Mystical Symbolism in Javanese Wayang Mythology
Paul Stange, Asian Studies, WAIT
The South East Asian Review vol. 1 no. 2, 1977, pp. 109-122.
For those who become familiar with Javanese culture its magic is epitomised in the traditional shadow drama, the wayang kulit or wayang purwa. Study of wayang leads quickly from intuitive appreciation to profound respect for the intricate philosophical messages it conveys. Almost everyone who writes about wayang acknowledges that its symbolism is mystical, that it is closely tied to Javanese ancestral beliefs (even though Javanese will themselves explain that the basic framework of the stories derives from the classical Indian epics, especially the Mahabharata), that the symbolism refers to a correspondence between the macrocosm and the microcosm (that is the structure of the cosmos and the nature of the psychic world within), and that even the technical aspects of how the puppets are made and presented lend themselves to the mystical intent of the drama.
Alongside general works on wayang there have been a number of helpful efforts to relate the drama explicitly to mysticism, in fact there has been a proliferation of popular Indonesian works attempting to do so. Here I cannot pretend to add authoritatively to the literature on wayang, but I can suggest how the wayang is used and viewed by contemporary Javanese mystics. In doing so I am not speculating or interpreting on the basis of theories about traditional mythologies and their functions, rather I am reporting about a living tradition. While I would not want to imply that a majority of Javanese see wayang as I am explaining it here, I am arguing that the whole culture is influenced by the symbolism despite the fact that only a few individuals may grasp it consciously. It is also important to note that there is no accepted code of correct' interpretations - different mystics, even the same person on different occasions, put the same imagery to very different uses. Nevertheless, for those who cultivate mystical vision, there is a common perspective on and sense of what wayang is. This is what I am trying to get at.
The term wayang' derives from the Javanese word 'bayangan', meaning shadow', and it is likely that the shadow drama now called wayang kulit already existed in some form one thousand years ago. Generically the term wayang refers not only to the shadow drama but also to wayang beber (performed with scroll paintings), wayang golek (using wooden puppets), wayang wong (dance drama), and a few minor variants. Although my concern here is with the shadow drama, many of the same points would apply to other wayang forms as well. Wayang does exist outside Java but in this essay I am referring most specifically to perspective on wayang within the kejawen (Javanist) heartland surrounding the traditional court centres of Yogyakarta and Surakarta. Within this zone wayang is certainly still the most popular and elaborate of the traditional arts as they exist today, it is quintessentially Javanese, it is a focal node in the web of the whole culture.
Although those tales draw from the Indian Mahabharata and Ramayana for their structural core, the overall framework of the mythology shades off gradually into divinity on the far side and, through a series of subsidiary and more indigenous myths, into verifiable history on the near one. The actors in the epics are thought to be ancestral to the Javanese and to have been acting on Java. In rural Java it is widely known that Gatutkaca's kingdom of Pringgodani was near Tawamanggu on Mount Lawu; that Baladewa meditated for eons in a cave behind the waterfall called Grojokan Sewu; that Hanuman stands guard on top of the hillock Kendalisata to prevent the escape of the ever re-awakening Rahwana; that Rahwana was finally felled at the sulphuric hot springs now surrounded by the ruins of Gedung Songo on the high slopes of Mount Ungaran; that Sokrosrono meditated in the cave called Gua Labuan near Pacitan; that the Pandawa created their kingdom in exile on the Dieng Plateau; and that Semar buried the tumbal (talisman) which dampened the power of Java's demonic forces on Gunung Tidar near Magelang.
Performance of wayang kulit is still usually associated with variations of the selametan, the communal meal which is basic to all Javanese rituals. Occasions for performance could include: harvest, birth, puberty, death, disease, and a variety of religiously determined holy days. Performance of a particular story (lakon) lasts for nine hours, beginning at about nine in the evening and lasting until sunrise. The puppets are of delicately cut and ornately painted buffalo (kerbau) hide and they are manipulated by the puppeteer (dalang) in front of a screen (kelir) so that an oil lamp (blencong, now-a-days largely replaced by use of pressurised kerosene lanterns) casts a flickering and distorted shadow.
The dalang is the focal point of the performance. He narrates, sings the suluks (the songs which set scenes), speaks with a distinct voice for each of the many characters (ontowacono), and leads the percussion orchestra (gamelan) which accompanies him. The total impact and quality of a performance depends largely on the dalang's skill in manipulating the wayang (sabetan), on his singing and speaking voices, and on his ability to weave the sketch plots (pakem) into a fully fleshed tale which is at once entertaining, educational, and emotively engaging. He must be unusual not only in physical stamina allowing him to remain sitting cross-legged and active through the full nine hours of performance, but also in his technical and intuitive grasp of the lakons and their meaning. Traditionally dalangs tended to practise mysticism actively, which helps account for the respectful title of ki' normally allowed them, but now dalangs are more often technically skilled than consciously spiritual.
Javanese audiences flow around and breathe in the sphere of the event rather than hanging on every word as Westerners do. Throughout the night there are typically people moving in and out, falling asleep and waking up, chatting with friends, and making trips for coffee. Although there are hundreds of stories many of those present, especially the older ones, are familiar with the whole plot beforehand. People view the performances from both sides of the screen, some watching shadows and others the puppets themselves. At least currently, in the several dozen performances I saw, invited guests of both sexes sat inside the host's home, that is watching the shadows, while the general public crowded around the gamelan on the outside. The form of the dramatic presentation lends itself immediately to interpretation. Javanese quite commonly mention that the dalang functions in the performance just as God does within the cosmos; others that the blencong is analogous to the sun as a source of life.
Since it is fixed by convention rather than left to interpretation, symbolic meaning within wayang iconography is quite formalised. Although there are hundreds of characters Javanese readily identify all of the major ones and many of the minor ones on sight. First-time viewers find this bewildering, given the complexity and at the same time seeming similarity of the many figures. For those who know the art there are innumerable cues. Although it may not always seem so, details of a puppet's shape reflect, in terms of Javanese aesthetics, the personality of the character represented. The most fundamental axis of differentiation is in terms of the contrast between halus and kasar, between refinement and roughness. Wayang types are identified not only by size and shape of the whole figure, but also according to eye shape (almond shaped, halus' eyes, versus round and bulging kasar' eyes), hair style (loose, knotted, or in a shrimp's tail'), headgear (crown, turban or cap), clothing (floral patterns, plain colours, or absence of coat), and bodily carriage (modestly downcast versus proudly forward facial orientation). All of these aspects combine to present characters who are not only identifiable, but whose personality and moral standing can almost be read' from their aesthetic presentation. It would be impossibly awkward, for a Javanese audience, to represent a character with the wrong puppet.
Colour symbolism is both highly developed and directly related to Javanese metaphysical psychology. Giants and demons (raksasa) are frequently red faced, conveying an impression of easily flashing anger and uncontrollable emotion. Characters such as Ardjuna are represented by as many as eight puppets to portray him as a youth, as priest, as adult, in meditation, etc. The most developed colour symbolism follows identification of the four basic Hindu colours with the four elements and four desires (nafsu):
red fire amarah anger
black earth alaumah food
yellow water sufia sex
white air mutmainah purity
The significance of the colours is explained at length within the Dewaruci story, which I will refer to later. In any case this is a symbolic association which wayang has in common with kebatinan (mystical) psychology as a whole.
Wayang symbolism is often used within kebatinan circles to explain the function of desires within individual psychology. By implication it also suggests what our actions ought to be based on. One scene is used very often to make the point, a scene showing Kresna in his chariot in the lakon Kresna Duta. The scene depicts Kresna's chariot being drawn by four horses and accompanied by four other wayang characters:
Batara Narada (symbolising intuitive feeling, rasa)
Bhagawan Respati (symbolising spirit, roh)
Batara Parasu (symbolising desires, nafsu)
Batara Janaka (Ardjuna, symbolising compassion, budi)
Kresna (symbolising life essence, urip , nur)
The four horses are red, black, yellow and white, representing the four desires and implicitly signifying that without desires human life would go nowhere. This point is important because both within and beyond the boundaries of kebatinan practice there is a tendency to assume that spiritual practices of an aescetic sort require repression of desires. As kebatinan mystics point out, this image is a reminder for those on a spiritual path not to approach their desires as an enemy of the spirit, to accept rather than reject their intrinsic nature. There is tremendous poignance to this image for those who know its context. The story occurs rather late in the Mahabharata and deals with Kresna's last-ditch attempt to prevent the outbreak of the great war, the Bharata-yuddha. Kresna, as incarnation of Wishnu and advisor to the Pandawa, knew better than any other actor that the war was destined. The spiritual message and irony lie in that this consciousness of destiny did not prevent him from devoting total energy toward reconciliation.
The chariot image has a number of applications. Currently it is a common motif for small tapestries which adorn homes at every rung of the Javanese social ladder. Pangestu, one of the largest and most respected of the contemporary spiritual sects, used a modified version as headpiece for its 1973 calendar. Pak Sam Nursuhud, a local leader of the sect in the Central Javanese town of Salatiga, explained his interpretation of the symbolism at some length. The Pangestu picture shows four coloured horses pulling an eighteenth century European styled carriage (as has also been used by the royal courts in Yogyakarta and Surakarta) with a coachman, a passenger, and the sun illuminating the whole scene. Pak Sam suggested that the passenger symbolises the Roh Suci (the pure spirit), the coachman the ego (aku), the sun the source of life, and the horses the four basic desires. By implication, the function of our ego is to ensure that desires work harmoniously so that the spirit can reach its destination.
The same point was brought home even more forcefully by an informant from a kebatinan group called Mahayana (having no direct relationship to the Buddhist branch) in Surakarta. Pak Haryono asked me to visualise myself taking a horsecart to market and back. He suggested that if the team happened to lack discipline, if the individual horses pulled in different directions, then all of my energy and attention would be required by the effort to co-ordinate them. While I might then make it home without incident, chances are that by the time I did I would be exhausted and ignorant of what had been happening along the roadside. On the other hand, if the team is disciplined then the task is simple. Light directions and peripheral attention to the team would allow full and relaxed awareness of everything I passed. So for this mystical teacher in the court centre of Solo, the chariot image illustrates both why desires are necessary and what can be gained once they have been disciplined.
Having briefly introduced the wayang, suggested something of the symbolism of its iconography, and illustrated the uses of individual images, I want to turn toward suggestion of precisely how the mythology is actually used by mystics as a spiritually redemptive device. In doing so I hope to clarify what is actually meant by the often mentioned correspondence of macrocosm and microcosm' as explained in Indic teachings. In order to do so it is necessary to shift away from the normal metaphorical senses of symbolism. In fact it is impossible to fully appreciate the functions of wayang without realising that it is not just a set of stories with symbolism but rather a concrete extension of the experience referred to.
Within Yogic theory there is an understanding that there is a network of mystical centres of perception and power latent within every individual. Seven major centres, called cakras, are located along a roughly vertical axis running from the base of the spine to the crown of the head. In practice of kundalini yoga specifically, the object of discipline is to awaken the latent power of the kundalini, normally asleep within the Muladara cakra at the base of the spine, so that it rises through all of the centres. As it rises the effect is to activate occult powers and awareness associated with each of the cakras, until total union, bliss, and enlightenment is achieved through activation of the highest cakra at the crown of the head. The centres are loosely related to major organs and nerve centres of the physical body, but not identical to them. In addition to the seven major centres there are several series of minor occult organs distributed throughout the body and also related to the channelling of power through it.
In Javanese kebatinan circles the tendency is to refer most often to an abbreviated version of the kundalini system often referred to as Triloka or Trimurti. Those terms, as the tri' (three) implies, refer to the head, heart and genital regions as the three basic centres of awareness. The three are associated respectively with Shiva, Wishnu, and Brahma; with enlightenment, compassion, and life essence. Perhaps the most sophisticated Javanised variant of kundalini theory is developed within the Sapto Darmo sect. Within Sapto Darmo the system is called tali rasa' and the correspondence with strictly yogic theory is acknowledged (although Sapto Darmo does not claim that the two are the same, or that its theory is derived from yoga). In addition to explaining that the various centres of the tali rasa correspond to particular occult forms of awareness, Sapto Darmo theory relates specific centres to distinct wayang characters. Thus each wayang character corresponds to a psychic centre, and by extension to a distinct aspect of every individual's psychology.
While the correspondence of inner psychic organs and wayang characters is perhaps more formally elaborated within Sapto Darmo than generally among kebatinan mystics, the sense that there is such a relationship is generally acknowledged within kebatinan. In Solo Pak Hardjanto, leader of a Javanese Hindu sect called Sadar Mapan, makes exactly the same point with even more direct reference to yogic theory (of which he is an expert). He explains that the 148 major wayang figures represent different cakras and that full mystical awareness requires conscious activation of all of them. Returning to discussion of wayang figures represent different cakras and that full mystical awareness requires conscious activation of all of them. Returning to discussion of wayang performance, the obvious implication is that when a set of characters are interacting on the wayang screen they do so not just as symbolic representations of inner forces, but, for a mystic, as keys to activation of specific aspects of his own consciousness.
Neither the point I am trying to make nor the implications it has are easy to grasp. The point is difficult because, as with all of the fundamentals of mysticism, it can only be properly comprehended through the immediacy of personal experience. In attempting to clarify it, however, I want to focus first on an individual figure, that of Semar, then on the manner in which specific lakons become analogous to the meditative process of spiritual development. Semar helps clarify my point because he can easily be understood as a mythic figure, as a symbolic representation, as a literally understood spirit, and as a mystical reference to the life essence. He is of course best known as one of the most popular and distinctively indigenous characters of the wayang. In the process of adopting Indian myths, one of the most notable alterations the Javanese made was their addition of the Punakawan, that is of Semar and his sons Gareng, Petruk, and Bagong. In the lakons the four serve as servants to the Pandawa heroes, especially to Arjuna. They take centre stage during comic interludes occurring mid-way through each performance and they occasionally become major characters in lakons which centre on them. They are far from being mere clowns, in fact interpretations of their roles are legion and the significance attached to them is rich. In suggesting their meaning it is worth summarising descriptions one wayang enthusiast in Cepu related to me:
Semar, symbol of God, the name is related to the word samar which means hazy or indefinable in Javanese. He defies description. Anyone he follows has to be right. His round shape indicates that he has neither beginning nor ending. He has a breast like a woman, but a moustache like a man. His narrow eyes (griyip) symbolise his mastery of creative power (cipta). Gareng is restrained and conservative in actions and works, he is strong in yogic disciplines and so is anyone he follows. His name, Nolagareng, means hati gareng (dry heart) and means that he is clever (pinter). His crippled hand (ceko) means he neither grabs nor steals; his crippled leg (kaki kencik) that he is careful in all his actions (waspada), his narrow mouth that he speaks only when it is necessary, and his wide eyes (mata kero) that he is strong in fasting (tirakatan). Petruk always laughs in his heart, receiving all things without being disturbed because he is unattached. He takes everything in but always remains empty (suwung), just like a pocket with a hole in it (kantong bolong). His shape, which is long in every respect, symbolises patience. Bagong always comes out on top, he is fearless of evil spirits and represents total faith (iman) - he is union (manunggal).
Javanese myths relate that Semar is the older brother of Shiva and once resided in kahyangan (the realm of the gods, or dewata) where his name was Ismaya. Although born divine Semar's inclination toward gluttony and crude jokes led to his assumption of the ugly and hermaphroditic form and menial status he has within the lakons. Recognition of his divine origin is reflected in the lakons by the respect with which the dewa address him. His power is most obvious, however, on the rare occasions when he is forced to intervene in order to counteract unfair interference of gods within the struggles of men. Ordinarily he serves passively as retainer to Ardjuna or one of his many sons (in fact often being a clue to the fact that the ksatria he serves is one of Ardjuna's many unacknowledged offspring). As a retainer he frequently advises his masters, often preventing them from getting carried away by inappropriately absolute judgements, bringing them down to earth through his wry sarcasm. His presence alone is assurance that whoever he follows will prove both right and victorious.
Semar is identified in several ways as a symbol of the Javanese folk. In the first place common Javanese identify with him because he speaks ngoko (the low form of Javanese) and because his crude jokes, rough manner, and coarse physique make it easy for them to emphathise with him. More subtly, his role within the mythology reflects a sense of how the masses relate to politics. Semar, like the traditional peasant, is usually willing to leave the drama of war and politics to the ksatria. But, again like the masses, he does intervene actively at times when the balance and use of power is abused by those who are its caretakers. His normally latent power is morally tied with the assumption that whoever he follows must be in the right. The implication is that only political actors who truly represent the good of the masses will prove successful. In this sense Semar's role in the wayang suggests what Javanese folk feel is their own relation to those in power. At times when powers have been abused, Semar is transformed (tiwikromo) by the full majesty of his disguised divinity. Similarly, when social injustices against the peasantry become extreme they are often forced to rise up in mass movements which reveal a social power which usually remains unacknowledged.
At a somewhat more literal level Semar is viewed as the founding ancestor and chief guardian spirit of the ethnic Javanese. He is thought to have been the Promethian god-man who first came to an accommodation with the natural forces of the island, thereby making it suitable for human habitation and rice cultivation. He did that by planting a talisman (tumbal) on the hillock called Gunnung Tidar near Magelang, a hill known as the centre and navel of Java. Having established the initial balance between social and natural realms, he has remained an intermediary between them in his subsequent position as master of the network of spirit kingdoms which focus on the sacred pilgrimage sites (kramat) dotting the Javanese countryside. Although his actual function within the spirit realms has altered in response to successive Indic, Islamic and Western influences, he has been viewed as key ancestral spirit (danhyang) by Javanist mystics throughout the fluctuations of history. In this role Semar is not only the guardian of Javanism (kejawen), but also a symbol of quintessentially Javanese identity.
While many Javanese view Semar with a religiously tinged respect as danhyang, kebatinan mystics often suggest that he is a representation of the life essence within every individual. Within the map of individual psychology provided by wayang, Semar is identified with the lowest of the centres of the triloka, specifically with the genitals. Like human genitals, Semar occupies a position which is often downgraded and rarely appreciated as the basis of life. In this respect it is likely that the symbolism of Semar has meshed with Tantric mysticism (here in its pure rather than popularised manifestation). Ibu Sri Pawenang, the national leader of Sapto Darmo, stressed that to her group (which happens to have Semar as the central figure in its cult symbol) Semar represents neither the wayang figure nor the danhyang but rather the Roh Suci (pure spirit) as it is lodged within each person. Romo Suwarso, leader of what used to be the Manunggal sect in Salatiga, suggested that Semar is related to the lowest centre of the triloka. Thus among mystics, Semar is seen primarily as a representation of the life essence, as a way of expressing insight into the fundamental nature of human life.
Having juxtaposed mythic, symbolic, literal, and spiritual senses of Semar, I hope it is already evident that these varying perspectives are complementary rather than conflicting. To rest with or argue for any one interpretation is to make a mistake that literally bound believers and one-dimensional sceptics share. In fact each perspective explains the others within a different dimension of the levels ranging from macrocosm to microcosm. So Semar is the older brother of Shiva, he is a symbol of the Javanese folk, he is the guardian spirit of Java, and he is the life essence we transmit to our descendants. This correspondence of levels and the absence of a sharp line between them is a basic perspective according to which the wayang lakons are not merely stories with symbolism or rituals of ancestor worship, but rather both of those and a concrete spiritual tool all at the same time.
So in order to fully comprehend how Javanese cosmology functions as a spiritually redemptive device, it is essential to realise that there is not just a correspondence between macrocosm and microcosm - there is simply no line between them. Indic cosmology is not so much a set of ideas of how things are thought to be as a reflection of monistic ontology within the realm of ideas. It is only with this in mind that we can understand the universal aspect of Javanism. Then for the Javanese to speak of Semar is not for them to be retreating into narrow parochialism and superstition, rather it is to use what is truly their own cultural heritage as a mechanism for achieving a spiritual liberation every bit as universal as that called for by any of the world religions'.
As I have already said, although the wayang figures are identified with different aspects of human psychology, understanding can vary widely. For the most part, whatever meaningful association is made is welcomed as further confirmation of the richness of the drama rather than rejected because it might differ from other interpretations. Pak Sri Sampoerno, regional leader of the Sumarah sect in Surakarta, described the Pandawa as follows:
Yudistra the superego (atman)
Bima compassion (budi)
Arjuna the source of thought (manas)
Nakula aims and ideals (cita)
Sahdewa desire for more (angkara)
The five brothers are also associated with man's physical senses - smell, hearing, sight, feeling, and taste respectively. Bima is often identified with the will as well as with compassion. I was particularly taken by my Sumarah friend's explanation of Arjuna, namely that Arjuna acts very much like thoughts since he is constantly fathering offspring he does not known are his own.
Having suggested how some of the associations between characters and psychic qualities are made, I want to shift into consideration of the way in which both single lakons and the whole wayang cycle symbolise the spiritual quest of man. The lakons can be seen as analogous to the steps within a single meditation experience, to the total evolution of one spirit, and to the evolution of humanity as a whole within the cosmos. The overall theme of the Mahabharata, the conflict between the Pandawa on the right and their Kurawa cousins on the left, is usually understood to represent the dynamic tension and struggle between spiritual and material dimensions of being. Some people, I suspect in the past as well as the present, tend to reduce that struggle to terms of good' and evil', but even many who see only a simplified dualism in the wayang are still aware that the struggle referred to is not simply that of some distant time and place. It is common knowledge that the mythology is a metaphor for both personal and cosmic aspects of the life struggle all people wage. Sophisticated informants always spoke with recognition that the spiritual and material spheres of life are interdependent, that life lies in the interaction of the two and that neither is evil' in any absolute sense.
The correspondence between story form and spiritual evolution is most simply reflected in the normal progressions of three phases each nine hour performance goes through. The first three hour phase, patet nem, starts at nine and last until midnight. It is identified with the period from birth through youth and usually involves introduction of the characters and the problem at hand and a preliminary indecisive conflict between the two sides. The second phase, patet sanga, lasts from midnight until three in the morning. It is identified with maturity, it begins with a comic interlude (focusing on the Punakawan), and often includes a phase in which the hero has withdrawn into the forest for deep meditation as preparation for the final struggle. The final phase, patet manjura, lasts until dawn and is identified with old age. It is the time when the most serious philosophical points are made, when the conflict is resolved, and the meaning of all that passed is explained.
No attempt to summarise and systematise the symbolism of wayang can replace the impact of stories taken just as they are presented. I want to briefly summarise the story line of two lakons, using them as illustrations of the parallels mystics draw between wayang and meditation. Pak Moedomo, a long-time Sumarah member in Kediri, told me of how he was struck by the parallels between his own meditation experience and a lakon he happened to hear. One night he turned on the radio and found it tuned to a wayang broadcast. The lakon had already begun so Pak Moedono never learned the title, but he was immediately drawn in and ended up glued to the radio until dawn. He did recall the plot outline clearly, as well as the connection he felt with his own experience of meditation.
In the story the Pandawa were in the process of climbing a mountain in order to receive a wahyu (revelation). Reaching the half-way point with the greatest difficulty, they finally collapsed in pain. Then Bima, the strongest of the brothers, picked up the others and continued up the mountain. Seeing the progress of the Pandawa from his place in kahyangan (heaven), Indra tried to stop them. He sent down a bank of thick clouds which blocked out the sun and enshrouded the Pandawa in a damp mist. Then even Bima could not continue and they all collapsed at the three-quarter point of the climb. Indra then sent Garuda (a large mythical bird) to harass the brothers.
Then Kresna, seeing Indra's interference and being an ally of the Pandawa, began to act in their defence. Using his pusaka (magic weapon) cakra he shot down Garuda. Then Kresna approached the half-dead bird with a deal: he would restore Garuda's health if he would help rather than hinder the Pandawa. Garuda concurred and in repayment for health used his wings to create a wind that dispersed the clouds. Once the sun returned the Pandawa revived and reached the top of the mountain. There Kresna appeared in front of them and through him they received the wahyu they had been seeking.
Meanwhile, Bima's son Gatutkaca had been flying all over searching for his father and uncles, because they had left their kingdom without explaining where they were going. In the course of his search Gatutkaca noticed that the Kurawa were all imprisoned in a cage at the bottom of the ocean. Since at that point the Pandawa and Kurawa were not yet at war, Gatutkaca honoured his family obligation to the Kurawa as cousins - flying down to smash the cage which held them. At precisely the moment in which the Kurawa were freed, the Pandawa began to descend the mountain. Before long they were reunited with their family, the quest complete.
As Pak Moedomo described it, the lakon was a step by step description of the meditation process. He said that the Kurawa represented senses which tie us to the physical world. In order to begin meditating we have to put them in a passive state so that we are not distracted by external phenomenon. That is why the Kurawa had to be caged so that the Pandawa could gain revelation. The Pandawa represented the five basic desires (nafsu) which motivate life. At the half-way point in meditation he said desires become irrelevant (with the exception of Bima, representing the will). But even our deepest will cannot carry us to our destination without divine intervention, without grace (as represented by Kresna's aid to the Pandawa). Finally, once we have reached our goal we find, as did the Pandawa, that the source of revelation is something that has been with us all the time. Finally, Gatutkaca symbolises the link between spiritual and material realms. It was in his search for his father that he inadvertently freed the senses which connect the spirit to the material. Once senses were activated, then meditation ceased.
Naturally not every lakon ties so neatly to meditation and not every mystic would interpret this story in the same way. To make my general point clearer, I want to use the Dewaruci story as a second example. Dewaruci is anything but typical - it departs more than most lakons from the formula structure and it deals much more explicitly with esoteric and mystical doctrine than most stories do. It is also purely Javanese in conception, having been conceived by court poets of one of Java's early kingdoms. It is every mystic's favourite and certainly the first lakon which comes to mind when the subject of mysticism within wayang is mentioned.
The story is of Bima, second of the Pandawa, in his search for the elixir of eternal life (tirta amrta). The story begins in the Kurawa court of Ngastina where Suyudana, the king, and his major advisors were plotting to eliminate Bima so as to ensure their own victory in the upcoming war. It was agreed, not without debate, that Durna should send Bima on an impossible mission that could only lead to his death. Durna served as teachers to both the Pandawa and Kurawa (although his sympathies lay with the latter), so when Bima was given instructions he took it as his sacred duty to obey. Durna instructed Bima to search for the water of eternal life in a cave at the top of a mountain. Before setting off, Bima paused to take leave of his family and ask their blessing for his journey. On hearing his intention, all of his friends and relatives adamantly warned him that the mission was a fool's errand, that it was merely a ploy to get him killed. Ignoring the protests, Bima insisted that he had sworn to obey his guru no matter what - even if he had to die in the process. So he set off.
As Bima set off his spectacular commitment was mirrored in an electrical excitement that rippled through the forests he passed. Nature seemed to be greeting and encouraging him. Reaching the top of the mountain he created a racket by rummaging around through the underbrush in search of the cave. The noise disturbed two sleeping giants and in their anger they attacked him. After a long struggle Bima was able to kill the two, but only once he realised that to do so required smashing their heads together so that they died simultaneously. Then he looked around the cave, only to find it empty. Confused and tired, he sat down to rest. Then he heard the voices of the giants he had just killed. With sympathy, they explained that they were actually dewa named Indra and Bayu, but had been transformed into demons (raksasa) by Batara Guru (Shiva) as punishment for a misdeed. They thanked Bima for having released them from the punishment and told him that the elixir he was looking for was not there, that he had to return to Durna for further directions.
Angered at what seemed a pointless trick, Bima rushed back to Ngastina and confronted Durna. Durna calmed him down by explaining that the errand had been a test, a preliminary to the true mission. He assured Bima that he would find the water of eternal life if he looked at the bottom of the ocean. Again Bima took Durna on his word and set out. Again he stopped to take leave of his family and again they all begged him not to leave on such a dangerous mission. Again he ignored their pleas. As he set out the second time, nature turned grey and foreboding, the air heavy, and the omens against him. He paused when he reached the shore. Then he plunged into the surf and strode in up to his neck. At that point he suffered a moment of doubt, wondering how he could function once submerged. Just then he remembered a mantra (meditation device, sometimes a syllable or chant) which enabled him to continue moving and breathing in water as though as on dry land.
After he passed through the turbulence near shore, the waters became gradually quiet. Then, just as he was adjusting to the peace, he was suddenly attacked by a huge dragon-snake. Bima could barely survive the first onslaught and was almost crushed by the coils, but managed to kill the snake by finally ripping it apart with his huge thumbnail (pancanaka). Once the snake had been defeated, Bima continued without resistance into the depths of the sea. As he progressed the waters became calm and peaceful, the life around him tranquil and harmonious. At the bottom of the ocean he encountered a dwarf. Not recognising the thumb-sized being as a miniature of himself, Bima addressed him scornfully. Once the dwarf, named Dewaruci, started blithely telling Bima all about himself, Bima quickly realised that he was dealing with a god rather than an ordinary being, so he asked for help in his search for the water of eternal life. Dewaruci responded by telling Bima to enter his left ear. Although balking momentarily, Bima did after Dewaruci assured him that the whole cosmos lay inside - so Bima should have little trouble fitting.
Having entered, Bima was disoriented at first, he lost all sense of direction and the space seemed totally empty. Gradually everything returned to view, although in a somewhat different light. Finally Dewaruci himself reappeared and launched into a long explication of esoteric doctrine - including the revelation that the water of life was everywhere, suffusing all being. After the instruction Bima was reluctant to return to the world because he found the realm of the teachings incredibly right and pleasant. However, Dewaruci reminded him that he still had many unfinished duties out in the world, so Bima conceded and re-emerged into the world. Although returning to exactly the same functions he had alway filled, Bima was different. He had been fully initiated and remained aware of all three realms (of the triloka), he was a realised being.
Many of the mystics I spoke with in Java referred to the Dewaruci story as being the most profoundly mystical lakon in the wayang. The lakon is represented publicly by tapestries like that I mentioned earlier for the chariot scene. Homes are commonly decorated by hanging depicting Bima fighting the great snake or listening to Dewaruci. Although it is so explicitly mystical that basic interpretations tend to remain consistent, some variations in emphasis are instructive in themselves. Pak Hardjanto, leader of the Hindu Sadar Mapan sect in Surakarta, related the story to the activation of the seven cakra. He explained that the mountain represents the human nose, the two giants the eyes, the cave the third eye (the ajna cakra at the centre of the forehead). Then his suggestion was that two giants, especially in their divine form, represent the sun and moon principles and the elements wind and rain. Killing of the snake means the total mastery of the kundalini power and activation of all the cakra it passes through. The meeting with Dewaruci means the meeting with the pure essence of life, the true teacher, which exists within each of us. Bima's entry into Dewaruci represents his achievement of union (manunggal).
Another mystic in the same city of Surakarta, but this time from the Sumarah group, gave me a different slant on the lakon. Pak Darno read the story as meaning that achievement of mystical union required liberation from preoccupation with magic, powers, and concentration. According to his interpretation the giants, cave, and mountain again symbolise the ajna cakra, and the nose. But Pak Darno chose to stress that through meditation on the ajna cakra Bima could not achieve his mission. To him this portion of the story implied that those who practise meditation through concentration on particular cakra should be relaxing and letting go instead. Bima began to head in the right direction when he entered the ocean which symbolises the chest area (sanubari). As his centre of attention shifted from the head into the chest he went through a moment of fear that he would not be able to function normally. That hesitation is analogous to the fear all meditators experience when they take the initial step from consciousness bound by thoughts into the realm of intuition and feeling. In taking that step almost everyone wonders whether the real world' will still be there when thoughts are no longer in control. Then as Bima entered the sea he found roughness at first, but increasing peace as he continued. The waves and roughness represent the often unpleasant feelings meditators experience as they first come to know their feelings. The gradual peace represents the peaceful state which results when the senses and desires have become passive and receptive.
The encounter with the snake symbolises the spiritual battle which occurs between the pure drive toward union and the constant temptation to use occult power for material gain. The snake represents powers such as clairvoyance, ability to heal, invulnerability, and capacity to influence others - all of which become active with the opening of the various cakra. Bima was only able to conquer the temptation of power by using his thumbnail called pancanaka. Pancanaka means the unity of the five sense, sharpness of will. Having transcended power, Bima met his own true inner identity and through it came to realise the universal life essence. Finally, he came to understand that regardless of how other-worldly his lessons seemed, their relevance was within the very world of duties he had left.
Although interpretations are likely to vary as much as individual experience, it ought to be clear enough how wayang lakons represent levels of spiritual realisation. It is hardly possible to suggest the full range of meaning attached to wayang by mystics, but if I have managed to clarify how the outer form of the drama relate directly to the inner experiences of mystics that will be enough. In appreciating stories like that of Dewaruci it is not enough to notice that they are richly symbolic. For those who are practising mystics, to experience the Dewaruci story is to progress through all of the states of awareness referred to. If the dalang is truly a dalang, then he will lead the way, then the performance will function as a concrete aid to achievement of the spiritual states sought. As is always true of spiritual matters the final test can only be through direct inner realisation. Awareness of the connection between macrocosm and microcosm cannot be abstract, it must be experiential. The richness of wayang lies not so much in abstract symbolism as in the fact that the drama pulls people toward experience of the states it refers to.
New: 23 October, 2021 | Now: 23 October, 2021
This page incorporates material from Garry Gillard's Freotopia website, that he started in 2014 and the contents of which he donated to Wikimedia Australia in 2024. The content was originally hosted at freotopia.org/people/paulstange/wayang.html, and has been edited since it was imported here (see page history). The donated data is also preserved in the Internet Archive's collection.