Folktale Prompt: The Craving

Cover illustration by Tan Vay Fern, showing 
a Bobohizan called Dayang Sulong aka the 
Witch of Moon Lake.

I've been asked by Bijit Sinha to provide a prompt for a story, based on myth. Since I'm more familiar with folklore, I chose a story from Kadazan-Dusun folklore. This is the majority ethnic group from the state of Sabah, in Malaysian Borneo.

The Craving

By Tutu Dutta

A retelling of a dark folktale from Kadazan-Dusun folklore.

Tears pooled in her dark eyes. Her heart ached with the disappointment. Then she clenched her hands over the black fabric of her tapi and twisted the material, knuckles protruding against her tanned skin. How could he do that to her? He had no right!

The events of that afternoon played out in her mind.

He had summoned her to the family hall. As the chief, he was entitled to the largest and most ornate living quarter in the longhouse, a large, vacant space partitioned off from the rest of their quarters by woven wall tapestries. Her soft-spoken, doting, middle-aged widowed aunt, who had raised her in her late mother’s stead, was sitting beside him, face lowered.

The chief cleared his throat. “My daughter, we have wonderful news! We have received an offer for your hand in marriage and I have agreed to it. The young man in question is most suitable.”

Kinambura’s face lit up. Her full, soft lips curved into a smile. But she suppressed it; it was inappropriate to show too much happiness at a wedding proposal. She assumed modesty. “I’m happy if you and Aunt are happy with this proposal, father.”

“Indeed, we are! The young man concerned is well-mannered, wealthy and has blood ties with us, as well.” he said, a look of satisfaction on his face.

Surprised, Kinambara smiled wider. “I didn’t know that Montuk was related to us.”

“Montuk? Why do you mention his name?” A deep frown took over the pleased look on her father’s face. Her aunt looked up sharply and scrutinized Kinambura’s face.

Kinambura remained silent, her heart sinking while her father continued, “I’m referring to Tingoran, of course.”

Kinambura gasped, turning ashen. What possessed them to think that she would ever be interested in marrying Tingoran? While it was true that they had known each other since childhood, she regarded the other more as a brother than anything else. In fact, they were distantly related. She said, warily at first, “I thought it would be Montuk.” Then, she tilted her chin up. “I’m in love with him, Father.”

Her aunt entreated, “Kinambura, please be reasonable. Tingoran is the son of a wealthy chieftain and is known to be good natured and kind. Montuk is not a good match for you. He is known to be harsh man and there are rumours about him practicing dark magic.”

“Aunt, you can’t believe what people say! They are jealous of him! Montuk is a wonderful man. And he loves me!” Her dark eyes flashed, and her lips thinned with indignation. “You can’t force me to marry Tingoran! I will not spend the rest of my life with such a boring person!”

Her father dropped all semblance of patience and snapped, “Please return to your bed and calm down! You are not to leave the longhouse to see Montuk ever again. Do you understand, Kinambura?”

Before he could say more, she jumped to her feet, ran out of the room and climbed up the ladder that led to her bed, high above in the loft, just below the thatched roof of the longhouse. She pretended to fall asleep.

The afternoon warmed. When the sun set and enveloped the peaceful valley in a warm glow, her aunt brought her a plate of food: rice with chicken roasted with bamboo shoot. As the heat of the day gave way to cool evening air, she heard members of the longhouse gather in the long open space along the verandah to sing and tell each other tales and jokes. It was a convivial time enjoyed by all—except Kinambura.  

When their quarters were finally empty, she tossed aside her blanket. She climbed down the ladder to the main room below, and crept to the back door of the longhouse. Once her feet touched the bare earth, she ran through the tapioca and melon farm to the edge of the luxuriant bamboo grove behind the longhouse. As night descended, the air cooled and a slight breeze blew through the bamboo leaves. She waited impatiently. Then her  heart missed a beat. Montuk appeared a few feet away, looking more wickedly handsome than usual in the dim light. She ran to him and they embraced.

She laid her head on his shoulder, tears running down her cheeks. “They’ve arranged for me to marry Tingoran!”

“Who? What are you talking about?” He held her by the shoulders. His eyes bore into her.

“My father has arranged for me to marry Tingoran! He will be coming with his men in a few weeks’ time. They will be bringing the bridal gifts and we will be married on the same day!” Kinambura’s finely etched eyebrows drew together in anxiety. “What am I going to do?

“Tell me more about this. Exactly when are they expected to arrive and which route will Tingoran and his men be taking?” His rough voice surprised her.  

“I don’t know. I suppose if they start in the morning, they will arrive before sunset. I think my aunt and the maids are preparing to cook a feast for their arrival.”

“There are a few routes from the village of Tambunan to here. Which route are they most likely to take?”

She frowned, then laughed. “Of course Tingoran will probably take the route through the hill side. He always did hate to get his feet wet. He will have to wade through the stream in the route through the valley. Why?” She teased, “Are you planning to scare him away?”

“I will give him the scare of his life.”  He laughed, twisting his lips. She saw a strange expression as he said, “Tingoran will never ask you to marry him again!”

He pulled her to him and looked closely into her eyes. His dark eyes gleamed with resolve. “You are mine, Kinambura! You will always be mine, no one can take you away from me.”

Kinambura felt dizzy with excitement at being so close to him. What was it about him that set her heart racing? Was it the musky smell or the smooth handsome features which look like they had been carved out of wood and polished to perfection?

Kinambura sighed and pulled away from Montuk. The night was wearing on, and she had to sneak back into the longhouse. She could not risk being seen by anyone.

In the weeks that ensued, Kinambura willingly participated in her wedding preparations. She kept her face from showing her relief that this affair was not never going to come to fruition.

On the day of the wedding, her father and relatives waited expectantly, but Tingoran and the wedding party from Tambunan never showed up. Kinambura felt relieved but, at the same time, a strange sense of apprehension crept over her. Her father’s and Aunt’s increasing consternation as time passed almost made her regret ever scheming with Montuk.

It was dark when members of bride’s entourage who had been tasked to greet the groom appeared. Their shocked expression and pale faces told everyone it was going to be dreadful news. The leader said in a shaken voice, “They’re dead, they are all dead! We dare not even… their heads were hacked off… and Tingoran… his head is missing!”

Kinambura felt a wave of nausea. She blinked. Tingoran’s disembodied head materialized, inches from her face, blood oozing from its severed neck. The apparition looked at her with anguished, accusing eyes. She heard a piercing shriek. She realized, shocked, that it came from her own mouth. Her knees gave away and she collapsed onto the bamboo floor. When she woke up, she was resting on a mat on the floor, covered with a blanket.

Her aunt gazed at her anxiously, wiped her brow with a damp cloth and whispered, “Don’t take it too hard. We know you are devastated but these things happen. According to Montuk, it was a group of headhunters from across the mountains. There has been bad blood between them and the village of Tambunan for a long time.”

Kinambura turned her head. She didn’t want her aunt to see the look of anguish and fear in her eyes. It was Montuk, of course. She knew that with certainty. He had tricked her into giving him the information about the wedding entourage, and had lied to her. Tears sprang into her eyes. She had never meant any harm to come to Tingoran. She had not wanted to marry him, but had never wished this gruesome death upon him. She knew a missing head meant that his spirit would never be at peace, not without a Bobohizan to calm and tame his restless spirit. Montuk was just supposed to scare him away.

Weeks passed and Kinambura lived in seclusion. She only left the longhouse in the company of her aunt and a few of the other ladies. She was careful to avoid Montuk, who tried in vain to see her. She told her aunt that she was devastated by her fiancé’s death. Everyone had no doubt that she was unwell; she had grown thin and wan. Gone were her flashing eyes, uninhibited laughter, and most of all the vitality which had previously attracted so many admirers.

When she finally recovered, her father asked to see her again. “I cannot bear to see you suffering like this. Montuk has asked for your hand in marriage and I have agreed, in spite of my reservations. I remember that you expressed your love for him, some months ago.”

Her aunt nodded and smiled at Kinambura, but Kinambura felt all the blood drain from her face, and she thought that she would faint. How could she tell her father that she no longer wanted to marry a cold blooded murderer, without implicating herself? When she finally found her voice, she said, “Of course, father. If you really think this is for the best. Maybe this is what I deserve.” She tried her best but she could not stop her voice from wavering slightly. Her aunt look at her in surprise.

There was nothing she could do; they were married within weeks. On the wedding night, she had a hysterical fit and had to be taken to her father’s quarters again. During which time, Kinambura developed a strange, inexplicable craving which could not be assuaged by either food or drink.

Her aunt attended to her. “Only a few months ago, you wanted to marry Montuk more than anything in the world. So what has changed?”

Kinambura was silent for a long time. She could not face her aunt when she said, haltingly, “It was my fault… that Tingoran is dead. I told Montuk when the wedding party was coming.”

“What? But we all know that Tingoran was killed by headhunters from across the mountains.  It would be impossible for Montuk to kill seven men all by himself,” she said, disbelief in her eyes.

“I know it was Montuk. He asked me a lot of questions about Tingoran’s route to our village and the day he was expected to arrive. And I have no doubt he can kill seven men by himself. He once he told me that he could make himself invisible,”  Kinabura’s voice trailed off.

Her aunt looked disturbed but she tried to calm her niece down. “You are upsetting yourself for no reason, Kinambura. A few other people knew about Tingoran’s route.”  

“But they were all a part of the marriage party… and… and I know where Tingoran’s head is hidden.” Her voice dropped to a fearful whisper. “His spirit spoke to me and told me where Montuk had hidden his head.”

Her aunt turned pale and was too shocked to speak.

“I can’t return to him, and you can’t tell anyone what I told you, otherwise we will both die!”

Her aunt believed her. She told everyone that a strange wasting illness had gripped her niece and she had to be confined to her father’s quarters. This was quite true because Kinambura felt ill all the time, the insatiable craving only intensifying. Her father grew worried about her steadily deteriorating health. The chief told his sister-in-law, “I fear for my daughter’s life. Please save her because she is all I have.”

She nodded but decided not to tell him what Kinambura had confided to her about Montuk. Instead she said, “Kinambura craves the rare mushrooms which only grows on the other side of the mountain. Perhaps you could ask Montuk to collect some for her? I can make her a special dish which might cure her hunger.”

The chief instructed Montuk to gather those mushrooms as soon as possible. Early the next morning, after Montuk had set out on his errand, Kinambura and her aunt surreptitiously entered his quarters. Kinambura climbed up to the loft and located the rattan basket where he kept Tingoran’s head preserved in layers of dried leaves.  She carefully lowered it to her aunt, and the two of them quietly left the longhouse, unnoticed by anyone. With both women bearing the weight of the basket and its macabre contents, the two walked the entire day until they finally came to the Tambunan longhouse, the deceased’s family home. They were greeted by the chieftain and the Bobohizan of Tambunan. Kinambura sorrowfully handed them Tingoran’s head, and the old chieftain wept over his dead son.

The two women were given a room at the farthest end of the longhouse. Before everyone retired for the night, the Bobohizan walked around the longhouse and placed a protective spell over the place. Kinambura was exhausted and retreated into a recess in the room to rest for the night. She slept on a thick mat on the floor while her aunt took the loft. Before going to sleep, she lighted the hearth and placed a pot of water over it and added some rice to the pot. The night would get chilly and it would be nice to have food ready in the morning.

In the middle of the night, Kinambura was roused by a soft, scuttling sound. She opened her eyes and sat up soundlessly. There was a large rat on the floor, sniffing around unawares. Kinambura sank silently to the floor and crawled forwards on all fours, like a giant reptilian feline, her black eyes fixed on the rat. When the rat finally sensed her presence, it was riveted to the spot, unable to move in sheer terror. Kinambura caught the rat in her clawed fingers and ate it greedily, leaving behind only hair, nails and bones. Sated at last, the young woman then crawled backed to her bed and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The next morning she was awakened by her aunt and the Bobohizan. Her aunt said, "It's late morning and we overslept! Did anything happen last night? I had a strange dream but I just could not wake up."

Kinambura shook her head, she could not remember anything. Her aunt went to prepare the morning meal and called out to the Bobohizan, "Look, elder sister! There are animal bones in the fireplace."

The Bobohizan walked towards her looking puzzled. She stretched out her hands; the aunt placed the bits of fur and bones in her hands. She gasped out loud and almost dropped the bones, her face had turned pale. The Bobohizan called out, “Kinambura come here! Did you eat anything, last night?"

She showed Kinambura the remains. Kinambura gasped and then blushed with embarrassment, "I was so hungry last night that I may have eaten something!"

The Bobohizan remained silent. She searched through the dust and carefully collecting every tiny bit of bone and fur that she could find, she heaved a sigh of relief when she found the tiny head. She said under her breath, "He turned himself into a tiny animal to bypass my spell and enter this bilik.”

The aunt said, "What? Who are you talking about? I don't see anyone here."

The Bobohizan replied grimly, “These bones in my hands, I think it is Montuk.”

The aunt gasped and Kinambura turned pale but she was not surprised; it was almost as if she knew this at the back of her mind. The memory of what happened last night came back to her. She felt sick and wanted to throw up; but her illness and nameless craving were gone. She said, "Yes, I think it's him. But I couldn't help it, he meant to harm me. Montuk is not a man; he is a shaman, an evil shaman." 

She also remembered what Montuk had told her on their wedding night. “You have no idea how much I wanted to marry you. It’s not just because of your beauty but you have magic in your veins. I sensed it the first time I met you. I just couldn’t let any other man marry you… ever. We belong together, I need you!”

Later that day, the three women buried the remains of the rat in a tiny grave beside that of Tingoran.

Tutu Dutta has a B. Sc from Universiti Putra Malaysia and an M.Phil from the University of Malaya. She is the author of nine books, ranging from the picture book, Phoenix Song, published by UK-based Lantana Publishing; to a collection of dark folktales, Nights of the Dark Moon, published by Singapore-based Marshall Cavendish Editions. She draws inspiration from Asian folklore, for her books.

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