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and the question as to where it shall be buried, whether in the bhōm or family burying-place of the mother's family, where it will not perhaps enjoy the company of any of its walis, or in that of its father, where most of them repose.
This question is regarded as of equal importance when the husband dies before the wife. The death of course very frequently occurs in the house of the wife. The walis of the husband in such a case are unwilling to leave the disposal of the body to the woman, since she will probably marry again later on, and her first husband would thus lie buried among strangers. This objection is not raised if the couple have already lost a child by death and have buried it in the bhōm of its mother's family. If however the man dies in his own original gampōng, the walis assume the entire disposal of his body, which is only just brought for a moment, before burial, into the inner room (jurèë) of the wife's house. For this service she rewards the bearers with a present.
A characteristic specimen of Achehnese prolixity is furnished by the negociations which take place between the gampōng of the husband and that of the wife in respect to the dead body of their first child (aneuʾ phōn). It may be inferred that at an earlier period of Achehnese civilization more substantial reasons existed for such a contest for the possession of the bodies of the dead than is the case at present. All this speech-making now seems rather objectless, and suggests a petrified adat.
Like all other important domestic events, the burial of the dead is treated as a public affair of the gampōng. The authorities of the husband's gampōng proceed in a body to that of the wife, and there hold with the chiefs and elders a colloquy, of which the following may serve as a model. The prelude forms a sort of theatrical dialogue between two speakers of the husband's gampōng. This takes place after their arrival in the gampōng of the wife, and in presence of the authorities there assembled. We shall call the speakers A and B; the latter speaks in the name of all his fellow-villagers.
A. Well now, where are ye all, my brethren? We have arrived at our destination. Time moves on (lit. the sun advances), and we sit doing nothing. Of walking a single step; of speech a single word; it is now your turn to speak, my brethren.
B. Well then, Teuku, as concerns us your younger brethren, what saidst thou? "Of walking a step, of speech a word." With us it is even
