UNDERGRADUATE PAGE
Through the Fire
By RICHARD D. GREENFIELD (Selwyn College, Cambridge) SAMMY was an Indian. He was an old man, but he had never been to India, for he was born in Malaya and lived there doing simple manual tasks for the white man. He was more intelligent than most of his type, for he could read a little English. He was contented, for he had no ambition to earn money faster than he could spend it—and who shall say that he was not a wise man ?
I was a National Serviceman in Malaya. In the evenings I would often pass half-an-hour or so in conversation with,Sammy.
He was the teacher. I would question him and joke with him.
One day last July Sammy and I were chatting. He knew that I was soon to leave his country, and I think he meant to give me a treat. " Sir," he said, " want to see fire-walking people ? "
I was interested. " Tomorrow afternoon Indian people walking Georgetown to Ayer Itam Temple—fire-walking, sir! " He could not tell me the exact time this would happen. Anyway, I had long realised that exactness of time meant little to him. He would tell me nothing more, but got up from his cross-legged position on the floor and said, " Be, careful, sir. Good night, sir," and waddled away.
The following day was July 15th, a Sunday. In the afternoon I followed by taxi the road from Georgetown to Ayer Itam, a village tucked underneath Government Hill some six miles from Georgetown on the island of Penang in North Malaya. It is largely Chinese and Indian, and is perhaps not a very safe place after dark. The words Ayer Itam are Malay for " black waters," and are derived from a stream which flows through the village. Some three miles from Georgetown I began to bear music and Indian singing, and soon passed a long, crowded procession. I paid the taxi off, and waited a few yards farther on. First to pass me was an old Indian blowing long blasts on a massive curved born nearly as big as he was. Second, leading the actual procession, was a middle-aged Indian on stilts, which gave him a height of just over eight feet. He was dancing round and round, and scores of little coloured glass decorations rattled and jingled as he went. Each one was hooked individually into his flesh.
Following immediately behind came the main fire-walkers. They carried huge idols, decorated with paper flags and flowers, aboVe their heads. These were supported partly by steel rods resting on a waist-belt, and partly by long thin steel spears which were stuck into their flesh. Where the load was heavy great weals were pulled up along their sides from the waist to the arm- pits, along the stomach upwards from the waist and across the chest. The second of these men towed a trolley, some five feet or more in height, including its cargo, a very much decorated figure of a god. He towed this on a couple of six-feet lengths of rope attached to large hooks, such as a butcher might use to hang meat (two inches across and six inches long), which were stuck into his back just above the waist. These hooks had each been pushed right through the flesh, which must have been pinched up for the purpose. Carrying this burden they had already danced three miles, and had anotlier three to go. Priests, some robed, some bare to-the waist save• for garlands of flowers about their necks, shouted and sang as round and round they capered. Indian boys, bearing great poles and banners, and a large crowd of Indians thronged the roadway. Even the Chinese looked on with awe, and made their children press their little hands together and bow their heads backwards and forwards as the procession continued towards a little Indian temple in the village. Bringing up the rear of the procession was the ruthum or tharu. A carriage led by two completely white, and supposedly sacred, bullocks, it carried the figure of the chief god. Priests hovering about it performed mystic ceremonies with pieces of coconut, two bananas and some white powder—thiranour-- which they offered round. It was smeared on the forehead, and prayers were said, while the inevitable betel nut was chewed. At last, well past five o'clock—the procession had left a temple in Georgetown at two—the Ayer_ Itam Indian temple was reached. With Sammy's words, " Be careful, sir! " in my mind, I pushed my way through to the front of the crowd coming upon an area surrounding a shallow pit which was roped off. In the centre of this pit was a long pile of charcoal emitting a dull glow. I indicated to a priest as politely as I could that I had to come inside the ropes in order to use my camera. With obvious reluctance, yet in a perfectly good-mannered way, he allowed me through. The temple staff had started to rake out the pile of charcoal to fill the pit to a uniform thickness. Inside it proved red-hot, and the radiated heat was considerable. Excitement was. growing all around me, and a hush descended on the waiting crowd as the priests commenced to fan the pit with circular fans made of plaited basket-work about two feet in diameter. I was Three yards from the fire, and the crowd which had burst the ropes was surging around me. I. dug my heels well in and shielded my face with my hands as best I could, for the heat was now intense.
The day was fast disappearing, and the night would soon drop with that often alarming tropical suddenness. The actual procession had gone into the temple as soon as it had arrived, and when the crowd was quiet enough I thought I could hear singing. Suddenly, with a roll of drums, the. chief priest, his hands clasped above his head, ran through the ten yards of fiery charcoal, dipping his feet into a little trough of water at the end. The crowd cheered. Slowly and deliberately, again with hands clasped together above his head, a second Indian appeared. Step by step he walked through the pit. The quiet was so intense that I could hear his, feet disturb the glowing charcoal, and hear, like a shot, the click of my camera shutter. He was followed by an old woman who danced from one side of the pit to the other.
As he stepped out of the charcoal, his head thrown and his piercing eyes staring upwards, the cheering was tumultuous. I believe that few people noticed that the woman who had followed him fainted on stepping out of the pit.
I was getting unpleasantly hot. My white shirt was smudged with smoke and soaked with sweat. The side of my face turned towards the pit was burning red and raw, but I was wedged in the crowd and could hardly move. Then the two Indians carrying the superstructures, supported, as I have said, partly on spears in their flesh approached the pit. The glow of the charcoal was reflected on the weird idol figures fantastically decorated with flags and flowers, which hovered, it seemed, over their heads. The spears did not allow them sufficient movement to stretch their hands above their heads. One had his hands clasped on his stomach, and, with his head hanging on his chest, looking down at the fire, be passed through, the pit. His feet sunk into the red-hot charcoal with the weight of his burden. The other had his hands outstretched, palm downwards, as if be were walking a tight-rope. His face was not visible save for the flattened ends of a six-inch needle which he had stuck horizontally through his tongue. Several other persons walked through the fire, but the light had passed and I folded up my camera. The pit glowed and hissed as buckets of water were thrown on to the ashes lest any wind should catch them. I made my way towards the road. stunned rather by what I had seen. As I passed the priests pulling the Kavady, the spear superstructure, from the walkers' flesh, the priest who had let me into the enclosure caught my arm and led me to one of the walkers who was sitting on a stool. By gestures I was invited to examine his feet. This Indian had carried a Kavady ; the ash still stuck to his ankles, and odd pieces of charcoal adhered to his feet, but there was not the slightest sign of a burn on those soles. I looked into the eyes of the Indian. They were expressionless but conscious. This was no trance I am sure.
Back at camp my besmutted face and filthy shirt attracted comment, but I could not reply, for the smoke had completely stolen my voice.
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