Datuk Kong and 4D
Growing up in Penang
Though born in Kedah, I was very fortunate to be able to grow up and live for the first 5 years in Penang. My dad used to be attached to the St Nicholas School for the blind. Penang. Since there was no long term plan to remain in Penang, my parents rented an affordable house nearby the school.
We ended up living in Pepper Estate, just a mile or more away from the school. It was an awesome place. Rows and rows of houses self built on small plots of land , interspersed with vegetable farms and Chinese graveyards, leading to a gentle slope. From my house it was only a short distance to Guillemard Reservoir
My neighbours were predominantly Chinese with a few Indian families here and there. Most of my neighbours were wage earners, mostly doing blue collar jobs and some were farmers. Not being an affluent neighbourhood, it was very common to see people struggling with hardship. In an era where credit cards didn’t exist, pawn shops were the go to for people who needed a little cash to make their ends meet. Anything could be pawned those days, even household appliances like the sewing machine! Yet, it was a time of real camaraderie amongst the peoples. Sometimes knowing our neighbours were in financial pinch for the few days while pending the paycheck, it was not uncommon to send over food laced with an excuse “ we cooked special curry today” or “today is so and so’s birthday” and excuses which will not cause the recipient any embarrassment. Yes, it was very norm for neighbours to exchange or rather send over dishes cooked. An unspoken common understanding is none of our neighbours children especially went to bed hungry. If someone had real pinch of a bad luck, the neighbours would rally around trying to figure out what could be done to help. Surprisingly, when poverty meets hunger, everyone becomes the same.
My immediate neighbour was an odd job worker, I fondly only remember him as “Uncle”. Never got to know his name, though his 2 sons Ah Yeoh and Ah Pin were my playmates. Its a part of our culture in Malaysia to address everyone elder and unrelated as Uncle, Auntie, Pakcik, Makcik . Perhaps the same exists in many Asian countries .
This next door uncle was one in a million gem of a person. He had s very big heart even though at many times, his pocket could not match his heart. Being an odd job worker, every time he landed a good string of jobs, he would buy toys for all the kids in the same row of houses. We’d get all kinds of candies and goodies. It was easy to know when he was in the money. Everyone around him would get something. When jobs were few and sparse, we could always tell by the nervous face he wore. He was a good man.
In front of my house was a small chunk of an old Chinese graveyard with probably 6-7 tombstones. This place was quite unique in the sense, the vegetable plantation happened side by side with the graveyard and the housing populated all the spaces in between in the time period that followed ( in case you are wondering how they built houses on graveyards).
Exactly in front of my house , I remember vividly, there was a large mango tree and under the tree a small shrine for Datuk Kong.
Datuk Kong or variations in pronunciation as Na Tuk Kong, Datuk Gong etc is primarily worshiped by the Chinese as a deity and is believed to be the spirit of a local Malay warrior. He is thought of and respected and prayed to as a local guardian. People pray to these shrines for blessing , for protection, for continuation of their livelihood without disturbances. Its very common to see such shrines all over Malaysia , in business establishments, factories, and housing areas. An in depth coverage of Datuk Kong worship would require its own full blog post, so let me just say that, people come to this shrine for worship. Since its supposed to be a local Malay spirit, only halal food is served and cigarettes and cigars. There are variations to this worship as well, but let’s just leave it there.
The shrine in front of my house was only 10 feet away from my house entrance and every Thursday night people would gather to give offerings and pray. This particular shrine was quite popular as every Thursday night someone would get into a trance and give out 4 digit predictions for 4 D lottery punters who will come to worship and give offerings and hope for a lucky day. As a small kid of maybe 4 years old, I would be brave enough to slip thru and watch these proceedings!
Years later as I studied trances and 4D and more mathematics, I just come to realize on the law of averages, all these lucky numbers given out in trance would randomly be correct on some occasions. All it takes is one or two occasionally correct predictions to woo punters from all over to a certain shrine looking for a good luck. But people’s beliefs are people’s beliefs. Let them have it. Sometimes the human brain works mysteriously, it attracts you to the right place at the right time to hear the right message which you rightly need at that period of time in your life. Sometimes the words spoken in trance maybe unclear, punters pick out what they can understand and give it a go.
My next door uncle never failed to pray at this shrine day in day out. Even when his finances were good, or bad, he prayed. Although he is not a regular punter and never partook in sessions of asking for 4D at the shrine, sometime in 1975, as per his own recollection, Datuk Kong came in his dream and gave him 4 numbers. Of course he betted on these and won the first prize with a very handsome sum of money for 1970s. Enough to stop doing odd jobs and scrapping around to make ends meet. He bought an ice cream van and changed his profession to become a full time ice cream man. His life changed for the better. Goes to show, when you do good, and have faith, your own mind will provide you the answers. I am sure the dream is the intricate workings of his mind, but I wouldn’t want to get into arguments of the “believers” in the power of deities to give 4D tips. For each his own belief. Faith moves people in many ways.
As we moved away from Penang sometime in 1977 or so, we lost contact with all the neighbours then. I have revisited the place a few times since then , the last a couple of years back. The mango tree is long gone, but the shrine remains and no one remembers of my next door Uncle. He was a very good man with a heart of gold. 45 years is indeed a long time. No matter how good a person is, eventually people will forget as life goes on.