An elegantly delivered message

Historically, the pantun has served as a form of giving ‘political meaning’, encoding values such as consensus and communal responsibility.

PISANG emas dibawa belayar,

Masak sebiji di atas peti;

Hutang emas boleh dibayar,

Hutang budi dibawa mati.

To me, these four lines comprise the most iconic pantun (Malay poetic verse) in the Malay world. Translated into English, it means:

Sailing away with gold bananas,

One ripens on the chest;

Debts of gold can be repaid,

But debts of gratitude follow us to the grave.

The closest English saying I could find – though lacking the rhythmic elegance of the Malay verse – is likely the proverb, “Gratitude is the sign of noble souls”.

We were taught that pantun at school, and it has stuck with me through the years as a core value.

It teaches us that while financial obligations are transactional and finite, a “debt of the heart”, or budi, is eternal.

Nowadays, as someone who writes about politics, it still resonates deeply. When my good friends in politics lose their seats or fall from grace, I make it a point to go for coffee

with them. It is my way of showing that even in defeat, I appreciate the friendship and the political insights they shared while in power.

Politicians will know who their real friends are when they lose power. I’m currently in my hometown of Kota Kinabalu and some of them here have complained so and so no longer responds to their messages, which brought all this to mind.

Anyway, I digress.

Pantun is beautiful because of its unique four-line structure. It consists of the pembayang (the first two lines, or the foreshadowing) and the maksud (the final two lines, the actual message). The pembayang usually evokes nature and everyday imagery – in this case, bananas and sailing – which creates a bridge to the moral truth delivered in the maksud.

This specific verse is often cited in linguistic studies by scholars – such as Andi Mustofa of Universitas Negeri Yogya-karta, Indonesia (2020) – for its perfect use of the caesura (a rhythmic pause) and its ability to deliver profound moral and social values with great linguistic economy. It is a masterclass in saying a lot by saying very little.

Early yesterday morning, I was coincidentally thinking of this very pantun when a close contact sent me a media statement by the Tengku Mahkota of Pahang, Tengku Hassanal Ibrahim Alam Shah Al-Sultan Abdullah Ri’ayatudin Al-Mustafa Billah Shah. The statement was brief, but it was loaded with tanda tanya (question marks).

In Malay the statement came to a mere 51 words; here it is in English: “I take note of the statement made by the Most Honour-able Prime Minister. In this regard, I wish to emphasise the State of Pahang’s right to fair treatment and equitable consideration.

“Pisang emas dibawa belayar,

“Masak sebiji di atas peti;

“Hutang emas boleh dibayar,

“Hutang budi dibawa mati.

“Sekian [that’s all, or respectfully].”

The context for this royal message in pantun may stem from a recent back-and-forth over federal allocations.

While officiating at the Pahang State Legislative Assembly on Friday, Tengku Hassanal questioned the distribution of funds, noting that although RM3.386bil had been approved for various projects, he expected transparency and the absence of leakages.

Anwar responded by promising a comprehensive briefing from Finance Minister II Datuk Seri Amir Hamzah Azizan, insisting that Pahang’s allocation is “substantial”.

By ending his statement with that specific pantun, the Tengku Mahkota wasn’t just being poetic; he was reaching into the very heart of Malay diplomacy.

The pantun is not merely a folk verse; it is a sophisticated literary device. To understand why it carries such weight, one must examine its origins and role in South-East Asian society. Historically, the pantun has served as a form of giving “political meaning”, encoding values such as consensus and communal responsibility.

According to scholars such as Henk Maier (2017) as well as Norshahril Saat and Azhar Ibrahim in 2014 (often cited alongside Hussin Mutalib), the pantun has long been used to express dissent and social critique through metaphor. It allows the speaker to navigate sensitive power dynamics – such as those between a state ruler and the federal government – without provoking direct repression or open confrontation.

In Malaysia, politicians have long used the pantun as a strategic tool of diplomacy, a rhetorical flourish to soften a blow, or a witty jab to outmanoeuvre an opponent on the Dewan Rakyat floor. Such poetry can serve as a subtle yet potent signal.

The deployment of traditional verses within the friction of federal-state relations or party disputes allows debts of gratitude and other grievances to be interpreted through various lenses.

Pantun act as a sophisticated reminders of the delicate reciprocity between the centre and the states – a hint, perhaps, that national stability often rests upon the cooperation of regional powers, or perhaps as a public insistence that the budi shown to the rakyat is a moral debt the government is bound to honour.

The pantun works like a velvet glove: it allows a person to be firm but remain polite.

The pantun is a part of the DNA of Malaysian communication, a way to say the most difficult things with the most beautiful words.