Who are the Maloh? Cultural diversty and cultural change in interior Indonesian Borneo. (Research Notes).

Ethnic Names: Embaloh, Taman, Kalis, Banuaka', Maloh

The following research note is occasioned by my reading of Jay Bernstein's excellent book Spirits Captured in Stone. Shamanism and Traditional Medicine among the Taman of Borneo (1997). I have reviewed the book elsewhere (see King 1998), 50 in these notes, I intend to focus on issues of ethnic identity and internal cultural variation. I shall be focusing mainly on Bernstein's findings, supplemented with some of my field data collected about 30 years ago. Bernstein examines and analyzes the healing practices, principles, and ritual paraphernalia of the Taman, a Dayak population of interior Borneo. It is based on his doctoral thesis, "Taman Ethnomedicine: the Social Organization of Sickness and Medical Knowledge in the Upper Kapuas," submitted to the University of California, Berkeley in 1991. The field research was undertaken in two periods from 1985 to 1988 among Taman villages in the Upper Kapuas regency of the Indonesian province of West Kalimantan. Bernstein concentrated his work in two villages of the Sib au branch of the Taman: Sibau Hilir and the "unofficial village" of Tanjung Lasa. He also visited communities belonging to the Kapuas branch of the Taman people, noting that there are some differences between the two branches "in vocabulary and other aspects of dialect" (1997: 14).

The Taman comprise an "ethnic group" which numbered about 4,500 in the mid-1980s and 4,917 in 1993 (Thambun Anyang 1996: 24). Interestingly, Bernstein refers to official statistics for 1987 which put the total population of Taman villages at 5,090. Henry Arts, in his study of the Taman, has an even higher population in residence for 1989, just two years later, of 5730. This is some 1200 above the 4,500 figure for Taman indicated in the mid-1980s (1991: 7). In explaining the difference in his own statistics, Bernstein states that the balance of the population in Taman villages, that is, about 600 people, was made up by Malay, Kantu' (Kantuk), and Iban; members of these different ethnic groups were therefore living among, or in very close proximity to, the Taman. The Taman were also close neighbors of yet other ethnic groups, specifically the Kayan and the Bukat (Bhuket), and it seems that some Bukat, along with Kantu', also lived among or close to the Taman of Tanjung Lasa (1997: 15). This general pattern of r esidential intermingling accords precisely with my observations from the early 1970s among several communities of the Embaloh division (as I referred to it), which are socially, culturally, and historically related to the Taman. Embaloh had close relations with the Malay, Kantu', and Iban in particular. In the past, they had also intermarried with and absorbed significant numbers of formerly nomadic Bukitan or Ketan (King 1985).

My own research was undertaken principally along the Embaloh and Palin rivers and to a lesser extent the Leboyan, tributaries to the north of the Kapuas River; these were areas which had become increasingly dominated by Iban moving in from the Sarawak-Kalimantan borderlands. I also paid a brief visit to the Kapuas branch of Taman. It was clear that this whole complex of people, and, in particular, certain communities of the Embaloh division, had been subject to various intense external forces and influences over a relatively long period of time, and sustained long-established relations with a relatively diverse range of societies and cultures--from stratified Muslim Malay trading states and administrative centers to small, scattered, egalitarian, hunting-gathering Bukat and Ketan communities. These different ethnic groups followed very different models of social organization, which we can place on a continuum from egality to hierarchy, and with which the Embaloh and Taman were presumably very familiar. What is more, the Embaloh and Taman, as well as the Kalis, the remaining division of this "larger ethnolinguistic entity" (Bernstein 1997: 18), had all been drawn into the expanding administrative structures, the colonial economy, and, indeed, the culture of the Dutch, especially from the early part of the twentieth century, and, since Indonesian independence, into the politico-ideological and economic systems of the developing Indonesian nation-state.

The problems of studying this cultural melting-pot and taking appropriate account of processes of change in a multi-ethnic, politically variegated situation are compounded by the fact that the written historical record for this region is patchy and that oral history among the Embaloh/Taman/Kalis to a significant degree provides a field for disputation about cultural origins and historical precedence. This is a testing grounds for anthropologists and suggests that the traditional modes of anthropological enquiry are inadequate in our attempts to comprehend the dynamic socio-cultural systems of the Upper Kapuas region. Of particular interest to me is the fact that Bernstein and others (particularly Thambun Anyang in his 1996 doctoral thesis) do engage with the issues of inter-cultural relations and socio-cultural change to help account for the internal variations within the Embaloh/Taman/Kalis complex. As a consequence of this complexity and, one might say, the enigmatic and culturally plastic quality of a pop ulation which, in the literature, is known by several names, there has been prolonged debate between students of the Embaloh/Taman/Kalis about the appropriate ethnic term for this ethnolinguistic entity. These disputes have been conducted among both local and foreign scholars, and though we are all agreed that we are able to identify and differentiate a socio-cultural collectivity in the remote interior of central Borneo (which, to complicate matters even further, has demonstrably relatively close linguistic connections to southern Sulawesi, and, in particular, the Bugis language), there has not been much agreement about ethnic nomenclature.

Bernstein briefly rehearses the debates and, though he uses the term "Taman" to refer to what I have called the "Taman division," as does Henry Arts (1991), he reserves judgement on the appropriateness of the term for the collectivity. Unable to determine which widely acceptable ethnonym might be employed for the complex as a whole, I chose the term "Maloh" or "Memaloh", which is an external label (or exonym) coined by the Iban and used widely in the English literature on Borneo, and especially in Sarawak. It is derived from "Embaloh", one of the "Maloh" areas of settlement closest to Iban communities in the Kapuas Lakes region. At least two local scholars, Irene A. Muslim and S. Jacobus E. Frans L. (eg, 1992), have subsequently proposed the indigenous term "[Dayak] Banuaka"' as a general referent, whilst, in the recent work of Y .C. Thambun Anyang, the term "Rumpun Taman" is suggested in preference to "Banuaka'." Local disagreements seem to suggest that there will be no easy solution to this matter. Reed Wa dley has recently provided an intriguing commentary on the problems posed by the notion of the "Maloh" (Wadley 2000).

What is more, it is still something of a puzzle that three Taman men who, as itinerant silversmiths, visited the Sarawak Museum in 1962-63, should lead Tom Harrisson (and Benedict Sandin) to write that "The Malohs themselves are emphatic that there is a general term appropriate to them [presumably "Maloh"], while pointing out that this is true because they are a people known over an exceptionally wide area in Borneo, so that some sort of descriptive term is needed to identify themselves in their travels" (1965: 238). One needs a note of caution here because the three visitors to the Museum were interviewed in depth in the Iban language by Sandin, and perhaps accepted the Iban term for their group in his company. However, I met two of Harrisson's and Sandin's Taman Kapuas informants some ten years later and they endorsed their earlier statements. One might have anticipated a confirmation of the appropriateness of the label "Maloh" at that time had Harrisson' s informants been Embaloh, but they were not; they c ame from the Taman division. It is also not without significance that silversmithing and the institution of the itinerant Maloh smith was on the wane from the 1960s onwards, and it would seem that the term "Maloh" was more acceptable in that context, and particularly away from home in Sarawak. Ethnic labels are notoriously malleable and versatile in Borneo, and it is, of course, not unknown for a particular population to adopt an exonym in the search for a term on which they can all try to agree so that they are readily identifiable to outsiders. How does Bernstein cope with this difficulty? When referring to the wider ethnolinguistic entity, he talks of the "MalohlBanuaka complex" (1997: 19). Thus, Bernstein's ethnography, it should be noted, which interestingly refers to the Taman as an "ethnic group," relates specifically to the Taman division (an alternative term for this division suggested by Thambun Anyang is "Kapuas Sekitar"). In the absence of any general agreement on this matter, I shall for the time being refer to the collectivity as Embaloh/Taman, although I recognize that this label does not specifically embrace the Kalis division.

A Hybrid Culture? Internal Variation and External Influence

It has to be emphasized, and Bernstein is very careful in this respect, that his recently published study is not an ethnography of shamanism appropriate for the whole complex, and, though many aspects of Taman healing principles and practices are shared by communities within the Embaloh division, and presumably the Kalis, there are also significant differences between these divisions. These differences are, I think, the result of a prolonged period of relative isolation from each other and a not insignificant degree of independent cultural development, and more importantly, of diverse external influences of varying intensity. For example, many of the shamanic practices elucidated by Bernstein were not in much evidence among communities along the Embaloh River in the 1970s, subject as they had been to some sixty years of Dutch Catholic missionary activity, and with relatively easy access to clinic-based medicine. Nevertheless, for older people in particular, many of the shamanic beliefs, rituals, and methods s o vividly described by Bernstein, would certainly have had a resonance. Furthermore, in the longhouses of the neighboring Palin river, the institution of shamanism was alive and was practiced in the early 1970s, but it existed side by side with imported elements from such peoples as the Kantu' and the Iban.

Interestingly, Bernstein also faces the issue of cultural interchange in his study of Taman traditional medicine. In this case, however, external influence would seem to have been more decisively generated from Malay sources. He devotes some attention to the description of Malay folk healers/wizards, or dukun, noting that "[e]ven in the most distant Taman villages...Malay healers...play an important role" (1997: 41), and that the Taman have "incorporated many of the Malays (1) practices" (1997: 43). Bernstein "commonly observed Taman and other non-Malay patients being treated by Malay healers" (1997: 43). The question has to be posed in this context of cultural contacts and exchanges, and it was one with which I constantly grappled during fieldwork, and that is "Who are the Maloh/Embaloh?" or "the Taman?" or 'the [Dayak] Banuaka'?" More especially, can we, or, indeed, should we, separate out something distinctly Embaloh/Taman and try to grasp the essence of this ethnolinguistic entity?

I went to great pains to demonstrate the interpenetration of Maloh (as I called them) and non-Maloh cultural elements: Bernstein includes Malay folk healers and associated concepts and practices within his analysis of Taman shamanism. In similar vein, and intriguingly, Thambun Anyang suggests that Taman hierarchy is an artifact of their contact with neighboring Malay states and has been overemphasized by some Dutch and other Western observers obsessed with stratification, and with Western models of class, status, and power. There is, I think, something in this argument, and the debate between Derek Freeman and Jerome Rousseau on Iban egality and hierarchy immediately comes to mind as a parallel (Freeman 1981, Sather 1996). The conceptual scheme first developed by Edmund Leach in his study of the Kachin of Highland Burma (1970) also suggests ways of examining inter-ethnic relations within an overarching social system articulated by the principles of rank, ethnicity, and locality. But, with due respect to Thamb un Anyang's detailed study, surely the Embaloh/Taman were (prior to late Dutch colonialism and Indonesian independence) rather more conscious of rank than, say, the Iban, even without Malay influence?

What interests me in these debates, and I have probably been just as guilty as others in this regard, are the lengths to which anthropologists are prepared to go to establish the essential social and cultural characteristics or the socio-cultural core of a people, in order to assert that this is the traditional culture and social system of ethnic group x or y. Having reflected on the literature on the Upper Kapuas region for the past two decades, I have come to the conclusion that, in the case of the Embaloh/Taman, we have to accept that we are dealing with a chameleon-like entity, which in many important respects comprises a hybrid culture. This is no more than to confirm the earlier view of that perspicacious Dutch observer, M.A. Bouman, though he was mistaken in his views about the precise contours and content of that hybridization. In my view, in searching for traditional Embaloh/Taman culture, we shall probably continue to have our disagreements because of the internal socio-cultural variations of this e thnic entity, the interpenetration of other external social and cultural elements, and the sheer fuzziness of ethnic boundaries. I have recently explored some of these issues in a brief comparative study of the Upper Kapuas region and Brunei Darussalam, specifically addressing Thambun Anyang's interpretation of Taman social organization (King 2001).

In this regard, Bernstein and Thambun Anyang show us some of the connections between Malay and Taman culture, and I would also suggest, as I have done previously, that the Embaloh/Taman, related linguistically to the Bugis, shade into Kantu' and Iban communities, that they have socio-cultural and political similarities with such central Borneo groups as the Kayan, that they have incorporated certain other cultural elements through intermarriage with former nomadic hunter-gatherers, and that, of course, they absorbed some cultural particulars, especially in religious matters, from their Dutch colonial masters. Following Indonesian independence, by guile and some coercion, they further adapted their socio-cultural and political systems to Sukarno's "Old Order" and to Suharto's "New Order."

Taman Shamanism and Malay Connections

While the focus in my Embaloh research was rank, status, and hierarchy, Bernstein chooses to concentrate on shamanism in his study of the Taman, an institution which "continues to meet some important needs." It is, he says, "more than an ideology; it is part of living, cultural reality" (1997: 12). By the 1980s other traditional institutions, such as hereditary rank, chieftainship, and funerary rituals had "decayed," but shamanism remained strong. However, shamanic healers (balien [Taman]/balian [Embaloh]) were not social critics or commentators, nor seekers after, or possessors of, political power and authority. Instead, Bernstein argues, Taman shamanism has to be understood as "medical" practice or a mode of curing: "it comprises socially organized and culturally understandable response to illness, suffering, and bodily harm" (1997: 6). Key elements in the balien complex are "special healing stones" and "hooks." Stones materialize in curing ceremonies, and the balien is penetrated or pierced magically with metal hooks in the fingertips and eyeballs during initiation. In various kinds of illness the causal agent is assumed to be a spirit or spirits, and therefore shamanic curing rites focus on engagement and negotiation with the spirit world. However, the Taman acknowledge and utilize a range of curative alternatives, often depending on the kind of illness confronted. Aside from encounters with spirits, the Taman employ herbal remedies (including both common and rare plants) and magical oils. They also seek the assistance of Malay dukun who have expertise in a host of healing methods and techniques which are not usually spirit-based (these include divination, spells, blessings, charms and amulets, herbalism and oils), but rather, their authority of mystical knowledge is claimed to derive ultimately from Koranic sources (Bernstein does, however, cite a case of a dukun who engages with earth spirits or jin). It is also interesting that there are cases of Taman healers, and, in one instance a balien, serving as app rentices to a Malay dukun. Taman also have available modern medicine and pharmaceutics, referred to as "government" rather than "village" medicine.

Given my theme of hybridization, I found it of particular interest that Bernstein considers the concepts of illness, which form the basis of the balien complex, as being "shared to some extent by other peoples throughout the Upper Kapuas and to a lesser extent in other parts of Borneo and beyond" (1997: 53). This is a most significant comment. He is referring here, obviously, to spirit causation of illness, the characteristics of the human soul (separable from the material body) and its capacity to wander and ultimately, on occasion, become lost, and the importance of dreams in relation to the soul, spirit encounters, the interpretation of fortune and misfortune, and concepts concerning death. Taman believe that the human soul (sumangat) comprises eight souls, some of which--"the wild ones"--leave the body and wander off; this squares with Embaloh concepts, though various of my informants referred to 21 souls as well as eight. What is clear, however, is that Bernstein sees a key distinguishing element of Tama n healing practice as the incorporation of magical stones. He says that "[t]he ceremonial capture of spirits as stone marks the balien system as unique..." (1997: 165). I would tend to agree with him, but the magical use of stones is widely spread in Borneo, and certain of its features among the Taman are found among the neighboring Iban. The central focus of curing ceremonies in the Embaloh region also comprised the possession and use of special stones (batu balian).

Nevertheless, the issue of what is distinctively Taman in healing and traditional medicine, and what derives from other sources, does frequently surface in the study. Bernstein notes that the dominant theme in Taman concepts of sickness and curing is that of externally generated illness, that is, the action of a spirit or spirits on the human soul (1997: 54). Apparently there are three major categories of beings in the Taman spirit world: demons (sai), ghosts (antu), and goblins (jin). The latter two are Malay terms (and concepts), and Bernstein suggests that "Malay concepts of spirits have probably penetrated Taman ideas about spirits to an extent" (1997: 54). Certainly the Malay dukun has the most thorough knowledge of antu and jin. Bernstein states that "the Taman concept of spirit (sai or pamari' an) is distinct and is the basis of the balien institution" (1997: 54). He is uncertain whether or not the Taman have their own concept of a ghost as distinct from the Malay one, but then, interestingly, he indi cates that "[a] majority of informants considered sai and antu to have the same meaning" (1997: 54). He goes on to suggest some differences between sai and antu, but in specifying various antu, he describes them as sai (i.e. antu kawang, antu karet, antu langke, and possibly antu anak) (1997: 55-57). He does not specify sai, other than the four just mentioned, but he says that sai are either male of female; each has a name corresponding to a human name; they are categorized according to their location, except for some which dwell "almost anywhere" (1997: 55). I should add that among the Embaloh the most commonly used term for spirits was antu and not sai; and, among the Palm people at least, the Malay concept of jin had its counterpart in the local term sakong, of which there were evil spirits (sakong pamarian) and good ones (sakong mamen).

Taman and Embaloh Comparisons in Shamanic Ritual: Malay, Iban, and Kantu' Connections

The Taman balien's therapies are arranged into seven ceremonial contexts, and ranked and sequenced according to level of "complexity and gravity" (1997: 109). They can be, in turn, grouped into three major therapeutic procedures. However,"[e]ach successive ceremony incorporates all the previous ones" (1997: 138). First, there is the removal from the human body of illness, manifested, as it were, as spirit beings, projectiles or other objects, which are considered to be causing the soul or souls injury (the cure is effected by rubbing magical stones, dipped in decoctions of crushed herbs, over the body). It should be noted here that this method of curing, using stones and other objects, is also well-known among the Iban (Graham 1987: 64; Jensen 1974: 146-147).

The procedure is known as bubut from the Malay root word meaning, "to pluck or extract" (1997: 111). Second, there is the therapy (found in the ceremonies of mangait, matai, menindoani and tabak buse), which comprises the locating of errant soul(s), and bringing them back to their corporeal self. The context is commonly a seance-like event in which a central symbolic element is a hook, expressed materially in the shape of a wooden pole with a hooked metal tip (pangait), and "hook stones" (batu kait). The central concept is that the balien by these means contacts the spirit world by harnessing the power and support of the spirits of the stones and by being able, with the support of the stones, to send his or her soul on a journey to the spirit world, terrestrial or heavenly, in search of the errant soul. An alternative remedy is to cause or conjure spirits who may be holding an errant soul to approach and manifest themselves so that the balien might then be able to snatch the captured soul from the spirits gra sp.

Finally, in cases of extended disturbance of the soul, the balien neutralizes the spirits involved, by initiating the victim into balienhood, and attracting and materializing the offending spirits into stones, which then become part of the initiates equipment. This is undertaken in the ceremonies referred to as mengadengi and menyarung. The "pathogenic spirits" are "petrified and neutralized," then pressed into the service of the novice balien and "used to cure others, to summon free spirits, and to carry the soul of the balien and bring the patient's soul to safety" (1997:101, 103). In discussing the illness attributed to spirit attack, Bernstein discusses three categories: first, internal cuts (luka ilalam/luka sai) which would appear to be more directly attributable to sai, though even here there is one affliction which is conceptualized by both Taman (badet) and Malay (najam) in similar terms; second, badi (a Malay term) or duabalas jalu, which appears to be a concept shared by both Taman and Upper Kapuas Malays and "refers specifically to the revenge by a ghost, goblin or other spirit for causing it harm" (65); what is more, in reporting the views of one Taman man about badi (a shared Taman/Malay concept), we find that the informant refers to the folk healer by using the Iban term "manang" and not "balien"; in his glossary Bernstein tells us that the Iban term manang has "entered the Taman language such that it is interchangeable with the Taman word balien" (175). Again, we should note that the Iban also share the Malay concept of badi as referring to sickness caused by vengeful spirit attack (Richards 1981: 21). This might suggest that there has been the absorption of various cultural elements from the Iban populations. In the case of the Embaloh division, this is decidedly the case. The third category of illness attributed to spirit attack is kempunan (or kaponan), which refers to "danger created by failing to complete an intended action or carry out an expected one" (1997: 67); it is assigned to misfortun e attributed to spirit attack, but Bernstein notes that, far from being restricted to Taman villages, it is "an integral part of everyday culture in the entire Kapuas region" (67); it is certainly found among the Embaloh, and though they use the term kempunan/ kemponan; more frequently they refer to this form of spiritual misfortune as katabean. So, although we can distinguish elements of shamanism which are culturally Taman, there are significant parts of their healing complex which would appear to have been adopted from other sources and are so intermingled that it becomes difficult to disentangle them.

Bernstein provides us with admirable detail of the actions, practices, and equipment in balien ceremonies, as well as extracts of the address of baliens to spirits and souls. Interestingly, the proceedings in most of the ceremonies appear to be undertaken without dancing and dramatic performance. Bubut is a procedure which involves "operating" on the body of the reclining patient; the balien remains in close physical contact with the patient during the session. In securing errant souls in the mangait ceremony, the balien uses the pangait, which is secured to a house post. The balien ties bracelets of colored beads and cast-iron bells on her (his) wrists; small statues, made from sugar cane (sulekale; Embaloh, surangkale), are offered to the spirits in exchange for the lost soul; and the balien uses a cloth for covering the upper body. Bernstein says the baliens enclose themselves with their stones "under a cloth or blanket" (119). They also rub their face and hands and the pangait with magical oil, which assi sts them in seeing the spirits. The balien chants during the ceremony which "not only narrates but also directs the flight of her soul to the various places where the culprit spirit has taken the patient's soul" (120). In malai, the balien appears to use several additional items of traditional women's clothing, usually hard objects of shell (bracelets), beads (necklace, headcloth, blouse), and metal (sword, awl, and silver girdle). Bernstein notes that menindoani is "an extension of malai" (128); again, it employs seance and chanting. The ceremony is dangerous because the balien's soul travels heavenwards and comes into contact with the spirits of the dead. It would seem that the account of the balien as her (his) soul journeys to the land of the dead was also a vital element in rituals associated with death and treatment of the dead, which are apparently no longer performed by the Taman, or at least not in their original, extended and elaborate forms. Finally, Bernstein provides a brief summary of the tabak buse ceremony, which is rarely performed nowadays and "appearsto be dying out" (1997: 131).

However, Bernstein also indicates that "Dancing is a symptom of the balien's calling, since the balien dance in their ceremonies" (1997: 105), though in the case of the several ceremonies directed to securing lost souls, dancing appears not to be performed, or at least it is not described in Bernstein's narrative of the proceedings. In similar ceremonies which I witnessed in the Embaloh region, dance was not featured nor was dramatic performance, other than seance. Dancing is, however, an important element in mengadengi and menyarung (86, 88, 90-92, 97, 132), along with chanting and offering food to spirits, capturing and turning them to stone, and piercing magically the initiate's fingertips and eyes with metal hooks. The piercing of neophytes' eyelids and fingertips with "barbed hooks" or "fish hooks" is also reported for the initiation of Iban shamans (Graham 1987: 83, 86). Finally, the Taman perform an augury using an areca blossom (mayang pinang) "to determine whether the candidate has been cured and is destined to become a balien" (Bernstein 1997: 98). Mayang pinang, though used in a different way, again forms part of the Iban manang complex.

Bernstein suggests that menyarung is "a performance, analogous to the presentation of a drama" (1997: 88), and, the baliens wear their finery (including special blouses [if female] and headdresses), and usually "change their dress several times" during the three-day long ceremony. Chanting and dancing are accompanied by percussive music (89), and when the stones arrive on the third night of the ceremony, the baliens "imitate the actions of individual animals spirits"; they "embody spirits, whose arrival is represented by the stereotyped behavior of the baliens." Though this stage of the ceremony has a most serious purpose, it is combined with a "sense of wildness, humor, and absurdity" (94). As a rite of passage, menyarung conforms to other examples in the anthropological literature of social structural inversion in transition rituals, characterized by "wildness and disorder" (97). Other ritual equipment in the menyarung ceremony comprises, among other things, an offering tray (kalangkang), and a decorated b amboo (buluh ayu), along with a large circular sun hat (sa rung ase).

In a later discussion of the issue of trickery in the practices of the balien, Bernstein, following the work of Atkinson on Wana shamanism and Barrett and Sather on the Iban manang, suggests that showmanship and a "sense of performative efficacy" is important in understanding the perceptions which the Taman hold of their folk healers. I think the issue of performance, and the ways in which various communities have embraced this by importing styles from neighboring communities, has played an increasing role in shamanism in certain of the Embaloh villages which I observed in the early 1970s (see below). Indeed, the performative dimensions of the ceremonial initiation of baliens appear to have been extended to other stages of the curing cycle as well through cultural borrowing.

Let us for a moment return to our theme of sickness causation and the adoption of cultural elements from Malay sources. Outside the category of illnesses attributed to spirit attack, which, as we have seen, illustrates a significant level of interpenetration of Malay and Taman concepts and practices, Bernstein refers to the wind as a source of illness; the wind carries (Malay) ghosts and would appear to be a Malay cultural complex, partly (or wholly?) adopted by the Taman. Finally, there is a category of illnesses attributed to internal causes, such as "dirty blood" (again apparently shared by Malay and Taman), "dirty water" (an idea "widely accepted in the region"), "heredity" (a Malay dukun provided a gloss for this), and "snapped nerves" for which apparently only a Malay dukun could provide a detailed explanation (70-73).

From the chapter on the explanations of illness it would seem that the concepts and principles of Malay and Taman folk healers have indeed become so closely intertwined that, at times, one finds it difficult to establish whether or not Bernstein is referring to a specifically Taman or Malay conceptual world. We read that "Not only Taman baliens but several Malay dukuns partake in a belief system wherein badi or kempunan may cause illness" (74). Nevertheless, despite this complex interpenetration of cultural values, Bernstein maintains that the Taman balien addresses illness in a different way from the Malay dukun, that is, by the use of stones and a complex of ritual acts associated with stones, and, ultimately, the initiation of certain afflicted individuals into balienhood in a largely female domain of values and actions.

The predisposition to balienhood seems to be again a very widely shared cultural complex in Borneo. Bernstein gives us some interesting details of the process of becoming a balien, in which the climax to the sequence of ritual enactments is the materialization of stones. Bernstein states that "For baliens, stones define the contours of their profession and their entire way of life," and "Beyond the balien domain, stones, beads, and petrification are major themes in many Taman myths and legends" (1997: 100); this latter observation would hold for Embaloh culture as well, or those parts of it which survive. The balien-to-be is commonly afflicted by erotic dreams, apparitions or fantasies; and "other symptoms...are dreams, anxieties, or delusions concerning food, often coinciding with eating disorders and noticeable weight loss" (79). But interestingly, in referring to indigenous explanations for the origin of the balien, again, Malay concepts and terms are sometimes employed (lust for the devil [setan iblis]; and gastric or respiratory pains [najam]). What is more, in the initiation ceremony itself, there are references to objects and chants which appear to be derived from Iban discourse (buluh ayu, kalangkang, timang, sampi, mayang pinang). Certainly in the scale and details of the acquisition and use of magical stones and their relation to present-day Taman socio-cultural life there are differences from the Iban, but there are also significant similarities (Bernstein points to some of these [eg. pp. 165-166]), and clearly the adoption of Iban terms (and concepts?). The Taman use Iban terms for chants and prayers (timang, sampi); and the buluh ayu or decorated bamboo pole used in the menyarung ceremony would appear to be an Iban concept, referring to the "shades" or "images" of the living which are like clumps of bamboo and are tended by the chief of the celestial shamans; they reflect the condition of the person's soul. Kalangkang in Taman (and Embaloh) is presumably kelingkang in Iban (a suspended offering tray or basket). We have already seen that areca blossom is used ritually in both cultures, and the Iban manang uses, among other methods, stones (batu penubar) to extract sickness from the body.

Bernstein notes, referring to my studies, that the Embaloh, plausibly, have assimilated "some Iban folk-medical ideas and vocabulary items," though, he remarks that "the differences between Iban and Taman shamanism are pervasive and immediately apparent" (164). I think that this statement, while certainly drawing our attention to various cultural differences, is overstated. Clearly there has been some adoption by Taman of Iban concepts (and practices?) as well as of Malay elements. What is more, Palm (Embaloh) communities have adopted the balian Kantu', a whole complex of shamanic practices which has been absorbed and reinterpreted from the Kantu, an Ibanrelated population living in close physical proximity to the Embaloh/Taman. In adopting the balian Kantu', some villages in the Embaloh division have embraced a much more dynamic, performative folk-healing institution than was provided by their own balian banuka'; there would appear to be a link here between performance and anticipated curative efficacy. We a lso have to bear in mind that Taman concepts and practices of healing, according to Bernstein's own data, have been significantly influenced by Malay medicine, to the extent that a major part of their medical repertoire can be traced to Malay origins. In my view, these remote people in the Upper Kapuas have been finely attuned to the possibilities and opportunities of acculturation for a not inconsiderable period of time.

In the Palm villages of Nanga Nyabau and Tanjung Karaja, I witnessed several healing ceremonies, some of them presided over by local shamans, balian banuaka' or balian Embaich, and a then recently introduced set of shamanic practices of balian Kantu'. The balian Kantu' embraced part of the repertoire of the neighboring Kantu' people and part of local Embaloh shamanism. What was retained of local balianism was the focus on magical stones and some of the knowledge of the otherworld, but various of the methods, practices and spiritual knowledge of the Kantu had been absorbed. Very importantly, many of the "spirits captured in stone" of the balian Kantu' were from, so it was said, specifically Kantu' sources, based on the different routes and realms of the otherworld

of which these shamans had privileged knowledge. Balian Kantu' had particular knowledge of the realms beneath the water, where spirits, which the Embaloh call tindanum, dwell. It would also seem that the introduction of Kantu' shamanism had resulted in the involvement of more male balians rather than the institution of healing remaining a predominantly female domain. Female balian Kantu' usually dressed in Malay style in baju and sarung, whilst balian banuaka' adorned themselves in traditional Embaloh dress comprising beaded skirts and jackets (kain manik), headcloths (datulu), and hair garlands (bua'/bunga).

I was told that, in the past, Embaloh communities also had shamans, referred to as balian Ketan, whose knowledge was derived from the Bukitan or Ketan hunting-gathering communities of the Upper Kapuas whom the Embaloh had partially absorbed. I do not know to what extent Ketan values and practices had influenced and been integrated into Embaloh shamanism, but I suspect that some of the local balianism which I observed in the Palm region had been adopted from Ketan sources.

There were important differences between the ritual equipment used by the balian Kantu' and balian banuaka', but the gradation of therapies referred to by Bernstein, though with differences in detail, was followed by both sets of balian. The first stage, referred to as bubut by Bernstein's informants, was certainly known by the Embaloh. However, in the Palm, this initial healing process was referred to as mariri, within which the balian would maubut as a routine therapy. Then there comes the soul journey therapy or mangait. I was not aware of the ma/ai stage among the Embaloh, which Bernstein refers to as an extension of mangait. Then follows one of the most dangerous of the therapies, the manindoani/patindoani, several sessions of which I witnessed in the Palm region, and most of them performed by ba/ian Kantu'. Manindoani was alternatively referred to as mangadeng/pakadeng sumpitan (Embaloh, kadeng means to stand, and therefore to erect the sumpitan or blowpipe). It was clear that this ceremony had become i nfluenced by Kantu' therapies. The next stage in the sequence was mamator/pamatoran, or in its Kantu' variant mangantung papan (in Iban/Malay, to suspend a plank or board, that is, the seat of a swing). As it was explained to me, the different categories of ceremony were also based on the different ritual paraphernalia and locations used and the different methods of transporting the balian's soul to the otherworld and establishing contact with errant souls. In manindoani and mamator, a stringed instrument (the binse') is suspended and plucked to produce a humming sound which takes the balien on her (or his) journey. In manindoani, which is held in the patient's longhouse apartment (tindoan), two wooden blocks (saparu) are also struck together to establish contact with, and the location of, the errant soul of the patient. In mamator, on the other hand, an ancient plate (pingan jolo) is used and struck rhythmically for the same purpose, and the ceremony is held out on the longhouse verandah. The equivalent cere mony for the balian Kantu' is mangantung papan, also held on the verandah, beyond the apartment, but focused on a swing/board/plank orpapan which is suspended on the gallery. The swing is thought of as a boat which can travel to distant places to carry the soul of the balian as well as the spirits of the stones who provide assistance and support to the balian. The Iban shaman also uses a swing or swings erected in some part of the longhouse, and Graham suggests that the shaman's "ritual swinging [is] a highly condensed symbolic rite of soul retrieval" (1987: 62). In manindoani or mangadeng sumpitan, a blowpipe or spear is erected in a shrine. The shrine also consists of a wooden dish or trough (dolang/dulang, and in Iban/Malay), rice and other offerings, and a bowl containing batu balian. The sump/tan serves as the pathway for the balian's soul.

Finally, there is the initiation ceremony of the Embaloh balian (manyarung) in which the initiate is "taken hold of' or is chosen and given magical stones (isarung). As with the Taman, the balian Embaloh sits under an offering structure, the kalangkang, while the balian Kantu' uses a swing (papan) on which he/she sits and sleeps, in a ceremony known as manumbang/patumbang (to finish, complete initiation). What is more, in contrast to the balian banuaka's conduct in the advanced stages of therapy, the balian Kantu' participates much more in a physically active and dramatic syndrome, in which he or she acts out the characters of various spirits, dances to percussion accompaniment (sometimes vigorously), speaks in different voices, uses a swing to transport the soul to the otherworld, struggles with and sometimes slays the spirits of affliction, especially incubi or antu anak. One balian Kantu', Lintung, whom I got to know quite well, was a larger than life character, a powerful personality, confident, full-voi ced, and dramatic. I had the privilege of observing her methods on a number of occasions, and once in very close proximity when I was in severe pain from a kidney infection. She diagnosed spirit attack, and that I had been cut (aluka) by a spirit. She massaged the painful areas with various stones in a mariri ceremony, also using magical oil or tantamu. In my case, she diagnosed that I had been afflicted by an antu, and the specific condition was referred to as buntan tabak. She also used a mixture of Kantu' and Embaloh in her discourse with the spirits, and some of her most powerful stones, so she said, were derived from Malay spirits, including Abang Jawang, Abang Manjawai, Abang Jali, Dayang Talanjing and Dayang Gaga'. She usually worked together with a male balian Kantu', Sagen, a quiet man who was also possessed of a strength of character, but was not overtly dramatic in behavior, unlike Lintung. Lintung had also trained several other novices, two other men and two women, in the ways of the balian Kantu' . I suspect that she was a powerful agent in increasing the position and influence of balian Kantu' in the Embaloh region, and in ensuring that various concepts and practices, also generally shared by the Iban, were incorporated into Embaloh/Palin village shamanism.

I have much appreciated reading Bernstein's important book. It has provided further stimulation to me to return to some of my field notes and to ponder yet again the identity of the Embaloh/Taman. It requires us to continue our attempts to comprehend this cultural complexity in historical perspective and in terms of an intricately interrelated cultural mosaic in the Upper Kapuas region. Certainly some of our difficulties arise from the tendency to assume that an ethnic group should be defined on the basis of shared cultural features which persist through time and delineate a bounded unit. Although it is clear from Bernstein's findings and my data that, in its specific form and scale, a defining feature of the Embaloh/Taman institution of healing was the use of magical stones, it has been influenced significantly by the values and practices of neighboring peoples, as has much else in Embaloh/Taman society and culture. What is more, there are important areas of Embaloh/Taman culture which certainly existed som e 40 to 50 years ago which have all but disappeared. This does make it especially difficult to establish the specific form, contours, interrelationships and ideology of an earlier shamanism. Bernstein presents us with some interesting ideas on the possible evolution of the institution. But, given that in the early 1970s, in the Embaloh region at least, still other external influences (the shamanic practices of the Kantu' and the Iban) were impressing themselves upon the Embaloh, then the ever-changing nature of Embaloh/Taman culture suggests that it is very difficult to generalize about their culture, to establish cultural boundaries, and to answer with any certainty, "Who are the Maloh?" or "the Embaloh?" or "the Taman?" or "the [Dayak] Banuaka'?"

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