Hikayat by Ninotaziz

It’s a big world inside the book, hence its size. It’s heavy too – with beautiful illustrations and cosmic quality stories. It’s a seventh sky high ambitious work, to make you feel like stretching the fantasy on your child’s lap who sits on yours, make him listen to your own rendition of the forgotten Malay folklores retold by storyteller and poet Ninotaziz while he brushes his tiny fingers across the fine lines of pen sketches on illustrated pages and embossed ornaments decorating the cover. Hikayat is a compilation of beautifully crafted old Malay folklores. This art of storytelling is dedicated to all children of Nusantara.

A Tale of Pulau Tenggol's Wolverine

I once wrote about the legend of Panglima Hitam Tambun who defeated the notorious pirate Lang Merah and his men by the Dungun beach during the reign of Sultan Zainal Abidin the third. Now we have a guest writer named Mr. Stopa who told me an interesting story about the King with the claw who probably still resides at his kingdom Pulau Tenggol! Here how it goes:

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Dear SPD,

Came across your blog while strolling on blogs on Ganu Kite. Kijalian by birth (sédé mung Awang !! – oh my, your fancy rigmarole!!), Dungun was never far from me when I was swimming with the fishes in Kijal, Kemaman. From afar as told by GrandPa, Dungun and the the land around it look like a finger knuckle about to jentik (flick) a piece of cotton ball ie. Pulau Tenggol.

Pulau Tenggol, he added, was the place full of treasures with skulls scattered all over the place. There lived a man with hands like claws who was a king with many wives. "Don't harm the crab " said GrandPa, as they would cry and swim all the way to Pulau Tenggol and make an official report of your wickedness to the King with the claws. Soon an army of crabs would descend on our little kampong, specifically looking for you ie. me. "Laugh as much as you like, ridicule me if all I care, as the crab never forget about you."

"There will be a day when you least expected, their descendant who were told of your cruelty, would snap your crown jewel, should you take a dip in the south China Sea".

For that reason, from that day onwards I never did any skin dipping in South China Sea.

I am approaching my trip to Pulau Tenggol in June with trepidation. I know the story was not true, but the thought of losing (though way passed expiry date) the family heirloom, sends chills down my spine.

My question to you are: has the man with the claw hands been caught? What happen to his wives? Any of his kids got claw hands? Any of them selling ikangceluktepung (Terengganu style fishes tempura) in Dungun ??

Yours Truly

Stopa

***

I hope someone can help Mr. Stopa find the answer of his last question.

Hikayat Sang Gupal

This is probably the best asang gupal I have ever tasted in my entire life. It proves that innovations in our local cuisine are always welcome—as long as they don’t ruin the taste, the love, the feel, the childhood memories bound up with it. I have always loved asang gupal first for its chewy texture, and second for its taste.

Asang gupal, sang gupal, asam gumpal, asam gupal—whichever sounds right to you—is made of sago with sweet green bean filling, served warm or cold with salty-sweet coconut milk. Sometimes it reminds me of Japanese mochi. I reckon there are quite a number of asang gupal varieties that have come into existence through Terengganu’s cultural evolution. I remember the ones I always bought from Pasor Minggu Dungung were bathed in coconut milk infused with ginger and fenugreek. The ginger was mild, while the fenugreek tossed in the aroma of an Indian spice shop on a hot afternoon.

This newest version, however, substitutes the traditional ingredients with jackfruit flesh. Sweet, milky, fruity. No spice. And it works. I praise the innovator of this unique version, because it tastes so good. They even violated tradition by abandoning the fist-sized sago balls. Instead, these asang gupal look like longan or lychee, deceiving the taste buds of their confused devourer.

Maddoff

It was Madoff who designed the system. His competitors made some innovations to the original plan, and then many versions came into being, carrying many names in many places under the sun. They were the “optimistic opportunists,” led by rich figures who spun yarns about their journeys to financial success before deciding to recruit followers. What fool would ever deny the wise words of rich people trying to help them get rich?

The promises were so convincing that I found myself embracing the world of multilevel marketing. With only RM2,488 as the programme’s prerequisite capital, I became the blood brother of optimistic opportunists who practiced senyum simetri (symmetrical smiles) in front of aspiring downlines and would NEVER say baik (good) whenever someone greeted them with apa khabar? (how are you?). They would heroically say hebat! (great!) instead. To me, it sounded both pretentious and funny, because that kind of reply doesn’t naturally exist in my language.

“Apa khabar semua?!!!” the speaker yells energetically. How are you all, he says.

“Hebat!!!” reply the aspiring business partners.

“Now we present youuu Tuuuan Haji Abu Akhlaqen! The top achiever in this reeegion!” the speaker shouts. “Twenty-seven years old, yes! That’s his age!! His monthly income is in five figures!! Once again we present youuu… our honourable… Tuuuaan Haji Abu Akhlaqen!!!”

Then, a man looking sharp in his finely tailored suit jogs in slow motion towards the stage. Scorpions’ vocalist belts out “Here I am… rock you like a hurricane” from the megaphone at the corner of the hall. The song fades into silence.

“Apakabarrrr sssssmua!!!” Akhlaqen greets the crowd.

“HEBATT!!!” yells everybody. This time, shit has gotten serious.

“Assalamualaikum. Hello everybody. Thanks to our emcee for tonight’s event, Mr. Sadiq Segaraga, who is also my upline, for making my life a mess.” Everybody laughs. “Yeah, my life is indeed a mess because I don’t know what to do with my monthly income of RM35,000. Haih…”

“Yearrghhh!!! HEBAT!!!!” and they clap their hands.

That was how the first step of recruiting new businessmen and businesswomen in multilevel marketing worked. After this ritual, they would become money zombies who valued friendship more than normal people do. They would begin visiting old friends, striking up good rapport, and then—out comes the pitch.

This explained why Mother’s old friend paid us a visit two weeks after Father died. She brought along another woman, some sort of cheerful companion. The fat penguin that broke the ice and played with it. She really knew how to talk.

Suddenly the living room was flooded with promotions of this antioxidant product and that mineral supplement. She told us about their plan to visit China a few months later. She bragged about quitting her permanent job to focus on the business. She boasted about her downlines’ five-figure incomes, though she kept hers conveniently confidential. She explained the system. She invited me to join the system.

She insincerely praised my educational background to flatter me into joining. Then she asked me to roll up my sleeve—
“Let’s see whether you have health problems. I’m using this device. Even modern medical practitioners use it.”

Yeah, right.

Purple Berry & The Sweet Orange Coloured Fruit

We folded the front flap of our big shirts upward and tied both ends into a tight knot at our lower backs. That was how we made kangaroo pouches in which we tossed wild kemunting berries harvested from the shrubs sprawling near our wooden house. We were surrounded by an ocean of tall grass blades—the metropolis of dreadful snakes, trolls, and goblins. The savannah turned golden in the sweltering heat of a Sura Tengoh summer. The creaks of coconut palm leaves far above our heads seemed to play in time with the fervour of the South China Sea wind blowing landward from the nearby beach. We picked kemunting berries and more berries, twig to twig, until our small palms turned purple, our pouches bulged, and we looked like pregnant ladies craving wild sweets.

Kemunting steals some of the blackberry’s features—the shape, the colour. Pinched gently between thumb and index finger, the freshly picked fruit left dark purple stains on my sweaty fingertips, pressed against its dry, dusty skin. Its slightly coarse surface reminded me of the velvet that made up our school theatre’s stage drape.

We felt we had enough berries for the day, ma’am and sir. Let’s go home! Be careful not to step on snakes, alright?

At home, by the main staircase leading to the living room, we would kneel down and untie the knots. With that, a kemunting avalanche was triggered. The berries rolled downhill into a netted bucket stolen from Mother’s kitchen. Then they were washed thoroughly under tap water to remove impurities. Beneath the purple velvet skin hid tiny seeds the size of sesame, coated in sweet purple jelly. That was the part we sucked on through the overcast Dungun evenings.

Buoh ulat bulu was another wild fruit that painted the Dungun sunset lurid on my memory’s canvas. Shaped like a near-perfect pumpkin, its resplendent orange skin stood out among its younger green siblings that sprouted from a network of hairy liana plants climbing toward the sun. It sprawled across our neighbour’s fence like a vineyard. Its waxy surface felt like betel leaf, yet soft like turtle eggshell.

To eat buoh ulat bulu—well, here, take this orange one. Carefully tear open the skin. See these jelly-coated seeds? Yes, just like the kemunting we ate together. Suck them all. Sluurrppp. M’schuh. Aaah. Sweet, isn’t it? You want more? Here, take another. Don’t worry, we still have plenty at Pok Cik Rohing’s fence.

Eve of The Passing Year

The first blossom of plum flower is the harbinger of spring. Ice is melting, river is flowing, birds are singing, festival is coming. Like the colour of grass shoots coming out of the bank by the flowing river, the end of winter marks a new beginning of everything after a mirthless long cessation of life. This is the point where farmers in the mainland China would start sowing their fertile land, plant their crops in hoping for better life quality, longevity, happiness.

After the eve of the passing year passed and the clatters of greasy dishes washed by their women heard in the kitchen, in next morning the clouds vamoose in the sky like a time-lapse movie.

I, Sir Pok Deng, would like wish my Chinese readers, Gong Xi Fa Chai!

Poseidon's Wrath

Pantai Teluk Lipat (Teluk Lipat Beach), Dungun, Terengganu. December 26, 2011.