Prayers, Peddlers and Prostitutes

A few days back a friend of mine told me about something going on at Parangkusumo beach (the western side of Parangtritis beach). He said that when the weekday Kliwon of the Javanese calendar falls on a Tuesday (Selasa in Indonesian), certain rituals are held there. The same is true for when Kliwon falls on a Friday (Jumaat). From what I've gathered, these are believed to be days of heightened spiritual activity when prayer or meditation can be most fruitful. I need to find out more about their significance, though. My friend suggested we go there on that night, but he didn't have rituals in mind.

"There are so many bits there on this night," he told me. "It is like a market. You have to burrrjin."

"What?"

"Burrrjin." The word rolled off his tongue a second time.

"Virgin?" I asked.

"No no no. Burrrjin. For the price."

"Oh, you mean bargain," I replied.

"Yes. If they are still young, like 20 years old, maybe 50 or 60 thousand [~ $6-7 US]. If they are old, maybe 30,000," he explained.

I was indeed keen to sharpen up my bargaining skills, but I didn't really want to practice with prostitutes. Maybe t-shirts or purses might be a better place to start. I asked my friend a few questions about the prostitution there, eager to learn more - this is exactly the kind of thing that my research is concerned with. I was told that the prostitutes come from all over Java to work on these nights, and that their presence is tolerated by those in charge of the rituals because they bring in extra local income through room rentals. I will definitely ask about this in my interviews.

The next day I made arrangements for my research assistant to accompany me to the events at Parangkusumo. I haven't mentioned this yet, but I've found a research assistant for my project. His name is Nur and he's a little older than me. He recently finished his master's degree in linguistics and he speaks great English compared to all the other Indonesians I've met here so far. I think that's due to him being a literature buff. Ibu Kelik's son introduced me to him, and after discussing the ins and outs of my project, we talked some about Pramoedya Ananta Toer and modern Indonesian history. At one point he said: "history is a narrative of power". I knew right then that I'd found the right guy for the job. Equally importantly, Nur is a good communicator and appears knowledgeable about the myriad subtleties involved with talking to Indonesian people. He has some experience translating articles, grant proposals, and a book, though he has not done interpreting work before. So far he's been great and has given me some valuable suggestions for my project. I'm paying him 20,000 Indonesian rupiah per hour. That's a little less than $2.20 US. It sounds like a pittance but it's on the higher end of the payscale for professional guides here. So he's being well compensated. I wanted to set his wage a tad lower than that, but since he's doing such a great job it doesn't bother me.

When the day came and I went to see if my friend was ready to leave for the beach, I walked in to see his friend scratching red welts into his back with a coin. The red lines ran horizontally outward from his spine, making him look like some sort of tiger-man. He told me wasn't feeling so good because he had masuk angin [lit "enter wind"]. Basically in the medical imagination here there is an idea that wind can enter your body and make you sick. Kind of like our idea of catching a cold, sort of maybe not really... Long welts were being scratched into his back, chest, and arms to let the wind escape from inside his body. He told me he wasn't going to accompany Nur and I this time. I left alone and met Nur up the street.

As we sped south toward Parangkusumo on his motorbike, I spoke with Nur about my goals for the excursion and what I was interested in seeing there. To my disbelief, he raised his left hand and began gesturing profusely while speaking. We must have been going at least 50 mph. As we hurdled each bump in the road I felt the front wheel try to pull away from the grip of his right hand. They say that making your body go completely limp at the point of impact increases your chance of surviving a high-speed fall.. I mentally prepared to relax my muscles while praying that centripetal force would keep the bike straight. Every red light was a sigh of relief until we finally arrived.

From the brief descriptions I read online about these nights, I was expecting maybe a few dozen older people solemnly performing some quiet ritual on the beach, but instead the place was packed and quite busy. But this is typical of my experience here - my entire trip has been one long deconstruction of the myriad mental images I created about Indonesia before coming. So surprises are the norm.

The rituals were being performed inside part of a large courtyard-type area. This rectangular area, flanked by waist-high stone walls, contains a mosque, a central walled area containing two sacred rocks, two smaller semi-walled structures (perhaps only for ceremonial use), and two larger open-air structures. I'll try to make some sketch up of the place soon. Besides the structures, which are all near each other, there is a span of grass that reaches the paved area at the beach's edge (where I encountered the sheep before). There were also small swathes of grass alongside the paved paths that circle the rock enclosure.

Despite the hundreds of people milling about, there was a calm, quiet ambiance about the place, like you could tell something important was going on. I made my way to the enclosure with the sacred rocks. There was a somewhat steady stream of people entering and leaving it. Near its entrance, inside, was a large thatched mat. At the front of it sat two older men, each wearing traditional Javanese dress. Before them were two bucket-sized stone containers in which smoldering fire/incense burned. They also held bundles of lit incense sticks. Further in front of them lay the two rocks, protruding from the sand and bathed in flowers.

When people entered the enclosure, they first sat behind the two men tending the fires, apparently saying some kind of prayer. Some of them brought with them offerings of flowers wrapped in banana leaves, with which one of the fire-tenders would, after performing their prayers, make 3 clockwise motions over the flames. Then the banana leaf packet would be returned to its owner and shortly thereafter the group would stand and make their way to the rocks. There they would pray, sprinkle their flowers over the rock, and then either pray more, meditate, or sift their hand through the pile of flowers on top of the rock. This was all done very quietly and intently.

Along the outside of the enclosure, a couple dozen onlookers peered over the chest-high wall. I joined them there to watch.

While watching the rituals I felt that there was a subtle energy or charge running through the place. Maybe it was just a combination of me being hyped and the lingering vibration from the 15 minute bike ride I had just taken.

People were all over the place outside the rock enclosure. A few were engaged in some kind of standing or sitting meditation. Just outside the entrance to the rock enclosure, a group of five or six people stood silently in a semi-circle, swaying gently while they concentrated on their prayer. As I walked past them I hoped I wasn't crossing any delicate metaphysical boundaries or channels. In the nearby wall-less structures there were people sprawled out, resting, smoking, and chatting softly. Nearby in the grass, older men and women sold massages. Here and there along the edges of the paved footpaths stood prostitutes - most older than 25, I'd guess. The whole place was a strange mix of leisure, commercial activity, and ritual.

I wanted to take some photographs of the rituals, but I wasn't sure if that was against protocol. I waited to see if anyone else was shooting, but everyone was just watching. I asked Nur if there was someone we could ask about this, and he told me he would talk to one of the men sitting next to the entrance of the rock enclosure. He walked over and I continued watching.

When I walked over to where he was, I saw him crouched down, smiling widely as he delicately offered the man his lighter and a cigarette. That's Java-style diplomacy at work for you. Nur ended up chatting with the man for more than ten minutes, and was given some very interesting information about the rituals. "So, is it alright to take photos?" I asked him after he returned. "Ahhh - I forgot to ask!" he laughed.

Here is what Nur learned from speaking to the man: He (the man) has been coming to Parangkusumo for rituals since he was a teenager. He prays not for material things but for inner peace/spiritual tranquility. He says it truly works for him because all of his (4) sons & daughters are where they should be in school, he's had no trouble paying for their education, and the ones that have graduated have all found jobs right away. He said that if he is at peace spiritually, success and material well-being will be attracted to him. He told Nur that people come from all over Java on the Selasa Kliwon and malam Jumaat Kliwon nights, and on the annual soroh night, people come from all over Indonesia. People of faiths other than Islam can come and pray, he said,and Javanese are not the only ethnic group that visit.

Taking pictures turned out to be fine, as long as no flash was used. I took pictures and continued to watch the rituals.

I looked on while a man knelt with his forehead touching the rock while an older man next to him held a palm an inch or two above his back. Some sort of healing maybe?

While we were watching, Nur and I discussed the relationship between Islam and Javanese animism. He explained to me that many Javanese adulterated their local religion with Islamic elements. I stopped in my tracks at that statement - it was so telling of the differences in our perspectives. Naturally I would have thought of Islam as the thing being "adulterated" (I might have used a word with fewer normative connotations, though). Didn't even realize I was working under that assumption until Nur said what he said.

Later we walked toward the beach, past the long rows of vendors. There was a wide variety of aphrodisiacs being sold - perhaps for the prostitutes' customers. One guy was selling crocodile penis oil. Next to his vials he had some sexy pictures set out. They looked to be from the early 90s or 80s. One was picture of bikini-clad white woman with the word ingin [to desire] covering her crotch. Other people sold hats, clothes, rings with magic stones, Islamic prayer beads, trinkets, the list goes on. We saw one guy from Papua New Guinea in full Papuan attire. He was selling souvenirs and what looked like some kind of herbal medicines. The place was bustling and loud - several people had megaphones which they used to advertise their products.

Fires and lanterns dotted the beach, and at first I thought they might be for rituals. Silly me. Most of them were for people either selling massages or cooking food (to sell). There was an amazing view of the stars and the Milky Way, which had a magical effect when combined with the rumbling black ocean at our feet. I can imagine how a place like that has so much folklore associated with it. It really felt mystical and full of energy.

After soaking in the scenery at the beach we went back into the square/courtyard area. We saw more people doing their rituals, and also saw many prostitutes standing around. They all looked like they were waiting on a bus to come, or something. It felt strange seeing them in such close proximity to the mosque and the sacred rock enclosure. The whole evening was pretty strange in general.

[Wow I thought I might never finish this post! Note: This night was around July 1st or 2nd.]

The two sacred rocks. Ground zero.

Sifting through flower petals after praying. A fellow bystander later told Nur that each offering [of flowers] consists of 4 types of flowers. One of these, called kantil, is searched for among the petals after one offers their prayers and flower offering. She told Nur that the kantil represents one's prayer.

Various people/groups of people pray at the rocks simultaneously. Here a ritual food offering is being made. The white conic structures are rice.

This man assists people with their prayers. Here he is chanting an Islamic formula.

Spreading flowers.

That basket was being taken away after being offered at the rock.

This is where the sand of the beach meets the edge of Parangkusumo. This area stretches down toward the central square. Vendors galore.

Selling aphrodisiacs. Look closely at the bottom right of this picture, you can see some of the sexy photos. This wasn't the person selling crocodile penis oil.

Many of the sales pitches were quite theatrical.