THE DIËNG
Where Silence undisturbed might watch alone,
So cold, so bright, so still.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, _Queen Mab_.
Where five residencies--Samarang, Pekalongan, Banyumas, the Bagelen
and the Kadu--meet between two seas, the wonderland of the Diëng links
the eastern and western chain of volcanoes which are the vertebrae of
Java’s spine. The Diëng plateau, the first part created, as tradition
goes, and destined to remain longest above water in the island’s final
destruction and submersion, is nothing but a huge crater. Nature, in her
most mysterious mood, exercises here a charm of a peculiar character,
well expressed by the name, according to the Javanese derivation from
_adi aëng_, _i.e._ marvellously beautiful.[22] The temples in this
region belong to the oldest and finest if by no means the largest of
Java. The discovery of a stone with a Venggi inscription has led to the
conjecture that the Hindu settlement to which we owe them, originated
from the Priangan; other indications point to immigration directly
from Southern India. However this may be, the dates ascertained (one
in an inscription reproduced by me in 1885 for further examination at
Batavia, leaving the stone in the place where I had found it) from 731
Saka (A.D. 809) on, witness to the lost civilisation of the Diëng having
reached its apogee at the time the Abbassides flourished in Baghdad and
the Omayyads in Cordova. How it rose, declined and fell, we do not know.
For four centuries its memory lived only as a fantastic tale, the Diëng
remaining utterly deserted, a wilderness of mountain and forest,
inhabited by devils and demons of the Khara and Dushana type.
Resettled since about 1800, its villages increase in number and size,
and its wild animals, big and small, disappear gradually, though the
tigers are still troublesome, evincing a growing disposition to vary
their accustomed fare with domestic kine and sheep. The sombre woods are
gone and efforts at reafforestation gave so far no perceptible results.
The ground yields abundant crops of cabbage, onions and tobacco, in
which a lively trade is done with Chinese middlemen, who buy for the
merchants at Pekalongan, whence the product is shipped to larger centres
of trade. These middlemen congregate principally at Batoor, a prosperous
village, where travellers to the Diëng, arriving from that side, will
appreciate the hospitable disposition of the _wedono_, the native chief
of the district. Many a one has been entertained under his roof, looked
down upon from the _palupooh_ (split bambu) walls by the Royal Family of
Great Britain and Kaiser Wilhelm in chromolithographic splendour, while
discussing a substantial lunch or arranging for sleeping accommodation
if too tired to push on, or desirous of visiting the Pakaraman, the
valley of death, at break of day when the uncanny manifestations of
that place of horror are strongest. Another source of income for
some of the Chinamen of Batoor and their henchmen of the Diëng is
opium smuggling. The geographical position, commanding access to five
administrative divisions of the island at once, lends itself admirably
to that lucrative business. And if the smugglers cater to a low vice,
they can advance an excuse logically unanswerable by those in authority
who punish them when caught: they satisfy but a demand, in competition
with the Government that created it, introduced the drug and encourages
its use, artificially whetting a depraved appetite and demoralising the
children of the land for the sake of more revenue.
Often though I went up to forget the cares of exacting duties in happy
holidays on the Diëng, trying the different approaches, the impressions
of my first ascent in October 1885 are freshest in my memory. Starting
from Wonosobo, I preferred to a more direct route the roundabout way via
Temanggoong, spending a day on the road between the twin volcanoes
Soombing and Sindoro, enjoying the views to right and left, every new
turn disclosing new wonders: mountain slopes basking in the warmth which
radiated triumphantly from a sky of dazzling brightness, valleys of
perfect loveliness losing their brilliant hues in the shades of evening
as if a curtain fell between the world left and the world entered. The
following morning early I rode from Temanggoong in a thick mist which,
rolling away before the sun, uncovered a landscape more and more rugged
as I passed Parakan and Ngadirejo, but always more charming, a feast
to the eye. Near Ngadirejo the _chandis_ Perot and Pringapoos claimed
my attention. Built for the worship of Siva, his _sakti_ Doorga and
their eldest son, they offered a sad spectacle of decay, the former
crumbling away in the baneful embrace of a gigantic tamarind, one of
whose branches rose from the midst of the ruin straight up to heaven,
overshadowing Ganesa, the conqueror of obstacles, in his meditations;
the latter holding an image of Siva’s _vahana_ or _nandi_, the bull,
symbol of his creative power, still an object of veneration as the
_boreh_ indicated, the walls of the temple being decorated with splendid
bas-reliefs representing a scene from Javanese history or mythology,
analogous to the rape of the Sabine women.[23] Farther on, surprise
succeeding surprise, lies Joomprit, another delicious spot, sanctified
by a holy grave, at the source of the Progo. The water, gushing forth
from the mouth of a cavern and trickling down its sides, is immediately
lost to sight in a declivity among the ferns. Curious monkeys herd
round, led by their brawny chief, imperious like Hanoman, born from the
wind, swinging through space, commanding the simian army of Sugriva:
they constitute one of the few colonies of sacred apes which form a
living link with the Hindu epoch; that of Gaja Moongkoor on the Diëng
has ceased to exist.
[Illustration: II. _CHANDI_ PRINGAPOOS
(Archaeological Service through Charls and van Es.)]
From Joomprit on, it was pretty steep climbing to a point where, at a
sudden turn, I beheld the lowlands, far beneath the clouds gathering
round me, fair plains resting under their hazy veil of midday repose,
calm and undisturbed. Drinking deep of the invigorating mountain air, I
noticed the red cheeks of the women and girls who returned from market
in little groups. After descending to the tea-plantations of Tambi,
the clambering up began again, pretty hard for my pony, to which I
gave an occasional rest, looking back over hills and valleys as they
dissolved in soft-melting tints, impressing the beholder with a sense
of eternal light in limitless space. Wonder akin to awe seized me
when, panorama-like, a landscape of silent grandeur, quite different
from the graceful majesty of the rose-gardens of Wonosobo and the
palm-groves of Temanggoong, unfolded itself. I was on the Diëng plateau.
Notwithstanding the late hour, my admiration of the scenery having made
my progress slow, I could not resist the temptation to dismount and
follow the trail which led me down to the source of the Serayu beside
the road, and pay my compliments to the shade of stalwart Bimo by way of
introduction to the regions resounding in its temples with his exploits
and those of other worthies sung in the _Brata Yuda_.[24] Nor indeed
only in its temples: this same delightful retreat commemorates Bimo’s
prowess according to a legend which in its astonishing account of his
supernatural virility cannot be repeated. Enough to say that Arjuno,
making him dig up the _toog_ Bimo, on the advice of Samār, the wily,
was the first, by determining the course of the Serayu, to direct the
water from the mountains of Central Java to the sea, therewith obtaining
the realm of Ngastino. And whoever takes a bath, alone and at night, in
the water springing from mother earth under the _pohoon chemeti_, the
weeping willow of Bimo’s fountain, will have no occasion for certain
elixirs largely advertised in daily and weekly papers, will retain
youthful vigour into hoariest age.
It was dark when I arrived at the _pasangrahan_, the Government
rest-house, received first by a shaggy, plumetailed dog of the Diëng
variety, suspicious of strangers. Her name proved to be Sarama,
suggesting classical associations not sustained, I am sorry to record,
by her master, mine host, a Swiss, retired from service in the Dutch
colonial army and put in charge of the place. Speaking innumerable
languages and every one of them as if it were a _lingua franca_
composed of all the others, he showed me my room, took orders for my
supper and made me comfortable, the broad, perpetual smile on his
honest face illumining our polyglot conversation. Alas! Wielandt is no
more. Indra, who knows men’s hearts, has certainly assigned to this
diamond, more polished, presumably, in its celestial than in its former
terrestrial state, a worthy station among the jewels of the city of
bliss, Amaravati. A man of family instincts, good Wielandt left several
daughters, at the time of my visit of initiation extremely shy little
girls; and a son, then Sinjo Endrik, the obliging and attentive, ever
ready to act as a guide to and otherwise to assist his father’s guests
on their excursions, now Tuan Endrik, his father’s successor in the
_pasangrahan_, while one of his brothers-in-law keeps a small, private
hotel, opened to meet the increasing influx of sightseers and seekers
of health. The Diëng plateau, especially in the dry season, would be an
ideal site for a sanatorium. The sufferer from the debilitating heat on
the coast in the enervating conditions of a continuous struggle for the
next dollar or official preferment with fatter salary, may find there
rest and a cool climate. Going to the bath-room before setting out early
on some expedition, I have often found miniature icicles pendent from
the _panchuran_, the water conduit, and riding off, have often heard,
in crossing a puddle, the thin coating of ice crackle under the hoofs
of my pony. Sometimes, at sunrise, the few remaining temples stand out
white, the whole plateau being covered with frost, which makes a strange
impression on one who but the day before yesterday sweltered in the
fiery furnace of, for instance, the Heerenstraat at Samarang.
Waking up the morning after my first arrival, feeling cold, though
the scene my eyes met was not quite so severely wintry as that just
described, my dreams seemed to continue in reality. I beheld a tranquil
plain different in its bright serenity from everything I had so far seen
anywhere else, the Bimo temple rising to the left and the Arjuno group
to the right, sharply outlined against the hills and the sky, their
dark-gray colour in wonderful harmony with the verdure of earth and
the blue expanse of heaven. One moment they appeared near in the clear
atmosphere as if I could seize them with my hand, and then again very,
very far, never to be approached. A vapour, clinging to the slope of
the Pangonan in the direction of the Kawah Kidang, reminded me of the
tremendous cosmic energy entering into the composition of this soothing
stillness, this tonic for the sick and worried, with the certainty of
annihilation as final pledge of freedom. Once a lake of seething lava,
the plateau lies enclosed by the tops of five mountains, the Prahu,
Sroyo, Bismo, Nogosari and Jimat, 2050 metres above the level of the
sea; the Pangonan and Pagar Kandang are old eruptive cones, formed
of the mud and sand thrown out, which accumulated at their bases and
raised the surrounding ground. The plateau in its narrower sense is
now a flat stretch of turf, in places, especially in the middle, a
morass, called the Rawa Baleh Kambang for its northern, and the Rawa
Glonggong for its southern part. Ruins have been found everywhere in
the plain and up the slopes of the hills, even up to the summit of the
Prahu. Here stand stone posts in a row, used by Arjuno, according to
the legend, to tether his elephants, while his cows, after grazing on
the Pangonan, were corralled for the night in the hollow of the Pagar
Kandang, lit. “fence of the cattle-pen”; there, as in Diëng Kidool,
layers of ashes among the slags and other debris, mark the situation
in the past of the burning-grounds, which yield a steady harvest of
bronze and gold finger-rings, bracelets, anklets and other objects of
personal adornment. Ancient aqueducts, walls, staircases, foundations of
secular buildings, clustered round the temples, remains of an important
religious centre, so various and rich that Junghuhn did not exaggerate
when calling them inexhaustible, suggest the existence, once upon a
time, in those mountain wilds, of a Javanese Benares, minus the Ganges
but plus a setting of unceasing volcanic activity, which demolished it
by a sudden, violent outbreak. Such suggestions need only the seconding
of one of the learned to be utterly ridiculed by his equally learned
brethren of an opposite school.... We will let the matter rest at
that and simply enjoy the actual calm of a landscape evidently exposed
to destruction at the shortest notice, of nature recuperating from
outrageous debauch.
Voices solemn and sweet summon to close communion with the power behind
those manifestations, the universal soul of things human and superhuman,
infernal and divine. One look more at the strip of turf which clasps
the mysteries as a girdle embossed with gems, the Arjuno and Bimo
shrines, shining in the splendour of early morning,--we shall return
to them after our stroll of orientation. In the _dessa_ Diëng Wetan,
close to the _pasangrahan_, is, or rather was, the _watu rawit_, a wall
constructed of big blocks of stone, two portions of which still exist
with a narrow staircase, hewn on a smaller scale, leading to the coping.
The structure, largely drawn upon for building material, goes also by
the name of _benteng_ (fort of) Buddha, an appellation incompatible
with the Sivaïte origin of Diëng architecture and a contradiction in
terms besides, considering the character of Gautama’s teaching; but in
native parlance everything connected with the Hindu period is referred
to as belonging to the _jaman buda_, while the expression _agama
buda_ includes every pre-Muhammadan ancestral religion. Via Patak
Banteng, Jojogan and Parikesit the _dessa_ Simboongan may be reached,
until recently the highest in Java (2078 metres). Founded in 1815 by
the grandfather of the present _lurah_, or chief of the village, its
inhabitants, on whose stature and colour of skin the cool climate has
had a visible influence, are very prosperous, their principal occupation
being the preparation of a hair-oil from the seeds of the _gandapura_
(_Hibiscus Abelmoschus_). Simboongan lies on the west bank of Telaga
Chebong, one of the many lakes which add to the indescribable charm
of the Diëng, some possessing uncanny echoes, some being yellow and
sulphurous, some of ever changing hue, some of crystalline clearness
and stocked with goldfish, while the marshy shores are a favourite
haunt of _meliwis_, a kind of duck much prized as food and becoming
correspondingly scarce. Proceeding to Sikunang we get beautiful views in
the direction of Batoor, hidden among its Chinese graves and orchards
as in an airy robe of white and green; along the mountain rills which
hasten impetuously to the valley of Banjarnegara, meeting in the
radiance of the sun’s promise for union with the sea; down to the
ricefields of Temanggoong, resplendent at the feet of the high mountains
which keep guard over the Kadu, a paradise dominated by the sister
volcanoes Soombing and Sindoro, a joy to behold.
Passing Sikunang and turning round the Gunoong Teroos, a spur of the
Pakuojo, we notice some trachyte steps, the head of a staircase made
for the convenience of pilgrims from what is now the residency Bagelen,
to the city of temples, an ascent of five thousand feet. Over a long
distance, following the course of the river Lawang, that gigantic
roadway can be traced far below Telaga Menjer by stones left in holes
from which it was not easy to remove them for building purposes.
Another of these _ondo buda_ on the north side of the plateau, served
the pilgrims coming from what is now the residency Pekalongan, via Deles
and Sigamploong, and disappeared in the same manner. Descending, a smell
of sulphur announces a lion of the Diëng of a less innocent, in fact of
a decidedly satanic aspect: on this soil always the unsuspected turns
up, the remains of an ancient civilisation forcing themselves upon our
attention together with impressive reminders of the subterranean forces
which extinguished it. From a number of cavities on the slope of the
Pangonan, bare of vegetation, a picture of desolation, noxious vapours
rise and bubbles of mud are blown forth and burst with a rumbling noise.
High above the rest works the Kawah Kidang, the deer-kettle, spouting
and growling, throwing the hot liquid round with relish, and it is
advisable to keep her well to leeward on her days of gala, for she
changes frequently her aim and her mood, an index of Kala’s disposition
when stirring the bowels of the earth. Being the pulse of the Diëng,
so to speak, she is regularly excited to fiercer exertion by the rainy
season, differing also in this particular from the Chondro di Muka,
her rival near the Pakaraman, with whom she has been confused even by
geographers of name, greatly to her disparagement since she commands
a considerably wider sphere of influence, not scrupling to encroach
upon the domain of her neighbours by moving about. Wherever one pokes
into the ground within her sphere of action, the steam rushes out and
seething puddles are formed; it is wary walking and the wise will take
warning from the foolhardy Contrôleur whose curiosity prompted him a
step too far: sinking through the upper crust into the boiling mud,
he had his legs so badly burnt that he died of the consequences and
was buried at Wonosobo instead of marrying his Resident’s daughter at
Poorworejo.
With its mofettes, solfataras, steam-holes, mud-geysers, sulphurous
lakes, its treacherously opening and closing chasms,[25] last but
not least its notorious valley of death,[26] the Diëng is the region
above all others in volcanic Java, of miracles that expound the
antagonism between fratricide life and death on our turbulent planet,
which continuously prepares for or recovers from spasms of generative
destruction. One of these spasms, on a grander scale than usual in
the short span of human history, was the eruption of Krakatoa in
1883; which raised and submerged islands, shaking and altering the
Straits of Soonda, a resultant tidal wave razing the towns of Anyer
and Cheringin. The Diëng, some three hundred miles off, responded
faithfully, as might have been expected, the Kawah Kidang roaring and
splashing mud furiously, the wall of the crater-lake Chebong cracking
in several places, so that part of its water, instead of flowing
through the old channel, now seeks its way through the fissures thus
created, remunerative tobacco-fields being transformed into swamps. Such
disasters preach an eloquent sermon on the text, hewn in stone by the
builders of the temples here erected to Siva as Kala, the Overthrower,
and, transmitted with the wisdom of ages by a later religion, happily
expressed by the German poet:
_Was hilft es Menschen seyn, was liebe Blumen küssen,
Wann sie sind schöne zwar, doch balde nichts seyn müssen?_[27]
The news that a troop of strolling players had arrived, dispelled,
however, ideas of that sort, unpalatable truth never proving successful
against the pleasurable excitement of the moment. They were going to
perform at the house of the reputedly wealthiest man of the plateau
and not the less highly considered by his neighbours because caught
redhanded, not once but repeatedly, in handling the forbidden, as I
heard afterwards. Living near one of the enclosures traditionally
associated with the pyres which were extinguished when the Hindu
priests deserted their altars, he gave the _ton_ to the upper ten of
Diëng society, “disporting like any other fly” unterrified by daily
manifestations of cosmic potency. Surrounded by his _ganadavatas_,
gods of the second rank, he welcomed me to the show. Mounted on sham
horses, the actors delighted their audience with a sham battle which
soon became a single combat between two valiant knights, encouraged by
masked clowns, funny yet exquisitely graceful in their movements: the
_savoir vivre_ of this people is perfectly matched with their elegance
of carriage and correctness of speech and innate propriety of demeanour.
The comedians’ stage-properties did not amount to much and their
inventive genius shone the more brilliantly: a tiger (for a hunt of his
highness our common uncle[28] followed the joust) was improvised with
jute bagging and two pieces of wood, representing the jaws, snapping
ferociously, perhaps a compliment to the _orang wolanda_ present, his
biped equivalent in native estimation, as already remarked. Or an
allusion may have been intended to local events: not longer than a week
before, Paman had tried to force Wielandt’s stable, cooling his wrath,
when baffled, on Sarama’s pups.
So much for my recollections of the histrionic exercises on the Diëng,
and now about the temples! If Thomas Horsfield, in his narrative of the
tour he made through the island between 1802 and 1807, mentioned the
so-called Buddha-roads, it was Raffles who sent Cornelius, Lieutenant in
the Corps of Engineers, to survey the architectural remains on the Diëng
plateau proper, which the earlier traveller had not visited. According
to the official account of his mission, kept in the library of the
Museum of Antiquities at Leyden and still unpublished, he found whatever
was standing of some forty groups, covered with clay and volcanic ashes
up to nearly a fourth of the original height. Captain Baker, also
commissioned by Raffles, worked three weeks on the Diëng after his
examination of the ruins at Prambanan and the Boro Budoor. Junghuhn,
whose observations date from 1838 to 1845, speaks of more than twenty
temples in a wilderness of marshy woods. The woods have disappeared, the
marshes hold their own and of his twenty temples only eight are left in
a recognisable shape: five of them belong to the Arjuno group, including
the so-called house of Samār; the best preserved is the Wergodoro or
Bimo; the Andorowati and Gatot Kocho crumble away even faster than the
rest. It has already been remarked that the Diëng structures belong
to the oldest in the island, the _hanasima_ inscription, transferred
to Batavia, furnishing a record of the Diëng civilisation which goes
back to 731 Saka (A.D. 809). They are interesting to the Indian
antiquary, wrote Fergusson, “because they are Indian temples pure and
simple, and dedicated to Indian gods ...; what (they) tell us further
is, that if Java got her Buddhism from Gujerat and the mouths of the
Indus, she got her Hinduïsm from Telingana and the mouths of the
Kistnah.... Nor are (they) Dravidian in any sense of the word. They
are in storeys, but not with cells, nor any reminiscences of such;
but they are Chalukyan.” Later learning accepts this statement only
with cautious reserve. Whether Chalukyan or not, though, it is plain
even to the unlearned that, erected to Siva, the Mahadeva worshipped
principally in his character of Bhatara Guru, the divine teacher, to his
_sakti_ Doorga and their first-born Ganesa, these temples, radiating the
all-soul in the fierce glare of the midday sun, unfolding their secrets
in the mellow moonbeams of night, partake fully of their mysterious
surroundings, are integral portions of the ground they occupy, as
may be said of all ancient Javanese buildings. Men of great power of
imagination, deep-reasoning sentiment, the builders of these marvels,
working their thoughts up to the sky, rescued for us the essence of
the Diëng’s past existence. Their apprehension of universal happiness
without beginning or end, sharpened by the desire to enjoy heaven on
earth, lent immortality to the greatness of a people every vestige of
whom would have disappeared but for their creative enthusiasm.
[Illustration: III. _CHANDI_ ARJUNO ON THE DIËNG PLATEAU
(Archaeological Service through Charls and van Es.)]
Prurient prudery, keen on the scent of the nasty, feels shocked at
the _lingas_ and _yonis_ lying round, unable in its fly-blown purity
to grasp the divinity of eternal love in the poem of generation, the
union of the Deva and the Devi in causation and conception of life.
The Philistine sees little more than rubbish, heaps of stone of no
earthly use except as havens of refuge when out shooting _meliwis_
and overtaken by rain. In the Rawa Baleh Gambang we find five such
clustered together, the _chandis_ Arjuno with the house of Samār,
Srikandi (Ongko Wijoyo), Poontadewa (Trumo Kasumo or Sami Aji) and
Sembrada (Sepropo), the chief hero of the _Brata Yuda_ being honoured
in the midst of family and friends, including his funny and faithful
servant. The _kala-makara_[29] ornament of the entrance to the _chandi_
Arjuno tells its tale; so do the empty niches designed for free-standing
statuettes dissolved into space. Like the _chandi_ Srikandi it was once
surrounded by a wall and another point of resemblance is the small
rectangular building called the _chandi_ Samār, probably destined for
secular purposes; of the Srikandi dependency, however, only the base
can be traced. The _chandi_ Sembrada deviates somewhat in architectural
plan and detail, and the ground-idea of the decoration can be studied
to best advantage in the _chandi_ Poontadewa, finest of the group,
exquisitely graceful on its high basement. Here again the _makara_
ornament prevails, budding into leaves and flowers, chiselled with a
chaste appreciation of the esthetic principle of self-control: _In
der Beschränkung zeigt sich erst der Meister_. Under the tapering
roofs, fallen or falling in, which give the inner chambers an air of
indescribable elegance, notwithstanding the cramped dimensions, images
of holiness stood on pedestals; the images have been removed, heaven
knows whither, and even the pedestals have fared badly at the hands
of sacrilegious robbers digging for hidden treasure. Trumo Kasumo,
supposed to keep sentinel over his _chandi_ (in bas-relief, north side),
cannot but be scandalised at modern methods of research and modern
behaviour in general.
The morass shows, in the dry season, the foundations of buildings,
regularly arranged, lining streets which intersected at right angles
over a considerable part of the Rawa Baleh Gambang. Their disposition
has been advanced to support the theory that the population of the Diëng
lived in wooden houses, built on those substructures of stone. The
theory that the superstructures of stone have been carried away and the
submerged substructures left because not so easy to get at, is just as
plausible; perhaps a little more so. But whatever they were, temples and
priestly or private dwellings of wood or stone, the officiating clergy,
their assistants and the inhabitants of the city ministering to their
fleshly needs, must have suffered a good deal from the dampness of the
soil, the plateau offering already in those early days a field of rich
promise for the experiments of hydraulic engineers. Among canals and
ditches of less importance, the Guwa Aswotomo, a _cloaca maxima_ some
twelve centuries old, still relieves the plain of its superfluous water.
According to the legend, for nothing in this locality goes without at
least one,--according to the legend then, the subterraneous passage
was dug by Aswotomo on his expedition to the Diëng for the purpose
of smashing the Pandawas, and nearing Arjuno’s residence he pushed
his way up to the surface, from distance to distance, spying how far
he had yet to continue his underground march. Descending into one of
the peep-holes he made, in a season of extreme drought, I was able to
crawl on to the next, through mud and debris which blocked my further
progress and, unable to crawl out on a level fifteen or twenty feet
lower, the watercourse sloping deeper and deeper down, I had to return
to my point of ingress. The glory of this feat diminishes in the light
of my knowledge of the circumstance that the Diëng plateau harbours
no snakes,[30] save the decorative _nagas_ of temple architecture,
and that a companion followed my movements above ground; had we been
provided with ropes, we might have carried our work of exploration
much further--but that must wait for another time. Of the rare plant
which grows nowhere but in Aswotomo’s burrow and owes its growth to
his copious perspiration while at his task, a fern possessing rare
qualities, highly beneficial to him who pulls it out by the roots, I saw
or, rather, felt nothing in groping my way through mire and darkness.
Taking its course in a direction inverse to the mole-man’s initial
tunnel boring, his Guwa begins at the Arjuno temples as an unpretentious
drain and runs, for about half a mile, slanting toward the source of the
river Dolok, where Junghuhn has set up two _lingas_.
[Illustration: IV. _CHANDI_ BIMO OR WERGODORO ON THE DIËNG PLATEAU
(Archaeological Service through Charls and van Es.)]
The largest remaining and most beautiful temple on the Diëng is the
_chandi_ Wergodoro or Bimo,[31] where the Pangonan rises out of
the Rawa Glonggong. Notwithstanding Fergusson’s opinion, competent
critics, deriving their conclusions from the horizontal lines of the
roof-storeys, maintain its Dravidian or Southern Indian instead of
Chalukyan character.[32] The niches with busts, which impress one as
windows with people poking out their heads to see who is disturbing
their quiet, suggest an approach to ideas further developed in the
architecture of the plain of Prambanan. These curious persons look out
only at the back and at the sides; the niches of the roof in front, over
the projecting porch with _kala-makara_ ornament, are all empty. With
its entrance facing east, in contradistinction to those of the other
temples on the plateau, which face west, the _chandi_ Bimo possesses
also notable peculiarities in the details of its sculpture: the double
lotus of the cornice, lotus-buds and diminutive bo-trees of uncommon
shapes, etc., while the upward tapering structural design displays a
tendency to the slightly curved lines so dearly loved by Greek builders
of the best period and adapted by the masters of early Gothic. The
larger, lower niches have been despoiled; architraves and mouldings,
festooned with foliage, flowers and seed-pods, divide the open spaces
round about in a tasteful, sober manner, exciting without fatiguing
the eye. From the fact that the decoration has not been completed, it
is inferred that the sculptors were interrupted like their comrades at
work on other monuments of Central Java, overwhelmed perhaps by the
catastrophe of volcanic or martial nature, which depopulated the Diëng
and coincided with the decline of the ancient empire of Hindu Mataram.
The miraculous voice heard in the _chandi_ Bimo at dead of night, is
silent on this point. All temples have their _shetans_, their bad,
rarely good spirits, but the _genius loci_ of the Bimo excels the whole
Arjuno crowd of them in efficacy and unfailing attention to the business
of the seekers of advice, who arrive from far and wide to consult the
oracle. Entering after dusk the gate of the Dread One, Kala, one with
Rudra, the Roarer (the Kawa Kidang) near by, they have but to wait in
prayer at the altar of the wondrous fane. A strange whisper, mounting
like the odour of _melati_ and _kenanga_, tells them how to avoid the
grim giant Danger if, on leaving, they are firmly determined to pursue
the road of Good Desert.
The _chandis_ Gatot Kocho and Andorowati, falling into hopeless ruin,
will soon be remembered only by their location, like the _chandi_
Parikesit, and it is a pity to think of those which left no trace at
all, whose very names are forgotten. The state of affairs on the Diëng
plateau, said Captain, now Major T. van Erp,[33] commissioned for the
restoration of the Boro Budoor, leaves everything to be desired....
Villages came into existence and expanded. The inhabitants need stone
substructures in building their houses and it is a matter of course that
they use temple stones for that purpose; these are here much smaller
than those of the monuments in the valley of the Progo and the plain of
Prambanan, easily carried off and exactly of the right size.... This is
the case of the spoliation of the temples on the Diëng in a nutshell.
But it should be added that the natives are not the only offenders. So
much, indeed, is implied in Major van Erp’s anecdote of a tourist who,
examining the statuary adorning the grounds of the _pasangrahan_, a
remarkable collection formed from miscellaneous loot, was invited to
make his choice, the selected plunder to be delivered at Wonosobo in
consideration of five guilders (a little over eight shillings). Many
others had the same experience: numberless statues and stones carved
into ornament have been appropriated by official and unofficial visitors
to enrich museums and private collections. The appointment of Wielandt
Sr., later of Wielandt Jr. as keeper of the _pasangrahan_ and of the
antiquities in a region of archaeological interest equal to Pompeii and
Herculaneum, without any funds whatsoever at their disposal, was only
an incident in the continuous farce performed by the Dutch East Indian
Government in all its relations to monumental Java up to the date of its
laborious confinement of the Archaeological Commission--and after, as I
shall have abundant occasion to show: a farce with consequences sad to
contemplate. This applies to antiquities of every description. I turn to
my diary: In different places, when digging, layers of ashes are found
with charred human bones imbedded, and often trinkets. The natives,
however, keep their treasure-troves secret for fear of the Government,
which has decreed, and rightly, reserving its rights, that they may
not sell without asking for and obtaining permission, but appropriates
everything it hears of, at ridiculously low prices; a good deal is
therefore sold and bought privately, notwithstanding the prohibition,
even by officials; a systematic search never having been attempted, none
the less fine trifles are unearthed and not always trifles either; last
night, in the _pasangrahan_, some rings were shown to me; the owner,
acting very mysteriously, produced at last a statuette from under his
_baju_, about six inches of solid gold, beautifully wrought; its mate,
equal in height, material and workmanship, he had been forced to sell,
according to his story, for seventy guilders (less than £6); he wanted
more to part with this one and it is certainly worth many and many times
that sum; a change in the usual sordid Government practice would result
in remarkable discoveries; recently, as Dr. L. told me, an inscribed
stone was laid bare; when trying to have a look at it the same day, his
informant told him that it had already been spirited away to prevent
_susah_ (trouble); not much is necessary to be sentenced to _krakal_
(hard labour in the chain-gang) at Wonosobo.
It is true the Government sent some one to the Diëng, about fifty years
ago, to photograph the temples as they then existed and, fortunately,
the operator chosen was I. van Kinsbergen who, having made his début in
Java as a member of an opera-troupe, developed a rare artistic sense
in portraying the deteriorating outlines of the ancient fanes of the
island. But there the matter rested until the complaints became too loud
and in 1910 hopes were held out that steps would be taken to clear the
ruins of parasitic vegetation, to drain the plateau by repairing the
trenches and conduits still in working order since the Hindu period,
incidentally to consider the possibility of restoring the sanctuaries
not yet tumbled down. Names I heard in connection with this charge,
make me tremble, writes a correspondent from Batavia, for a repetition
of the vandalism committed in the plain of Prambanan, particularly
the criminal assaults on the _chandi_ Plahosan and the _chandi_ Sewu,
where a Government commissioner tried to arrest further decay on the
homoeopathic principle: _similia similibus curantur_. Government
solicitude for conservation proves often more destructive than simple
neglect and, to take an illustration from the Diëng itself (others will
be culled in the course of my observations, from a plentiful supply of
official _bêtises_ and _bévues_, if not worse, in other localities), no
sooner was general attention drawn to the enigmatic sign, described by
Junghuhn and copied in his standard work from a rock between the lakes
Warna and Pengilon, than it began to fade. Still quite clear in 1885
and up to 1895, despite its having been exposed to wind and weather
during ten centuries (as surmised), it became fainter and fainter after
that year, the process of a gradual loss of colour being duly noted at
subsequent visits, until in 1902 I found it hardly distinguishable. To
make up for the injury, a Contrôleur discovered, in 1889, supplementary
tokens, not black but red, on the same Batu Tulis, or Watu Ketèq as
the natives rather call it, “monkey-stone”, because they recognise in
the figure recorded by Junghuhn, a likeness to the animal referred to.
The smaller red letters, or whatever they were intended for, steadily
increasing in number, appearing in places where I had never noticed
anything before, I could not help suspecting the little shepherds who
look so innocent and shy and hardly venture an answer when spoken to, of
knowing more about this miraculous growth of a hieroglyphic inscription
than their artlessness implied. For all their stolid mien, the natives
are exceedingly fond of a joke and what greater sport can be imagined
than to get the wise men of Batavia and of European centres of erudition
by the ears, inciting them to raise always more learned dust in their
efforts to decipher the undecipherable characters of an impossible
language, each being cocksure of the infallibility of his individual
interpretation? If, however, we have not to do with Kromo or Wongso his
mark, the ghost of the Batu Tulis must be held responsible for, among
the incorporeal inhabitants of the many caves in this neighbourhood,
the dweller beneath the monkey-stone is of greatest occult potency and
the good people who come from the adjoining lowland districts, even from
Surakarta and Jogjakarta, to hear and translate the voices of the Diëng,
repair hither, after partaking of good advice in the Bimo temple, to
_sembah_ (make their salutation) before the entrance and ask _slamat_
(blessing and success) on their foreshadowed undertakings. Nocturnal
devotions inside the cave of the Watu Ketèq on a lucky, right lucky,
carefully calculated night, means untold wealth, and whoever dares to
brave the resident sprite of darkness with that desire in his heart, as
very few do, and still remains a poor devil, has doubtless skipped a
word of power in muttering his incantations or disregarded some other
essential observance.
To the lover of mountain scenery it is far more profitable to wait
for dawn near the triangulation pillar and point of junction of four
residencies: Samarang, Pekalongan, Banyumas and the Bagelen, with a
fifth, the Kadu, only a few paces off, when the Eye of Day rises to
divide the waters behind the mountains and the rack of clouds, and,
to the north and the south of the island, the sea begins to glimmer
in the azure and orange tints sent before to meet the melting gray of
vanquished darkness. Following its course in all-compassing space, the
soul enters into silent communion with nature, the divine creation of
the supremely divine which teaches feeble men how to worship. Such
moments bring a wholesome chastening of the flesh and as we descend,
goaded by the fierce darts of the conqueror overhead who makes the
earth wrap herself in her vapoury robe of protection, veiling the
grand vision,--as we descend where the runnels descend that feed the
Serayu and the Tulis winding its way to the Kawah Kidang, we find the
plain with the _chandis_ one immense temple of adoration. The Vedic
subtle body yearns to enter the sheath of prayer, to be moulded by
its creator into the form fit for union with the spirit of the world;
respiration becomes aspiration to the beatitude of manifest truth, of
final rest in extinction of sin and shame and sorrow. So pass the hours
in purification, in desire of a spark of the thought which breathes
life into mortification of self. Then, at the passing of the light
with the last flush from the West, in awe-inspiring stillness, the
quivering stars lift their heads to watch the holy city of the dead; in
clear-toned stillness, the night-wind moaning, the Rawa lamenting the
lost civilisation of a lost religion whose symbols remain but are not
understood, a mourning for humanity labouring in vain. The Diëng has
been repopulated with a race between whose fanciful ideals, rooted in
a forgotten past, and the rapacity of foreign rulers no lasting accord
seems possible. Is it ordained that they, the thralls and the masters,
shall continue in their present relations? Or will they disappear in
their turn and, to quote Junghuhn, this mountain region revert to its
free, natural state? Perhaps in the hour of upheaval native seers
prophesy, when safety shall be found by none except to whom the Just
Reckoner grants it. And mingling in one measure, which comprises the
_jaman buda_, the time of bondage and the future, their dim notions
of Mahadeva, the Beneficent Destroyer, and their conception of the
dispensation of the Book, the leaders of religious exercise in the
villages abide by their advice of submission until the true believers
win the day, a day of glory for Islām, sure to arrive in the circular
course of existence, which is nothing but Sansara, in attainment of
Moslim brotherhood, which is nothing but Brahma Vihara, the sublime
condition of love. Meanwhile, hearing is to be practised; haply it
will lead to the comprehension of a lesson inculcated by each of the
three creeds amalgamated in the Javanese mind and best expressed in the
form borrowed from a fourth: The thing that hath been, is that which
shall be; and that which is done, is that which shall be done,--or, in
the version of the greatest poet of our own age: _Ciò che fu, torna e
tornerà nei secoli._[34]
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES:
[22] Dr. A. B. COHEN STUART, however, derives Diëng from
_dihyang_, the name found by him in old records.
[23] The remains of both these exquisite little temples suffered
severely from a gale in 1907, which blew some of the surrounding trees
down, their trunks and branches falling heavily and disjoining the
still tolerably erect walls, the _chandi_ Perot, according to latest
intelligence, being wholly destroyed by the toppling of the tamarind it
supported.
[24] The _Brata Yuda Yarwa_ is the Javanese version of the famous Kawi
poem _Bharata Yuddha_ which, in its turn, is founded on the Sanskrit
epos _Mahabharata_. The war for the possession of Hastinapura is
transplanted to Java; the Sanskrit proper names have passed into the
nomenclature of Javanese history and geography; the Indian heroes have
become the founders of Javanese dynasties, the progenitors of Javanese
nobility.
[25] One of those chasms, near the _dessa_ Gaja Moongkoor, swallowed not
merely a dancing-girl, a most common occurrence in Javanese legendary
lore, but a whole village.
[26] A very active mofette which the natives call the Pakaraman, _i.e._
the “selected spot” where King Baladeva had his arms forged in the Brata
Yuda war.
[27]
What is the use of living, of kissing lovely flowers,
If, though they are beautiful, they must soon fade into nothing?
[28] The native’s deferential fear for the animal in question, makes
him reluctant to pronounce its name, a liberty likely to give offence;
referring to the lord of the woods, he speaks rather of his respected
uncle (_paman_) or grandfather (_kakeh_), which satisfies, at the same
time, his lingering belief in the transmigration of the soul.
[29] Siva as Kala, the destroyer with the lion’s or tiger’s head,
Banaspati, devouring the sea-monster Makara: time finishing all
things and alleviating all distress, in respect of which notion
VOLTAIRE’S short but pointed story of _Les Deux Consolés_ may
be profitably read.
[30] Query: Has St. Patrick ever been on the Diëng?
[31] Or Bhimo, one of Arjuno’s four brothers and avenger of the honour
of the family on Kichaka, who had fallen in love with their common wife
Draupadi.
[32] No buildings in the Northern Indian or Indo-Arian style have been
found in Java.
[33] Reporting to the _Batavian Society of Arts and Sciences_, January
11, 1909.
[34] That which has been, returns and will return through all time.
[Illustration]