by Diane Taylor
"We were all playing hide-and-seek,' they panted, "Din and Mahmud were winning because we looked everywhere but couldn't find them. Now it's getting dark and we want to give up, but they won't come out from their hiding places."
Din and Mahmud's worried parents ran straight out, calling their names, and hunting everywhere frantically trying to find them. A whisper went around that perhaps the forest spirits had snatched the boys, but no-one wanted to believe that. Every person in the village above the age of thirteen turned out to help in the search. They searched and called and called and searched, all that night and the next day. They looked up trees, inside water barrels, and under huts. Yet the boys could not be found. The villagers were now even more positive that something evil lived in the forest. Something that perhaps liked to trap human beings.
Had Din and Mahmud been eaten up by tigers? Or did something spooky really live in that forest? We will never know. After this, nobody wanted to go near the rainforest. If the villagers needed to gather firewood or herbs, they would go in groups, never with a child, and they certainly didn't venture too far inside.
What we do know is that the Javanese villagers named the village Cholang. The name is made from two Javanese words, ucol, which means to be released, and hilang, which means to disappear. The two words together warned that if anyone were to be let go into the jungle, they would vanish.
Many years later Cholang village and the rainforest were completely cleared and made ready for new buildings and new roads. Re-named the Watten Estate, the area changed completely and became a bright and friendly place to live. Since then, no-one has vanished in that area, and the story of Cholang has become a legend.
It happened on a Tuesday. Ramanujan woke with a start, and as his mind began to clear from the jumble of dreams, he felt a niggle of excitement tucked away inside. The kind of feeling you get when you know something important is about to happen but you can't quite remember what it is. What could be happening today? He shook himself awake, and then remembered. Of course! Today he had been asked to do a very special job. He leapt to his feet, and in the dark he hastily began to get ready.
Rama was the youngest of the washer-men, or dhobies, who earned a living by collecting clothes from house to house, and washing them in the brown froth of the Singapore River. He was not quite sixteen, and until recently had worked alongside his father. Sadly his father had died, leaving Rama's mother to bring up five children alone. As the eldest son, it was now Rama's job to care for his family.
Rama had never been to school. Like many of the other dhobies, he could not read or write. He earned money by helping his Uncle Ganesan with his washing business. He learned how to collect the laundry from the big houses. How to behave while he was there. Who to speak to and who not to. How to listen carefully for instructions. How to watch the river for the tides. How to use the rocks for beating the dirt out, and how to spread the fabrics out on the flat ground to dry.
Last of all, he learnt the skill of sorting and folding the dry washing into bundles to be returned to the houses. This was probably the most difficult task. Because they could not read or write, the dhobies had invented their own methods of marking the washing piles so they never got muddled up. One mistake in this could lose a dhoby his job.
Rama was tall, strong and confident. Smooth dark hair swept low over his forehead, and when he smiled a flash of bright white teeth lit up his cheeky face. This Tuesday morning his smile was even wider than usual as he stepped onto the street. Yesterday Uncle Ganesan had given him an extra-special job to do. One to manage all by himself.
"Boy, I have too many collections tomorrow already," Uncle Ganesan told him. "The old amah from the corner house has asked me to take on their washing, and the washing of their neighbour Madam Fu. Their regular dhoby hasn't turned up for two weeks and she needs this doing urgently. She told me if I do this first job well she will give all the work to me. This is a big chance Rama, for you know which family she works for, don't you?"
Rama shook his head. He had no idea who these people were.
"The house is the big, fancy white one, with a white verandah and the huge garden with a banyan tree," his uncle explained. "It is called the house of Wong. A rich and distinguished Chinese family live there, and Mrs Li is the servant in charge. Next door is another Chinese family, the house of Fu it is called. This family also have washing to be done.
"These are very important jobs, Rama, and I am going to trust them to you. If you do them well, you won't have to work for me any longer. Take these jobs as your own. Remember all the things you have learned from your father and from me, because it's time now for you to work alone and earn some money to feed that family of yours."
Uncle Ganesan grabbed Rama's hand excitedly and began to shake it up and down. "But remember the golden rule Rama—don't mix up the laundry! Mrs Li will expect back the exact pieces she gave you and not one piece more or less. A mistake like that will lose you the job. Be careful! But of course you will, I don't have to tell you things like that," he beamed.
Rama was both proud and delighted. He hugged his Uncle and danced around the room clapping his hands in delight. Here was his chance to branch out on his own. His chance to take care of his family.
"Of course I can manage. I'll really make you proud of me, Uncle," he gasped. "How many times have I helped you with the same kind of problem? I'll be fine, don't worry. Thank you so much!"
He was so excited!
So it was on this particular Tuesday morning he strode out confidently towards the house of Mrs Li. It was a perfect morning. The sun rose brightly in a crystal-clear blue sky. What could possibly go wrong?
Wearing his whitest lungi (a type of Indian sarong), a piece of soft cotton cloth tied around his head, and clean but very faded and well-mended shirt, Rama marched proudly down the road that led towards the river. The street was already buzzing with life as the tradesmen plied their early morning trade. The roti-wallah, carrying freshly baked bread in a basket on his head, swayed past with a wave. Dudh-wallahs, milking mournful cows with twitching tails, sold fresh milk by the cupful from the road-side. A large straw basket bursting with pineapple skins stood to one side. The skinny-looking cows were fed on these once a day to make their milk even creamier. The garland-makers were already up and weaving their flower necklaces in the shophouse entrances, while the goldsmiths and sari-sellers inside, were getting their glittering goods ready to open for business.
Rama turned the corner, passing Bencoolen Street jail. Here the rickshaw-drivers washed their rickshaws at the road-side water tap near the prison building. Some chatted and played cards while they waited for a customer. Conical hats tied on with string, hung down their backs. Wearing dark shorts, short jackets and all with bare feet, they looked like boys waiting for the school doors to open.
Ah Chan's hawker stall was doing a brisk trade as usual, selling hot tea and coffee. Whistling cheerfully, Rama stopped to buy a cup of coffee from him, as he and his uncle did every morning.
"Morning, Boy! Where is Uncle?" wheezed the old coffee-hawker, as he poured the scalding coffee from a battered metal pot.
"Uncle is busy today. I'm working alone," replied Rama, hastily swigging down the steaming, sweet milky concoction.
"Good, good boy!" nodded Ah Chan. Rama, smiled and handed him a few cents.
He carried on his way down the road until he arrived at the gate of a large white bungalow. There was the verandah, and across a beautiful garden, the banyan tree. This must be the place! Heart thumping loudly deep inside him, Rama pushed the gate open and made his way to the back door. He knocked, and waited nervously.
An old Chinese lady opened the door, dressed in black. She looked him up and down for a second and then turned and shouted to someone inside.
"Wei Wei-ah! Bring washing quick quick! Dhoby's waiting. Hurry-lah!"
This must be Mrs Li, thought Rama. A girl appeared from nowhere staggering under the weight of two huge bundles. She dropped them a
t Rama's feet and disappeared inside.
Mrs Li spoke again. "Two washing. One this. One that." She pointed to her house and the house next door as she said the words, so there would be no mistake. "Back here 5 o'clock, boy. Understand? Yes or no?"
"Yes, 5 o'clock," Rama replied.
He bowed his head towards Mrs Li, picked up the bundles, threw them across his shoulder and made his way back to the road. So far, so good.
Now Rama headed for the river. Some of the other dhobi-wallahs were already there, standing in the river and slamming their washing against the rocks as they scrubbed and beat the dirt out. Rama found himself a space at the water's edge and opened up his bundles of washing.
Each bundle had table linen, children's clothes, handkerchiefs, napkins and other bits and pieces in. He arranged them on the bank, and with a stick he started to make squiggly marks in the dirt beside them. This was the way of many dhobies. To separate their washing they each had a kind of code to mark out which piece belonged to whom. Some scratched their codes onto the rock, or on a stick, and some etched it into the mud. Rama was in a hurry, so this is what he did now. He meticulously separated the two sets of washing, and made his list in the mud of how many pieces in which pile, and what they were.
He was very, very careful indeed.
The river was often brown and muddy, and washing things clean in it was no easy task. However, Rama scrubbed and rinsed, rubbed and rinsed, singing softly to himself as he did so. He was so absorbed in his task that he didn't notice the sky darken and the rain clouds rapidly blowing overhead. It wasn't until the first enormous drop of rain hit him squarely on the forehead and slithered down his nose that he looked up. As huge angry purple clouds gathered quickly overhead, a thunderclap split the sky in two and in no time at all the rain was falling down in torrents.
"No," yelled Rama, leaping out of the river, "NOOOOOO!" He grabbed at the piles of washing and ran for the shelter of the nearest tree. The other dhobies had. already collected their things and were patiently sheltering and waiting for the rain to stop.
Rama squatted down by his pile of soggy washing and rocked backwards and forwards on his heels. He wasn't upset because it was raining. He was upset because in his rush to gather up the washing, he had carelessly thrown all of it together in one big muddy heap. Now it was all mixed up. He worried about what to do. No good asking the other washer-men, they would only laugh and make fun of such a stupid mistake.
After a while the dark clouds passed, and the rain stopped as swiftly as it had started. Steam rose from the damp ground as the hot sun shone down once more. Rama spread the muddy, wet clothes out and stared at them miserably, trying very hard to remember where each piece had come from.
He felt a tap on his shoulder. "Rama, can I help you, boy?" It was Uncle Ganesan.
Rama shrugged his shoulders miserably and said: "I don't know, Uncle. I just can't remember how they were before the rain. I just panicked and ran. I made my list in the mud, and the rain has washed it all away. I'm so sorry to let you down. How could I be so stupid?"
"I'm here to help, boy," replied his Uncle, kindly. "We all do this once. Believe me, you won't make the same mistake twice! Now, let's help you sort this out as best we can. Think boy, think. Rack your brains. Tell me what you remember."
Together they tackled the problem. Not all of Rama's marks had been washed away by the rain, and he gradually remembered which belonged to who. With Uncle Ganesan calmly taking charge, piece by piece they sorted out two piles of laundry once again.
"Good. Now you must wash again Rama, but this time don't make your marks on the mud. Use something that won't get washed away—the clever ones use this." Fishing a drifting piece of bamboo from the fast flowing river, he pushed it into Rama's hands.
Now Rama remembered! Some of the other dhobies scratched their markings onto a stick with a knife and carried it around tucked into their lungi. Of course! That way it wouldn't get washed away in the rain. For each bundle of new laundry they used a new stick. Simple! Rama felt ashamed of himself for making such a stupid mistake. He began to scrub the washing clean all over again, and this time he didn't muddle it up. After that he dried it flat in the baking sunshine on the riverbank.
By 5 o'clock two bundles of sparklingly clean, neatly-folded washing were delivered back to Mrs Li's door.
"Wei Wei-ah!" he heard her shout. The girl appeared once more, took the washing inside, untied the bundles and examined the linen carefully, Rama held his breath.
Had he made a mistake? Had he muddled something?
Mrs Li was standing by with her hands on her hips, looking very serious. The girl nodded to her.
"OK boy!" said Mrs Li in a stern voice. "You come again next Tuesday morning, 6 o'clock. OK?" With a curt nod of her head, she handed him some money, and closed the door.
Yes! He'd done it! She had asked him to come back! Rama walked calmly back down the path to the road, but when he reached the corner, out of sight of the house, he leapt as high as he could in the air, and then began to run. He flew home as fast as he could to give his mother his hard-earned money.
That was the start of Rama's laundry business. He never forgot the lesson of the muddled washing, and if you had been able to visit Rama a few years later, you would have found a cheery young man with his own shop front, and a fine sign outside that read: 'Ramanujan—finest laundry in town.'
Around a hundred years ago, fearsome pirates were often found sailing in the waters around Singapore. The most famous—and most feared—pirate at this time was Chief Black Buffalo, or Kerbau Hitam. He was dark and ferocious looking, but not as you might be thinking with a wooden leg and an eye patch. Kerbau Hitam wore just a cloth around his middle, with a sharp knife tucked into it, and a bandanna around his head to keep the sweat out of his eyes.
His men were dressed the same way. Their feet were also bare, so they moved stealthily and silently. Kerbau Hitam had fearsome black eyebrows that met in the middle of his forehead, and a permanent scowl. He would slay a dozen men, dust off his hands, and then sit down to breakfast without a thought. His face had such a ferocious look on it that many people fled without a battle. His band of pirates were as fierce and vicious as he.
Now, Kerbau Hitam and his gang were planning a new attack. They had heard a rumour that the Raja of Riau's daughter was planning to get married. A royal wedding meant that plenty of gold and jewels would be around for easy picking. They just had to figure out how to get their hands on the loot—and do it quickly and stealthily.
"We all know that the Raja of Riau will be very wary" said Kerbau Hitam to his men. "He'll suspect everyone and everything. He'll do everything in his power to protect the island against any form of attack, which makes this mission very dangerous, but it'll be fun! If we're not very careful, he'll spot us immediately and set his army onto us."
"I have a plan," he continued. "We will disguise ourselves as traders from Johore, bringing goods for the wedding."
He finished with a harsh laugh:
"The rest... you can guess!"
The men rubbed their hands together with excitement. They continued to discuss how the rest of the plan would work well into the night.
Preparing crates of goods to carry onto the island to show they were traders took some time, but when all the preparations were complete, they set sail for the Riau islands on their heavily disguised pirate junk.
When they arrived, and landed at the shore, the Rajas guards came down to their boat to meet them.
"In the name of the Raja, before you set foot on this land, who are you?" enquired the first guard.
"Traders from Johore, selling fabric and lace," Kerbau Hitam replied confidently. "The Raja is expecting us."
The Raja's daughter, Normah, was at that moment planning her wedding gown with a team of tailors. The whole island knew about this, and that she was waiting for a delivery of fabric from the mainland. The Raja's soldiers thought this must be a batch of fabric arriving for the prince
ss's dress, and they did not suspect a thing.
"Welcome! Bring your goods ashore," said the guard.
Within minutes he wished he had never got up that morning. The pirates grabbed him, tied him up and overpowered the rest of his shore patrol. The pirates then sauntered up to the Raja's palace and calmly walked in the front door.
As soon as they entered the palace, the Raja came out to greet them. Four pirates immediately surrounded him, grabbed him and bound his feet and hands together. The whole job had so far taken no more than ten minutes. Kerbau Hitam stepped forward, his silver knife glinting in his hand, and the famous scowl on his face.
"People of the palace, DON'T make the mistake of trying to help your Raja. The island is now under our control. If any of you try to stop us, we will kill the Raja immediately, in front of your eyes." He turned to his men and said: "Tie up anyone you find. We'll deal with them later."
And so, the helpless Raja was taken prisoner in his own palace, while his daughter still sat innocently planning her wedding in her room, not yet knowing that pirates surrounded her.
Suddenly the door to her room was flung open, and in strode the most terrifying man she had ever seen. Behind him, tightly bound, her father shuffled along, being pushed from behind by another vicious-looking man. Kerbau Hitam took one look at the Princess and decided she would do just fine as a pirate bride.
"I'll marry your daughter if you like, old man," chuckled the pirate.
"Never," declared the Raja, "You'll have to kill me first."
Normah screamed when she heard this, but the pirate only laughed harder. "Lock her up. She'll soon change her tune when she's tired and hungry."
Down by the seaside, Normah's fiancee, Rahim, had returned from a hunting trip just in time to see the pirates arrive. Hidden in some nearby trees, he had watched everything helplessly. Without being seen, he jumped aboard a small boat, and sailed to Singapore to get help. Within a day he landed at Tanjong Rhu and told the fishermen gathered on the shore his terrible tale. They took him immediately to their leader or temenggong