Telur and Tepung Therapy

AFTER MAK WAN DIED, Seri Pagi's health suffered rapid deterioration. Twice, he was given jampi by Awa; once with telur ayam (hens' eggs) and the second time with tepung beras (rice flour) and water mixed into a putty-like dough. I witnessed both healing events, which took place at night.

For the first ritual, Mak Minah bought eight raw eggs from the local provision shop. Awa had the kemenyan fuming in a coconut bowl filled with glowing coals. I don't recall hearing her recite any incantations, and if she did, she must have done it sotto voce. An enamel dish was placed on the split-bamboo floor beside Seri Pagi. Awa grabbed an egg and proceeded to rub it on Seri Pagi's upper back, at the point where he had complained of severe aches. After a minute of this, she cracked open the egg into the dish and began to scrutinize the yolk for tell-tale signs - discoloration, specks, or small deformities. 

“Hah!” she exclaimed, pointing to what looked to me like a day-old chicken embryo. “Hmmm...” 

Minah seemed to know what to look for. Taking a look at the yolk, she reacted with the usual, all-purpose, no-meaning, Temuan interjection: “'Tah, 'tah!”  Sort of like, “There, there!”

Awa picked up another egg and massaged Seri Pagi's bent back with it. Again she broke the egg into the dish and studied the yolk. She pointed at some blemish with excitement and Minah shone a flashlight on it, just to make sure Awa was right. I asked Awa what she was looking for, and she told me: “Sickness leaves its mark. We can see it in the egg yolk. I'm drawing out the sickness with the eggs.”

The last few eggs seemed to indicate that the bulk of Seri Pagi's sickness had been drawn out. Awa and Minah were pleased with the pristine state of the yolks, at any rate. The eight eggs in the enamel dish were now carefully transferred into a plastic bag. Awa was careful not to spill a single drop of egg. Tying the bag securely, she handed it solemnly to Mak Minah with firm instructions that the bag be disposed of far away from human habitations. 

“Can't the dogs have the eggs?” I asked.

Awa and Minah looked at me with disbelief, as if wondering how I could possibly suggest such a cruel act. “They'll die!” Mak Minah said, and Awa thought it was the funniest thing she had heard all week.

“So where are you going to throw the plastic bag with the eggs?” I asked Mak Minah. “Can't you just bury it?”

Minah said, “The dogs will smell it and dig it up. Tomorrow I'm going to fling it as far as I can down the ravine by the main road.”

If you ever come across a plastic bag in the jungle, full of broken eggs, just pretend you didn't see it and walk on.

    

THE TEPUNG RITUAL was performed several months later, when Seri Pagi again complained of sharp pains down his back. This time, I arrived as Awa was already kneading bits of dough into little balls. Nearby was a terra-cotta incense-holder with the sacred kemenyan. I watched as Awa deftly rubbed the doughball over Seri Pagi's bony back. After a couple of minutes, she stopped and broke the doughball in half, studying the flour texture with great concentration. She broke each half into two and examined the flour; and then again, until the dough bits were too small to break. She shook her head and remarked that whoever was responsible for this attack must be a right sneaky bastard - or words to that effect.

The third or fourth attempt produced dramatic results. When Awa broke the doughball into eighths, a small bit of metal was found. “Look!” she shouted. “Look at this... IRON! Too much!” 

She kneaded another doughball and repeated the procedure. This time a flattened bottle-cap was disclosed. I just couldn't believe anyone would deliberately conceal a bottle-cap, of all things, in a ball of dough. Utat, who had been observing quietly, made a wry comment: “You'll be surprised what comes out in the tepung.  Pins, rusty nails, razor blades, even machine parts like washers and screws!”

“You mean that bottle-cap was inside Pak Diap?” I asked Awa. She looked fatigued by her efforts and barely managed a smile. Utat made a valiant attempt to explain how evil intentions and illness often disguised themselves as common-place objects. The fact that most items fished out by the tepung ritual happen to be metallic merely indicates that the majority of psychic attacks or invasions originate from the mineral kingdom - the 2D realm of the Subconscious. 

The next day I looked in to see if Seri Pagi was feeling better after his tepung therapy. He was in good cheer and assured me that he felt “a lot better.” He certainly looked like someone who'd just had a few bits of “heavy metal” removed from his internal reality. I wondered if the flattened bottle cap could be traced to that extra bottle of Guinness he shouldn't have had the week before. 

Upon later reflection, the use of eggs and flour to draw out disease by an intentional act of sympathetic magic began to make perfect sense to me. 

The egg is a basic symbol of new life, a primary metaphor for the life process: a single cell charged with infinite potential to subdivide and grow into a complex organism like a bird or duck or snake or lizard or platypus or elephant or human. 

Flour is the universal staple of life - and more so when made from beras (rice), a grain sacred to all rice-eating peoples. The rice flour represents daily sustenance: the transmutation of vegetable life into animal vitality. Turned into dough, flour is as malleable as clay - another substance neutral enough for it to serve as a template for more complex ideas. In alchemical terms, dough is akin to the newborn consciousness - the tabula rasa upon which fresh imprints can be registered with minimal interference. As a poison-detector, flour is unbeatable - because of its easy availability, its transmutability into almost any form imaginable, its ability to retain a humble, prosaic, wholesome familiarity. It is indeed the Flour of Life!  

Seri Pagi didn’t have to pay Awa for her telur and tepung therapy. Indah and Rasid explained that the traditional payment for jampi is RM44. The figure 44 is symbolic: it could be measured in bucks or dongs or kyats or bahts or euros or rands or roubles or yuan (in rupiahs, I guess, the amount would be something like 440,000!). We learn in the esoteric science of numbers that 11, 22, 33, 44, 55, 66, 77, 88, 99 are Master Numbers. Solara (a starpriestess and visionary I know) calls them “our entry point into the Greater Reality.” In effect, Master Numbers help us access the next level or octave of vibratory resonance.  

When Anoora and I were engaged, I was required to pay her the sum of RM44 to validate the transaction. Later I found out RM44 was the bride-price of a virgin. A divorcee costs only RM22. If the woman was married twice, the price is further halved to RM11. Beyond that I suppose she gets labelled “cheap.”     

Since Mak Minah had asked Awa to treat her brother, it was Minah's debt and not Seri Pagi's. She could settle immediately in cash, offer to pay in painless instalments, or repay Awa in kind. For a full-scale jampi session - which can last three or four nights - the customary payment is usually RM88, RM110, RM220, or RM330  - depending on the financial status of the client and the degree of cure achieved. Indah assured me that the dukun was bound by tribal adat (tradition) to offer follow-up treatment for at least six months.

Western-style medical practitioners have much to learn from the shamanic profession!