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(Source: The Sunday Times, September
8, 2002)
It is not just the living who get married. In a small temple near
Tanjong Pagar, even the dead gets a chance at wedded bliss. Tan
Shzr Ee says welcome to the ritual of the ghost marriage
You could call it, literally, the SDU of Hell. For 96 years, a
shack squatting in a Tanjong Pagar plot the size of two tennis
courts has been playing marriage bureau to the Single, Dead and
Unsettled.
Hugging the leafy curve of Peck Seah Street behind the buzz of
International Plaza, it is the Seng Wong Beo Temple, home of the
City God Cheng Huang, the patron of departed souls.
Could the spirits of dead men and women be joined in eternal bliss
under its gritty gables?
A cheerful matron dressed in the Ah Soh gear of a flowery viscose
blouse thinks so.
Looking a decade younger than her 60 years, "Madam Tham", as she
is known, is the fourth-generation custodian of the religious
site.
"Some people call it superstition. Some people call it culture and
heritage," she says in Mandarin with a happy shrug. "But we just
do what we do."
The temple, one of the older ones in Singapore, was founded in
1904 by a Reverend Swee Oi from Quanzhou, China. He performed
religious rites for early Chinese coolies living in Tanjong Pagar.
Upon the monk's death in 1953, the grounds were passed on to his
disciples. Madam Tham took over the building from her husband's
family eight years ago. They, in turn, had received the site from
one of Reverend Swee Oi's men.
Over the years, Seng Wong Beo has become famous for its rituals
for the dead - in particular, weddings.
 
Hot Property: Garish paper houses
that can cost a few hundred dollars are thrown into a furnace.
Matchmaker Madam
Madam Tham says she has supervised a few hundred "ghost"
engagements.
She relates a typical love plot: A dead, unborn child, miscarried
some 20 years ago, is looking for a partner in the underworld.
He appears to his parents in a dream, requesting a form wedding to
be held with his chosen bride. In the same dream, the fiancée's
residence is indicated by "symbols" such as the bride's family's
address - usually incomplete - and car model.
In theory, both sets of living parents trace each other and make
contact through the interlocking "dream" clues.
But circumstances may differ in practice.
"The signals may not be so clear," says Madam Tham. "So, we
provide a matchmaking service."
You can shudder at the absurd thought of horny ghouls lurking in
the porcelain vases of classic Hong Kong movie plots, literally
dying to make whoopee. But Madam Tham reassures you that reality
is nothing quite so sinister.
There is only good business sense at work here: She knows, simply,
how to keep a log of temple clients.
"In this line, we collect records," she says.
"We meet all sorts of people coming to cast for lots and seek
help. They come with all sorts of ailments and personal
histories."
"We know who's lost children, who's had strange experiences, and
we find suitable ghost candidates to introduce to each other."
The dead couple are introduced through small rituals at ancestral
altars. After casting more lots and interpreting dreams, the
success of a match is determined.
When a love deal is struck, a wedding date is set and a paper
trousseau is prepared as a burnt offering.
Last Wednesday, on the third last day of the Seventh Month, two
sets of match-made "in-laws" gathered at the temple's inner hall
to celebrate one such wedding.
The handful of relatives, braving an early morning thunderstorm,
make a quiet, awkward assembly at the site. It is their first time
there.
A woman about 60 years old, who has been receiving "dream signs"
from her son miscarried 30 years ago, is here to help him wed his
mate in the underworld.
On the other side, siblings of the departed bride have agreed to
attend the ceremony.
Cardboard furniture including a nuptial bed, a red Mercedes-Benz
and a karaoke set bearing CD trays, stand sentinel-like in front
of an altar. It is a spooky but surreal party.
 
Temple grounds: Every day, many
people walk past the Seng Wong Beo Temple on Peck Seah Street
behind International Plaza.
Presiding Taoist priest Lu Rong Xin, 48, gestures at the set-up
and says casually in Mandarin: "I've been doing this for so many
years, I'm no longer scared by what I see."
Garish paper suits and dresses lined with fake lace are stacked
into boxes. Each clothing set costs a few dollars and suites of
furniture can go up to a hundreds of dollars.
The costs are usually born by the boy's side. Every thing will
eventually be thrown into a furnace in the inner chamber.
Says Madam Tham: "People think it is a waste, after all the
workmanship. But if you do things like this, you have to do it
properly."
Just next door in the main temple hall, other worshippers go about
their routine obliviously, swishing incense sticks in front of
scarred statues blackened by nine decades of soot.
"No money for refurbishment - we're barely surviving now," Madam
Tham explains.
Half-opened packets of sweet spill over carefully arranged fruit
which sit as offerings on altars.
Tucked away surreptitiously behind the rails of a less-sacred
corner, pink plastic bags and rags compose themselves into an
unlikely still life.
It could be any temple, anywhere in Singapore.
But when the priest finally lights up incense straws in front of
paper effigies of the bridal couple, a hush descends upon the
hall.
The pair of white-faced lovers are prayed over and manipulated
like large Barbie dolls, now bent over to take their vows in front
of temple gods.
There is no sudden burst of the "paranormal"; the puppets do not
come to life. There is not event the faintest sign of a blown-out
candle or the eerie green halos of light immortalized in B-grade
horror movies.
Yet the air is still; the hair on your arm begins to stand.
 
Elaborate and traditional Chinese
design kind of altar
History and Heritage
It becomes harder to draw the thin line as to where religion
leaves superstition to become the all encompassing, politically
correct C-word: Culture.
But for Madam Tham, the boundaries become clear when forces bigger
than her deities - the Urban Redevelopment Authority, for one-
move into the picture.
Each month, she has to renew her Temporary Occupation License for
the temple. She pays the Government $600 to keep the site safe
from bulldozers and building plans.
She does not look rich. She does not look like a charlatan. She
looks kindly, too business-like and sensible to be the mysterious
custodian who dabbles in dark rituals.
A happily married mother of two grown-up children, she belongs to
the living, normal world, just like the relatives of the "ghost"
couple who are human enough to fidget in unfamiliar surroundings
and swat morning mosquitoes preying on their sandaled legs.
One of them - the mother of the miscarried son, a limping plump
woman - sobs silently as she watches her living children take part
in what would have been a happy ritual.
She herself, being a "senior," cannot offer incense to her unborn,
dead child. But she stays till the paper rings are exchanged and
trousseau finally lined up for burning.
The ceremony itself takes an hour and ends at 9am, when the last
offerings are cremated into hell, just before the MRT rush around
Shenton Way kicks in. It is the start of another week day.
"Everyone - the relatives - have to go to work," Madam Tham says
perkily, sounding startlingly matter-of-fact.
"So, we perform the rituals early in the morning to suit their
timetables."
For indeed, now we are talking about real people with real
deadlines and situations that even the dead cannot interfere with:
sticky office protocol and finicky supervisors.
Many who walk past the temple every day still stop to steal a
stare. They are amused by its incongruous, sordid co-existence
with the clean suits and coffee-percolated smells of the Central
Business District.
But while they may refer to it as the SDU of Hell, the gesture is
only a careless joke, a meek and half-hearted attempt at coming to
terms with their own spirituality and disappearing heritage.
 
1. The tiger has a pair of spooky
green eyes; 2. Group of idols; 3 - 4. Candles worship
Old Habits Die Hard
Why do "ghosts" need to be married off?
According to temple custodian Madam Tham, cycles of reincarnation
in Taoist mythology take at least 200 years. This means that
"rules" active in Hell remain backdated to the Qing dynasty
(1644-1911).
In those times, only persons of adult status - either proven
through marriage or through a scholarly qualification - could eat
at the table.
Children and the unmarried could only eat below the table.
As a result, the "spirits" of miscarried fetuses or young children
would not be able to take in the incense offered at family altars.
A "ghost wedding" therefore was needed to upgrade their status and
meal-tickets.
 
Outer and inner worship halls
History of Seng Wong Beo Temple
The temple was founded by Reverend Swee Oi from China. The
Reverend whose family name was Huang, was educated and well versed
in poetry. He was an imperial scholar during the Qing dynasty.
However his keen interest in Buddhism led his decision to become a
monk. (Another version said he became a monk after he losed his
job from the imperial dynasty.) He was ordained in Fuzhou Quanzhou.
He later came to Singapore where he saw many Chinese who sailed in
boats from China and settled mainly in the Tanjung Pagar and Telok
Ayer areas. They worked mostly as labourers in the harbour and
also as rickshaw pullers. Their life was hard. Falling ill and
feeling lonely and home-sick were common. Their hardship touched
Reverend Swee Oi who then decided to build a temple in Tanjung
Pagar. He wanted these people to have a place where they can
worship and pray for the well being of their loved ones back home
in China.
The temple was first built in the 31st year of the Qing Emperor
Guang Xu's reign. Two years later, the then Chinese Consul to
Singapore, Zuo Bing Long, personally wrote a tablet and presented
it as a gift to the temple. The tablet still hangs in the main
prayer hall of the temple.
The temple worships the City god. According to Chinese beliefs,
the City god guards the city from evil. Devotees come to the
temple to pray for the country's peace and prosperity, for the
triumph of good over evil and for the good health of all. The City
god rewards good deeds and punishes the evil ones. He also has the
responsibility to guide souls of the dead to the underworld. His
temple has been and continues to be a place of solace for its many
devotees.
 
1. Portrait of the founder monk; 2
- 4. News reports about the temple, in Chinese
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