132 PAGAN TRIBES OF BORNEO chap. 



through the gathering. Then the fun begins, gongs and 

 drums are struck, and the strains of music sound 

 through the village. With intervals of a quarter of an 

 hour every two hours, the monotonous melody proceeds 

 until seven the next morning, to be resumed, in all prob- 

 ability, the next night for another twelve hours, and 

 perhaps maintained night after night for a whole week. 



The medicine women — one, two, or three, rarely four 

 in number — have collected in the middle of the room. 

 Generally experienced by years of performing, they are 

 often too old to be attractive, despite the gorgeous raiment 

 with which they conceal their aged frames and the hawk- 

 bells which jingle as they move. At first they collect round 

 the earthenware censers to warm their hands. They then 

 begin to step with the music and wave their arms, hissing 

 loudly through their teeth the while, and occasionally 

 breaking into a whistle. After a time they sit down and 

 nod this way and that to the music, as though engaged in 

 training the muscles of the neck. But the drums and gongs 

 go faster, till the long hair of the woman flies round with 

 her head. The whistling is varied by a chant, sadongy in an 

 ancient language now barely understood. 



"Why do you speak? Why do you sadong} Why 

 are you such a long time ? As long as it takes a pinang 

 (areca) to become old ? The fruit of the cocoanut has had 

 time to reach maturity and drop. Come to this country 

 below the heavens. What do you wish? What is your 

 desire ? I have come to heal the sick one who lies on the 

 floor, feeble and unable to rise, thin and shrivelled like a 

 floating log. Have pity from your heart and prevent my 

 soul from parting from my skin and my bones from falling 

 away. This sickness is very severe and I am unable to 

 contend against it." 



One of the women goes to the patient, who, clad in 

 black, sits alone on a mat, and brings her a pinang blossom 

 to hold, covering her head with a cloth. The unfortunate 

 being is then brought to the hollow cone of shavings and 

 seated within it ; it is then whirled round till the white 

 shreds rise like a ballet dancer's skirt. Gradually the sick 

 person is worked up to a frenzy, and, keeping time with 

 the music, the medicine women sway about and wag their 

 heads. So the proceedings go on, with weird fantastic 

 dancing, noddhig, howling, whistling, chanting, for all the 

 hours of the tropical night. Then the medicine women are 



