CHAPTER VII.
RETURN TO PASSEROEWAN—START FOR MALANG—INCONVENIENCES WHICH MAY ARISE FROM NOT KNOWING THE DUTCH LANGUAGE—CASCADE OF BAÖNG—OUR INCREDULITY—SEEING IS BELIEVING—RUINS OF SINGASARI—NATIVE TRADITION—MALANG INTERVIEW WITH THE RESIDENT—PER PLENING DIFFICULTY—IMPORTANCE OF KNOWING FRENCH—_ ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH—FERTILITY OF THE SOJL—THE SAWAH SERPENT—A DISTURBED SIESTA—SINGULAR STOCKING—NARROW ESCAPE— TOBACCO FIELDS—VISIT TO THE REGENT.
CHAPTER VII.
We started next day early in the morning, which was bright and balmy, for Passeroewan, arriving there about eight a.m. Here we supplied ourselves with monetary and other necessaries, after which we made preparations for a long drive on a blazing hot day, by no means the most agreeable prospect.
I sent my inland passport to be viséd as usual, and when the hotel servant returned, I perceived the words "for Batavia" endorsed on the back, to which was affixed the Resident's signature. The whole composition, being in Dutch, was to me perfectly unintelligible. I therefore referred to my landlord, who, from his long residence in Java, had acquired a good knowledge of the language. On my showing him the superscription, he called for his boy, and asked him if he had told the Resident of our wish to go to Malang? On the servant replying in the affirmative, the landlord turned to me, saying, as he handed the paper back,
"It looks queer, sir, but no doubt it is all right—at all events they will make it all clear to you at Malang."
Encouraged by this assurance of our landlord, we at once started, for the horses had been for some time impatiently pawing the ground, and the coucer had several times turned his head to see if we were coming.
During the drive we passed through a variety of scenery. The country was occasionally open and wooded, sometimes undulating and flat, with occasional glimpses of mountains, the Ardjuno and Indrokito being those first seen after leaving Passeroewan; and those called Kawi, Kresi, and Kloet near Malang.
Between Protong and Jatasari we stopped to see the waterfall of Baöng, which is about twenty minutes walk from the road. On approaching the spot, I found the source of the water to be on a level with the ground on which we stood, but separated from us by a deep, wide chasm, whose sides and floor were completely concealed by wild shrubs and bushes. We descended a short distance, and then, looking up, saw the rushing flow of water, issuing apparently from the trees themselves, so densely thick was the foliage around. The fall is but trifling, not more than sixty feet. Above the chasm, at some distance from it, is a fine range of low hills, covered from crown to base with a jungle of tall trees.
This waterfall is renowned for the tigers and leopards seen in its vicinity, and many assured us it was no unusual sight to see them amid the trees roaming about, more particularly near the reservoir. As we were very incredulous regarding this statement, we felt no hesitation in venturing nearer to the cascade, in order to obtain a better view of it. We accordingly threaded our way through the jungle, followed by our servant, and had proceeded about half-way down the slope, when we heard a rustling among the trees, and just before us, a little to the right, jumped out a small leopard, which, apparently terrified at the unusual appearance of strangers, darted off in an opposite direction, and was lost to sight in little more than a second. No longer disbelieving the assertions of those who had kindly warned us, we hastily retraced our steps, passing on our way the skins of some small wild animals, evidently, to judge from the prints of large paws imprinted on them, the remnants of poor creatures on which the tigers had made their repast.
The road to Jatasarie was very uneven and full of ruts. Between it and the next post, Lawang, we passed four high square columns, called Watas, or Tanda-han, boundary marks by which one district, or residency, is separated from another.
Malang is in the residency of Passeroewan, and under the control of an assistant resident, nominally supported by a Javanese regent, or, as the Dutch call him, Reghent. We passed the village of Singasari, once probably boasting of a large Hindu population, if we may judge from the sculptural remains they have left behind them, displaying some art in the use of the hammer and chisel. A few scattered houses are now all the habitable part of the village; but these, being the dwellings of wealthy Javanese ryots, are generally substantially built of brick and mortar.
As we were anxious to see the ruins, we ordered the coucer to drive as near as he could. A ride of about five minutes brought us to within a short walk of the place where they are situated, a kind of natural amphitheatre, no doubt selected for the celebration of worship on account of its sheltered position. The first objects we remarked were two altars of hewn trachyte, the stones composing which were cemented together with mortar. On one of the altars, which are fully fifty paces from each other, was seated an enormous figure, cut out of a solid block of granite, twelve feet in height, by six or eight in thickness, and in wonderful preservation. With large protruding eyes, prominent nose, curved at the nostrils and point, wide mouth, thick, sensual-looking lips, two upper and two lower tusks, it presented a very remarkable and by no means pleasing appearance. On the head was a tiara studded with cleverly chiselled death's heads; the long ears were pierced with ornaments very minutely cut, and from the cartilage of both were suspended hideous skulls. Numbers of chains were hung round the neck, and a loose scarf fell across the broad chest from the left shoulder to the right. Massive bracelets encircled the wrists and biceps, and the right arm was slightly raised, the two first fingers being pointed, as if in the act of commanding, or giving emphasis to an oracle. A belt of skulls encircled the corpulent stomach, and the left hand rested on a walking-stick or sceptre of stone.
The second altar is much broken, and overgrown with Guava and Suma trees, the roots of which have penetrated into the interstices, and dislodged many of the stones. The figure formerly upon it now sits slantingly in a damp hollow, into which it has fallen, probably finding that its position on the pedestal had become uncomfortable and unsteady from its broken condition. I could find no Javanese who could tell me the names these figures went by, though, from the fear and reverence with which they were regarded, they were doubtless believed to have been sent down from Heaven, in God's wrath, to terrify the inhabitants of the island. My conjecture is, from the number of skulls with which both are ornamented, that they represent the gods of death. There were several small figures, all more or less mutilated—some with clasped hands, as though in prayer, others with clubs and other weapons in their hands.
The chariot of Darawatti is very curious; it is a square of solid stone, with wheels, like large roses, sculptured on either side. Seven horses, called Sambrani, are cut out of one end of the block, and are supposed to be drawing the chariot. The two end ones alone stand out in relief, the others being distinguishable only by the fore leg.
On the opposite side of this amphitheatre is the figure of a large bull, gorgeously caparisoned, called Ninda. On his back rests a saddle of roses, and from his broad neck hang chains ornamented with flowers, meeting at a point in front, to which is attached a large bell. The figure measures four feet in height, and three in thickness, and is hewn out of one solid block of stone. Near it were two smaller ones, headless and disfigured. Another very important figure, to the right of the broken altar, is that of an elephant, about six feet high, in a sitting posture, on a pedestal, round which is an ornamental circle of skulls. The head of the animal is surmounted by a conical-shaped crown, surrounded by two bands, in the centre of which are minor crowns. The feet and hands are like human ones, and from the ears, which are large and flabby, are suspended death's heads. In each hand is held a bowl beautifully chiselled, one of them partially hidden behind the long proboscis. This figure is known by the names of Siewah and Durga, and is frequently seen in Java. Whether the live elephants which served as models were imported from Sumatra by the Buddhists, or whether that island, according to the native idea, was connected with that of Java, and these animals roamed at large throughout the whole land, is subject for conjecture; but this we know for a fact, that at the present day they are not indigenous to the soil, nor were they when the Portuguese first visited Java in 1522.
A short distance from the circle in which we saw these figures is the ruin of a temple, thickly surrounded with bamboo, and the Suma, a plant which bears a flower with white leaves and a yellow centre. It has a pleasant odour, and is always to be met with at shrines and in cemeteries; and the fact of its growing so plentifully here, to some extent establishes the truth of my conjecture respecting the figures which I suppose to be those of the gods of death in the Hindu time.
The temple is built in the shape of a tower standing on a large square basement, raised two or three feet from the ground, and reached by a flight of steps. It is in three stories, but the upper one has almost entirely crumbled away. The lower ones are in pretty good preservation, and it is from them alone we can derive any idea of the former beauties of the fane. The stone used is trachyte, hewn and chiselled in a superior manner. Little or no cement appears to have been employed in building, and yet in many parts the stones seem quite wedged in, or dove-tailed, as carpenters term similar work in wood. Moss and ferns cling to the walls on all sides, with here and there a large shrub rooted in the recess of the windows, or over the doorways.
The principal entrance is arched over, having two niches on each side, in which are two large figures. These being altogether of disproportionate size compared with the magnitude of the building as a whole, must, I imagine, have been found elsewhere, and recently put in their present position. Above this entrance, on the outside, stares a huge face, with large round eyes, a wide mouth, regular rows of enormous teeth shaped like leaves, and numerous ornaments bedizening the head. The stone in which it is cut is freer from dirt and less broken than that of most of the other figures and sculpture. The entrance on the right side of the temple must also have been adorned in a similar manner, but the head has fallen from its former exalted position, and now lies on its occiput, staring up at the throne of eminence it once occupied. The second story is a counterpart of the first, but smaller. The arched recesses have been elaborately finished with leaves and flowers—emblematic, I daresay, of the name of the temple, Singa-sari, meaning Lion-flower—and the niches have been filled with figures, of which, however, so effectually has the unsparing hand of time done its work, little that is perfect now remains. The recess on the right side of the temple contains a recumbent figure, about which the Javanese have a tradition. Their legend says it was formerly a young prince, who came to this temple to carry away a lovely princess serving in it as a vestal virgin. His attempt, however, being discovered by the keeper, he was attacked, disarmed, and killed, and his body being immediately transformed into stone, it was placed in this niche as a warning to others equally daring.
Having spent an hour or more in inspecting these ruins, we drove back to the village, and from thence to Malang, where we arrived between eight and nine, rather tired with our day's work.
The next morning I sent my passport to be viséd for the places we contemplated visiting; and whilst I was seated in our room, busily occupied in writing my journal, our host, a tall Dutchman, entered, and in a very civil tone told me my passport was not right, and the Resident wished to speak to me on the subject after breakfast.
"Bother these passports," thought I, "they are bad enough when you enter the port as a stranger, but to be pestered with them eternally in this way is nonsensical humbug." However, I said "Very well" to the man, and he made his exit, bowing in true military fashion, for he had once been a soldier, and was particularly anxious all should know it.
At the time appointed I went to the Resident's house, which is situated in a beautiful garden adjoining the outer wall of the hotel in which we were residing, and was directed, by the opus, a messenger and watchman combined, to go to the kontoor, or office. On presenting myself to the Resident, he seemed at first rather inclined to show his displeasure at my having broken through the usual regulations; but my plea of ignorance of the Dutch language, together with the fact of my being a family man, soon dissipated any preconceived suspicion he might have formed as to my intentions in visiting Making, and obtained for me a promise that he would communicate by telegraph with the Resident at Passeroewan, asking him to grant me the few days I requested in order that we might be able to visit some of the adjacent places.
Our conversation was carried on in French. Without some knowledge of this language travelling in Java would be very difficult, as few Dutch gentlemen in the interior understand English, though the greater number speak French fluently. Lines for communication by means of the electric telegraph are seen throughout the island of Java, which is a great convenience, especially as the mode of travelling is still by posts, and consequently slow.
Malang is a province under the residency of Passeroewan. Until of late years both these districts were under the supervision of the Resident of Surabaya; but the increase of population, the extension of trade, and other circumstances, decided the Government in detaching them, and forming Passeroewan and Malang into a distinct residency.
The valley of Malang is said to be fifteen hundred feet above the level of the sea. The air consequently is not so hot as in the lower lands. The cultivation of coffee is carried on to a great extent in it; also tobacco, cocoa, rice, as well as European grain, which grows well on the slopes of the neighbouring hills and mountains. The temperature averages generally from fifty to sixty degrees in the morning, and seventy-five to eighty degrees in the middle of the day. It is a lovely country, and though thickly populated, so healthy that it is considered quite a sanatorium, and hospitals have been built in it by Government for their invalid soldiers and civilians.
In whatever direction you drive from the town of Malang, you will soon find yourself in face of mountains—as the Smeroe and Tengerr to the west, and the Ardjuno, Kewi, and Kresi, to the east, besides many minor hills, which cannot fail to please the eye by their variety. The valley is well irrigated by rills and rivulets. The largest river near the town, which is known as the Kali Malang, is a branch of the Kedirie. The adjoining fields are mostly meadow-land, studded here and there with trees, giving the landscape quite a European appearance, and carrying us in fancy home again.
The traveller who comes as far as Passeroewan, should certainly extend his journey to this delightful country, which, for beauty, climate, and prosperity, can well bear comparison with any of the Preanger Regencies.
The town, like most provincial ones in the East, is very quiet, free from popular excitements and "sensations." It boasts of a literary society,
owing its origin to Count Von S, and several other gentlemen.
Before the hotel, but separated by a road, is the Esplanade, or Alown Alown, as the natives call it, a large square, planted with verengen, yew, or fir, and other trees. To the right is a wall, almost hidden by the foliage of a plantation of breadfruit, jack, mango, and betel-nut; and a little beyond this, again, is a gate guarded by two native soldiers. This is the residence of the native Regent, who attends the mosque—which is situated nearly opposite to his house—regularly twice a day. On his progress to and from it he is generally preceded by his own band, playing sometimes native and sometimes European music, and followed by his payong bearers and suite of attendants.
The grounds of the hospital are extensive, and beautifully laid out. There is a small bath-house at the foot of a hill, where a large volume of water rushes down, passing through a punclmrun, or large bamboo cylinder, falling rather too heavily, perhaps, to be agreeable, on the bathers head—at least, I should fancy so. It is highly recommended, however, as being very efficacious in cases of rheumatism.
When we visited this hospital we were shown an enormous Sawah, or rice-field serpent, measuring twenty feet in length, with a girth of eighteen inches. I believe it was the doctor's intention to send it to Amsterdam.
These serpents are by nature shy and timid, and, unless very ravenous, seldom attack human beings. A native of Malang, fatigued with his day's work, was indulging in a nap on a plot of meadow-land adjoining that on which the serpent we saw was found. He had not slept long when he was awoke by a curious sensation in his right leg—a warm, moist, creeping feeling. Opening his eyes, and looking down, he beheld, to his horror, the whole of his foot and the calf of his leg in the mouth of a huge serpent. For some moments he remained motionless, too terrified to make any exertion for his own deliverance, or even to cry out; but finding his leg gradually disappearing within the jaws of the monster, he was roused to a sense of his critical position, and found voice to call out loudly for help, at the same time moving his leg rapidly to and fro in his endeavours to shake the serpent off. It was now, however, in no humour to relinquish its prey, and consequently, when the poor man's cries had brought several other labourers to his side, they all tried vainly to draw the huge reptile off, and were at last compelled to cut it in two before it could be made to release its hold. The man was laid up for some time, his leg, though not broken, being much bruised. This story was told me as a positive fact, and, though the Sawah serpent is toothless, yet such is its enormous size that there is no reason why one should not give credit to so extraordinary an incident.
Count von S, to whom I had a letter of introduction, drove us next morning to Singoro, his estate. A garden, stocked with rare plants, and grounds tastefully laid out, are attached to the house. Here we were shown the vanilla plant, the pointed leaves of which are of a bright green. In most parts of Java it flourishes remarkably well, but it was thought the climate of Malang would be too chilly, until on trial they found to the contrary.
Opposite the grounds of the count's house are his tobacco fields, which we walked through on our way to the drying-sheds. The tobacco plant is cultivated in rows, two or three feet apart, on flat ground. When it has attained the height of from four to five feet, it is cut down and defoliated. The leaves are then tied up in bundles of fifteen, twenty, or thirty, and suspended from bamboo poles running across the interior of the shed, where they are left to dry for twenty days or more, according to the state of the atmosphere. In wet or damp weather they naturally dry less quickly; but artificial heat is seldom, if ever, resorted to, as the premature drying is apt to render the leaves too brittle and flavourless. When the leaves assume a yellow tinge, they are taken down, piled one over the other in bamboo frames, and left for a fortnight or three weeks to ferment. They are then examined, and if found quite brown, are tightly pressed and packed up, either in boxes or matting for exportation, or in the bark of the tree plantain for immediate sale.
On our return we called upon the Regent, lie lives, like all Javanese chiefs, in a large kind of bungalow, with a pondopo, or covered shed, before it, in which he takes his meals, receives his visitors, and listens to aggravated cases, on which the Wodono has not the ability or power to adjudicate. Several birds, in cages, were hung around this shed, amongst which we saw the Tur- coo-coo, or Morobo, and the jungle cock, which is so prized by all wealthy Javanese.
I found the Regent a very agreeable man. We had a pleasant chat with him in Malay, and he promised to acquaint the Wodonos of Batoe and Ngantang of our intended visit to the districts over which they preside. He was about the middle height, rather inclined to corpulence. His features, for a native, were pretty good, but slightly pitted with the small- pox. The shape of his under lip was spoilt by a constant habit of holding a large piece of tobacco on it, which, after chewing, he was in the habit of keeping in this unbecoming fashion for hours together.
This indeed is quite a common practice with the Javanese. The Malays, on the other hand, generally keep theirs under the upper lip, giving the ignorant stranger an impression that some hard body, which only a surgical operation could extract, is embedded in it. The Regent introduced his wife and daughters to us, and then tea was handed round, accompanied by European cakes and biscuits. His wife, Tuan Ratu, and her two daughters, who were pretty fair specimens of Javanese beauty, were, like the paterfamilias, very talkative and agreeable. The Regent seemed to enjoy his Manilla cigar; but his way of smoking was very peculiar. Drawing a long volume of smoke from his cigar, just as the Bengalees do from their hookahs, he swallowed it. Then taking the cigar out of his mouth, he turned to the person with whom he was conversing at the time, and, after retaining the smoke fully a minute, exhaled it in occasional puffs from his nose and mouth.