By Himanshu Bhatt
It has been more than a year since the ancient Malay tradition of makyong was recognised by Unesco as a world heritage treasure. Till today, its ageing matriarchs live in abject poverty, unnoticed by the rest of the world.
I AM standing in front of a decrepit little wooden house in a remote village in Tumpat, a rural district in northern Kelantan, knocking on its feeble door on a late morning.
There is no response. With me are Dr Ghulam-Sarwar Yussof, an art academician, and Ruhani Mohd Zin, a 51-year-old makyong artiste.
We are on the verge of giving up hope when Ruhani calls out for a last time. She is greeted by the sound of clucking chickens and a motorcycle purring lazily along the dusty path nearby.
Just as we are about to leave, I AM standing in front of a decrepit little wooden house in a remote village in Tumpat, a rural district in northern Kelantan, knocking on its feeble door on a late morning.
There is no response. With me are Dr Ghulam-Sarwar Yussof, an art academician, and Ruhani Mohd Zin, a 51-year-old makyong artiste.
We are on the verge of giving up hope when Ruhani calls out for a last time. She is greeted by the sound of clucking chickens and a motorcycle purring lazily along the dusty path nearby.
Just as we are the door opens, to reveal a frail old lady in sarong. She appears surprised.
Zainab Yaakob is one of the few living matriarchs of the ancient makyong tradition. At 84, she now lives alone and impoverished.
She beckons us to sit on her ramshackle porch. No one, she says, has come to see her about her skills for a long time.
We inform her that makyong, which she has been playing since she was five, has been recognised by Unesco as a world heritage treasure. She has never heard of such a body or award. Zainab is one of only six ageing matriarchs of makyong — all living in rural areas of Kelantan and Terengganu — remaining today.
Together with another two or three elderly male lead performers, these matriarchs are the only ones now able to perform the tunes, stories and dance movements of makyong in their original forms.
In spite of her age, Zainab is raring to perform if given the chance. Her only son, a trader who lives elsewhere, has no interest at all in the tradition.
Like the other elders, Zainab knows that modern society`s appreciation of makyong is not what it was in the old days.
"People nowadays are not patient," she laments in thick Kelantanese Malay. "It`s not like the old days when people were willing to learn all the steps, the music.
"In those days, people knew what lay in the meanings behind the ancient rituals." She complains of having seen singing styles being adulterated to make them easier for new performers to pick up.
But this only makes the performance bereft of the deep, fervent soul inherent in makyong.
"There are people now who think they can do makyong by just standing up and moving. They don`t even know which song should be performed at its proper point.
"When I was small, my tok guru (teacher) would scold me and beat my foot if I sat the wrong way."
Exactly a year ago, the Arts, Culture and Heritage Ministry announced that Kelantan`s performing arts would get a sizeable portion of a RM7 million allocation that was in part meant to preserve makyong, following the Unesco listing.
But till today, elders like Zainab have been largely forgotten, as authorities focus on facilitating youngsters, mostly in metropolitan areas.
Dr Ghulam was at the heart of the research behind the dossier to Unesco more than two years ago, while Ruhani was instrumental in the recording of dance routines for the video in the proposal.
"These elders have a strong role to play," stresses Ghulam. "They make vital resource experts in passing on the tunes, music and stories that are becoming endangered.
"They have maintained the purist styles that has been played in the kampungs for ages.
Dr Ghulam bemoans the fact although 15 months have passed since the Unesco recognition, there is still a lack of co-ordination to preserve makyong as outlined in the Unesco proposal.
Makyong is now taught in modern metropolitan centres to individuals who have never been acquainted with original practitioners like Zainab.
The authorities also need to ensure that the performance styles do not deviate too much, he adds.
Ruhani is equally concerned about the preservation of the old discipline in its authentic manner.
Her husband, Shaari Abdullah, was a renowned makyong exponent whose death last October sent waves of anxiety among heritage and music circles.
"I was very depressed and worried when he passed away," says Ruhani. "But my friends encouraged me. My children`s spirit was also very strong to pursue with makyong."
Today, Ruhani, who has been involved since the age of 16, performs makyong for exhibition and entertainment at functions.
She admits that she is only able to perform excerpts of selected stories in the makyong pantheon.
Her three daughters also perform with her, while her only son plans to specialise in the rebab, the endangered three-stringed lute.
This is unlike the scene 30 years ago when Ghulam remembers seeing makyong being performed every night for a whole month. Shows would be held till four in the morning in front of large crowds.
In contrast, local artistes today face restrictions imposed by the authorities. Makyong is banned by the PAS government of Kelantan.
At a coastal village in Besut in northern Terengganu, we meet another little-known matriarch, Siti Dollah, 65, who lives in a wooden house near a makeshift factory producing prawn keropok (crackers).
She speaks fondly of her late guru and the stories and repertoire she is familiar with, and shows us the colourful costumes, including the intricately beaded headgear.
"Makyong flows in us through the blood of our ancestors (darah daging)," she says.
"If I don`t do a show for some time, I begin to feel restless. Once I get the opportunity to perform, I feel so refreshed and energised."
One major concern Siti harbours is that the stories and repertoire will not survive.
"Deep within these stories lie the old values of our ancestors," she says.
Ruhani agrees. "These stories are very important to us. They are rooted in the common human values that have become part and parcel of our people throughout history.
"These elders have so much to pass to us. They are the most original people to practise this tradition.
"This is the heritage that is left to us by our forefathers (nenek-moyang). But some children in Kelantan do not even know what the rebab is. They think it`s a guitar!"
As Siti sings an old makyong tune amid the charming natural landscape of her kampung, she describes a strange passion that she is unable to explain. She calls it "angin".
When performing makyong, one needs to "pujuk angin" (call on the spirit), she says, to bring out the deep passion behind this ancient tradition of the heartland.
Having met forgotten matriarchs like Siti and Zainab, it must seem that for the Unesco preservation effort of makyong to work, this spirit lies, just waiting to be harnessed, in the very elders that we have long neglected.
continued in Makyong -- A forgotten treasure (part 2)
