Merdeka and Much More: Reminiscences of a Raffles Professor, 1953-67

4 Kuala B’rang

KUALA B’RANG 31 31 4 Kuala B’rang D uring our time in Singapore the east coast of Malaya remained as it had for centuries, a remote and isolated part of the peninsula. Three states — Pahang, Trengganu and Kelantan — were largely tropical rainforest. Each had one straggling little town by a river mouth — Kuantan, Kuala Trengganu and Kota Bharu — each isolated from the others by other rivers. A single road came over from the thriving west coast, crossing the main mountain range, the backbone of Malaya, near Kuala Lumpur. Few Chinese inhabited the states concerned, and they concentrated in the towns. It was largely a Malay area, and their life, whether fisherman or padi planter, was one of simple poverty and devout worship of Allah. It was, and is, an attractive part of the world, its beaches in particular, each nestling inside its ubiquitous red cliffs made most attractive by their unspoiled charm. To us at the university 50 years ago it was also interesting in that the earliest signs of Islam in Malaya was a Moslem tombstone near Kuala B’rang (a kampong well from Trengganu’s coast) dated the Moslem equivalent of 1303 AD. This was a subject of academic speculation. Malacca on the west coast was for centuries the entrepôt from where Islam spread through Southeast Asia. No one went to the east coast; there was no trade, no port, only the crashing South China Sea. Thousand year old Chinese charts depicted Pulau Tioman off Johor as the island land-fall, but this was to guide Amoy junks to the Malacca Straits. None stopped on the way: or did they? Joseph Needham, the eminent sinologist with an MERDEKA AND MUCH MORE 32 encyclopaedic knowledge of Chinese science, speculated to me that this might have happened: hence the solitary tombstone. Did Islam come to Southeast Asia from China? It was a good excuse for another archaeological expedition. We drove across to the east coast in an old university minibus , leaving Kuala Lumpur in the comparative cool of the early morning. Almost immediately we were labouring up the jungled slopes of the mountains. A scattered settlement of orang asli, the indigenous pagans of the interior welcomed us as we crossed the ridge to stop beside the eastward flowing Pahang River. Here, at Temerloh, bored British soldiers who had not seen a terrorist for months, helped us cross the powerful stream. Down to Kuantan on the coast, and then northwards, stopping repeatedly to navigate by cabled barge the many rivers that invited us to pause and cool down. We turned in from the coast at last in Trengganu, heading for the mountains, across padi fields, coconut palms, patches of thick greenery, until in the early evening we reached Kuala B’rang. Here the road ended. Further movement was possible only on foot or on the river. We stayed in the hostel, a single dormitory, of the local school. It was a very poor kampong, a row of mean wooden shops, really stalls. I could not buy a hat, as only head cloths were worn. No electricity, little water as the well was nearly dry. No fruit, few vegetables. We discovered that not everyone could afford a sarong. The Malay is the most modest of people and to see naked children when we walked through up-river kampongs was distressing. The Trengganu River was wide but shallow. A swift current and shifting channels made travel a challenge. We went either by poled dugout or on flat little ferries powered by small outboard engines on a number of exploratory expeditions into the ulu. We enjoyed the simple, never-changing river life; women washing clothes, boys swimming, buffaloes plodding across cleared padi fields. We shouted out greetings to other launches crisscrossing KUALA B’RANG 33 the wide river to avoid the current, all under a blue sky with big white clouds going over to the mountains 20 miles away. At the scattered huts where the ancient gravestone had been found we met the headman, the Ketua Kampong. He took us on a long walk. The villagers joined in, aroused by this odd event, of 14 Chinese, Malays, Indians and a European. We exchanged good mornings — “Selamat pagi”. A dry, hard rice field, where Chinese porcelain peeped through the earth near some fairly recent Moslem tombstones, was the end of our safari. It started to rain, heavily. Wielding heavy hoes...