IT'S almost an incongruous setting. In the corner of a bustling mall, a little section resplendent with images of ancient intricate puppets seems to look like it's stepped back in time. Wayang kulit in the heart of the city? Who would've thought? I muse as I step into the enclosed area.
The space is almost devoid of people. There are tables where newly painted puppets have been left to dry — results of an earlier workshop where the doyen of wayang kulit artistry himself, Mohd Jufry Yusoff of Wak Long Music and Arts Centre, held court an hour earlier.
His troupe had taken centrestage in the Meriah Raya gallery at the ground atrium of Intermark Mall to showcase the art of the traditional shadow play through riveting performances and workshops until April 30.
It's almost 2pm and yet another wayang kulit performance is about to start. In front of me, a white cotton screen glows brightly from the lamp behind the plain cloth. I could discern movements, whispers and muffled laughter from behind the white spectral-looking cloth.
The modern setting to an ancient puppet show of sorts seems to fuse both worlds together. A meld of both the present with traditions that are both rarefied and sacred. Master puppeteer Jufry characterises the shadow play performance as both entertainment and ceremony. He describes it as straddling worlds "… in the middle between what people can understand and not understand".
Watching the performance from both sides of the puppet screen — as I was free to do — it's easy to see that he means. The puppeteer's side of the screen is colourful and busy. The light suspended above the screen casts an almost ethereal light on the young master puppeteer's face, his batik headdress, his plain white shirt and sarong.
The painted leather puppets are placed by his sight and he stares off into the distance in rapt concentration. Behind him, the musicians — also garbed in similar traditional Malay regalia — sit cross-legged.
Suddenly the bright sounds of the serunai (flute) jolt through the silence, joined quickly by the rest of the orchestra of gongs, gendang (double-headed drums), canang (brass gongs suspended by ropes in a frame), rebana (a form of tambourine) and cymbals.
The once-empty little hall on the other side of the screen is suddenly filled by curious onlookers. A leaf-like shadow swirls onto the white cloth as if caught up in some mystic wind. A solitary voice rise, reed-like, above the tune. The shadow play — the wayang kulit — has begun.
On the other side of the cotton screen, the play takes on its eerie and exotically graceful form. Backlighting casts shadows on the screen of the lacy, flat, cut-out puppets made of painted goat hide and held by delicate sticks. The action is accompanied by the otherworldly music of the orchestra led by Jufry himself.
Unlike traditional stories of the past, Wak Long puts up a hilarious sketch that's contemporary, complete with narration in both English and Bahasa. The storyline combines action-thriller, slapstick entertainment, high art and ritual. In this performance tour de force, the single master artist, speaking all the dialogue and narration, manipulates intricately carved leather puppets so that they cast moving silhouettes on a cotton screen.
LONG HISTORY
For centuries, the people of the Malay peninsula have been attending shadow plays, in which puppets laced with a thousand holes dance behind a lamplit screen, shades of gods, courtiers, giants and clowns. The plays are an integral part of life there and virtually any occasion, from conception to death, can be celebrated with a wayang.
The stories are based on the Javanese legends and the two great Hindu epics — the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. The plot usually consists of the struggle between good and evil forces, but the dramas are subtle and describe the inconsistencies of human nature by showing the weaknesses as well as the strengths in all of its characters.
The wayang kulit, a term that may have come from wayang or show, and kulit or hide, in reference to the puppets that are made out of goat hide. The origins remain unclear but researchers estimate that this form of entertainment may have developed by at least the 18th century under Javanese and Siamese (Thai) cultural influences. As in all forms of wayang kulit, the tok dalang is the ritual specialist, manipulator and narrator.
"The dalang is the master," declares Jufry. "He makes all the decisions and with his hands makes everything come alive."
Descending from a lineage of wayang kulit practitioners from the heartland of wayang kulit itself — Bachok, Kelantan — Jufry had learnt the tools of the trade from his grandfather, Mamat Semail, an acclaimed tok dalang who was immortalised by renowned Anglo-Irish Malay linguist Amin Sweeney in several books about the craft.
The second-born in a family of seven siblings, the 61-year-old recalls being part of the music troupe during his grandfather's performances at weddings, births and circumcision ceremonies. He started when he was only 6.
"I was the only one among my siblings who was interested in the craft. But to be honest, I was first more attracted to the food they served us performers," he admits with a chuckle before continuing: "I loved the ayam golek (Malay-styled grilled chicken) and pulut kuning (tumeric-infused glutinous rice)! I loved eating and I joined my grandfather eagerly because I was lured by food."
The shadow play performed by both his father and grandfather accompanied by music was something Jufry got used to over time. "It just felt natural to get involved in the performances as I grew older," he tells me, shrugging his shoulders.
Continues Jufry: "When I was a child, I loved to play with the puppets. Not real ones, just the paper ones my father taught me to make. My father and my grandfather didn't let me play with their puppets because they were considered precious and sacred."
MASTERING THE CRAFT
Jufry observed his grandfather's craft and how he lovingly and painstakingly created a whopping 133 characters for his plays. Waving his arms at the rows of puppets hung on the walls flanking the stage, he tells me: "These puppets hanging here? Those are the ones made by my grandfather all those years ago!"
Seeing his young son's interest, Jufry's father, Yusoff Ahmad, made him a set of paper puppets for him to practise with. Like his grandfather, Jufry's father was an expert puppet maker himself. The craft has since been passed on to the Wak Long founder. "I've learnt how to make my own puppets from paper, tracing the patterns carefully under my father's tutelage," he says softly.
Making the puppets require years of practice, he tells me dryly. The term kulit from wayang kulit refers to the material the puppets are made of: leather from a male goat is deemed ideal. "If it's a rough character, then we use the skin of a male goat, which is thicker. Finer puppets use the skin of the female goat, which is a lot thinner," explains Jufry.
After the skin is stretched on a frame, tanned and abraded, the puppet design is traced onto the leather, carved and perforated carefully before the bamboo sticks are attached to the limbs to enable movement. It's painstaking and meticulous hard work as each puppet, with its stylised exaggerated human shape, has special identifying features.
"I grew up learning these skills from my father and by observing my grandfather at work," he adds. His father also taught him music and puppeteering skills as well. "So, you've taken over from your father and grandfather and have become a tok dalang yourself," I muse but Jufry shakes his head regretfully. To my surprise, he replies quietly: "No, I don't consider myself a dalang."
To inherit the mantle of tok dalang requires years of mentoring, he tells me. There are many steps to becoming a tok dalang or master puppeteer. "The role of the dalang is a huge one. You have to know everything… music, singing, the characters and the philosophy behind the show."
In the old days, ancient rituals calling forth spirits were staged before each show, believed to imbue the tok dalang with great powers, though these are no longer in practice. Part of the ritual is for the apprentice to stage a show from sunrise to sundown for three days. On the third day, the apprentice would need to stage a play from sunrise to sunrise the next day before being elevated to the status of tok dalang,
"I've learnt as much as I can from both my father and grandfather but that's the final step I didn't take," he reveals. "In the original wayang kulit, the call of the spirits is part of the ritual that takes place, (but) I believe that we can do without that. We can tell a good story without turning to the mystical. That's what I'm trying to do today."
He pauses before continuing: "Besides, I don't have a tok guru (mentor or teacher) anymore." While being more adept at tok dalang duties, Jufry is focused on keeping the craft alive by grooming other puppeteers and musicians.
He'd undertaken this role since the 1980s when he followed his uncle to Penang and pursued his studies in traditional arts at Universiti Sains Malaysia (USM). Since 1983, he has been a cultural artist at the university and, in 1985, became an instructor in wayang kulit at the USM School of Arts.
Jufry eventually went on to form his own academy, Wak Long Arts Centre, to help protect, preserve and promote ancient art forms like the wayang kulit. "Back in the old days, we learnt everything orally. Nothing was written down. I want to help document and keep traditional artforms like the wayang kulit alive," he confides.
His talent and expertise soon paid off when he was one of the few chosen to introduce and promote Malay culture overseas through performances like the wayang kulit, gamelan and other forms of traditional music. At one point, Jufry was selected to lead a group of dancers to represent Malaysia in the International Festival of Folklore of Dijon in France.
There's no looking back for Jufry and certainly no resting on his laurels. "My grandfather told me once that if I wanted to carry on his legacy, I have to do it well and to the best of my ability. Jangan tipu-tipu (Don't cheat)," he shares, smiling. There's no time to continue our conversation. Another performance is about to start and once again the empty gallery is slowly being filled with people.
Inches away, on the other side of the shadow screen, stirs a different, mysterious world. Characters that are colourful and concrete on the puppeteer's side flutters here on the brink of corporeality.
Through it all, the puppeteer sits, the calm centre of activity. Knocking a block of wood, held between his toes, against the puppet box, he directs the pace of the play, the tempo of the music. With seeming effortlessness, he manoeuvres the puppets at various speeds and gaits across the screen.
His voice metamorphoses from the sweet tones of a princess in love to the raging threats of a giant, to the imbecilic laughter of a clown. For almost an hour, the puppeteer is producer, director, conductor, star and supporting cast, storyteller and teacher. He creates a shadowy universe hovering somewhere between the physical and spiritual worlds. Yet, for all its awesome dimensions, his performance has a trancelike ease.
As ancient characters dance across the white screen, the audience lean closer. Their eyes reflecting the ghostly light emanating from the screen, they're mesmerised by the dancing shadows telling a story that's been retold for centuries. Tales where good triumphs over evil, wicked giants repent, clowns elicit laughter, and where fair princes win over their beautiful maidens.
Curious onlookers who gathered around that little gallery turn into rapt audience, applauding enthusiastically once the show is finally over. In that bustling mall, it's indeed an incongruous setting where ancient storytelling collides with modern times. Somewhere up above, Mamat Semail and Yusoff Ahmad would be looking down with pride.