From: Rene - 9
Date: 7/15/00
Time: 12:10:44 AM
Funerals
After so many years, events that may have spanned years seem to be separated only by days – this is the recollection I have of the funerals of Toi Ma (our maternal great grand mother), Pau-pau (maternal grand-ma) and Tai Kou Foo (maternal first uncle). They were great occasions even though I can only remember glimpses of the happenings.
I can remember the lying-in-state with the coffin in the front room of Kampong Bharu. There were tables in the veranda where well-wishers would eat, drink tea or even play mah-jong after paying their respects. At one of the lying-in-state, I remember there were one or two women dressed in black, who were professional criers. When friends or relatives came to pay their respects – standing head-bowed in front of the coffin, these women would cry in verse. By that time I was already very much a Quai-Lou and so did not comprehend what was being uttered. Margaret and I remember quite vividly that at Tai Kuo Foo’s lying in state, the aunties would wail ”Ah Kou ouh.” Repeatedly. (There is more about this later.)
The funerals were very elaborate affairs. Long processions – immediate relatives following the cortege, all dressed in black and sack cloth, next were other relatives and friends. Trailing behind were innumerable trishaws, each carrying a cloth banner with appropriate Chinese calligraphy sewn on. Leading the procession were Chinese drums, gongs and pipers and also Buddhist (Taoist?) monks – in their saffron coloured robes and shaven pates. I also remember ushers?, guides?, tossing paper money to ward off evil spirits – they must be today’s environmentalists’ nightmare.
I don’t remember the burials, but I remember that Cousin Pauline, Winnie and Peter had to go on their knees to thank each of the well-wishers that had attended the funeral. I felt sorry for them as I thought their knees must have hurt greatly having to do the rounds. I also remember there being lots of food to eat.
The number 49 is very special number for the Chinese; something to do with its being the product of seven times seven. In any case, on the 49th day after the burial or the day of death ( I cannot remember which) there is another event. During the weeks drawing up to the 49th day, Sixth Auntie and others would spend the evenings folding paper gold ingots which were then placed into paper cases. On the 49th day would be delivered, paper houses, car, maids, etc things that will permit a style of life in the next world that seemed to be even better than that in this world. There was also a paper bridge and castle. On the 49th night, friends and relatives came, reminisce about the recently departed, eat pea-nuts, melon seeds, other savouries and play mah-jong while waiting for the finale.
As the climax of the evening approached, the saffron-robed monks would break into a chant to the sound of wailing pipes, ringing bells, drums and gongs. They would circle the paper models and then finally cross the bridge over the ‘river’ that separated the living from the dead and then smash down the castle and the bridge. The sight and crashing sounds of the breaking up of the river and castle was quite frightening. The paper houses, car, money boxes, maids and male servants, etc were then wheeled to the back of the house where they were burnt. They made a spectacular bon-fire, better than many a November 5th that I have seen in England. There were even Firemen in attendance just in case the real houses nearby were offered up by accident.
It must have been the afternoon of the 49th day after Tai Kou Foo had died and Mother drove us round to Kampong Bharu after school. My aunts had kept a vigil the night before, as that night the spirit of the recently departed was supposed to come home a last time. Yee yee (Second Auntie) in all seriousness said that they heard the sound of keys and surmised that Tai Kou Foo’s spirit had returned and as was his usual practice when he got home at night would unlock his cupboard in the rear room downstairs. Even more remarkably, she brought out a bowl of rice which had been left out the previous night for his spirit and showed us that he had taken a bite from it. I must have developed a very sceptical spirit from an early age, because I didn’t believe what I was told. I thought that someone must have spooned a bit of rice from the edge of the bowl to make it look like a bite mark. However, not to upset anyone, I kept my counsel to myself.
Some days past, when we were further told that on that same night, a neighbour saw a silhouette of Tai Kou Foo standing by his parked car as if he had just arrived home. These stories must have made a deep impression on some of us. Soon after, Elizabeth kept saying that she had seen on many occasions, the swollen left leg of Tai Kou Foo in our bathroom. ( Kai Kou Foo suffered from filariasis – the filariasis worm enters the foot and make their way to the lymph gland in the groin. This leads to a blockage of lymph drainage from the lower limb and results in a swollen leg – something I learnt in medical school.)
Despite my scepticism, when I woke up from a general anaesthetic to have my wrist fracture reduced some months later, the only thing that I could remember was Tai Kou Foo looking encouragingly at me and telling me not to worry as everything will be alright! (See an early story.)
We had a pet cicada – quite a large one, incandescent blue green in colour – that made buzzing a noise when its abdomen was squeezed. One day it died. Margaret and I decided that it deserved a funeral. We placed it in a match-box coffin, rounded up the rest of the brothers and sisters and had went round the house (Lower Ampang). I had wrapped myself in my orange blanket and was the chief monk. Margaret found a bicycle bell which she rang and she got us all to wail “Ak Kou oh”. We then dug a hole and buried the creature.
We retired into the house, when I had the brilliant idea that we should have a lying-in state. We arranged the pillows on my bed so that it resembled a body and covered it with a white sheet. Once again we had great fun with our chanting and wailing and bell ringing.
Unbeknown to us, Grand-pa had got wind of what we were up to and was quite upset. Till this day I do not know why he did not interrupt our play. The next day, we were rounded up by Father (or was it Mother) and told that we must never play funeral again as Grand-pa found it most upsetting. We were rather contrite but at the same time bore Grand-pa a little grudge as he had squealed on us the previous night.