The Girl Sudan Painted like a Gold Ring: Lands below the Winds

By Theresa Fuller

If you like your fables with a dash of bloodshed, then The Girl Sudan Painted Like a Gold Ring is the anthology you have been waiting for. Author Theresa Fuller has collected a fascinating group of tales based on the oral storytelling history of the Sea Dyaks of Borneo.

 

The twist? The Dyaks were headhunters!

 

A TINY MOUSEDEER BATTLES A SPIRIT GIANT

 

A GIRL MUST SAVE HER VILLAGE FROM AN ARMY OF HEAD-HUNTERS

 

HOW A HEDGEHOG HELPS A BULLIED BOY BECOME A GOD

 

In this book you will find stories designed to entertain and teach, all from the point of view of a culture based in honor, courtesy, and war.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bare Bear Media
• Release date: Jan 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781925748055

Theresa Fuller

Theresa Fuller’s breakthrough novel is the Steampunk YA THE GHOST ENGINE, published in March 2018. As a computer programmer, this story combines her love of technology with her enthusiasm for the Victorian era. Her second novel, THE GIRL WHO BECAME A GODDESS, is a collection of folktales from Singapore. Malaysia and China published in May 2019. Her third novel, THE GIRL SUDAN PAINTED LIKE A GOLD RING, published in January 2022 is about the folktales of the Sea Dyaks. Born in Singapore with Peranakan heritage, Theresa is currently producing curriculum to save the language of her Peranakan ancestors – Baba Malay. Theresa resides with her family in Sydney, Australia.

Book preview

Praise for

The Girl Sudan Painted Like a Gold Ring

If you like your fables with a dash of bloodshed, then The Girl Sudan Painted Like a Gold Ring is the anthology you’ve been waiting for. Author Theresa Fuller has collected a fascinating group of tales based on the oral storytelling history of the Sea Dyaks of Borneo.

The twist? The Dyaks were headhunters!

In this book you’ll find stories designed to entertain and teach, all from the point of view of a culture based in honor, courtesy, and war. You’ll read about Akal Pelandok the Ageless Mousdeer, the Were-Tiger’s beautiful sister, and Pulang-Gana, the God of the Earth. Along the way, you’ll also find out why the Dyaks were headhunters and learn some of the customs and traditions of the Sea Dyaks.

Originally, these were tales that would have been sung around fires or to young children. Now, Fuller delivers them in an equally entertaining format. Without a doubt, this is the perfect book for people who enjoy fables and fairy tales, but have been seeking something just a little bit different. So hold on to your head and dive in. The Girl Sudan Painted Like a Gold Ring will not disappoint.

— JG Faherty, author of The Cure, Sins of the Father, and The Burning Time

A fascinating exploration of subject matter exotic and taboo, as meticulous in its research as it is breathtaking in its presentation of mythology and folk tales which will be new to many readers, delivered with razor sharp precision.

— Gregory Lamberson, The Jake Helman Files and Black Creek

Dedicated to my father, Ronnie, who taught me about my Peranakan heritage.

1936 – 2021

Papa,

I will meet you in heaven.

Theresa

and

Dedicated to my sons

Tim and Jonathan

Mum wrote this for you, too

List of Illustrations

The Mousedeer (Akal Pelandok) and the Giant (Girgasi)

Akal Pelandok, Sambar Rusa, and Babi

The Akal Pelandok and the Kikura seeking for bamboo shoots

Siu and the birds

Danjai and the Were-Tiger

Pulang-Gana

Illustrations by Amalina Abu Bakar

List of Sketches/Images

Borneo Map

Longhouse

Tuba-fishing

Rambutan

Images by Theresa Fuller

Also by the Author

GhostEngine288

The Ghost Engine

YA Steampunk

She thought she could change the world…

When Lady Elizabeth Ada Lovelace, a beautiful, arrogant suffragette, purchased the 19th-century Algorithmic Engine in order to become the world’s first programmer, she planned to break the shackles of inequality for Victorian women.

Until her world became that of the machine…

Instead she learns the true meaning of equality when she ends up trapped, brought down to the level of the machine. Inside the double-crossing computer, Elizabeth must match wits with a stubbornly idealistic ghost and a chillingly handsome doppelganger in the computer’s endless series of mind games. But as the machine learns to become a sentient being, time is ticking away. Elizabeth finds herself falling in love with the ghost trapped in the machine. Together they are pitted in a race against the machine to escape before the Algorithmic Engine shuts down—killing them all.

Now all their worlds hang in the balance.

About

The Girl Who Became a Goddess

GirlGoddess288

The Girl Who Became a Goddess is a tribute to the childhood stories of Theresa Fuller who has experienced multiple cultures and learned to love them all. These are tales passed on from generation to generation, some to delight, some to terrify, all to enlighten.

A foolish animal discovers that the Rainforest is a dangerous place.

A young boy is willing to sacrifice everything for his family.

A woman must decide between the man she loves and the human race.

As a girl, a mother, and a teacher, Theresa retells her favorite folktales through the lens of her own life experiences in Singapore, Malaysia and Australia, putting a unique spin on ageless classics.

The Girl Who Became a Goddess is a love letter to a young girl from the adult she has become.

"Turn, turn thy wheel! The human race,

Of every tongue, of every place,

Caucasian, Coptic, or Malay,

All that inhabit this great earth,

Whatever be their rank or worth,

Are kindred and allied by birth,

And made of the same clay."

– Sea Dyak Proverb –

Introduction

Do not read this book if you are squeamish.

THE GIRL SUDAN PAINTED LIKE A GOLD RING is, essentially, bedtime stories for head-hunters.

Nothing is more important to the Sea Dyaks than family and I have striven to illustrate this in my book, yet by the same token the Sea Dyaks were head-hunters. This incongruency is what drew me to these stories, which I came across while researching folktales for a game. I was hooked. Growing up in Southeast Asia, I had been vaguely aware of the existence of head-hunters, just as I was aware of pirates, tigers, and colonialism.

I had no idea that head-hunters would have their own tales to tell.

The stories in this book are about the Sea Dyaks of Sarawak, who live by the sea and on the banks of the rivers Batang, Lupar, Saribas, Krian, and Rejang. They are distinct from the Land Dyaks that inhabit the interior of Borneo, alongside other races, and tribes all with their own distinct language, customs, and traditions.

The word ‘Dyak’ is believed by some to derive from the Brunei Malay word ‘daya’ meaning inland or interior or from the Land Dyak ‘daya’ meaning man. Today, they are known as the Iban.

Theirs was an oral tradition.

While I have chosen to dramatize these stories, I have kept as close to the original stories as possible. Part B of Danjai and the Were Tiger’s Sister and Part C of The Story of Siu, however, are from my own imagination. The original stories were told only in the viewpoint of the men, and I wanted to give the women their own voices. In both these stories, the men would not have survived if not for the women. Thankfully, the men listened.

Background

The island of Borneo is the third largest island in the world and divided by three countries:

Malaysia

Brunei

Indonesia

The country of Malaysia is composed of thirteen states—eleven in peninsula Malaya and two—Sabah and Sarawak—on the island of Borneo as shown on this rough diagram that I have drawn.

Borneo400

The Story of Siu, who first Taught the Dyaks to Plant Paddy and to Observe the Omens of Birds.

Part A

Endu-Sudan-Galinggam-Tinchin-Mas

(The Girl Sudan painted like a Gold Ring)

The major criteria for choosing a mate for any Sea Dyak maiden was whether the man would be willing to work for her. If the maiden had to do all the work, what was the point of marriage?

It was late in the afternoon when Siu encountered the birds.

Siu had been hunting. The day before, he had proposed to his friends that they each take their sumpit (blowpipe) and go into the rainforest to shoot birds. So early that morning, every young man from the longhouse had started off in a different direction, hoping to be the winner at the end of the day.

Siu had headed towards a mountain. He had wandered about the whole morning, but for the first time ever, had not seen a single animal. The rainforest was strangely silent. Normally, there would be the creaking of the mighty giant trees, the screeching of insects, and the caressing whisper of the wind. Siu would be aware of eyes settling on him as monkeys peered out of the gloom of the shadowy jungle, curious to view this invader in their territory. And there would be birds, birds everywhere.

Raucous, noisy, and loud.

But today, the forest held its breath.

The only sounds were his footsteps, crunching of leaves, sploshing through a puddle, or stepping onto the mossy trunk of a fallen log.

Exhausted, long past midday, Siu rested under the branches of a large tree and ate some of the food that he had brought: boiled yams and potatoes. He was beginning to worry. Never had his luck been so bad.

He wondered if he had picked the wrong direction. He was, after all, on the top of a hill, and hilltops were the domain of spirits. So were cemeteries.

Sea Dyaks have no temples, so whenever the Dyak longs to communicate with a god or a spirit, he must set out alone to one of these special places. And not tell anyone. After making an offering, the man would lie down to sleep, praying hopefully to meet a spirit in a dream. If a spirit were helpful, the man would find himself in the morning in possession of magic pebbles—small round black stones—that could change a man’s luck.

But there were more evil spirits than good.

And while the spirit may meet him in human form and give him his wish, it may also assume a terrible form. Attack.

This sojourn is termed nampok—to sleep on top of a mountain or other lonely place.

Only a very brave man carried out this undertaking.

But Siu had not planned to meet a spirit. He had no reason to.

Men met spirits to change their luck, for wealth or fame. But Siu was the son of a great Dyak chief and already a chief himself, the head of a long Dyak house in which lived some three hundred families. Most longhouses only held thirty.

Men also met spirits if they were ill. But Siu was young, healthy, strong, and active. No one in the country equalled him in strength or comeliness.

Maybe it was for these very reasons Siu was meant to meet the birds.

After a short rest, Siu started off again. The sun was halfway down in the western heaven and he was beginning to lose heart when suddenly-

Cawing.

Squawking.

Screeching.

He hurried in the direction of the noise and came upon a wild fig-tree.

The biggest fig tree he had ever seen.

The mighty tree stood in the middle of a clearing. Covered with ripe figs, a whole host of birds clung to its branches, busily gobbling. Never had Siu seen such a sight!

It appeared that the entire bird population of the jungle had gathered on that humongous tree. The different species had not intermingled. Instead, each species separated itself from the others. Pigeons sat together on a thick branch, parrots sat together on another, as did hornbills, woodpeckers, and every other native bird.

This was unusual, but Siu was not one to question what the gods had given him.

He slid behind the thick leaves of a nearby shrub, and taking careful aim with his blowpipe, took a shot. Pft!

The poisoned dart whizzed through the air and met its target. To the young man’s shock, not just the bird he had been aiming for fell, but so did many of the others beside it. This had never happened before.

Even stranger, the live birds all continued their repast. Almost as if they had not noticed their ill-fated companions plunging to the ground.

Normally, whenever Siu shot a dart into a group of creatures, the others fled in a panic. Perhaps the cacophony had blocked out the fact that they were being hunted.

Excited, Siu seized his opportunity, slipped another poisoned dart into his blowpipe, and aimed once more. Pft!

Again, not just the bird that he was aiming for fell, but so did many of the others beside Siu’s intended target. And just as before, the rest of the birds simply moved to fill the gap as they continued to gulp down figs.

An uncomfortable feeling filled his belly.

He lowered his sumpit (blowpipe) and stared at the massive tree. At its base lay a small pile of dead birds. More than his little basket could hold. High above, in the colossal branches, feasted thousands of birds, all blind to the fate of their friends.

I have more than made up for my miserable luck. In fact, I will have to fasten a new basket to hold my catch.

Siu trudged up to the fig tree to collect his bounty, his feet squelching on the soft, moist ground. The sweet, musty smell of rotting figs entered his nostrils. When he reached the foot of the tree, he glanced up. Although he was so close, none of the birds paid him any attention.

The kara (wild fig-tree) was another habitation of spirits. One way to find out was to strike an axe into the trunk. If a spirit dwelt within, it would hurl the axe to the ground during the night.

Siu let out a sigh. He had no explanation for what was happening, but neither did he wish to stay the night to find out, especially if the tree was haunted. Already the jungle was getting darker.

With bark from a pendok tree, Siu fastened a larger basket. He placed his kill into it and set off for home, gladness in his heart.

He tried to head back the way he had come, but in his eagerness, he had not done the wise action of cutting marks in the trees he had passed. He was lost. Still, he did not give up but marched doggedly, uphill and down. But not once did he see a familiar sight. The joy he had felt on filling his basket and turning towards home evaporated.

It was dusk. The sun had almost set.

Siu realised the best he could hope was to find another habitation, so as not to spend the night alone.

As soon as he made that decision, he came across a patch of ground that appeared to have been cleared. He kept moving and shortly stumbled upon an old disused path.

A path! Surely it must lead somewhere.

The thought of food and shelter made Siu hurry, even though he was drained. All around, the trees and shrubs were beginning to merge into a single oneness.

Greys winging into black. Shadows flitting together. Spelling doom.

Without a fire, he would be forced to stumble around blindly. Unseeing.

Easy prey for any large night predator.

Siu halted. His heart beat rapidly. But he sucked in a deep breath and called for the spirits of his father. His father’s father. Anyone who could possibly help him.

Natiang! (Spirit of the hills). I need your courage!

Siu opened his eyes to blackness swallowing him.

Night.

His laboured breathing quickened. Once more he called silently for help again—to any benevolent spirit. As Natiang had not answered, this time, Siu in his desperation reached out to the Ruler of the Spirits—Singalang Burung—the God of War.

The taker of heads.

Siu had never done this before. But Sea Dyaks believe that when they call, the spirits will answer. What had he to lose?

Only his life.

But Singalang Burung was not home.

SceneBreak

Tansang Kenyalang

(Hornbill’s Nest or Towering Ridge)

Bunsu Burung rose from her bed and pushed aside the mosquito netting. She thought she had heard a cry.

There it was again.

Bunsu padded to the door, opened it, and peered out.

The whole of the ruai (covered veranda) was empty. Fires burned, but there was no one outside.

Singalang Burung!

Now Bunsu understood what was happening. The cry came, not from one of her people, but a human. In the world below. She rushed back to the bilek (room) and grabbed the tropoug (telescope) that her father used to see down into the world and raced over to the veranda. She put the tropoug to her eye and peered, adjusting the lens.

Maybe if I could hear the gongs. Was it an invitation to a feast?

She jumped guiltily when her sister called out, her voice like a slap.

"Bunsu! (Youngest!)" cried her oldest sister, Dara Ensing Tamaga, (Lady Brass Rings), from one of the other rooms. What are you doing? Go back to your bilek! You know you should not be outside. Quick! Before father catches you!

I heard something, said Bunsu, unwilling to return. Someone is calling.

I heard nothing, said her sister, her tone adamant.

Bunsu sighed but remained where she was.

Humans generally cried out when they wished to invite Singalang Burung to a feast. Only she had not heard the beating of drums. This call was different, she was sure. Almost as if it were a call for help. She waited but heard nothing.

I must have been mistaken.

She was lowering the tropoug when the cry came again. Faint like the glow of a single firefly.

There! There is someone out there in the darkness. And whoever he is needs help.

Bunsu! repeated her sister.

Father is not home. I would have heard him snoring if he were.

That is so rude! I should pinch you for that!

You would if you dared leave your room.

Bunsu bit her lower lip as she concentrated. She thought she had spotted something moving in the jungle. If only the liana had not netted everything together. It would have been much easier to see. But even as she studied the landscape, she detected movement.

There! She had found him.

A hunter.

Her shoulders drooped. At the sight of the basket and its grim load, she gagged.

The man is not just a hunter. But a hunter of birds. The worse sort.

I should go back to my room. Let him get eaten by the predators. There is a tiger barely a mile away. If the man keeps up his noise, the beast will find him, and that would be the end.

And yet… And yet he is still calling out. His voice strong and insistent.

Bunsu peered through the tropoug.

How teachable are you?

She snapped her fingers.

SceneBreak

Siu opened his eyes.

Black.

Everything was black. He held his arm out and could not see his hand in front of his face. If he put the basket down, he would never find it again. The darkness became a fearsome beast, pawing at him coldly. Siu turned around when something caught his attention. Up ahead…

A tiny pinprick.

He rubbed his eyes.

Up ahead, in the shadows, a hazy, yellow dot loomed.

Light!

Siu flung himself in that direction, stumbling over logs as the warm orange glow beckoned in the distance, spreading hope.

He crashed through shrubs all netted together with liana. He was so close!

SceneBreak

Bunsu stretched out an arm and made a stirring motion with her index finger.

That is for the birds you killed.

SceneBreak

Siu ran straight into the trunk of a tree. He saw many suns, then!

Stunned, he pushed to his feet. How had this happened? He did not remember ever being so clumsy. It was almost as if the tree had leapt out at him, blocking his path. But of course, that was not possible.

He ran in the direction of the light once more. Soon the flicker of several fires slanted through the trees. Siu came upon a well. As he halted, gasping for breath, the pleasant sounds of conversation drifted through the treetops.

His shoulders relaxed. Siu wiped his arm across his sweaty brow. He would get food and shelter, because Dyak tradition was to feed the stranger.

Petara Ini Andan (the grey-haired goddess) exhorts the Sea Dyak to spread a mat for the traveller; be quick in giving rice to the hungry; not to be slow to give water to the thirsty; to joke with those who have heaviness of heart; and to encourage with talk the slow of speech; not to give the fingers to stealing; nor to allow the heart to be bad.

Siu hid the birds he was carrying, as well as his blowpipe and quiver, in the brushwood near the well.

I will collect these in the morning.

Drenched with sweat, he had a bath. Then, with gladness, he made his way toward the longhouse. He made sure as he approached that he did not glance under the longhouse, for he did not wish to be accused of seeking a pig’s tusk and thus be judged as greedy.

As he neared, the voices of the villagers floated down. He reached the log ladder, and as custom dictated, shouted, "Jadi rumah?"

The voices cut off instantly.

Silence.

Puzzled, Siu called out once more, "People of the house, will you allow a stranger to walk up?

SceneBreak

In the bilek, Bunsu stilled. She returned the tropoug to its place and pressed the tips of her fingers to her lips.

I have broken with tradition simply by leaving my room. But that is nothing compared to what I have done. I have allowed a man to enter our domain.

If I do not answer he would most likely leave, for no Dyak enters a longhouse uninvited.

But then the carnage will continue.

Therefore, I must do this. Even if it means my death.

SceneBreak

Siu waited, and this time, a voice answered, Yes, come up.

Relieved, Siu climbed up and entered the ruai (the public veranda) of the longhouse. During the day, this part of the house is filled with women and children for the men were out working. But it was night. Families should be gathering for the evening meal.

Siu peered around, expecting the Dyaks of this longhouse to greet them, but he was startled to find himself alone. Despite the fact he heard conversations earlier, there was no one on the ruai.

Even the person who had called out was not there to receive him. Stranger and stranger.

Still, he was in a longhouse. Fires burned on the veranda comforting him.

The tuai rumah (head of each longhouse) always had his bilek in the centre of the longhouse so Siu strode to the middle of the house.

Longhouse431

His heart beating in his throat, he walked past the many rooms, deliberately looking straight ahead. Thankfully, the doors were closed, so he could not be accused of peering into the rooms to see if there were jars inside.

Sea Dyak count their wealth in jars.

The bilian (ironwood) creaked under his feet. The longhouse was silent, listening.

One door was open.

The door in the centre of the longhouse.

The tuai rumah’s bilek.

The warm, red glow of firelight flickered from the open door.

When Siu reached the tuai rumah’s bilek, he collected a mat, laid it on the ground and sat. He waited for the chief or his wife or daughter to come as was the custom. Tradition.

"Sit down, Siu. I will bring out the pinang and sireh (chewing ingredients) to you." A melodious voice sang out from the bilek.

Siu sat up straighter, for it was the most enchanting voice he had ever heard.

Soon, a young and beautiful girl came out of the bilek. She brought the chewing ingredients which she placed on the floor before him.

Here you are at last, Siu, said the girl, her dark eyes sparkling in the firelight. I expected you would come earlier. How is it you are so late?

Siu frowned, baffled at the girl’s words. How did she know his name? I had a bath at the well, for I was hot and tired.

You must be very hungry, said the girl good-naturedly. Wait a moment, while I prepare some food. After you have eaten, we can have our talk together.

As Siu waited, he pondered his curious day: from the hunt to his reception at the longhouse. Here was a large home, built for easily a hundred families. He had heard voices while at the well, caught various conversations while he strode up to the longhouse. And yet, the place was deserted. Where was everyone?

It seemed strange that the only person to greet him was the charming girl. But whoever she was, she was a good cook; the tantalizing aroma of steaming fish