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"Where is your usual Saturday column?" a friend, whom I met at the foot of the stairs, asked this week.

And that set me thinking: yes, it was true; I could not set pen to paper for the past week or so. How come? Perhaps it was bronchitis? Or may be. a bomoh who had cast a spell on me? Or was it something else? I wondered now that my friend had asked.

My doctor said it was bronchitis. Someone else said it could be the bomoh.

Or could it be a bit of both? Bomoh or shaman, dukun or pawang, the much revered and rather-feared Malay medicine men, as they are called, come in as a handy explanation. To many, the belief is deeply embedded in their psyches, as it is steeped in Malay folklore.

They are still consulted for medical or personal reasons to this very day by many. In my case, it was all the more puzzling because I could not explain the irrational bout of depression and deep sense of anxiety that gripped me lately.

And many of my friends were witnesses to my unfortunate and unexplained condition.

Of course, the good doctor pumped a lot of medicine into me. He insisted that the windpipes in my lungs were infected. Well, OK, I took the medicine.

But why was this growing sense of unexplained fear and turmoil that still tormented me? "Take a break, meditate and do some relaxation exercises," a workmate suggested. "It is the weather," said another.

"Environmentally-caused or spontaneous changes in the brain's frontal lobe could be the problem. But that will pass. Don't worry," said the lady sitting next to me in the office, who had looked it up in some medical textbook or other. But my best friend had the simplest explanation. "It is the bomoh," he insisted. "Someone has turned the evil eye on you."

He could take me to someone, a bomoh.
I was, needless to say, terribly skeptical.
I winced at the idea. But he began to relate specific instances of success about how a bothersome evil spirit was expelled with all speed.

This particular medicine man was really special, my friend assured me. Charges were moderate.

The bomoh he was referring to would first cense himself with some rare magical smoke before the ritual began. It would take place in a specially prepared hut in a selected spot in the forest, somewhere in Ulu Tutong.

He would then lie on his back on a mat with his head shrouded and wait for the moment of inspiration. Then the Tiger Spirit, which is familiar in many of these instances, would manifest itself. The possessed bomoh would then begin a low lifelike growl and begin to scratch at the mat.

He then would begin a series of catlike leaps and kicks. He would then lick up from the floor a handful of rice scattered there... "Stop, stop, please stop," I exclaimed, motioning frantically to cease and desist. I had heard enough.

The very thought of attending such a seance was terrifying. No, that would not do. But my friend was insistent. And then something strange happened.

My mind became as clear as crystal. The mysterious sense of anxiety, which I was subjected to so painfully like a heavy load for so many days, lifted off my back.

The dark clouds were swept away. Perhaps the frightful thought of appearing before a bomoh had done the trick. One fear had perhaps driven of the other, and all the better for it. You see, the bomoh had cured me and I diet not even have to see him...

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