“HUKUMAN bunuh! Hukuman Bunuh! Tolonglah kami! Kasihanilah kami!” (Death penalty! Death penalty! Please help us! Take pity on us!)
The pitiful wails resonate up the pagoda stairwell spurring the servant girl to intensify her efforts. She’s determined to reach the topmost floor as quickly as possible. Rapping the consort’s chamber door softly, she identifies herself and a voice behind the heavy teak wood door beckons her to enter. The servant, trying hard to suppress her breathlessness, promptly informs her mistress that the Keeper of the Royal Seal’s wives and children are downstairs requesting an audience with her.
The consort remains silent but deep in her heart she already knew the reason for this unexpected visit. The palace rumour mill had been in overdrive ever since news broke the week before about the Keeper misusing the Royal Seal to defraud people by selling their land and pocketing the proceeds. The presence of his family must surely mean that the rumours are true and the Keeper’s misdeeds had already been exposed.
The consort’s initial thoughts were to remain neutral and not to get involved in the scandal. She would rather let her husband, Sultan Abdul Hamid Halim Shah make the decision.
The laws of the land are very strict and the Keeper would have to face capital punishment for tarnishing the integrity of his office. The consort shudders at the thought of the existing feudal laws for such serious offences. Apart from the Keeper’s death sentence, the Kedah criminal enactments decree that all his wives and children would have their thumbs chopped off!
The consort knows that the Sultan would have no other option but to enforce this barbaric rule in order to maintain order within his realm. Deeply disturbed and overwhelmed with pity for the unfortunate people, the consort finally orders her handmaidens to escort her downstairs. She must at least try her level best to pacify her desperate guests.
The wails and screams intensify, almost reaching a degree of insanity, when the women and children catch sight of the consort descending the stairs with her retinue of servants. They rush forward in unison and fall at her feet asking for mercy.
“Che Menjalara tolonglah kami! Kasihanilah kami!” (Mistress Menjalara please help us! Take pity on us!)
Che Menjalara had never been the sort of woman to turn a deaf ear to those in distress. Her heart went out to the children clinging on to her sarong as if for dear life. Finally she relents and quickly devises a story that might save the accused and his family. However, she was also aware that her own life would be in peril should her plans backfire. After assuring the now-subdued group of her intention to assist them, Che Menjalara left the palace to seek an immediate audience with her husband.
Istana Pagoda
The location of this three-storey building, often referred to as Istana Pagoda due to its resemblance to a Chinese multi-tiered pagoda, is directly behind the Balai Besar in Alor Star’s Padang Court. At the turn of the 20th century, this palace was part of a sprawling royal complex known as Kota Dalam or the Inner Fortress.
The high walls surrounding the complex shielded the Sultan and his immediate family from the prying eyes of the public.
I visited this area recently to look for the fabled Istana Pagoda. I am heartened to see Istana Pelamin beautifully restored to its former glory. This palace, which played a central role in the 1906 royal nuptials, is now the Kedah Royal Museum. There are not many visitors at the museum these days as its main entrance has been closed off to facilitate the ongoing upgrading work in Padang Court. Unfortunately not many people are aware of the existence of a side entrance via Wisma Negeri next door.
The security guard takes a good hard look at me when I approach him for permission to explore the compound. At that moment, judging from his facial expression, I become aware that I could very well be the first person to make such an unusual request. The perplexed guard gestures to the blazing noon sun directly overhead and asks why I would bother walking outside when I can enjoy the cool airconditioned interior of the museum.
“Di dalam ada banyak barang menarik dan tidak panas. Tidak ada benda di luar sana,” (There’s more interesting exhibits inside and it’s cooler. There’s nothing to see outside.) he exclaims.
My tale about Che Menjalara and Istana Pagoda soon piques the guard’s interest. Taking advantage of an extremely quiet afternoon, he not only gives me permission to explore but also offers to personally escort me on my quest.
Together, we brave the sweltering heat and begin our systematic search. Half an hour later my hopes are dashed. Apart from Istana Pelamin, no other building in Kota Dalam has survived the ravages of time. The site where Istana Pagoda was said to have once stood is nothing more than an empty field save for a clump of fruiting banana plants.
Although there are no surviving photographs of the Istana Pagoda in its entirety but, standing under the shade of a tall Angsana tree, it’s easy to let my imagination run wild. Tunku Abdul Rahman, in his childhood recollections, describes the pagoda as being covered with glazed tiles and green dragons. Istana Pagoda, built by skilled Chinese craftsmen living in Alor Star during the late 19th century was demolished in 1912.
Leaving the compound, the guard and I trace a narrow foot path back to Wisma Negeri. In the past, this area was known as Kota Tengah, the place where Sultan Abdul Hamid held court and attended to important matters of the state. Suffering a fate similar to Istana Pagoda, the buildings in this Middle Fortress were demolished in the 1920s to make way for new government offices. These offices served as the administrative centre for the growing Kedah Civil Service including the first British adviser, George Maxwell.
As we reach the end of the footpath, my thoughts return to Che Menjalara. Could the Sultan’s consort have used this very same route that the guard and I just traversed when she went on her personal crusade to plead for the Keeper’s family?
Back in time
During her private audience with her husband, Che Menjalara decides to create a white lie. Her face calm, she delivers glad tidings to the monarch telling him that she was with child. Then she proceeds to remind Sultan Abdul Hamid of an age-old Malay superstition.
In those days people believed that if one of the parents causes the disfigurement of a fellow human being, the child would also bear the same deformity upon his/her birth. Che Menjalara subsequently implores the Sultan to delay the imposition of any penalty at least until her child was born. The monarch, elated at the news of the impending birth of his 20th child, immediately accedes to his consort’s wise counsel.
Fortunately for Che Menjalara, she became pregnant soon after the incident and the child born from this confinement was none other than our Father of Independence, Tunku Abdul Rahman Putra Al-Haj.
Soon after Tunku’s birth on Feb 8, 1903, Sultan Abdul Hamid reduced the sentence of the convicted Keeper to one of a long term imprisonment.
At the same time, he remitted the sentence for the Keeper’s entire family. Che Menjalara firmly believed that the compassion and mercy associated with Tunku’s birth distinguished him from the rest of his brothers and sisters. Many people also believe that this had a lifelong influence on Tunku’s character and fate as the leader who finally removed the yoke of colonialism in Malaya.
Mysteries oh mysteries
Along the way back to the Royal Museum, a small wooden board near the storage area captures my attention. The guard, following my gaze, informs me that that the object is actually a wooden head board belonging to a child’s bed.
According to the genial “pak guard”, the original contents of Istana Pelamin were taken away by the Kedah State Museum Board in the early 1980s when they started refurbishing the building in preparation to convert it into the Royal Museum. The museum first opened its doors in 1983 as part of the celebrations to commemorate the Silver Jubilee of the current Kedah Sultan, Sultan Abdul Halim Muadzam Shah. I muse aloud that this headboard was probably not taken as it wasn’t part of a complete bed.
The guard becomes curious when I kneel down to study the engraving on the board carefully. “Encik boleh baca Arab ka?” (Can you read Arabic?) he asks, curiously. Turning to him I explain that although the cursive script on the headboard looks quite similar to Arabic text, it’s actually Jawi. I must have impressed him when I begin translating the script which read “Selamat Tidur”, loosely translated as “Good night and sweet dreams”.
Before taking my leave, I return the headboard back to its original place and cover it with a large piece of plastic. In the midst of that, I couldn’t help wondering whether this piece could have been part of Tunku’s bed when he was a child?
It certainly does look very old, made perhaps in the early 20th century. Furthermore, Tunku was only nine years old when Istana Pagoda was demolished. Perhaps the family stayed at Istana Pelamin after that? I ride away on my motorbike hoping that perhaps one day I’d be able to solve that mystery.