THERE WAS ONCE A man named Kina, who married a very ugly woman
in Kinabatangan, whose face was covered with pock marks. After
some time Kina could not bear her, and began cursing her and threatening
to throw her out. The woman never replied to his curses, for
she loved her husband; but in time, when she saw there was nothing
to be done about her ugliness, she fell ill. Even then Kina paid
no attention to her. Finally, when she felt death was near, she
said to him, "All my life you have treated me badly, but after
my death you will realize how much I loved you." As she stopped
speaking, she died. Kina though no more about her last words.
About a week later, a farmer came running up to Kina and
said to him, "Very strange indeed'. There is a small plant growing
on your wife's grave." Kina was surprised, and went off at once
with the farmer to the burial place. There Kina found a little
plant which had just put forth a beautiful flower. In the middle
of the bloom was a small round fruit as large as an ear of rice.
Kina went home slowly, deep in though, and rather worried by what
he had seen.
That evening he could find no rest. He though and though
about how brutal he had been to his wife; then he though of her
last words, and finally of the little plant on her grave. He
regretted his cruelty, and began to reproach himself for treating
into a plant to injure him? He lay awake half the night, turning
the matter that he finally managed to get some sleep.
From the time on, the picture of his wife often appeared
before his eyes. Not only didi he fail to sleep at night, but
even during the day he found no peace. Finally Kina fell ill,
and although he sent for the famous doctors, none pf them could
cure him. His illness daily grew worse, till he was on the verge
of death. Kina had no one to care for him; he had had no children,
and his wife, of course, was dead. He lay alone on his bed and
groaned in anguish.
Then one evening he had a dream. His wife appeared to
him and said, "The little plant by my grave is formed from my
soul. No doctor can cure your present illness, only the flower
can help you. To-morrow, go to my grave, scratch the skin of
the fruit with a knife, peel it off a little, and let the juice
run out. Let this become hard, and then put it in a pipe and
light it. If you breath it in for a long, long while, you will
gradually become well."
Kina awoke and sat up in bed. The next morning he got
up and did what his wife had told him. Scarcely had he breathed
in the smoke when he felt much better, and finally his disease
completely disappeared.
Then Kina smoked everyday. If he didi not smoke at his
regular time, he felt ill at once, just as if he was going to
die. His body felt weak and slck. Now he believed in the final
words of his wife. This miraculous balm is supposed to be the
dangerous, destructive opium (chandu) which so many people smoke
nowadays.