The Hills of Singapore

by Dawn Farnham

  “Alex speaks our language very well, Miss Charlotte. Did you know?”

  Charlotte looked at her son. She knew, of course, that he spent time in the town with his syce. She wanted him to learn the Chinese language but this was the first she had heard of how well he was doing.

  “No, Qian. Does he?”

  “Yes indeed. Almost as well as my own son. Certainly better than Ah Soon speaks English.”

  Qian looked at his son. “Ah Soon, more study I think.”

  Charlotte laughed as Ah Soon bowed.

  “Today he will practise, for we shall speak English all day.”

  Charlotte too, turned to Ah Soon. “Eh, Ah Soon, English today.”

  Ah Soon looked up at his father and Alex’s mother. “Yes, of course. It is a pleasure,” he said in very good English.

  They all burst out laughing and Qian nodded permission for Ah Soon to take Alex to explore the house.

  Qian led the way around the screen and into the first open courtyard. The sun was slanting in, for it was early, casting flickering glints on the ponds of goldfish and the pots of white lotus, some in bud, some in bloom. Such a lovely flower, Charlotte thought fleetingly. She remembered it was the symbol of the Boodha, representing the possibilities of the human spirit, its feet in the mire of earthly mud but its pristine beauty facing the sky. She had thought this a powerful and touching sentiment. The sounds of the street had completely died away. The peace and silence of this inner court, filled with glinting sunlight, had a unique charm. On either side of the court were rooms and Ah Soon pulled Alex into one of them.

  “These are sleeping quarters, rooms for eating.”

  As if they were in a temple, a sudden odour of incense wafted on the air.

  “Offerings,” Qian said looking at Charlotte’s face. He could see her curiosity. They walked through this court and into the inner apartments. The odour of incense became very strong and Charlotte could see that the smoke rose in heavy whorls from the two altar tables. One was adorned with porcelain gods, pictures and Chinese writing. She knew that the very high black wood table was the ancestral altar. It was covered with silver goods, an ornate incense burner filled with smoking joss sticks, high candlesticks, dishes and cups. The spirit house stood in the middle of the altar and Charlotte knew that here reposed the ancestral tablets of the Sang household. A portrait of Sang hung over the altar. He had died only a few years ago and it was his spirit, and those of his predecessors, which were propitiated here.

  Zhen had told her something of these beliefs in the spirits of the ancestors. At death the soul of the departed cleaved into three manifestations, one remained here in the spirit house, one reposed in the grave and a third, after a passage through the hellish regions—helped on by offerings from the living—eventually ascended to heaven to act on the family’s behalf, bringing good fortune and longevity to the men and perpetuity to the family. The Chinese world was inhabited by wandering souls and ghosts needing endless attention.

  How tiring, Charlotte thought, when Zhen had told her that it was not the men but the women who were charged with this constant care. Care for the living, care for the dead, Charlotte mused. A Chinese woman’s lot was not to be envied. Unappreciated during her life, forgotten after her death unless she were a matriarch of importance with many sons. Zhen had explained this to her though he did not care about this sort of thing. He followed the Tao and for him the afterlife did not exist.

  To either side of this room stood double doors. Qian ushered Charlotte to the right to a corridor which led to a small courtyard, where, in the centre, a gnarled tree cast its deep shade. Here, at a table made entirely of green and white porcelain, Qian invited her to sit. A servant appeared with tea.

  Charlotte knew, in a moment, that this house, this kind of house—its sun-glinting courtyards, its separated spaces, its cool and green silences—was somehow, part of the Chinese soul. The outer walls defended the inner apartments from noise and the uncontrollable outer world. Here everything was ordered, contained and peaceful. She remembered Zhen moving gracefully in the Tai Ji, the dance of the Tao, as he had called it. Graceful, contained, the inner part balanced and peaceful, separated from the shocks of the world for a moment. She sipped the fragrant tea and thought that finally she glimpsed something of Zhen’s deep soul that she had not seen before. The longing for him came in a powerful wave. It was as if he were here, surrounding her. She put down her cup and rose, thanking Qian, and moved out of the courtyard.

  Qian waved to the carriage, then turned and walked back to his own apartments deep in thought. He was almost certain that Ah Rex was Zhen’s son but what he should do with this suspicion he had no idea.

  15

  Munshi Abdullah was waiting outside the mosque at Kampong Glam. When Charlotte’s carriage pulled up, he came forward from the shade, his umbrella raised. His youngest son, Ibrahim, was with him. He was just a little older than Alexander and Ah Soon. The boys ran forward, greeting the Munshi politely, Malay style as they had learned, and Abdullah smiled broadly. Charlotte too curtsied to him.

  “Thank you, Munshi, for taking the trouble.”

  The Munshi put up his hand. “No trouble, no trouble. My pleasure.”

  They turned to face the mosque and Charlotte put up her parasol. The mosque had not changed aspect in all the years Charlotte had been in Singapore. It was a large, square, low building, with a high pyramid-style roof of four layers. Each level of the roof was finished with curving finials, like the curved beak of the hornbill. She had seen this style in Java; it was quite common. The building had originally been of wood and attap, but it had been rebuilt, and now it was of brick and red tiles. Adjoining it was a square, double-roofed antechamber, where shoes were removed and ablutions performed. Her sojourn in Java, her reading of Raffles and Crawfurd had taught her something of the religion of the Mohammedans.

  Charlotte looked at Abdullah standing with the boys. They had removed their shoes and entered. Abdullah was pointing out the pulpit, explaining the call to prayer. Charlotte, like Zhen, did not believe in these religions of gods and prophets. In this, as in many things, they were instinctively in tune. But Abdullah was of the faith and nothing could have recommended it more. It did not seem narrow, like the Christian church. Her experiences of the Scottish Kirk had chased her as far as possible from these moralising pulpits. Perhaps this faith had its zealots too but Abdullah was not one. His intellect was wide. He could translate the gospels without the slightest loss of his own faith, content to leave to others their own beliefs. In Java too, the drowsy drone of the Madrasah boys reciting the Koran was peaceful, the call to prayer musical and beautiful.

  Abdullah joined her. He knew the boys could only take a little of looking at buildings. They had really come to see the tiger which the Sultan kept. The group turned, therefore, and walked along to the gates of the compound. When Charlotte had first visited this place it had been nothing more than the poorest-looking bungalow surrounded by ramshackle walls and two watchtowers, the Sultan’s followers sprawled around in huts. She had never seen the Sultan, who had already fled from Singapore before she arrived, but Abdullah had told her about him.

  Tungku Hussein had been the eldest son and heir-apparent of the last Sultan of the intact Johor empire, which had included Pahang, the Rhio islands and Singapore. The Johor sultans claimed descent from Parameswara, the first Sultan of Malacca. They had fled before the Portuguese invasion. They counted themselves, Abdullah had stressed, the first amongst all the royal families of the Malays because of this ancient lineage.

  When Tungku Hussein’s father had died, Hussein had not acted to claim the throne and had been usurped by his younger brother, who had the support of both the Bugis powers and the Dutch. Hussein had been living penniless in Rhio when Colonel Farquhar, well aware of the situation, spoke to Raffles. In order to thwart the Dutch, they offered the throne to Hussein with the backing of Temmengong Abdul Rahman, the father of the present Temmengong, who had then been
living as ruler of Singapore island. He had fled from Rhio, having fallen foul of Hussein’s brother. Thus were the treaties made which ceded to the East India Company certain rights to the island, and thus was made the rival Sultan of Johor.

  Hussein had acquired in one swoop wealth, prestige and land. Kampong Glam was given to him and an allowance of $1,000 a month. His entourage, his followers, his harem followed him to Singapore.

  Of course the money was all too soon not enough. His expenses increased and so had his demands. Raffles had been frustrated and annoyed, but it took Crawfurd to deal with him. In 1824 things came to a head. Crawfurd had withheld the funds, forcing the Sultan into submission and had quickly negotiated the complete transfer of power over Singapore and her surrounding islands for the sum of $30,000 and a lifetime allowance of $1,300 a month.

  From that moment Hussein’s prestige had plummeted. Crawfurd did everything in his power to force him to leave. When the ladies of his harem ran away because of mistreatment and sought British protection, Crawfurd, against the most vociferous arguments of the Sultan, granted it. Crawfurd also forced a road across the Sultan’s compound despite a show of defiance. The humiliation of the Sultan had been complete. But he stayed on in Singapore and from that time he had been quiet. For ten years at least.

  Abdullah had stopped before the gates of the Sultan’s compound and drawn the children around him in the shade. He began to tell them about the first Sultan. Charlotte smiled, for his recollection of this man was vivid. Whilst she listened she took in the new walls, neat with chunam, and the Istana which George Coleman had built in the style of a grand colonial house for Hussein’s son and heir, Tungku Ali.

  “Now listen, oh my little ones. At the time that he came from Rhio to Singapore this man was of average proportions. However, when he became Sultan his body grew plumper and plumper as time went on. His obesity became so exaggerated that he looked square in shape, for he was very short. He became no longer recognisable, with his small head and neck buried under so much fat that it looked as if he had no neck; his round face, squinting eyes, button nose, wide mouth, spreading chest, paunch distended by layers of flesh, thighs which met in the middle, spindly legs without any flesh, splay feet and a raucous voice which jarred on the ears.”

  The children were agog, mouths open.

  “When he spoke he snapped and snarled, scaring everyone. His body was sallow. He was so fat he had not the power to support his own legs and had to be carried everywhere.”

  The boys stared. “What happened to him?” Alex said finally, curiosity burning.

  “He grew so lazy he could not run the affairs of his own household. He grew to depend on a young man, a commoner called Abdul Kadir. Whatever this man said, good or bad, the Sultan agreed. The Sultan lost all sense of his responsibilities to the world. Of course all sorts of tales were told about this Abdul Kadir and became common knowledge amongst the people of all races in Singapore and Malacca. Plots were hatched among the Sultan’s followers to murder Abdul Kadir.”

  The boys gasped and looked at each other. This was the most thrilling tale they had ever heard. Charlotte knew he was not telling them everything of course. For the accusations and tales were of adultery by the Sultan’s wife.

  “Some of the Sultan’s followers took the matter to the governor of Singapore and told him not to blame them if they were to try to put him to death. The governor tried to reason with the Sultan but he just said that they were all against him. He could only trust Abdul Kadir. Now the followers were very, very angry and Abdul Kadir did not dare leave the palace, he was so afraid. Finally the Sultan grew so worried that he sought some means to bring about Abdul Kadir’s escape, for he was convinced he would be murdered that very night.”

  Abdullah paused and the boys jiggled impatiently, not daring to speak. The Munshi smiled and looked at Charlotte.

  “They dressed Abdul Kadir in a woman’s dress and a veil and got him into the Sultan’s carriage and through the milling crowds because the people were scared of the Sultan. They smuggled him out of the palace, through this very gate.”

  In perfect unison, the boys looked up and around them. This place had been the scene of such exciting events!

  “He went into hiding in the town and everyone was searching for him. Finally at dead of night he got aboard a boat, still dressed as a woman, and went to Malacca. From that moment, the Sultan was like a hen that has lost her young. He was moody and angry and hated all his followers and sat about as if he were heartbroken.”

  Ah Soon let out a long “phew” of amazement. A man crying for another man like a girl. He looked at Alex and they both shook their heads.

  “Sir, what was wrong with that Sultan?” Alex asked very politely.

  “Why, everything, Iskandar,” Abdullah said looking at Alex. Alex nodded.

  “Eventually, the Sultan could stand it no more. He took his wife, his two sons and his four daughters and left Singapore in a boat. After many dangers they arrived in Malacca. From that moment Abdul Kadir became as the ruler himself, for the Sultan agreed with everything he said. The Sultan’s monthly allowance from the English went into the hands of Abdul Kadir. Immense sums ran like water through his hands. The Sultan’s possessions went to the pawn shop in their thousands; things made of gold by the sack load, diamonds in handfuls, fine silks, all pledged away for paltry sums. Anyone wishing to see Abdul Kadir was granted an audience as if he was the Sultan himself. He never walked but went about by carriage and horse day and night. Many wanted to take his life.”

  The boys nodded vehemently. Charlotte could see they were indignant. Ah Soon had made a little fist. She wondered if she should stop this story but the boys were utterly wrapped up in it, and Charlotte did not quite dare to stop the Munshi.

  “Nobody dared do anything, for they still feared the Sultan. To Abdul Kadir’s face they feigned respect and when they saw him they did obeisance. But they plotted and plotted. Finally, their moment came.”

  Ah Soon shot up, too excited to sit. Charlotte threw a glance at Abdullah, and he nodded.

  “Abdul Kadir was stabbed with a kris, but not hurt badly. An English doctor saved him. The Sultan turned all his Malay followers out of his house and married his daughter to Abdul Kadir, although Abdul Kadir was already married with six or seven children. And he was given the title Tengku Muda, the young prince. Everyone in Malacca was amazed.

  “But mark well, my little ones, how great is the wisdom of Allah in working his purpose among men.” Ah Soon sat down, calmed now, and the other boys nodded sagely.

  “When the poor, foolish Sultan died, it was the end of Abdul Kadir, and he died, too, not long after.

  “Here is a lesson, my young boys. Take care of your body and your mind. Remember that Allah sets his face against foolish tyrants and brings to ruin the greedy, the boastful and the stupid.”

  Abdullah stood up and the boys thanked him, delighted with this tale of woe, of mighty fallen and divine justice.

  “And now, a tiger!”

  The children squealed and ran into the compound. Charlotte followed with Abdullah.

  “An exciting tale and you tell it so well. What about the present Sultan?”

  “Tengku Ali. He is as weak-minded as his father. He is not recognised as Sultan of Singapore by the English. Hussein’s disgraceful behaviour set an irrevocable stamp on this family. Ali is permitted to live here with his followers. It is he who commissioned this palace. The English pay him a pension. However, at present, they favour the Temmengong, who is much smarter than Tengku Ali and on excellent terms with Governor Butterworth. Ibrahim has been useful in putting down piracy, or so it is perceived.”

  They had turned around the palace and entered a garden. The boys ran ahead. Two guards with krisses came forward, and the boys stopped abruptly and looked back at the Munshi. He spoke to the guards, and they turned and led the way to a clearing which contained a large cage of bamboo. The guards began poking a stick at the tiger, who looked lethargic
and underfed.

  Charlotte could not watch. She lacked the stomach for this kind of thing. The boys would be thrilled by it but it had no appeal for her. She spoke to Abdullah, who nodded, and she went back, through the garden and the gate of the compound. Her carriage was waiting and she mounted it, sheltering from the sun under her parasol.

  “Mrs Manouk, what a pleasant surprise.”

  Charlotte turned and was astonished to see Captain Maitland approaching on horseback. He swung down and came up to her, leading his horse to a stone water trough.

  “Captain, what brings you here?”

  “I come this way sometimes when I am going into town.” He shifted slightly. “However, I must confess I saw your carriage and came to investigate.”

  Charlotte smiled and opened her fan. “My son is visiting a tiger but I have not the heart for it.”

  “Yes, I know, poor thing. Better to be shot.”

  Their sentiments were in tune and Charlotte warmed to him.

  “Would you visit the observatory, Mrs Manouk? I should like it.”

  Charlotte sensed a tenseness in him. He had blurted the invitation out. Small talk was obviously not his strong suit. She looked into his eyes. He tilted his head to one side, waiting. It was a charming gesture, boyish.

  “Yes, Captain, I should like that.”

  He smiled. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow morning. At ten o’clock. I shall have finished my observations.”

  She smiled and he stopped. He took a breath, realising perhaps his brusqueness. “Sorry. Would ten o’clock be suitable?”

  “Yes, Captain, entirely suitable.”

  He bowed, the look of pleasure on his face making her smile.

  She could hear the boys coming back and put out her hand to take her leave, then suddenly remembered. But it was too late. He had moved forward and taken it, putting it to his lips this time. She felt the pressure of his mouth on her hand and sat very still. He too remained motionless for a fraction too long. She gently pulled her hand away.