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THE fairy tale ‘Beauty and the Beast’ wasn’t a favourite of mine in primary school back in the 1960s, even though it had all the ingredients of a magical story: enchanted beings, a cursed prince, and a young woman whose kindness and love broke the curse.
While some stories seemed to leap off the shelves into eager hands, this one sat at the back of the school bookcase, ignored and avoided. My classmates didn’t care for it, and neither did I.
The Beast, with his grotesque, menacing figure, was the kind of nightmare-inducing creature we all avoided imagining. His monstrous appearance alone made us close the book after a glance.
But with so few books to choose from in our tiny library, I forced myself to read them sometimes. Not thoroughly, mind you, but just enough to get the gist of the story.
I skimmed the beginning, skipped the middle, and read the end, where Beauty’s love transformed the Beast into a handsome prince.
It was a basic plot, but the idea of someone seeing goodness beneath ugliness always puzzled me.
How could Beauty look beyond the Beast’s terrifying exterior? What kind of person could do that?
Years later, I found myself face-to-face with a real-life “Beast”. He wasn’t a creature of fangs and fur, but his actions were monstrous enough to haunt me.
A Terrible Scene
During a school break, my cousin Ratum and I embarked on one of our usual fishing escapades. We had just reached the forest’s edge when faint shouts and distant screams broke through the tranquil silence, catching us both off guard.
Instinctively, we ran toward the commotion, our curiosity outweighing any fear. From a hilltop, hidden behind two small trees, we witnessed a scene that would stay with me forever.
Down below, a dishevelled man was tearing through his family’s farmhouse. He was wild, his mouth frothing as he destroyed everything in sight.
His parents and younger sister stood frozen, helplessly watching as walls splintered and furniture shattered under his rage.
Ratum and I felt too much fear to approach. We could only watch from our safe perch as the man exhausted himself. His energy drained, and he collapsed onto the ground, trembling.
For a moment, he sat there, drenched in sweat, his head between his knees. Then, without a word to anyone, he got up, adjusted the machete strapped to his waist, and disappeared into the jungle.
When we finally dared to move, we crept down the hill and headed toward the river to fish.
Passing by the farmhouse, we heard the soft sobs of the mother and sister, while the father silently began repairing the damage. His expression was resignation, like a man accustomed to picking up the pieces.
The Beast’s Family
Over time, I learned more about the man and his family. Their farm was far from ours, separated by a dense forest and a rickety bamboo bridge.
Perhaps out of shame, they spent most of the year on their farm, only returning to the village for festivals like Gawai Dayak and Christmas.
Even then, they kept to themselves. When the father came to the village to restock supplies, he moved quickly, his head low. Their home, when unoccupied, was a sad sight – dusty, cobwebbed, and neglected.
The man, whom I’ll call Raga – his real name was Juraga – was a mystery to most of the village people. Some said he was cursed. Others whispered that he had been possessed by a malevolent spirit.
Whatever the cause, his violent outbursts made him a figure of fear and ridicule.
A Confrontation
Another incident occurred just before Christmas that year. Ratum and I were passing by Raga’s house on the north-west edge of the village when a commotion drew our attention. A group of boys had gathered, peeking through the windows to watch what they mockingly called “the show”. Unable to resist, we joined them, peering over their heads.
Inside, Raga was in the middle of a rampage. With a heavy club in his hand, he was about to strike when a voice rang out.
“Stop!”
The steady and commanding voice cut through the tension. It was Lua’s. A young woman from the village, she alone seemed immune to the fear Raga inspired. Framed in the doorway, her presence exuded a quiet, unshakable authority.
Raga froze, the club still raised above his head. Trembling, he turned to face her. “Go away!” he growled. His voice was thick with anger and desperation.
But Lua didn’t flinch. She held his gaze, her expression steady. Slowly, the tension in Raga’s body eased. The club slipped from his hand, clattering to the floor. Breathing heavily, he sank to the floor.
Lua approached and sat beside him. Her voice was soft but firm as she said, “There’s a ‘muwat’ inside you.”
Raga didn’t respond, but his shoulders tensed. In our Bukar-Sadong sub-dialect of the Bidayuh language, ‘muwat’ means “demon” or “evil spirit”. It can also describe someone as malevolent, though it’s sometimes used affectionately in jest.
“You’re a proud man,” she continued. “You wouldn’t let anyone control you. But right now, you’re being controlled by whatever’s inside you.”
“How can you believe that?” he muttered.
“It’s not about belief. I can see it. There are two of you – the good one and the Beast.”
Raga’s voice wavered. “Why do you care?”
“Why shouldn’t I care?”
“I might hurt you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“No, you won’t. The ‘muwat’ inside you knows that I know.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do. You’ve calmed down now, but it’s still there, hiding, waiting for another chance to take over.”
Raga stared at the floor, his hands clenched. “Why does it stay inside me?”
“Because you invited it,” Lua said gently. “Maybe not on purpose, but something you said or did made it feel welcome. You must make it leave.”
Raga’s response was barely audible. “How?”
Lua didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she placed a hand on his sweaty shoulder. “The first step is to want it gone. It’s up to you.”
A Subtle Transformation
Over the following months, Lua’s influence on Raga became evident. Accompanied by a friend or a relative, she visited his family’s farm often. It was fortunate that her family’s farm was not far away. As it was, she could help with chores and quietly supporting the family. Slowly, Raga’s outbursts became less frequent.
Though he remained rough around the edges, there were glimpses of a gentler side, especially in how he cared for his dogs. Those animals meant everything to him, and his affection for them hinted at the capacity for love buried deep within him.
Parallels to the Fairytale
Reflecting on Raga’s story, I couldn’t help but draw comparisons to Beauty and the Beast. In both tales, a “Beast” is trapped – not by physical appearance, but by something else.
For the Beast, it was a curse; for Raga, it was the ‘muwat’ or his inner demons. And in both stories, it took someone fearless and compassionate to break through the darkness.
Beauty, in the fairytale, looked beyond the Beast’s terrifying exterior to see his inner kindness. Lua, similarly, saw the good in Raga even when others only saw the monster.
But what kind of person can do that? What makes someone like Lua or Beauty capable of such understanding?
The Qualities of a “Beauty”
To see beyond appearances, one must possess empathy – the ability to feel another’s pain and understand their struggles. Both Beauty and Lua had this. They didn’t judge based on fear or prejudice. Instead, they approached their “Beasts” with compassion and an open mind.
Courage is another essential quality. Lua faced Raga without flinching, just as Beauty stood up to the Beast. It takes immense bravery to confront someone – or something – that others fear.
Lastly, patience and faith are vital. Change doesn’t happen overnight. Lua’s steady presence gave Raga the space to wrestle with his demons and begin his transformation. Beauty’s love did the same for the Beast.
Conclusion
Though Raga’s story didn’t end with a magical transformation or happily ever after, it remains a powerful reminder that even the most monstrous among us carries the potential for change. With compassion, courage and understanding, it’s possible to reach the good hidden beneath the surface.
And perhaps that’s the real lesson of ‘Beauty and the Beast’: that love, in its most genuine form, sees beyond the exterior to the heart within. For Raga, Lua was his Beauty – a light in his darkness, a reminder that he was more than the Beast inside him.
“Beauty is not in the face; beauty is a light in the heart.” – Kahlil Gibran (1883-1931), a Lebanese-American writer, poet, visual artist and philosopher. He was best known for his book ‘The Prophet’, a collection of poetic essays that deal with love, marriage, work, freedom and other aspects of life.
‘The Prophet’, first published in 1923, has been translated into over 100 languages and has become one of the best-selling books of all time. It has inspired readers worldwide with its profound and timeless wisdom.
DISCLAIMER:
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the Sarawak Tribune. The writer can be reached at www.hayhenlin@gmail.com
