~~u

IHI

XX~

CENTURY

JAVA,

ISLE OF VOLCANOES

Thl' sawah ricl·-fields of .lava

Lo(okill~ toward ;\Iount Smeroe

i\IOllllt Brohlllo in eruptioll

THE FIRES OF SMEROEBy BRIGITTE REINDERS

A few weeks ago 8me1'oe, the mOst dangerous of Java's volcanoes,started erupt:i11g again. News dispatche8 cat'Tying th.e stor'll arou.nd theworld al~o 1Itentioned the ancient Javanese S'U1JC1'stition COIITWcted withthis volcano to the present day, according to which disobediellce to thewill of the nod will lea{l to I.he breaking oj the island in two.

Bt-iu'itte Reinde1'8, who has made a special 8tudy of JavaneSe folic,lore, I.e/Is some of the legell(ls of the volca.no interwoven wi.th a charmingdescription of the 8111eroe festival as it is st-ill performed today.-KM.

On the eve of the annual sacrificialfeast of Smeroe, Madi and Atoen werecelebrating their wedding. The moon5tood over the ridge of the Tcnggermountains. It shone upon the softcloud:s of "moke ri5ing towards thestarry sky from the peaks of Smeroeand Brohmo. Its light spilled overtheir wild, rugged sides, reflected fromthe flooded rice-terraces, and creptover the gray stone figures of thetemple. It penetrated the coconutforest surrounding the village, paintedthe bamboo huts a ghostly white, andcame upon Madi and Atoen. Therethey ;:sat Qmong 1\.11 the .... i1IllgerB1

gathered for the wedding slamatan.TOll'ether they had praved and eaten

and laughed. Together they nowW$lf;t'h"," thp l'Ihadow_plllY and listenedto the accompanying words of theDalanR'. the teller of stories. Themelody of the gamelan followed theactions. As the story grew in excite­ment the chords of the orchestra be­came louder and louder and resolvedthemselves in a single tone when thevoice of the Dalang died away. TheWayang puppets of the shadow-playdisappeared into a large box, but thelisteners sitting in a circle, and evenMadi and Atoen, the bridal couple,begged the Dalang for more stories.

He came from a family of story­tellers. For generations the fatherhad passed on to the son the treasureof his tales and l~gends, and now thisDalang was roaming the island of Javaand telling the people the stories of

their country. He was rather tiredtoday, for he had had a long journey.But he was poor, and Atoen's fatherwas rich, and the Dalang needed moneyto make his own dreams come true.The teller of stories longed for concretethings-sawah rice.fields and manycarabaos, the strong water buffaloeswho would plough his plot of land.

But today he was still the story­teller. Today glowworms were flyingthrough the night and getting caughtin the blossoming hibiscus hedgesurrounding the courtyard of thekampong. Today the wind was carry­ing waves of fragrance over the crowdof listeners. Atoen slowly raised herdelicate head, stole a glance at Madi,and pulled her wedding sarong closerabout her hips. Then her wide darkeyes looked up at the Dalang. Heraised his hand, softly the gamelanmusic began, and he started his story:

"Long before the gods brought riceto our island, when the country of Javafloated upon the sea as flat 8.'1 a bananaleaf, there ruled over the land thePrincess Citra. She was so beautifulthat in her presence the birds weresilent, the flowers closed their petals,and the densest bamboo groves openedto clear the way for her. Yet as greatas bel' beauty was her grief. Sheloved Prince Djamodjo, who lived onthe other side of the island, and thePrince loved her. But the only linkbetween the lovers was the course ofthe sun, which in the morning rosefrom the water where Citra stood,

222 THE XXth CENTURY

and in the evening sank again whereDjamodjo longingly watched it disap­pear. They could not marry, forremember, at that time Java was likea leaf floating on the water. Had thePrince with his large suite left hisend of this leaf to visit Citra, thePrincess with her whole court wouldhave been drowned at the other end.Thus was Java in those days. Andthat was Citra's great grief.

In her despair she called upon thegods for help. They lived on highmountains in another country, but theyknew of the yearning of these twolovers. And as Citra was so beautifuland so good, the god Brahma himselfdecided to help her. With the aidof Vishnu, the all-powerful one splitoff a part of the stony masses of theHimalayas and the mountain Mahameru.Brahma turned himself into a turtle,and with the load of mountains on hisback he swam through the sea to theland of Citra and Djamodjo. Vishnuturned into a huge snake and woundhimself around our island, holding itfast while the turtle set down its loadin pieces all over Java. There wasthunder and lightning. The earthgroaned under its new burden. Thewaves of the sea grew higher, andCitra thought that the wrath of thegods was being poured forth overher and her land. But as it grewlight there was a long chain of moun­tains stretching over the island. Thewater was quiet and the sky wasclear. All that was left of the fear­some storm was the audible rumbleand the thin wreath of smoke thatcame from the bowels of the mountains.It was thus that the gods came toJava, and from that day our islandhas lain firmly upon the water. ThusCitra and Djamodjo were made happy,and with them the people of Java."

The gamelan went on playing softlywhen the voice of the Dalang hacl diedaway. His eyes sought out Atoen.At the place where the girl had beensitting a few closed hibiscus blossomslay on the ground, and MatH's placewas empty. The listeners were sittingwithout a word. The rumbling of

Smeroe could be heard from theTengger mountains. First it soundedlike the last mutterings of a dyingthunderstorm. But when the windstarted to turn, the people wereoverwhelmed by the full thunder ofits elemental force. The oil lampsflickered. The crowd moved closer .­together, while mothers put protectingarms around their children. The birdswere startled in their nests and beganchirping. Then it became quiet again.The music of the gamelan rose andthe voice of the Dalang sounded acrossthe courtyard:

"You people from the Tengger moun­tains, you have heard the call ofSmeroe. Before you, your parentsheard it, your grandparents and thepeople who lived long, long beforethem. Like you, they all tilled theland and planted the rice that Brahmasent to earth in the beak of a bird.At that time there lived, not far fromyour village here, the man Kai Kesomowith his wife Njai. They were poorpeople, and possessed only a small pieceof sawah. Kai had to drag the plowwith his own hands, he had no carabaothat bathed in the evening after workin the kali flowing past his hut. Yetboth were content-they had a hut,and a mat to sleep on. They workedtogether and prayed to Brahma forsun, rain, and wind for their rice.And together they cherished deep intheir hearts the desire for a son.

But the course of the years had bentKai's back and turned to silver the blackhair of Njai. When Kai was draggingthe heavy plow alone through thewater-soaked earth, he often sighedfor the strong arms of a son. Andwhen Njai sat at the Wayang shadow­play, the only woman without a child,her eyes were sad. But they did notquarrel witb their fate. Every morn­ing, before the sun had fully risen,they both went out to their work, andin the evenings they sat in front oftheir hut and watched the fiery balldisappear behind the wall of theTengger mountains.

On one such evening it happened thata tired old man came wandering through

THE FIRES OF SMEROE 223

the sawahs and begged Kai and Njai togive him shelter. Kindly the old coupletook him in. Njai gave him Borne of herrice, while Kai opened the most tendercoconut for his thirst and brought himthe largest papaya growing on thetree before the hut. And when thestars came out they bedded him ontheir own mat and themselves laydown on the bare ground to sleep.

In the night they were awakenedby an unusual light. It was not thesun which straightened out Kai's bac~

and painted arosy glow onNjai's cheeks. Itwas the shiningfigure of a godthat seemed toextend the wallsof the littlehut."I am Brahma,"

he said, "comedown to youfro m Smeroe.I have foundyou to be good,kind, and hum­ble. in spiteof the greatsorY'owin yourhearts. There­fore your wishshall be granted.1. Brahma. willgive you a son.Re will bringyou joy, happi­ne8M and wealth.But when he isgrown up you will hear from meagain and I will let you know howhis future destiny shall be shapedaccording to my will." The lightvanished, the mat was empty, andthere was no one in the hut.

The rosy glow, however, had notdisappeared from Njai's cheeks. Andwhen the full moon stood in the skyfor the ninth time, she gave Rai ason. They called him Pretoe. He wasa beautiful child; his eyes shone witha light which made humans and animalswillingly subordinate themselves to

him. He grew like a coconut palm,upright, slender and strong.

And when the child had grown intothe boy Pretoe he stood beside hisfather in the water of the sawahsand plowed the earth. In all hedid an invisible hand seemed to beguiding him. Everything he touchedthrove, nothing failed. The sawahsstood full with golden rice, the treeswere heavy with fruit, and corn andsugar cane grew high. Rai became arich man. Every evening a large herd

of carabaos nowbathed in theriver, and hisfields reachedas far as theeye could see.

The boyPretoe became ayoung man. Risshoulders werewide and hiship s narrow.His skin was likebronze. Whenhe laughed histeeth shone likethe white blos­soms of them ~ I a t i bush.The light thatwns in his faeefrom the hour ofhis birth neverleft him. Andever since thegirl Loromanisknew Pretoe,her face also

bore the reflection 'of this divine light.They loved each since that evening when,coming from the bathing place, theyhad followed the flight of the whitecranes, and their shoulders had touched,as if compelled by a secret force. Nowthe girl's hair was adorned withyellow alamanda blossoms; soon herlittle head would be bowed under themarriage ornament.

The two young people were happy,and so was Kai Kesomo. But Njai layat night on her mat and could notsleep. She was thinking of Brahma's

224 THE XXth CENTURY

words, that Pretoe's destiny should bedecided by the god alone. Althoughshe had faith in Brahma and reveredhim, there was fear in her heart.

Then dark clouds began to gatherover the summit of Smeroe. The heartof the mountain boiled and raged, andthe earth trembled. In fear the peoplefell upon their knees. And on thisvery evening long ago, when theWaringin tree was struck by lightning,a messenger of Brahma appeared inthe kampong of Kai Kesomo. Againthat same light filled the room, againthe voice of the god resounded:

"Parents of Pretoe, Brahma gaveyou a son to make you happy and rich,and this you have become. You, Kai,have the largest herd of carabaos andthe most fertile sawahs. You, Njai,possess the most beautiful sarongs andthe heaviest gold ornaments. Brahmademands that you give back your son.This very night he must climb Smeroe.At dawn Brahma himself will receivehim in his arms at the bottom of thecrater. But woe betide you if you donot obey his wish. A curse will strikethe island, and in his wrath mightySmeroe will tear the land in two."

The light vanished. Brahma's mes­senger was gone. The family awokeas from a terrible dream. Pale asdeath, Kai and Njai looked into eachother's faces. The young lovers clungtogether desperately. But Brahma'swill must be done, and Pretoe startedon his way. With him went his oldparents, and with him went the youngLoromanis.

The mountain had ceased to rage.The earth lay quiet. The moon stoodover the mountain ridge, as clear andshining as it is tonight. But it wasnot a wedding night in which its softlight kept watch. The parents and thelovers were dumb with grief. Onlywhen they reached the rim of thecrater and heard the hissing challengeof Smeroe did they fall on their kneesand pray.

"0 Brahma," cried the parents,"take our Bon, but take us too. Whatgood is all our wealth without Pretoe,whose laughter is our sunshine?"

"Almighty One," said the girl softly,and the rumbling in the depths sub­sided, "Almighty One, take me too.Pretoe and I belong together, on theblossoming earth just as in your darkkingdom. We have come."

But suddenly Brahma's voice rangout: "My children, you have stood thetest. Go and be happy. Continue toobey my commands and my blessingwill be upon you. But if you shouldoppose my wishes the land will bestruck by the curse of which mymessenger warned you."

Pretoe and Loromanis became manand wife. Every year they made thesame pilgrimage to the edge ofSmeroe's crater and offered theirsacrifices of rice and fruits. Theirchildren and children's children didlikewise, as we still do today. AndBrahma's blessing layover our island."

The stars were paling in the skywhen the Dalang came to the end ofhis story. Day was dawning. Thedeep tone of the bedoek, the villagedrum, mingled with the music of thegamelan. It caUed and called. Nowthe orchestra was silent, and thelisteners were torn out of theirabsorption. The bedoek boomed onthrough the night. It did not ceasecalling until the villagers had finallycollected around the old Waringin tree.All the men and women of the villagewere there, only the Dalang and Atoenand Madi were missing. A processionwas formed which wound its way up tothe rim of the crater. Now as then,brown hands cast the best that theirfields had yielded into the boilingdepths to placate Smeroe.

The moon hung in the sky like afinely carved sickle of quartz. Thesun flooded the countryside. It shoneupon the green of the rice-fields andgleamed on the strong backs of thecarabaos. It caressed Atoen in Madi'sarms, and found even the Dalang, theteller of stories. He went his lonelyway, from village to village, in hiseyes the longing for fertile sawahs andplowing oxen, in his heart the treasureof his stories.

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