By Marlynda Meraw
BATU NIAH, Feb 23: The town of Batu Niah (translated as Niah rock) takes its name from the great limestone mass that looms nearby, yet the name alone tells only a fraction of the story.
Nanda Iba of Rh Agan Noh shared with the D’Drift team the story of kumang (Iban princess) of extraordinary beauty who had once made her home in Batu Niah, never without her beloved cat by her side.
Word of her beauty, it seemed, had travelled far. A white man from a foreign land became so captivated by her that he sought her hand in marriage, yet the kumang refused.
“He asked her to be his wife but she refused because she wasn’t one of us, meaning she wasn’t human,” said Nanda.
The rejection did not sit well with the man. Consumed by rage, he raised his weapon and shot the kumang from across the river. At that moment she fell, the kumang turned to stone, and strangely enough, so did her cat.
“Perhaps her cat was from the other world too, because when the kumang was shot, her cat turned to stone as well,”
Gesturing towards the distant landscape, Nanda explained that when she was younger, the rock formation resembling the kumang and her cat could be seen clearly.
Today, thick vegetation obscures much of the view, leaving only imagination to complete the silhouette once easily recognised.
The belief is not confined to one village alone. Jamali Ahmad, a villager from Kampung Tanjung Belipat, recounted a similar tale, though in his community the woman was known not as a kumang but as Dayang Inun; suggesting how oral traditions evolve while preserving a shared memory.
Though names and details differed from village to village, the story remained part of Batu Niah’s collective memory, carried through generations by word of mouth. Whether remembered as a kumang or as Dayang Inun, the tale reflects how the people of Batu Niah understand the landscape around them.
The hail that hunted
Beyond the tale of the stone maiden, Batu Niah’s dramatic rock formations are also linked to another legend: one of taboo, mockery and divine punishment.
As recounted by Sarimah Rasun of Kampung Rh Alias Bun, the story began with a grandmother and her grandchild living in poverty.
A celebration had been held in the village and with food in abundance, the pair sought the simple kindness of a shared meal. Instead of kindness, the villagers handed them wrapped faeces disguised as food.
Humiliated and furious, the two devised their revenge. They dressed up a cat, made it look absurd, and threw it into the midst of the crowd. The villagers erupted in laughter, and that laughter became their undoing.
The skies turned dark and hail began to fall, turning every soul who laughed into stone.
“A few people escaped the hail, including this one man. He kept running, yet the hail still went after him,” said Sarimah.
The hail had a purpose. The fearful fleeing man eventually realised that the storm was pursuing a pouch fastened to his hip. The hail stopped the moment he cast the pouch aside.
According to Nanda, that relentless storm did not halt at the borders of Niah. It chased its quarry all the way to Saratok, and some accounts placed it as far as Kuching.
The story endured as more than folklore. To this day, locals observe a firm taboo against laughing at animals, lest the skies darken once more.
A life shaped by the Batu Niah
Batu Niah is an old town and, for those who have grown up in its embrace, life has long revolved around its greatest landmark: Niah National Park, now recognised by UNESCO since July 2024 for its immense archaeological and ecological significance.
The cave and its surroundings have provided for generations through the fish of the Niah River, the guano (bat droppings) harvested from its chambers, and the precious swiftlet nests that have sustained livelihoods for as long as anyone can remember.
The river itself has changed over the years. Nanda recalled that in her youth, crocodiles had been less of a presence.
She attributed their avoidance to the timber barges that once moved along the water. Without those vessels, the reptile population has since grown noticeably.
Awang Adzwan, a firefighter stationed in Batu Niah, still casts his line into the Niah River when time allows and seems entirely unbothered by it.
“There are three small crocodiles here. They play around and don’t disturb the people,” he said, pointing to a sun-warmed corner of the bank where the young reptiles like to lounge.
We looked, and sure enough, there was one—flat-bellied and utterly still, watching the river run.
Meanwhile, for Sarimah, childhood in Batu Niah meant the cave itself was a playground. She and her friends would venture inside without hesitation, drawn by the darkness, the sounds, and the sheer sense of ancient mystery.
But even as children, they knew well enough not to cross certain boundaries.
“There are places where the bones are stored. The bones of the arms and the hands and the fingers. We know not to disturb those,” she said.
In Batu Niah, daily life and ancient heritage exist side by side, shaped as much by the tune of nature as by the memories held within the cave walls. For those who grew up there, the landscape is never just a place of work or play, but a living archive—one that continually reminds each generation of the deep history beneath their feet and the responsibility to respect what existed long before them.
Until tomorrow
As evening settles over Batu Niah, the rock formations fade slowly into shadow, visible only from a distance as silent witnesses to centuries of belief, livelihood and community.
Life here continues to revolve around them, shaped by both the tangible and the mythical. Fishermen cast their lines, children grow beneath the same limestone silhouettes, and elders continue to retell stories that bind past and present together.
When we first made our way towards Batu Niah earlier that day, the journey itself had already hinted at the rhythms of life sustained by the land.
Along the roadside stood a few weighing stations accepting the sale of fresh fruit bunches (FFB) of oil palm, their signboards displaying prices that varied by distance, ranging from RM720 to as high as RM820 per metric tonne. Much like fuel prices that differ across locations in some countries overseas, the rates shift, reflecting local demand and accessibility.
As our day in Batu Niah comes to a close, the rocks stand unchanged, holding their secrets against the darkening sky. Tomorrow’s journey awaits elsewhere, yet the stories remain embedded into stone, carried by rivers, and preserved in the voices of those who call Batu Niah home. – DayakDaily
