from the meaning of ‘atas angin’ (above
the wind) as a Malay geographical and
ethnic marker – the visitors formed as
semi-permanent communities in the
main trading cities. The often-quoted
account of Portuguese historian Tome
Pires mentions 1,000 Gujerati merchants, and 4,000 Persians, Bengalis,
and Arabs together with a sizeable number of Tamils.
We know of the Batu Ferringhi in
Pulau Pinang. If we translate the name
of that well known beach area, it would
come to mean ‘foreigner’s rock.’ Not
many take the name seriously. We can
imagine how the Malays in Kedah (Pulau Pinang before Francis Light), like the
Malays in Melaka earlier or at the same
time, had likened the foreigner in the
Portuguese as a Ferringhi (meaning foreigner, outsider). It depicts an early encounter between East and West. Early
Portuguese fleets, carrying hundreds of
Portuguese with little prior experience
52 | P e r d a n a M a g a z in e 2 0 1 5
of non-Christians were perceived as the
“Franks” by the larger non-European
Asian population. The Muslims who first
encountered the Portuguese brought
the idea of the “Franks” as the people
who had attacked the holy places during
the Crusades. The word “Frank” originated from the Farsi Farang or Farangi,
meaning European (Frank). Some attributed Farang to the Arabic afranj. Hence,
we hear of the Faranj, Franji, Paranki,
Parangiar, and of course Ferringhi. While
there is the ‘us-them’ distinction, there
was no presumption of moral or cultural
superiority involved in the Malay categorisation of the Ferringgi as the Other.
Drawing from geographical and
cultural location as ethnic markers and
self-identity – the other is ‘bawah angin’
(below the wind), referring to most obviously the Chinese and the Japanese.
While also the ‘atas angin’ in the Ferringgi was in the immediate environment and the observable pasts, that
of Rum seems to represent a revered,
almost sacred realm in the traditional
Malay psyche.
In the narrative of Hang Tuah, we
find that Melaka had become a significant power in the region and wanted
to pioneer relationships with the great
powers of the ‘negeri di atas angin’
(lands above the wind) such as Rum,
Eqypt and Makkah. Accordingly, Hang
Tuah led missions to Majapahit, Kalinga,
Brunei, Acheh and Rum. On a few occasions he, or other representatives of
the Sultan, bought gems and elephants,
to reflect their prosperity and finally,
of necessity, purchased weapons from
Rum, as Melaka was being threatened
by an invasion from the Ferringghis
(Portuguese). The unknown author of
Hang Tuah portrayed Hang Tuah as a
much respected statesman in the various polities of the Malay archipelago,
and also that of “Byzantium, the outpost of ‘Rome’”. Rum was certainly not
the city of Rome. Although reference
was made to Byzantium, then Constantinople, Rum also refers to the region
of the farthest extent of Hellenism and
the ‘Occidental’ reach in Asia. And this
would stretch until the regions on the
north of the Indian sub-continent.
Perhaps a re-reading of ‘Rum’ as
narrated by such text, and including
other known ones such as the Hikayat
Merong Mahawangsa is inevitable to
demythologise the expanse of the Malay worldview. The Raja Rum, whether
understood as Greek, Persian or Turkish
ruler, is a popular figure in traditional
Malay literature. An array of the kings
of Rum occurs in many Malay literary
genres conjuring images in the Malay
imagination.
Thus from the known (or unknown)
writers, we know much of Malay society, encounters and influences from
the outside world. Apart from the numerous classical texts from across the
Malay archipelago which need constant
reinterpretations, not only in its literary
form, but in sociological, anthropological, historical and geographical perspectives, there are also autobiographies,
sociological and journalistic narratives
that definitely deserve a revisit.