Is This a Warning from the Spirits

The smell of smoke was over-powering. It danced flirtatiously into the sky and sideways as if to gobble all the surrounding virgin air. Boom! Boom! Boom! Clang! Clang! Clang! The unmistakable mixture of sounds from the opera drums, gongs and other musical instrument made their presence felt. The huge wayang stage stood intimidating in front, blaring out the opera performers' Teochew repertoire, accompanied by the deafening sound mixture from the drums and gongs.

"Ah Beng." I called out, "Where are you sitting?"

"The tall bench behind." Ah Beng replied, "Our gang is there. Go and join them."

Ah Beng was my neighbour who went to the same school as I. Our gang referred to a group of young boys who played together in the village.

The temple in our village was having a celebration in honour of the deities of the temple. As a tradition, a wayang performance was staged to entertain and to appease the deities. Back then, the wayang (opera) was popular and usually attracted a huge crowd. The entire village was abuzz with activities and excitement. Villagers proceeded to the temple, hands full of offerings, to offer thanks and pray for blessings. Believers from all over Singapore converged here as well, seizing the rare opportunity to pray to the spirits for good luck and to be entertained by the opera performers.

I scurried around to look for my gang. Perched on a high bench of about four feet, about thirty feet from the wayang stage, were three of my friends. They were busy chatting like little monkeys and their hands gesturing non-stop.

"Ah Tan," Ah Gu called to me, "come and join us."

I climbed up the bench and joined the gang gladly. The bench was basic, assembled with a few pieces of planks. Its top hanged about four feet above ground level. Made of solid wood, it was sturdy and long enough to seat between four and five boys.

The victorious smoke, from the incense papers and joss-sticks, was omni-present and swallowing whatever remained of the virgin air. Eyes teared as the smoke danced against them. Not far from the temple, a queue of devotees were busily burning the incense papers at a furnace, oblivious to the choking and smoky air. Bright red tongues of fire flicked in and out of the furnace continuously, billowing out even more opaque white smoke.

"Eh, Gu, how long have you been here?" I asked.

"Not too long. I want to see the medium dance and sword-play," said Ah Gu.

"Is it nice to watch?" I asked as I rubbed away the tears with the back of my hand.

"Oh, it is intriguing. The medium will dance and hold his sword. He will slash himself with his sword. It is hard to believe but I had seen it before." Ah Gu replied.

Just then, the deafening boom of the drums made its appearance, accompanied by the now familiar clang of the gong. We looked towards the source of the sound and witnessed a group of people coming out of the temple. Several people, both hands clutching a huge bunch of joss-sticks, stoned-faced, were inching forward behind a strangely-attired man. Attired in a pair of bright yellow long pants, he was topless except for dark-colored apron. The apron had a red trimming all around it. Clasped firmly in his right hand was a sword, about two feet long.

The man in the apron appeared to be in a trance. He took a step forward, stopped to shake his head in a random manner and moved forward another step. Occasionally, he twitched his right hand in a menacing manner. Then, he did something most incredible. He lifted the sword above his head, bent his hand backwards and slashed his own back with the sword.

"Ouch!" Ah Gu shrieked, as if the sword had cut him.

Ah Gu closed his eyes instantly, pressed his two flat open palms together and moved his both hands back and forth, in a praying motion. The two other boys followed suit. I looked at them, half amazed and half amused.

"Why are they so superstitious? There is no such thing as spirit in this world." I stubbornly reasoned to myself.

The trancing man continued his slow, mechanized motion, occasionally slashing his bare back with the sword. An assistant, who was carrying a large bowl of holy water, sipped the water into his mouth so that both his cheeks were puffed-up, not unlike the puffer fish. Then, he blew the water hard into the air somewhere near the trancing man's back. The spilled-out water disintegrated into a mist and the layer of mist descended gently onto the man's wounded back. The mist would absorb plentiful of heat from the man's hot and painful back, cooling the back and alleviating the pain.

"Wei, Guys!" I called out to my buddies.

No response from the three devout believers who continued with their praying action, with their eyes tightly closed and in deep concentration.

Indignant at being ignored by my buddies and too spiritually-stubborn to believe in the existence of spirits, I blurted out something that I should never have.

"You guys are stupid to believe in all this. This is all bluff. Wake up your ideas. Don't believe in this phoney stuff," I sneered at them.

Thud! Thud! Both my knees hit the ground simultaneously first and instinctively I used my both hands to break my fall. My left arm sent a shearing pain to that dumb brain of mine. Like a lifeless stone statute, I was affixed to the ground where I had just landed. The victorious pain gladly directed ready tears to my wide-opened eyes, down both sides of my nose. My left arm ached so badly that the slightest movement sent an arrow piercing through my body. I froze.

Suddenly, after what seemed like eternity, I heard a voice.

"Hey, Tan," Ah Gu called out. "What are you doing down there? Are you searching for gold?"

Talked about rubbing salt into the wound. I bit my teeth hard until they almost cracked and tried to stand up, real slowly, careful not to disturb my left arm more than necessarily.

"Ah Gu, why did you push me?" I murmured feebly.

"I never did that. I was praying hard and I heard you jumped down," he protested.

I was sitting at one end of the bench and Ah Gu was right next to me. The other two boys were sitting on Ah Gu's other side and away from me. Who in the world had sent me crashing down?

My left arm was limp, lifeless. Supporting my left arm with my right, I walked slowly and cautiously back home. My mind was in a whirl. How would my mum react to this? How could I explain the fall to her? Would she chide me? Would she cane me? Would she.....

"What happened to you?" mum asked anxiously, as I stepped into the house, feebly.

My face was as white as paper and my body as cold as snow. I looked weak and my movements were haphazard. There was no way to escape my mum's hawk-like eyes.

"Are you sick?" She asked with a concerned voice and her hand felt my forehead. "Is everything ok? You are in cold sweat."

"My left arm......," I answered weakly, "is broken."

"WHAT?" Mum raised her voice a few decibels, in her anxiety. "How many times have I told you not to climb too high?"

Like all regular mums, my mother, in her anxiety, started to question and nag repeatedly. I could clearly sense her love and concern for me despite her bothersome and non-stop nagging.

"Come, let me see," she commanded, authoritatively.

"OUCH!" I yelled out in pain as she touched my left arm.

Mum's face went as white as mine. I could sense the pain in her heart as her eyes glistened with tears and her body quivered uncontrollably.

"Does it hurt? Where?" Mum sobbed with a concerned voice.

"Here." I pointed to my left arm.

Mum immediately escorted me to the village physician (a Chinese sinseh) who was an expert in bones and limbs. After examining my left arm, mum was greatly relieved to learn that there was no fracture. I had a slightly dislocated left elbow. The physician put me through a severely painful routine during which I cried uncontrollably in pain. Finally, he managed to put the elbow joint back in place. He bandaged my left arm. With a large white bandage cloth, he improvised it into a sling, placed my left arm in the sling and slanged the other end over my head. My left arm felt slightly better. The pain had abated slightly. I felt much better.

In the evening, with the constant probing from my mum, I reluctantly related the afternoon's incident to my mum. My mum was aghast that I had incurred the wrath of the spirits and the spirits might cause more mishaps upon me. I was shell-shocked. Though I was spiritually-stubborn, that afternoon's fall weighed heavily on my adolescent mind. My brain started to waver. My skin curdled with goose pimples and of a sudden, I felt a chill over me. Regret drowned me and my mind went blank. Me and my big mouth!

The next morning, mum and I went to the village temple. We prayed to the deities. Mum wanted to consult the deities regarding my fall. She took a tall wooden round container that contained many long flat wooden sticks. The sticks were longer than the container so that they protruded out by about two inches.

Kneeling in front of the deities, mum started mumbling something to them. Clutching both her hands round the container, she shook the container in a quick motion, a couple of inches to the front and back continuously. Chit! Chit! Chit! The sound of the sticks slamming the wooden container resonated throughout the praying hall. There were several other devotees, faithfully consulting the deities, like my mum and the entire praying hall vibrated with the combined sound from all the containers.

A stick grew taller and taller in my mum's container as the shaking continued. Finally, the tallest stick dropped out of the container with a distinctive thud. Putting aside the container, mum picked up the stick. She murmured a prayer to the deities and walked to the counter at the end of the hall.

The elderly man at the counter, with a head of white hair, took the stick from mum. He examined the number carved on the stick and took out a message chit of the same number from the pigeon hole behind him. Mum paid him and requested him to decipher the message on the chit.

"My son had a minor accident yesterday," mum said, "I would like to consult the deities about his accident."

"Hmm, I see," croaked the man, in a hoarse voice, matter-of-factly. He read the Chinese message on the chit several times. He turned around and gazed at me, from head to toe, in a deliberate, slow and careful fashion, as if trying to find something. He looked at my slanged left arm again. He turned his head to look at the message chit. I could sense that one of his eyes was watching me, while he was looking at the message.

"Aunty, the gist of this message," the man breathed in deeply, so that he appeared taller, "is that your son had accidentally offended someone important. The accident is a warning. Apologise, and don't repeat the mistake."

Mum placed her two open palms together in front of her chest and moved them in short movements, in a praying motion. She simultaneously nodded her head repeatedly. I was taken aback, my hair stood on end and goose pimples infested my entire body.

"Prevention is better than cure." This phrase is most apt when applied to that accident that occurred forty years back. Since then, I have never made any comment when any happening relating to the spirits is taking place.