: seeing with His eyes, hearing with His ears, and literally living with Him and through Him. To put it differently: 'The man returns from nonbeing having been fully transformed into the absolute Self (Schimmel 1975a: 143). This is how the state of baqa, or perpetual life in God, and the stage of the Perfect Man, a prophet (nabi) or, to be more precise, a saint with prophetic qualities, is attained, for now he is expected to influence the course of events in the phenomenal world and in society (Schimmel 1975a:141-5; Shabistari 1978:39-40). It is the concept dealt with above which was given its symbolic expression in the final episode of Hikayat Syah Mardan under review. Syah Mardan's soul, that exits from his body and enters into that of a dead monkey, signifies his complete liberation from the carnal self and the individual being associated with it. The carnal 'self' (Arabic: nafs) is invariably presented in Sufi literature in the shape of an animal (a fox, a dog, a mouse, and so on) (Nicholson 1966: 39-40). Its appearance here as a monkey can apparently be traced to a verse in the Qur' an which describes some sinners whom Allah turns into' despicable monkeys' (Qur' an 2:61). For the Sufi the most sinful ofsins is the awareness of one's being as individual being (AI-Attas 1970:277, 339). The fact that the monkey climbed to the very top of the tree conveys the passage of nafs towards its natural position. The point is that the Sufi Tree of Creation (not unlikely the beringin songsang - 'a banyan-tree turned upside down' of indigenous Malay mythology) is represented as a reversed tree: its roots are in heaven, its top on the earth. Therefore, the top of the symbolic tree in Hikayat Syah Mardan is its lowest point and the most appropriate 'habitat' for the hero's nafs-monkey (compare Bakhtiar 1976:57; Shabistari 1978:33). The capture by the brahman's soul of Syah Mardan's body is a symbol of fana (compare the above observation on the input of spiritual substance into a body). It may be recalled that during the process of fana the active part is the prerogative of Allah while the traveller-seeker remains passive (Javelidze 1979:265), which explains the motives behind this perfidious capture of the hero's body. There is nothing accidental about the lamentations about the perfidy of the Beloved who steals hearts because it is a universal theme of Persian Sufi lyrics. Moreover, Rumi, in one of the parables from Mathnawi, describes the striving for Union as the pursuit of a thief (Arberry 1961:155-6, 295). The monkey's descent from the tree personifies the transformation of Syah Mardan's self. The struggle Julus al-Asyikin engages upon to regain the body of her husband for his soul indicates that, to reach the stage of the Perfect Man, one must not remain at the stage offana, but proceed from 'intoxication' to 'sobriety' and then begin the descent. Finally, the return of the prince's

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transformed self to the body symbolizes the 'second separation', the passage to the state of baqa and the attainment of the status of the Perfect Man. Hikayat Syah Mardan concludes with an account of the final reunion of Julus al-Asyikin with Syah Mardan and his coronation, after which the young ruler, using his command of magic, transfers Dar al-Kiam, 'like a flying ship', to the gates of his native country Dar al-Khatan. The ruler, or king, is a standard symbol of the Perfect Man, described by Shabistari (1978:36), for instance, in the following words: Afterwards, when he has finished his course, The Truth sets on his head the crown of khalifate.

This transference of Dar al-Kiam to Dar al-Khatan is proof that the Perfect Man, Syah Mardan, has become what Lukman aI-Hakim, the prince's tutor, used to call hayyun fi'l-darayn, 'one who dwells in two countries', which means a person permanently existing in the state of baqa, with his body on the earth and his soul in heaven (Drewes 1975:11). Such is the allegorical meaning of Hikayat Syah Mardan. Even more refined, intricate and difficult to interpret, however, is the Sufi meaning of Hikayat Indraputra, a work, which is not only much longer and more complicated in its compositional structure and plot, but also does not include a directly expressed doctrinal component.

Hikayat Indraputra (the 'Tale of Indraputra') as a Sufi allegory As has already been remarked in Chapter VI, Nuruddin ar-Raniri considered the reading of Hikayat Indraputra inadmissible and hinted that this book did not contain mentions of the name of Allah. His words are indirect evidence of the fact that he may have known about the hikayat only from hearsay or an accidentally heard recitation of a passage from it rather than from an actual reading of the work. The reason is that the name of Allah occurs in Hikayat Indraputra more than seventy times, and its protagonist is a good Muslim who remembers God both while enjoying the beauty of His creation - a fascinating landscape or a 'park of unspeakable loveliness' - and while facing serious dangers. Ironically, Hikayat Indraputra, which, along with Hikayat Seri Rama, was condemned by Nuruddin ar-Raniri as a work that smacked of Hinduism, shows specific features of a Sufi allegory in the spirit of wahdat al-wujud. Thus, it deserved Nuruddin ar-Raniri's criticism for what he used to call heretical views of the 'devious Wujudiyah', rather than for its alleged Hinduism. In contrast to Hikayat Syah Mardan, Hikayat Indraputra does not contain a doctrinal component, which can be used as a kind of intra-textual Sufi commentary on its symbolism. Even so, Sufi place names and personal names, as well as numerous motifs, characteristic of Sufi allegories and occurring

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in their typical sequence, allow us to assume that the hikayat may also have been read as such an allegory. Of no less significance in arguing this point is the foreword to Hikayat Indraputra found in the Brussels manuscript 21509 (Van RonkeI1908:505-7; Mulyadi 1983:3). The very first sentence in this foreword informs the reader that in the work offered to him 'love which has not yet become a pearl is explained by those wise and knowledgeable' (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:1). The identification of love and pearl is not at all a trivial motif in Malay fantastic adventure narratives. Moreover, the pearl is one of the popular Sufi symbols for the Absolute Divine Love (Valiuddin 1966:118, compare Doorenbos 1933:69) and of the First Intellect, or the Universal Spirit (ruh alkulli) in Sufi terms, engendered by It (Ye. Berthels 1965a:365-7). Furthermore, the formation of a peart allegedly from a raindrop, in the oyster's shell, symbolizes in mystical writings the threading of the Sufi Path: The pearl gains its value by its journey from the sea [that is, the source of rain clouds and a symbol of the Divine Essence that gives birth to the Absolute Love and Gnosis] through the cloud and the drop back to its home, changed into a jewel, unable to live without the ocean [... ] (Schimmel 1975a:284).

One can, therefore, interpret the theme of the hikayat, as it is symbolically formulated in the foreword, as a Sufi journey, in the course of which the hero's love acquires the status of the Absolute Love. The theme of a journey, which is referred to in the first sentence implicitly, is expressed explicitly in the structure of the foreword, which consists of three passages (Ali bin Ahmad 1968:1-2; Mulyadi 1983:49-50). The first is, properly speaking, an announcement of the journey ('it is Indraputra whom Raja Syahsian sent to the hermit Berma Sakti [... J'); the second is a list of Indraputra's accomplishments on earth ('it is he who wandered for one month in a cave and killed the snake Mamdud [... J'); the third lists his exploits at sea ('it is Indraputra whom Raja Sjahsian's ministers threw into the sea [... J'). The earth (the bowels of the earth, to be more exact) and the sea are in opposition to one another. Indraputra constantly addresses this in his travels, bringing to mind a passage from the great Persian Sufi poet Jalal aI-Din al-Rumi (the thirteenth century), who says that man is created of reason and passions [... ] a half-snake, half-fish. His fish nature draws him to the sea [that is to the Divine Principle] and his snake nature to the earth [to the creaturely principle], and all his time is spent in this struggle. (ArRumi 1330H:77-8.) .

Belonging to the bowels of the earth are various monsters that Indraputra defeats during his travels: the demon (raksasa) werewolf, the snake, or rather dragon, Mamdud (meaning 'long' in Arabic; the word has the same

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root as madda - 'matter' opposed to 'spirit', compare Ibn Sina 1980:315), the ogre Gurkas (Persian: 'Man from the Bowels of the Earth'). A characteristic feature of all these monsters is that they are guardians of treasure-houses; two of them, Mamdud and Gurkas, of the treasure houses belonging to the king Baharum (Bahram) Tabut,128 the ruler of the city called Dar ad-Damas (Arabic: 'the Abode of Darkness'). In all likelihood, the name Bahram Tabut (Persian: 'Bahram the Coffin') is derived from the name of the Persian king Bahram Gur (Persian: 'Bahram the Grave'), a hero of many Sufi and quasi-Sufi allegorical poems (mathnawi by Nizami, Amir Khusraw Dihlawi, Nawa'i, and others).129 According to these poems, Bahram Gur's craving for sensual pleasures became, in the end, the cause of his disappearance in the well or lake, which was understood by Sufi authors as his absorption by the Primeval Matter (madda al-awwal). One can assume that it was precisely this motif in its Sufi interpretation that led to the transformation of Bahram Gur into the Bahram Tabut of Hikayat Indraputra, the lord of the corporeal world, the Abode of Darkness, and a symbol of the lustful carnal soul (nafs), which the Sufi is to subdue. At the same time, the association of Bahram Gur with caves and treasures, which was also typical of the Persian allegorical poems, gave birth in Hikayat Indraputra to the motif of Bahram Tabut's treasure-houses guarded by his servants (the dragon, the ogre) who symbolized various manifestations of the carnal soul. While the creatures hostile to Indraputra, whom he defeats and whose treasures and talismans he thus obtains, are related to the earth and its bowels, connected with the sea are the benevolent preceptors who impart to the hero supernatural knowledge (princess Seri Ratna Gemala Mehran,130 Derma Gangga, Berma Sakti, Dewa Langkurba). Therefore, the 'sphere of the sea' is, by and large, associated with mystical knowledge that leads the Sufi to an internal transformation. It is noteworthy that in two episodes, particularly important for Indraputra's education, he is instructed by the preceptors (Seri Ratna Gemala Mehran and Berma Sakti) near the sea. These episodes, which represent a kind of 'dramatized lesson', differ clearly from the rest of the work describing the hero's quest, as in the future the hero finds himself involved in the events portrayed in them one more time: he uses in practice, as it were, the knowledge gained during those lessons. The opposition between earth and sea defines the general outline of allegorical meaning of Hikayat Indraputra and indicates what is to be overcome and what is to be gained on the Sufi Path. At the same time, the correspondence between the major structural elements in the hikayat and those in the roughly synchronous Malay Sufi allegory Syair Bahr an-Nisa helps us to determine the principal components of this meaning. These principal components coinciding in the two writings include:

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The protagonist's setting off on a mystical journey; The passing through the seven heavenly spheres correlating with specific degrees of Sufi perfection, which are represented symbolically as seven concentric circles of walls surrounding a fortress or a palace (compare the seven-storeyed palace in Hikayat Syah Mardan); The symbolic representation of the perils of the Path, which result from passions of the carnal soul, in the form of a dragon; The necessity to find an experienced tutor, before setting off on the journey; Four marriages of the protagonist (in the syair, of the Prophet Muhammad, the prototype of the Perfect Man) as the symbol of his attainment to four stages of the Sufi Path (syariat, tarikat, hakikat and ma'rifat; compare four marriages of the hero in Hikayat Syah Mardan); The self-annihilation lfana) of the protagonist as a stepped process (in the syair one of the steps is represented as a circumcision, and in the hikayat, as a chopping of the protagonist into big pieces; another step is called, in the syair, the pounding of the body into dust, and in the hikayat it is portrayed as a chopping of the protagonist into small pieces); The protagonist's Union with God, or the Supreme Beloved, who is symbolically represented as a pearl.

Proceeding from the general outline of the hikayat's allegorical meaning and its principal semantic components, we can interpret the symbolism of its more particular motifs. The mechanism of Hikayat Indraputra's plot has been set in motion by the golden peacock's abduction of the hero from the city bearing the meaningful name of Semantapuri (Frontier City). As has been noted, in the Sufi tradition the peacock symbolizes one of the aspects of the Spirit, which is the aspect of Divine Love radiating from one centre and expanding (Bakhtiar 1976:74). Nuruddin ar-Raniri portrays the Light of Muhammad as a peacock on the top of a tree (see this chapter, above). At the same time, the sojourn in the Borderline City signifies an intermediary position between the spiritual world and the world of creation. Thus the abduction of Indraputra by the peacock symbolizes the hero's tum to the spiritual world under the effect of a sudden inSight, or the awakening of the Sufi's soul (compare the coming of the brahman to the palace and later his sudden disappearance in the forest, which result in the beginning of the protagonist's spiritual journey in Hikayat Syah Mardan). Then there follows an episode in the country of Raja Syahsian whose name means King Bindweed Flower. The bindweed entwining a tree is a symbol of love, and a Persian name for it, sian or sayan, is a synonym of the Arabic word 'ashiqa from which, according to Sufi etymology, the word 'ishq

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('love') is derived (Valiuddin 1966:1). Indraputra undertakes to reach Berma Sakti and obtain a remedy granting progeny for the king. A similar motif is also found in 'Abd aI-Rahman Jami's allegory 'Salaman and Absal' in which the vizier (symbolizing the First Intellect) miraculously provides a son for a king (symbolizing the Intellect of the Sublunary World) suffering without an heir (Jami 1935:428-31). If this analogy is correct, Berma Sakti must be regarded as a symbol of the First Intellect, or the Universal Spirit. The first step of the Sufi Journey is the ascetic renunciation of the world and the return of the soul to its original nature preceding the formation of nafs, the source of all passions and desires. This is, therefore, a 'step back' to the condition of a vegetable soul (Bakhtiar 1976:19). In Hikayat Indraputra, the renunciation of the world is symbolized by the murder of the raksasa whose deceitful and werewolf nature symbolizes the falsehood and changeability of the earthly world dominated by nafs. These properties of the world are usually represented in Sufi works as a creature beautiful outwardly, but evil or ugly inwardly.l3l Laksmana's sword that Indraputra has taken away from the raksasa, symbolizes the spiritual sword of the renunciation of the world with the help of which the prince is able to overcome all his enemies. Indraputra's subsequent fight with the prince of infidel jinns symbolizes the hero's turning to the true faith and the strict observance of the Law (syariat). Remarkably, this fight is preceded by a debate between the princes of faithful and infidel jinns, quite shariatic in its spirit, about landownership and Allah as the only genuine Landowner.1 32 Indraputra's victories over the raksasa and the prince of infidel jinns indicate the completion of the first stage of the Path, the shariat, associated with the Sublunary World, which is usually called the World of Witnessing (alam syahadat) or the World of Humanity (alam nasut) (Doorenbos 1933:101). The attainment of this stage is symbolized by the hero's marrying the princess Jamjam Dewi Gemala Ratna.133 The next stage on the Sufi Path is tarikat. At this stage the wayfarer is to proceed from the material world of witnessing and humanity to the World of Dominion (alam malkaut), the sphere of ideal forms, free from physical matter and perceived by internal senses, primarily by the power of imagination (Doorenbos 1933:101 and also Chapter IV). This part of the Path is especially dangerous. While treading it, the Sufi, who has now begun the deep purification of his soul, the struggle against the source of every desire and the complete concentration on the spiritual core of his self, has to return, as it were, to the domain of nafs and is attacked there by various phantoms, the figments of his imagination (Bakhtiar 1976:19, 28). However, before proceeding to the stage of tarikat, Indraputra has to pass a test and receive instructions from his preceptor, the princess Seri Ratna Gemala Mehran, embodying the 'tranquil soul' (nafsu mutmainah) of a Sufi who has reached the lofty stage of God's slave ('abd).13 4 This is the first of two extensive episodes of Indraputra's mys-

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tical education mentioned above. The test achieves its culmination when the hero must enter the princess's park in the midst of which towers her palace resembling a blazing volcano. The park is surrounded by seven walls of iron, suasa (the alloy of copper and gold), tin, suasa (again?), silver, gold and copper with gates of emerald. The seven walls symbolize seven celestial tiers (or seven paradises, compare their description in Hilazyat Si Burung Pingai) and, on the microcosmic level, seven grades of the Sufi's perfection. 135 The gates in the walls are guarded by 'mechanical' animals and monsters symbolizing the dangers of the Sufi Path (compare Abd al-Jamal's 'landscape'). Similar 'mechanical' guards of the princess's palace also occur in the allegorical mathnawi Haft Paikar (the 'Seven belles') by Nizami (1959:240). Reason suggests to Indraputra that the guards are only an imaginary danger. The prince overcomes them and enters the park symbolizing 'the garden of the soul', the first of the four Qur'anic paradisical gardens (Qur'an 55:46-66). The association of the park of Seri Ratna Gemala Nehran with 'the garden of the soul' can be confirmed by: -

A special importance attached to the passage through the gate, the principal element in the structure of 'the garden of the soul'; The hero's victory over the main temptation of this garden, which is a satisfaction with what has been achieved (the princess tests whether Indraputra wishes to marry her and, thus, to remain in her park forever, giving up his journey, and he passes the test successfully) (compare Bakhtiar 1976:28).

In the garden, Indraputra bathes in the pond and puts on garments given

to him by the princess, that is he acquires sure knowledge (ilmu yakin) and the attributes of a pure soul (compare the motifs of bathing in the pond and donning the 'pure garments' in Hikayat Si Burung Pingai). Afterwards, the princess's maid brings him to the pavilion named Rangga Puspa Berahi (probably the 'Thorns of the Love Flower') in the middle of the park Taman Ghairah (the 'Park of Love Longing'). The walls of the pavilion are of red glass, and its roof of white glass. As red is the colour of the carnal soul (Nizami 1959:253) and white is the colour of purity and Union (Amir Khusraw Dihlawi 1975a:238), the construction of the pavilion alludes to the events which are to take place there. On entering the pavilion, Indraputra sees a mirror of crystal, which is an appropriate symbol of the pure Sufi soul. On the upper edge of the mirror there lies that very love flower after which the pavilion was called. Indraputra is welcomed by two birds, which sprinkle him with water fragrant with spikenard and, enchanted, he plunges into a slumber. Fragrance

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is a common Sufi symbol of the message coming from the Supreme Beloved (Ye. Berthels 1965a:136). The slumber of Indraputra symbolizes, as it seems, hal experienced by him, an ecstatic sensation of intimacy with the Beloved, which, sent to the Sufi at Her Mercy, lasts no longer than an instant (Ye. Berthels 1965a:38, 57; Bakhtiar 1976:98). On the following day Seri Ratna Gemala Mehran gives the prince a talisman in which four jinns reside (compare four jinns presented to Syah Mardan by the leader of syahid who, just like Seri Ratna Gemala Mehran, is a preceptor of the protagonist). In Sufi allegories, jinns symbolize various psychic powers, both positive and negative. 136 After receiving instructions from the princess and her fiance, Dewa Lela Mengerna, Indraputra has been suddenly abducted by the infidel jinn Tamar Boga, father of the prince of infidel jinns killed by the hero. Tamar Boga is going to throw Indraputra into Laut Kulzum (the Red Sea), so that he will be drowned in it. The Pharaoh who personifies, in the Qur' an, the pride, disobedience to God and the striving for the self-deification was drowned in the Red Sea. For this reason, the episode of the abduction by the jinn may be interpreted as a temptation, which threatens the Sufi who can become proud of his achievements, after gaining some knowledge and experiencing hal. If such is the case, it is likely that the killing of Tamar Boga by Indraputra symbolizes the victory of the latter over this temptation. Indraputra kills the jinn and falls on the earth. After that the episode before the gates of the princess repeats, as it were. Now, however, it does not bear the character of a lesson, but is described as if it actually happened. The meadows that surround the fortified palace of Seri Ratna Gemala Mehran correspond to two plains, which Indraputra is to cross. Parenthetically, we cannot rule out the possibility that these two plains, one bare and one covered with grass, are counterparts of two similar plains which, in Risalat al-tuyur (the 'Epistle on birds') by Ibn Sina, symbolize the earthly world (Ibn Sina 1980:201, 328). Seven mountains, behind the plains, which once again symbolize seven heavens and seven virtues, correspond to the seven walls of the princess's park. All the more so, as these mountains are of the same materials as the walls and sometimes are called walls directly (compare Ibn Sina 1980:201, 328-9). The victory of Indraputra over the enchantment of the emerald (or, in some manuscripts, diamond) mountain, enticing the traveller with its sweet singing (compare the bewitching singing of currents in Syair Bahr an-Nisa), is identical to his triumph over the desire to remain in the princess's park ('the garden of the soul') forever. Finally, the eighth mountain, a volcano, corresponds to the princess's palace similar to a volcano, which in all likelihood is a symbol of the Footstool (kursi) under God's Throne. On each mountain birds of various kinds greet Indraputra. The mountains symbolize heavens and each of them is associated with a certain perfection

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embodied in a prophet of Islam (Bakhtiar 1976:97) who lives in a particular heaven (Wilkinson 1932, 11:262). Consequently, the birds may symbolize the souls of Sufis who have achieved the perfection (and, accordingly, the heaven) attained of the respective prophet. A similar motif occurs in Risalat al-tuyur by Ibn Sina (1980:203-4), and the whole episode cannot fail to evoke reminiscences of Sidang Budiman's journey through the heavens in Hikayat Si Burung Pingai (see above). Even on passing seven mountains and reaching beyond the limits of the Physical World (alam syahadat), Indraputra is not yet ready to reach the Footstool. Unable to bear terrible heat, he ignores the order of four jinns who fly with him over the volcano, asks for water and falls on the earth. He still has to travel a lot, now across spiritual worlds, before he achieves the final goal of the Sufi Path. After his fall Indraputra finds himself on the shore of the Sea of Love (Bahr al-Isyk).137 He sees there the princes of the jinns and peris who are enjoying a contest in sailing. Indraputra sends a storm, sinks their ships and then refloats them, thus ensuring the princes' friendship. The whole episode can be interpreted on the basis of a Sufi commentary on one of the parables from Gulistan (the 'Rose garden') by Sa'di (the thirteenth century). The parable tells of a slave who annoyed his king with constant complaints about the hardships of their sea-voyage. A wise man, the king's companion, threw the slave into the sea and then rescued him. Only after having experienced what real danger was, did the slave appreciate the safety of the voyage in the ship (Sa'di 1959:74). The Sufi meaning of the parable is that no learning as such makes a Sufi the possessor of Truth. Only after throwing himself courageously into the sea to experience all its dangers and overcome them - that is by starting the Sufi Path - does a gnostic gain the proper understanding of the Divine Omnipresence (Khaja Khan 1973:6-7). Thus, the episode on the shore of the Sea of Love symbolizes the beginning of the stage of tarikat, the Way. Having left the World of Bodies, Indraputra finds himself in the World of the Soul (alam malakut, alam misal). This is corroborated by an episode about the hero's adventures on the shore of the Sea of Wonders (Bahr al-Ajaib), where Indraputra meets another beautiful princess. While trying to escape two princes of the spirits (mambang) who chase her, she turns, successively, into a lotus, a rose, a diamond and a mango-flower. From the princes Indraputra learns that the princess's father has promised to marry her first to one of them and then to the other. Not knowing how to marry his only daughter to two princes, he has died in despair. Indraputra suggests that the princess lean over the sea, and another beautiful lady, completely identical to her, appears from her reflection. In a general sense, this episode is intended to solve the ontological problem of the origin of multiplicity from singleness: according to the Sufi doctrine, each consecutive grade of Being is a shadow, or reflec-

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tion, of the preceding one. In a more particular sense, this episode indicates Indraputra's being in the alam misal, the reflection of which the physical world is (Bakhtiar 1976:116). Indraputra's sojourn in the alam misal is also confirmed by incessant transformations of the princess observed by him, which are a specific sign of the World of the Soul, the domain of imagination engendering streams of changeable and beautiful, 'blinking' ('coquetting') imagesP8 After settling the dispute of the princes, Indraputra reveals his knowledge of the World of the Soul. Therefore the queen, the princess's mother, rewards him with a casket made of pearl, a symbol of alam misal, in which Indraputra will afterwards hide his wives. This pearl casket is identical to the empty shell of a pearl oyster, in which a pearl will be born. 139 In Sufi literature the shell symbolizes the form, the content of which is mystical knowledge (Shabistari 1978:56-8; Yeo Berthels 1965a:160). For this reason the pearl may be identified with alam misal which is understood as the external form of the first manifestation of Being, which is the Reality (or Light) of Muhammad (Van Nieuwenhijze 1945:339; Nicholson 1921:105), represented as a white pearl (Ye. Berthels 1965a:365-7). The next series of episodes symbolizes Indraputra's ascetic exploits, his struggle with the nafs. It is precisely this struggle, which takes place at the stage of tarikat. The first of Indraputra's exploits is the slaying of the dragon Mamdud personifying desires of the bodily soul (Bakhtiar 1976:19). In Sufi ascetic tradition, the mortification of desires, termed the 'red death', was regarded as an act synthesizing all other achievements on the Sufi Path. Usually the following ayat was quoted as a confirmation that Allah would reward the Sufi who had killed his desires and passions with the light of knowledge: 'Why, is he who was dead, and We gave him life, and appointed for him a light [... J' (Qur' an, 6:122). The ayat was interpreted as a promise that everyone who had been mortified by his ignorance would be restored to life by Gnosis, provided he overcame his passions ('Abd al-Razzaq al-Kashani 1977:58). Interpreted thus, this ayat explains why Indraputra finds in the dragon's head the talisman Bedi Zahir ('Shining', in Arabic), which is capable of dispelling darkness and raising from the dead with its light. After the victory over the 'dragon of desires', Indraputra, thanks to his power of reason, triumphs over beauty symbolized by the princess Candra Lela Nur Lela, the daught~r of the king reigning in the city of Zainun (from Arabic zayn 'ornament', 'embellishment').14o The victory over beauty141 may refer to the Sufi conception of the 'green death', the renunciation of luxury by the ascetic. As 'Abd al-Razzaq al-Kashani (1977:58-9), a famous Sufi writer of the thirteenth-the fourteenth century, put it: Bread, the Sufi's sustenance, becomes green with mould because of his most simple life, whereas his countenance endowed with the essential beauty needs no accidental ornaments.

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Then Indraputra arrives in the country of Dainun (from Arabic dayn, 'subjugation', 'submission') and teaches a lesson to a certain heavenly being (dewa) named Malik Zahab (King Gold, in Arabic). Malik Zahab's wealth depends on a well, which provides water for his flocks of sheep. Thanks to his magic forces Indraputra drains the well, thus showing him that the earthly wealth is transitory. In the city of Dainun Indraputra marries the princess Talela Madu Ratna after defeating the army of the king Gauharjins or Gauharjin whose name means, in Persian, the Pearl-Like, the One From the Genus of Pearls or JinnPearl (compare the pearl casket in which the 'pearls', among them this king's daughter, are hidden).142 The marriage of Indraputra to the princess implies the union of two souls that attain purity. The purity of Indraputra's soul is symbolically tested in his victorious war against Gauharjins's army, and, therefore, his marriage symbolizes the mastery of the stage of tariqat. Soon after the wedding Indraputra receives an invitation from the king Talela Syah to arrive in his city, Semanta Beranta. l43 Thus, the prince's journey to reach the stage of hakikat (the Truth) begins. Semanta Beranta has been desolated by the raksasa-cannibal Gurkas living in the cave Zulmat (Arabic 'Darkness'). In spite of all his stratagems, Talela Syah cannot overcome the monster and asks Indraputra for help. The mention of the word 'stratagem' allows us to regard Talela Syah as a personification of reason (in Hikayat Syah Mardan reason is a concept belonging to the sphere of hakikat). This conjecture is corroborated by the Sufi doctrine of the 'white death', the victory over greed and gluttony of the carnal soul, symbolized by the raksasa-cannibal. According to 'Abd al-Razzaq al-Kashani (1977:58): Hunger illumines the inner essence of man and purifies the face of his heart. If the traveller does not eat he dies the white death, and then his reason is awakened. The stomach mortifies reason, but he whose stomach is dead, his reason is alive.

This explanation helps us to understand why reason (symbolized by Talela Syah) cannot overcome the cannibal in whose cave darkness holds sway (which means that reason cannot function as long as the soul is darkened by gluttony). Indraputra deals with his task successfully. First he builds a wall from the alloy of copper and gold around the city Semanta Beranta to protect the townsfolk. This action is similar to that of Iskandar Zulkarnain who built the copper wall to protect humankind from invasions of the wild tribes of cannibals, Yajuj and Majuj (Gog and Magog). In Sufi commentaries on the Qur'an this deed is viewed as symbolizing the construction of the 'wall of the heart', which is to screen it from the evil effects of the nafs (Bakhtiar 1976:29). After that Indraputra illumines the cave with the talisman Bedi Zahir (symbolizing the light of knowledge) and kills the raksasa with Laksmana's sword (symbol-

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izing renunciation of the world, asceticism). Having done away with Gurkas, the prince enters into Bahram Tabut's treasury which the cannibal guarded and, after passing through it, he finds himself by the gate of a park symbolizing the second of the Qur' anic gardens - 'the garden of the spiritual heart' (Arabic: qalb, Malay: kalbu). Entering this garden the Sufi must leave reason behind (Bakhtiar 1976:29). That is why Talela Syah and his sons, although they enter the park, can only follow Indraputra to its first pond. All alone, Indraputra ascends to the top of a seven-storeyed palace in the midst of the park (compare the seven-storeyed palace, a symbol of the stage of hakikat, in Hikayat Syah Mardan) and learns there the secret of Bahram Tabut's death. Then the prince bathes in the second pond and, in the end, jumps into the third pond, which is connected with the sea (this pond symbolizes the direct connection between 'the garden of the heart' and 'the garden of the Spirit', Bakhtiar 1976:29). Having reached the junction of the pond with the sea, he encounters a mysterious being bearing the name of the aquatic deity - Derma Gangga - that gives him a magical arrow. It seems likely that the junction of the pond and the sea symbolizes the Qur'anic place of 'meeting of the two seas' (majma' al-bahrayn), where the Prophet Musa met the Prophet Khidr (Malay: Khadir) who taught him mystical knowledge (Qur'an, 18:6082; for the Sufi commentary, see Khaja Khan 1973:3-6). In this episode Derma Gangga symbolizes Khadir who is 'in many parts of India identified with a rivergod or spirit of wells and streams' (Gibb and Kramers 1961:235), while the arrow is a symbol of mystical cognition (panah marifat) of Malay incantations and hikayat (Winstedt 1961:203; Van RonkeI1909:130-2). Now Indraputra has mastered the stage of hakikat, to which alam jabarut (the World of Omnipotence; see Chapter IV) corresponds in the hierarchy of the worlds. This world is the domain of operation of Allah's Names and Attributes, which are contemplated by the intellect. The prince's attainment of hakikat is again represented as his marriage, now with Talela Syah's daughter who symbolizes this stage and the spiritual heart.1 44 The path towards Berma Sakti - the First Intellect, or the Universal Spirit - opens before the hero, but first he is to accomplish his last ascetic exploit and defeat not servants of nafs, the dragon and the ogre, but nafs itself. For, at 'the station of the Spirit [... ] only a kernel of individuality of the mystic remains' (Bakhtiar 1976:30). Just as the princess Seri Ratna Gemala Mehran symbolizing the 'tranquil soul', Bahram Tabut, the symbol of the carnal soul, lives behind seven walls. However, these walls stand not for the seven tiers of heaven corresponding to higher levels of the World of the Soul, but for the seven tiers of the earth (Wilkinson 1932, 11:262) corresponding to its lower levels. Accordingly, the walls around his city are built not from shining metals and precious stones, but from black stone, and the city itself is called the City of Darkness.

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On learning that Gurkas has been killed, Bahram Tabut flies into rage and sends jinn with a humiliating letter to Indraputra. However, the prince turns the a jinn's head front to back, thus showing his reluctance to obey the carnal soul. Then he frightens Bahram Tabut to death, by sending to him the four jinns, which symbolizes that powers of the soul are submissive to the hero. Furthermore, he provides the jinns with the arrow of Derma Gangga, the symbol of Gnosis, and the tablet on which the way of killing Bahram Tabut is described. The king of the City of Darkness acknowledges his defeat without delay. The whole episode is based on the Sufi concept that, contrary to the desires of nafs, the nafs itself is not to be killed, but only subjugated, so that its evil qualities will be replaced with good ones (Schimmel 1975a:113). After nafs has been subjugated, the spouse of Seri Ratna Gemala Mehran shows Indraputra the way to the hermit Berma Sakti. The prince reaches a wide plain and suddenly sees a bright radiance in the midst of it, symbolizing the Light of Muhammad, or the First Intellect (the Universal Spirit). However, in spite of all his efforts, Indraputra cannot come closer to the radiance, which reveals that it is alien to spatial limitations. Only after the hero's prayer does an old man in a turban appear in the radiance, while the radiance itself turns into a park. Indraputra enters the park and finds Berma Sakti surrounded by his disciples there. This episode evokes associations with the concluding part of the allegory by the Persian poet Sana'i (the eleventh-the twelfth century), the 'Journey of the slaves to the place of return' (Ye. Berthels 1960:412, 1965a:323). The allegory portrays a certain country flooded with radiant light, in which the Sufi lives blissful life under the auspices of the First Intellect. The park, which Indraputra enters, stands for the third of the Qur' anic gardens - 'the garden of the Spirit' divided, in accordance with the Sufi tradition, into the lower and upper parts (Bakhtiar 1976:30). Corresponding to its lower level, in Hikayat Indraputra, is the part of Berma Sakti's hermitage in which Indraputra arrives, and to its upper level, the part of the hermitage situated on the hill. The hill towers over the island called Makam Khairani (the Station of Ecstasy) in the sea Bahr an-Nahr (the Sea of the River, or the Sea of the Well; the River (nahr) of Muhammad is another name for the paradisical well kautsar). There Indraputra sees Berma Sakti's palace and his pond surrounded by fruit-trees and receives a white lotus, the remedy granting progeny, from the hermit. 145 The sojourn in Berma Sakti's hermitage is the second extensive episode of Indraputra's mystical education, which, like the episode in the park of Seri Ratna Gemala Mehran, represents a 'dramatized lesson'. The most important moment of this 'lesson' is the scene on the Plain of Luminous Flowers (Padang Puspa Cahaya), one more symbol of the radiant World of the Spirit. At Berma Sakti's will a sword flies three times from behind a curtain

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screening the throne of the hermit and cuts his disciples into pieces, each time progressively smaller. Twice Indraputra manages to revive the disciples with the help of his shining talisman Bedi Zahir; however, the third time he proves unable to restore them to life. The episode demonstrates symbolically that the prince's Sufi experience is still insufficient for resurrection after the complete annihilation of his individual self lfana - the 'black death', 'Abd al-Razzaq al-Kashani 1977:59-60) and for the attainment of the state of baka - 'eternal life with God'. Therefore, Berma Sakti gives him a talisman capable of reviving the disciples, and this symbolizes the mystical knowledge essential to tread the final stage of the Sufi Path. Having procured the lotus flower, Indraputra returns to the kingdom of Raja Syahsian. The king with his spouse eat the flower and the queen gives birth to a daughter, Mengindra Seri Bunga - the Radiant Royal Flower 146 - who is to become Indraputra's wife. However, envious ministers of Raja Syahsian slander the prince, and the king gives orders to throw him into the sea. There Indraputra finds himself in the city of Dewi Langkurba, the queen of sea jinns and peris and grandmother of the princess Seri Ratna Gemala Mehran. Happy to learn that the princess has acknowledged Indraputra as her brother, Dewi Langkurba proclaims the prince her adoptive grandson, appoints him the ruler of her country and gives him a piece of magical cloth 'similar to a dewdrop', which is capable of healing any disease. There is little doubt that Dewi Langkurba is none other than Sakurba, or Segerba, the heavenly nymph who, in Hikayat Cekel Waneng Pati, has healed Raden Inu of his incurable disease with drops of blood from her breast. In Hikayat Indraputra, however, she seems to symbolize the Universal Soul (nafs al-kulli). This follows from her being the queen of jinns and peris who symbolize psychic forces (Bakhtiar 1976:45) and, at the same time, the grandmother of Seri Ratna Gemala Mehran, a personification of the 'tranquil soul' of the Sufi who has reached the final stage of the Path. In addition, she lives in the sea, the sphere of the Divine Knowledge. Moreover, the Universal Soul is identified with the Well-Preserved Tablet (lauh al-mahfuz) on which this Knowledge is recorded (Nicholson 1921:116). The renunciation of the world, mortification of passions, victory over nafs and the attainment of the domains of the Universal Spirit and the Universal Soul - all this testifies to Indraputra's readiness to proceed to the stage of Cognition (ma'ri/at), self-annihilation in God lfana) and eternal life with God (baqa). Now he is prepared to achieve Union with the Divine Essence (zat), identical to Absolute Love (isyki mutlak) (Nicholson 1921:102). It is precisely of this final stage of the Sufi Path that the concluding part of the hikayat tells. Having returned from Dewi Langkurba's city, Indraputra, with the help of a magical cloth, cures the serious disease of Mengindra Seri Bunga from which she has suffered since she was twelve years old. Mengindra Seri Bunga's

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recovery from the disease, after Indraputra has covered her with Dewi Langkurba's cloth, symbolizes the princess's purification from the last traces of the creaturely principle147 and her resurrection through the attainment of Union with the Universal Soul.148 Thus, Mengindra Seri Bunga is born of the Universal Spirit (thanks to Berma Sakti's lotus) and revived by the Universal Soul (thanks to Dewa Langkurba's cloth), which means symbolically that her spirit is one with the Universal Spirit and her soul with the Universal Soul. This allows her to become a personification of the Divine Essence, the Supreme Beloved and Absolute Love (compare Nicholson 1921:197). Two series of Sufi symbols - floral and pearly - confirm the assumption that Mengindra Seri Bunga may personify Absolute Love. Her name means the Kingly Flower, and she is born after her father and mother have eaten a lotus flower from 'the garden of the Spirit'. Her father's name is Syahsian, King Bindweed Flower (sian). It is only natural that a princess born to the king named Sian (Arabic:'ashiqa) should serve as a symbol of Absolute Love (Arabic: 'ishq), as etymologically the word 'ishq is derived from 'ashiqa. In the concluding part of the hikayat Indraputra's wives symbolizing the stages of the Sufi Path are likened to four petals of a flower, the most beautiful of them being Mengindra Seri Bunga. No less remarkable is also the fact that the princess is healed with the help of a cloth 'similar to a dewdrop' or a drop of vapour (the Malay word embun means both, Wilkinson 1932, 1:300). Drops of the vapour from the Divine Sea, which stand for God's Grace in Sufi symbolism, become pearls in the shell of pearl-oysters. A pearl, in its tum, symbolizes the Essence of God (Shabistari 1978:56-8) as well as the Light of Muhammad and Absolute Love (Doorenbos 1933:69) with which the princess is identified. Thus, the series of pearl symbols: -

is introduced, in the foreword to Hikayat Indraputra, by the phrase about love which is to become a pearl; is continued with the image of a pearl casket symbolizing alam misal; is consummated by the image of the princess who owes her healing to the cloth identical to a drop of vapour and who, therefore, has become the pearl mentioned in the foreword; no wonder the princess sits on the throne in the palace into which the pearl casket, identical to the shell of a pearl oyster, has been transformed.

As a symbol of God's Essence and Absolute Love, Mengindra Seri Bunga also figures in a very important episode of the princess's and Indraputra's journey on board a miraculous ship to the island of Pelinggam Cahaya (Luminous Marble?). In fact, Indraputra's ship is a kind of a floating park

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with flowers and trees of every description, a pond full of pearl shells (!) and, most importantly, with one more throne for the princess, surrounded by an octagonal screen made of multicoloured glass. Each side of the screen has its specific colour and symbolizes one of the heavens. The throne itself is a symbol of the ninth heaven, the sphere of arasy, the Divine Throne (unlike Seri Ratna Gemala Mehran's palace which, surrounded by only seven walls, stands for the eighth heaven, the sphere of kursi, the footstool). The princess sitting on the throne personifies the Divine Essence, or the Beloved One, and her garments changing their colour as she faces different sides of the screen symbolize Divine Attributes, which manifest themselves differently on every level of the Universe. It is noteworthy that a similar symbolic image occurs in 'Abd aI-Rahman Jami's ruba'i about Fixed Essences (ayan sabitah): All Fixed Essences are multicoloured pieces of glass. Lit with a beam of the Sun of Being; If the glass is red, yellow or blue, The sun seems to be of the same colour. (Ye. Berthels 1965a:464.)

The description of God's Being from a poem by Abd aI-Jamal (see this chapter, above) may be quoted as a commentary on the passage about the princess in the boat of Indraputra. In that poem the Divine Being, identified with the Supreme Beloved, is reflected differently in numerous mirrors that is in various spiritual and material worlds arranged hierarchically. Abd alJamal compares It to dalang, the puppeteer, who gives his performance in a floating pavilion (Doorenbos 1933:73). A counterpart of the dalang in Hikayat Indraputra is the princess, of his performance, her turning to different sides of the screen of multicoloured glass, and of the floating pavilion, the ship of Indraputra. The miraculous ship with its fruit-trees, flowers and ponds symbolizes the fourth Qur'anic garden, 'the garden of the Essence'. After entering it, the Sufi is to experience the complete annihilation of his self. 'The only peril in this garden is to the mystic's individuality, for it dies a spiritual death' (Bakhtiar 1976:30). The concluding chapters of the hikayat tell precisely of this spiritual death, the attainment of the state of fana by Indraputra. Just as the disciples of Berma Sakti in the second episode of Indraputra's Sufi education, the hero dies three times killed by the princes (the suitors of Mengindra Seri Bunga) who chop him into smaller and smaller pieces. And three times, again like those disciples, he is restored to life (now by his wives): first with the help of the talisman Bedi Zahir, then with Berma Sakti's talisman. 149 In the end, Indraputra marries Mengindra Seri Bunga, and this symbolizes his mastery of ma'rifat, the final stage of the Path, and achievement of Union with the Essence. After that Indraputra returns home triumphantly, that is, attains the

742

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

state of baka, and ascends the throne of sultan, which means, in Sufi terms, that he reaches the rank of Perfect Man. Such are the general outlines of the allegorical meaning of Hikayat Indraputra. Even if the interpretation of some episodes of the tale needs corrections, changes or further confirmation, its similarity to a description of the Sufi Path is too far-reaching to be accidental. This family likeness' reveals itself in many features of the hikayat. On the one hand, it shows an unmistakable resemblance to such Sufi allegories as Syair Bahr an-Nisa, Hikayat Si Burung Pingai and Hikayat Syah Mardan, both in structure and in symbolic images. On the other hand, the possibility of allegorical interpretation on one of the levels of its reading is evidenced by the symbolism of the four ascetic deaths (red, green, white and black), four paradisical gardens corresponding to the stages of the Sufi Path and four marriages representing the mastery of these stages. Running through the whole body of the text, these symbols are interlaced with the allegorical motifs of pearl and flower, which are also unfolded in no less consistent and logical a manner. I

Notes Manuscripts representing this sphere, that is Islamic literature per se, are particularly numerous and amount to more than fifty per cent of all Malay manuscripts. For their descriptions, see Leiden, Paris, Jakarta and British catalogues mentioned throughout this book (their data are briefly summarized in Howard 1966). Besides minor collections in Brunei and Singapore, there are also rich collections of Islamic manuscripts in Malaysia (their catalogues were published between 1984-1993 in the Siri Bibliografi Manuskrip) and a particularly interesting collection in Tanoh Abee, Aceh (Indonesia). For catalogues of all these collections, see Chambert-Loir and Oman 1999:143-4, 163-4; Abdullah and Dahlan al-Fairussy 1980; Ali 1993. Serious work on the description, summarizing and editing of Islamic texts has recently been started in Malaysia (see for instance, Shaghir Abdullah 1991 which contains extensive summaries, sometimes editions, of sixty-eight works from Malaysian collections; Mahayuddin Hj. Yahaya 1994 with its summaries of seventy-four works from different collections in Aceh). The number of editions is also constantly increaSing. Brakel (1975:18-9, 50-1) and Chapter II. Although certain narratives about the Prophet Muhammad may have been known or even translated into Malay in Pasai at an earlier time, much stronger philological evidence is needed to consider all of them to be works of Pasai literature, preceding Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyah and Hikayat Amir Hamzah, as Iskandar (1995:120) does. A manuscript of Hikayat Nur Muhammad, copied by a Banjarese, Ahmad Syamsuddin, for the queen of Aceh, Taj al-Alam Safiyatuddin, and dated 1668/9, is kept in Jakarta (Van Ronkel 1909:223-4). This work is entitled Ta'rikh mukhtasar (the 'Short history') in its colophon. On the basis of the information contained in the colophon Winstedt (1991:70) considered Ta'rikh mukhtasar to be a Malay translation of the Persian composition Rawdat al-ahbab (the 'Heavenly garden of the enamoured'), and the latter, in its turn, a translation of the Arabic treatise' Umdat al-

VIII Muslim hagiography and Sufi literature

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ansab (the 'Support in [the knowledge of] ancestry'). However, Voorhoeve (1952b:207-8) showed that the data of the colophon were inaccurate. The work composed in Aceh in 1668/1669 by an anonymous author was not a translation of Umdat al-ansab into Malay, but Umdat al-ansab itself, written in Arabic. In fact, this work in Arabic represented a translation of only one fragment from Rawdat al-ahbab, an extensive composition by the Persian author' Ata'ullah ibn Fadlullah Jamal alHusaini, written in 1494/5. Therefore, it is 'Umdat al-ansab that was a translation from Persian, not the other way round as Winstedt believed. When the above-mentioned literal and rather clumsy Malay translation of 'Umdat al-ansab appeared, remains unknown. Yet, Voorhoeve did not exclude the possibility that it dated back to the reign of the same queen, Taj al-Alam Safiyatuddin. However that may be, Hikayat Nur Muhammad was known in the Malay world long before 1668/9. As early as the beginning of the seventeenth century its Malay version existed in south Sumatra. This is evidenced by the manuscript of the hikayat in Lampung characters (which could hardly precede its manuscripts in Jawi) that was given by J. Trefusis to the Bodleyan Library in Oxford (Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:105). It does not seem unlikely that narratives about the Light of Muhammad, going back to different Persian (?) works, were translated into Malay more than once. If such was the case, Ismail Hamid is possibly right in his statement that Hikayat Nur Muhammad (one of its versions, to be more exact) represents a translation of the Persian work Tarjumah mawlid aI-Mustafa (the 'Rendition of [the story of] the Chosen Prophet's birth']. This work, that tells in detail about the origin of the Light of Muhammad and the childhood of the Prophet, was originally composed in Arabic by AI-Kazaruni and later, in 1331, translated into Persian by his son' Afif ai-Din (Ismail Hamid 1983:55). Considering the 'Persian tinge' and the wide spread in the Archipelago via the intermediary of a Malay version or versions, Winstedt (1991:69) numbered Hikayat Nur Muhammad among works belonging to 'the Indo-Persian phase' of Malay Islamic literature, that is the period before the seventeenth century. It would be little wonder if further study showed that the first Malay translation of this work had appeared in the early Islamic era, probably in Pasai between the fifteenth and the beginning of the sixteenth century (compare Iskandar 1995:119). For its edition, see Mulyadi (1968), there is also a translation of the hikayat into Dutch (Raat 1858).

4

5

From Arabic: ghazawa - 'to wage a [holy] war'. For hikayat about the wars waged by the Prophet Muhammad, see Ismail Hamid (1983:62,

71, 76-7, 1989:41-5).

7 In this statement one can discern a hidden polemic of the author (or the author of his source) against a well-known hadith, quoted and commented on in detail in Fusus al-hikam (the 'Bezels of the wisdom') by Ibn al-' Arabi, in which the Prophet says that three things dearest to his heart are women, fragrances and prayer (Ibn al-' Arabi 1975:117; compare Schimmel 1975a:272).

Van Ronkel 1909:187; Ismail Hamid 1989:107-8. The mention of Rabi'ah's working as a maid in AI-Junayd's house (AI-Junayd died in 910) is an obvious anachronism which probably owes its origin to numerous stories about her friendship with another famous ascetic, Hasan al-Basri, who even asked the woman-saint to become his wife (Arberry 1966:46). It seems likely that this event may have given rise to the motif of the king who proposed to Rabiah but was refused, just as happened to Hasan al-Basri. The name of Syaikh Abd ai-Qadir al-Jilani has been known in the Malay world since the time of Hamzah Fansuri (the late sixteenth-the early seventeenth century) who became a member of the Qadiriyah order and often referred to the teachings of the shaykh in his poems. Manaqib (Arabic: 'the word of praise') of Abd ai-Qadir, translated into many languages of the Archipelago including Malay (see the hikayat mentioned above), was often recited on different

9

744

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

occasions. However, its earliest translation into Malay, Hikayat Seh (the 'Tale of Sheikh') based on the Arabic work Khulasat al-mafakhir (the 'Essence of laudation') by AI-Yafi'i, appeared in Banten in the seventeenth century (Drewes and Poerbatjaraka 1938). About the reverence for, if not a cult of, Abd ai-Qadir in Indonesia and the spread of the Qadiriyah there, see Van Bruinessen (1995:207-22). For Syaikh Muhammad Samman, revered in Indonesia no less than Abd ai-Qadir, and Sammaniyah, see Van Bruinessen (1995:55-87). 10 For manuscripts of Hikayat Sultan Ibrahim ibn Adham belonging to both recensions (five to the long recension and seven to the short), their relationship, editions and the date of the work, see Jones 1985:15-40. Jones's edition of the long recension also contains its English translation. The earliest manuscript of the short recension, which is dated 1689 was published by Roorda van Eysinga (1822). For other older publications of it, see Lenting (1846); Regensburg (1891).

This recension also omits Sultan Ibrahim's exhortations about the ascetic practice, addressed to the guardian of Siti Saleha's garden, Syaikh Ismail; his preaching of the principles of Sufi ethics (patience, gratitude, contentment with one's fate and surrender to the Will of Allah) to a Bedouin whom he met, as well as the deliberation of Sultan Ibrahim's son, Muhammad Tahir, about the art of just rulership (Jones 1968:16-9). 11

12 Tales of Ibrahim ibn Adham, embellished with many fictitious details, occur in Persian, Turkish, Urdu and Kashmiri literatures. In the Malay-Indonesian world the Malay hikayat about him was translated into the Sundanese, Javanese, Acehnese and Buginese languages (Jones 1971:986). There are three interesting Central Asian versions of this narrative: the mathnawi Adham-nama (the 'Book of [Ibrahim ibn) Adham') by Bukhari 'Ismat (died 1425); the mathnawi of the Tajik poet of the nineteenth century, 'Abd ai-Latif and the anonymous Uzbek dastan Qissa-yi Ibrahim ibn Adham (the 'Tale of Ibrahim ibn Adham') (Ye. Berthels 1965a:184-6). Although their plots saturated with dramatic events differ considerably from that of the Malay hikayat, they include three key motifs of the latter: the successive ascetic repudiation of the throne, the wife and the son.

This hypothesis was offered by Brakel (1969:210) who found no evidence whatsoever that Hamzah Fansuri died before the reign of Sultan Iskandar Muda. Sharing rather his opinion than that of Drewes (Drewes and Brakel 1986:1-3), the present author is inclined to presume that Hamzah did live in the epoch of Iskandar Muda at least until 1620 when Beaulieu visited Aceh (for the elaboration of this hypothesis based on a detailed interpretation of the passage from Beaulieu quoted above, see V. Braginsky 1999:163-72). The only argument of Drewes against this hypothesis is the fact that we do not find the terms for the system of seven grades of Being in Harnzah's work. Although this is true indeed, the argument does not seem strong enough. It is difficult to understand why Hamzah - who at the tum of the sixteenth century (when the system of seven grades became known in Aceh) was most probably not young and who had hitherto adhered to the doctrine of five stages, which he had taken over from his master (in Baghdad?) - should abruptly change his views in favour of a newer and more 'fashionable' doctrine. Moreover, both doctrines are not so different in their essence. 13

14 Drewes and Brakel 1986:74. Here and below all the translations from Harnzah's poems belong to the present author; references to the book by Drewes and Brakel (1986) point to the Malay original of the poems. 15 From the times of the well-known works of Snouck Hurgronje (1906) and Kraemer (1921), many scholars have attempted to reconstruct at least the main landmarks of Harnzah Fansuri's biography (Doorenbos 1933; Van Nieuwenhuijze 1945; AI-Attas 1966, 1967, 1970; Brakel 1969, 1979a; Hasjmy 1976, 1984; Drewes and Brake11986; Bukhari Lubis 1993; Teeuw 1994; Abdul Hadi 1995a, 1995b; Shaghir bin Abdullah 1996), the most recent among them being the present author

VIII Muslim hagiography and Sufi literature

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(V. Braginsky 1999). However, so far Malay studies have not yet had at their disposal any fully reliable information about the poet's life. Thus, everything known about Hamzah represents a sum total of hypotheses, more or less well grounded. Even the dates of his birth and death are unknown, although all the above-mentioned scholars are in agreement that he lived in the second half of the sixteenth century. Nevertheless, they disputed about whether Hamzah died in the 1590s or was still alive in the early decades of the seventeenth century. The old materials were summarized and new ones quoted to substantiate the first point of view by Drewes (Drewes and BrakeI1986:2-3) and the second one by the present author (V. Braginsky 1999). However in the article published in 2000, Guillot and Kalus informed Malayists that among papers of the late Gaston Wiet - a former director of the Museum of Arab Art in Cairo, who had been compiling the Corpus d'inscriptions de la Mecque - they found a copy of the inscription on the funerary stele of Hamzah Fansuri, who died on 11 April, 1527. The stele was originally discovered by Wiet's assistant Hasan el-Hawary in 1934 in the Meccan cemetery Bab al-Ma'la. To confirm the authenticity of the stele the French scholars quoted some arguments, which, as they believe, show that Hamzah could have lived in the fifteenth century (Guillot and Kalus 2000). Needless to say, the article is of great importance for the study of Hamzah's biography, and yet its authenticity remains problematical. The point is that we have neither a rubbing (estampage) nor even a photograph of the inscription, which, in addition, shows no specifically Malay features, except for the nisba al-Fansuri. Therefore, if only one letter or even one diacritical dot in the nisba was read incorrectly (for instance, Mansuri or Fanquri or Qasuri instead of Fansuri), the stele may have nothing to do with Hamzah Fansuri, the Malay Sufi poet. Such an incorrect reading is all the more possible as: 1. The stele was found in Mecca, the city where a Sufi sheikh from any corner of the Muslim world could have been buried; 2. Not only the names of cities were used as nisba, but also the names of individual quarters, streets, villages and tribes, as well as nicknames, names of professions and even names of peoples with whom close relationships were established; 3. Nothing is known about how damaged the inscription was (at least the end of it is illegible). However, it is known that Hasan el-Hawary copied the inscription in very bad conditions in the overcrowded cemetery (that is why he could not make rubbings) and his original copy was recopied twice afterwards, so that it reached Guillot and Kalus 'through a third hand'. As for the additional arguments of the two scholars, none of them is decisive, as each can be countered with an alternative, so that in the end we remain only with the nisba again. All this the present author expounded in detail in his article (V. Braginsky 2001a), emphasizing that only a new, second discovery of the stele, in which Malaysian and Indonesian scholars who have access to Mecca are to play the main role, can either dispel the doubts or, on the contrary, confirm their strength. This second discovery has not taken place so far, while the answer of Guillot and Kalus (2001) to the author adds only one new argument (or rather observation) as indecisive and ambiguous as all those quoted in their first article. For this reason, the author prefers, for the time being, to keep to the second half of the sixteenth-the first decades of the seventeenth century as the date of Hamzah Fansuri's lifetime on the grounds substantiated in his article (V. Braginsky 1999). 16 Doorenbos 1933:62-3; Al-Attas 1970:10-1. Drewes (Drewes and Brakel 1986:8-11) assumed that mentioning Kudus Hamzah implied Al-Quds Gerusalem). For some new evidence that Hamzah may have mean Kudus in Java rather than Jerusalem, see V. Braginsky (1988b:124-6, 141-3). 17 Contrary to the opinion of a few researchers into Malay literature (for instance, Al-Attas 1970:9-10; Drewes and Brakel 1986:4-8) and again in agreement with a hypothesis offered by Brakel (1969:206-9), the present author asumes that Hamzah experienced Sufi Union with God in Shahr-i Naw (Malay: Syahr Nu, Iskandar 1958:154, 174) in Aceh, not in Ayuthia, the capital city of Siam, which is also called Shahr-i Naw in Persian. For some arguments in favour of this assumption, additional to those quoted by Brakel, see V. Braginsky (1988b:157-60, 1997:110-2).

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature

18 Drewes (Drewes and BrakeI1986:96-8, 165) believed that the Malay word corresponding to this, which is repeated in the syair again and again, should be read sekali ('once', 'now') and not segala ('all', 'everyone'). Consequently, he criticized AI-Attas (1970:17-8) for his reading of this word and interpretation of the poem, identical to that offered by the present author. However, in Leiden manuscript Cod. Or. 2016 (p. 89), the oldest manuscript of Hamzah's works, the reading segala is absolutely clear (in this manuscript the word in question is systematically written with three diacritical dots under letter 'kat'). Moreover, nothing in the semantics of the syair is in contradiction to this reading.

The main manuscripts of the three prose treatises by Harnzah are those kept in Leiden: Cod. Or. 2016 (dated 1704) including, inter alia, Syarab al-asyikin (the 'Drink of lovers') (Wieringa 1998a:230-3); Cor. Or. 7291 including Syarab al-asyikin, Asrar al-arifin (the 'Secrets of the gnostics') and Al-muntahi (the' Adept') (Iskandar 1999, 1:403-4); Cor. Or. 1952 containing a fragment from Al-muntahi (Wieringa 1998a:177-8). For some other fragments of Hamzah's prose works, see Index of Authors under Hamzah Fansuri in Iskandar (1999, 11:1036). There are also Javanese translations of Syarab al-asyikin and Al-muntahi, for the description of their manuscripts and their edition, see Drewes and Brakel (1986:226-77). Syarab al-asyikin and Asrar al-arifin were published by Doorenbos (1933) and republished together with Al-muntahi and translated into English by AI-Atlas (1970). For the criticism of Doorenbos's edition, see Drewes (1933); AI-Atlas (1970:20620). There are also translations of Syarab al-asyikin, Asrar al-arifin and a number of Harnzah's poems into Russian (V. Braginsky 1982:363-73, 1988b:283-340). 19

AI-Atlas 1970:237, 292-4. Translations from Hamzah's prose works here and below belong to the present author, references to the book by AI-Atlas (1970) point to their Malay originals. As every syair by Harnzah ends with the stanza (bait) including his name, which somewhat conditionally can be called' takhallus stanza' (actually, takhallus is nom de plume of the poet), all his syair taken together form a fairly detailed autobiography of the poet as a Sufi. By and large, in the takhallus stanzas, with examples taken from his own experience, Harnzah illustrates such fundamental verities of Sufism as: the origin of the adept from the Sea of God's Essence; the adept's abiding, although sometimes not consciously, in his true self - the spark of the Divine Spirit within his heart - thanks to which he can achieve Union with the Beloved One or, like the Prophet Muhammad, reach the proximity of 'two bows' to God; the adept's incessant, although not always successful, struggle with his carnal soul and worldly temptations; his experiencing different Sufi states, which leads him to the mystical cognition of his true self - the only 'place' where the adept should seek the Most High, and so on (compare BrakeI1979a:81; Drewes and Brakel 1986:4). Unfortunately, only one takhallus stanza was commented on by Hamzah himself. However, a few more explanations of this kind can be found in the syarh ('commentary') by Syamsuddin of Pasai on Hamzah's verses (Hasjmy 1976; Drewes and Brakel 1986:190-226; Shaghir bin Abdullah 1996:43-91). The information contained in Harnzah's takhallus stanzas is complex in its nature. Usually it is presumed that one part of this information is related to actual events of the poet's life (his' earthly biography'), whereas another part, being his 'spiritual biography', can only contribute to the understanding of his mystical doctrine. This division seems to be rather artificiaL The reason is that Sufism is by no means a kind of abstract, 'armchair' philosophy. The latler, not being directly related to the existential aspects of personality, can in principle be studied anywhere and at any time; moreover the philosopher can interrupt his meditations at any moment and return, so to speak, to his everyday physical biography. Totally different is the 'work' of Sufi Gnosis, which is immediately connected precisely with the existential aspects of the adept's self, and which represents nothing less than a special way of life. Sufi Gnosis is an experimental knowledge: the adept gains it not at the moment when he knows something about a certain thing (although this is also important), but when that thing is directly perceived, seen, experienced, 'lived through' by him. And if the knowledge gained is part and parcel of personal experience, then it - in its 'bodily' or' earthly' dimension - is a segment of biography, an event, which takes place in certain 20

VIII Muslim hagiography and Sufi literature

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circumstances of time and space. For this reason, all the data of Harnzah's takhallus stanzas about his earthly life are intimately related to his mystical experiences and, vice versa, his mystical experiences mentioned in such stanzas are 'lived through', hence intimately related to events of his earthly life and can be marked on the 'map' of his life. Thus, virtually every takhallus stanza of Hamzah, with the exception of only several obvious cases, has two meanings - biographical and mystical - at one and the same time. This observation is important not only for the reconstruction of the poet's biography, but also for a better understanding of Sufi plot-based allegories (see below). Remarkably, more often than not, the connection between the two meanings in syair by Hamzah, with his masterly command of all nuances of the Malay poetical language, is based on the refined play on words and allusions (for more details and a number of commentaries, both biographical and doctrinal, on Hamzah's takhallus stanzas see V. Braginsky 1999:139-51). For the biography and doctrines of these three outstanding Sufi sheikhs, see Margoliuth 1907; Dar 1963; Salik 1978; 'Abdul Qadir Gilani 1990; Afifi 1939; Corbin 1969; Izutsu 1967; Nicholson 1921:77-142.

21

For the sake of rhyme these two pairs of translations are somewhat provisional: in fact, the first pair means 'making stripped from - making alone (separated)" and the second 'disentanglement - isolation'.

22

23 For the Ashrafi dinar and literature about it, see Al-Attas (1967:51); Brakel (1969:209); Iskandar (1958:108).

The main manuscripts of Hamzah's syair are: Jakarta manuscript Malay 83 (Van Ronkel 1909:362); Leiden manuscripts Cod. Or. 2016 (see note 18), Cod. Or. 3372, 3374 (Iskandar 1999, 1:175-7). For individual stanzas by Harnzah quoted in works of other authors, see 'Index of authors' under Hamzah Fansuri in Iskandar (1999, II:I036) and Drewes and Brakel (1986:2732). Hamzah's syair were published by Doorenbos (1933), mostly from Cor. Or. 2016 (see also the review by Drewes (1933)) and, on the basis of Jakarta Malay 83 with English translation, by Drewes (Drewes and BrakeI1986). Drewes' edition of the poems by Harnzah provoked contradictory responses: a most positive assessment in the review by Johns (1990) and no less radically negative an evaluation in the review article by Sweeney (1992). Unfortunately, the latter (apart from some excesses of polemics) seems to be more adequate. The only point about which both authors agree is that the most valuable part of Drewes' work is that concerning the role played by Arabic language and Arabic sources (the Qu'ran, hadith, and so on) in Hamzah's poetry. An analysis of the two reviews is far beyond the scope of this book. However, one cannot but regret that Sweeney ascribes all the shortcomings of the book under review to its authors, which means Drewes and Brake!. Of course, considering the names on the title page, Sweeney could not act otherwise. However, both Brakel's materials and his ideas on Hamzah's biography and poetry were completely ignored by Drewes, who published the book after Brakel's death. 24

In the original we find the word pakaian, which means both 'attire', 'garment' and 'practice'; this is an example of the playing on words so typical of Hamzah.

25

The impact of the imagery of classical Persian poets on Hamzah's verse has been studied, although rather superficially, by Kraemer (1921:42-3), Doorenbos (1933) and in particular Brakel (1979a:92-6).

26

27

28

Al-Attas 1970:390-1. Translations by AI-Attas. In the quotations below Lama'at stands for Iraqi (1982).

748 29

The heritage of traditional Malay literature Saqi (Persian) - 'cup-bearer'.

30 Malay: takarnya nyata. This reading is found in Cod. Or. 2016, p. 92 (fol. 46r.); in the edition of Drewes and Brakel (1986:100): takarnya batu - 'cup of stone'. If the latter reading is correct, then a precious stone is most probably implied, as a 'melted ruby' is a standard metaphor for wine in Persian poetry Gami 1964:150).

The love motifs discussed below are taken from, respectively, seventy ghazal collected in the book by Jami (1971) and syair Hamzah Fansuri in the edition by Drewes and Brakel (1986: 84-6, 92-6, 102-4). 31

32

That is, the writing brush.

This line and the next are characteristically Malay. Normally the word rantau implies 'reach of a river'; in combination with teluk - 'bay' (mentioned in the next line) rantau forms a 'binom' meaning 'all the territories of the river-State' (Wilkinson 1932, 11:314), which probably explains the train of associations which bring both words into the poem. At the same time, rantau is the place whither one should set off (merantau) in search of a living, wealth and success, hence the association with the quest for God.

33

34 Something like a calm backwater or even a pond with motionless water is implied; for the symbolism of such 'aquatic enclosures' related to the spiritual heart and opposed to the turbulent sea of the carnal soul, see V. Braginsky (1993b:97-8).

The translation is hypothetical; another possibility is: 'Estuaries of Its [rivers] do not [defile It] with dirt'; since the Sea is God's Being, the following parallels from Harnzah's works can be quoted: 'When the rivers flow back to the ocean, they become ocean [once again], but that Ocean is Most Pure', or: '[ ... ] so it is even more with respect to God the Glorious and Exalted, Who is the Purest of the pure. How can the impure and the foul affect Him?' (AI-Attas 1970:436, 433).

35

The line seems rather odd in this context, since from the following lines we learn that sailing in the boat, not swimming is implied. Can berenang - 'to swim' be a kind of metaphor for sailing, while batang mean batangan - 'the bar at river mouth; entrance to harbour' (Wilkinson 1932, I:89)? If such is the case, the translation might be: 'Sail without paying heed to the bar [crossing the estuary].'

36

37 All the sea motifs quoted below are taken from Hamzah's syair in the edition of Drewes and Brakel (1986:111-4,126-43). The motif of basket-traps (bubu) is found in Cor. Or. 2016, p. 98 (fol. 49r.) and in the edition by Doorenbos (1933:58): Ikan ahmak bersuku-suku Stupid fish, shoal after shoal, Mencari air ke dalam bubu Are looking for water in the basket-trap. Drewes, however, prefers the reading batu 'stone', 'rock', as in Jakarta Malay 83, p. 86, to bubu.

Actually rubing means 'temporary wash-strake for giving a boat more free-board' (Wilkinson 1932, 11:352).

38

39

The Prophet Muhammad.

40

Roolvink 1964; Hasymi 1976; Drewes and BrakeI1986:190-225.

41

For more details about Harnzah's maritime symbolism, see V. Braginsky (forthcoming a).

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42 For manuscripts and works by Syamsuddin of Pasai, see Van Nieuwenhuijze (1945:25-6). Van Nieuwenhuijze's list of his works can be supplemented by data from the article by Voorhoeve (1952b:207) and the book by Shaghir bin Abdullah (1991, 1:30-41). For Syamsuddin's Syair martabat tujuh (the 'Poem of seven grades of Being), see this chapter below. For Syamsuddin's life and works, see the studies mentioned in this footnote and a recent general survey by Riddell (2001:110-6). For the role of Syamsuddin (who was also Syaikh ai-Islam of Aceh) at the Sultan Alauddin's and Sultan Iskandar Muda's court, see Hikayat Aceh (Iskandar 1958:137 'his meeting with Davis', 153, 168) and Takeshi Ito {1984:249-52).

43

Roolvink 1964; Hasjmy 1976; Drewes and BrakeI1986:190-225; Shaghir bin Abdullah 1996.

The difference between these three types of Being can be roughly explained by analogy with the algebraic formula of a certain stereometric figure, for instance a cube, which is a3; an ideal design of this cube on paper and the embodiment of the form of the cube in a certain material object, for instance in a house.

44

For a detailed exposition and analysis of Syamsuddin's doctrine, see Van Nieuwenhuijze (1945:78-197).

45

46 About Muhammad Nafis al-Banjari, see Halidi (1980); about other above-mentioned authors, see below. 47 His complete name (in its Arabic form) was Nuruddin Muhammad Jaylani ibn Ali ibn Hasanji ibn Muhammad Hamid ar-Raniri (Iskandar 1999, 11:1038). Sometimes it also included some other elements: indications of his Shafi'ite madhhab and orthodox, Ash' arite faith, the name of his Sufi tutor, AI-' Aydarusi, and more specific information about his birthplace. In this case it read as Nuruddin Muhammad ibn' Ali ai-Hamid asy-Syafi'i al-Asy'ari al-Aydarusi ar-Raniri as-Surati (Drewes 1955).

Tudjimah 1961. Apart from the polemical writings and Bustan as-salatin, Nuruddin arRaniri composed several works on Islamic eschatology, among them Akhbar al-akhirah fi ahwal al-qiyamah (the' Accounts of the world to come and events of Doomsday', dated 1642) and the popular book on jurisprudence (fiqh) Sirat al-mustaqim (the 'Straight path', finished in 1644). For the list of his manuscripts and works as well as for his biography, see Voorhoeve 1955b; Drewes 1955; Tudjimah 1961; Daudy 1983; AI-Attas 1986, Azra 1992; Iskandar 1995:410-20. Summaries of almost all the treatises included in these lists can be found in the book by Shaghir bin Abdullah (1991, 11:5-144). For a recent useful, although somewhat too enthusiastic, general survey of Nuruddin's life and writings, see Riddell (2001:116-25). 48

Contrary to existential monism (wahdat al-wujud), empirical monism (wahdat al-shuhud) rejects the idea of the essential Union of the gnostic with God and asserts that this Union is only a psychological state experienced by the gnostic in the course of his ecstatic practices.

49

Ascribing a companion to God, a belief that he is not the only Creator and Sustainer - the gravest sin that a Muslim can commit.

50

51 His complete name was Abd ar-Rauf ibn Ali al-Fansuri as-Sinkili. Two nisba of Abd ar-Rauf are probably related to the fact that his mother originated from Fansur (Barus), whereas he came from Singkel (Sinkil); it seems likely that his father, Syaikh Ali, was of Arab extraction (Rinkes 1909:25-8; Liaw Yock Fang 1991-93, 11:62). Silsilah ('pedigrees') of the Syattariyah order mention Abd ar-Rauf's origin from the 'family of Hamzah Fansuri' {manuscripts SOAS 7124, pp. 626-36 and Cor. Or. 7274, fol. 2r.; for their description, see Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:155; Iskandar

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1999, 1:397). There are discrepancies in Abd ar-Rauf's date of birth: Rinkes (1909:25-6) dates it: 1615, Voorhoeve (1960): 1620. For a general recent review of his life and works, see Riddell (2001:125-32). Interesting new information about Abd ar-Rauf's ancestry and life has been recently quoted by Azra (1992) and Shaghir bin Abdullah (1996:10-9); however, it is difficult to verify several important points of this information. 52

On the relationships between Abd ar-Rauf and Ibrahim Kurani, see Johns (1975, 1978).

This work is Mir'at at-tullab (the 'Mirror of the seekers', see below) commissioned from him by Sultanah Taj al-Alam Safiyatuddin. At first Abd ar-Rauf was reluctant to write it, since during his stay in Arabia his Malay (bahasa Pasai) had greatly deteriorated. However, as he wrote, Allah sent him two superb language teachers, Katib Seri Raja and Fakih Indra Saleh, and with their help he managed to fulfil the commission (Voorhoeve 1952a:89).

53

For the list of manuscripts and works by Abd ar-Rauf, see Rinkes (1909); Voorhoeve (1952a); Shaghir bin Abdullah (1991, 1:39-41). Voorhoeve's list includes twelve entries, whereas the list of Shaghir bin Abdullah as many as twenty-five entries, some of them dubious, as they do not contain the name of the author, and Shaghir bin Abdullah's arguments in favour of Abd ar-Rauf's authorship are not always sufficiently convincing. All the more so, as a number of treatises included in the list have not been found so far and are known only from mentions in writings of other authors. Nevertheless, the work of Shaghir bin Abdullah is valuable, since it contains summaries of virtually all the compositions discussed, sometimes fairly extensive and with abundant quotations (Shaghir bin Abdullah 1991, 1:42-202).

54

Riddell (2001:129) states that Sultanah Inayat Syah Zakiyatuddin commissioned this work from Abd ar-Rauf, although without any reference to the source from which he drew this information.

55

56

Voorhoeve 1952a:111; Shaghir bin Abdullah 1991, I:OOO; Riddell 2001:129.

57 Voorhoeve 1952a:89, 91-9,113; Riddell 2001:130-1. For the recent edition of one more work by Abd ar-Rauf, Tanbih al-mashi al-mansub ila tariq al-Qushashi (the 'Direction for those who follow the path of al-Qushashi'), written in Arabic, see Fathurahman 1999. This edition also includes the translation of the treatise into Indonesian.

Such is the opinion of Drewes (1977:223; 1976), however the Indonesian researcher Noorhaidi Hasan (forthcoming) advanced interesting and fairly convincing arguments to prove that the work was written by Muhammad Arsyad al-Banjari, the famous Banjar author of the eighteenthth century. This difference of opinion once again testifies to the fact that the style of Malay kitab of the late eighteenth-the nineteenth century was highly unified. 58

Van Ronkel 1901a:520. For Al-GhazaJi's influence on the works by Raja Ali Haji, see Watson-Andaya and Matheson (1979:115-6). About the Naksybandiyah order in Riau, see Sham (1993:20-3) and Matheson and Watson-Andaya (1982:285, 297, 300-1, 320) (and footnotes), as well as corresponding passages from Tuhfat an-nafis (Matheson-Hooker 1991a).

59

About Syaikh Daud of Sunur see Snackey (1888); Suryadi (2001); ing a).

60

v. Braginsky

(forthcom-

Passages from Syair Mekah dan Madinah are translated from Leiden manuscript Cod. Or. 12161 (former Oph. no 39), pp. 34-7 (Van RonkeI1921a:233; Iskandar 1999,1:625-6) with some corrections based on the comparison of this manuscript with Cod. Or. 3335(1) (Iskandar 1999, 1:165).

61

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62 The division of disciples into three groups is described in detail in Sair as-salikin (the 'Path of seekers') by Abd as-Samad of Palembang. In this book, with reference to Muhammad Samman, he gives lists of dozens of books and authors, which are good for each group. Needless to say, AI-Ghazali and many 'orthodox Sufis' occupy the place of honour in Abd as-Samad's lists. However, they also include the names of Ibn al-' Arabi and AI-Jili and, even more remarkably, of Ibn Fadlillah al-Burhanpuri and Syamsuddin of Pasai whose works are considered to be appropriate reading for the adept (muntahi) of the 'science of Truth' (ilmu hakikat) (Van Bruinessen 1995:71-87).

On the biography ofSyaikh Daud al-Fatani, his works and their manuscripts, see Matheson and Hooker (1988:19-27, 61-2, 65-7) and Shaghir bin Abdullah (1990).

63

64 All the data about Manhal as-safi, as well as the hypothesis about the purpose of its composition and arguments that support this hypothesis, are borrowed from the unpublished doctoral thesis Manhal as-safi by Shaykh Da'ud al-Fatani as a specimen of Malay kitab-literature of 18-19 centuries. Text, translation and analysis defended at SOAS, University of London by the Malaysian scholar Faudzinaim Badaruddin in 1999.

All the quotations from Manhal as-safi (see also its edition by Shaghir bin Abdullah 1992) are borrowed from the English translations of the critical text of the work, compiled by Faudzinaim Badaruddin in his doctoral thesis (see note 63) and only slightly edited. 65

Naguib al-Attas believes that Hasan Fansuri and Abd aI-Jamal are pen names of Harnzah Fansuri (Abd aI-Jamal perhaps even a mystical aspect of his self) and that Hamzah was also the author of Syair Bahr an-Nisa (AI-Attas 1971). This opinion, which is difficult to accept, is discussed in the works by V. Braginsky (1975a:128-33) and Drewes (Drewes and BrakeI1986:18-24). 66

In the original: 'Olehnya karunia maka dapat mukhayilani'. The meaning of the line is not quiet clear. In Arabic al-quwwat al-mutakhayyila means 'the power of imagination', 'the imagining power'. As tigers symbolize obstacles on the Sufi Path, the line in question can possibly be translated as: 'because of [God's?] Grace he can imagine [the appearance of a tiger in advance]" that is anticipate it. Another possible interpretation is that, in spite of all dangers and because of God's Grace, Abd aI-Jamal managed to see in his imagination idea-images of his poem (see Chapter IV); compare below: 'berbuat syair daripada karunia Allah' '[he] composed the poem thanks to the Grace of God' . 67

The original text: 'tebing orang'; tebing is actually 'bank (of river or canal); sandbank rising sharply from the sea' (Wilkinson 1932, II:546); tebing orang means such a bank in a foreign land, but AI-Attas (1971:44-5) translates it 'shore of humanity' and interprets this notion as a boundary between the human and Divine worlds. The translation 'foreign shore' does not seem to be at variance with his interpretation, as it implies a foreign that is non-human, country, and the same borderland in fact. Considering Sufis' love of play on words, the word orang may combine here both above-mentioned meanings. 68

Putat -' a plant name; gen. for Baringtonia spp.' (Wilkinson 1932, 1:292); there are many varieties of putat, some of them (like putat mayang) are trees, fairly tall and shady. For more details, see AI-Attas (1971:45-9). 69

In the edition of Doorenbos (1933:86), the Malay original of this line is berbuat syair sekadar pandang, which deprives the line from the rhyme (' -at' in the stanza). It should probably be read as sekadar pandang syair berbuat, which does not affect the meaning, but contains the correct rhyme. 70

71

European scholars, who first became acquainted with Syair Bahr an-Nisa as early as the

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beginning of last century, noticed in it some similarities to the love poetry of Persian Sufis (Kraemer 1921:24, 29). In 1933 Doorenbos published this poem rather unsatisfactorily on the basis of the only Leiden manuscript, Cod. Or. 2016 (Doorenbos 1933:65-70). Later P. Voorhoeve (1952c, 1968) found two more manuscripts of the syair (SOAS 41755 and Cod. Or. 5635 (incomplete), Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:1; Voorhoeve 1994:50-1, 325). AI-Attas (1971:13-31) provided a valuable interpretation of some of its passages, while Drewes (Drewes and BrakeI1986:18-21) briefly characterized its two main manuscripts (its two recensions, according to him) and quoted some interesting data about the versions of the poem in the Buginese and Acehnese languages. In 1993 the present author published a provisional critical text of Syair Bahr an-Nisa, basing himself on all the manuscripts available, as well as its detailed study (V. Braginsky 1993b:77-119, 256-63,348-54). Kraemer, Doorenbos and in particular Al-Attas (1971:6-31) considered Hamzah Fansuri to be the author of this syair. However, it seems that there are insufficient arguments to support their attribution, just as there are no grounds to doubt that the author of the poem belonged to Hamzah's 'literary circle' (V. Braginsky 1975a:128-33, forthcoming a; Drewes and BrakeI1986:18-21). 72 About the Tantric dimension of Syair Bahr an-Nisa, see the special study by V. Braginsky (forthcoming e). 73

On mi'raj see Horovitz 1931:505-8; Hughes 1986:351-2; Samarrai 1968.

Ritter and Rypka 1934:11-2. For a detailed comparison of this passage from the Haft paikar with Syair Bahr an-Nisa, see V. Braginsky (1993b:83-4).

74

75

The sacred well in Mecca, which has, as Muslims believe, its heavenly 'double'.

76 Interestingly, we find the same 'landscape', now represented explicitly, in the abovequoted poem by Abd ai-Jamal, who may have been a contemporary of the author of Syair Bahr an-Nisa and, just like the latter, a poet from Hamzah Fansuri's 'circle'. 77 In Sajak perkataan alif, or Nalam peraturan alif (the' Alphabetical poem'; probably composed in Aceh in the seventeenth or the early eighteenth century; for the edition, see V. Braginsky 1993b:264-72, forthcoming a), erotic symbolism of the Sufi Path is represented in an even more overt form. This syair is a rather peculiar poem: its first stanza begins with the letter alif (' a'), the second with the letter ba ('b'), the third with the letter la ('t'), and so on to the end of the Arabic alphabet. In manuscripts (SOAS 41755, pp. 54-61; Cod. Or. 5635, pp. 68-71) this poem follows Syair Bahr an-Nisa (Voorhoeve 1952c) and shares many symbols with the latter, including the symbol of the Sea of Women itself. Moreover, the poet merges Sufi (and Tantric) erotic symbols into the common Malay love metaphor of the bumblebee sucking the nectar from a flower (kumbang menyeri kembang). He even makes gajahmina (the mythical elephant-fish or the whale), which has 'swum' from Hamzah Fansuri's syair (Drewes and BrakeI1986:140-3), become dumbfounded by the passion of the bumblebee for the flower. In a tale of the Prophet - peace be upon him! It is told that somewhere there is a pond With a lotus flower and a bumblebee Diving into the lotus to enjoy its nectar. Verily a friend of God Almighty, Gaining most wondrous knowledge, The bumblebee sucks the nectar tirelessly From the bud of the lotus of unspeakable beauty. The crystal water gushes from the fountain, Into the bud he dips his proboscis, Engrossed in the work of those who are wise -

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The bud has opened up, the bumblebee faints [... ] Once, when the whale who liked to live quietly, Enjoying the calm water of the rising tide, Saw that lotus and the bumblebee in love He was amazed and gaped with astonishment. (V. Braginsky 1993b:269-70.) Drewes considered this poem to be 'a popular abridged version' of Syair Bahr an-Nisa (Drewes and Brakel 1986:19). Yet, in spite of the fact that both poems show a number of resemblances, Sajak perkataan alifis undoubtedly a separate poem. For a special study of the Tantric dimension of this poem, see Braginsky (forthcoming e). On the influence of indigenous mythology on Malay Sufi poetry, see V. Braginsky (1988c, 1993b:ll0-19), and this chapter, below in the sections on Syair perahu 1, 2 and poems about birds. 78

Syamsuddin's syair was published by Van Nieuwenhuijze (1945:313-6) from the Leiden manuscript Cod. Or. 1332, the text of which is very corrupt; in this book the much better text from the manuscript Jakarta Malay 83, pp. 109-12 (Voorhoeve 1952b:207) has been used. 79

80 Voorhoeve 1952a:116; Iskandar 1999, 1:640-1. Voorhoeve (1952a:115-7) doubted the authorship of Abd ar-Rauf and considered the poem as apocryphal; however, Iskandar seems to agree with his authorship (Iskandar 1995:424-7). For a brief description of manuscripts of Syair ma'rifat, see Voorhoeve (1952a:116); for a description of the manuscript Cod. Or. 12.199 (Oph. 78) and a summary of the poem, see Iskandar (1999, 1:640). Iskandar (1995:425-6) also published a short excerpt from the syair.

81

See, for instance, Ibn al-' Arabi's treatise AI-shajarat al-kawn - the 'Tree of Being' (Ibn al-

'Arabi 1959, 1982). On the World Tree in the Archipelago and in India, see Bosch (1960); Parkin (1978:235-52); V. Braginsky (1988c, forthcoming a).

82

The Face of God symbolizes the Divine Essence, compare 'Know your Lord with His Essence eternal' in Syair ma'rifat.

83

Much has been written about local features of Javanese Sufi literature. Scholars mentioned, for instance, the connection between its symbolism and images from wayang and Panji-romances, as well as with functions of the dalang in theatrical performances. Another characteristic example is the use of such wayang heroes as Wisnu and his avatar Kresna to symbolize the opposition between the true (hakiki) and the imaginary (wahmi) Being (Johns 1965:16-8). A number of even more whimsical symbols are quoted by Zoetmulder (1995:239-95). 84

There are certain points of contact between the Malay shamanistic notion of semangat - the vital power that ensures the integrity of the body, which is present in living creatures and in some inanimate objects - and simplified interpretations of the Sufi idea of God's Omnipresence (Endicott 1970:58-60). The ceremony called suluk, a primitive version of Sufi initiation, is probably not free from shamanistic elements either (Archer 1937:100-4; Eliade 1970:344-5). Fana - the aim of the Sufi Path - which presupposes the riddance of the external, false self and the realization of the primordial unity of the internal, true self with God, not infrequently was also understood in the light of the shamanistic concept of trance (lupa - 'forgetfulness'). In this state the shaman as if lost the sense of his individual self, achieving 'emptiness', or rather becoming the medium for a spirit talking with his lips. Finally, it is precisely in shamanistic texts that we can observe an intimate connection between the shaman and spirits or deities (in the Islamic era, 85

The heritage of traditional Malay literature

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Allah). This connection achieves its culmination in the concept of shamanistic 'self-deification', which is perhaps rooted in the idea of Allah as the Primordial Shaman (Winstedt 1950:326-7). A characteristic example: in eight volumes of Nurbakhsh's encyclopaedia of Sufi symbolism (Nurbakhsh 1988-92), which gives the reader a pretty complete picture of all its codes ('big symbols'), mostly in Persian literature, several volumes are allotted to the erotic code, whereas symbols of the sea and navigation occupy no more than a dozen pages.

86

For more details of the ship-motif in the Qur'an, see Barthold (1965); V. Braginsky (1988c:200-7, forthcoming a).

87

For more details on symbolism of the boat/ship in Arab, Persian and Turkish Sufi literatures as well as in archaic traditions of Indonesia and in Malay tradition, see V. Braginsky (1988c:217-30, forthcoming a).

88

This poem has been preserved in four manuscripts: India Office Malay A.2, SOAS 41394 (both in London), Museum Volkenkunde No. 268/242 (Leiden), Natur-Museum. Abt. Volkerkunde. No. 91[A] (Coburg) (Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:123, 165; India Office Eur. C.214, p. 1; Pigeaud and Voorhoeve 1985:52). The manuscript from Museum Volkenkunde, which contains about one quarter of the complete text, was reproduced in the book by Van Hasselt (1881:11-4); the manuscript from Coburg contains only a few lines of the poem. The text of the syair is in such a deplorable state that it is in need of reconstruction. The reconstruction has been carried out by the present author with the help of Voorhoeve's synoptic text (India Office Eur. C.214) based on two London manuscripts. For the principles of the reconstruction, variant readings in the poem, its detailed philological analysis, edition and translation, see V. Braginsky 1988a. It is in this edition that the syair is quoted below: abbreviations 'st.' and'sts.' stand for 'stanza' and 'stanzas' respectively, figures after the abbreviations point to the number of a particular stanza in this edition. For more philological details of Syair perahu 1 and a new edition of it, see V. Braginsky (forthcoming a).

89

This expression, or rather formula, occurs frequently in the manuscripts of the syair. Usually it stands for lines of the original, which in all likelihood became illegible or were missed at some stage of the textual history of the poem. For this reason one of its copyists replaced them with this formula, which caused several semantic breaks in the text. Originally the line in question must have introduced the motif of intoxicating drink.

90

91 92

The sun and the moon are implied. One line is missing.

V. Braginsky 1988a:273. For the discussion of this interpolation and the reasons that may have caused its inclusion in the text, see V. Braginsky (1988a:273).

93

94 These fifteen stanzas without a commentary are included, for example, in the manuscript Jakarta Malay 83 (Drewes and BrakeI1986:50-4); on Asrar al-arifin of varying length, see Drewes (1951:41).

There are six manuscripts of Syair perahu 2 which are kept in London: SOAS 168218 (purchased in Padang between 1821-1826); Leiden: Cod. Or. 3374 (copied by Van der Tuuk in Barus between 1853-1857, edited in the book: Doorenbos 1933:16-21), Cod. Or.1917 (influence of Minangkabau, purchased around 1868, only a part of the syair), Cod. Or. 12156 (former Oph. 34, from Solok, copied in 1855), Cod. Or. 8754 (Damste's copy of an unknown lithograph); Jakarta: Jakarta 67 Vt. (from Aceh, purchased in Gayoland in 1903). For the description of these manu95

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scripts, see Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:167; JuynboIl1899:34, 36, 185-6,255-6; Van Ronke11921a: 101-3; Iskandar 1999, 1:582-3; Jumsari Jusuf et al. 1983:19. Doorenbos's edition of Syair perahu 2 was fully translated into English (Raffel 1967:21-4) and Italian (Bausani 1970:317-21) and partly into Polish (Stiller 1971:301-5), Russian (V. Braginsky 1969), and French (Lombard 1980:327-8). All the manuscripts can be classified as representing two recensions of Syair perahu 2, namely the long recension (first three manuscripts) and the short recension (all others). The principal difference between these recensions is that in the short one we do not find commentaries on the formulas La ilaha ilIa LIah ('There is no God but Allah) and Hu Allah ('He is Allah'). This recension ends with the identification of parts of the boat with religious and mystical notions or with the description of sinners' torments in the world to come. Sufi ideas are much more clearly expressed in the long recension, which seems to be the original one, whereas the short recension is the abbreviation of the latter, imbued with the spirit of exoteric Islam rather than the spirit of Sufism. Leiden manuscript Cod. Or. 12156 represents a kind of transitional text from the long to the short recension. On the basis of manuscript SOAS 168218, Syair perahu 2 was published by V. Braginsky (1993b:290-303). This is the first complete edition of the poem amounting to eighty stanzas (Doorenbos's publication which contains the same long recension is only a fragment numbering forty-two stanzas). It is this edition, which is quoted below. For the critical text of Syair perahu 2 with the complete apparatus criticus, see V. Braginsky (forthcoming a). 96

V. Braginsky 1975a:407-8, forthcoming a; Drewes and BrakeI1986:18.

97 The phrase 'identification with God' should not in this context be understood in the sense of presumptuous self-deification on the part of the gnostic. With some degree of simplification it may be said that the crux of the matter lies with the renunciation of one's individual, outer self on the mystical path of Gnosis, in the annihilation of this outer self in one's ecstatic love for God, and thus in the acquisition of knowledge of the identity of one's inner self with the Absolute (God). However, speaking of the concept of identification in Syair perahu 2, we should remember that the experience of Unio Mystica, rather than the essential identification of man with God, is implied in the poem.

The analysis of repetitions in Syair perahu 2 is based on the new edition of the poem (V. Braginsky 1993b:290-303).

98

99 On the significance of conceptual keywords for the phonetic level of the structure of literary works see De Saussure (1964); Jacobson (1966, IV:606-8, 680-6); Toporov (1966:76). 100 Van Ronkel (1922a) was the first scholar who studied the connection between Malay syair about birds and Mantiq al-tayr by 'Attar. The number of works about birds in Arabic and Persian literatures is considerable. Apart from Mantiq al-tayr, Van Ronkel mentions literary pieces on birds and flowers by Al-Muqaddasi, the' Awakening of the sleeping ones' by Abu'lFaraj al-Jawzi and the 'Epistles of the Brethren of Purity'. To this one can add Al-qasidah al-ruh (the 'Qasidah of the Spirit', in which the Spirit is represented as a bird) and Risalat al-tuyur (the 'Epistle on Birds) by Ibn Sina as well as two other Risalat al-tuyur: the first being composed in Arabic by Muhammad al-Ghazali and the second, which is the Persian version of the latter, by his younger brother Ahmad al-Ghazali. All the three Risalat al-tuyur most probably served as sources of the composition by' Attar who also wrote another bird poem, Bulbul-nama (the 'Book of the Nightingale'). For the sources and compositional structure of Mantiq al-tayr, see, inter alia, V. Braginsky (1993b:133-6). For the symbolism of birds in Persian Sufi literature, see Ernst 1999 (with bibliography, in particular p. 353, note 3).

101 Iskandar (1995:326) believes that implied in the list of St. Martin's manuscripts is not a Malay translation of Mantiq-al-tayr by Attar, but the Malay composition Hikayat Si Burung Pingai (see below). It is difficult to agree with this opinion as: (1) the hikayat does not include the motif

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of a conversation of birds; (2) only a painstaking study and conversance with Harnzah Fansuri's poetry allow the researcher to reveal certain similarities between Mantiq al-tayr and Hikayat Si Burung Pingai. It is most doubtful that the compiler of St. Martin's list was so well-informed. He, in all likelihood, simply included the title of the manuscript in his list, translated it into Dutch and added that, in spite of the Arabic title of the work, it was written in or translated into Malay (probably there was an indication to this effect in the manuscript itself). 102 Drewes and Brakel (1986:267, 275), compare AI-Attas (1970:349). Harnzah Fansuri translates this bait somewhat differently and not quite accurately: Daripadanya kembalilah setengah Some from among them returned, after beholding, leaping for joy; daripada melihat tamasya tepuk dan tari; Nyawanyapun diberi selesailah ia daripada Their souls have been given release from menuntut seeking (AI-Attas 1970:349). 103 According to Drewes (Drewes and BrakeI1986:21), the first of these five syair was not composed by Harnzah Fansuri. Be that as it may, it is similar to the four others in its content, style and the structure of its rhyme and is closely related to them. Moreover two lines of the syair: Unggas itu bukannya balam, This bird is not a turtle-dove, Nentiasa berbunyi siang dan malam [... ] That coos incessantly day and night (Doorenbos 1933:33). are almost identical with the following lines from Hamzah Fansuri's takhallus stanza which is found in the fourth poem about Burung Pingai (according to their sequence in Cod. Or. 2016): Unggas pingai bukannya balam, The Pure Bird is not a turtle-dove That coos constantly day and night Daim berbunyi siang dan malam, Katakan olehmu hai ahl al-alam: Say, 0 you who live in this world: 'Hamzah Fansuri sudahlah karam: 'Hamzah Fansuri has already drowned: (Drewes dan BrakeI1986:122.) For repetitions of similar lines in the 'main text' and in takhallus stanzas of Harnzah, see, for instance Drewes and Brakel (1986:64) (stanza 1) and 80 (stanza 14), 104 (stanza 1) and 128 (stanza 15). 104 Drewes and Brakel 1986:116. The carnal soul (nafs) is a synonym for the external self, whereas the nest, to which the bird returns, symbolizes the primordial state of the soul, its abiding with God, for which it constantly longs, thus, the 'internal self' of the mystic. 105

Darbandi and Davis 1984:33-4. Like Simurgh, Burung Pingai is: king (burung sultani - 'kingly bird', Drewes and BrakeI1986:120); most powerful bird which 'bathes' in the radiance of its greatness (Hamzah calls it burung nuri 'bird of light'); beautiful beyond comparison (Doorenbos 1933:34); concealed behind the veil or curtain (Drewes and BrakeI1986:114); always close to all creatures (Doorenbos 1933:34), although constantly deceiving everyone who attempts to find it through the variety of its 'appearances and behaviour' (Doorenbos 1933:34).

106 Hikayat Si Burung Pingai has been preserved in three manuscripts: Cod. Or. 1626[1], pp. 1-11 (Leiden, copied between 1707-1712 in Ambon); Mal.-pol. 79, pp. 1-19 (Paris, purchased in 1822); Jakarta Malay 42, pp. 1-16 (purchased in 1868, virtually illegible). For short descriptions of these manuscripts, see Wieringa (1998a:26); Voorhoeve (1973:55); Van Ronkel (1909:444). A more detailed description can be found in the book by V. Braginsky (1993b:356-7). Certain features of the work allow us to guess at its Minangkabau origin, but this issue needs deeper examina-

VIII Muslim hagiography and Sufi literature

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tion. However that may be, the hilmyat resembles Imba of the Minangkabau and south Sumatran epics, which are based on syntactic parallelisms and verbal repetitions (on the structure of this blank verse or rhythmical prose, see V. Braginsky 1975a:40-67; Voorhoeve 1940). Sufism began to spread in Minangkabau from the mid-seventeenth century (Van Ronke11919; Dobbin 1983:11525; Johns 1984:123-7; Kratz 1992; V. Braginsky 1993b:357-8). This also confirms that Hilmyat Si Burung Pingai may have originated from that area or, at least, been known there. 107 Andai-andai Si Burung Pingai has been preserved in two Rencong manuscripts: SOAS 41394 (London, the end of the eighteenth century) and Natur-Museum Abt. Volkerkunde no 91 (Coburg, only several fragments). For the description of these manuscripts, see Ricklefs and Voorhoeve 1977:165; Pigeaud and Voorhoeve 1985:47-52. The London manuscript was transliterated by Voorhoeve (Cod. Or. 8447 [116], Iskandar 1999, 1:543), whose transliteration was published by Iskandar (1995:346-53). 108 Unfortunately, the correct sequence of lines has been broken in several episodes of the Paris manuscript of Hilmyat Si Burung Pingai, which was used in this book. The original sequence was, as far as possible, reconstructed by the present author on the basis of a comparison between the Paris and the Leiden manuscript (the Jakarta manuscript, almost illegible, proved to be practically useless for the reconstruction) and a number of conjectures. For principles and details of the reconstruction as well as the edition of the hilmyat, see V. Braginsky (1993b:304-15, 358-61). 109 The London manuscript of Andai-andai Si Burung Pingai (SOAS. No 41394), collated with Voorhoeve's transliteration of it (Leiden Cod. Or. 8447 [116]), was used in this book. 110 The text has sadat which is the name of a dance, but perhaps sadat is the copyist's error for salat - 'prayer'. 111

Both readings: serigala 'jackal' and seripala 'shining/radiant guard?' occur in the text.

A remarkable feature of the Paris, and especially of the Leiden, manuscipt of the hilmyat is the repetition of the same words again and again. For instance, in the description of the mystical tree, all the flowers of which have opened up, the verbal root kembang - 'expand', 'blossom out' is repeated twelve times; in the description of the Prophet Muhammad's wives swinging on a board, the word berayun - 'swing' is repeated even as many as sixty-four times. It seems likely that these persistent repetitions are intended to create the atmosphere of Sufi trance and / or provoke a trance-like sensation in the reader /listener. 112

113 The tree syajarat al-yakin (the 'Tree of the True Sureness') is mentioned in one of recensions of Hilmyat Nur Muhammad (Van Ronkel 1909:224), in Bustan as-salatin and Syair ma'rifat ascribed to Abd ar-Rauf of Singkel (see above). However, in all these works the description of the tree is different from the one in Hilmyat Si Burung Pingai, since they represent it as having four branches: faith, submissiveness to God (Islam), God's unity and the cognition of God. It is noteworthy that precisely these four 'branches' of Islamic religion are discussed in the first recension of Syair burung (see below). In the Leiden manuscript of Hilmyat Si Burung Pingai, however, the same tree and pond or well are called, respectively, syajarat al-muntaha and kautsar. Thus, what is implied in the hilmyat are the Qur' anic tree and well, situated at the station of the Prophet Muhammad (Al-Attas 1970:233). For syajarat al-muntaha and Imutsar, see also Al-Attas (1970:221-4; 1971:45-9).

Tasbih - the praising of God's perfection with the formula Subhan Allah, 'Glorious is God!'; tahlil - the repetition of the formula La ilaha illa llah, 'There is no God but Allah'; tahmid - the extolling of God with the formula Al-hamdu li-Llah, 'Praise be to God!'; takbir - the uttering of the formula Allah akbar, 'Great is God!'. 114

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The heritage of traditional Malay literature The opposite to lovers, that is the Beloved One, is implied.

116 About a dozen manuscripts of the first recension (also including Syair Bayan Budiman) are kept in Jakarta, Leiden, Paris and London (see respective catalogues), which means that copies of this poem are more numerous than those of any other allegorical syair on animals and flowers. Two such poems were published in Antologi (1980:14-33,102-25).

U7 It is not very clear from the text of the myth, whether Serawai (an area!) is actually considered to have the human or the bird form. Allah commands the bird Meraka-raka to pounce on Serawai (menyambar Serawai). The bird attacks part (ruang) after part of 'that slave' (hamba itu) abiding in the egg, 'falling down' on the parts of the egg that contain his head, brow, feet and so on. As a result, the sky, the earth and so on come into being. Who the mysterious hamba itu is, remains unexplained. The hypothesis about Serawai's anthropomorphism or its likeness to a bird is based on a similar episode from the Batak theogony, in which a bird breaks the eggshell in those parts of the egg which contain the head, eyes, feet and so on of future deities (see below). Be that as it may, in both myths the Universe or deities arranging it spring from the egg laid and broken by a bird.

Tobing 1956:52-7, compare Niessen 1985:16-33. For several other versions of this Batak myth, see Warneck (1909:27-32) and Tobing (1956:31-48, 57-60). The motif of a bird as the creator (or a demiurge) also played an important role in Ngaju mythology. The deities of the Upperworld in their cosmogony were two Hawks and, in the next generation, Mahatala, the hornbill. The Hawks perched on top of the Golden and the Diamond Mountain, which floated in the waters of the Primordial Ocean. The Golden and the Diamond Mountain collided seven times, and from their collisions were born: the sky, clouds, hills, the sun, the moon, several magical animals, and so on. Then, with the help of the water-snake Jata, the mistress of the Underworld, Mahatala, the master of the Upperworld, created rivers and the Tree of Life (equal to the World Tree). Mahatala's sister had a she-hornbill, which lived in the golden cage. One day she flew away, saw the Tree of Life and began to peck its fruits and buds. Mahatala turned his dagger into a he-hornbill, which also flew to the tree and began to eat moss growing on it. On seeing the she-hornbill, which enjoyed better food, the he-hornbill flew into a rage and start fighting with her. The tree collapsed during the fight. Two boats, of gold and of diamonds, appeared from its fragments, and also a youth and a girl (as well as heavenly rivers, witches, and so on). The boats with the youth and the girl floated on the surface of the primordial waters and collided by chance. The youth fell in love with the girl who agreed to become his wife, if he found a place for them to live. Mahatala created an island amidst the waters for the first human couple. They landed on the island, married and founded the first village (Scharer 1963:27-9,16382). Thus, just as in the Batak myth, in the Ngaju cosmogony the world is create