Film stills of Migrant Ecologies Project’s '{if your bait can sing the wild ones will come} Like Shadows Through Leaves' (2021) as part of the Learning Gallery at SAM at Tanjong Pagar Distripark. Image courtesy of Singapore Art Museum.

Introduction

There was a kenduri, a feast, on 10 February 1965 at 12.30 in the afternoon. It was said to be simple, modest—but from how it was described, I beg to differ. In the air wafted the aroma of pre-packed nasi padang and the sweet scent of bananas, perhaps mingling—though I can’t be too sure—with the fragrance of flowers and incense, for this kenduri took place at the now-lost-but-not-forgotten Keramat Syed Ismail at the batu lapan (8^th milestone), Bukit Timah, not far from the tracks of the Federated Malay States Railways.¹ It was a doa selamat, a prayer for safety, for the upcoming filming of Cathay Keris Studio’s Chinta, Kaseh, Sayang, to be directed by the distinguished Hussain Haniff. He was there, in fact, with his cast and crew, which included some of the brightest stars of the day. This naturally drew journalists from newspapers and magazines to flock to the keramat grave too. And just when you thought the atmosphere couldn’t get any livelier, the caretaker of Keramat Syed Ismail called forth hundreds of fluttering burung merpati (pigeons). Their wings made applause of the air. It was reported that actresses Latiffah Omar and Fatimah Ahmad, icons of their generation, merrily fed the birds green beans. A click of a camera among the coos and the moment was captured.

Filmmakers of 1950s and 1960s Malay cinema often visited keramat graves in Singapore before commencing production and filming to ensure safety and success. These doa selamat were also undeniably press opportunities to promote the films, with media representatives often present. However, what intrigued me about this particular doa selamat was the spotlighting of the pigeons, which were found at many keramat graves. While pigeons still flock to keramat graves in Singapore today, the size of these flocks is much smaller than they were before. Beyond keramat grave traditions, these birds are often seen as flying vermin to be exterminated. Where does pest end and sacred begin?

Keramat can be found in many parts of the Malay and Indonesian world. The term has been used to label venerated animals, trees, objects (such as rocks), miracle workers and graves. They may attract devotees and believers from many ethnic and religious communities. Keramat graves, specifically, are often Malay or Muslim graves and traditionally those of a wali (plural, awliya), an Islamic saint-like figure. Singapore keramat graves also include those of royalty, community leaders, individuals who suffered violent deaths and even miraculous corpses.² These interments have ascended to sites of veneration drawing devotees seeking blessings and wishes; from wealth and health to fertility and good grades. Examples include the graves of the Wali Songo in Java and Keramat Datuk Machap in Malacca.

This essay focuses on those in sunny Singapore, like Keramat Syed Ismail mentioned earlier and Keramat Habib Nuh at Mount Palmer. The tradition can be argued to be part of the broader Islamic grave veneration practised in many parts of the world, including Sufi tombs in Kerala and Uyghur Islamic shrines in Xinjiang, China.³ However, many from the Muslim communities of the Malay and Indonesian world—especially Singapore—consider these practices forbidden as they may be seen as worshipping another besides Allah, and thus idolatrous and sinful (syirik).⁴It has also been viewed as an innovation to Islamic practices or bid’ah; a term understood as “heresy”—however there are “classifications of ‘good’ innovations that [are] in accord with the Qur’an and the sunnah of the Prophet.”⁵ Despite these concerns, keramat graves in Singapore still receive their fair share of Muslim devotees and those from other cultural and religious backgrounds. Some even receive visitors from abroad like Indonesia, Brunei, Thailand, Myanmar, and even China.

Yet people are not the only ones that congregate at keramat graves. Animals have been known to visit these sacred sites, none more often than pigeons. In 2021, a film, {if your bait can sing the wild one will come} Like Shadows Through Leaves by The Migrant Ecologies Project was presented, exploring relationships between birds and humans. It centred around Tanglin Halt, a housing estate that interestingly runs along a former railway track, much like Keramat Syed Ismail once did. The film was conceptualised by Lucy Davis with her collaborators.⁶A diversity of birds are highlighted in the work, from the burung perling mata merah (Asian glossy starling) and the burung tuwu (Asian koel) to the burung merbuk (zebra dove) and the burung layang layang (swift). This is done largely through illustrations and shadow puppets but most importantly, through recordings of birdcalls. However, I remember wondering, where are the pigeon in this exploration? So, this essay, in spirit, hopes to contribute to this celebration of human-avian stories—the pigeon and its cooing are waiting to be heard.

A Place to Rest and Roost

It was 1983 and Mr Osman Mohamad was caretaker of Keramat Habib Nuh at Mount Palmer, a position he held well into his late 70s. Each day, he rambled down a familiar path where the pigeons at the keramat grave gathered. Unlike their usual skittishness around other humans, these birds were at ease in his presence, unbothered and barely stirring as he walked by. While he moved as steadily as his age allowed, past a tall fence—probably and occasionally resting a hand on the structure for support—the pigeons perched high on it, observing his journey. When asked who fed these birds, he replied, “anyone who comes here.”

These burung merpati or pigeons—also known as rock pigeons, rock doves or Columba livia—are among the most ubiquitous birds in Singapore, seen daily throughout the island city. Their “commonness” may suggest that their presence at keramat graves is unextraordinary. It is even expected and understandable, given that food offerings are a prevalent practice at these sacred sites, and these birds are drawn to places with food, like hawker centres and coffeeshops.

These are probably all valid reasons. However, their being at keramat graves also holds sacred significance and function. They are often points of note when the keramat graves are discussed, becoming as much a part of the tradition as the offerings and shelter are.7 In the case of Keramat Syed Mustaffa Bismillah Wali, once located at Upper Changi Road, it was given the nom de plume Keramat Burung or Bird Keramat, likely due to the many pigeons that flocked to it. Pigeons as a feature of Singapore keramat graves may be connected to the wider world of Islamic traditions, who have a commonly held belief that they would flock at tombs of awliya.⁸ The grave of Hazrat Shah Jalal in Bangladesh and the shrine of Imam Shakir in the desert near Khotan have been known to have pigeons flocking to them.⁹ That said, the belief in the sacred quality of birds exists in many cultures, including many found across the Malay Peninsula and Indonesian Archipelago, because of their ability to fly and thus travel to a higher plane, both literally and symbolically.¹⁰

Many Singapore keramat graves have or had spaces for pigeons to gather. Until the current land redevelopment at Mount Palmer began, the large car park beside the hill of Keramat Habib Nuh would be where pigeons would congregate. (Fig. 1) These pigeons still gather today at the much smaller carpark. (Fig. 2) The keramat grave of Sharifah Rogayah (believed to be the granddaughter of Habib Nuh) sits behind a row of shophouses at Duxton Plain Park, surrounded by grass. Pigeons often flock here, with the occasional cameo from the neighbourhood chickens. (Fig. 3)

Fig. 1: Pigeons flocking at the carpark beside Keramat Habib Nuh. © 2015, Faisal Husni

Fig. 2: Pigeons roosting on fencing at the new smaller carpark beside Keramat Habib Nuh. © 2024, Faisal Husni

Fig 3. Pigeons (and chickens) at Keramat Sharifah Rogayah. © 2024, Faisal Husni

Some keramat graves have shelters that prove to be ideal roosting spots for these birds; there are old photographs confirming that this is not a new phenomenon. A prime and contemporary example is Keramat Iskandar Shah at Fort Canning. Its architecture has gone through numerous transformations throughout its long lifetime. In 1990, it was given another facelift: a wooden structure carved by craftsmen from Malacca. Now, especially when there are not too many visitors, the pigeons would rest in the shade of the shelter and on its dark beams (Fig. 4 to 6).  There would always be a few of them above me whenever I visited this king’s keramat, and I have always worried about droppings landing on me. That has yet to happen.

Fig. 4: Pigeons at Keramat Iskandar Shah © 2017, Faisal Husni

Fig. 5: Pigeons at Keramat Iskandar Shah © 2017, Faisal Husni

Fig. 6: Pigeons at Keramat Iskandar Shah © 2017, Faisal Husni

Feeding and Sacrifice

These days, the birds’ participation in keramat grave traditions is largely, if not solely, through their presence. In the past, however, these birds would have often been fed by the visitors and devotees to these graves. I posit this may be seen by some as a form of merit-making for blessings. Similar practices exist in the larger Islamic world. At the dargah of Abdullah Shah Ghazi in Pakistan, for example, pigeon droppings are viewed as a “form of substantiated blessedness,” where devotees would offer the birds grains, and the birds would leave their droppings on the roof of the dargah. These droppings, while not directly consumed, would be used in medicine.¹¹ I have yet to encounter similar views on pigeon droppings in keramat grave traditions in Singapore or the Malay world. However, as illustrated by the fabulous actresses of Chinta, Kaseh, Sayang and the visitors of Keramat Habib Nuh of the past, these birds were fed by those who visited the sites. While these visitors would have fed them grains such as green beans, any food and fruit offerings left at keramat graves spaces would probably also have been fair game and readily available.

At times, pigeons were also brought to the keramat graves after a devotee’s prayers at the graves were answered. The birds would be released, adding to the resident flock. I posit that it may be rooted in beliefs in receiving merit through the releasing of captive animals, an impetus probably similar to Vesak Day Buddhist traditions observed even here in Singapore, though discouraged these days. There have also been instances of pigeons that were sacrificed and brought to the keramat graves.

So, while less evident now, the pigeons continue to be part of the practices, rituals and traditions surrounding keramat graves. Yet, there was another way in which they contributed.

The Language of Birds

In 1975, 74-year-old Mr Kassim bin Parit was a caretaker of a keramat grave at Upper Bukit Timah.¹² This was very likely Keramat Syed Ismail, where the cast and crew of Chinta, Kaseh, Sayang conducted their doa selamat a decade earlier. He may even have been the very same caretaker who had called upon the pigeons for the photo-op in which the film stars were feeding them. Because he could do just that: call upon the 700 pigeons at the site with just a coo. It began with just ten birds 45 years earlier. He cared for them and fed them green peas from the keramat grave devotees. As he walked through the compound, he watched his steps so as not to hurt any of them.

The practice of calling to birds and making or imitating bird calls to connect with the avian is, of course, not uncommon. Like Shadows Through Leaves spotlighted individuals who are not only experts at discerning varied bird calls but also replicating them in a form—or at least, semblance—of communication. Some of them—for example, a lady called the Parrot Mother—much like Mr Kassim, also exude charismatic personalities because of or resulting in their special connection with the birds; it is a chicken or egg situation, in my opinion.

In Like Shadows Through Leaves, the presence of the birds is also predominantly highlighted through their calls. It emphasises that, whether or not the birds are seen, their sounds are testaments and barometers of their presence. Through their calls, they take up space. There are some within the field of ecology who have even asserted that the diversity of animal sounds—each with their own distinct frequency—in a natural environment can be a signal as to whether it is a “healthy ecosystem.” Though, how “natural” are Tanglin Halt and keramat graves—some of which are surrounded by trees and forest—for this measurement of healthy ecosystems to be useful here, given that they are still urban and human spaces.

Whenever I visited, say, Keramat Iskandar Shah, even when there was no one around, it was never truly quiet. While there was usually no great diversity of bird sounds, I would hear the cooing of the pigeons and the occasional flapping of wings. So, imagine 700 of them! Their avian sounds would fill keramat spaces with a very tangible atmosphere. Pigeon sounds are not often viewed to be musical as, say, the birds featured in Like Shadows Through Leaves. Those birds are at times described as “singing”; though let’s be honest, the perception of the musicality of bird calls may be argued as us simply projecting human sonic aesthetics onto natural sounds. Pigeon cooings have a soft pulsating quality, and when in large enough a number, a robust  calmness. The same auditory robustness, I assert, as those created by chanting and prayers in temples or mosques. This also echoes a common belief regarding the language of animals (including birds) within the Islamic tradition, even in this region.

***

وَوَرِثَ سُلَيۡمَٰنُ دَاوُۥدَۖ وَقَالَ يَـٰٓأَيُّهَا ٱلنَّاسُ عُلِّمۡنَا مَنطِقَ ٱلطَّيۡرِ وَأُوتِينَا مِن كُلِّشَيۡءٍۖ إِنَّ هَٰذَا لَهُوَ ٱلۡفَضۡلُ ٱلۡمُبِينُ

And Dawud was succeeded by Sulaiman, who said, “O people! We have been taught the language of birds, and been given everything [we need]. This is indeed a great privilege.”

Quran, 27:16

***

This includes stories of how the Prophet Sulaiman was able to communicate with birds and other animals, and about pawang figures of this region who are attuned to the fauna of their land.¹³ One could even argue that keramat grave caretakers like Mr Kassim continue this tradition of animal-human communication, with his coos that summon his feathered army. Maybe, the expertise of the Tanglin Halt bird callers might echo this too. In fact, if one is a Muslim or Malay living in this part of the world, it is not uncommon to be told that animals have their own way of prayer and praising Allah. And so maybe, while devotees and visitors at keramat are giving prayers, the pigeons in their cooing are doing the same.

The Invasive Species

The rock pigeon is not native to Singapore, but is an invasive species. It has been suggested that some of Singapore’s architecture resemble its natural habitat of cliffs and caves.¹⁴ It has “a keen sense of homing,” which is why it was historically been bred as a messenger bird.¹⁵ The earliest mentions of rock pigeons in Singapore are from 1906, and were about the ones at the Botanic Gardens’ Menagerie.¹⁶ In 1968, there were a few hundred “feral pigeons” in the area near Victoria Theatre¹⁷ (Fig. 7). A research study conducted by the Department of Biological Sciences, National University of Singapore not only highlighted the population boom of these birds—“from a dozen to ~190,000 individuals within ~50 years”—but also that “all rock pigeons in Singapore are likely descendants of those individuals documented in 1968 or a similar group of individuals.”¹⁸ When this shared genealogy is coupled with the homing capabilities of these birds, I cannot help but entertain the idea—without substantiation, for now—that pigeons return to their home keramat generation after generation. This seems to be supported by Mr Kassim’s testimony of how the pigeons of the keramat grave under his care “multiplied” from a flock of ten, with some stray flocks occasionally joining the group, until it numbered 700 strong. He also spoke of how many had died, over the years. ¹⁹ Generations after generations.

Fig. 7: Pigeons at Victoria Memorial Hall, Singapore. Lim Kheng Chye Collection, courtesy of National Archives of Singapore.

I also wonder how much the keramat grave tradition of feeding and releasing pigeons may have contributed to the population boom mentioned earlier, because the pigeon population, outside the keramat grave spaces—where they are loved by caretakers and fed gleefully by visitors—is largely viewed as a pest.

The Sacred Abject

In 1981, the head of Bartley Secondary School ordered pigeons in the premises to be culled by poisoning. A few teachers had to witness the birds writhe and drop mid-flight. Some students were upset at the decision as they considered the birds “the pride of their school.” Singapore has a history of killing pigeons, whether carried out by government-instructed bodies or independent citizens. The reasons for these exterminations are often because they are perceived as pests that leave droppings and carry diseases. Interestingly, as exemplified by the students of Bartley Secondary School, there has also been a history of public objections to such killings. However, these objections often cite the inhumanity of the method—limiting feeding is often the suggested alternative to culling—and do not stem from affection for the birds, let alone seeing them as symbols of pride.

How can the pigeon, in most circumstances of urban Singapore, be viewed as a pest to be shunned and eliminated, a bringer of dirtiness and disease, yet in keramat grave traditions, be adored and tethered to sacredness? The first reason is its religious and ritual significance, and its role in the traditions already described earlier. These proved to be meaningful enough to devotees to counteract repulsion.

Keramat grave pigeons might also be viewed as connected to sacredness because of their resilience, whether consciously considered by devotees and visitors or not. Themes of resilience and returns from defeat—usually against powers like government institutions and colonial figures—are in line with stories in keramat traditions. You have stories of keramat graves resisting being moved and disabling machinery when the threat of official land development comes knocking.²⁰ You have stories of the awliya of these graves opposing and striking blows at figures of colonial rule before their mortal death.²¹ You also have stories of animals like the tiger that protected Keramat Radin Mas Ayu—it had three legs, hearkening to the colonial mass killing of tigers in this region, while also possibly a sign of the feline surviving being hunted or trapped. And the pigeons? Despite the many independent attempts at eradicating them in different parts of the country, they thrive. There are stories of pigeon flocks being eliminated from certain areas of the city—sometimes by governmental efforts—only to return after years of absence “mysteriously.”

Pigeons are often called “rats with wings,” so it is apt that a good comparison to the phenomenon of the keramat grave pigeon is the rats of Karni Mata Temple in Rajasthan, India. While rats too have reputations of being pests and carriers of diseases, the rodents of this temple are viewed as “deceased members of the clan of Karni Mata” and are protected, cared for and fed offerings. Devotees allow the rats to climb on them, and might also consume food the rats do not eat, which are considered consecrated leftovers or prasad.²² In this context and space, the rats have a sacred significance to the temple traditions. The space and context are key. In the case of the pigeons, the keramat grave is that space and context, being set apart from the mundane and profane.

That said, interestingly, keramat grave pigeons are not permanently bound to this space and context. Yes, keramat grave pigeons are often remarked as having familiarity with caretakers of graves, coming when called for, and being fed by those who visit the sacred sites. Despite this—and a history of keeping and domesticating pigeons in Singapore—keramat grave pigeons are able to fly from these sites and are not confined as most avian pets might be. Since the tradition of feeding these birds at keramat graves is not as common as once reported, it would be expected that they would search for food elsewhere, in neighbouring areas or further. When that happens, I doubt one will be able to identify a keramat grave pigeon when it is away from its sacred hangout. Thus, it goes without saying that their keramat grave context is situational and not static. This also means that the feelings of repulsion and adoration they receive are similarly situational and not static.

These seemingly opposing feelings felt for the pigeons go beyond discussions on sacred spaces. On 26 June this year, 2024, it was announced that three town council estates—Ang Mo Kio, Bishan-Toa Payoh and Tanjong Pagar—will be “stepping up culling efforts” to reduce the pigeon population. Yet just two days later, to celebrate the 100^th anniversary of the Johor-Singapore Causeway, Johor regent Tunku Ismail Sultan Ibrahim, Singapore Minister for Foreign Affairs, Vivian Balakrishnan, Johor Chief Minister, Onn Hafiz Ghazi and other officials released—yes, you guessed it—pigeons, considered symbolic of the “peaceful relations between Singapore and Malaysia.”  I’m reminded of the Bartley Secondary School students when I read the report and also of Mr Kassim and his birds or, as a journalist described them, “his 700 lovers.”²³

In Like Shadows Through Leaves, many bird-human relationships are explored. A man chats with birds in their song-language. A woman is called the Parrot Mother. A man is visited by an owl. A birdwatcher clicks his camera. Many kinds of relationships are shown, and most of them take the shape of adoration of and appreciation for the feathered. It is easy to understand the love for and the need to protect the beautiful-songed burung pekaka bakau (collared kingfisher) or the striking burung kunyit besar (black-naped oriole) heard in the film, even if it is paternalistic (where humans often take self-appointed roles as protectors and preservers of animals) or one-sided (where it is impossible to be certain that the affection these individuals have for the birds are truly reciprocated, or simply anthropomorphic projections). However, the relationships we (in Singapore) have with a creature we—whether collectively or some of us—hate and love are more complicated, and pigeons exemplify that. It is no wonder that public objections to culling of pigeons are often less about wanting the birds to prosper, but more about finding non-lethal ways of reducing their numbers, such as feeding them less. Because we don’t want to kill them. But we don’t want them to thrive. But we don’t want them dead. But we shouldn’t give them food. But is that considered starving them? But they carry diseases. But we don’t want to kill them…

When They Fly Away

As I read about the 700 pigeons of that Upper Bukit Timah keramat grave, I am confronted by the fact that that throughout my years of visiting keramat graves, I’ve only seen flocks in the tens and twenties at most. This stark contrast made me reflect on the significance of the decline in pigeon numbers at these spaces. At the start of this research, I had felt that this diminishing numbers of keramat grave pigeons, and the increasing number of exhumed keramat graves in the name of development, echoed the sense of loss surrounding avian biodiversity and bird-human relationships as a result of Tanglin Halt’s redevelopment. However, while these two circumstances may have similar catalysts, they have an inverse relationship, almost like two sides of the same coin. Like Shadows Through Leaves seems to suggest—especially with opening shots of greens and trees—that the forested areas near the Tanglin Halt estates are crucial to the survival and habitat of the birds featured. Keramat grave pigeons, on the other hand, are dependent on human and urban architecture, and not so much trees. Yet, I guess, both nature and old buildings, and the birds that flock there, are threatened when Singapore’s land is needed for “progress.”

There is another reason the decline in pigeon numbers at keramat graves are important to note. While the sacredness of these pigeons is dependent on the context and space of keramat graves, they are also markers or signs of the sacredness of these sites. So, when keramat graves are exhumed for land development²⁴, or simply disappear and are forgotten, like Keramat Syed Ismail, do the pigeons leave as the devotees do? Or do they stay?

There’s a story connected to the keramat grave of Syed Yassin, the man who allegedly stabbed William Farquhar before being killed himself. At some point, his grave was believed to sit near a police station at Tanjong Pagar, and was said to be visited by hundreds of pigeons daily. In this story, a policeman had a dream visitation from a beautiful woman. She whispered to him that she had moved the grave—her grave. (Her grave? Confusing? Only if you’re bound to human logic.) She moved it to the tower above the station. Morning came. The pigeons had all fled from the plot of land where the grave had sat. They had migrated to the tower. He could have thought “it was Hitchcockian” if it wasn’t 1927; The Birds hadn’t even been dreamt of yet by Daphne du Maurier. Devotees began visiting the tower. But after the war, the numbers of visitors, humans and avian, grew less and less. The building was eventually demolished. Keramat: no more. Pigeons: no more. This story suggests an inseverable tether between keramat spaces and pigeons. It puts forth the idea that these birds are signs and symptoms of the sacredness of these sites. And their absence, a sign of the tragic opposite. But in the end, isn’t the loss of animal biodiversity always a sign of the tragic? It’s a thought that we should carry with us as we continue culling pigeons in the country—our winged markers of sacredness.

Oh yes, there is more to the story of Keramat Syed Yassin and its move to the tower. When it was retold in The Sunday Tribune in 1949, there was mention of a remaining white pigeon at the tower, occasionally two. It wouldn’t leave. Very early in this essay, I stated the term keramat has been used to label sacred animals as well. One hallmark of a keramat animal is that it is often white in colour. So, that last white pigeon. I couldn’t help but wonder…

This essay references artworks featured in Singapore Art Museum’s Learning Gallery, located in Gallery 2 at SAM. The Learning Gallery will be open until 29 June 2025. Click here to find out more.

Artist Bio

About the Collective:
Migrant Ecologies Project comprises an eclectic mix of individuals, from cinematographers to writers, who come together to co-create artworks. Amidst an ever-changing list of collaborators for each artwork are some mainstay collaborators, such as artist, composer and sound designer Zai Tang. The collective’s works have featured in the Diriyah Biennale (2024), Istanbul Biennale (2022), Singapore Biennale (2022), SeedCultures Svalbard 2019, Taipei Biennale (2018), Rockbund Shanghai/Fondazione Sandretto re Rebaudengo (2018), NTU Centre for Contemporary Art Singapore (2017), among other festivals and institutions.

About the Founder:
Lucy Davis is a visual artist, art writer and founder of Migrant Ecologies Project. Her transdisciplinary and often collaborative endeavours encircle ecologies, animal and plant studies, materiality, memory and storytelling, primarily but not exclusively in Southeast Asia. Davis was a founding faculty member of the School of Art, Design and Media at Nanyang Technological University, Singapore (2005–2016). Davis is currently an Associate Professor (Contemporary Art) in Visual Cultures, Curating and Contemporary Art (ViCCA) Department of Art & Media, Aalto University, Finland.

Author Bio

Faisal Husni is a researcher with an interest in the art histories of Singapore and Southeast Asia, with an MA (Research) from the School of Art, Design and Media (ADM), Nanyang Technological University (NTU). His research interests include multi-religious and multicultural heritage and spaces of worship, and religious art and traditions of Singapore and the Malay world. His main study centres on keramat graves in Singapore and the Malay World, which were the focus of his MA thesis The Grave that Became a Shrine: The Lives of Keramat Graves in Singapore. He was Assistant Curator for Island Southeast Asia at the Asian Civilisations Museum. His recent curation, Her Kebaya (2023) at Peranakan Museum, celebrated the fashion history of kebaya and the lives of the women who wore them. He presented talks including Must We Decolonise the Museum? Sacred and Ritual Art and the Raffles Collection in Singapore and And From Her Navel Grew Rice: Dewi Sri And Her Manifestations, which were hosted by the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS) and ACM respectively, both in 2021.

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Endnotes
¹ The grave was ordered for exhumation in 1992. William L. Gibson has done extensive work tracking the history of the keramat grave and its location(s). See: “Exhumation Notice,” The Straits Times, October 25, 1992, 29; William L. Gibson, A Complete Catalog of Keramat in Singapore (Singapore: National Library Board, Singapore, 2022), 744-79.
² Muhammad Faisal Husni, The Grave that Became a Shrine: The Lives of Keramat Graves in Singapore (Master’s thesis, Nanyang Technological University, 2018), https://hdl.handle.net/10356/81275
³ Stephen F. Dale and M. Gangadhara Menon, "Nerccas: Saint-Martyr Worship Among the Muslims of Kerala," Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London 41, no. 3 (1978): 523‒38; Rian Thum, The Sacred Routes of Uyghur History (USA: Harvard University Press, 2014).
⁴ Zuraihan bte Isahak, Cultural Practice versus Religious Injunctions: A Study of Keramat Worship in Singapore (Singapore: Dept. of Malay Studies, National University of Singapore, 1995); Dominik M. Müller, “The Bureaucratization of Islam and its Socio-Legal Dimensions in Southeast Asia: conceptual contours of a research project,” Working Paper No. 187 (Halle/ Saale: Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology, 2017).
⁵ Gordon D. Newby, A Concise Encyclopedia of Islam (Oxford: Oneworld, 2004), 44.
⁶ For this work, Lucy Davis collaborated with Zai Tang, Kee Ya Ting and Zachary Chan, with editing by Daniel Hui.
⁷ It is not uncommon for newspaper articles on keramat graves, such as this one, to make it a point to mention the pigeons. See: Yahya, “Singapore’s Keramats,” The Straits Times, June 11, 1939, 16.
⁸ Mohamad Ghouse Khan Surattee, The Grand Saint of Singapore: The Life of Habib Nuh Bin Muhammad Al-Habshi (Singapore: Masjid Al'Firdaus, 2008), 44.
⁹ Shamsul Alam, Muhammed Ali Hossain and Saeyd Rashed Hasan Chowdury, “The Contribution of The Islamic Mysticism to the Preaching & Spread of Islam in Bangladesh: The Role of Hazrat Shah Jalal,” in 5th International Hazi Bayram-I Veli Symposium Proceedings Book, ed. Ethem Cebecioğlu, Vahit Göktaş and Harun Alkan (Turkey: Ankara Kalem Neşriyat, 2020), 493‒513; Thum, The Sacred Routes of Uyghur History, 125.
¹⁰ The Rhinoceros hornbill, for example, is important to many Dayak communities, especially the Iban. These birds are believed to be able to “transport an immaterial substance, or mystical force, from the community that is celebrating the rite to another place, into the infinite or to another designated community.” See: William H. Davenport, “Hornbill Carvings of the Iban of Sarawak, Malaysia,” Anthropology and Aesthetics, no. 37 (Spring 2000): 132‒33.
¹¹ Richard Kurin, “The structure of blessedness at a Muslim shrine in Pakistan,” Middle Eastern Studies 19, no. 3 (1983): 317‒18.
¹² Philip Lim, “He 'Coos' His 700 Lovers...” New Nation, August 21, 1975, 4.
¹³ A pawang is “a male or female miracle-worker who possessed ilmu (esoteric science) and the berkat (power-grace) of God and eclectic spiritual beings such as Muhammad and Siva”. There are pawang gajah, or the elephant pawang, who are sensitive to elephants and have the capability and knowledge to not only domesticate them, but also to hunt and subdue them. Terenjit Singh Sevea, “Pawangs on the Malay Frontier: Miraculous Intermediaries of Rice, Ore, Beasts and Guns” (PhD diss., University of California, 2013), 2; Mastura A. Rahman, The Practice of Traditional Cures Among The Malays in Singapore, (Singapore: Dept. of Malay Studies, National University of Singapore, 1995), 2‒3.
¹⁴ While the ledges of building are certainly roosting spots for these birds, interestingly, the expansion gaps of overhead MRT tracks make ideal nesting habitat substitutes for cliff-caves. Kai Ning Lim et al., “Proximity to anthropogenic food sources determine roosting and nesting prevalence of feral pigeons (Columba livia) in a tropical city,” Ecological Solutions & Evidence, 4 (2023), 7.
¹⁵ Andrew D. Blechman, Pigeons: The Fascinating Saga of the World’s Most Revered and Reviled Bird. (New York: Grove Press, 2006), 11.
¹⁶ H. N. Ridley, “The Menagerie at the Botanic Gardens,” Journal of the Straits Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 46 (1906), 180.
¹⁷ Peter Ward, “Origin of the avifauna of urban and suburban Singapore,” The Ibis 110, no. 3 (1968), 242.
¹⁸ Qian Tang et al., “Human activities and landscape features interact to closely define the distribution and dispersal of an urban commensal,” Evolutionary Applications (2018), 1604.
¹⁹ Lim, “He 'Coos' His 700 Lovers...”
²⁰ Surattee, The Grand Saint of Singapore, 44.
²¹ A.H. Hill, “The Hikayat Abdullah, An Annotated Translation,” Journal of the Malayan Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 28, no. 3 (171); The Hikayat Abdullah (1955), 149‒54.
²² Lance Nelson, “Cows, Elephants, Dogs, and Other Lesser Embodiments of Atman: Reflections on Hindu Attitudes Toward Nonhuman Animals,” in A Communion of Subjects: Animals in Religion, Science, and Ethics, eds. Paul Waldau and Kimberley Patton (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006), 182.
²³ Lim, “He 'Coos' His 700 Lovers...”
²⁴ Many keramat graves have been exhumed or destroyed throughout Singapore’s history. One example is Keramat Siti Maryam in Kallang, Singapore, which was exhumed and demolished in 2009. A 2011 exhibition, The Sufi and the Bearded Man: Re-membering a Keramat in Contemporary Singapore, by curator Shabbir Hussain Mustafa, scholar Teren Sevea and photographer/researcher Nurul Huda B. A. Rashid, presented at the National University of Singapore Museum (NUS Museum), looked at the stories and histories surrounding this particular keramat grave and the burial ground it resided upon. Teren Sevea, Shabbir Hussain Mustafa and Nurul Huda B. A. Rashid, The Sufi and the Bearded Man: Re-member in a Keramat in Contemporary Singapore. (Singapore: NUS Museum, 2011).