When confronted with Hindu and Islamic script-bearing objects in Southeast Asia, I often find myself asking ‘What is a text?’ Such dynamic objects are often believed to be imbued with life and to partner with humans and other sentient beings in ritual exchanges, particularly where protection is required. This question has deeply informed my own work so, when reading Richard Fox's More than words: Transforming script, agency, and collective life in Bali (Cornell University Press, 2018), I felt I was in the presence of a like-minded scholar whose interests resonate with my own. It is an honour then to contribute to this collection of essays celebrating Fox's important book for the Journal of Southeast Asian Studies.
My interest in Islamic communities on Bali was shaped in large part by one of my informants in the 1990s. As reigning high priest (pedanda) of Pemecutan Palace, he revealed to me some of the magical intersections between Islam and Hinduism that emerged in part in the ongoing relationships and often covert trade networks established among the Javanese, Balinese, and Bugis to counteract Dutch monopolies in a coastal ‘Pasisir’ world. While I studied with him, Ratu Pedanda Gede Pemecutan was often called upon to officiate at ceremonies in temples connected to the long history of Pemecutan palace affiliations. Two of these excursions took us to Hindu temples adjacent to Bugis mosques and their surrounding communities, both in Tuban and on the island of Serangan. It was the formalised patterns of deference between Ratu Gede Pemecutan and the head of these Bugis communities that alerted me to the shared relationships between Balinese Hindu and Islamic ideas regarding the power of ‘wearing letters’ for healing and protective purposes.
Most Balinese recognise a variety of healers or balian. Practices of Islamic magic in the figure of the balian slam continue to hold sway in Bali today. Repeatedly, I have heard it said that when the balian usada (a literate healer who acquires skill through formalised study of Balinese Hindu texts) is ineffective, a balian slam's magic will be efficacious. This is certainly true in the domain of ‘wearing letters’ where Islamic script (huruf Arab) is inscribed on cloth or paper and tucked into belts or worn under shirts. Gegemet is the term used for the type of magic that can be procured from a balian slam to make a person imperishable. In this practice, various prophets and caliphs are identified with places in the body and the summoning of power (sakti). An essential part of what makes Hindu and Islamic boundaries of efficaciousness interpenetrable is a shared belief in the magic of patterned cloth, foreign or domestic, and the hold it has over the body and the land through intimate rituals of literacy: ‘attiring texts’ and ‘wearing letters’. These shared practices of the balian usada and the balian slam illustrate how awareness of Islam has become part of what may be called ‘popular’ religion in Bali.
Balinese texts, like the following eighteenth-century Kidung Panji Wijayakrama, are filled with references to such textiles:
One day Raden Wijaya ran away with his followers because they were chased by Vizier Mundarang from the Kediri kingdom. When he arrived at Sawahmiring, he had to run through a ploughed and inundated paddy field, and Vizier Mundarang almost speared him. Raden Wijaya kicked the wet earth below him, cursing the earth to hit Vizier Mundarang's breast and eyes, and therefore blinding him. Raden Wijaya managed to escape and was saved. At that time, he was wearing a sinjang geringsing as pants. After he took a rest and had a bath, he tore the sinjang geringsing he had worn into pieces and gave them to each of his followers who had become fewer and fewer in number. They believed that by carrying the small piece of the sinjang geringsing which saved Raden Wijaya, they would win the battle.Footnote 1
Looked at in performance terms, these detailed references to cloth serve in the texts as an important form of character presentation. The character here is none other than Raden Wijaya, believed by some Balinese to be the founder of the Kingdom of Majapahit. As one of the last of the major Javanese Indic kingdoms, Majapahit dominated the region between the thirteenth and the fifteenth centuries, until it was eclipsed by Javanese Islamic courts. The courtliness of the imagery stems directly from the value or rarity of the clothing described, in this case, the magical properties of geringsing, an imitation of Gujarati patola.Footnote 2 Patola is produced by the complex process of double ikat, that is, resist dying of both the warp and weft threads before weaving. Patola and patola-inspired designs became the most prized of Indian trade cloths in Indonesia, bartered for sandalwood and spices by the sixteenth century, and possibly earlier. Mattiebelle Gittinger notes that the reasons for patola's effect are more than just Dutch sponsorship. The design elements are often set up in grids that cross the textile surface in dramatic diagonal patterns or circular medallions.Footnote 3 Double ikat introduced new spatial concepts that were quickly adopted and assumed prominence in the authority systems of Indonesia. They are still treasured today in ceremonies in Sumatra, Java, Bali, the Lesser Sunda Islands, and Sulawesi.Footnote 4
Like its foreign counterpart, geringsing is a double ikat cloth still used in Balinese Hindu rituals as a bridge between worlds, both seen and unseen. Geringsing's power can be discerned from its use in rituals keeping dangerous forces at bay. The cloth grants immunity from harm for whatever it covers, its protective power derived both from the raw materials and the complex patterns employed in its making. The presence of textiles in texts that are sung is referred to as langkara (from the Sanskrit, alamkara, meaning ‘decoration’ or ‘ornament, attire’), a way of literally ‘attiring the text’.Footnote 5 But what of ‘wearing letters’?
When I shared this curious segment of the eighteenth-century Balinese Panji Wijayakrama with Ratu Gede Pemecutan, he referred to the manipulation of earth and cloth as evidence of Raden Wijaya's ability to channel his life force or breath (bayu), thereby fusing through contagious magic the cursed clods of rice paddy churned underfoot with what were probably sacred fragments of woven letters or magical drawings (rerajahan). These are evident on many if not all geringsing cloths, particularly the pattern called geringsing lubeng, which is still held in highest esteem by Tengananese, and worn predominantly by men. With its powerful lotus or star patterns on a red background, this cloth has long been associated in Bali with Majapahit kings. The magical potency of the double ikat from the village of Tenganan clearly thrived beyond the borders of Bali at a very early date, which is hardly surprising in view of the close cultural ties that existed between Bali and East Java in the early tenth century and of the colonisation of Bali by Majapahit after 1343.Footnote 6
Ratu Pedanda pointed out the importance of Raden's bath before the tearing up of the sacred cloth to be worn by his loyal followers. He suggested that the ritual cleansing of Raden's body and the tearing of his geringsing trousers were accompanied by a sacred mantra. Ratu Pedanda referred to the text Tutur Aji Saraswati in which mantra are described in relation to a variety of activities. Writing and reading can only be performed after the recitation of prescribed mantra, for example, the mantra to ‘wear’ (angrangsuk) letters. Wearing geringsing into battle, even a torn fragment, reflected one possible allusion to the power of wearing magic syllables or mantra (angrangsuk). According to Raechelle Rubenstein, angrangsuk might refer to the ritual inscribing of letters on various parts of the body.Footnote 7 It may also refer to the ‘adorning’ or ‘clothing’ of consonants with vowels. I would argue from discussions with Ratu Pedanda that Rubenstein's assessment of angrangsuk as the unseen ritual inscribing of letters on parts of the body is made manifest in this legend through a literal ‘wearing’ of sacred letters/ leader's body as a form of ‘contagious magic’ by Raden's followers. Here, Islamic beliefs regarding the talismanic powers of patchwork cloth for warriors going into battle can be seen to mesh with what Rubenstein refers to as the Tantric Buddhist and Hindu sources for these magical letters and rituals of literacy in Bali.
The complementary roles of balian usada and balian slam should be explored further to reveal the religious fusion of these concepts of imperishability for Hindu, Buddhist and Islamic practitioners on Bali and Java. Richard Fox's book is a welcome addition to further our understanding of Balinese textuality and writing as they pertain to the religious traditions of Southeast Asia. Through a study of Balinese script as employed in rites of healing, sorcery, and protection, Fox's elegant tome convinces readers how the production and use of palm leaf manuscripts, amulets, and other inscribed objects is always performatively ‘more than words’.
