Chapter III: Religious and Magical Beliefs (2)

“Puluga is said to eat and drink, and, during the dry months of the year, to pass much of his time in sleep, as is proved by his voice (thunder) being rarely heard at that season; he is the source whence they receive all their supplies of animals, birds, and turtles; when they anger him he comes out of his house and blows, and growls, and hurls burning faggots at them—in other words, visits their offences with violent thunderstorms and heavy squalls; except for this purpose he seldom leaves home, unless it be during the rains, when he descends to earth to provide himself with certain kinds of food; how often this happens they do not know since, nowadays, he is invisible [81].”

Mr Man’s comparison between the Andamanese belief in Puluga and the Christian belief in a God, will be discussed in a later chapter when we come to deal with the interpretation of the Andamanese beliefs. It is to be noted that Mr Man does not make any reference to Deria (Tarai), nor does he mention the association of Puluga with the north-east.

As regards the personal appearance of Puluga, the statements of different informants are not in agreement. One A-Pučikwar man described Bilik as being very big, about the height of one of the posts of my hut (which was eighteen feet), white-skinned like a European, having a long beard, and carrying a bow of the J̌a̤rawa type.

The legends connecting Puluga with the creation of the world will be given in the next chapter.

I am not able to confirm Mr Man’s statement that Puluga is omniscient, and in fact there are some customs of the natives that are in contradiction with any such belief. When they dig up yams (which belong to Puluga) they take the tuber and replace the “crown” with the attached stem in the ground, and explain this by saying that if they do so Puluga will not notice that the yam has been taken. Whenever they do any of the things that displease Puluga, they seem to believe that there is a possibility that Puluga may not discover what has been done. It may be noted that there is no means of distinguishing in Andamanese between “all” and “a great deal.” Thus a statement the Puluga knows “everything” may be equally well translated “Puluga knows a great deal.” Between these two statements there is no difference for the Andamanese, but there is a great difference for us, and for this reason the use of the word “omniscient” is misleading.

Mr Man says that Puluga “is angered by the commission of certain sins.” In this connection it is necessary to refer to another passage in Mr Man’s work. “That they are not entirely devoid of moral consciousness may, I think, in some measure, be demonstrated by the fact of their possessing a word, yub-da, signifying sin or wrong-doing, which is used in connection with falsehood, theft, grave assault, murder, adultery, and—burning wax (!), which deeds are believed to anger Puluga-la, the Creator [82].” Although I made very careful and repeated enquiries, I was unable to meet with a single native who believed that such actions as the murder of one man by another, or adultery, aroused the anger of Puluga. The only actions at which Puluga is angry are those purely ritual offences, such as burning or melting wax, killing a cicada, digging up yams, etc., which have already been mentioned.

The Andamanese beliefs connected with the life after death will be described later in the present chapter.

As regards the “stone house” in which Puluga is said to live, this really means, I believe, a cave. In the North Andaman Biliku is frequently spoken of as living in a cave (e̱ra-poŋ). Also, it may be recalled, the sky is generally regarded as consisting of stone or rock, and it is in the sky the Puluga lives.

The son of Puluga, mentioned by Mr Man, Piǰčor, is a being about whom I was able to learn very little. In the North Andaman the same being is named Perǰido, and is said to be the son of Biliku. The Morowin, whom Mr Man describes as the daughters of Puluga, are sky spirits. The most usual belief in the South Andaman is that there are both male and female Morowin. They are beings of somewhat the same nature as the jungle spirits and the sea spirits. An Akar-Bale informant told me, “The Morua are sky spirits. They eat only pork and nothing else. They are angry if pork is roasted, and make the people ill. They used to live in the big baǰa (Sterculia) trees, but now they live in the sky.”

In this connection it may be mentioned that there is a belief throughout the Andamans that it is dangerous to roast pork. In the North Andaman the natives commonly say that the spirits of the jungle are angry if pork be roasted, and may be attracted to the spot and cause the natives to be ill. An Akar-Bale belief, connecting the danger with the spirits of the sky has just been mentioned. Mr Man’s version of the matter is as follows:— “... there is a company of evil spirits who are called čol, and who are much dreaded. They are believed to be descendants of Maia Čol who lived in antediluvian times. They generally punish those who offend them by baking or roasting pig’s flesh, the smell of which is particularly obnoxious to them, as it is also to Puluga, who therefore, often assists them in discovering the delinquent; the same risk does not attend boiling pork, which the olfactory nerves of the fastidious čol are not keen enough to detect. While the Andamanese say that they are liable to be struck by E̱rem-čauga-la or J̌uruwin at any time or in any place, the čol strike those only who offend them, and that during the day while they are stationary, this being necessitated by the distance from the earth of their abode, whence they hurl their darts; an invisible spear is the weapon they always use, and this is thrown with unerring aim at the head of their victims, and is invariably fatal. As these demons are considered especially dangerous on the hottest days, they are apparently held accountable for the deaths from sunstroke which happen from time to time [83].”

It may be remarked that Čol is the name of a species of bird (probably the racket-tailed drongo), which is named from its call—čol, čol, čol. I did not hear the name used to denote what Mr Man calls demons, except in so far as the birds themselves are supposed to have supernatural powers. There is, perhaps, some sort of connection between the čol (the birds, that is) and the sky-spirits, Morowin or Morua, but I was not able to satisfy myself on the point. The connection of them both with Puluga is still more obscure.

Another belief in connection with pigs is that any person who cuts up a pig badly is liable to be punished. Mr Man states, on this subject, “Puluga never himself puts any one to death, but he objects so strongly to seeing a pig badly quartered and carved that he invariably points out those who offend him in this respect to a class of malevolent spirits called Čol, one of whom forthwith despatches the unfortunate individual [84].”

I was not able to find any evidence that Puluga is believed to be angry if a pig is badly quartered. From the natives with whom I talked on the subject I received two different statements. One was to the effect that if a pig is badly cut up the meat will be bad and anyone who eats it will be ill. The other was that if a pig is badly cut up the spirits of the jungle will be angry and will punish the offender. In neither case was there any reference to Puluga or Biliku.

In general it may be said that the natives believe that the only punishment that Puluga or Biliku ever sends against those who offend him or her in any way is bad weather, and I did not myself meet with any exception to this rule.

One other observation by Mr Man may be mentioned. He says, “When they see a dark cloud approaching at a time when rain would prove very inconvenient, as when hunting, travelling, etc., they advise Puluga to divert its course by shouting ‘Wara-J̌obo kopke, kopke, kopke’ (Wara-J̌obo will bite, bite, bite (you)). If in spite of this a shower falls they imagine that Puluga is undeterred by their warning [85].”

It is clear from the above discussion of the matter that there is not any complete agreement in the beliefs concerning Puluga (Biliku) even in any one tribe of the Andamans. There are many different statements about this being which cannot be made consistent with one another without doing violence to the evidence. At the same time, amid all the differences and inconsistencies there are a certain number of points about which there is a general agreement throughout the whole of the tribes of the Great Andaman. One of these is the connection of Puluga and Daria with the weather, with the two chief winds, and with the points of the compass from which these winds blow. The other is the belief that certain actions, such as melting bees’-wax, digging up yams, etc., are disliked by Puluga, and are punished by him (or her) with stormy weather. On these matters there is entire agreement amongst the natives of all the tribes, and they are to the natives themselves by far the most important part of the beliefs concerning Puluga.

We have seen that the Andamanese believe in two different kinds of what may be called, for want of a better term, supernatural beings. In the first place there are the spirits, the Lau or Čauga, and the J̌urua, inhabiting the forest and the sea respectively. These are all associated by the natives with ghosts, i.e. with the spirits of dead men and women. In the second place there are other beings connected with the sun and moon, lightning and thunder and the monsoons (Biliku and Tarai). These are all associated with the phenomena of nature. There are many points of contact between these two classes of beings. Thus there are two alternative explanations of bad weather, one that it is due to the spirits (particularly the spirits of the sea), the other that it is due to the anger of Biliku. This is a point that will be referred to again in a later chapter.

It is possible that there are beliefs in other supernatural beings who are neither spirits of the dead nor connected with natural phenomena. The only being of such a nature that I was able to discover anything about is one called Nila or Ńila. This is the name of an evil being who is supposed to live in hollow Pterocarpus trees. When he smells human beings near his tree he comes out and kills them with his knife. I found this belief in the A-Pučikwar tribe, but was not able to find any trace of a similar belief in the North Andaman, though of course I cannot say that it does not exist there. Mr Man mentions this same being. “This spirit Nila is supposed to live in ant-hills, and to have neither wife nor child; he is not regarded as such a malevolent personage as Erem-čauga-la, and, though he is always armed with a knife, he rarely injures human beings with it, or when he does so, it is not in order to feed upon their bodies, for he is said to eat earth only [86].” Mr Man adds, in a footnote that “cases have been cited of persons who have been found stabbed, whose deaths have been attributed to Nila: the possibility of the individuals in question having been murdered is scouted.”

The version given by Mr Man is not quite in agreement with the information given to me, but I was unfortunately not able to learn anything more about the nature of Nila.

As throwing some additional light on the way in which the Andamanese think of the supernatural beings that have been mentioned above, I add here a brief description of a sort of dramatic or pantomimic dance that I witnessed in the North Andaman. Many savage tribes in different parts of the world are in the habit of performing dances or pantomimes in which the performer represents a supernatural being. In the Andamans there are no regular performances of this kind. The solitary one that I witnessed was entirely exceptional.

The performer was a man named Kobo. This man, according to the statements of the natives, had, at one time of his life, died and come back to life again. Owing to this fact he was endowed with special magical powers, and had some reputation as a magician or medicine-man (oko-ǰumu). During the time that he was dead (probably a few hours of unconsciousness), he is supposed to have visited the world of spirits, and while there he saw many things and learnt much about the spirits. Among other things he witnessed a dance in which the spirits and other supernatural beings took part. All these things he was able to remember when he returned to life.

The performance was given one afternoon on the ordinary dancing ground of the village. The performer sat on his haunches in a hut at one end of the dancing ground. Thrust into the back of his belt he wore a bunch of leaves sticking out somewhat after the manner of a cock’s tail, but he had no other ornament. The spectators, consisting of men, women and children, were seated round the edge of the dancing ground, which had been swept clean. On one side sat a few women who acted as chorus. There was no sounding-board.

The performer began to sing a song, composed on the model of the songs of the South Andaman (with a short refrain) which has now for some years been adopted by the Northern tribes in preference to their own. As he finished the song the women of the chorus took up the refrain, repeating it over and over again, and marking time by clapping their hands on their thighs. The performer came out of his hut and performed a dance. At a signal from him the chorus ceased and he returned to his hut. In this way he sang several songs, repeating each one several times, and performed a number of short dances. In nearly every case the step of the dance was some simple modification of the step in common use at an ordinary dance. Thus in one dance he danced very violently and pretended to hurt his leg through the violence of his dancing, making angry signs to the chorus to stop their clapping, of which, of course, they took no notice. In another dance he stopped at short intervals and violently scratched his sides and then doubled himself up with laughter. In yet another, he danced with the step of the women’s dance, covering his face with his hands and pretending to be very bashful. In still another he stood on tiptoe on the right foot and stamped with his left foot in time to the chorus of women. In some of the dances he walked round the open space within the circle of spectators, sometimes in a crouching attitude, and at other times in other attitudes. All these dances aroused great amusement amongst the spectators. It was unfortunately impossible for me to understand them all or to obtain an adequate explanation of them either at the time or later.

Of the songs that were sung one was “The tide has gone down over the reef. I walk round the world. There is great wind and rain.”

Some of these dances I was able to understand even without explanation. One of them represented Biliku. The performer held in his right hand a shell, and as he danced grotesquely round the open space he looked fiercely at the spectators and threatened to throw the shell at them. Many of the women and children could not prevent themselves from starting backwards when he thus threatened them, but their fears were immediately dispelled in laughter. The shell was not a pearl-shell (be) but a Cyrena shell (bun), but I believe that this was because there was no pearl-shell available. The representation of Biliku was thus reduced to a single gesture, that of threatening the natives with her pearl-shell (lightning).

Another dance represented the jungle spirits (Bido-teč Lau). In this he first hid himself behind a screen of bido leaves (Calamus tigrinus) that had been prepared, singing a song. The leaves represented a clump of the Calamus palm such as is supposed to be the favourite haunt of the jungle spirits. After having sung for some time behind his screen of leaves, he came out with a bow and arrow in his hand, and as he danced in front of the spectators he pretended to shoot at them.

In another dance he represented Ele, the lightning. He sat on a stone that had been placed in the middle of the open space, swinging his arms to the time of the chorus, and every now and then shaking his leg.

This observation is an important one in several ways. Although I asked the man to repeat it, in order that I might make fuller notes and obtain explanations of many obscure points, and although he grudgingly said that he would, yet he did not do so. He was, moreover, very reserved over the matter, and not very willing to talk about his own performance.

I believe that the performance was an entirely exceptional affair. I never at any other time either saw or heard of one man or even several men, giving a dance for the amusement of others. I think that the whole thing was entirely the invention of the performer. He had given the same performance, or one very similar, at least once before the occasion on which I saw it.

We may now turn to the Andamanese beliefs relating to the soul and the life after death.

The vital principle is at different times identified by the Andamanese with the pulse, the breath, with the blood and with the fat, particularly the kidney-fat. Thus the body of a slain enemy is burnt so that the blood and fat may be consumed in smoke and ascend to the sky where they will no longer be a danger to those who have slain him.

The nearest approach to our notion of a soul that the natives possess is their belief concerning the double or reflection seen in a mirror. In the Northern tribes the word ot-ǰumulo means “reflection,” and also “shadow,” and is also nowadays applied to a photograph. The word ot-ǰumu, in the same languages, means “a dream” or “to dream.” We may perhaps translate the word ot-ǰumulo as meaning “soul.” In the Aka-Bea language ot-yolo is “reflection,” while there is a different word, ot-diya or ot-lere, for “shadow,” and neither of the words has any connection with the word “dream” which is taraba. Mr Man translates the word ot-yolo as “soul.”

The fact that the words for dream and reflection, double or shadow are from the same root in the Northern languages is of interest. Dreams are sometimes explained by saying that the sleeper’s double (ot-ǰumulo) has left his body and is wandering elsewhere. Dreams are regarded as being veridical, or at any rate, as having importance. One man told me how, in a dream the night before, his ot-ǰumulo had travelled from where we were to his own country and had there seen the death of the baby of a woman of his own tribe. He was fully convinced that the baby must really have died.

An Andamanese will never, or only with the very greatest reluctance, awaken another from sleep. One explanation of this that was given to me was that the ot-ǰumulo or double of the sleeper may be wandering far from his body, and to waken him suddenly might cause him to be ill.

The principle on which dreams are interpreted is a very simple one. All unpleasant dreams are bad, all pleasant ones are good. The natives believe that sickness is often caused by dreams. A man in the early stages of an attack of fever, for instance, may have a bad dream. When the fever develops he explains it as due to the dream. If a man has a painful dream he will often not venture out of the camp the following day, but will stay at home until the effect has worn off. The natives believe that they can communicate in dreams with the spirits, but the power to do this regularly is the privilege of certain special individuals, known as oko-ǰumu (dreamers). However, an ordinary individual may occasionally have dreams of this kind.

I found that any attempt to study the dreams of such a people as the Andamanese is made very difficult by the fact that it is never possible to tell how far the original dream has been arranged and altered by the waking imagination. So far as my observations went the majority of dreams are either visual or motor, or both. Further reference to dreams will be made later in connection with magic.

When a man or woman dies the double (or as some of the natives explain it, the breath) leaves the body and becomes a spirit (lau or čauga). By death a man ceases to exist as a man, and begins a new existence as a spirit.

Whenever I asked the natives whence came the spirits of the jungle and the sea I received the answer that they are the spirits of dead men and women. On the other hand, when I put in another form what might seem to be the same question, and asked what became of a man’s spirit after his death, I received many different and inconsistent answers. As it would take too much space to transcribe every answer that I received to this question, a number of typical ones are selected. Any attempt to reconcile the statements of different men or of the same men on different occasions can only produce a false impression of the real condition of the native beliefs, and therefore the statements are kept separate, and each one is given as it was taken down.

The first is from the Northern tribes. Exactly similar statements were made to me by men of several tribes. “When a man dies he becomes a Lau and wanders about the jungle. At first he keeps near the grave or the place where he died, but after a while he finds that is no good, and so he goes to live with the other spirits. If he is drowned he becomes a J̌urua.” A second account, varying from the above in only one particular, is also from one of the Northern tribes (Aka-Čari). “When a man dies he becomes a Lau or a J̌urua and lives with the other spirits. If he be a jungle-dweller he becomes a Lau and lives in the jungle. If he be a coast-dweller he becomes a J̌urua and lives in the sea. All the Aka-Čari become J̌urua when they die. The spirit stays in his own country. The spirits of a man’s own country (whether Lau or J̌urua) are friendly to him, but those of another country are dangerous and will make him ill.”

An entirely different statement frequently made to me by men of the Northern tribes is that when a man dies the spirit (Lau) either immediately, or after the lapse of some time, goes to another world that lies under this one and is called Maramiku. This world of spirits is said to be just like the actual world, with forest and sea, and all the familiar animal and vegetable species. The inhabitants spend their time just as the Andamanese do on earth, hunting, fishing and dancing.

Still another statement that is commonly made in the North is that the spirits of the dead go to live in the sky. Two such statements are as follows: “When a man dies his ot-ǰumulo (double) goes up to the sky and becomes a Lau (spirit).” “A man’s spirit wanders in the jungle till the flesh has rotted from the bones, and then goes away to the sky.” Other statements were very similar to these two.

Turning now to the Southern tribes, one informant of the A-Pučikwar tribe gave me the following account: “When a man or woman dies the spirit goes away to the east or north-east and goes over the edge of the world, remaining in a place called Lau-l’uŋ-ciŋ (Spirit’s House) where there is a large hut in a jungle similar to that on earth. There they live just as men do on earth, hunting and fishing, and so on. Beyond the home of the spirits is Puta-ko̱iča, the home of the sun and moon. The rainbow is the path by which the spirits come to visit their friends on earth, which they do in dreams. The rainbow is made of canes (? a cane).”

Another version from the same tribe was to the effect that after death the spirits of the dead go to live in the sky with a mythical being named Tomo. This Tomo, according to some of the legends, was the first ancestor of the Andamanese. By one of my best informants he was identified to some extent with the sun, and consequently with light and with fine weather. This man stated that in the world of the spirits it is never night as Tomo is always there. The spirits always have plenty of pork and turtle, and spend their time dancing and enjoying themselves.

One old man of the A-Pučikwar tribe, who had some reputation as a medicine-man, said that the spirits of medicine-men lived apart from the spirits of ordinary men and women, and are called not Lau but Bilik. He told me how he had been visited in a dream by Bo̱ičo Bilik; that is by the spirit of one Bo̱ičo who had, when he lived, been a great medicine-man, and who, now that he was dead, had become a Bilik, as distinguished from an ordinary Lau. It is the Bilik who control the weather. They can also cause or cure sickness in living men. The Bo̱ičo mentioned above was alive when my informant was a young man.

In the Akar-Bale tribe one man told me that the breath (ig-peti) of a dying person goes up to the sky and becomes a spirit. Another belief of the same tribe is that the spirits of the dead go to J̌ereg-l’ar-mugu, which is under the earth. From the same tribe comes the following account: “When a man or woman dies, the spirit first of all goes southward to the country of the Aka-Bea, and then returns to Gudna-l’ar-boŋ in Kuaičo-bur (in the Akar-Bale country). It then goes to J̌ila-buaro in J̌ila (East Island) and from there to Kere-tuaur. The inhabitants of the last-named place are warned of the approach of the spirit by the cries of the birds tao (Eudynamis honorata, Indian koel or brain-fever bird) and bil (Australian goggle-eyed plover). At one time the people of Luŋ-tauar used to catch the spirits in big nets made for the purpose. They were taught to do this by a wise woman named In Golat. The spirits try to run away, but they get caught at the place called Guamo-leber. The people then throw them into the sea, and they (the spirits) then go to Čauga-l’uŋ-jiŋa (Spirit’s Home) and remain there.” The above is given exactly as it was translated to me by an Akar-Bale man who knew English and who acted as my interpreter on the occasion. There is much in it that I do not understand and that my questions failed to elucidate. It is given as an example of the nature of some of the more obscure of the Andamanese beliefs. To understand fully many of their statements on this and other matters would need a more complete knowledge of the language than I possessed, and a longer time than I was able to give.

The various examples given above are sufficient to show the general nature of the Andamanese beliefs. In every tribe there are alternative and inconsistent beliefs as to the place where spirits go, which by different accounts is in the sky, beneath the earth, out to the east where the sun and moon take their rise, or in the jungle and sea of their own country. One thing is clear, that the Andamanese ideas on the subject are floating and lacking in precision. There is no fixity or unanimity of belief amongst them.

To these various accounts from the natives themselves, must be added the description of the beliefs of the Aka-Bea tribe as recorded by Mr Man. This may best be given in the writer’s own words. “The world, exclusive of the sea, is declared to be flat and to rest on an immense palm-tree (Caryota sobolifera) called barata, which stands in the midst of a jungle comprising the whole area under the earth. This jungle, čaitan (Hades) is a gloomy place, for, though visited in turn by the sun and moon, it can, in consequence of its situation, be only partially lighted: it is hither the spirits (čauga) of the departed are sent by Puluga to await the Resurrection.

“No change takes place in čaitan in respect to growth or age; all remain as they were at the time of their departure from the earth, and the adults are represented as engaged in hunting, after a manner peculiar to disembodied spirits. In order to furnish them with sport the spirits of animals and birds are also sent to čaitan, but as there is no sea there, the čauga of fish and turtle remain in their native element and are preyed upon by ǰuruwin. The spirits (čauga) and souls (ot-yolo) of all children who die before they cease to be entirely dependent on their parents (i.e. under six years of age) go to čaitan, and are placed under a rau tree (Ficus laccifera) on the fruit of which they subsist. As none can quit čaitan who have once entered, they support their stories regarding it by a tradition that in ages long past an oko-paiad was favoured in a dream with a vision of the regions and of the pursuits of the disembodied spirits.

“Between the earth and the eastern sky there stretches an invisible cane bridge (pidga-l’ar-čauga) which steadies the former and connects it with ǰereg (paradise); over this bridge the souls (ot-yolo) of the departed pass into paradise, or to ǰereg-l’ar-mugu, which is situated below it: this latter place might be described as purgatory, for it is a place of punishment for those who have been guilty of heinous sins, such as murder. Like Dante, they depict it as very cold, and therefore a most undesirable region for mortals to inhabit. From all this it will be gathered that these despised savages believe in a future state, in the resurrection, and in the threefold constitution of man.

“In serious illness the sufferer’s spirit (čauga) is said to be hovering between this world and Hades, but does not remain permanently in the latter place until some time after death, during which interval it haunts the abode of the deceased and the spot where the remains have been deposited. In dreams it is the soul which, having taken its departure through the nostrils, sees or is engaged in the manner represented to the sleeper.

“The Andamanese do not regard their shadows but their reflections (in any mirror) as their souls. The colour of the soul is said to be red, and that of the spirit black, and, though invisible to human eyes, they partake of the form of the person to whom they belong. Evil emanates from the soul, and all good from the spirit; at the resurrection they will be re-united and live permanently on the new earth, for the souls of the wicked will then have been reformed by the punishments inflicted on them during their residence in ǰereg-l’ar-mugu.

“The future life will be but a repetition of the present, but all will then remain in the prime of life, sickness and death will be unknown, and there will be no more marrying or giving in marriage. The animals, birds, and fish will also re-appear in the new world in their present form.

“This blissful state will be inaugurated by a great earthquake, which, occurring by Puluga’s command, will break the pidga-l’ar-čauga and cause the earth to turn over: all alive at the time will perish, exchanging places with their deceased ancestors [87].”

This account given by Mr Man, must, I think, be received with great caution. To one who has talked to the Andamanese on these subjects it seems probable that Mr Man has here combined into a single consistent version, a number of independent statements, which, as the natives believe them, are not parts of an organised doctrine, but are separate from and often inconsistent with each other. Added to this there is the fact that Mr Man has so written down the native beliefs as to bring out the greatest possible degree of resemblance to the Christian mythology. This is clear from his use of the words Hades, paradise, etc. Allowance must therefore be made for the fact that Mr Man evidently found some pleasure in tracing analogies between the mythology of the Andamanese and the Christian doctrines.

Owing to the importance attaching to all Mr Man’s statements it is necessary to examine critically the account transcribed above. We may begin with what is said of the doctrine of the threefold nature of man. By this it would seem to be meant that man is regarded as composed of body, soul and spirit. It is quite certain that the Andamanese mean different things by the words ot-yolo (reflection) here translated “soul,” and čauga translated “spirit.” The difference is this, that a man, while he is still alive, has a “double” or “soul” if the latter word be preferred, while when he is dead he becomes a spirit. Thus the spirit is not a part of a man while he is alive. The word čauga (or lau) is simply the name of a particular class of beings which includes all dead men and women. The bones of a man become “spirit-bones” (čauga-ta) when he dies, just as he becomes a spirit. To compare the Andamanese belief with the Christian doctrine that each man possesses, while he is alive, both a soul and a spirit, these being different things, is therefore misleading. For this reason it is perhaps unfortunate to translate the Andamanese čauga as meaning spirit, but there does not seem to be any other convenient English word.

Mr Man’s account would seem to imply that the native belief is that at death the soul (reflection) of a man goes to one place (J̌ereg or J̌ereg-l’ar-mugu) while his spirit goes elsewhere (to Čaitan). In the case of children however, Mr Man makes a difference, for both the souls and spirits of children go to Čaitan. Mr Man compares Čaitan to Hades, J̌ereg to paradise and J̌ereg-l’ar-mugu to purgatory.

I do not think that the Andamanese have any such complicated doctrine as this. It seems to me almost certain that Mr Man has received from the natives several different statements, similar to some of those given earlier, and that he has combined and reconciled them as well as he could. Some of his informants, apparently, described the world after death as being beneath the earth, and gave the name of it as Čaitan [88]. Other informants seem to have spoken of [vJ]ereg or J̌ereg-l’ar-mugu. I think it improbable that any one native should have stated, as Mr Man’s account would seem to imply, that the soul of a dead man goes to one place, while the man himself (now a spirit) goes somewhere else. Mr Man’s description of Čaitan corresponds almost exactly to the descriptions given to me by the Akar-Bale and A-Pučikwar of J̌ereg-l’ar-mugu, and to the descriptions of Maramiku given by the Northern tribes. If Čaitan be really an Aka-Bea word, it would seem to be only another name for J̌ereg-l’ar-mugu.

One of the most important points in Mr Man’s statement is that while the souls of good men go to paradise as he puts it, the souls of bad men are condemned to torture in purgatory [89]. In my own enquiries I did not come across any definite belief of this nature, but I am not prepared to deny its existence. All that I can say is that I did not find any evidence whatever that good men and bad men (in any meanings in which those words could be used by the natives) receive different treatment after death. In talking to men of the Akar-Bale and A-Pučikwar tribes I did not hear of J̌ereg as a distinct place from J̌ereg-l’ar-mugu. The latter name is of course a compound, from ar-mugu = front, and might mean either “the place fronting or facing J̌ereg” or “the place J̌ereg, fronting us.”

Mr Man states that the souls and spirits of young children go to Čaitan where they subsist on the fruit of a rau tree (Ficus laccifera). In the North Andaman I found a belief that the souls of children, before they are born, live in the Ficus trees, but these are the real trees on earth that are in question, and not a mythical tree in the next world. It is commonly believed that if a baby dies the soul enters the mother again and is born a second time. It is possible that what Mr Man relates as to the souls of children after death living in a Ficus tree in Čaitan may really refer to real fig trees on earth.

As regards the resurrection spoken of by Mr Man, I was also so unfortunate as to obtain no information. As will be shown in a later chapter, there are several myths of the world coming to an end and starting afresh, and these myths are generally associated with Puluga or Biliku. All the versions that I heard, however, referred to the past and not to the future [90].

The Andamanese speak of unconsciousness as “death,” and regard a person who has been unconscious for some time as having been dead and returned to life again. I was once told that an old man in the village was “dead” and found him in a state of coma from which he recovered and lived for several days. There are stories of persons having returned to life even after they have been buried. One such tale was told me in the North Andaman. A man died and was buried. As his friends and relatives, after packing up their belongings, were leaving the camp in their canoes, the man’s voice was heard calling. His wife and mother turned back and met him and took him in their canoe. He lived for some time after this and then he died and was buried again. Again the same thing happened, the dead man re-appearing just as they were setting off in their canoes from the camp that they were deserting on account of his death. Finally the man died a third time. When he was buried this time the men dug a very deep hole some distance from the camp, and then hurried back to the camp and hastily gathered up their belongings and left it. Nothing more was seen of the dead man, but when, after the lapse of some months, they went to dig up the bones, they found the mat and leaves and rope in which the corpse had been bound, but there were no bones.

Amongst the coast-dwellers of the North Andaman I found a belief that the soul of a dying man goes out with the ebbing tide.

There are, amongst the Andamanese, certain individuals who are distinguished from their fellows by the supposed possession of supernatural powers. These specially favoured persons correspond, to some degree, with the medicine-men, magicians or shamans of other primitive societies. The name for these medicine-men in the North Andaman is oko-ǰumu, meaning literally “dreamer” or “one who speaks from dreams” from a stem -ǰumu the primary meaning of which refers to the phenomena of dreams. In Aka-Bea the corresponding term is oko-paiad, and according to Mr Man, this term also means “dreamer.” Mr Portman, however, gives taraba as the Aka-Bea word for “dream” or “to dream.”

According to a statement by Mr Man, only men can possess the powers that entitle them to be regarded as oko-paiad [91]. The natives whom I questioned told me that a woman may possess the same powers, though it is more usual for men to become famous in this way than women. There is no very clear dividing line between those who are oko-ǰumu or oko-paiad and those who are not; one person may possess the powers in only a slight degree, so as scarcely to differentiate him from others, while another may be much more highly gifted.

At the present time it is no longer possible to obtain full and satisfactory information on this subject. Most of the old oko-ǰumu and oko-paiad are now dead. Amongst the younger men there are a few who pretend to the position, but the recent intercourse with foreigners has produced a degree of scepticism in such matters that makes it difficult or nearly impossible to obtain any reliable information as to the former beliefs from any but the very old men. To this difficulty must be added that in talking to some of the very few old men who could have given more valuable information I had to make use of an interpreter, and though they might have been willing to confide to me some of the secrets of their profession they would not do so before a younger man of their own race.

The powers of a dreamer, supernatural as they are, can only be acquired by supernatural means, through contact in one way or another with the spirits (i.e. the Lau or Čauga). One way of coming into contact with the spirits is by death. If a man should, as the natives put it, die and then come back to life again, he is, by that adventure, endowed with the power that makes a medicine-man. One man of the Aka-Ko̱ra tribe was pointed out to me as having obtained his powers in this way. It would seem that during a serious illness he was unconscious for some twelve hours or so, and his friends thought that he was dead. A medicine-man whom I met with in the A-Pučikwar tribe was said to have died and come to life again three times. Another man, whom I did not meet, was described to me as a great oko-ǰumu, and from the description given it seemed to me that he was subject to epileptic fits. As against this, however, Mr Man states that “epilepsy is a recognised form of malady, but the fits are not regarded in a superstitious light [92].”

Another way in which a man can acquire magical powers is by direct communication with the spirits. A man who died a few years ago was believed by the natives to have once met with some spirits in the jungle, and to have acquired in this way the powers of an oko-ǰumu. He used to go off into the jungle by himself at intervals and hold communication with the spirits with whom he had made friends. From such a visit he had returned with his head decorated with shredded palm-leaf fibre (ko̱ro) which had, so he said, been placed on him by the spirits. This man had a reputation as a powerful oko-ǰumu.

In a less degree the powers of an oko-ǰumu may be obtained through dreams. It is believed that certain men have the power of communicating with the spirits in dreams, and such men are oko-ǰumu. If a man or boy experiences dreams that are in any way extraordinary, particularly if, in his dreams he sees spirits, either the spirits of dead persons known to him when alive, or spirits of the forest or the sea, he may acquire in time the reputation of a medicine-man.

A man may claim some degree of magical power, and yet his claims may not be recognized by others. Each oko-ǰumu has to make his own reputation, and to sustain it when made. This he can only do by demonstrating his power to others. Once this reputation is his, he not only receives the respect of others but also makes a considerable personal profit. Every one is anxious to be on good terms with one who is believed to have extraordinary powers. Hence a man who is an acknowledged oko-ǰumu is sure to receive a good share of the game caught by others, and presents of all kinds from those who seek his good-will.

As the name implies, and in whatever way his power may have been obtained, an oko-ǰumu is privileged to dream in a way that less favoured persons do not. In his dreams he can communicate with the spirits of the dead. In dreams, also, so the natives say, he is able to cause the illness of an enemy or to cure that of a friend.

By his communication with the spirits, in dreams, or in waking life, the oko-ǰumu acquires magical knowledge that he is able to turn to account in curing illness and in preventing bad weather. When a person is ill the oko-ǰumu is often consulted as to the best means of treating the patient. His treatment is often limited to the recommendation, or the application, of some one or other of the recognized remedies. He may undertake to dispel the spirits that are supposed to be the cause of the disease, which he does by addressing them and conjuring them to go away, or by the use of one or other of the substances and objects that are believed to have the power of keeping spirits at a distance. Sometimes the oko-ǰumu will promise to cure the patient by means of dreams. It is believed that in his dreams he can communicate with the spirits and can persuade them to help him to cure the sick person.

Besides their power of causing or curing sickness, the oko-ǰumu are credited with being able to control the weather. As has been shown, the Andamanese believe that the weather is under the control of two beings named Biliku and Tarai. There is, however, an alternative and contradictory belief, which is also held, that the weather is controlled by the spirits, and particularly by those of the sea. The means taken by magicians or others to prevent bad weather can be divided into two kinds according as they are directed against Biliku or Tarai, or against the spirits of the sea. As an example of the very simple rites which are performed for this purpose, two cases may be quoted. One of the oko-ǰumu of the Northern tribes, now dead, once stopped a very violent storm by crushing between two stones a piece of the Anadendron paniculatum and diving with it into the sea where he placed it under a rock on the reef. A more recent example is very similar. A man still living, named J̌ire Pilečar, who was, in a way, the successor of the man formerly mentioned, is said to have stopped a violent storm by using the leaves and bark of the Ficus laccifera in the same way, that is by crushing them and placing them under a rock in the sea. In both these cases it would seem that the rite was directed not against Biliku and Tarai, but against the J̌urua.

Apart from his power to communicate directly with the spirits, the oko-ǰumu owes his position to a superior knowledge of the magical properties of common substances and objects. This knowledge he is supposed to obtain from the spirits. However, a lesser degree of knowledge on such matters is possessed by everybody. Thus in the treatment of sickness there are a number of magical remedies of which anyone can make use without consulting an oko-ǰumu.

A complete enumeration of all the things that are believed to possess magical properties is, of course, not possible, but the following notes refer to all the most important.

We may consider first of all the magical properties of mineral substances. One of the most important of these is red ochre. Yellow ochre, which is found in pockets in many parts of the islands, is collected and burnt, when it turns red, and the powder so obtained is either used by itself or is made into a paint with pig or turtle fat. The powder is mixed with water and taken internally. Red paint is applied to the throat and chest for coughs and colds and sore throats, and round the ear for ear-ache. When a man feels unwell he often smears red paint on his upper lip just below his nostrils. In this way, the natives say, the “smell” of the paint cures his sickness. The paint is sometimes used as a dressing for wounds or centipede bites. Its use for ornamenting the body on ceremonial occasions has already been noted in the last chapter.

In the North Andaman a soft red stone is found, called talar. This is used as a substitute for red paint. It is rubbed on the body, or it is powdered and the powder is mixed with water and taken internally.

White clay (to̱l-odu in Aka-J̌eru) is sometimes used medicinally, both externally and internally. The commoner clay (odu in Aka-J̌eru) is plastered on sores, and has the effect of keeping off flies, if it does nothing else.

An olive-coloured earth (called čulŋa in Aka-Bea), found in certain springs, is prized as a remedy. It is mixed with water and taken internally as a general remedy for all sorts of complaints.

Turning now to the magical properties of vegetable substances, there are a large number of these, and some of them have not been botanically identified.

The Anadendron paniculatum is a plant from which the Andamanese obtain a valuable fibre, which they use for their bow-strings, and for thread with which to make their arrows and harpoons. A number of magical properties are attributed to this plant. Rheumatism is supposed to be due to the “smell” of the plant getting into the system when the fibre is being prepared [93]. The “smell” of the green plant, or of the fibre until it has been thoroughly dried for some days, is believed to frighten away turtle. A man who has been preparing the fibre would not dream of joining a turtle-hunting expedition, for his presence in the canoe would be sufficient to drive away all the turtle. A turtle-hunting expedition would be a failure if a piece of the green creeper were in the canoe. A man who has been handling the plant may not cook turtle, for the meat would be “bad,” i.e., uneatable. The same thing would happen if turtle meat accidentally came in contact with a piece of the plant. All this applies only to the green creeper, and not to the fibre after it has been properly prepared and dried. The fibre itself is used for binding the heads of turtle-harpoons, so it is evidently regarded as harmless.

If a piece of the Anadendron creeper were burnt in the fire the natives believe that it would drive all the turtle away from the neighbourhood, or, according to another statement, that there would be a great storm.

So far we have considered the properties of the plant only in so far as they make it dangerous to handle. It has other and beneficial properties. It is said that a man swimming in waters infested with sharks would be safe from them if he had a piece of the Anadendron creeper with him, in his belt or necklace. The creeper is also supposed to preserve anyone who carries it from the attacks of the sea spirits (J̌urua).