Keeping the spirits
alive
She looked comfortably well-off, the type often labelled an Ibu-Ibu. Soberly dressed in muted colors and a full
headscarf, she seemed a model of Malaysian propriety.
But an hour earlier she’d been bare-shouldered in a clinging
batik shift floating face down in a spring-fed pool. Long fish darted past her broad hips. The
blue jilbab unwound as her hair swirled
among the pink petals cast on the surface.
On a stone shelf in
the blackness behind a younger local
woman sat cross-legged in front of produce from the world’s most fecund island.
Before the bathing she’d meditated in
total darkness.
As the Malaysian entered the water the Indonesian sang in kromo, the ancient high-caste language
of Java, with a backing chorus of frogcroak.
Bats zipped across the benign face of a pregnant yellow moon.
Blink and they’d gone. A black cat
rubbed legs wasting its contrived affection.
No meat among the offerings.
Had it prowled past a
Western wedding, marital harmony would have followed. For sure. Omens and superstition
are not exclusively Javanese.
Cattle lowed in mangers distant. The limp breeze flicked the two candles’
flames, though too weak to shift smoke from incense sticks and kretek cigarettes. A mosquitoes’ nirvana - but
the evil ones stayed away.
For worrying long moments it seemed the lady in the water
had perished and gone to another world.
Her body was corpse-still, the water unruffled. Slowly she drifted to
the side, touched the stones and came to life. Reluctantly she stepped out helped by ritual leader Nono Setyonggodo.
On the pool walls reliefs of the Tantri Tales, a Javanese
version of the One Thousand and One
Nights fable. Also a date from the
Saka Calendar: 1337. This placid place was built, or consecrated, in what we now call
1415.
So 600 years ago women were bathing here though minus
headscarves, for Islam had yet to reach every crevasse of the island.
In the East Java temple complex of Panataran [sometimes
spelt Penataran] the faith was Hindu. Imported from India it inspired priests
and architects, artists and craftsmen to build a splendid array of monuments on
the southwest slope of Mount Kelud, ten kilometers from the city of Blitar.
They took about 250 years to do the job. Later they fled east to Bali when the dynasty
collapsed through family feuds and the advance of Islam. The remains were
rediscovered in 1815 by Sir Stamford Raffles, the British governor of Java, and
partially reconstructed last century.
Panataran, once known as Palah, was a State temple dedicated
to the supreme god Siva. It may have
been the favorite sanctuary of Hayam Wuruk, the fourth monarch of the Majapahit
Empire. Although the largest Hindu
complex in East Java, Panataran is dwarfed by the 9th century
Prambanan temple near Yogyakarta.
The Majapahit ruled Java and surrounding lands aided by the cunningly
capable prime minister Gadjah Mada. This
was the archipelago’s Golden Age.
Also yet to come was the Duyfken
and three other pioneering Dutch barques.
They didn’t breast the horizon till 1596, changing everything with guns and Bibles.
We have the floating 48-year old lady’s name card, but
she’ll remain anonymous lest her relatives, friends and religious authorities in
Selangor discover her escapades in East Java.
They thought she was on a trade trip. In a way that’s true. Her business was seeking spiritual succour,
but the import barriers are high.
“I couldn’t do this in Malaysia,” she said of her
purification ritual. “Of course people look
for spiritual enlightenment, but you have to be careful in my country. I feel so calm and refreshed. Here there seem
to be no problems. Indonesia is so much more relaxed with religion.”
Indeed. There was
nothing furtive about this second of three ceremonies held during October and
November, Sura in the Javanese
calendar. Up to 50 people gathered to watch or participate around the
rectangular pool. The rite went on till early the next day, ending when the
food had been consumed.
Panataran’s caretakers work around the clock to prevent
pilfering and damage to the site on UNESCO’s World Heritage Tentative List. They knew what was underway and stayed
indifferent; likewise the courting couples giggling in the gloom, keener to
explore anatomy than archaeology.
Participants brought large trays of food and drink,
incongruously including a bottle of Johnnie
Walker to the ceremony. This got underway as the lunar light
increased. Birth dates were and translated into the Javanese calendar and
scrutinized. After eight women had submerged
and departed to dry in the shadows, more than 20 men followed in batches of
five.
“The water was cold but felt pure” said Made Polak, 58, chairman
of a Malang – based NGO after his
immersion. “Just before I entered the pool
I felt three electric shocks on my back.
“It’s the second time I’ve done this. Some are seeking a cure – in my case from a
face twitch following bungled surgery.
It went away but has returned.
“I was told that a big fish swam over my shoulder when I was
in the water. What does it mean? I don’t know! Perhaps my ancestor was a fish.
“We are trying to link the macrocosm and microcosm, to get
closer to nature and resolve conflict.
“I’m one of only two Hindus here. The others are Muslims and
Catholics. This ritual is Javanese, but
it contains elements of other faiths.
What does it matter? We are all
human and God is unlimited.”
Some men had TRI LOKO and Indonesian sentences stencilled on
their shirts, a reference to the differently spelt Hindu concept of Tri Loka – the physical world, that of the ancestors
and the world of the gods.
The Indonesian words translate as: ‘Three different realms
are fused into one unified whole.’
Nono Setyonggodo, 58, didn’t ‘t seem hung up about his
responsibilities, often retreating for a chat and a filtertip. How to describe
him? He rejected ‘seer’ and ‘sage’ but
settled for sesepuh. This translates as ‘elder’ which seems
inadequate.
“This is Java’s
traditional belief,” he said. “Some call
it Kebatinan. [The government has
resisted attempts to accept Kebatinan as an approved faith and classifies it as a
cultural practise.]
“This ceremony is Ruwatan.
Participants are seeking peace within and a resolution of problems. If unsuccessful I tell them they’re not ready
yet.
“ Men and women are equal;
there’s no discrimination. If you want to make a donation you can. You decide and how much. If you can’t, no
problems.
“There are other Majapahit
Era pools in places like Trawas and Singosari. We use Panataran because there
are no distractions; it’s central for our followers. We have about 1000.
“I used to be a mechanic.
I got my knowledge of meditation from my grandfather. He told me I could not practise till I had
three grandchildren, which I now have.
Much of the literature was taken by the Dutch to museums in Holland.
“The food represents everything natural. We used to use tuak [fermented palm wine] but we are modern so include whisky.
“We respect all religions. We are not in dispute. Everyone
has their own way to God, to try and understand life and who we are.
“We don’t have trouble because people know this is a Javanese
mystical tradition. We are conserving
our culture.”
The following morning schoolchildren swarmed over
Panataran’s temples on an educational excursion, filling their notebooks with
dates. Had they explored beyond their
teachers’ instructions and peered
closely at some carvings they’d have enjoyed an illustrated lesson in the
contortions of human reproduction.
Those by the bathing pool, where the pictures are family-friendly,
were more interested in the fish than the figurines.
No sign of the previous night’s event. Not a petal, not a grain of rice, not a flake
of incense ash. Nothing. All gone, like the people who created this
magic place. The ceremony could have
been staged hours –or centuries – ago.
(Historical
information on Panataran gleaned from published research by Drs Lydia Kieven
and Ann Kinney.)'
(First published in J Plus - The Jakarta Post 17 January 2916)
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