Entangled on the spiritual plane, the two material abodes of the ancient mariner on Pulau Ubin share between them the visible avatars of the island’s patron deity. On a hill beyond the village near the quarry of Ho Man Chu lies a temple that is the home mount of the grand old man, while a village hut of red planks serves as his festive seat.
Two and twenty sticks of incense are offered by passing souls to the pantheon of the townsquare shrine. First among equals to receive a tribute on ash is the invisible lord of a crowded sky. Next in line is a long altar within, on which the grandest of fathers sits with his entourage of stone warriors and bearded judges.
Guarding the grounds is a tiger who gets his due respect in fragrant smoke. But he probably prefers the slabs of pork that fill his maws and sate the fire of his belly. Humbler offerings suffice for his companion gatekeeper, who is happy to enjoy the juicy fruits of the earth.
The remaining joss goes to two other saints outside: one in the backyard whose identity remains a mystery to my non-vernacular duck and, a little further away, a Malay gentleman with potent powers of providence. Red packets with digits of hope await the faithful who land on the island to seek favour and fortune. The locals themselves ask for little more than the generosity of lesser gods to make life slightly less inconvenient compared to the comforts of those who get to leave with the last boat.
Codgers in a sideroom exchange tales of encounters with the ghosts of Ubin past, from karang guni men who continue to ply their trade in spirit to motherly wraiths desperate to offload the burdens of childcare to living souls. With a shrinking population whose members steadily depart for life on the mainland or hereafter, the villagers are quick to note strangers that are neither clumsy daytrippers nor roving ducks. Rambling old men in sarongs and songkoks are best left to pursue their midnight constitutionals in peace. Hollers from invisible bodies should remain unacknowledged. And those dying for a drink are advised to stick to the bottle lest a glass half-full invite the surreptitious sipping of parched and pained spirits.
Comments