The 'Thing' At The Window

IT was the third term school holidays and I was waiting for my LCE (Lower Certificate of Education) results when Pah and Ayah (Grandma and Grandpa) decided to pack me off to Ipoh, to spend the school break with paternal grandparents I hardly knew - Megat Khas and Puteri Hawa.

The late Dato Seri Dr Haji Megat Khas was a giant of a man in both stature and reputation. Born in Istana Talang, Kuala Kangsar, in 1908 and a direct descendant of Megat Tarawis, the first Bendahara of Perak, Tok Megat Khas was also the first Malay to be accepted as a member of the prestigious Royal College of Physicians, Edinburgh.

He retired as Perak State Physician, after which he started his own private practice. Tok Megat Khas died of a heart attack at the age of 71 in 1979. Datin Seri Hajah Puteri Hawa, my dad’s mother, was his first cousin and the first of his four wives. She was a chain-smoking, fair-skinned, reed-thin gem of a woman whom I adored from the moment I got to know her.

In reality, both the paternal and maternal sides of my family aren’t that far removed despite the differing locale. The common factor was my grandma Puteri Habibah (the one who raised me); herself from the same Megat clan and first cousin to both Tok Megat Khas and Pah Hawa.

She however broke ranks to marry not only a commoner but also a non-Perakian, a double whammy in every sense of the word. Her marrying an ‘outsider’ (a Kelantanese civil servant from Kuala Krai), was considered a serious breach of social and clan etiquette those days, the kind that would earn one a cold shoulder and a snub twice over.

But Grandma had a mind of her own and made her own choices in life. She married for love, even if it meant leaving the realms of title, wealth and comfort, for the unknown. If you are wondering where the stubborn streak in me came from, look no further.

Being raised by the maternal side of the family in faraway Bukit Besi, sans communication with the clan in Perak, I was naturally filled with trepidation at the idea of spending weeks with total strangers. I didn’t know any of these folks. Would they readily accept me, this gauche kampong girl with owlish glasses, who spoke with that funny East Coast twang?

Despite being 17 and English-educated, I was very much a small-town girl at heart. I had never been anywhere by myself, save for school trips within Dungun, school sports meets in Kuala Terengganu, and the occasional family trips to Kota Baru to visit relatives.

All my life till then, I had met the illustrious Tok Megat Khas only twice; the first time age six, taken to Ipoh on the first ‘proper’ train ride of my life (discounting trips to Dungun on the iron ore-carrying wagon train, of course) and the second time age 12, when he visited Dungun on his nationwide tour as the Commissioner of the St John Ambulance Brigade.

The second meeting, in 1966, was incredibly formal and lasted mere minutes. Grandma took me by the hand, led me up the stage and presented me to him soon after he had inspected the St John Ambulance Brigade's guard-of-honour at Dungun’s Padang Astaka. He gave me a peck on the cheek and enveloped me into a bear hug. And that was it!

Happily enough, I found acceptance in Ipoh that school holiday and enjoyed my stay enormously. Aunts and uncles of my own age group took the bright-eyed schoolgirl under their wings. I was taken to parties and social dos. I wore my first strapless dress (Pah would have whacked me had she known!), went to my first dance, and saw my first Hindi movie (Hethi Mere Sathi).

It was a Thursday evening when Pah Hawa suddenly cautioned, after we had just finished dinner, that I should sleep facing the wall instead of the window that night. Asked why, she nonchalantly said something about not wanting me to see things that might scare the sarong off me.

Put that way, of course her incorrigible granddaughter slept facing the window that night, and as predicted, received her dues. I awoke in the middle of the night to see a gigantic black form filling almost the entire span of the glass window. No features were discernible, only a humongous black shape that looked somewhat human.

My heart almost stopped, yet I had the strangest feeling - scared but not quite. It was more a feeling of wonder and fear rolled into one. Nonetheless, I pulled the blanket over my head and recited some Quranic verses. Mercifully, I fell asleep soon after.

I mentioned this to Pah Hawa over breakfast, with Tok Megat Khas listening intently. He didn't say a word but Pah offered some explanation, saying I had just witnessed the manifestation of the family "guardian", (Jin Islam as it were), who had been with the family for centuries, handed over from one generation to the next.

As I understand it, you can't accept or inherit such "guardian' willy-nilly. You must be a strict Muslim who adheres to all the religious practices and demands, things like daily prayers and such. Failure to do so may bring unpleasant consequences to your family, or the "guardian" may just leave.

I have no further explanation to offer on this matter, though. I am not sure where "it" is now; both my grandpa and my dad are gone and I don't believe the present generation inherits it. I did hear something about it when Mum was still alive, but let it remain untold, for now.