when i was growing up in Mersing, a town on the east coast of Johor, my parents would visit a bomoh ever so often. This was decades ago and my parents have long passes on, but i'll never forget their reliance on the bomoh. Whenever a family member fell ill or wnehever my parents suspected that a curse had been place on them, they would always turn to the bomoh for help.
I had barely turned six when they first took me to him. I was a sickly, very skinny child and had been suffering frequent attacks of asthma.
His house was an old, rambling attap structure hidden in the midst of a lush garden filled with jackfruit, rambutan, mango, banana and coconut trees. There were clusters of hibiscus plants and sugar cane. Chickens and ducks, and a few goats, roamed freely.
Imagine my surprise when i struggled up the steps to the verandah and discovered an elderly white man greeting us with a kindly smile.
"This is Bomoh Charles," my mother announced. "He's the most powerful Bomoh in malaysia."
I looked at the stooped orang puteh with the friendly eyes and snowy white hair. He looked anything but a powerful bomoh! He took my hand in the traditional greeting. His touch was firm, his skin cool, and he moved with dignity and grace.
"Your mother has told me a lot about you," he confided with a wink. "Now, let's see what we can do to help you regain your strength..."
He led me into his tiny parlour, hopelessly cluttered with books, papers, all sorts of herbs, dried roots and bark. He reached foe his spectacles. He asked me about my shortness of breath and how the violent asthma attacks had begun. Whenever i stopped to catch my breath he regarded me with his gentle eyes, never once looking impatient or cross.
After about an hour, he got up and brought my mother to sit with me, while he mixed some herbs. He carefully instructed my mother when I should be given the mixture. Then he stood up and took my hand.
"I think your asthma will be gone soon." he promised me. "But you can come back to visit me whenever you like."
"What, no jampi-jampi?" mother asked.
"I've something better." Bomoh Charles said and crossed to a cupboard and rummaged about inside. When he turned to face us again, he was holding a bottle with a ship inside.
"I spent many hours getting the ship to fit inside," he chuckled. "Let's see if you can get it out again..."
He was a wise old Bomoh! I took to him right away.
I spent hours with that bottle, staring at it, poking inside it with a stick, but the ship never came out. Whenever I felt ill or short of breath, playing with that bottle calmed me down. I kept it for years and years; it was my good luck charm.
Bomoh Charles became a friend and a confidant. He knew our way even if was orang puteh. He was always gentle and considerate.
..::TO BE CONTINUE TOMORROW::..
story has not ended
