Grahadi, the nearest thing to a palace in Surabaya, is now open to the public.
If you’re planning to visit East Java, maybe to climb magnificent Mt Bromo, you’ll probably end up staying a night or two in Surabaya. Ignore the naysayers; Indonesia’s second largest city is full of surprises. Culture buffs looking for a grand old building, an authentic slice of the East Java capital rich in history should not go past Grahadi. This is the nearest thing to a palace in Surabaya and is now open to the public. This sprawling 16,000 square metre former Dutch garden house was once the governor’s residence. It’s now the principal reception centre for dignitaries visiting East Java.
Its wide forecourt and deep lawns also make it an ideal parade ground for students and public servants practising for the next big show. These are regular events and usually include children from distant schools in astonishing fantasy outfits - frequently a cross between cheerleaders and fairies, creating a paradise for photographers.
The performers march and cavort around some dinky little cannon of unknown ancestry, two caged cockerels to signify the Province and crow up the dawn, and a mighty flagpole.
Built in 1795 by Dutch commissioner Dirk van Hogendorp, Grahadi must have originally dominated the city. That’s because it fronted Kali Mas, the river which bisects Surabaya and was once a major transport route. Now the river carries little traffic so access to Grahadi is from Jalan Gubernur Suryo.
The change in orientation meant switching the main entrance from the north riverbank to the south-side highway. Till recently most present-day visitors have been unaware that the river is just outside the rear of the building. Now tourists have the chance to peep down the once-handsome promenade where in colonial days families would have participated in the passing parade and soaked up the evening cool.
The Dutch may have been solid builders and competent constructors, but as designers they didn’t leave soaring architectural monuments. Grahadi isn’t lofty but it’s certainly substantial. It was built to last of big red bricks laid without mortar and has well outlived the colonialists. The timber flooring upstairs is teak, robust and enduring.
The roman pillars supporting the top deck and making a grand entrance statement (and a shady veranda) are all recent editions, which mask the original rather plain structure. These have been embellished with a frieze showing scenes from the Battle of Surabaya when in November 1945 the British tried to retake the city after the defeat of the Japanese and were met with fierce resistance.
Inside there’s all the paraphernalia of protocol and a wide variety of donated gifts. Visitors can see the handicrafts of East Java and portraits of governors since Independence. The first, Pak R.T. Soerjo is also remembered in the little Kroesen Park facing Grahadi where his large statue shows the governor in the uniform of the post-colonial era.
Just behind him is another park, quiet, spooky and thick with banyan trees. Here Joko Dolog, the mysterious 13th century statue of Buddha Akshobya, sits with a Sanskrit inscription clear around the base. On Thursday nights this is a busy place for the superstitious and pilgrims of many faiths praying in clouds of incense.
The walls of Grahadi carry an eclectic collection of pictures featuring events from the Majapahit kingdom through to the Revolution. Some fine old photographs show Grahadi in the early 19th century. There’s also a well preserved and rare Seni Reog Javanese dance headdress from Ponorogo made of a tiger’s head and peacock feathers, and occasionally wheeled out for a performance.
The building is carpeted in the European fashion although the tropical heat of East Java is better suited to tiled floors. The upstairs rooms can be reached by a small staircase indicating the building was designed more for work than pleasure. Otherwise there would have been a grand staircase where the fashionable could make sweeping entrances in a grand swish of skirts.
There are four well-furnished bedrooms. These are used only for high-ranking guests. The present Governor lives elsewhere, and his offices are some distance away in Jalan Pahlawan.
More than 30 staff work at Grahadi, a name derived from the Sanskrit Graha (meaning house) and adi, implying distinguished. Formerly it was known as Simpang (deviation or crossroads), the name now allocated to the nearby road junction.
Staff members are happy to show visitors around, but to appreciate the place properly it’s worth sitting quietly in the cool courtyards of the building’s wide wings. These are the unembellished tiled and timbered rooms more appropriate to the climate and genuinely East Java.
Take time to reflect on the past. Here the big kitchens and shuttered quarters for workers look much like they must have appeared two centuries ago. That was when Grahadi was the place to be seen - the administrative and legal centre of Surabaya, busy with business and alive with the adventure of a growing port.
Grahadi is open to the public at weekends and public holidays unless a major event is underway. Times 8 am to 5 pm.
Text and Photos Duncan Graham, historical images Courtesy of Dukut Imam Widodo, Author of Soerabaya Tempo Doeloe.
Jakarta Java Kini Magazine
May 25th, 2007
Even today, a variety of masks are used in traditional fertility, death and other ritual ceremonies in many parts of the country. The Dayaks of Kalimantan (Borneo ), for example, use carved and painted wooden masks at the great tiwah feast which concludes death rites.
Since pre-history, the Bataks of Sumatra have used masks adorned with the beaks of hornbills in death ceremonies. In both Sumatra and Kalimantan, and also other parts of the country, the hornbill symbolises the “gods of the upper world” and the vessels which transport the souls of the deceased to the hereafter. Dayak mythology associates the hornbill with the creation of mankind and is likewise venerated as a symbol of the deities. Similarly, in mask dances which honour ancestral spirits or the deities for their benevolence, it is the mask that portrays and indeed, strengthens the presence of these supernatural beings. This is especially so where mask dances are a part of funerary rites.
Masks are also used as supporting elements in other dance forms. In the magical hobbyhorse dances, kuda kepang, that are very ,popular in Java, there can be up to eight horse riders. Each of them in a state of trance and whipped into a frenzy by another member of the group, the riders become totally “possessed” and begin to act like horses. In their entranced state the performers often run wild and even eat grass or drink water from a bucket on the ground. Although this entrancement is the principle theme and audience attraction, the presence of mask dancers and several musicians, adds to the intensity of an already supercharged performance. The masks are usually coloured red, black, yellow and white, each of which have magical properties in Javanese and Balinese folklore, in addition to representing the four cardinal points of the compass. Versions of this dance are found in West Java where it is known as kuda lumping or ebleg, in Jogyakarta as djatilan, and in East Java as reyog or ludrug.
In East Java a red-masked warrior known as Djoko Ludro, accompanies the hobbyhorse dancers who are put to flight by the monstrous animal, singa barong. But in its battle with Djoko Ludro, it is singa barong that is defeated. The huge mask of singa barong is extremely heavy and difficult to wield, requiring considerable strength and stamina on the part of the dancer as he twists and turns in mock battle. Of all the animal masks used in Javanese dances, which include elephants, boars, crocodiles, tigers, dogs, monkeys, buffaloes, deer and the bird, Titit-Tuwit, it is the singa barong that is the most impressive. Actually bearing the face of a tiger, the mask is fan-shaped and beautifully crowned with peacock feathers.
The most famous of all the Balinese barongs, which also feature a number of different animals, is the impressive barong keket. This monstrous mask doesn’t bear the face of any particular animal, but seems to be a supernatural composite of a tiger, lion, cow, and goat. Both the mask and the accompanying fleece are regarded by the Balinese as sacred. Barong keket has a truly regal appearance, with carved leather decorated by glittering ornaments covering its head and body. At its rear there is a similarly decorated and defiant-looking tail. Barong keket uses white magic to overcome the black magic of its enemy, the witch Rangda. In a barong keket performance Rangda uses her magic powers to make the kris dancers turn their weapons on themselves, but in the end the terrible witch is always beaten by the barong keket. Although differing in character, barong singa being defeated and barong keket always the triumphant winner, they share one thing in common, they are both called the “Lord of the Woods.”
Wayang kulit or shadow puppet plays have long been an integral part of Javanese culture and their influence on other traditional dance forms led to the dancers increasingly adopting the characteristics of the wayang characters they perform. This can readily be seen in the performers’ presentation of their profiles to the audience and in their jerky, stylised movements. Especially true of Central Javanese wayang wong dance dramas of the great Mahabharata and Ramayana hindu epics, wayang kulit has also influenced to some extent the barongbarongan [monster] folk dramas and other dances in which the performers wear masks. Although mask plays are of considerably more ancient origin, it is believed that the patronage of the royal courts of Central Java led to their present degree of refinement as wayang wong. The finest dalangs [puppet masters], musicians, dance masters, costume designers, and mask and puppet artisans, served the four noble courts of Jogyakarta and Surakarta [Solo]. These were the two powerful keraton [palace city-state! of the Susuhunan of Surakarta and the Sultan of Yogyakarta, and the two smaller courts of the istana [palace] of Mangkunagara in Surakarta and Paku Alam in Yokyakarta.
In many instances, the princes took a direct and personal interest in the production of plays and dances and thus the styles chat evolved at each of the courts differs in many respects even though there were strong cultural similarities. Mask dances may have fallen out of favour at the Moslem courts following the establishment of Islam in Java, but tale tradition was preserved as a popular folk art performed in the villages by wandering minstrels. Mask dances probably returned to favour in the royal courts during the early eighteenth century, but their popularity went into decline once again with the ascendancy of wayang wong. Sadly, the art of mask making also went into decline in Java but this was not the case in Bali where fortunately, the art has continued to thrive.
Today the art has been revived in Java as the people of Indonesia explore and rediscover their rich cultural heritage. Masks and mask dances have gained a new respect as they take their rightful place in the history of the archipelago and they have also become an integral part of Indonesia’s attraction to foreign tourists. Mask makers in Java have regained their age-old skills and put their talents to work to produce traditional and modern styles. Historically, the Javanese masks have always differed greatly from those of Bali. Furthermore, subtle differences can be seen in masks from the various regions of Java, but in common they typically feature taut faces tapering towards a delicate chin and have sharply ridged noses and relatively small mouths widh narrow lips. In contrast to the dignified and serene appearance of Javanese masks, the Balinese favour expressive oval faces with broad noses and heavy lips. There are of course, exceptions to this generalisation.
Unlike the Balinese who let their imaginations run wild when inventing comic characters, Javanese comic masks appear in a limited range of styles, but early Hindu influences can often still be traced in the characteristics of many masks from Java or Bali. Older masks from all regions can be identified by their strong sculptured quality and their rich ornamentation carved in high relief. This is in contrast to modern masks in which painted or engraved features are often used in place of carving, giving the mask a flatter and frequently, a more mystical look.
Cirebon on the border between West and Central Java is famed for its traditional mask dances which are closely linked with the early spread of Islam in Java. The mask dances of Cirebon survived the decline in popularity of this dance form in other areas due to the fact that the people of this area continued to observe the ancient rituals of several traditional festivals or Selamatans An almost seamless blend of wayang wong and Sundanese mask dances of West Java, these colourful dances are showcase performances at cultural festivals which are becoming major tourism attractions for the Cirebon area. Tourism has in general kindled a renewed interest in many of Indonesia’s traditional art forms and this may have helped to save some of them from extinction. This is particularly true of the various forms of mask dances which are witnessing their value as a cultural heritage being elevated to new heights.
In the mask dances of Cirebon there are five basic dances that a performer should master, Pamindo, Patih, Klana, Rumyang and Tumenggung. In addition there are four other dances which are regularly performed, Panji, Jinggananom, Kili and Samba. Older and more experienced dancers have usually mastered all of these dances, whereas younger dancers generally start off with three. It is not unusual to see elderly performers, but their well-practiced and graceful movements belie their age and the audience is totally unaware that the dancer could be a seventy year old woman until she removes her mask to mark the end of the performance.
Usually the opening dance of a mask dance performance, the Panji is the most refined and the most difficult to perform. In contrast to the fast pace of the acompanying gamelan orchestra the dancer moves slowly and gracefully, reflecting the Javanese ideals of nobility and self-control. But the frequent mixing of the Raden Panji legends with the Mahabharata and the Ramayana, has led to a choice of identities for the Panji character. Depending on your preference, he could either be Arjuna or Panji Kudawaning Pati, but by whichever name, the mask or kedok, of Raden Panji is always white with a small nose, narrow eyes and closed mouth.
Because this dance is held sacred by the audience, who firmly believe that each of these dances has a strong spiritual influence over their lives, everyone remains silent during its performance. In other dances however, particularly in comedy sections, there is a strong rapport between the performers and the audience who respond with raucous enthusiasm.
The highlight of a mask dance performance is the Klana dance, the most dynamic, and usually the final dance. Depending on the demand of the audience, this dance can last for up to two hours without a break. Although having a variety of moods [wanda], the red mask always features large, round eyes, a forward-pointing nose, and a large moustache over an open mouth with no lower teeth and symbolises a tyrannical king. In addition to being performed for entertainment at circum-cisions and weeding celebrations, mask dances are more traditionally performed at annual village festivals. Held in a sacred graveyard, Ngunjungan is an annual Thanksgiving ceremony that people can sustain or improve their lives, both spiritually and materially. The Sedekah Bumi ceremony takes place when the farmers begin ploughing their fields. This ceremony is followed on the eve of the rainy season by another sacred ceremony, Nadran. Ngarot is a ceremony for the initiation of village youngsters, whilst Mapag Sri is held at cultivating time as an appreciation ceremony to Dewi Sri, the Goddess of Fertility, It is these special ritual Selamatans, and more recently, dance festivals staged for tourists, that have ensured the continuity of Cirebon’s famous mask dances.
Tourist may further help the full revival of authentic mask dances in other parts of the country, but it is also important that their true meanings and cultural values do not become distorted merely for the sake of tourist dollars. There is naturally, plenty of scope for new forms to continue to evolve and coexist alongside traditional mask dances, and as talented Indonesian dance masters continue to explore all the possibilities, we can perhaps look forward to new and exciting mask dances based on modern themes.
Source: INDONESIA MAGAZINE-05/XXVII/1996
May 25th, 2007