Singapore Swing (29 page)

I reach the edge of the car park.

The last stand of the 1
^st
Malay Regiment took place just down from here. It was the Battle of Opium Hill, named after a fully-fledged opium factory that was based there. The Malays had not been used earlier because no one knew the strength of their fighting spirit; Percival need not have worried: the regiment didn't believe in surrender. Thinking them green and unbloodied – which they were – the Japanese dressed like Punjabis and started marching in formation in order to deceive them. But the Malays were sharp: these soldiers were marching in fours and the British-drilled troops marched in threes. The Japanese troops were slaughtered, and it was because of those heavy losses that their comrades ran in a rage towards Alexandra hospital a few hundred yards away when the battle was finally over.

As it would be, for Yamashita concentrated the last remnants of his artillery on Opium Hill. After a 48-hour struggle, the Malays fought down to the last man led by the Second Lieutenant Adnan Saidi of ‘D' Company. He was caught alive by the Japanese, put in a sack, hung upside down from a tree and used for bayonet practice. After a few days, the Japanese took him down and burned his body, knowing that for Muslims this was the worst fate that can befall their remains. The corpses of many Malay soldiers who fell on Opium Hill were never found which is why their names, including that of Adnan Saidi, are inscribed on the Kranji Memorial. I know; I saw them there.‘So why was it the Japanese won the war? I'm sure John here knows about it.'

Know about it? The greatest defeat of the British Army, maybe
ever
, has been the subject of analysis and counter-analysis by armchair strategists for decades. It has recently become fashionable to blame the Australians for allowing the Japanese to get a foothold on the island. While they bear some of the blame, the fish starts stinking from the head. Within 48 hours Yamashita was on the island himself; Percival remained in the underground bunkers of Fort Canning. Nuff said.

So long after the event, the whole sorry episode seems like an exercise in the punishment of hubris: the haughtiness of the bungling, buck-toothed Brits and the overconfidence of the Australians who believed their own propaganda deserved to be pricked. On the other hand, the jaw-dropping cruelty of the Japanese who committed so many atrocities just had to be avenged. It is the details that hurt. When one English couple Charles and Kathleen Stapledon – lost their housekeeper during the bombing, they received a message that he had been knocked off his bicycle by a shell but was recovering in hospital and wanted to see them. It was then they realised they couldn't find him, because they didn't know his name; he had always been ‘
Boy'
to them, like every other Chinese servant. Then again, how could the Japanese ever be the good guys when the punishment for those who listened to Allied broadcasts was to hammer sharpened pencils into their ears to quote from the Kempeitai's official torture manual? The fall of Singapore and the subsequent horror of the nuclear bombings look like justified divine censures for two different styles of imperialism, especially since the Japanese divisions who carried out the massacres were mostly recruited from the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It's enough to make you believe in collective karma.

Still, that it was a momentous event there is no doubt: the speed of the collapse of the British presence in Malaya cast a shadow which never quite left. It is 800 kilometres from the top of Malaysia at Kota Bahru to Singapore. The Japanese plan allowed for 90 days to completion. They did it in 70; if only IT projects could run half as well. The shambolic manner of the retreat down the peninsula was deeply shameful: the
tuans
and the
mems
leaving their plantations and houses without regard for their servants; the implementation of a scorched earth policy with no heed for the native population; the way the army abandoned Penang, Kuala Lumpur, Malacca and their Chinese communities to their fate. If you lose face in Asia, you lose it forever.

The rest follows from that, really.

The Chinese resistance fighters in the jungles of Malaya trained by British Special Operations tried to wrest control after the war, in the manner of the Yugoslav and Greek partisans in Europe. Malaya was created as a barrier to the tide of communism. Security Acts involving detention without trial were passed in Singapore which still mire the statutes now. Without a European war, Britain concentrated its troops on Malaya and won the insurgency. Singapore benefited immensely as the headquarters of an army that reached, at its peak, 60,000 men. It profited further when another war started in neighbouring Indochina; it was American troops this time that came to Singapore to recuperate. At a time when developing countries begged for foreign capital, Singapore didn't need to advertise. As any estate agent will tell you, all that matters is location, location, location.

Uranium interrupts my thoughts. ‘How did you like the trip?' he asks.

‘Good,' I say laconically.

The truth is that the choice of theme surprised me. The Japanese seem to be haunting Singapore in more ways than one.

‘Hope you enjoyed it,' Sunkist says as we say goodbye.

‘I did,' I say and I'm telling the truth.

Uranium takes her by the hand.

‘She's my girlfriend,' he explains in answer to my questioning looks. And then, he adds with a wide grin: ‘SPI is not a social club – but people do socialise.'

Tired from the trip, but still sober on a Saturday night, I am contemplating whether to go out or not, until I receive a text from Jacky: ‘
In Taboo come str8 away
'; I simply can't refuse such summons.

When I arrive, it is well past midnight and Jacky is well past drunk. Not the best time to make a call to Tim.

‘Call him over,' she demands.

‘Me? Why? You call him.'

‘No, you do it.' She is insistent.

‘I'll do it,' says a member of Jacky's entourage, takes her mobile and walks to a more quiet corner.

By the time I bring back the drinks, Jacky is jubilant. Tim is coming and she has put him down on the guest list to make sure he gets in past the long queue.

‘He's coming,' she says. ‘We'll patch up now – as friends.'

‘Him sober, you drunk, not the best combination.'

‘That's why you must stay with me all the time,' she says.

Tim arrives after about half an hour. He looks restrained, as sober people do and Jacky is more exuberantly touchy-feelie than usual.

‘Can I get you a drink?' I ask him.

‘Get me a coke, thanks,' he replies.

‘Are you sure?'

‘Very sure. I'm sober for the whole of February. Detox.'

I look at Jacky. I don't care about the next month, it is tonight I am concerned about. The coupling is well unbalanced.

‘I normally have January off. After Christmas,' I tell him.

‘February is shorter,' he replies with a wink.

So we sit in the chillout room and I bore everyone with stories about Bintan and the ghostbusting tour that wasn't, until just me, Jacky and Tim are left.

‘I'm leaving next week,' I tell Tim. ‘Are you coming for a last supper?'

‘I don't know,' he says. ‘I'm leaving next week, too.'

Jacky sits up.

‘You're leaving? Where to?'

‘I'm off to the US for a project. For about two or three months.'

Jacky is silent.

‘That's my job. I go on short assignments abroad. Three months here, six months there.'

‘And you like this life?' she asks with a quivering voice.

‘Yes, I do,' he replies. ‘This is me.'

This was getting a bit personal; despite this, I decide to stay. Like a proper chaperone, I know that my presence puts a lid on the expression of any strong feelings and that's how it should be.

Except that I'm getting slowly drunk. And there is also Dan.

Who
?

‘Hello sexy,' he says to me, and for a minute, I too, am younger, my arm in a sling, confronting and misunderstanding the Orient. Just for a minute, mind you, for now I have got under its skin and what you learn you can't unlearn.

But you can have a second go at things left unfinished.

Dan waves me over. I look at Tim and Jacky and decide that it's about time they sort out whatever they have to sort out.

I stand up.

‘See you later, guys,' I say and follow Dan downstairs.

T
he Hindu Monk couldn't sleep; an awkward, metaphysical query had formed in his head and would not let him rest. He meditated for hours, then days, then weeks, and finally reached such a state of concentration that he approached the Four Great Kings of the Four Directions through his spirit and asked them his question:

‘Oh, Sages, where do the four elements, Fire, Earth, Air and Water cease to exist?'

The Four Great Kings looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. ‘We don't know,' they said. ‘But you should appeal to the Thirty-three Gods of the retinue of Brahma who are higher and more sublime than us; they are the Keepers of all Knowledge.' And they showed him the Way.

The Monk now advanced towards most sublime of spirits: the gods of Yamma and Nimmarati, the Sakka, the Santusita and everybody tending the Brahma Himself. He asked with utmost respect: ‘Oh, Sages, where do the four elements, Fire, Earth, Air and Water cease to exist?'

The Thirty-three shrugged their shoulders. ‘We don't know,' they said. ‘But you can question the Great Brahma Himself. He will know. Just go to the place where light shines forth, and a radiance appears and He will come.'

And they led the way.

It was with the utmost trepidation that the Monk who was following the Thirty-three met the Great Brahma and asked him, ‘O Lord and Teacher, where do the four elements, Fire, Earth, Air and Water cease to exist?'

The Brahma said to the Monk: ‘I am the Great Brahma, the Conqueror, the Unconquered, the All-Seeing, All-Powerful, the Sovereign Lord, the Maker, Creator, Chief, Appointer and Ruler, Father of All That Have Been and Shall Be.'

The Monk fell silent. ‘Yes, Lord, you are all that, but where do the four elements, Fire, Earth, Air and Water cease to exist?'

The Brahma dismissed the Thirty-three with His hand and took the Monk to one side.

‘The Thirty-three Gods of my retinue believe that there is nothing I can not see; that there is nothing I don't understand; there is nothing that my consciousness has not realised. But even I, the Great Brahma, do not know where the four elements cease to exist. Why did you come to me and bypass your Venerable Master?'

And with that, the Brahma and his Kingdom disappeared and the Monk found himself back to his monastery facing his teacher. Shamed and perturbed, he asked him the same question: ‘Master, where do the four elements, Fire, Earth, Air and Water cease to exist?'

And this is what his Venerable Master told him.

‘A company of sea-merchants had a bird in their possession that could always find the nearest shore from far away in the sea. When they lost their way, they let the bird free. It then flew upwards and then to a direction that they followed. If it did not see the shore in any direction, it flew back to the ship. It is thus that you have flown to the domain of the Brahma in search of an answer to your question, and you have returned to me.'

The Monk respectfully bowed his head.

- 35 -

For a moment I stand still, my senses stunned: the Leong Sang Temple is so much more ornate and more harmoniously balanced than I recall, its gratifying round bends fighting the tyranny of straight lines, considered evil spirits with no feeling for opulence. That black roof with its wavy tiles is a real stormy sea with serpents and ships; the giant pearl shines in the middle like an exploding supernova; dragons engarland the parapets like multi-coloured gargoyles. Last time I hadn't noticed the majolica tile line below the ramparts nor the left-handed swastikas nor the bevelled paintings of the Eight Immortals.

Today the temple is also exploding in the acoustic dimension. Five Buddhist monks are chanting in front of a throng of black-clothed women. Their syllables are uttered in a nasal staccato rising and falling like two tape loops running at different speeds that reinforce each other in a positive feedback when they occasionally step in sync. I stand there absorbed, hypnotised. There is a trance-like, revelatory quality to the music, its effect mesmerising and soothing like a Brian Eno album – is there a
Music for Monasteries
? Occasionally the reed-like sound of the
so-na,
a wind instrument consisting of a tapered wooden seven-hole pipe ending in a flared brass horn, cuts sharply and brings you back down with an earthly shriek. This is more in the tradition of Byzantine liturgical hymnody or the Sufi's
qawwali
harmonising tradition than either of them would admit. The Orient may well start in Vienna, after all.

In the midst of this, a mobile rings. I check frantically. Phew, it isn't mine. It's the Resident Monk's – and it is the same one who asked me about my sling last time who runs outside to take the call that cut our mental threads so inappropriately.

I slip in the back where heaps of food are stacked in front of the ancestor tablets of the departed on tables ceremonially covered in heavily embroidered decorations of red, black and gold. There are flowers, oranges, pears and pomelos; tea and rose water; and a mind-boggling array of stir-fries, biscuits and rice clouded in pungent incense fumes. On either side of the Veneration Hall whole families sit and consume some of the foods which I now know to be sacrifices dedicated to the spirits of the ancestors.

I hear a solo voice and a smash of cymbals behind me. The ceremony is about to end. The monks have stopped chanting while the swish of cymbals is left to ring, sizzle and fade. I return to the main temple where the Resident Monk is back at his favourite spot, standing next to the statue of Confucius. With his small John Lennon glasses, shaved head and shiny demeanour, he looks more and more like the Dalai Lama. I approach him to ask what kind of service this was.

‘A ceremony paying homage to the ancestors,' he says. ‘We perform that three times a year.'

I point at the food in front of the altar, served as meticulously as it has been decorated. What was going to happen to all this?

‘It will stay there until about five in the afternoon and then we're going to clear it.'

Are they going to eat it?

‘No. This is food for the deities; it will be thrown away,' he says and points at the statues of Buddha and Guan Yin. ‘The food at the back – have you been at the back? – that is for people like you and me and we can eat it afterwards.'

I wonder if the food is less tasty after the offering.

I tell him that I have been here before and that we have talked together. He doesn't remember me; I didn't expect he would.

‘Although the Leong San is not on the main tourist routes, there are many who keep coming here. I don't know why,' he says.

I don't know why either. Maybe it's the sheer beauty of the temple, stuck as it is in a residential neighbourhood, maybe the fact that it is a living, breathing entity and not a museum piece.

‘Oh, we certainly are busy,' he agrees. ‘Many people come here for funerals and other rites. Even those who are Christian want to honour their ancestors the traditional Chinese way.'

He takes me aside.

‘What's your name?' he asks me and when I tell him, he laughs heartily.

‘My name is Shi Miaodao,' he says. ‘Every monk is given the surname, title, call it what you like Shi. But my previous name was John, too. I went to a Catholic school.'

It is clear he wants to talk more, and I encourage him by listening.

‘But the concept of Karma and awakening led me to Buddhism. It is the cause and effect of your own doings. Karma means that nothing is accidental. It is you who sows the seeds and eventually reaps the harvest. So don't blame anyone and don't fear anything. Everything that comes your way, embrace it. It is part of you. All your acts in your current life and your previous lives count towards your circumstances in this one. You can atone for your sinful acts and your punishment may be lessened, but you will still have to pay. In this connection, Buddha's teachings help to guide one to self-salvation.'

There are many ways to the top of the mountain.

‘Absolutely! And it's up to you to find your own.'

I point questioningly at the statue of the White Tiger. And
this
?

‘It's all symbolism. That represents the wildness of the human soul. The stone bell is supposed to suppress this savage tendency innate in human beings. The ceremony, the chanting – we put on a show. What is important is what is in your heart. People come and ask me. How does my ancestor know what I'm offering? I tell them, if you offer it sincerely – that is what matters.'

He pauses.

‘Even a Muslim businessman came to see me, you know. He wanted to know Buddha's doctrine because he wondered why the Chinese are so good in business. His friend told him to pray to Buddha and to draw divining-sticks which could predict his fate. So he comes here and asks to light some sticks and pray for good fortune. But I stop him. I tell him that his fortune does not depend on the sticks. I tell him that we all have a life force in us and, like a battery, it gets weak with usage over time. So we pray to the Buddha for enlightenment and blessings. This is the way devout Buddhists recharge their batteries. Luck comes only to those who help themselves. So I tell him you have to take more interest in your business than simply sit back and pay the salaries.'

I listen nodding with my head.

‘This other businessman comes to me. Chinese. He was retired. He was rich. His business was tended by his sons. He had been faithful to his wife all this time. And, shortly after he retired –
bam
– he started an affair with a 29-yearold woman. He was in his sixties. So he comes to me and wants my advice. He says he wants to break his affair. I ask him how sure he is. He says 80 per cent sure. I turn to him and say, no, to me you are only 20 per cent sure. It is either 100 per cent or nothing. Then comes an SMS – from
her
. I tell him not to reply. But I am sure he did afterwards, don't you? It's like eating durian.'

Eating durian?

‘Once you have tasted the fruit, you can not give up. You have to have another one and another one.'

I let this pass.

‘Chances are he'll have another affair. And another one. It was that 80 per cent that convinced me. People are not sure about anything any more. Their business, their love life, their religion. So they come to us monks, because we
are
sure. They like that.'

I look across to the Temple of 1,000 Lights.

‘They are different from us,' the monk says following my gaze. ‘They are Thai, closer to India and they keep some very old traditions. Them, and the Cambodians. And Burmese. There are a few differences between them and us. Now, we are vegetarian as you know…'

I interrupt him by pointing at the sumptuous god-feast at the altar.

‘All of them vegetarian dishes. Strictly. If you believe in reincarnation how can you eat chicken or duck, they could be your forefathers!'

He turns towards the Thai temple.

‘But they eat anything. This is, because in the old times monks used to wander around being dependent on alms. They didn't expect people to cook for them, so they had to eat anything they were offered to keep themselves alive. So the Thai monks, they eat everything. But until noon.'

Noon?

‘Yes. From noon until sunrise next day, they eat nothing.'

How Ramadan,
I tell myself. The Thais and Burmese are not only close to India, they are also close to the Middle East. I remember the Chinese worshipping like Muslims in the Bintan temple and wonder if the Orient is not a continuum of beliefs and variations of practices, after all.

‘They also tell you your fortune. Is this why you have come?'

I hate to say no, but yes, but no, but yes, he's right.

Promising that I will keep in touch, I say good-bye to the Venerable Miaodao and make my way across to the Thai temple which is like I remember it: mostly empty. This time I ask for the exact number of lights – they are 989 – and go directly to the Wheel of Fortune where I pay my 50 cents, take a deep breath and spin the wheel.

The caretaker picks up the prediction:

‘
The Wheel of Fortune says fate is like a little boat in the middle of a storm in a wide rough sea. You shall toil and sweat before you gain anything you wish but persevere and you will win help from a kind-hearted person and you will enjoy threefold happiness namely Marriage, Luck and a Healthy Son. But if you should institute any form of litigation you will have no success. Your fate is comparable to the time when the Lord Buddha was incarnated as Maha Janaka who went to trade on the high seas and whose ship with cargo was wrecked and all was lost but he, himself who swam safely to shore with the help and guidance of Mekala, the angel of light.
'

I liked the first one better.

- 36 -

I stop Richard before he goes to mix me a vodka and tonic which by now he does on auto.