MAHMUD: The Choleric Spectrum in the Prism of History
Sultan Mahmud Muzaffarsyah can be likened to a spectrum—observed as a collection of colors, light, and waves. The era in which he lived was like a prism in Isaac Newton’s optical experiments—an object through which all fragments of color pass. If the entire dimension of Malay historical treasures, ancient literature, chronicles, remaining fragments, epic traces, axioms, and mythology were distilled into three words, they would be: Mahmud the Dissenter.
A deep bow of respect to Datok Seri Lela Budaya Rida K Liamsi—henceforth referred to as RDK—who has tirelessly written this book. Almost every element ever present in the grand scrolls of Malay history is encapsulated within it. Some are explicitly revealed, others implicitly, and yet more are presented as clues. It is our duty, and that of future generations, to decipher these enigmas.
When history is written by a historian, what we get is purely academic literature. However, when a cultural scholar undertakes the same task, they attempt to absorb all dimensions as a unified whole and condense vast historical timelines, much like how Saint Augustine, in De Civitate Dei, described history as the unfolding of divine will from the creation of the world to the Last Judgment. RDK’s historiography is a holistic fusion of text, context, energy, and philosophy. This book is more than just semi-historical—it is History Plus.
Classical Malay chronicles are divided into two major epochs: the era of the Zuriat Sang Sapurba myth and the political era of the Sultan Abdul Jalil Riayat Syah dynasty. The political assassination—according to RDK—of Sultan Mahmud Syah II (from the Sang Sapurba lineage), carried out by Laksamana Megat Sri Rama, marked the climax of centuries of melodramatic power struggles between four key factions: the Malays, the Bugis, the Dutch, and the British.
It seems no coincidence that, nearly a century later, on the other side of the world, the French Revolution erupted with the same outcome—the collapse of a mythical legitimacy. The spirit of the French Revolution was to enact radical change in an outdated system of governance. It was a relentless dissatisfaction with the rigid and oppressive Ancien Régime.
King Louis XVI and thousands of his followers were executed in 1793, a year after the establishment of the French Republic. But France, having escaped the jaws of the tiger, soon found itself in the maw of the crocodile. The ideals of liberté, égalité, fraternité in its early days seemed like a grand deception, merely to ignite the spirit of the French people as pawns of the revolution.
Then came the Reign of Terror under the dictatorship of Maximilien Robespierre, claiming the lives of 40,000 people. Robespierre himself met a dishonorable end in 1799, replaced by Napoleon Bonaparte, a former artillery officer who had risen to prominence.
Abdul Jalil Riayatsyah was the “Napoleon Bonaparte of the Malays”—but a hundred years earlier. Just as Napoleon replaced the French monarchy, whose legitimacy was shrouded in myths (1799), Abdul Jalil took over the throne from the mythical Sang Sapurba lineage (1699), both of them establishing hereditary political dynasties. Robespierre, in this context, was akin to Megat Sri Rama—merely a political instrument for Napoleon.
Meanwhile, the Meiji Restoration in Japan (1868)—four years after Sultan Mahmud Muzaffarsyah’s death—was the opposite. It restored imperial supremacy after Japan had been gripped by the military dictatorship of the Tokugawa Shogunate. The Meiji Restoration overturned the common notion that oppression was an inherent trait of feudalism.
In essence, the Sultan Mahmud Mangkat Dijulang event, the French Revolution, and the Meiji Restoration were all pivotal historical turning points that brought radical changes to their respective eras. However, what happened in the Malay world was unique because it was not driven by a mass popular movement but was instead a one-man show—highly personal in nature (one may also reflect on the stories of Sang Rajuna Tapa and Hang Jebat).
In this book, Mahmud—also a one-man show—who lived between 1823 and 1864, existed within a historical spectrum where nearly all major events in the Malay empire had already occurred, leaving him to bear the logical consequences.
The fall of the Sang Sapurba dynasty and the rise of Abdul Jalil Riayatsyah’s dynasty triggered a domino effect, notably the integration of Bugis aristocrats into the kingdom’s administration as a reward for helping thwart Raja Kecik’s (Sultan Abdul Jalil Syah of Siak Sri Inderapura) counterattack. Raja Kecik, a descendant of Sultan Mahmud Syah II, was raised in Pagaruyung and sought to reclaim his lineage’s throne.
Other significant events included the Riau War (1782–1784), the bankruptcy of the Dutch East India Company (VOC) on December 31, 1799, leading to full Dutch colonial rule, and the Anglo-Dutch Treaty of 1824, which divided the Malay Sultanate. This treaty was particularly disadvantageous for Riau-Lingga, as British governance in Singapore and the Malay Peninsula fostered capitalist-driven progress, whereas Dutch rule was more mercantilist—extracting wealth rather than building it.
The book also delves into intricate patrimonial dynamics, political marriages, the cold war between the Malays and the Bugis, the political involvement of the literary figure Raja Ali Haji, European cultural infiltration, 19th-century modernization—including Freemasonry ideology—the loyalties of pirate factions, the precarious position of the Riau-Lingga Kingdom, and the cunning machinations of the Dutch.
Dutch colonial rule, synonymous with divide et impera, exploited and exacerbated conflicts stemming from the Malay-Bugis Pact. The Yang Dipertuan Muda Riau (YDMR), a title granted to Bugis aristocrats, did not always share harmonious relations with the Yang Dipertuan Besar—the Malay sultan.
Apart from certain exceptions—such as Raja Haji Fisabilillah (YDMR IV), who was Sultan Mahmud Riayatsyah’s father-in-law, and Raja Jaafar (YDMR VI), who supported Tengku Abdurrahman’s coronation—the Bugis and Malays generally maintained distinct allegiances. Raja Idris, for example, was rejected multiple times as YDMR and exiled to Palembang due to his perceived support for the Malay faction.
With so many justifiable reasons, Mahmud became a dissenter, and in this book, he is positioned as the protagonist. After the VOC’s bankruptcy and the onset of full Dutch colonial rule in January 1800, the Malay Sultan’s power waned, his authority fragmented—both territorially (by the Anglo-Dutch Treaty) and administratively (by the YDMR’s influence), reducing him to a mere Dutch vassal.
Yet Mahmud’s resistance was unwavering. He refused to wage war but instead sought to reclaim his throne through diplomacy, politics, and international legal challenges against fraudulent treaties. This strategy was meticulously discussed with his confidants—Temenggung Ibrahim, Tun Mutahir, Wan Ahmad of Pahang, the Sultan of Terengganu, and his Parsi friend, Cursetjee.
Mahmud, a quintessential Choleric leader in the Hippocratic-Galenic personality theory, was bold, dynamic, independent, and a natural crisis manager. Among Malay rulers, he was perhaps the most European in outlook. His palace at the foot of Mount Sepincan reflected Victorian elegance, and his association with Cursetjee allegedly led him to join an ancient Jewish order—Freemasonry.
Ultimately, Mahmud’s defiance led to his deposition by the Dutch. Yet, he responded with a calculated political strategy—leveraging diplomatic networks and deploying pirate fleets to wage relentless assaults, proving that Dutch colonial forces could not subdue him through conventional means but only through treachery. ~
By Muhammad Natsir Tahar
(Foreword to Mahmud Sang Pembangkang – Rida K Liamsi)
Published by: Yayasan Jembia Emas
