THE MEMOIRS OF MUSTAPHA HUSSAIN - Malaysia Today

12 Memoirs of Mustapha Hussain
German-made equipment was more often than not out of order. It was
heart-breaking to know that our abundant natural wealth was enriching
‘others’ while Malays living along these silted rivers suffered when crops
and livestock were destroyed by floods.
The bridge across the Larut River, near the mosque, had been constructed
and reconstructed three times. The first bridge, a wooden one,
was built by Haji Musa, a Malay contractor who was once an imam in
the Matang Mosque. Using Malay workers and local merbau timber, Haji
Musa’s bridge survived more than fifty years.
In 1922, when I was twelve, a new concrete bridge replaced the
wooden one. This was constructed by Indian coolies brought in by the
British from India’s Malabar Coast. Malays call them Malabaris. It was
interesting watching these Malabaris work on the bridge, especially during
the piling process. We could hear them yell “Yelli-yelli” each time they
pulled the rope that hoisted the weight to its highest point before dropping
it by releasing the rope.
And when they let the rope go, they always shouted “Let go,” not in
Malayalam or Tamil, but in English. It was strange that their mandores
shouted “Let go!” in English instead of Malayalam. As a result, the sounds
they made were like a musical jingle along the lines of “Yelli-yelli-ho.”
We spent hours engrossed in watching them work and ‘sing’ in their
colourful sarongs while chewing betel nut rolled into leaves with lime
paste. But each time we went there, we upset our mother, who was
specifically instructed by Father to prohibit us from going. Father was
also in the habit of returning home unscheduled, just to check on us.
After all the concrete pillars had been firmly planted, we were banned
from going to the bridge. We were very closely supervised, one could
say almost chained inside the house by father’s threats. According to Mak
Endak Mariam (an aunt who lived with our extended family), the jin
(spirit) at the bridge site hungered for children’s heads. These heads were
sacrificial offerings to appease the spirits minding the bridge; otherwise
the new construction would collapse and kill many workers. We were
categorically warned about turbaned Sikhs who came around the houses
carrying empty gunny (jute) sacks and scythes. They were said to be
looking not for grass to feed their cows but for children’s heads.
As for the number of heads needed, someone said this was determined
by the Masonic Lodge, or rumah hantu (haunted house), in Taiping. A
worker at the Lodge said he had seen white men sitting down at meetings
wearing eerie looking black robes and face masks. After much chanting
and calling on dead spirits, a skull placed on the table would speak. Such
stories made us shiver with fear whenever we saw turbaned Sikhs.