THE LAST LEMAMBANG OF ULU LAYAR
Lipi anak Ula still practices the ancient art of the poet bard, forging her own path through this world and the next.
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THE LAST LEMAMBANG OF ULU LAYAR
Lipi anak Ula still practices the ancient art of the poet bard, forging her own path through this world and the next.
Lipi anak Ula lives in a double-storey detached house, a short walk from her family’s orchard. Above the door is a charm, a gnarled root strung together with a dessicated ant’s nest and a small, golden shell, its spiral mirroring the curl of the root. Next to it is a drawing of a man, hands held in prayer position, surrounded by Jawi script, the Arabic alphabet used for writing Malay and several other South East Asian languages. This is their ‘jaga rumah’ (the guardian of the house), drawn by her husband who once learned both the language and the ilmu (both knowledge and magic) from a Javanese friend with great power. Their compound is packed with ritual plants – she points out one which wards off fire bombs and another against sleep curses.
Of course, she has spent most of her life in the longhouse, first at Batu Lintang where she was born and then later at Lubau, after her marriage. The community at Lubau, unfortunately, was the victim of the all too common longhouse fire and her family is living at their farm while the structure is being rebuilt. The front room is lined with tajau, jars bartered with the Chinese many years ago and turned into ritual objects and a sign of status in Iban communities. The family is busy collecting fruit at this time of year and piles of langsat, durian, dabai and cempedak are all around. Lipi sorts the fruit expertly, bent double from years of weaving, sowing and planting. But her eyes still twinkle.
#LUBAU, SARIBAS
She goes by many names. Born during the Japanese Occupation, she is sometimes known as Indu Jepun, not a name she ever liked. Family members from Batu Lintang and Gensurai refer to her as Inik Lubau, since she married into that longhouse. On occasion, she is referred to as Lipi indai Bujang all these names references to her family connections as daughter, aunt, wife and mother. But, in terms of title, she is one of the last Lemambang in Ulu Layar, certainly one of the few remaining women, still practicing the ancient arts of the Iban poet bard.
The Lemambang once held one of the most important roles in Iban society. They were able to communicate with the spirit world and the heavens, making them vital to most rituals. Their skill is in the chant, intoned sometimes over days, which can open passages and guide spirits between this world and the next. It is an ancient tradition of ritual storytelling that was central to Iban rites and cosmology. But it is a dying art.
She remembers a childhood in the longhouse listening to folk tales from Inik Melina, her blind grandmother. Of course, many would listen but these were her special interest, alongside her sister, Idut. This interest would put Idut, as the older, under the tutelage of their great-aunt, Inik Lenai, in the knowledge of the Adat (customary law) and the skills of the Lemambang. Idut went on to become one of the most respected Lemambang in the Layar region, a status reflected in the numerous tajau and kain (woven cloths) she received, Lipi explains.
It was Idut who trained her. Of course, all Lemambang must be skilled and knowledgeable, she says, but her specialty is nyabak and berbiau – funeral crying and ritual chanting. She is also an accomplished weaver and well-versed in the Adat, so she is in great demand. She has been called to Batang Skrang and even as far as Miri for her work. But she says that she loves it. She enjoys learning the stories of the people and then leading their spirits and, she says simply, it is something she is very good at.
She cried for Idut on her passing. As usual, before the ritual, she had to step on an iron parang to strengthen her own semangat (life force) and chant a puchau for protection. Normally, that is enough to put her beyond any challenge from the spirits. But with Idut, who outranked her, she had to wear a special cloth, the pua petangkut, as an extra layer of protection. She tells of how Idut’s spirit returned to the longhouse to receive the tuak ranyai and then of how she spoke to her, explaining why she needed to take a different path from the others, a path reserved for those with education. Each person has a different chant according to their status and standing. In the end, as she puts it, the word is the medicine. It is the power of the chant that keeps her from any harm during the rituals and ensures proper passage. Usually, she will meet the family to prepare in advance, memorising their achievements and their journey. But she can create the chant spontaneously, visualising the path and calling the spirit to accompany her.
Since Idut’s passing, the demand for her services has increased and from further afield. She admits that this is largely a question of supply. There simply aren’t that many Lemambang left. Even the rituals have changed. Nowadays, a party atmosphere pervades, a celebration of culture instead of a serious belief in the cosmology. A faint trace of disapproval passes across her face as she shares that, of course they had entertainment in the old days, but only ever after the ritual was complete and always ngajat, never joget! Now, she is compensated in real money, up to RM500 for a funeral. No one has tajau or kain that they want to pass on anymore.
At 73 years old, however, she is infinitely practical. She fears for the spirits who are still lost in the forest, in want of a ritual. She is trying to save all those who are still homeless, leading the last of them to Sebayan. She is worried there will be no one to lead them back for Gawai Antu – the rites for the dead. The younger ones in her community have all converted to Christianity so they have their own path. Some of them are still interested in the Adat Lama, she shares, even though they have converted, but it is more cultural than spiritual. But if they don’t learn, the weaving and the crying, who will do it, she asks?
Deep down, she fears that no one will be there to lead her back to Sebayan when her time comes. So she has also converted to Christianity. She recounts a meeting with the Bishop in which she asked if the Church would be willing to accept her if she wanted to maintain her customs. The Bishop questioned her ability to hold two beliefs. Her response: “If the Christian God will not accept me, then I have another God who will.” Apparently the Bishop smiled, after several moments of silence, and now she goes to church.
But she hopes her children will find somebody to cry for her. “Let people pray for me”, she says, “but really I want someone to cry for me, whether it is good or not, because I am a Lemambang.” After all, she says, she doesn’t want to leave the Adat that she learned from young. She knows it so well. Will there be more Gawai Antu? “Bisi”, she says with some certainty. She has already been booked, in fact, but she is just waiting for the time to come.
