The Forgotten People of Borneo: How the Lepuun Vanished from History

Ancestors of the Punan? Unraveling the Lost Ties of the Lepuun

A klirieng (burial pole), an enduring symbol of high-status burials in Lepuun culture, stands near the Pila River (now known as Nanga Pila). Its presence hints at the Lepuun’s historical ties to this region and raises the possibility that their descendants—part of the broader Punan cultural network—may still carry echoes of their heritage here.

The Vanished People of Borneo: The Forgotten Story of the Lepuun

Deep in the forests of Borneo, among the winding rivers and ancient burial poles, lies a forgotten chapter of history. It is the story of the Lepuun, a people whose name has nearly faded from memory but whose legacy endures in the oral traditions of the Punan. Though written records offer little, the voices of elders, the scattered ruins, and the echoes of old alliances whisper a tale of power, betrayal, and survival.

A Lost Identity: Who Were the Lepuun?

The Lepuun once thrived along the Upper Rejang River, between the Bikei and Pelagus Rapids. Their leader, Saran Syuan, ruled during an era of shifting alliances and tribal conflicts. Their neighbors, the Baan, lived downstream, and together they shared a complex relationship with other groups that moved through the region.

But history took a turn. By the early 20th century, the lands once occupied by the Lepuun had new inhabitants—the Iban and Beketan, migrants from other parts of Borneo. The towering klirieng burial poles, once sacred markers of their ancestors, stood as some of the last remnants of a vanished people. Today, only one remains in its original location at Pila, a silent testament to a lost civilization.

A Breach of Trust: Conflict with Outsiders from the Upper Kapuas

Punan oral traditions paint a complex picture of the period following Eniak Jayung’s disruptive presence along the Rejang River. While peace returned temporarily after Galau’s departure to Tatau, a new threat emerged. Outsiders from the Upper Kapuas region challenged the Lepuun’s security.

The narrative introduces the “Ivan” or “Iban,” who allegedly exploited a potential historical connection with the Lepuun. The Punan term “Ivan” translates to “in-law,” suggesting a possible past intermarriage or alliance between the two groups. This potential kinship may have fostered a sense of trust among the Lepuun, making them more susceptible to manipulation.

The oral narrative suggests that the Beketan people may have unwittingly played a role in this conflict. While the Lepuun may have harboured some suspicion towards the Beketan, the trust implied by the “in-law” term within Punan language may have clouded their judgment. It’s possible that the Beketan, through interactions or even kinship ties with both the Iban and Lepuun, became unwitting informants. The narrative suggests they may have inadvertently revealed details about the Lepuun and Baan’s defences, including farming schedules, group sizes, and settlement patterns. This information could have been exploited by the Iban to launch targeted raids on dispersed Lepuun and Baan communities at their outlying farms (“lopou pura”).

But what happened next was even more devastating.

As the raids intensified, the Lepuun faced a choice—stand and fight or flee into the unknown. Their once-thriving communities fractured, and their presence in the region began to fade. Some disappeared into the dense forests, while others sought refuge among distant kin.

Yet, their story didn’t end there. Clues to their fate still linger in oral traditions, hidden in the names of rivers, in burial poles weathered by time, and in the echoes of a people who may have never truly vanished.

Could the Lepuun’s descendants still walk among us today—under a different name, in a different world?