A Mystic Journey to Mount Ciremai
The rise of fundamentalist Middle-Eastern style Islam has drawn attention away from the co-presence of older styles of 'traditional' or 'folk' Islam in Indonesia. A recent pilgrimage I took to the sacred mountain of Gunung Ciremai in West Java with members of an association of Brai mystics, a Cultural Inspector, and a number of young 'mountain climbers' testified to the enduring power of local beliefs and practices.
By MATTHEW ISAAC COHEN
Brai may represent the oldest variant of Islam practised in the Indonesian archipelago, mixing Sufic and indigenous Javanese practices and beliefs. Referred to variously as santri birahi, santri brahi, wong dul birhai, and santri dulguyering birahi, its practitioners feature in nineteenth century Dutch and Javanese writing as exotic objects of entertainment and derision. Devotees were castigated for their variance with Islamic norms and supposedly loose morality; P.J. Veth called them 'the scum of Javanese society.' Historical sources describe the central practice of dzikir - the Arabic term for remembrance of God's name observed by mixed-sex singing of Arabic and Javanese devotional texts, coupled in the past with ecstatic dancing.The distribution of Brai societies in Java today is largely limited to the coastal regencies of Indramayu, Cirebon, and Brebes. A 1921 report describes a network of Brai associations, with weekly meetings drawing participants from a number of villages to the houses of head gurus. This network has attrophied; there is currently no supra-village structure. Bayalangu remains the most famous centre for Brai activity; a schism in the early 1990s resulted in two associations. The 'original' association is known as Nurul Iman, with about thirty male and female members (most over fifty), including a hereditary kiyai as nominal head and an imam who leads ritual and organizational activities.
Bayalangu devotees speak of their all-night chanting, clapping, and drumming as religious devotion. In contrast, Brai is considered by Cirebon's Cultural Section as an art form, largely because Brai associations use percussion instruments (kendhang and terbang) and perform publically at both small-scale unjungan (graveyard commemorations of ancestors) and the major annual celebrations held at the ancestral cemetery of Trusmi and the royal cemetery of Astana Gunung Jati. Nurul Islam was, for example, selected by the Cultural Section for an all-West Java arts festival in 1992. This artistic frame was officialized in 1995, when the Nurul Iman ensemble of Bayalangu was invited to participate in the national Istiqlal Festival of Islamic art.
Pilgrimage
The practice of making a pilgrimage to Mount Ciremai was revived circa 1970, after an abeyance of some thirty years because of to the Japanese occupation, the Darul Islam revolt, and economic hardship. None of the pilgrims had made the pilgrimage before. They drew on oral tradition and related rites to construct a new pilgrimage form, and have been tinkering with the structure ever since.
Traditionalists among the Bayalangu pilgrims say that to maximize the pilgrimage's blessings, one must walk bare-foot from Bayalangu to the peak of the mountain and back. Economic prosperity, however, has allowed the Brai association to charter vans and busses which in turn has made the pilgrimage open to a larger public and facilitated visits to a number of sacred sites 'on the way' to Ciremai. The departure date was set by Dakila, who had replaced Warsad as imam, and the decision to allow non-group members to accompany us on the pilgrimage was his too. I was initially dismayed at seeing this 'sacred' event become a leisure activity for the dozen or so (male) teenagers and youths, including one 'heavy metal' youth sporting a swastika patch. These young men called themselves 'mountain climbers' (in Indonesian) to distinguish themselves from the pilgrims; their equipment (a portable stove, backpacks, tarps, sleeping bags) showed that they were from a different class, with different outlooks. I was also not pleased that the subdistrict Cultural Inspector (a Department of Education and Culture employee) had been invited.
The journey began early in the morning with incense, the display of food offerings, a hurried ritual meal, and incantations at the bale. Two of the society's cloth-wrapped ritual objects a signal gong (beri) and a curved blade (bayan) were collected for the journey. (The musical instruments were left behind.) Everyone then climbed into the bus and we made the sacred-site rounds: the Cipanas hot springs (where Dakila splashed the pilgrims and 'mountain climbers' with sulphuric water), Trusmi, Astana, and Plangon. At each site, permission was asked from the ancestors, prayers and incantations uttered, hymns sung, and small sums of cash were presented to shrine caretakers.
We arrived late in the afternoon at the house of the former village headman of Cibuntu, in the foothills of Mount Ciremai. No groups other than Bayalangu's Brai association climbs Ciremai from this departure point. It is a very hard climb, involving cutting a path through rainforest for much of the ascent. The Cibuntu start is clearly not determined by convenience, but is related to the megalithic and Hindu remains found in the vicinity. After obtaining the necessary permits from local authorities, and examining some of the remains, we spent the night at the house of the former village headman, Cibuntu, an old friend of the Bayalangu devotees. On television, President Habibie exhorted the people of East Timor to choose autonomy over independence. A slapstick comedy that followed attracted more viewers.
We departed on foot before sunrise, accompanied by two Cibuntu 'guides.' Local men forage for rattan and hunt on the slope of Ciremai, but they do not ordinarily ascend to its peak. They do possess 'forest sense' though, and compasses. The first part of the climb was on a footpath used by locals for their foraging activities. We then met up with logging roads, and spectacular views of the mountain. At several points, we stopped and presented offerings and prayers at stone remains. (The cigarettes and cash left behind were unceremoniously pocketed by our guides.) Stories circulated of previous climbs. We were reminded not to urinate on the ground, as this was sacred space, and provided with plastic bags for our excretions. A tale was told (more than once) of an unnamed climber who had mistaken a bag of fluid hanging from a tree for iced tea. All of us, including the 'mountain climbers,' observed the pollution taboo. After a mid-morning meal, most of the elderly female members, and some of the elderly men, turned back before the climb became too steep. This had been previously decided, though they were plainly sad.
Around mid-day, the Cultural Inspector began to complain of pain in his joints, and requested that we stop. He was in good physical condition (he had been a sports inspector before his current appointment), but suffered from arthritis, aggravated by the climbing and chilly air. His pain became unbearable, and we were forced to cease the day's climb and set up camp, more than two hours short of the level field that had been the day's destination. Some quietly suggested that we leave the Cultural Inspector behind, but they were overruled. We spent the night on an incline, huddled around a fire. Nobody slept soundly.
The next morning, we continued our ascent, hacking our way through dense forest and climbing under and over brambles. The Cultural Inspector's pain increased, and by the time we reached the level field, he could go no further. We ended up leaving him there by himself (despite his protests) and continued our slow progress.
The peak of Ciremai is a treeless pinnacle covered in long grass, cut off from the world by swirling clouds. A burst of adrenaline hit me during the final struggle to the top, pulling myself up, clutching the grass, hand over hand, breathless but exhilarated, collapsing at the rim of the cauldron. The Brai devotees sung a praise-song. One of the 'mountain climbers' knew the Islamic call for prayer, and was encouraged by Dakila to stand upon a craggy overhang and cry it out: Allahu Akbar!
Most of the climbers then descended into the cauldron by way of a narrow chute. People bathed in an ice-cold pool of water in the cauldron. (Nobody could remain immersed for more than a few seconds.) The pool's Water of Life 'tasting like coconut water or Sprite' was collected in plastic bottles, and bits of sulphur were picked up from the cauldron floor.
Finally, after all the climbers had re-ascended to the rim, a fitting incantation (jog tumurun...) was sung and we began our descent: half-running, half-flying down the mountain. In a few hours, we were at the level plain to collect the Cultural Inspector and have a late lunch, consuming what food we had left. On the way down, the Cultural Inspector's arthritic pain increased. Initially walking with a crutch, he eventually had to be carried. Darkness descended, our guides could not pick out our path, and we set up camp. The next morning was long in coming. There was little water and practically no food left. My own supply of bottled water exhausted, some Brai devotees kindly supplied me with Water of Life to prevent dehydration. We arrived at Cibuntu at mid-day, slowed down by the crippled Cultural Inspector. Dakila, the Cultural Inspector, most of the 'mountain climbers,' and I got a ride home with the former headman (who had business to attend to nearby). I discovered that East Timor had voted for independence. The rest of the group waited for a bus.
Afterthoughts
This was the first time that the Cultural Inspector, a number of the 'mountain climbers,' and I had climbed a mountain. It was also the first time that any of us had spent such an intense period of time being with the Brai society. The Cultural Inspector does not like to speak about what happened at Ciremai; he is perhaps embarrassed by his frailty in comparison to the Brai devotees, some of whom are septuagenarians but in superb shape because of their farming work. Certainly, it provided him (and me) with a new view of and respect for the devotees. Warsad used to liken Brai devotees to Semar, the ageless clown-servant of Wayang Kulit, who goes wherever his masters require, charging up and down mountains if need be. It is not easy being Semar, effacing self in mystical union. Climbing Ciremai made me trust others, stretching the physical limits of the possible and the acceptable. (I do not ordinarily drink water from open pools.) I perceived the 'mountain climbers' being recruited via the pilgrimage; one sung the call to prayer, all observed the pollution taboo, heard Brai stories, were splashed with spring water, and sat respectfully during Brai chanting. All are young now, and 'wild.' But most of Bayalangu's devotees joined the society as elders. Some 'mountain climbers' might one day join too, attracted by the pilgrimage and like practices and beliefs more concrete and vivid than normative Islam, and the performative thrill of drumming, clapping, and singing devotional songs. This is one future for Indonesians and Indonesia: aware of the past, flexible, egalitarian, and non-exclusive. My wife and I were never asked about our 'religious affiliation' when we were initiated as Brai devotees. *
Dr Matthew Isaac Cohen is a research fellow for the PAATI programme at IIAS.
E-mail:mcohen@let.leidenuniv.nl