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Worsley Peter. Journeys, Palaces and Landscapes in the Javanese Imaginary. Some Preliminary Comments Based on
the Kakawin Sumanasāntaka. In: Archipel, volume 83, 2012. pp. 147-171;
doi : 10.3406/arch.2012.4342
http://www.persee.fr/doc/arch_0044-8613_2012_num_83_1_4342
Abstract
Epic kakawin contain lively descriptions of the architectural space of palaces, villages, temples and
hermitages, of rural landscapes and the wilderness. The present essay discusses how a reading
of Mpu Monaguna’s epic poem, Sumanasāntaka (A Death by a Sumanasa Flower) might
contribute to an environmental history of Java at the beginning of the thirteenth century and be
useful to archaeologists interested in understanding the uses to which the socio-cultural sites that
they excavate were put and the values which ancient Javanese attached to them. The article goes
on to ask to what extent epic poems like the Sumanasāntaka provide a reliable account of
Javanese life in this period. An answer to this question involves two considerations. First, whether
the understanding of the world that the poem represents is Indian or Javanese and secondly
whether it is fictional or not.
3. WORSLEY P._Mise en page 1 20/04/12 13:37 Page147
Peter Worsley
Introduction
The recent completion of an as yet unpublished study of Mpu Monaguṇa’s
epic poem, sumanasāntaka (Death by a Sumanasa Flower) provides the
opportunity for preliminary comment on what a reading of the poem might
contribute to the environmental history of Java in the early thirteenth
century. 2 Whatever its value might be for our understanding of the literary
history of the island and its peoples, I hope to call attention to just how
potentially rich a source this work is for a knowledge of how the Javanese
themselves imagined or knew their lived-environment to be. While the paper
focuses upon Mpu Monaguṇa’s epic poem and the early thirteenth century, it
also considers more generally the usefulness of epic kakawin works as
1. Andrea Acri, Peter Boomgaard, Amrit Gomperts, Mark Hobart, Thomas Hunter, Maria
Kekki, Pauline Lunsingh Scheurleer, Douglas Miles, Dominique Renault, Stuart Robson, S.
Supomo and Adrian Vickers have all read and commented on earlier versions of this paper. I
am indebted to them all for their valuable comments and criticisms.
2. This essay was first presented as a paper at ‘Crossing Borders in Southeast Asian
Archaeology’, 13th International Conference of the European Association of Southeast Asian
Archaeologists (EURASEAA 13), 27th September – 1st October 2010, Freie Universität,
Berlin. A revised version was read at the Royal Netherlands Institute for Southeast Asian and
Caribbean Studies in Leiden on 23rd November 2010. It is based on the concluding chapter of
Part Four, ‘Myths and Kingship: Journeys, Palaces and Landscapes in the Ancient Javanese
Imaginary’ in Worsley et al. (in the press). Occasionally I shall have reason to refer to the
ideas of the other authors of this study. When doing so I shall indicate their name and the part
of the study in which the cited comments are found.
sources both for an environmental history of Java in this period and as an aid
to archaeologists as they interpret the social and cultural uses of the spaces
they excavate.
Epic kakawin provide us with lively descriptions of different kinds of
space, which must have been familiar to the authors and audiences of these
poems – the architectural space of palaces, villages, temples and hermitages,
agricultural and horticultural landscapes, and the space of a natural
wilderness. We shall describe these categories of space, identifying their
architectural and topographical characteristics, the persons and things, the
social usages and emotions which the poem associates with each and identify
the relationship which obtains between these categories. However, we must
also ask just how reliable a witness epic kakawin are of the realities of life in
the period between the ninth and fifteenth century Java. We need to ascertain
what is Indian in epic kakawin and what authentically Javanese and then
query what is ‘fictional’ about them.
I am, of course, not the first to hit upon the need to understand how the
inhabitants of Java in the period between the ninth and fifteenth centuries
adapted to and understood their environment. So let me first briefly
acknowledge the inspiration that the work of others who have researched in
this field in recent times, have had on the present study. Peter Boomgaard’s
contribution has been both voluminous and singularly influential. However,
it was his early agenda-setting writing – in particular his introductory essay
in Paper landscapes (1997) and what he had to say there about ‘Attitudes’ –
that first attracted my attention. Boomgaard’s environmental history of
Indonesia, written in what he describes as ‘the tender age of environmental
history of Indonesia as a discipline’, has been shaped by the analytical
categories of the economic historian. ‘Economic development’ and
‘demographic trends’ in symbiotic relationship with the ‘mentalities’ of
‘hunter-gathering’ and ‘peasant’ societies in the Archipelago were, in his
thinking, the drivers of destructions or preservations of ‘natural resources’ in
the early premodern period.
These were not the analytical categories that I myself used to think about
Javanese epic poems. I worked within a framework of literary and narrative
theory, designed at the time to elucidate Javanese understandings of the
nature of kingship in ancient Java (1991). More importantly economic
history’s categories were strange to the way in which these same epic poems
themselves represented the world that their heroes inhabited. And yet, it was
clear that these poems had much to tell us about the Javanese environment in
the ninth to fifteenth centuries, and about contemporary Javanese attitudes
towards it.
There was common ground, however. In his essay, as in later writings,
Boomgaard gave an important place to the question of peasant mentalities.
3. In later publications Boomgaard and his co-authors have discussed indigenous ideas and
beliefs. In smallholders and stockbreeders (2004), for example, while Boomgaard and
Henley do not discuss indigenous mentalities as such, they do talk about indigenous ideas
and beliefs closely related to the categories of their style of economic historical analysis. We
read there about the relevance of ‘local systems of knowledge’ to local adaptations to the
environment, about ideas, beliefs and incentives associated with technological innovation and
the influence of state policies on agricultural and stockbreeding practices. In A world of
water, Boomgaard draws our attention to the place of water in indigenous cosmologies,
beliefs, myths and healing (2007a:2, 4–6, 10). However, in southeast Asia: an environmental
history the same author notes just how difficult it is to document indigenous ideas and beliefs
about the environment, in particular for pre-modern Southeast Asia because of the lack of
research in this field of inquiry (2007b:2, 7).
4. Hunter (Part Three in Worsley et al.: in the press) who also draws attention to the political
and cultural ties which bind royal palace, village and religious institutions in ancient Java.
5. Creese (1998:33–7) and Rubinstein (2000:111–20) have also discussed the symbolic
meaning of journeys in kakawin and Balinese genealogical works about Balinese priest poets.
6. Compare Worsley (1991:169). In Mpu Tantular’s Arjunawijaya the spatial extent of the
political order which is contested in the war between Rāwaṇa and Waiśrawana embraces the
universe.
In epic kakawin, the first four spaces are understood to form two sets of
related categories: palace and countryside represent two aspects of human
society, while seashore and forested mountain denote a wilderness, a world
beyond human society and the reach of royal authority which in epic
kakawin is the principal marker of the difference between society and
wilderness. 7
Kadatwan/thāni-ḍusun: palace and countryside
The palace and its surrounds
In epic kakawin, palace and countryside together represent the social world.
The palace is the centre of society, home to kings, their kinsmen, and the
courtiers and servants who populate their polygamous households.
Unsurprisingly the poet, Mpu Monaguṇa, has lavished the greater part of his
narrative on events which take place in the palaces of Widarbha and
Ayodhyā and their immediate urban surroundings.
He describes great public spectacles on the palace common (l ěbuh)
outside the walled space of the palace. Within the palace with its lofty
gateways his descriptions include royal audiences and ceremonies held on a
courtyard (natar) in the presence of a select and courtly elite and the leisure
of queens and young princesses and their entourages in the garden (taman),
part of which was occupied by a shrine where deified ancestors were
honoured in daily ritual. 8 He recounts too the intimacies of family life in the
royal apartments (pamrěman). The poem’s account of these different spaces
in the palace celebrates events of great moment in the lives of royal families
– a royal birth, the coming of age of a prince and princess, a marriage and
the installation of kings and queens as rulers, their deaths and their
deification as ancestors.
These events are accompanied by an array of emotional moods: wonder
at the magnificence of the spectacle of royal life; sorrow at the passing of
great kings and their queens; compassion for the intimates of those who had
passed away and were left to mourn their passing; erotic moods of love-in-
separation and fulfilled love, as passion is frustrated by undesired separation
or satisfied in intimate embrace; and finally the comic, as the poem
7. For earlier discussion of these categories see Worsley (in the press). See also Day (1994),
Supomo (1977:49–68) and Aoyama (1992:76–121) and compare Lombard (1986; 1990: III).
See Worsley (1986 and 1988) for a discussion of this same distinction drawn on the basis of
analysis of bas-reliefs illustrating the story of the Arjunawiwāha at the fourteenth century east
Javanese temple, Candi Surawana, and in Balinese paintings with the same narrative theme.
8. On the subject of gardens in royal palaces see Lombard (1986 and 1990: III). Note that
Weatherbee (2011:138) draws our attention to other examples of royal enshrinements within
royal palaces from the Majapahit period. According to the Deśawarṇana (47.3, 48.3), one of
the multiple enshrinements of both Jayanagara and his father, Kṛtarājasa was in the inner
palace.
9. Zoetmulder and Robson (1982:310) gives only the Sanskrit meaning of caru as an oblation
boiled with milk and butter for presentation to the gods or manes. In Bali caru offerings are
made to the demons always on the ground and may contain raw meat and blood. They are
either thrown away or left for dogs and pigs to eat (Swellengrebel, 1960:48, 99; Hooykaas,
1973:8; Brinkgreven and Stuart-Fox 1992:27–8, 34, 35–8).
10. The present essay is based on Zoetmulder’s identifications of flora and fauna (1974;
1982). However, there remains a great deal of research to complete on the identification of
the fauna and flora of epic kakawin. See for example Acri’s work on punning references to
Alepaka priests in kakawin (2008; 2010).
11. Fisherfolk appear to be classified with hunters as denizens of the wilderness. It is
remarkable that in the Śiwarātrikalpa, the hunter, Lubdhaka, in all his wanderings passes by
but never enters a village or religious community. See Worsley (in the press).
12. In all likelihood the fox-tail millet (Peter Boomgaard personal communication 26-2-2010).
and stone seating. A large waringin tree (Ficus indica) also shaded students
gathered under it and whom the poem tells us danced and sang kidung lyrics
whenever ceremonies were celebrated. Beside these students, the king’s
companions were former court officials and other distinguished persons who
were masters of song and composers of poetical works, which covered the
beams and walls of the pavilions in this hermitage. The surroundings of the
hermitage were planted with coconut palms, which were tapped for their sap
and the manufacture of palm sugar (Sum 159.2–161.3).
Unlike these two hermitages, Tṛṇawindu’s forest hermitage (wanāśrama)
was home only to a solitary world-renouncing hermit, his final goal to free
himself from the human condition and to discover absolute nothingness
(anemwa śūnyatā). This hermitage was also in the mountains, on the
southern slopes of the Himālaya, and overlooked the sea. It too was
surrounded by a forest where there grew wild banana trees, kala creepers,
jangga and gaḍung vines (genus Dioscorea), pakis haji ferns, mimosa,
asana trees (terminalia tomentosa) with their yellow flowers and trikañcu
trees with their yellow black-centred flowers, bamboo, grass and an array of
other flowers. Close to the hermitage was a pond with panggang figs
growing on its banks and white lotus in its waters. 13 The hermitage itself
consisted of a gateway, presumably in a surrounding wall of some kind, a
forecourt with a bukur pavilion, where guests were welcomed, and separated
from it an inner space of some kind, where the hermit conducted his
meditation. There was also a place where offerings were made and a sacred
fire burned. Outside the walls of the hermitage, in the vicinity of the lake
there was also a garden (taman) and a sacred bathing place (tīrtha).
The poem draws a clear distinction between the wilderness of seashore
and that of the forested mountains. They were sites of quite different
fabulous cosmic presences and events. The seashore was where the Great
God Wiṣṇu lay on the serpent Anantāsana with his consort Śrī, arisen from
the milk ocean when the gods and demons churned it and the nectar of the
gods (amrĕta) was produced. The poem refers to this space as a place of
erotic adventure and describes it as a landscape heavy with the sadness
which accompanies the mood of love-in-separation.
The forested mountains, on the other hand, were where Śiwa´s phallus
rose to belittle his rivals, Wiṣṇu and Brahma, and the place of origin of
13. Sri Soejatmi Satari (2008:130) lists other trees and plants, which she has found associated
with hermitages. Those in the Deśawarṇana, are the andong or hanjuang (Cordyline
terminalis), karawira (oleander or Nerium odorum) trees, kayu mas, menur flowers
(Jasminum grandiflora (sic)) and kayu puring with their variegated leaves (Codiaeum
variegatum); in the Kṛṣṇāyana a banyan tree and stands of bamboo are associated with
hermitages and in the Arjunawiwāha, Casuarina trees, Cinnamon or kayu manis. In the sri
tañjung she lists kayu mas, puring shrubs, ivory coconut-palms, pandanus flowers, kamuning
(Murraya paniculata) and betelnut-palms growing in the close vicinity of a hermitage.
Śiwa´s consort Umā. This was also a place of ascetic endeavour, where the
fragrance of ferns and the view of carpets of flowers, or the sight of young
hermitesses, or even a painting of nuns gathered about a queen, might stir a
young prince’s erotic sensibilities. However, it was, above all else, a
landscape where asceticism triumphed, where ascetics suppressed their
erotic emotion and found, temporarily or forever, the epiphany arisen from
union with their tutelary godhead.
Kedewatan: the world of the gods
Beyond the wilderness and beyond the heavens was yet another world,
where divine kings ruled and deified ancestors lived still accessible to their
successors in the mortal world. As we have said it is here that the poem’s
narrative begins and ends. This is a world which the poem conceives as a
royal world in heaven. Here too there were palaces and secret rendez-vous in
palace gardens and leisurely sojourns by the sea. Human emotions also
motivated behaviour here. Fear of political usurpation, of punishment for
one’s former deeds, fear also, even amongst the gods, of the terrible
retribution which powerful ascetics might visit upon those who disturbed
their dignity, awe in the presence of royal authority, calm consideration of
strategic advantage, and the erotic were all part of life’s experiences here.
Two epistemological issues
The epic poem’s account of these spaces is fulsome and lively. But just how
reliable an account are its descriptions of the realities of life in ancient Java at
the beginning of the thirteenth century? Two matters which have been raised
in the literature need to be discussed. The first concerns what is Indian in
them and what Javanese, the second the status ascribed to them as ‘fiction’.
Indian or Javanese
In his 2001 article, Supomo compares the kakawin sumanasāntaka with
Kālidāsa’s account of King Aja’s life in the raghuvaṃśa, and seeks to
identify those ‘descriptions of events and activities and environment’ in the
sumanasāntaka which were authentically Javanese and which were not.
With good reason, he questions the grounds on which some commentators 14
have simply assumed that descriptions of life are authentically ‘Javanese’ in
epic kakawin. For he, like Zoetmulder, was wary that not all was
authentically Javanese in these epic poems, especially when we knew for
certain that passages in kakawin bear a fairly close resemblance to their
Sanskrit sources.
naming’, draws attention to the dangers which the assumption of an isomorphism between
categories and perceptions has had for the treatment of names in anthropological literature.
He highlights the assumptions made by anthropologists when discussing naming amongst
Balinese and how the analysts’ and indigenous terms and concepts have been conflated. He
points out how easy it is ‘to miss the cultural assumptions underlying our own knowledge
and to confuse these with ‘science’ ’(9–10). Compare Hobart (1985).
18. Pollock (2006) argues convincingly that the vernacularization which was widespread
across South and Southeast Asia by the second millennium CE had little to do with religious
change. Nor was it a popular phenomenon, he argues, but one that was thoroughly courtly.
See Shulman (2007) for important comment on Pollock’s book.
19. The distinction in cultural styles between alus and kasar (‘refined’ and ‘rough’) to which
attention is drawn here has a long history in Java, Bali and the nation state of Indonesia. For
Java see Geertz (1960: chapters 17–18), Peacock (1968:7–8), Hatley (2008:41–8).
20. See Sum, 29.2–4, 52.7–10a, 113.3–17, 146.1–13, 148.2 and 149.23–5.
21. See Sum, 127–130, 149.22–3.
22. In each of them there is a particular interest in the spoken language of everyday
exchanges between commoners. These provide the poet with the opportunity to contrast the
unmannered and sometimes crude character of verbal communication between rural folk with
the refined and poetic expression of sentiment that mark exchanges among the courtly elite of
the poetic world and the diction of the epic poem itself. A good example of the latter is the
welcome given Prince Aja and his escort in a distant village by a one time courtier who had
become an ascetic and who was said to have ‘expressed himself beautifully in kakawin verse’
when he spoke (Sum, 28.10–27).
23. Hunter (2009:5-6).
We might conclude then that the poet well understood the exotic nature of
the custom of a princess choosing her own husband but nevertheless has set
about integrating it fully into his account of the life story of Princess
Indumatī.
However the matter cannot end with this observation. The poet is not just
interested in the swayambara as an institution of marriage, describing its
participants and procedures. Nor is his account of it a slavish rehash of the
account of the description in the raghuvaṃśa. Instead he seizes the moment
to describe a display of poetic virtuosity in which one suitor after another
24. We note here that references in Zoetmulder and Robson (1982:1888) to swayambara are
to be found only in four ancient Javanese works, the Adiparwa, Udyogaparwa, the rāmāyana
and the sumanasāntaka. However, Zoetmulder and Robson (1982:1888) do not cite the use
of the word in the fourteenth century kakawin sutasoma. There Princess Candrawatī, making
a direct reference to Princess Indumatī’s swayambara in the sumanasāntaka (63.1),
complains that her brother, Daśabāhu, king of Kāśī, has not agreed to a swayambara, during
which she could choose a husband from among suitors come to solicit her hand in marriage.
She is told that her brother was following the wishes of her deceased father who had ruled out
a swayambara because he had decided she was to marry her cousin Prince Sutasoma from
Hāstina (Sut 58.2–65.2). For the edited text of the kakawin sutasoma see Soewito Santosa
(1975).
25. Compare Pollock and his account of allegory in the context of the creation of a vernacular
Kannada literature (2006:360–62; 388).
26. A Balinese painter in the late nineteenth century or early twentieth century also lavished
attention on the same two ‘exotic’ descriptions in the epic poem identified by Zoetmulder and
Supomo: the swayambara and the circumambulation of the fire. See Part Five in Worsley et
al. (in the press).
27. With the exception of the kakawin Deśawarṇana, a work which I do not include in the
genre epic kakawin.
28. N.J. Krom, Donald Weatherbee, and most recently Jan Wisseman Christie are good
examples.
was imbued with the authority of this deity. From this sublime vantage point
poets were able in their mythic narratives not just to represent contemporary
Java but also to represent the world as they would have it be, modeled
according to an exemplary heroic world. More than this, their poems were
caṇḍi bhasa, ‘temples of words’ – yantra or maṇḍala to put Sanskrit labels
to them – filled with the presence of the poet’s tutelary deity and built of
letters (akṣara), each one saturated with the divine power of a god or
goddess. Kakawin poets were, to use Berg’s expression, ‘priests of literary
magic’ whose purpose was to influence their contemporary world – at least
those aspects of their contemporary world designated by the allegorical
references woven into the fabric of their poetry.
Epic kakawin were allegories which referred to circumstances and events
which took place in the real world. In the case of the sumanasāntaka it is not
clear what these circumstances and events were, but the poem does draw its
audience’s attention to two unusual political events which may well refer to
the historical circumstances which gave rise to the poem. The first concerns
the swayambara and the manner in which Princess Indumatī chose her
marriage partner. Weatherbee has pointed out that in the courts of ancient
Java royal power was thought to be incarnate in the person of the queen who
was identified with the goddess Śrī-Lakṣmī. Just as the power of a god was
embodied in the person of his consort, so the power of a king was embodied
in his queen. 31 The manner in which Princess Indumatī chose her marriage
partner was perhaps calculated to recognize the special status of a princess as
the future source of a king’s power – an idea referred to on several occasions
in the poem – notably in the context of its account of the swayambara. 32 The
second event was the circumstances of Queen Indumatī’s premature death
which both deprived her king of the source of his royal power, leading to his
suicide, and also confronted their newly crowned son with the prospect of a
politically uncertain future. In the case of the sumanasāntaka, it appears that
the poem’s allegorical references both memorialized important events in the
reign of a previous king and queen and recorded the circumstances of a
political crisis – contemporary with the writing of the poem – which the
deaths of the king and queen left in their wake.
If our poem referred allegorically to unusual historical circumstances, in
which political authority was threatened, what purpose did the poem serve?
To answer this question I want for a moment to step back from the poem and
refer to a broader religious and intellectual outlook in which these epic
poems were authored, recited and understood. A wall-poster which I came
across in the exhibition, life, Death and Magic: 2000 years of southeast
Asian Ancestral Art, which Robyn Maxwell presented at the Australian
National Gallery, in Canberra, while it talks more of village culture across
Southeast Asia, suggests to me the kind of cultural milieu in which our epic
poems were authored, recited and understood: 33
The ability to communicate with the spirit world is a significant path to power within a
community. The precarious physical environment is further complicated by souls of the
dead, ancestral spirits and nature deities interfering either benevolently or malevolently in
human affairs. Communities rely on individuals with powers to communicate beyond the
mortal realm in order to see, predict, mediate and control these uncertainties. Throughout
Southeast Asia village priests, seers and shamans are highly esteemed and also feared for
their extraordinary powers which are channeled to secure harmony and ward off disaster.
[...]Priests and shamans require potent tools and medicines [...] essential means of
maintaining the cosmic order, capturing lost souls, ensuring fertility and protecting
villages against crop failure, war, epidemic and other disasters.
Is it not possible that our poet priest was considered to be just such an
individual ‘with powers to communicate beyond the mortal realm in order to
see, predict, mediate and control’ the uncertainties of life and his poem, his
means of ‘maintaining the cosmic order, capturing lost souls, ensuring
fertility and protecting’ the kingdom ‘against crop failure, war, epidemic and
other disasters’?
Maria Kekki in a recent paper comments on fourteenth to fifteenth
century Lanna inscriptions from northern Thailand. What she has to say
about them also seems applicable to inscriptions in Java of the third to
fifteenth centuries and to epic kakawin as well. Inscriptions, she argues were
not just chancellery documents intended by their authors and understood by
their audiences to proclaim the provisions of royal donations and other
administrative and political decisions. They were also ‘objects of power’.
The power they possessed derived from the very fact that they were written,
and written on a material – metal or stone – also thought to be power-laden.
They were powerful also because they mentioned kings and other
meritorious and powerful personages involved in their commission. They
were ‘ontological markers’ – enduring memorials to the meritorious actions
of the donors mentioned in them. The power with which they were imbued
derived also from their ritual consecration before witnesses on an auspicious
occasion carefully calculated and elaborately recorded in the inscriptions,
and because they were protected by powerful curses against any who would
contravene the provisions they contained.
Of particular interest in the context of the present discussion of Javanese
kakawin epic poetry is what she has to say about inscriptions as saccakiriyā
33. The exhibition was held between 13 August – 31 October 2010. See also Wisseman
Christie (2008) on the subject of the link between the uncertainties of nature and kingship.
or ‘truth acts’. Any truthful statement, especially when uttered aloud, she
says, ‘has power in itself, and when combined with an intention or a wish,
has the power to make that wish come true’. In the context of Theravada
Buddhism about which she writes, saccakiriyā, transformed into pathannā,
are used to perform miracles which are found recorded in Sri Lankan and
Thai chronicles and in inscriptions. Kekki points out that association with
the merit of the person making the act of truth enhanced the efficacy of such
truth statements: the greater the merit of the person the more efficacious was
the saccakiriyā or pathannā. She points out that there is always a statement
and a wish in inscriptions. In the case of inscriptions the ‘statement consists
of the name of the commissioner of the inscription and the description of the
merit made, while the wish specifies what was hoped to be gained through
the meritorious actions [...]’: most frequently, prosperity and happiness in
this life, wisdom and omniscience, the sharing of merit, the attainment of
Nibbāna, that the teachings of Buddha would be long-lasting and most
particularly that the meritorious deeds explained in the inscription would
endure. 34
In the case of epic kakawin poems too, there is a statement, which
consists of the name of the author of the poem – announced in the case of the
sumanasāntaka in the penultimate verse of the poem as Mpu Monaguṇa
(Sum 183.1) and the allegory-bearing narrative. The poem’s final verse
(Canto 183.2) declares the poet’s wish for the wellbeing of the world in
which he lived:
May the readers enjoy long life and the love of their fellow man and may they be able to
make those who wish to understand pay attention.
May there be no hindrance to the listeners. May they obtain all that they wish for and may
they find favour.
May the King look kindly on all those who possess the sumanasāntaka.
May the copyist imitate the accomplishment of the priest of the sharpened pencil. May the
holy man succeed in all he strives for.
34. Maria Kekki, ‘Curses, truth and the coming of Maitreya – Lanna inscriptions as objects of
power’, paper presented at ‘Crossing Borders in southeast Asian Archaeology’, 13 th
International Conference of the European Association of Southeast Asian Archaeologists
(EURASEAA 13), 27th September – 1st October 2010, Freie Universität, Berlin.
consciousness. In the courts of ancient Java epic kakawin poetry may have
been understood to achieve something greater than altering the
consciousness of its Javanese audience. Imbued with the authority of a poet’s
tutelary deity, under the guidance of his royal patron and teacher of poetry
and spoken truthfully, our poet and his Javanese audiences in the early
thirteenth century imagined or knew that epic kakawin poetry held the real
prospect of ‘magically’ transforming the world over which Javanese kings
ruled.
The English philosopher and historian R.G. Collingwood wrote that ‘The
question whether a man’s views are true or false does not arise until we have
found out what they are’. 36 Exploration of some of the presuppositions
which the epic poet’s craft enacted in early thirteenth century Java suggests
that epic kakawin were intended as ‘truth acts’. We have proposed that the
truth, which Mpu Monoguṇa spoke in his sumanasāntaka, rested on the
authority of the poet’s tutelary deity and its poetical persuasiveness on that
of his royal patron and teacher of poetry. In his poem he memorialized the
past and put on record the circumstances of a political crisis which was
contemporaneous with the authoring of the epic poem. If the audiences were
to be able to understand the value of epic kakawin as statements of truth and
they were to be efficacious, the epic kakawin necessarily contained
identifiable references to historical and contemporary circumstances. In
circumstances in which poets acted truthfully when they spoke, there is
every chance that their descriptions of life in kakawin epics may well have
been as ‘truthful’ as any description we read in inscriptions and a work like
the Deśawarṇana.
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