0

Dukun in Yogyakarta

By Patrick vanhoebrouck

Leiden, Oktober 2004

TABLE OF CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION............................................................................................................................. 0 CHAPTER 1: SOCIAL CONTEXT AND THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK.............................. 5

1.1 GENERAL INTRODUCTION TO INDONESIA AND JAVA. ......................................................................................... 5 1.2 YOGYAKARTA AND THE DIY .............................................................................................................................. 6 1.3 YOGYAKARTA AND JAVANESE CULTURE. ........................................................................................................... 9

CHAPTER 2: OBJECTIVES AND METHODS OF FIELDWORK ........................................... 20 2.1 METHODS........................................................................................................................................................... 20 2.2 METHODOLOGICAL CONSIDERATIONS............................................................................................................... 22

CHAPTER 3: DUKUN AND THEIR POWER ............................................................................ 29 3.1 KEBATINAN MYSTICISM AND THE ACQUISITION OF ‘POWER’............................................................................ 29 3.2 KEBATINAN POWERS AND THE SERIOUS PRACTITIONER: GENESIS OF A DUKUN. .............................................. 35 3.2.1 Joko .............................................................................................................................................................. 37 3.3.2 Agus.............................................................................................................................................................. 42

CHAPTER 4: DUKUN (1) .............................................................................................................. 48 4.1 DEFINITION AND TERMINOLOGY. ...................................................................................................................... 49 4.2 STUDYING DUKUN AND THEIR ACTIVITIES ........................................................................................................ 52 4.3 JOKO .................................................................................................................................................................. 54 4.4 PAK AGUS: KEJAWEN TEACHER AND PUBLIC HEALER ...................................................................................... 66

CHAPTER 5: DUKUN (II) ............................................................................................................ 75 5.1 SUGENG ............................................................................................................................................................. 75 5.2 AGUNG............................................................................................................................................................... 86

CHAPTER 6: DUKUN IN THE SOCIAL LANDSCAPE............................................................ 91 6.1 THE ROLE OF DUKUN IN CONTEMPORARY JAVA................................................................................................ 91 6.2 DUKUN AND CLIENTS ........................................................................................................................................ 94 6.3 DUKUN IN THE INDONESIAN MEDIA. ................................................................................................................. 98

CHAPTER 7: CONCLUSIVE REMARKS.................................................................................. 103

1

Introduction

This thesis is the result of a practical fieldwork-training programme that was conducted in the province

of Yogyakarta (DIY) in 2003. Conducting fieldwork forms an essential part of the Leiden curriculum for Cultural

Anthropology, and provides the student insight into the subject in a practical way.

The study is a sociological approach to the subject of Javanese dukun and their activities. A short

definition of the dukun would say that the dukun, or shaman, is an important figure linked with the esoteric world

of spirits and mysticism. They have played a major role in Indonesian society as curer, priest, magician, sorcerer,

sage and basically one that can help alleviate or eliminate both physical and psychological problems. The dukun

of Java base their practice on Javanese spiritual and mystical knowledge (ilmu) informed by the body of kebatinan

mysticism, which is an essential element of Java’s unique culture and identity.

The study should be viewed as an exercise in which I tried to assimilate the concepts and teachings on

medical anthropology, cultural interpretation and meaning systems, non-western religions and the issues

concerned with tradition and modernity in non-western societies from third and fourth year courses. The initial

aim was to record the motivations, backgrounds and ideas of dukun and their clients in and around the city of

Yogyakarta, in order to arrive at a tentative conclusion related to the dukun role in contemporary Javanese

society. My motivation for such a study stems from observations and experiences in that region while I resided

there at an earlier period.

During an extended visit to Yogyakarta in South Central Java from 1997 until 1999, I was surprised to

see how important a role mystical concepts and esoteric practices still had in daily and seasonal affairs and

activities of the local Javanese people. The presence of traditional ideas regarding beneficial and less beneficial

spirits or ascetic practices was ascertained through various outward manifestations or spontaneous inquiries on

my part during conversations. It seemed the Yogyanese were in general quite open about this type of

information with foreigners, at least if the latter showed interest. I happened to be quite curious about such

beliefs and practices since I became in an indirect way confronted with it in my furniture operations there.

Towards the end of 1998 in Yogyakarta, I was indeed busying myself amongst other things with the organization

of exporting a load of furniture and handicrafts to the US that was to be freighted on a 40-foot sea borne

container. I had found a reasonable and entrepreneurial local partner who organized the manufacturing and

transport of my products by appealing to a large group of friends and family in the Javanese villages and

2

countryside west of Yogyakarta. Mas Joko was honest and very lenient in helping me carry out this venture,

especially when it dealt with the communication between me, the ‘rich’ white bulé (foreigner), and the local

workers. As I discovered after a certain incident, there were also other qualities to him which accounted for the

good relations and respect he benefited from the large group of locals who were directly or indirectly involved in

this venture. “The carpenter wanted to quit working on your tables, Mas Petrik. The wooden teak beam had a penunggu (I. lit. host, fig. resident ghost), he said, and it destroyed the diesel engine of the saw three times in a row. And last night, the penunggu made an apparition late at night in front of the tired carpenter who was repairing his saw in the form of three very old ladies dressed in Kraton batik. He says they told him to stop working on the wood and to go to bed. He stood up to get tea to serve these unexpected guests but when he came back in the workshop with a tray of tea cups followed by his probing wife, the ladies had disappeared. The doors and windows of the workshop were all still shut from the inside and they didn’t see anyone pass through the kitchen, the only other exit to the house. Mas Petrik, he is afraid now, and he says it is the beam of teakwood. He did not want to cut it anymore, nor any of the remaining teak coming from that site in Kulonprogo for that matter.”

I had not expected such a story when I came to fetch an explanation for the tardiness with which the beautiful teakwood Opium tables were being produced. But Joko and the carpenter sitting next to him seemed dead serious after he had just translated this story to me from Javanese. I didn’t know what to say to that, chasing away the thought that in less than two weeks the container I had ordered might very well be ten opium tables lighter due to a recalcitrant spirit which had destroyed my otherwise excellent carpenter’s main diesel saw-engine. But that was not yet the end of the fantastic tale. Joko added that he had in the meantime solved the problem by exorcising the wooden beam with a quick ‘emergency’ ritual and even obtained a batu aki, a little yellow stone, during the process. “So what?” I said, quite staggered. “Well”, he continued, “upon seeing this, the carpenter has changed his mind about finishing the tables and has agreed to cut the rest of the wood”. He promised the job would be done if I gave him one more week, sensibly just in time for the container. “Nietwaar Mas Petrik?” he finished, with a broad smile.

Stories of haunted wooden beams and manufactories were often given as a reason for stalled

production of furniture. When pursuing an explanation to the problem at hand, it was inevitably the case that

such problems or occurrences were being diagnosed and/or solved by ritual specialists colloquially called dukun.

Thus it was while dealing with local carpenters and iron-welders that I was first introduced to the peculiar figure

that is the dukun.

Having lived in Java for over a year by then, this story was not the first one I had heard where a

problem or incident had allegedly been caused by a spirit or some supernatural force, and had subsequently been

solved by an activity in kind, here a mystical ritual. But my curiosity was sparked because on the one hand I was

involved, in fact it was happening to me and had partly become my problem, and on the other hand it was the

first time I had personally met a dukun. Even better, I knew a dukun, since Joko had already been a friend of mine

through the common venture of furniture-export. This relationship started a series of enquiries.

After trying to find answers to some of those enquiries and after having befriended a few dukun, I was

amazed at the frequency of consultations and the range of social backgrounds and problems of the clients.

Besides healing and advice, they provided treatments and rituals to improve wealth, relationships, decision-

making, and careers. They would also practise exorcism in cases of possession related to witchcraft and sorcery.

All of this is based on a donation system. There didn’t appear to be a formal approach at any level of the

consultation, rather it seemed to depend on the extraordinary inner power of the dukun to diagnose and treat. It

was also surprising to see that most dukun were poorly educated as far as formal schooling goes, nonetheless

their diagnosis and treatment were articulated in precise medical language, purportedly based on self-training and

the reading of greater regional medical systems such as Indian Aryuvedic traditions or Chinese medicine.

3

I was there at a time of important social and political changes. The downfall of Suharto’s New Order

government in May 1998 and the general economic Asian economic crisis caused tremendous turmoil and

hardships at all levels of the Indonesian society. On a microeconomic level, in Yogyakarta, the volatile inflation

of the Indonesian rupiah against the U.S. dollar and the hike in prices on imported products caused havoc for

the finances of many households. This was exacerbated by the thousands of layovers of labourers across the

nation, causing many migrant workers to return to their rural villages from urban centres and adding to the

number of unemployed landless and land-poor people. A period of deprivation and austerity was inevitably

approaching, and its impact marked all levels of the population of Yogyakarta. This included large and small

entrepreneurs, industrial manufactory labourers, agricultural workers, the education community as well as the

entire local tourist industry, affected by the political instability. In late 1997 and throughout 1998, prices for basic

necessities had sharply risen. Some families had to resort to only having one meal per day or even fasting every

other day.

One of the consequences of this politico-economical crisis was the notable increase in clients of local

dukun. It appeared that many people sought solace in the powers of the dukun to alleviate problems of hardships

and request advice and ‘supernatural services’. I was struck by the factual relationship of the dukun figure with

the social dynamics of modernity at play in this particular corner of Java. Was it a powerful reminder of the

resilience of ‘traditional’ cultic beliefs in the power of spirits and their mediumistic channels impersonated by the

dukun figure? Or was there a closer relationship between the harsh inequalities and cultural atrophy created by

New Order-styled modernity in the Javanese heartland (both urban and rural) and the resurgence of a magical

discourse to explain events and possibly to alter them?

Romain Bertrand tries to find an answer to exactly this second question. He notes that since the

krismon (monetary crisis) started in late 1997, people in Yogyakarta hold a discourse in which daily dramas of the

modern society (fear of the other, dislocation of familial and generational structures, dangers of consumerism,

new ways of enrichments) are explained by allegations of commerce with illicit invisible entities and powers. He

names it a ’moral economy of behaviour’, because it ties into traditional codes of social conduct and obligations

of the powerful towards the powerless (Bertrand 2002: 181). He makes the further point that the urban

intelligentsia and politicians have constant recourse to ‘rural superstitions’, out of personal conviction or fear of

deceiving their supporters. This is so because of the assumed idea that a leader owning a huge kasekten (spiritual

power) is seen fit to hold such a position. In short, there are various convincing indicators that many Javanese,

more than ever, refer to a magical explanation of the social world in which they live next to a purely rational

system of interpretation. Bertrand concludes by warning that although this discourse of the ‘invisible’ may seem

to have a genuine democratic feature, it is nonetheless often a potential carrier of inter-communitarian violence. I

argue that a resurgence of a magical explanation of social processes, which form such specific discourse, have

encouraged people to consult dukun and new adepts to set up shop as dukun.

From conversations it appears likely that there is an increase in practicing dukun. This speculation

nevertheless raises the real issues of recent dukun frauds and the overt commoditisation of a traditionally

altruistic activity. The blatant contempt of justice and rampant corruption during the years of the New Order

seem to have had a permanent legacy on the Indonesian social landscape of the reformasi era. The now marketable

occupation of dukun does not seem to have been unaffected by the consequent notion of greed.

4

My interest over the years has thus focused on the contemporary role of dukun in the Javanese society.

I deduce from both readings and observations that it can reveal present socio-cultural developments and their

impact on Javanese society. The social interpretation of sickness and adversity and the recourse to indigenous

specialized knowledge to attend to it is significant in my view because it characterizes the difference between

distinct rationalities in coping with the surrounding world.

I have especially focused my attention on the paranormal (BI. for supernatural) powers of the dukun and

the belief in these powers by their clients, not just in healing (this has been documented before) but also in

attending to problems of ‘welfare’. Potentially, a study on dukun can reveal patients’ and healers’ commentaries

on the ‘benefits’ of progress and the ills of modern life or on the other hand, the reassurance of traditional and

tested methods. Surprisingly in these commentaries, criticisms of modern biomedical choices in their failure to

attend to sociological causes of illnesses lay next to even more vehement criticism of misuse of traditional

Javanese remedies and practices by frauds and commercially minded entrepreneurs posing as dukun.

The aim of the research was reformulated to discover how dukun themselves reflect upon their trade

and to compare this to their perceived role in society by the public. That is to say public perception as stated in

the literature (Geertz, Jordaan, Keeler, amongst others), and based upon my own conversations and observations

during my fieldwork.

The frame of this thesis has been set up as follows: First, in chapter 1, I will look at the sociography of

the region of Yogyakarta. This will serve to introduce a socio-cultural context in which to set the trade of the

dukun. Particular attention will be paid to aspects of traditional Javanese culture as formulated by previous

anthropologists and their contrast with the influence of modern ways of life as observed by me and others in

contemporary Yogyakarta. Chapter 2 is an overview of the objectives and methods of the fieldwork. Chapter 3

introduces and elaborates on the different techniques and ‘knowledges’ summed under the name kebatinan to

arrive at and use ‘power’, and which are pursued by mystical adepts in general and by dukun particularly. Chapter

4 and 5 form the central spine of the research report as they include a description and analysis of the dukun

informants and their activities as encountered in the field. Chapter 6 will focus on the clients and their reasons

for consultations and elaborates on the perceived role of dukun in society. In Chapter 7 I form some conclusive

remarks from the data and posit some recommendations for further research. A glossary of Javanese and

Indonesian terms is included in the end for reference.

5

Chapter 1: Social context and Theoretical Framework.

1.1 General Introduction to Indonesia and Java.

Indonesia is part of the vast South East Asian archipelago comprising Malaysia, the Philippines,

Singapore and Papua New Guinea. The Indonesian archipelago itself consists of around 13.677 larger and

smaller islands for a land surface of about 1.904.000 square km. This group of islands proclaimed its

independence from the Dutch Colonial power in 1945. The larger islands in the Republic are Kalimantan,

Sumatra, Sulawesi and the western part of New Guinea (Irian Jaya). These islands, together with the Maluku and

Lesser Sunda (Nusatenggara) island groups were coined as the ‘Outer Islands’ under the Dutch colonial

government. The purpose was to indicate the distinction between these islands and the isle of Java. This

distinction still exists today under the name seberang. Java only makes up 7% of the total land surface of

Indonesia, but accounts for roughly 65% of the total population of the archipelago, about 110 million people.

Jakarta is the largest city in Indonesia and is also the capital. Politically and culturally Java lies at the heart of the

archipelago, and this dominance has existed for centuries. The ‘Outer Islands’ are sparsely populated but provide

many natural resources and thus export a lot of products to Java and abroad. (Atlas Reader’s Digest 2003)

The present population figures for Indonesia lay around 230 million people, with a growth rate of

around 2,3% per year. The birth coefficient is in average 35 per thousand and the average life expectation is 55

years. A huge proportion of the population (41%) is younger than 15 years. In Java there are areas where the

population density is as high as 600 to 900 people per square km. In contrast some areas of the ‘Outer Islands’

only count 10 to 15 people per square km. (ibid)

The geographical setting makes Indonesia a very uncertain geological area, since volcanoes still erupt

and form, accompanied by earthquakes (Yogyakarta was hit by an earthquake of a 6,4 magnitude on the Richter

scale in mid August 2004). Indonesia has a typical equatorial climate with only two seasons, the wet season and

the dry season, and a year-round temperature range between 24ºC and 29ºC. This leads to tropical vegetation and

the volcanic activity brings some of the most fertile land on earth. Indonesia is still predominantly an agricultural

nation, with two thirds of the people working the land or in the fishing industry. Cash crops include rubber, rice,

sugarcane, coffee, spices, tea and tobacco. In Java more particularly, the sawah (wet rice) cultivation system

greatly enhanced the former royal court culture of the farming people there. Timber is, next to oil and gas, a

major Indonesian export resource. Foreign investments make possible an extensive industrial economy which

incorporates much labour. Tourism has also contributed to the economical benefit of the country, though it has

seen a decline in recent years. (ibid)

Indonesians belong to the Malay race, which is strongly related to the Mongolian race types of the

Asian continent. Religiously, more than 90% of the population ascribes to Islam. Besides this there are Catholics

(5%), Hindu’s (1,5%) and Buddhists (0,4%), registered in the state recognized religions. These numbers

6

obviously eclipse the amount of people who actively pursue other indigenous forms of religious organisations,

predominantly characterized by animistic beliefs. The population can be classified in 300 ethnic groups, who

collectively speak more than 250 languages. (Dalton 1994)

The cultural richness along with Indonesia’s sheer expanse forms a tedious task for the central

government as well as an ever-present threat of instability (Timor Leste, Maluku’s, Aceh, Sulawesi...). Only since

the 19th century have the rather autonomic peoples been politically united by Dutch colonial rule. The Republic

of Indonesia is a rather young state as it did not get independence until 1945. In its attempt to create a nation,

the government discouraged cultural awareness for years by reducing the cultural variety to folklore, invoking

nationalistic ceremonies,spreading the use of Indonesian language through education and by propagating the

Pancasila doctrine under the slogan ‘unity in diversity’. The Javanese cultural and political dominance in this

respect stems from the Javanese dominated civil service and the army which were sent to the farthest corners of

the archipelago to make sure the implementation of the state prerogatives went smoothly (Anderson 1998).

1.2 Yogyakarta and the DIY

Yogyakarta is a middle-sized town in the South central part of Java and the administrative capital of

the Special Territory of Yogyakarta or DIY (Daerah Istimewa Yogyakarta). The DIY is constitutionally an

autonomous province, one of the 26 provinces of Indonesia. The population figure for the city varies around

470.000, whereas the population in the province amounts to roughly 3,2 million people1. Outside of agriculture

(mostly sawah wet-rice culture, corn and sugarcane) the principal sectors of employment are traditional and semi-

industrial manufacturing of textiles (batik) and furniture, civil administration and small and mid-level trade

(market and commercial retail or the informal sector). Before the tragic event of the Bali bomb in October of

2002, the city enjoyed a systematic flux of foreign tourists which was catered to by a specific industry and

infrastructure between the shops and hotels in town. The province is administratively ruled by an elect Governor

who in recent years happened to be the present Sultan Hamengkubuwono X. He is the last of an uninterrupted

dynasty of Yogyanese kings who have ruled over the split territory of Yogyakarta, heir to the once mighty

Mataram Empire under Sultan Agung (1601-1646). Albeit mostly under the political domination of the Dutch

Colonials, this house of nobility operated the Sultanate from their Kraton (Sultan’s palace) from 1755 to the

present.

Amongst Indonesians, Yogyakarta is known under a few names: kota perjuangan (the city of freedom

fight), kota kebudayaan (the city of culture), kota pelajar (the student city) and kota pariwisata (the tourist city). Each

of these names indicate important historical and cultural aspects of the town and its surroundings, and can give

us an illuminating view of what the town of Yogyakarta represents in the minds of its inhabitants and the

Javanese in general. (PEMDA-DIY 2004)

1 figures for 2003 obtained from the BPS (Badan Pusat Statisik) via the website of the DIY Provincial government: www.pemda-diy.co.id

7

Kota perjuangan

Yogyakarta is known as having harboured successive generations of indigenous rebel armies who were

occasionally involved in wars against the Dutch colonial rule during the days of the Mataram Empire and after,

against the Japanese occupation force during WWII and during the fight to retain independence after that war

until 1949. These struggles, which started with the first penetration of the Dutch East Indies Company in the

early 17th century through the Java war of 1825 until 1830, determined much of the character of its population

until the victorious battle against the Dutch insurrection of 1949.

The spirit of rebellion was closely tied to the sovereign spirit of the dominated Sultan and his royal

court. When the Japanese were defeated and the Dutch attempted their ill-considered comeback, Yogya naturally

became the revolutionary capital of the then fledgling Republic of Indonesia under Sukarno. Then Sultan

Hamegkubuwono IX even granted part of his palace to accommodate the first university of the country, Gadjah

Mada University. An interesting connotation of the word perjuangan translates the preservationist view held by

many that Yogyakarta as a cultural bastion of Java is also a source and guardian vessel of the essential values of

Javanese culture. These values are continuously penetrated by outside forces such as government rhetoric,

religious orthodoxy or the modernity of globalization.

Kota kebudayaan

The material, philosophical and artistic culture of the region through the centuries is intimately tied to

the line of kingdoms of the South-Central Javanese realm, and especially to the Yogyakarta kraton. The latter is

often looked upon as the heir and protector of the complex and feudalistic Javanese culture of the past, including

the Hindu Buddhist traditions which gave rise to the various imposing archaeological structures surrounding the

city (Borobudur and Prambanan to name a few). The local tenets of this traditional culture, known as budaya

Jawa, have been extensively researched and described by western authors, particularly as the priyayi class (the

local nobility) attached to the four kraton of South Central Java were regarded as the main preservers and literary

producers of it (Pemberton 1994: 127). The cultural diffusion would have then been a sort of top-down process

with the court as models at the top and the rest of the population as the following recipients. Although much of

the rakyat kecil, the mostly peasant masses, were living quite a different life than the feudalistic nobility, the model

of correct behaviour (tatakrama) and beliefs associated with the courts was largely accepted as representing the

exemplary values of Javanese culture.

Today this is still widely recognized by the Yogyanese inhabitants, especially in the rural hinterlands of

the province—the respect shown towards their Sultan is an ambiguous sign of this—but it is clear that this

recognition is loaded with a strong dose of nostalgia for days past. I say ambiguous because the contemporary

climate of modernization and consumerism in the urban transition of Yogyakarta during and after the New

Order has altered much of the traditional values and their local perception somewhat. I will expand on this

below in a discussion of the available literature on Javanese culture.

8

Kota pelajar

Since the initial inception of the Gadjah Mada University in the late forties by the Sultan, Yogyakarta

has gradually acquired a position as a major educational centre in Indonesia. This is today truer than ever as every

year a huge number of new students come to Yogya to pursue their high school, university and higher education.

The population of Yogyakarta grows annually as a result. This is hardly a new phenomenon since there are

hundreds of universities and academic institutions that can be found here and the number is continually

increasing. This factor is important because education can be seen as a prime conveyor of modernity, distilling

the message that an orientation towards the idea of progress is indeed desirable.

In an interesting study on commercial billboards across Yogyakarta, Drs. Abdullah and Sairin from the

Gadjah Mada University argue that the market of education is also one of the crucial commodities in town today.

One only needs to look at the phenomenon of the intense process of commercialization in education in

Yogyakarta urban neighbourhoods (Abdullah & Sairin 2003). This, they say, in turn inevitably affects the values

orientation of the rest of the population as well. To accommodate students various modern services are offered

through stores across town such as cybercafés, printing and copier shops, language schools, bookstores and

supermarkets and so on. The real estate and housing sector also consider the students as a major group of

clients, renting or selling out apartments and houses. The fact that students come from all of the 26 provinces

also demonstrates the pluralistic cultural variety amongst much of the younger generation of the city.

Kota pariwisata

Yogyakarta is often touted to be Indonesia’s second main destination for Indonesian and foreign

tourism behind Bali. The geography and the historical and cultural heritage of the region undeniably create the

required setting for large-scale tourism to pass trough. Under the impetus of State policies of opening up

Indonesia to the West, foreign tourism has grown exponentially since the early 1980’s, in concurrence with the

development of modern facilities such as supermarkets and hotels in the city. In the Seventies already, the kraton

had been transformed into a museum and attraction for foreign tourists as the ruling Sultan had moved to

Jakarta after the government of the Sultanate had ceased to function (Mulder 1996). The reconstructed

archaeological remains of Borobudur and Prambanan and other temples nearby draw busloads of tourists, mostly

from Japan, Europe and Jakarta.

A whole infrastructure functions to cater the needs of various categories of tourists, from the budget

backpacker to the five-star hotel clientele. Hotels and specialized stores selling Batik, handicrafts and fake

antiques, but also restaurants with western menus, trendy cafés and disco bars, museums and guided tours,

traditional shortened dance shows and even a 18 hole golf lawn. All of these directly or indirectly employ a

considerable local workforce who subsists on tourism revenues. Although the Sultan gave a ‘Royal’ welcome to

the delegates of the ASEAN Tourism Forum (ATF) hosted in Yogya in January 2002, the industry has suffered

9

in recent times from the terror threats and rumours linking radical Indonesian Muslim groups to the Al Qaïda of

Bin Laden, especially after the bombings of western targets over the past three years.

1.3 Yogyakarta and Javanese culture.

Modernity in the era of transition.

When one explores Yogyakarta and its surroundings, two aspects are immediately noticeable. One the

one hand, there is the modernity of some of its urban neighbourhoods, and on the other hand the quaintness of

traditional villages amidst the rice fields surrounding the city. This architectural contrast effectively denotes a

cultural one as well, although one which is not as sharply delineated as the outward appearances of buildings.

This cultural contrast is characterized by the interplay between modern and traditional ideas as well as between

the national and the local. It is often said of Indonesia that it has entered a ‘transitional’ stage. Victor Turner

(1976) defines the situation of a society undergoing a transitional phenomenon as ‘liminality’. In such a society,

traditional life seems no longer suitable to be preserved because it is out of date. Yet, it cannot be completely

abandoned as the new model of life being pursued has not been clearly described in the framework of ideas. The

symbols and ideology of the aspired modern world are not yet fully adopted, while the symbols of traditional life

are well preserved. This, according to Turner, leads to a societal tendency to adopt the two systems at once. It

attempts to persist with some elements of its traditional culture while adopting the elements of the new culture

(Turner 1976). To talk about a contemporary Javanese culture, then, is an exercise in ambiguity, since one would

be at pains to isolate a widespread commitment to only one type of cultural behaviour. To quote Suzanne

Brenner: “Javanese culture is not a neat, bounded whole consisting of homogeneous groups of people who share a

unified set of meanings; [Javanese culture] itself must be viewed as an intersection of conflicting,

competing, but overlapping meanings.” (Brenner 1992: 8)

Instead, traditional elements of Javanese folklore and customs subsist alongside a consumption

oriented culture. Additionally, reformist Islam tenets and re-constructed varieties of kejawen mysticism are

spreading. Most urban Yogyanese seem to be quite comfortable with this pluralistic situation, whereas regional,

or better rural communities may show more homogeneity in their dominant cultural patterns. As always

modernity is the more upsetting factor in the process of cultural atrophy (Mulder 1996), and the more remote a

village or hamlet is, the less likely the cultural homogeneity amongst community members will be fractured. It is

important to document this so-called context of ‘liminality’ since it potentially affects the affairs of a dukun .

While intervening arbitrarily at all levels of society and in a variety of locales, dukun tend to articulate themselves

according to their control over traditional as well as modern symbolic modes of expression.

Yogyakarta is renown throughout the world as the historical centre of Javanese arts and culture: the

site of classical dance, gamelan music, Wayang shadow puppet performances, batik making and kejawen mysticism.

Becak (local rickshaw) drivers still roam the streets, carrying people to and from the various markets. However, it

10

is also an incredibly noisy and polluted place with more motorcycles per capita than almost anywhere else in the

world. Yogya has a thriving industry of technologically pirated media, including CD’s and VCD’s of the latest

Western films, pornography, and almost any kind of computer software imaginable. It seems that almost

everyone old enough has a cell phone to communicate. These and other new technologies have now intimately

become part of the socio-cultural landscape of Yogyanese life. This combination of modernity and tradition in

contemporary Yogyakarta illustrates how new technologies and medias (and the attitudes associated with them)

are changing Javanese culture into a local and specific expression of global virtual culture.

Like any other urban centre in Java, Yogyakarta has experienced an intense wave of modernization

over the past 30 years. Suharto’s New Order regime, led by technocrats and economists strived to open up

Indonesia to the outside world. Beginning in the early seventies Suharto and his Golkar party decided that

economic development and modernization were highly desirable. The government’s economic development

programme was predominantly funded by loans from Western multilateral organizations (IMF, World Bank,

UNDP) and foreign investments. It was implemented in a thoroughly penetrating manner (to reach even the

most remote of villages) through a combination of bureaucratic manipulations and a general depolitization of

society in general.

The improved relations that Indonesia had with the Western Nations in the period after Sukarno’s

presidency meant that the government was able to transform the idea of capitalist development into reality (Mc

Vey, 1996). This development worked as long as a staunch anti-communist stance or a communist threat was

maintained. It facilitated a political manipulation which worked at a local, national and global level. Naturally,

capitalistic development brought on a new culture of consumerism and a genuine shift in the social structure

because of the inexorable rise of an urban and modern middle class (Robison 1996). Later, the IT revolution of

the late nineties exposed the middle class to Western culture in the form of news media and pop entertainment.

This largely urban middle class was accused by poor people and populist leaders of having greedily enriched itself

during the late New Order period. This ‘progress’ indisputably brought on changes to the society, both culturally

and politically. The various new media channelled the momentum that culminated in the reformasi movement in

1998. For Indonesian people, the reformasi brought with it a liberalization of political and social ideas and allowed

for a deep reflection on perceived local, communitarian and national identities.

While there is a present process of re-imagining community and civil society in Indonesia, social

scientists have rightly focused on studying developments in the field of mass media, considering it to be an apt

window from which to investigate this determining process of transition (Shulte Nordholt 2002). It is assumed

that the study of the emergent media landscape in Indonesia is extremely informative from a social scientific and

political perspective. The aim is the understanding of present discourses—political, religious, cultural, regional,

gender—in the context of reformasi and its ongoing aftermath (Spyer and Arps 2002).

An example of a new type of media in Java is the written press dedicated to the topic of the

supernatural and its ramifications amidst the Javanese society. Some magazines and newspaper columns have

specialized in stories involving testimonies and activities pertaining to the invisible world of spirits and spiritual

power. On TV, the ratings of reality shows that capitalize on this very theme are breaking records. They also

provide the fodder for lively debates on the web through mailing lists and specialized websites. These media

circulations, which admittedly stress the sensational aspect of the topic, present the traditional figure of the dukun

11

in a strangely familiar way, as he is popularly seen to represent a channel between invisible forces and humans. It

also provides a platform for dukun to advertise their real-life services in an unprecedented format of

commoditization, selling anything from secret power-formulas to lucky amulets.

Public interest demonstrates a discourse on the ‘invisible’ which Romain Bertrand pointed out in his

study on the relation between beliefs in the supernatural and Indonesian politics. He also convincingly argues

that the sensational 1998-99 murders of 230 dukun in East Java provided the basis for such specialized media

themes and consequent public interest to develop. (Bertrand 2002) My point is that these beliefs and practices,

and the discourse, rumours and market that they engender are elements of the Javanese society and culture which

have to be taken into account in order to appreciate the ongoing transitions in Indonesia in general and in

Yogyakarta in particular.

While reflecting an ancient Javanist tradition, the figure of the dukun is simultaneously integrated into

the modern society in which they find a specific niche. They function as soothers of many of the problems which

partially arise from the rapid transition to a modern and globalized world. This opinion is based on personal

observation and the study of various reports. For example, various Muslim organizations regularly condemn

dealings with dukun and other supernatural sources on theological grounds (Jakarta Post 7/1/96). Dukun, or any

people seen dabbling with the paranormal, are considered amoral and unreligious agents of malefic forces. This

proscription did not seem to worry my informants in Yogyakarta. Most reflected instead on the rise of clients

and the increase of activities which often call for invocations of supernatural power and beings, especially since

1997. Even when the killings of alleged sorcerers and dukun were occurring, local communities were seen to

implement a screening system of vigils destined to protect ‘their’ Kyai and dukun against presumed ‘ninjas’

(Jakarta Post 25/2/2000).

Although ambiguous figures in the eyes of the public, dukun are in many ways respected as they

double as guru or teachers of mystical wisdom, whether this wisdom borrows from kejawen tenets or from Sufistic

tarikat knowledge. A study of the representations of dukun in media and in public discourse points out the

continuous public imaginaries of the invisible reality. These ancestral modes of imaginaries are especially

significant when they play a role in the context of social and political polemics and conflicts, as was the case for

instance in the killings of sorcerers in 1998-99. To understand this widespread rejection of ‘neo-feudalistic’ and

hierarchical values, one needs to know the foundations of traditional Javanese culture and the misappropriation

of it through the ages by specific political leaders.

The historical weight of Javanese culture and spirituality

“Javanese traditions were deliberately misused by politicians in the corrupt New Order regime to

maintain their power for over 30 years, prompting a nationwide antipathy against the Javanese culture

and community”

The quotation above was said by Yogyakarta’s Sultan Hamengkubuwono X on Tuesday, November 5th

2002 in his cultural speech at the occasion of the 34th anniversary of the Ismail Marzuki Culture Center (Jakarta

12

Post 6/11/2002). He went on to say that during the New Order, the ruling politicians had intentionally

exploited Javanese symbols and idioms to create a centralistic political culture and structure in the country. The

dominance of the Javanese culture was obvious under former president Soeharto's leadership as it covered all

dimensions of life in the country ranging from politics and economy to education. The Sultan appreciated the

grievances that this had generated amongst non-Javanese Indonesians towards Jakarta and Java. Therefore, he

said that the Javanese needed to introduce a counter culture similar to a “Renaissance” in order to restore the

tainted image of the Javanese culture. Such a renaissance could start by restoring the original meaning of

Javanese terms or idioms that had been abused by the New Order for their political interests.

I was struck by the fact that this speech by one of the beacons of South Central Javanese culture was

so similar to John Pemberton’s conclusions in his 1994 book On the subject of “Java”. In this book Pemberton

describes the emergence of a discursive construction which represented the idea of essential Java and Javanese

culture in contrast with the invasive presence of Dutch Colonial rule. Later under the New Order, these cultural

values were assimilated in the regime’s rule in order to validate the authoritarian and hierarchical system of that

rule and the integrity of its leadership. Were the original “Java” and Javanese values that the Sultan referred to in

his speech the same ones that Pemberton identifies as the discursive construction of culture by the introverted

nobility during the Colonial era?

Because of limited space and scope, I will only highlight the part of this vast and complex culture that

remains pertinent to the figure of the dukun. In Javanese society dukun are interpreted in many different ways,

both positively and negatively, but in general they seem to represent a figure which highly conforms to an old

and secretive traditional order. While it is true that the informants I have met all seemed to be extremely well

versed in the tenets of traditional culture, especially in language and etiquette, they were at the same time

husbands and fathers who were equally comfortable in the relatively modern society in which they participated,

personally or through their clients. Dukun and dukun affairs present an interesting perspective to analyze the

evolving balance of tradition and modernity in a specific locale, since they are often centrally located at the

intersection of both.

While attempting to do so I am especially concerned with the aspects of the culture which deal with

the integration of supernaturalism into the mundane reality of the Javanese experience. The lack of a conceptual

distinction between a natural cognitive reality and a supernatural reality becomes apparent when observing the

practice of dukun. Javanese and other Indonesian ‘animatistic’2 cosmologies do not divide the world into ‘natural’

and ‘supernatural’ spheres of power that follow different rules or derive from different origins. Even the generic

Indonesian word for knowledge, ilmu, borrowed from Arabic, refers equally to science and mystical wisdom. In

this sense, authors have spoken of the ‘monistic universe’ as opposed to a dualistic one in which Javanese (and

other Indonesian peoples) religiously imagine themselves to exist. (Zoetmulder, 1935) This cultural aspect, the

manunggal (universal oneness) factor, is imminently salient to the present discussion on dukun practices.

Given their long history, the Javanese have built a culture that is complex, intricate and spiritually rich.

In general the culture of the Javanese heartland that centres on the courts of Surakarta and Yogyakarta is referred

to as kejawen. The cradle of the Javanese civilization, as mentioned above, is the fertile agricultural land in Central 2 Referring to religious ideas about impersonal forces that can enter and leave different entities in the universe. (Aragon, 2000)

13

Java around the present day cities of Yogyakarta and Surakarta (Solo). Historically it has been an agrarian society.

As in many such societies, the Javanese developed an inward-looking, insular, communitarian, status-conscious

and hierarchy-minded culture. (Ricklefs, 1981) Such cultural features were also due to the heavy influence of

Hinduism in Java. Although not adopted literally, the caste system of Hinduism had created significant social

differentiation and stratification, which became deeply embedded within the Javanese psyche. The Javanese

leadership made a clear distinction between gusti (lords) and kawula (subjects). (Liddle 1996) Kings and their

descendants were regarded ―both during the Majapahit and Mataram empires ― as containers of divine powers

and this divine status confirmed their right to rule. Inversely, the consecration of a powerful status to the nobility

understood that the king and his consorts used their power and respect to protect and benefit the peoples under

their rule3. This leads us to the idea of power in Javanese culture, which is rather peculiar and is totally integral in

the discussion of the role of dukun in Javanese society.

Power in Java is perceived differently than it is in the West. Benedict Anderson argued that for the

Javanese, power is concrete and holders of it are expected to be able to demonstrate it through certain spiritual

activities or possession of several objects deemed to contain supernatural powers. Power in this regard, known as

kasekten in Javanese, is also homogeneous, meaning that there is no differentiation in types of power. Likewise it

is regarded as constant in total quantity, which means that one’s increase in power must happen at the expense of

power loss of another. Lastly, power is detached from moral questions. It does not matter how power is

achieved or acquired, what matters is whether one has power or not (Anderson 1990). Power was originally

perceived to be acquired through inheritance or through divine favour (wahyu). It is also believed that power is

closely associated with concentration and onepointedness. Thus diffusion of authority means an impurity of

power and is regarded as a sign of weakness by any Javanese leader. A Javanese leader would always strive to

dominate different segments of the society under his rule and try to mould different, sometimes contrasting,

ideas into a single new idea which would incorporate elements of both and could be accepted by all.

The search for harmony is the keyword in understanding Javanese social life. The Javanese have shown

a remarkable ability to absorb new ideas, select the parts which are suitable to their way of life and merge them

with their existing culture, thus rejuvenating the old culture as well as creating a new one with syncretistic

features (Koentjaraningrat 1985). This is most evident in the way that Islam was accepted in the Javanese

interior. There Islam won the adherence among the people primarily due to the cultural approach taken by the

Islamic proselytizers known as the nine Wali. (Purwadi, 2003) In an effort to convey the message of Islam to the

Javanese masses, the Javanese Wali employed symbols, folklore, legends and rituals of the old Hindu culture,

such as wayang and gamelan. An additional technique, attributed to a few of the Wali in particular such as Sunan

Kalijaga or the infamous Syeh Siti Jenar, was the demonstration of magical feats during their efforts of

proselytizing. Syeh Siti Jenar was executed by the other Wali because he affirmed that it was possible for every

human to articulate the divine power from within his inner self. This secret knowledge was essentially

antithetical to the doctrines of Islam and also disturbed the ruling elite. Nonetheless his theories on the esoteric

nature of divine power have received much interest amongst current mystical groups (aliran kebatinan) across

Java. One of the main occult teachings involves the acquisition of tenaga dalam (inner power). (ibid) 3 The relationship between village and courts in pre-colonial and colonial Java is extensively discussed by C.J.G Holtzappel. (Holtzappel 1986)

14

According to the Babad Tanah Jawa, the ‘Javanese chronicle’ which is composed from 17th and 18th

century texts, Sunan Kalijaga, a particularly popular Wali in the Central Javanese perception, had also converted

the first king of Mataram to Islam. He moreover rooted the mystical foundations of the dynasty by having

Senopati meet and unite with Ratu Kidul, the legendary spirit Queen of the South Seas. Through this union,

which took place in the underwater palace of Ratu Kidul near present-day Parangkusumo beach, the Queen then

offered the services of Java’s spirits (dedemit) to the nascent dynasty. (Woodward, 1989) This story essentially

validates the idea that the Kings of Mataram and of the subsequently split Sultanate and Sunanate were bound to

the fantastic world of Javanese spirits in return for sovereignty over their land. To the Javanese, this relationship

of the kings with Ratu Kidul is evidence that they are actually fit to rule, since the belief is widespread that it

takes superior spiritual qualities to be able to command both worlds: the one of the spirits and the one of human

beings. This relation also guarantees stability and wellbeing of the kingdom.

Cosmologically this belief in the divine wahyu of the Sultan and his Kraton, and in the meddling of

spirits with human affairs in general is of tremendous consequence to the Javanese psyche. The fact that those

beliefs are continuously being demonstrated through grand ceremonies and personal ascetic rituals in powerful

places consecrates the idea that the world as the Javanese know it must be an integration of a visible and an

invisible reality. Communication and interaction between both realms are thus believed to be eminently possible

and sometimes desirable, as in the case of the union of the Sultan with the Ratu Kidul. Koentjaraningrat

reaffirms in his 1985 article that this spiritual power or kasekten, is hardly thought to be the exclusive privilege of

kings and their bhujangga (ritual priests/yogin), as the occult power can be accumulated by all through ascetic and

mystical exercises. The secret knowledge which was the exclusive appendage of the courts has in a certain way

been ‘popularized’ by the various Javanist sects since the early twentieth century. Since the fall of the New Order

many more adepts are subscribing to these groups, especially those practicing ‘inner power’ (paguyuban tenaga

dalam). (Mulder, 1998)

A case to illustrate this belief could well be given by the massive number of people who converge to

the Parangtritis beach south of Yogya on the auspicious day of Jumat Kliwon (a 35 day cycle combining the seven

day calendar and the Javanese five day calendar). On this day indeed, more specifically during the night from

Thursday to Friday, this type of communication/interaction with various spirits is thought to be the easiest.

Various rituals, techniques of asceticism and magical practices are employed and offered, but everyone has the

same thing in mind: berkah . This is the idea that with enough merit built up during the night and/or the days

before, one can invoke supernatural beings and ancestral figures to bring them good luck in one form or another.

The supernatural blessing in Parangtritis often materializes in the form of a gem or traditional weapon (such as a

keris) and many people are seen scrutinizing the crashing waves or sitting by the grave of some venerable

prophet. The general belief is that the Queen or one of her powerful consorts will send a demit (nature-spirit) to

the selected lucky solicitor. This latter has to try to successfully catch the appearance through a mystical

movement, upon which the demit should materialize in one of the above named objects. The reality of the whole

monthly Parangtritis event is grimmer than that though, as the ritual endeavours of believers are in fact

overshadowed by the loud wayang and kethoprak shows that entertain the crowds. The masses of people who

converge to the scene are catered for by hundreds of guesthouses, food stalls and prostitutes.

15

It struck me as odd that many of the youngsters that frequented the Jumat-Kliwon Parangtritis scene

in search for spiritual berkah would also go to the trendy rock concerts in town, staged on the universities

campuses or even on the ‘sacred’ grounds of the Alun-Alun Lor, the exhibition field directly north of the

Kraton’s gate! This latter location powerfully demonstrates the cohabitation of tradition and modernity. It is used

to hold the highly sacred ceremonies of garebeg4 as well as large rock-concerts as mentioned, sponsored by kretek

factories and local department stores.

Both types of events have in common that they draw thousands of people to the north of the Kraton,

and regardless of the physical differences of the celebrations, it is maybe this fact that is of crucial concern here.

Indeed as Ward Keeler explained in his dissertation on dalang and wayang performances, the disguised amount of

power in the form of respect that a sponsor of a performance receives is in direct relation with the amount of

guests that come to attend. (1982 : 271-273) Likewise at the massive Alun-Alun gatherings, it is the Kraton that

receives the unsaid tribute by allowing these celebrations to take place there, and so by augmenting the power

status of the host it would keep the symbolic aristocratic authority of the Sultan at a relatively high level.

Likewise, I was told by someone of the palace retinue that these concerts showed that the Kraton was

wholeheartedly participating in the modernity that is changing the city, which is good for its image as a result.

Hierarchy, Power and Asceticism in traditional Javanese culture

As a system of knowledge, kejawen is singularly elaborate, containing a cosmology, mythology, and

mystical teachings that give rise to particular ideas about the nature of man and society. These ideas inform about

ethics and morality while permeating tradition and lifestyle. (Brenner 1991, Geertz 1960, Keeler 1982) In this

view of society, a crucial point that Ward Keeler brings up is the importance of social standing and acceptance in

interrelationships amongst Javanese. (1987) Through a study of how people in a relatively traditional setting

interact in a number of domains, Keeler demonstrates the social interpretations and ideas that Javanese people

uphold about the self. When considering these Javanese ideas about the constitution of the self and the

appropriate conduct with others, which in his case are revealed during wayang performances, he reiterates the

essentiality of the issue of power: “It is power which is manifested in a concern with potency, status and personal sovereignty and as

implemented in several different kinds of relationships: in face to face encounter, in the family, in village

politics, and in activities linked to healing, to ritual needs, to aesthetic pleasures, and to interpretative

efforts.” (Keeler, 1987: 266)

What is important to retain is that this power, which Keeler extricates in his analysis, is the

dissimulated tool that makes (or unmakes) for a certain type of hierarchy of status between Javanese. On the

concept of hierarchy in Java, Suzanne Brenner elaborates by pointing out that high status is articulated with

being “refined, civilized or smooth”(J. alus) and, in opposition, low status with being “rough, uncivilized or

coarse”(J. kasar). (Brenner 1991: 6) As a basic indigenous mode of classifying and evaluating the attributes of

4 The core feature of Garebeg is the reassertion of the cosmic symbolism of the king’s position between the three realms of spirits, humans and deities. (Tirtokoesoemo, 1932)

16

people and things in Java, the alus/kasar distinction is a necessary concept in any social investigation. Brenner

further argues that this ‘moral’ hierarchy must be considered as a primary value of the Javanese society in any

attempt to understand the workings of that society. (ibid: 7)

In the case of dukun, Keeler notes from his observations in a South Central Javanese village in 1978-

79, that dukun usually enjoy some prestige and receive greater deference than many other people of similar

wealth and age. This is so because people see in the dukun an authoritative figure of great potency (or spiritual

power), who through their refined speech exert this authority over spirits and do not become dependent on or

controlled by them. (Keeler 1982:117-19) A successful dukun, one who has demonstrated his power in a

beneficial but authoritative way, automatically gains a relatively high status in the hierarchy defined by the

alus/kasar opposition. To the contrary, mediums (J. prewangan) do not enjoy the same respect as dukun according

to Keeler, since their powers, often of divination, are thought to originate from external spirits rather than their

own batin. (ibid:120-21) In this discussion, what comes to the fore is that power is secured by having a developed

kakuwatan batin (potency of the inner self), which in Java it is assumed, can only be acquired through stern ascetic

rigor.

Asceticism and harmony

Keeler and Brenner both speak at length about asceticism in Javanese culture. They both see it as being central

to their further discussions on Javanese understandings of interaction and of economic behaviour respectively.

As Keeler posits, “The reward that people seek in asceticism, although it may consist in a particular goal or object, such as

a good grade on an exam or a good harvest, also implies the potency that guarantees a person an

impressive presence in encounter. That is, it also makes a person potent.” (Keeler 1987: 47-48)

Brenner, in her study of the market in Surakarta, sees cultural logics at work which articulate the

meanings of money and economic practices when they are linked to spiritual or ascetic practices. She explains the

belief amongst merchants that ancestors tend to the welfare of their descendants as long as the comfort of their

souls are provided for. The material size of the welfare, in the form of warisan (inherited property) is in direct

relation with the seriousness with which one performs tapa, which is required to please the ancestors. Success or

failure in business is explained against the backdrop of this supernatural connection. (Brenner: 186-94) Both

studies show that Javanese emphasize asceticism because in their eyes the sacrifices endured in the present serve

to guarantee that comfort, prosperity and good fortune, although deferred, will accrue in a greater degree in the

future. Delayed gratification one could say. But what is gained immediately by ascetic practices such as fasting

and sleep deprivation is spiritual strength and intensity. (Geertz 1960:323) Furthermore Brenner asserts that, “This heightened state of kakuwatan batin obtained while doing tapa (or laku) is instrumental in achieving

specific, often material, goal-increased wealth, status, or political power, for example. People do laku

because they want to be successful in business, pass their university examinations, gain access to the spirit

world, or attain a state of emotional equilibrium, to name a few of the many possibilities. Laku…may

17

also have broader aims, like good health, prosperity, tranquillity of spirit, and a long and peaceful life for

oneself and one’s family (including the souls of deceased ancestors).” (Brenner 1992: p. 193)

Even leaving food on your plate at the end of a meal is laku; it is believed that it will benefit you or

your descendants in the future. When eating out with one of my dukun informants, I noticed indeed that he

would never finish his plate and would leave whole pieces of fish or meat behind. He confirmed the above

motivation for doing so.

A very deeply ingrained cultural value of the Javanese is to respect the authority of the people of

superior status that one interacts with. Keeler adds that this recognition does not necessarily engender any form

of dependency from the inferior person’s stake. Keeping one’s personal sovereignty and self-control is

primordial. Therefore the process of granting respect (through an altered form of speech and expressive features

amongst others) is performed while keeping free from other obligations or allegiance to the interlocutor. (Keeler:

196-98) Ideally, respect rendered to a person of high status is considered as valuable as goods or services

received. This idea of value of power exercised and respect rendered is crucial in the sort of interaction between

client and dukun during a consultation, just as Keeler shows the example of dalang (shadow puppeteer) having to

perform for free or nearly nothing. The dalang, or the dukun for that matter, understands that; it is the

recognition and respect that they gladly welcome instead.

In simple terms respect from people confirms the pious path of one’s chosen way of life, as an

informant dukun once told me. To ask expressly for payment for his services would cast a doubt on his claims to

power or alternately cause him to lose his power. What they gain, besides eventual material benefits, is merit of a

spiritual nature which brings one closer under the benediction of Gusti (the divine entity). (Personal

communication)

Javanese people following these traditional precepts still attach much importance to someone’s

behaviour in regards with this dialectic of status defined by power and respect. My informants confirmed that the

idealized conception of power affects relationships between all figures of authority in Java and their

subordinates. It is implemented in face-to-face encounter, in the family, in village politics, and in activities linked

to healing, ritual needs, aesthetic pleasures and to interpretative efforts. In the context of celebrations, Keeler

asserts that these consistent understandings of power motivate peasants as well as courtly traditions. “They are

not to be merely viewed as a remnant of some old-fashioned society but as a real crux of Javanese society insofar

as it is an organizational structure.” (Keeler 279-80) What it comes down to is the imposition of order and

harmony, which is good and desirable in itself. For that to happen, power is needed, but the type of power that is

concerned with self-discipline in order to achieve inner calm. Eventually power is used in this way to make

others follow and obey, in a very alus manner.

Javanisasi and money

Although Keeler’s observations were made more than twenty years ago, members (mostly adults) of

the Javanese society today in and around Yogyakarta still claim to adhere to the values of old Javanese culture.

They would name the essentially moral precepts of it if asked, but shunned the more feudalistic and autocratic

18

nature of classic priyayi culture. Nevertheless, it is also this aspect of the New Order heritage, picked up by the

middle class, that many critics called the Javanisasi (Javanization) of the Indonesian nation; the tendencies to be

arrogant, to be obsessed by self, position, and power, and to show these off. They describe it as neo-feudalism

and neo-priyayisme. (Mulder 1998: 95-7) Critics of the Javanization of society denounce the role of money in the

exuberant displays of wealth under a ‘Javanese cloak’ and target the ‘nouveaux-riches’, the affluent middle

classes, for posing as nobility. The latter, they say, are ignorant of the moral dimensions of kejawen, an intrinsic

element of Javanese culture according to the old Sultans and scribes.

Many citizens are not deceived by the Javaneseness wielded by the government through the

indoctrination of Pancasila and its cultural associations. The goal of kebatinan, as compiled by the likes of

Mangkunegara VII, lies at the heart of traditional Javanese culture. It strives towards the self-realization of the

individual, whereas javanized Pancasila ultimately strives towards the totality of the state. In a way the New Order

presented itself as a cultural order and articulated its politics in an idiom of presumed kejawen tradition.

(Pemberton 1994) But many Javanese think it is the worst elements of Javanese heritage that have been

promoted, such as hierarchical rigidity, authoritarianism and arbitrariness, which were developed and

accompanied by a fondness for status display and arrogance. This is exactly what Sultan Hamengkubuwono

critiqued in his speech at the Marzuki Cultural Center in Yogyakarta in November 2002 (see above), but it seems

that the neo-feudalisitc heritage of the New Order is still a popular model amongst contemporary political and

business elitism.

His idea for a Javanese culture Renaissance may seem like a wishful one, as the tendencies of

contemporary Yogyanese, especially young generations, are pointing to an era of future progress and democracy.

Urban ways are definitely marked by money and all kinds of goods that money can buy. This city-centred

consumer culture, in osmosis with Jakarta, directs its attention to international life, the outside aspect of things,

the future, the foreign example in lifestyles and fashions and it is modelled by its leadership. Both in urban and

rural settings, class differentiation and social diversification have been reinforced by an aggressive money

economy, state administration, new systems of production, an Indonesian school system, mass media, and new

fashions and commodities. (Mulder 1996) Although Javanese hierarchical relationships appear as a sign of

cultural integrity, it is a false impression since these interactions no longer have any moral authority, and instead

serve the hunger for status and dominance.

Nevertheless, it is peculiar that Yogyakarta still harbours a great many active kebatinan sects who teach

their members the skills of martial arts, ascetic exercises and training of mystical and magical powers. The lure of

these groups of kebatinan mysticism5 seems to initially be the search for power in order to get ahead both

mentally and physically in society. Interest seems to focus more on its practical and magical aspects than on

seeking philosophical insight. It is unclear how many aspiring members are attracted to the ultimate goal of old

which was to reach the state of kasunyataan or ‘perfection of life’. The fact that the practice of mysticism is alive

and well in Yogyakarta and its surroundings may demonstrate that through it, people find an answer to help

tackle the present challenges or problems.

5 According to Pemberton and Mulder, kebatinan mysticism originated in the late colonial society as it existed in the principalities or sultanates of South Central Java.

19

It doesn’t come as a revelation then, that dukun, who in most cases have mastered the highest levels of

mystical training through kebatinan practice, are solicited by people who have never engaged in such activities or

are not inclined to the discipline it requires. Through its mastery and the teaching of kebatinan, dukun attain a

very real public level of commodity value, though not in economic terms, as they are not supposed to find the

means to accumulate wealth in this recognition. This argument is expanded upon in chapters three and four.

In a modern society so concerned with issues of power and harmony, it is also not surprising that the

phenomenon of dukun has thrived throughout the recent decades. By some they are seen to perpetuate

traditional values based on the idea of power and asceticism, by others to represent ‘superstition’ and cultural

backwardness. But dukun have also been engaged in the various discourses of modernity as they appear in Java.

Continuing streams of clients and a certain type of mediated popularity have guaranteed a specific role of the

dukun inside Javanese society. These developments, it can be argued, say more about the society than it does

about dukun.

20

Chapter 2: Objectives and Methods of Fieldwork

The aim of this research report is to consider the perceived role of dukun in contemporary Javanese

society and ascertain their current significance as an aspect of Javanese culture. Particular attention was given to

how the dukun reflect on their trade and powers and how this compares to public perception. I investigated the

supernatural/magical characteristic of the dukun activities and practice as it tells quite a lot about the related

macro-and micro cosmological beliefs of clients on issues of ‘power’, status, and access to a certain type of

welfare. Aspects such as the varieties of dukun, their methods of practice, their clients’ reasons for consultations,

their status, and their credibility in society were examined. In addition, recent developments, such as the

‘mediatization’ of dukun and the supernatural, and the post-Suharto political and economic instability in

Indonesia were considered in gauging the effects they have had on the dukun role and public opinion regarding

this role. Field study was carried out in the province and city of Yogyakarta, and the data collected was used as a

case study to determine the current role dukun play in Javanese society in relation to that of dukun in literature.

2.1 Methods

To achieve the aim of this research report, existing literature was reviewed and field study was

undertaken. The literature was considered, both before and after the fieldwork, in relation to the history and

definition of dukun, the cultural, political, religious and ideological influences of Javanese, and the societal effects

of the post-Suharto era in Indonesia.

The time frame for data collection was four months and the dukun of Yogyakarta province were used

as a case study with which to conduct the field research. The subject samples were informants from different

villages in all of the five districts (kabupaten) of the DIY province and consisted of four dukun of varying

persuasions and abilities, a total of about 32 clients of those dukun, and other members of the public. The

informants included were either employed, unemployed, educated, uneducated, and were of both genders

ranging in age from 9 to 87 years.

By interviewing three different groups of informants information was verified and a broad perspective

of opinions was taken into account. The field study involved conducting interviews with a variety of dukun with

diverse areas of specialization, clients of some of those dukun and members of the public in regards to the role

of the dukun. Besides the formal and informal interviews, participant observation was used as a manner of

gaining trust and delving deeper into the data. Extracts from some of the interviews are used in the report with

relevance to the context of issues discussed in various sections. The interviews formed the basis for the analysis

of this research.

I have to add firstly that I dedicated more time comparatively to be in the company of those four

dukun than the other sample groups, and secondly that I made provisional contact with many more dukun who

21

offered testimonies but who I didn’t have a high degree of familiarity with, in contrast with the other four. In the

next two chapters I will introduce this set of four key informants who were selected for the assumed capacity of

this sample to represent some of the variants of dukun in the Yogyakarta region. This manner of presentation

will allow certain crucial concepts about powers, ngelmu (or ilmu) or kebatinan in general to be exposed through

the individual experiences of each informant. I have to inform the reader that most of these concepts have

elsewhere been previously analysed and described by authors in their studies on Javanese religion and traditional

culture6. I do refer to these works at times when I feel that the need arises, but this ethnography report will not

repeat the extensive analysis of religious concepts and elements encountered in the Javanese cultural realm that

have already been done before. Instead, the focus will be on the manner in which the dukun and other mystical

adepts in Yogyakarta use and rely upon this extensive body of mystical concepts in their daily operations in

society as observed during the fieldwork. These concepts will thus be mentioned according to their relevancy to

the study of the dukun activities.

Literature study

Originally, in reviewing the literature questions emerged as to whether the dukun role has changed,

evolved or remained the same. Later, field-data was analysed partly by comparing and contrasting various aspects

of the role of present day Yogyakarta dukun to the observations and theories in existing literature. Although

rather limited, such theories and observations of various sociologists, in particular Geertz, Mulder, Jordaan and

Keeler, were applied to the comparison of past and present roles of dukun. Also the theories of political,

economic and social analysts, such as Bertrand and Anderson, were considered in reference to recent influences

on the role and status of contemporary Javanese dukun. These include influences such as capitalist

modernization, neo-liberal development and the accompanying culture-ideology of consumerism. These theories

were both integrated and substantiated in relevance to the role of dukun, and used as support in the findings of

this study.

Interviews

A qualitative methodology was applied for data collection consisting of three kinds of participant-observer

techniques. One involved formally and informally interviewing informants as an observer in the capacity of a

research student. The second, in a more limited way, involved posing as a client of dukun and participating in

their treatment. The third technique was an attempt at participation in the context of training in a tenaga dalam

(inner power) mystical sect, involving a teacher-pupil relationship. By way of these methods and by using

different categories of informants, data was successfully collected and able to be verified.

Interviews with members of the public and clients of dukun were conducted both formally and

informally. The interviews were based on separate lists of questions for each of the three types of informants,

dukun, clients, and members of the public. The main question around which the research revolved was:

6 See Beatty 1999, Geertz 1960, Keeler 1982, Mulder 1996 and 1998.

22

What is the perceived position or role of the Javanese dukun, as a mystical expert, at present in Javanese society? This question is

rather broad in its scope, and it might best be answered by looking at various angles of the dukun experience: the

dukun him/herself, the clients met during consultations, members of the public outside of the dukun

consultation. Before my departure I prepared a list of questions that would guide me initially (see appendix 1),

with the assumption that many informal questions would arise in accordance with specific situations. Note that

the list was not meant to be used in a quantitative survey.

2.2 Methodological considerations

Choice of residence

I arrived in Yogyakarta in August of 2003, a few days before the national Independence Day, and there

were various celebrations going on in and around town. Of course this was an immediate occasion to experience

various expressions of local culture, especially the ones relating to the impressive history of the Kraton and the

more folkloric forms of entertainment in the outlying villages such as wayang and jathilan.

I counted on my old friend Joko to assist me into finding a house as well as a capable motorcycle. Both

requirements were fulfilled quite rapidly. During the entire time of my stay in Yogya I rented a small house in the

kampung (hamlet) Jengkelingan, desa (village) Mejing Kulon, kecamatan (subdistrict) Gamping in the district

(kabupaten) of Sleman. The village of Gamping is situated approximately 7 km east of the centre of Yogyakarta.

Jengkelingan was a quiet hamlet of about 350 inhabitants surrounded by rice and sugarcane fields, with the

typical layout of a small Javanese rural village. A main dirt road ran through the hamlet, dividing it into two parts.

The houses were simple and often large, housing more than one family, and separated from each other by fruit

trees, flower bushes or bamboo groves. A labyrinth of walkways, mostly dirt, connected the individual houses

and led to the main road, the little mosque or the fields. The hamlet was encroached on the north and the east by

more modern housing complexes or perumahan which further connected with larger villages, Mejing and

Sidoarum, and eventually the main paved roads. These larger roads are lined with a variety of shops and retail

businesses, and this continues uninterrupted eastward in the direction of the city of Yogyakarta. Gamping is

ideally located in between the city, the suburbs and the rural hinterlands. This has a few logistic advantages:

It is easily accessible and close to main, rapid thoroughfares:

from the west: Jalan Wates and Jalan Godean towards Kulonprogo district

from the north: Ringroad Utara to Sleman and north Yogyakarta (Gunung Merapi slope)

from the south: Ringroad Selatan to Bantul district, Gunungkidul district and the southern coast.

(Including the abovementioned Parangtritis beach approximately 25 kilometers away)

There are numerous kramatan or ziarah (pilgrimage) places around Gamping where dukun and other

mystical adepts hold nocturnal rituals of various sorts. Graveyards, rivers, hilltops and other remote

spots which are locally reputed to be anker (haunted) serve as spiritual places favourable for ascetic

practices. This is what John Pemberton refers to as ‘Topographies of Power’. (Pemberton 1994:

270)

23

Furthermore, I chose to reside in that area for that was where my first and main informant lived, a

local dukun by the name of Mas Joko7. For practical purposes, mainly networking, I chose to make him the

starting point of my research. By networking I mean that Joko had an extensive set of acquaintances from the

region and other provinces and towns of Indonesia due to both his activities as a dukun and as a handicraft

entrepreneur. It was relatively easy for me to meet other dukun and traditional healers in a rather intimate

fashion, namely by being introduced to them by a respected one of their own. From these first amiable

encounters I was rapidly able to gain a relative trust with my new informants, and this helped me subsequently

find other informants without the direct help of Joko. I cannot stress enough the methodological advantage of

being able to penetrate an otherwise relatively closed circle of practitioners through the help of a common and

widely respected friend and colleague.

I was also able to meet many of Joko’s old students of the mystical brotherhood ‘Perguruan Teratai

Putih’, in which he is recognized as a high-level guru. Talks with these people, some native of Gamping and

others scattered around the Province, offered an additional scope into the esoteric side of Javanese life

experience. In fact, a few of Joko’s assistant teachers were my immediate neighbours in the hamlet and I spent

numerous hours at my house or theirs discussing issues of supernatural power and local techniques of healing.

Note on Language

The field research, including the interviews and the participant observation, was conducted in a rather

un-structured manner according to the availability of the informants. In general this was not a problem as

everyone usually had plenty of time and moreover seemed to be quite excited to have a bule (J. foreigner) to host

and to chat with at their respective residences or hamlets. Almost all of the interactions happened in Bahasa

Indonesia (BI), however at times when an informant only spoke Javanese, I either relied upon my limited

knowledge of Javanese and/or a friend to translate into BI. Therefore I had no use for someone to translate the

data into English, as Javanese terms were clarified either on the spot or noted down and translated later.

A major asset to my research from a linguistic point of view was that for the entire period that I was in

Java, I was enrolled in a Javanese language course at a small private language institute in Yogyakarta where I had

previously studied BI. One of my teachers, a girl from the village of Bambanglipuran near the South coast,

became an integral informant at times when I asked her to clarify, in the scope of her capacity, certain terms and

concepts dealing with culture or mysticism. She gladly provided anecdotes from her personal experience in her

village.

7 This informant will be hereon referred to simply as Joko. (see also 4.3)

24

Note on the research ‘site’: Local site in the global system

It soon became clear to me that stories involving ‘invisible beings and powers’― and the people who

could master them ―were not restricted to some sort of traditional sphere of the Javanese land. The reasons

people consult dukun arguably relate to problems in their personal lives, but can also reflect the current

problems in society. Major problems today such as unemployment, inflation, loss of social services and food

shortages, have resulted in financial difficulties, relationship breakdowns, poverty, stress, and illness. This study

found that business and financial issues are major reasons why one seeks the help of a dukun today. Sometimes

people believe sorcery, initiated by a competitor, can be behind such problems.

In my opinion it is quite important that the ethnographer in his effort of mapping the body of local

knowledge, sorts out the relationships of the local stories to the global ones. This is because the form of local

knowledge in the embedded idioms and discourses of contemporary Yogyakarta can be defined by its

relationship to a greater regional, national and even global system. It is especially obvious in the manner in which

the popular media echoes the aforementioned conviction, by conveying that political leaders, high provincial

bureaucrats, famous executives and celebrities in Jakarta have a privileged access to the resources of the

“invisible world”. (Gamma Magazine, 01/24-30/2001, See also Bertrand 2002) Far from signifying an irrational

alienation of these individuals, in the eyes of the Javanese, these stories validate their power and aura, continuing

an ancient traditional logic on the hierarchical position of the raja-king or court aristocrats from colonial times

and before, but nowadays in a vulgarized popular envelope (Anderson 1972, Keeler 1982).

Tying this to my own research, I had a particular interest in the rumours or reports according to which

many of these personalities tend to publicly (or less publicly) display themselves in the company of famous

paranormals, curers, diviners and even sorcerers8. This variety of explicitly public dukun of the cosmopolitan

kind is a rather recent phenomenon, and my local informants were quick to state that while the credibility in their

powers is ambivalent, most of them do it out of blatant financial motivation. This denotes the interesting aspect

of commoditization of the dukun activity in 21st century Java. Primarily because of time constraints and other

more controversial issues, I wasn’t able to investigate the higher levels of political and cosmopolitan activities of

certain dukun. I am merely pointing out the fact that my endeavour to document the dukun world at a local level

was rapidly re-configured from a single-sited research to one where multiple sites of social segments of the

Javanese (and Indonesian) community were being highlighted and associated.

Thus, if I was to achieve a more complete ethnography on the topic dukun, it is undeniable that in

order to move through such disjointed spaces—the political world of MP’s in Jakarta or Surabaya, the coulisses

of the Indonesian film- and music industry, the closed circles of provincial officials and business executives and

other disparate but equally fascinating sites—I would have had to profile myself as a circumstantial activist,

renegotiating identities in different sites as I would learn more about various slices of the world system which

cross-cuts the topic of dukun. It is obvious that this topic allows one to traverse the diaspora of Javanese society

quite easily, since it is inherent to the practice that dukun are patronized by nearly all segments of the population,

from the most destitute to the most dominant. It is my argument that this trend has been multiplying, and in a 8 Paranormal: expert of the supernatural, curer: healing expert, diviner: expert with clairvoyance, sorcerer: expert on witchcraft and sorcery.

25

more public manner, stimulated by post-Suharto political liberalization and the commoditisation of paranormal

services which claim to relieve economical difficulties in contemporary Java. This point is debatable; I am relying

on first hand data from various informants in the field. As one informant posited:

“Rapid change such as during the reformasi and the krismon makes many victims, and a lot of insecurity.

This insecurity continuously increases; even though it sometimes recedes, it stays hidden to reappear at a

later moment of crisis. Nothing is certain, nothing can be expected in a way that makes sense: the cultural

rules we used to go by have been invalidated because of (the rules) becoming tools of manipulation. With

so much insecurity, it is perfectly normal for people to turn to the ‘paranormal’.” [Personal communication,

November 2003]

Note that the word ‘paranormal’ is used by Javanese both to indicate the supernatural realm of reality and the

dukun practitioner who uses magical means in his treatments.

Additionally, as a ‘research site’, the popularity of the world of ‘invincible powers and beings’ in the

media (especially the printed and audiovisual media), is interesting for the ethnographer to select in his analysis

from a methodological standpoint. Both the original sources of and the public feedback to this mediatized theme

sincerely reveal—albeit in a sometime overtly sensational format—the deep convictions which Javanese uphold

regarding those phenomena in their daily lives, including the roles of dukun.

To summarize this discussion on methodological approaches, I will simply say that the multiple sites

where associations and connections are made with the topic of dukun—whether in the public appearances of

some dominant elite, in an important business decision or simply in the rice field of a hill-farmer—are quite

varied but all every bit as fascinating and anthropologically relevant as the other, or so it seems in my opinion.

That this realization makes it challenging for the ethnographer to only focus on the local knowledge of the single

site that he’s chosen in isolation of the wider systems at work at the price of a more complicated but richer set of

data to organize/analyze, is, I presume, a commonsensical given.

Note on the choice of sample

I felt it was needed to constrain my emphasis on a small number of dukun whose activities were

relatively diverse rather than a quantitatively larger sample. The Yogyanese public in general is quite

knowledgeable of the power of the dukun and realise that each individual one has their own strengths and

approaches. As a result they choose their dukun accordingly. If I was to understand their perceived role, (by self

and others) my research would have to look closely at various dukun and their clients’ particular needs.

Practically, this would involve spending more time with less people, especially in order to gain the trust of the

dukun.

Obviously, this implied gaining an understanding of the mechanisms and processes that make a dukun

what he is or what he is perceived to be. It is not exactly my belief that I could explain the whole by describing

26

the few as representational of that whole― since every dukun has a personal way to go about his business9― as

this would be problematic to achieve. A quantitative research of the varieties of such characters across the

Yogyanese landscape was attempted to a lesser degree via brief introductions to and conversations with other

dukun characters, mostly in order to verify parts of my findings. I think that a certain common base of powers

and knowledge is recognizable when comparing the experiences of all dukun. This observation is relatively easy

to determine when one starts to become familiar and understand the mystical teachings of kejawen and

metaphysical aspects of kebatinan. However, I feel that it is the motivation of the individual dukun and the

subsequent application of the ilmu and powers that establish the variety.

But the motivation and moral ethos of a dukun in relation to his alleged powers and mystical

knowledge and the direction and application of these elements in the form of services to the client are the type

of data that require altogether a different methodology in the ethnography by the observant. I chose to approach

the problem by selecting a few informants with whom I would spend more time and hopefully establish a certain

degree of trust consequently. At times it meant that I was required to partake in certain mystical practices as well,

as it was suggested that only through physical experience could one make sense of the power or energies at work

here. This in turn made it possible to obtain a richer body of information then what a more substantive and

sample-oriented approach would have allowed. It was hence my intention in the study to go from a presentation

of specific cases to more general tentative arguments about the phenomenon dukun in Yogyakarta and Java.

Note on Participation

The second methodological concern I wished to address dealt with the position of the ethnographer in the

field, especially as to the problem of selecting appropriate methods to arrive at meaningful information. As the

traditional model in anthropology sees fieldwork as a successful immersion of the ethnographer within a

community, I am asking myself where the boundaries of that immersion lie. There seems to be a methodological

suspicion in the discipline towards studies where the dichotomy between Us/home/Familiar (ethnographer) and

Them/abroad/Other (subjects) is complicated, where the positions are somehow blurred and when the

‘authentic’ anthropologist speaks as an authentic ‘Other’. When is it deemed suitable to depart from this

dichotomy, to blur the distance between both? Or when does this methodological step risk the danger of

engendering data which is considered to be too ‘ethnocentric’. My tentative argument on this is that in certain

situations that dichotomy, if held too rigidly, is counterproductive in the attempt to arrive at a more essential

level of the data. I base myself here on my experience with dukun and people who patronize dukun.

Consequentially, could it not become strategically acceptable that the difference needs to be bridged by somehow

becoming part of the ‘Other’? The fact that my research in Java dealt extensively with practices and beliefs of

mystico-spiritual nature—in which basic understanding cannot being dissociated from being initiated to ngèlmu or

esoteric knowledge by a trustworthy guru—I think facilitated the choice for me to sometimes temporarily

surrender my position of the foreign outsider to become an integrated member of the group of Javanese mystical

practitioners. 9 Here I do not mean business with a strictly commercial connotation, although that irony is indeed applicable for certain individuals as I will demonstrate further in this paper.

27

Let me quickly review the methodology that I adopted in order to make my point. Initially, research

was conducted using a qualitative methodology with a naturalistic approach and included the use of two kinds of

participant-observer techniques for data collection. The first technique, observer-as-participant, as mentioned

above involved conducting interviews with various dukun, clients of some of those dukun and members of the

public, in the researcher’s capacity as a Western student. On the whole the dukun and other wong tua10 were

reasonably accessible to me and talked without restraint about their personal lives and vocations. Having

established myself as a trustworthy person, I was allowed to record some of their mantras (prayers), accompany

them on divination or other rituals, and to stay on when visitors came to solicit their services. Another technique

was participant-as-observer where I posed as a client of the dukun, observing and undergoing treatment and was

able to ask some survey questions and collect data in a natural and unthreatening manner.

The problem now with the above-mentioned techniques in the context of researching information

which deals intensively with mysticism and esoteric knowledge, is that it is one thing to build the relationship and

trust with the dukun in order to collect this type of data. It is another thing to actually understand or grasp what

is being said and consequently lead the conversations or interviews in a particular direction which will allow for

deeper levels of knowledge to surface. It is arguably the role of the anthropologist to distinguish the cultural

elements being conveyed by the informant which make for certain social behaviour in that community. But it

isn’t so easy to scientifically distinguish and rationalize how mystical ideas and beliefs can purportedly be at the

onset of a certain cultural behaviour or activity. The question then is: Does the above distinction and realization

matter, if our purpose is to draw a picture of the dukun as a social member of is community?

In my experience, it does seems to matter, since the dukun themselves are at pains to explain and

perform these ideas, so essential are they thought to be—in an etic way—to their practice. Through the

interviews and the treatments with dukun, important terms are named and used by the dukun or his client to

relate what is exactly going on during a curing, ritual, astral travel, possession and so on. Clifford Geertz makes

us familiar with most of this esoteric terminology in his pioneering book The Religion of Java. What is missing is

the ethnographer’s experiential understanding of the terminology being said at the time. My point is that this lack

of understanding during the time of the fieldwork can be of crucial importance in the matter of how far the

dukun will go in conveying his views on the ongoing activities.

This real time understanding, in symbiosis with the dukun, may also determine the physical quality of

the ethnography. Indeed in my experience, rather than just conducting an interview in their homes, the dukun

informants tended to be keen on taking me to rituals and places of power like graveyards, caves, forests and so

on because they saw my willingness to learn and understand the practice of mystical exercises. They were

convinced that I would comprehend more of kejawen and magic if I could experience the forces and invisible

beings for myself, with their practical help of course. It goes without saying that much of the data collected in

this way depends on the experience of the practitioner during any such outing, as it is these experiences which

are consequentially commented upon and debated afterwards.

Throughout my research on supernatural practices in Central Java, I have tried to understand how the

practitioners and the public rationalized their perceptions on this peculiar topic. Initially, I strongly felt the

10 Mystical expert, or elder usually considered to be wise. Expanded upon in Chapter four.

28

barrier between the familiar me and the Otherness of Javanese. They had a more subjective attitude towards the

phenomenon of dukun and indeed the Javanese mystical experience or kejawen as a whole. Trying to appreciate

their subjectivity proved rather challenging because of my dominant ‘scientific’ orientation. I can describe it as a

feeling that I was somehow shut off from the world that I was living in (Java) and that my mind was not

sufficiently receptive to the Javanese mystical experience that was so evident to the Javanese themselves (albeit in

relative degrees depending on the person). The stories were there, the spirits had names and particular places

were cautioned for, but the practical understanding of what really mattered was still lacking.

What I needed to do (and it was a choice that was imminently made clear to me) was to experience the

barrier between the subjective and the objective. Methodologically this could be translated by the experience

brought on by getting involved in gradual powerful mystical exercises which for many Javanese form part of the

basic education starting very early in life. So my position wasn’t merely restricted to being the observer of the

“other”, but through a greatly enhanced participation, I joined the “other” to a certain extent. I have to add that

it also greatly enhanced my relationships with local informants, because there is a difference between saying and

hearing the words and knowing them.

Words are just words, and unless you have gone through a sufficiently mind-altering experience, it is

difficult to even begin to understand what is being said. Somehow the dukun, curers, clients and even critics of

the activities of those dukun recognize that difference when you talk to them. This recognition facilitates a

broadening of the conversation and puts the ethnographer in a position to elaborate on the data constructively

but this while they are communicating with the informant and thus not after the fact. It is crucial that they feel

that you are somehow familiar with these terms when you display a belief deriving from personal experience with

these phenomena and you consequently know to mention the terms at the appropriate time.

It is especially invaluable in the conversations and ethnographic interviews where informants freely

refer to metaphysical concepts of spirits, tenaga dalam (inner power) and other wahyu (divine revelations). After

enough time in the field, the ethnographer becomes familiar with a language of the invisible, with which they

may more easily engage in conversations on relevant topics. For instance, I do not think I would ever have been

lectured about the benefits of ‘black magic’ if the concerned dukun had not felt that I had the appropriate

understanding of the forces which are being solicited for such an act. In my case I had had the chance to be

acquainted to a guru kebatinan (teacher of mysticism) who is at the same time a dukun. What the practice of

mysticism moreover allows is an interesting process of self-reflectivity on personal experiences underwent during

the fieldwork.

In short, as far as my proposed research was concerned, fieldwork offered more possibilities than

merely re-reading the theories about ‘Javanese Religion’, and it reconfigured the relation between me, the ‘white,

middle-aged male European anthropologist’, and the alleged ‘Other’ Javanese. The activist positioning that this

entails itself somewhat blurs the subject/object distinction on which ethnography is conventionally founded; it

speaks to the problem of ‘hybridity’ in the anthropological project. (Gupta & Fergusson 1997: 33)

29

Chapter 3: Dukun and their Power

Geertz, in his study on the religion of Java, notes that the most important dukun are seen as the ones that are

capable of various specialties at once (see 4.1), and therefore receive the name dukun biasa. (1960: 87) More

importantly he describes the difference in emphasis on specific sources of knowledge (ilmu) that dukun will

prefer to use to arrive at results. Quoting Geertz on ilmu, it is generally considered to be a kind of abstract

knowledge or supernormal skill, “…but by the more concrete-minded and “old-fashioned” it is sometimes viewed as a kind of

substantive magical power, in which case its transmission may be more direct than through teaching.”

(1960: 88)

In my mind, the difference in the kinds of ilmu reflects the variety of kebatinan practice that exists

across the thousands of mystical schools in Java. Some are more inclined to attribute the miraculous powers they

exhibit to God, Allah or divine angels and prophets; whereas others make no secrets about the fact that they are

using ancestor or nature spirits as helpers. In many more cases though, syncretism is the rule, for example as

when Koranic verses are read to invoke the powers of a companion spirit to aid a patient or to obtain a

materialized jimat (amulet), which could take place at the alleged burial place of a Majapahit ruler. But regardless

of religious creed, the source of the phenomenal powers and clear-sightedness of dukun and other practitioners

is understood to be found through the tireless practice of the old Javanese mysticism or kebatinan. It is through

the elaborate program of ascetic exercises, power gymnastics (jurus), prayers, mantra reciting and meditation,

backed by a certain form of philosophical teachings, that ilmu is obtained by the adept. As Geertz says above, this

may happen either through direct transmission by individual contact with ancestor or divine spirits, or through

the oral teachings of a guru. Since all of the Javanese dukun who I have met admitted to practicing Javanese

mysticism more or less intensely, it is judicious here to briefly consider some central concepts of kebatinan as

practiced in Java.

3.1 Kebatinan mysticism and the acquisition of ‘power’

Niels Mulder has written a thorough essay on the practice of kejawen thinking and kebatinan mysticism

on Java. In it he posits first that kejawen or Javanism is not a religious category, but refers to an ethic and a style

of life that is inspired by Javanist thinking. (Mulder 1998: 15) One may view it as a philosophical attitude towards

life that transcends religious diversity (see § 1.3.3). Here it is very important to understand that the kejawen

worldview is still deeply embedded in the cultural consciousness of the Javanese. For those people who cultivate

their Javanese cultural heritage in depth, this awareness serves as a source of pride and identity. For the many

who care about this heritage, and as a clear oppositional stance to the political influences of modernist Islam, the

30

cultural identity of kejawen is best expressed in Javanese mysticism or kebatinan. The word ‘batin’ means ‘inner

self’ in Arabic.

My informant Mas Joko told me that the word kebatinan means ‘to search for the inner self’. It is

actually a metaphysical search for harmony within one’s inner self, harmony between one’s inner self and one’s

fellow men and nature, and harmony with the universe and the almighty God (J. Gusti). It is a combination of

occultism, metaphysics, mysticism and other esoteric doctrines—a typical product of the Javanese genius for

syncretism. There are touches of Confucianism and Taoism, especially in the aspect of ancestor worship and the

belief in supernatural powers and communications with dead souls; a little of Buddhism in the philosophy of

discouraging ambition and greed; the reincarnation aspect of Hinduism and the idea of surrendering to God

according to the Sufis. Most Javanese see nothing wrong or unusual in having a dukun exorcise spirits from their

homes and then go on to pray at their respective Church, Mosque or Temple. As far as their spiritual life is

concerned, a Javanese is flexible and pragmatic.

Basically, Javanese mysticism is individual in approach: a person-to-person or person-to-guru

relationship. Through the practice combined with the advice of a guru, which may start quite early in life, a

Javanese becomes familiar with the mystical power of communicating with the supernatural and realizes the

philosophical value of self-discipline in relation to society and the universe.

I have met a large number of Javanese who practice kebatinan, representing a few of the various

schools of it. They include intellectuals who have been trained at Western universities, who were quite

enthusiastic to explain their activities. A large majority practice kebatinan as a means of releasing physical, mental

and emotional tensions which they believe may potentially lead to ill-health or ill-fortune. Others are more

esoteric and seek to strengthen their spiritual powers in order to communicate with ancestors’ souls, spirits and

other astral beings, in search of eventually experiencing some revelation to the mystery of existence, but much

more often to request otherworldly blessings (J. slamet). It is amongst the latter that we’ll find dukun and other

candidate spirit mediums.

The several stages of the kebatinan path lead to an ever-increasing degree of spiritual purity, linked to

increasing residual supernatural powers. Those stages respectively named shari’a, tarekat, hakekat and maghrifat lead

to a realization of the divinity inside one’s inner self (Mulder 1998: 45-6), and can be equated to the goal of

Moksha in Vedic Yoga. The important partition of life in its lower ‘outside’ aspects (J. lair) and its higher ‘inner’

aspects (J. batin) becomes accepted as experiential truth. The techniques of surrender and asceticism at the higher

stages become more strenuous and the practitioner has to be highly disciplined to follow through and leave

behind the mental trappings of ordinary life. (Joko, personal communication) All four of my main dukun

informants confided that they had reached at least the third stage, the confrontation with the immanent God and

the wilful synchronization with their batin. It is often said that a Javanese can recognize the degree of spiritual

purity of another by simply tuning in to the other’s emanation of power. Knowing this, it is easy to understand

the argument that one does not initially establish oneself as a dukun, which would be considered arrogant. Rather

it is the first set of accidental clients who will recognize and determine this, usually by becoming convinced of

the emanating power of such a person.

31

Kebatinan in Yogyakarta

The practice of kebatinan can best be observed though participation in the aliran kebatinan (mystical

group or sect). Many groups or sects are numerous in and around Yogya today, such as the famous mystical

movements of a national scope which were originally described by Geertz in the early fifties: Pangestu, Subud,

Sapto Darma and Sumarah (Geertz 1960: 310-52). As there were thousands of other kebatinan schools in 1955

in Java, the leaders of many groups created a congress called the BKKI (Badan Kongress Kebatinan Indonesia or

the People’s Congress of kebatinan in Indonesia), bringing together the assorted contemporary mystical groups.

One of the main aims of this Congress was to see to it that kebatinan schools or Islamic mystical brotherhood

(Tarikat), minority religions, dukun and traditional healers do not abuse their powers or carry out undesirable

activities. Later, in 1971, Kebatinan even gained a recognized status as one of the official religions in the

country, although the name was changed to kepercayaan Jawa. According to some, the word kebatinan was too

charged with associations to the spirit world, magic and polytheism which were inadmissible under the tenets of

the Pancasila constitution. (Mulder 1998: 21-4) These elements were inadmissible with the propagated modern

view according to which religion should be organized strictly around the belief in one God. Ironically this view

theologically contradicts the old-fashioned heritage of kejawen in many interpretative ways.

Be this as it may, in Yogyakarta these latter elements and other otherworldly sources of potential

benefit have continued to be actively pursued because of the sense of desirability that they stimulate. What is

determining in kebatinan, Joko explains, is the very real hope for a condition of slamet or harmony (with oneself,

others and the universe) on one hand, and for the gain of wealth and merit on the other. Both of these socially

important conditions can be obtained from mystical practice which connects one with, depending on one’s

interpretation, God or ancestor spirits. My point is that the welfare thus obtained is logically viewed as equal, if

not superior to the alleged welfare that people in Javanese society can hope for from the state’s efforts towards

development along more western sociological and rational concerns. Indeed, on several occasions I heard

informants including dukun themselves, argue that the pragmatic ways to obtain means of welfare, for example

through asceticism and esoteric practice, carry faster and more tangible rewards than whatever false promises

could be expected from the ‘corrupt’ government’ side11. This attitude, albeit restricted to the local context of my

own fieldwork, assumingly demonstrates that many people in the Javanese heartland still prefer the more familiar

traditional methods (including dukun consultations) to overcome immediate societal and health obstacles over—

or in combination with—modern secular methods promoted by the governmental institutions.

Paguyuban Bela Diri ‘Teratai Putih’

Note: The following, including anecdotes, is all based on personal communications unless specified.

11 I note that I was writing and collecting these remarks at a time of serious monetary and political crisis from 1997 until last year, and that frustrations with the allegedly ‘corrupt’ central government were high even though Indonesia was experiencing a slow political transition towards relative democracy.

32

Quite a few of my informants living in or near Gamping were members of a local branch of the sect

Teratai Putih (‘the white chain’). This sect was an offshoot of an older group named Allah Manunggal (‘the

unifying god’) which had split into two, the other one being the famous and larger Merpati Putih (‘the white

dove’). The leaders of the original Gamping group had more or less retired after inner squabbles had created the

split, one of whom was Joko. He told me that after a series of travels throughout Indonesia on a spiritual quest,

he came back to live with his wife in the ancestral village of his maternal side in Ambarketawang. Some of his

old friends and other mystical practitioners called on him to become a guru himself, in particular of tenaga dalam

(inner power) and beladiri (self-defence) for them and other kids in the area. This circle of close friends who were

at the origin of the local ‘Teratai Putih’ sect were indeed aware of the dramatic progress of Joko’s mystical

capacities garnered during his absence. The group eventually grew to a sect of national proportions, with

branches in Jakarta, the rest of Java, and Lampung in South Sumatra. In the early days of this mystical

brotherhood, around the late eighties, Joko was one of the three leading advisors for the aspiring practitioners. I

gathered from other informants that he was a key element in the training of other leaders who would gradually

take upon themselves the delegation of organising the weekly practices.

Although still a major advisor for serious members, Joko today rarely participates in the nightly jurus

and kanuraga (see below) sessions. He is nevertheless always called upon to perform a graduation ritual called

pengisian (‘filling’) for each pupil who has reached a certain level of competency. Students from distant regions

regularly come to see him to get advanced instructions on the mystic skills and ilmu through unusual feats of

asceticism and meditation. Other regional kebatinan leaders never miss an opportunity to come by his house

when they happen to be in Yogya. He seems to be especially famous as a guru and dukun amongst people from

outlying villages in the Sleman and Kulonprogo regions west of the city. Many times he was called upon by his

acquaintances there to join some supernatural exercises, to supervise a trance dance, or to simply help train some

talented students.

Membership to the Teratai Putih sect usually involves twice weekly training sessions in groups from

three to a dozen adepts. The training takes place at night on a large open field12. As mentioned earlier, members

come from various levels of society including peasant youth, university students, merchants, and sons of affluent

business families. Both genders are represented, nevertheless more male candidates pursue the kebatinan cycles

and usually for a longer time.

Kebatinan Perception of Supernatural Power and Spirits

People who come to practice Teratai Putih mysticism receive guidance into the ways of connecting

with one’s inner self and thus reach the divine manifestation of Gusti. This is done through the training of

refining the rasa, which is the ultimate feeling-perception connected to the batin or inner self. If one feels and

knows his rasa, this achievement is said to bring spiritual power which may be used in a variety of ways

depending on the form of release. Going about handling and releasing such power is also taught through the

practice. To arrive at such a deep level of experience, the adept learns how to have purity of will and single- 12 When I was there, it typically took place at the local football field. On other occasions, depending upon the tests of newly acquired power e.g. visualization of spirits, a more remote anker location would be chosen by the leader

33

pointed concentration, and then how to perfect his will or power of suggestion in order to direct the power

emanating from his batin. Although this process takes a long time to command, it is still regarded in Java as only

being the lower stage of mystical practices, since using power to affect one’s material life is still a sign of the ego

or the animal aspect of the soul reigning over the purer dimension of the higher self.

Supernatural power may come relatively fast, but the essence of mysticism is the purifying of the soul

in order to live harmoniously as a personified reflection of the divine universe. In this aspect, magical powers are

considered by advanced mystics to be a potential nuisance on the path to spiritual enlightenment or sujud, since

the student may be sidetracked by the wonders that supernatural powers make possible. This also reflects almost

point for point the teachings of India’s great Swami’s on their comments of occultism in Yoga13. In the Indian

schools of Hatha Yoga, the supernatural powers (siddhis) that the Yogi experiences and manipulates rather early

in his quest are considered by the masters to be helpful, but in a limited way since they are at the same time

dangerous temptations for the mind, thus obstacles. Likewise in Java, advanced mystics discourage the adept to

be too absorbed by these supernatural powers and visions that will enter his path. Nonetheless, this is part of the

mystical training that the adepts receive at the Teratai Putih schools, as it is considered useful to witness the

supernatural so as to better be convinced of what lies ahead. The clarity of a concentrated mind and the

development of extra-sensory perception help the student initially to strengthen his confidence in the divine

presence inside and eventually to surrender (J. sumarah) to Gusti, the Javanese conception of the emanating God.

Kebatinan leaders organize occasional outings to remote places at night, only with a few advanced

students at once. The places are known to be very anker (haunted) and they are chosen consciously to practice

contact (sound, sight and smell) with spirits14. Some of the leaders told me that such outings are always preceded

by a select period of fasting (tapa).

Fasting orients the mind to the spirit within making it conducive for inner attunements and

communications to take place with the Cosmic Mind (J. Hyang sukmo kawekas) and the various

intelligences composing It. The increased vibrations of the body, cleansed of all toxic matter through

fasting makes it possible for the attraction of certain types of spirit beings that normally would not come

into close proximity to us because of the noxious effluvia that we emanate. Depending on the spiritual

attainment of the adept, he/she can even conjure and invoke one of these spirits, colloquially named

kodam, into becoming a servant of theirs, which obviously brings a lot of power with it. “There is no

denying that fasting aids the etheric body (sukmo sejati) to accumulate cosmic power, especially when done

in conjunction with the appropriate metaphysical exercises. Without physical nourishment, the body is

forced to acquire the energy it needs through some other channels. When adopted as a regular practice,

fasting unfolds psychic sensitivity (getaran).

Gurus sternly remind the adepts that these acquired powers—and beings—may not be abused to the

detriment of others unless in cases of indisputable self-defence. Arrogance and criminal activities are staunchly

discouraged as they entail divine punishment following the rule of karma. Instead, after the pengisian, which

signals the graduation of the more physical aspects of kebatinan training, the student is encouraged to continue a

life-long practice of semedi (meditation) and asceticism (J. laku, tapa) to reach the higher stages of self-realization. 13 See the writings of Swami Vishnu-Devananda, for example 14 Commonly, these nightly séances are done at graveyards, riverbanks, hilltops or forest clearings.

34

As a tenaga dalam guru, Joko recognizes the progress of his pupils by the response he gets from them

while they are being subjected to supernatural forces. Someone who has trained the jurus to a certain degree will

feel the energy of another adept who is trying to either push or pull the former simply by using suggestion and

doing distant moves. Likewise when a spirit approaches the student, he should be able to detect a vigorous

feeling in the region of the plexus, an important energy centre in Javanese mysticism. Joko said this was the result

of strom, the energy of the otherworld interacting with one’s own inner energy. These concepts and exercises are

the basic curriculum of any aspiring dukun in Java, he added. Without the ability to enhance the awareness of

one’s own tenaga and to perceive the energy of other beings, whether from this world or the dimension of spirits,

there is no possibility to start healing or experience the other mystical knowledge which are named in the Primbon

(numerology manuals) and related mystical literature.

Joko told me that I needed to understand this rather rudimentary theory in order to make sense of his

healing activities and any other activity he might perform as a dukun: A requirement of the sort does not come easily, as to start experiencing the inner power one has to perform

a series of spiritual exercises which demand a certain degree of discipline and asceticism. The exercises

gradually affect the psychological and physical capacities of the adept, as they sharpen the senses in

synchronicity with the intellect. A heightened intuitive speed of reaction and perception are amongst the

results. When discussing the purposes or the motivation for undergoing such a spiritual training, Joko easily

acquiesces with my impression of ‘mind over matter’. In his opinion, the power of suggestion which is

nurtured by a pure and incorruptible mind can basically create wonders in controlling aspects of the

material world. The raw resource which is needed to activate this process is the inner energy of people

which can be released in a controlled manner and induce flows of energy towards a single point of choice.

The energy is imagined to come from Tuhan, and since Tuhan is everywhere, so is the energy. The key is to

tap into this source through the exercises mentioned above and to consequently arrive at an increase of

one’s own stock of energy. Releasing it can happen in very different manners and this is where the ilmu’s

come at hand, since every ilmu is specific to a particular magical action.

In a more secular way, it is said that spiritual power provides the person with a multitude of practical

advantages, depending upon his level of purity and mastery, all stemming from a comfortable self-confidence to

face even the harshest difficulties in life. People made sure that I understood that practicing kebatinan was not at

all mutually exclusive of formal school education or other religious creed, rather it reinforced these teachings if

used in combination. It was perceived as the practical side of an encompassing kejawen philosophy of life which

promotes tolerance and moral restraint of the senses. At the same time, it is common knowledge that the

supernatural qualities obtainable with the practice nevertheless encouraged many to seek fortune and status in

much more contravening ways than would readily be admitted. It is true that the hardships of economically dire

times are not conducive to upright moral behaviour, and the possibilities of thieving magic or occult practices

often seem as desirable shortcuts to satisfy repressed desires. My dukun informants knew this very well as many

consultations involved recuperating stolen goods, breaking spells or pacifying fighting crowds where in each case

some magic had been used. An illustration of this is a case where Joko had been called upon by a local cadre of

35

the PKB political party15, Pak M., to train the paramilitary gangs of youngsters who defend the colours of the

party (these gangs are called banser).

He was to teach them the skills of fighting with tenaga dalam and make them invulnerable to weapons (an ilmu

known as kakebalan). Joko refused gallantly, trying not to break the friendship he had with Pak M.. He knew

this would only create trouble for him and his family during the presidential election campaigns of 2003-4.

Joko told me that earlier in the week he had been approached by another friend, member of the PDI, a rival

party, for largely the same reasons! And his own brother-in-law, who was a cadre for the PPP, yet another

Islamic party, often invited Joko to attend meetings with local leaders. As possessors and transmitters of the

various magical ilmu, people such as Joko are often solicited by political parties to become member of their

staff for obscure security reasons. According to him, this happens frequently in the major cities where

political gangs are important. The irony is that while he refuses to take part in such activities, he is often asked

by police or other community members to break up clashes and pacify heated conflicts between such rival

gangs. He also knows that many students of kebatinan, including former ones of his own group, use (or

abuse) their skills in such activities. This type of problem is rife nowadays in many cities, especially during an

election year, and it speaks to the issues of unemployment and boredom of thousands of disaffected youths

across the country.

The pervasiveness of kebatinan ethos inside South Central Javanese culture is clearly manifest in a

variety of ways in Yogyakarta; the whole ceremonial attitude that surrounds the Kraton and the Sultan to this

day, the spiritual aspect of interaction, relationships or occurrences which are commented on and form a

particular discourse or rumour, the influence it plays in particular decision-making which may seem dubious

from a rational point but totally in agreement with a more spiritual perspective, popular fears and taboo’s, arts

and performances and so on. This ethos is nowhere more conspicuous than in the activities and aura attributed

to the dukun. Numerous references to kebatinan will be made in the following exposition of certain of my

informants’ experiences.

3.2 Kebatinan powers and the serious practitioner: Genesis of a dukun.

A Perilous Path

Being recognized as a dukun is indeed a mixed blessing, not merely because of the debate between

“black or white magic” and the eventual suspicion that this entails, as I had originally assumed, but also because

of the dualism between supernatural and social levels. In Joko’s constant efforts to reconcile both levels, it

speaks to the simple routine of social and familial necessities and choices of a member of society. It is part of

the old sacred wisdom of Javanese Tatakrama (Javanese code of proper behaviour), which not surprisingly

15 PKB= Partai Kebangkitan Bangsa. Affiliated to the NU of Gus Dur.

36

contains a chapter on mystical pursuit and the world of spirits, and the correct way to incorporate those into

one’s secular life. The dilemma, Joko indicated, is the possibility in Java amongst seekers of supernatural power

to undergo a very real break with social reality, in essence failing to ‘come back down to the world of mortals’. I

had heard of highly respected gurus whose powers were said to be phenomenal and who you could visit on that

account, who were so removed from the society of mortals, so incapable of readjusting to human standards or

not feeling the need to. In their extreme ascetic lifestyle they preferred to live removed from civilization, totally

self sufficient and holed up in a cave or deep in the forests still found on the slopes of some volcanoes and in

remote mountainous areas in Java16.

To another extreme, according to Joko, some mystical practitioners who do not follow the rules often

run the danger of simply just losing their minds having built up an attitude of arrogance based on the false

egocentric belief that their powers are generated by themselves. They can sometimes be seen running around like

dark wild animals alongside the Javanese roads and constantly babbling against their persecuting demons.

Another explanation exists for those characters, by which it is said that the mystical path leading to kesempurnaan

(perfect wisdom) is by nature a knowledge which is only revealed in a gradual way, learning by trial and error and

by mastering requisite methods of spiritual control on the forces unleashed. Obsessive students of the kebatinan

groups who become too impulsive and impatient to move from one experience to another risk the very danger

of becoming the controlled instead of the controller, meaning that often these people get under the spell and

whims of some spirit. This situation, called the mediumistic method, is desired by some (dukun prewangan) and

repudiated by others. The danger occurs when they are in effect in a condition of permanent ‘possession’. Many

of my informants say that people trapped in such a condition are recognizable by their dark skin colour due to

the presence of spirits in their body and their glazed eyes with pupils that remain constant. One common friend

of Joko and Agus (see below) had died recently under such strange circumstances. Agus told me that this friend

P. had in the last few months of his life been plagued with avenging spirits of the higher realms, quite powerful

ones who usually do not meddle with human’s affairs unless invoked by bold individuals. He had lost touch with

P. for almost a year, but some people had told him how P. had become a dukun prewangan 17, and had been

invited to Jakarta many times by influential personalities.

“It was a risky business, and P. had arguably been ill-prepared to interact with such higher forces”, Agus

said. “He died with awful disfigured features, his skin dark as the ‘orang timur’ (Papuans?) and uttering bribes

of ‘Jawa kuno’ (Old Javanese). “Seven days after the funeral, the Pos ronda (nightly village vigil) of the

village where he was buried caught two men who attempted to unearth and steal the body for its supposed

khodam (residual spirit-power). But both vigil and offenders were horrified when they realized that all that

remained in the sealed coffin was a rotten assemblage of flowers and bits of human hair”. Joko and Agus

both told me later that they had regrets about not having tried sooner to help their friend out of his foolish

greedy quest for superior power.”

16 See paragraph on the informant Sugeng below. 17 Ibid. see chapter 4

37

Joko reiterated that dukun who were tempted towards spirit companions and other higher forces in an

abusive and ultimately debilitating manner put themselves at risk of damaging their own etheric spirit double,

which is popularly known to cover the inner batin, the core of the self. The practitioner is always advised to

guarantee that he is in control of a mental state of magical training before going on to another, a process which

in fact may not be achieved in the span of one lifetime depending upon the individual. Joko added that,

“The mediumistic method, even though a valid occult practice according to many (informants), is not to be

recommended, however, as the beginning practitioner is liable to lose control or cause the dysfunction of

the etheric body. We urge the candidate magician (calon paranormal) to unfold and utilize the telepathic

method instead as this gives greater control over occult proceedings. Though seldom causing the condition

known as possession, mediumistic activities, may result in obsession, external control of a spirit(s) and poor

health.”

Sources of Power and Ilmu: Kanuraga practice

The above ambiguous opinions about dukun activity can be better comprehended if complemented

with questions on the perceived methods of attaining the powers or the ilmu necessary to consider becoming a

dukun. We have already discussed the practice of kebatinan and the acquisition of such powers besides more

philosophical and moral teachings. Joko and Agus told me that the magical powers which are sought by

candidate dukun more particularly come after a mystical practice named kanuragan or kanuraga, which specializes

in communication with and handling of spirits. Both were questioned on their ideas of the acquisition of powers

as they thought it crucial to understand what dukun activities may represent to Javanese.

3.2.1 Joko

Stories about extreme shamanic initiation exercises—whether under the lead of a guru or alone in

nature—where the candidate pupil learns the secret ilmu such as ‘mastery of fire’ or mystical flight (J. rogosukmo)

and other feats of kekebalan (invulnerability), were often conveyed to me by Joko and other dukun based on their

own experience of mystical immersion. These specific pursuits demand the total presence and attention of the

pupil’s physique and mind and are therefore not compatible with life as a couple or with hardly any other

‘normal’ social behaviour. Candidate dukun recognize the signs of their extra-ordinary abilities very early, and it is

a question of moral and existential judgement to decide whether or not to pursue the mystical and esoteric path

in a conscientious manner.

The most responsible way is to find a reputable guru with whom one could work in this pursuit. For

the same reasons that people are drawn to dukun who live outside of their home region as opposed to the ones

living in it (Geertz 1960: 90-1), young candidate mystics often travel far across Java and beyond to look for a

guru which would be cocok (appropriate, fit) with them. They then would spend a relatively long time at the side

38

of the guru to master the ilmu in which the latter specializes18. Anything can happen during these periods of

mystical pursuits where the pupil is trained to endure various forms of asceticism and to survive in nature

without any of the crucial tools which humans usually use to cope with such extreme adverse situations.

These persons, as well their guru and peers, virtually live in the margin or outside of normal Javanese

society for extended periods of time. But they are not looked upon as ‘freaks’ in society, for the mystic tradition

has been recognized for numerous centuries. The honourable respect for the half-sacred individuals that this

tradition produces is only matched by the apprehension and downright suspicion when things get out of hand

and tendencies towards black magic are associated with them. (Siegel 2001) Joko could attest to that, as could

family members and close friends, confirming the stories about the sometimes troubled chapters of his youth

and the long periods of absence when he was working odd jobs and learning from skilled gurus across Sumatra,

Java, Bali and Kalimantan.

When he was in secondary school, Joko learned Kanuragan very seriously. Kanuragan trains the students

to be physically powerful by using inner power and/or mantras, and to be invulnerable to any kind of weapons

such as bullets, sharp objects or fire. Joko explained that this kind of practice was common in the place where

he grew up (near Wates, on the road towards Purworejo) and where people adhered strongly to Kejawen

principles.

“Seeing the resultant mystical achievement I got, I did the learning more confidently by following all my Guru's

instructions. When I think about the kind of exercises I followed through, it was unbelievable. It was really hard,

among other things I had to fast without any food and water for a week, I had to remain seated outside directly

under the sun and moon for 24 hours… I and my friends had to submerge ourselves in the middle of a river for

one night following the teaching of our Guru19.”

He believed it could only happen with the blessing and protection of Gusti. Joko added that he was

not satisfied with learning from only one guru. During school holidays he often went to learn more in other

places, a learning which continued after he finished secondary school (he never went on to higher academic

education). Kanuragan was, and still is, considered to be the first step in acquiring higher knowledge in

18 Various ilmu and the tapa (J. ascetic practice) to obtain them are published in the Javanese primbon and petangan booklets authored by renowned mystical teachers from the courts of Yogyakarta and Solo. Dutch translations and analysis of these have been done by scholars such as Pigeaud, Theodore. and van Hien, G. 19 A technique commonly called Rendam or Kungkum Joko and Agus both explained this as quite an interesting austerity. According to Joko, “Many have found strange sensations occurring in their body as a result of this discipline. The method of Kungkum is thus: one has to submerge oneself naked in a sitting position up to the neck at the mouth of a river where two minor rivers meet and face against the currents. The appropriate place and spot ought to be located before starting this austerity—the currents should not be too strong and the sand-bed flat. The environment should be quiet without other human beings lingering about. Commenced in the middle of the night, Kungkum is to be carried-out for the designated period by the magical rite which may be 3 hours or more. Needless to say, this requires a lot of practice. One must not fall asleep while doing the Kungkum as this would be perilous--one must not even move as this would defeat the purpose of the austerity. Before entering the river one has to perform a ritual cleansing.” While in the actual act of submerging into the water the following mantra ought to be recited: "Putih-putihing mripatku Sayidina Kilir, Ireng-irenging mripatku Sunan Kali Jaga, Telenging mripatku Kanjeng Nabi Muhammad." He continued: “The eyes should be shut, and the hand crossed over the chest. The body's lower orifices also ought to be closed (perhaps with a plug made out of cork) and the breathing regulated accordingly. The Kungkum discipline is often carried-out for a period of 7 consecutive nights. It is especially useful in accumulating magical force.”

39

spiritualism—an introductory part of Kebatinan—and through direct experience allows the adept to progressively

realize the presence of Gusti or Sakti. That divine force cannot be compared to any mundane object or physical

force of the world. The Javanese interpretation knows Sakti to be the centre of inner consciousness which in

turn is very close conceptually to their word Aji/batin.

Although this body of teachings and methods (both the mediumistic method and telepathic method)

can result in quite spectacular magical skills, kanuragan is considered by advanced mystics to represent the lower

levels of the spiritual path. Adepts are advised to master and outgrow the initial fascination that they may

experience for these kasar (coarse) phenomena in favour of a more refined spiritual practice. After kanuragan and

the phenomenal but ‘immature’ deeds that were made possible, Joko was advised by some elders to pursue the

path of true knowledge, or Ilmu kasunyataan or kesempurnaan. This is much closer to the meditation techniques of

Yogic practitioners and stresses the selfless attitude to helping one’s fellow man. Under the guidance of yet other

gurus, he learned and exercised with determination, and step by step he unconsciously became wiser.

Without any promotion people started coming to him for consultation, and as part of his philosophy

he could not reject the visitors. They came for various reasons. He started to help by curing sick people, solving

family problems, helping someone to regain his/her consciousness due to black magic (santet/tenun), ritually

cleaning haunted houses etc. In reply to the question if in these modern times black magic or santet still exists,

Joko said with a sigh: “Regretfully yes, there are people who malevolently use dark spiritual practices to achieve

egoistical goals. I have helped a lot of people who suffer from these deeds. Really it is annoying and it seems it is

becoming trendier in recent years, especially since the krismon”. It is clear there is a fine line between the lower

level of mystical pursuit, kanuragan, and the noble search for higher truth which is known as kasunyataan and the

difference seems to be one of philosophical sophistication. Joko put it this way: “In Kanuragan I had the advantage to know about the strengths and weaknesses of all parts of the human

body. A basic knowledge which is very useful later on doing my duty in helping sick people, but also useful

in self-defence situations. Growing older, I felt that I needed a deeper spiritual knowledge in order to be

useful also for the well being of other people. I am happy that Gusti responds to my sincere wish. I met a

wise old man from whom I learned a lot. Now, I am practicing to help sick people as I can with sincerity. I

am fully aware that this is a part of my duty as an ordinary being seeking real knowledge. Ngelmu

Kesunyatan.”

The change of pace in Joko’s life happened when he got married and had his first kid about nine years

ago and recognized the responsibilities and obligations that his role as a father/husband engendered. To settle

and abandon the nomadic habits of a virtual preman (marginal drifter) was a first priority. But he was also

adamant about cutting the ties with some mysterious companion spirits that he had often solicited during his

peregrinations. Joko stated that two of these spirits in particular were highly threatening to both children’s safety

as well as old and sick people. And although he adapted his activities to a more domestic lifestyle he regularly

slipped out of the house, alone or with friends, to remote areas at night in order to re-connect with ancestral

forces and to keep his esoteric abilities sharpened.

During the time that I was there, from August till January, he would never fail to tell me about these

nocturnal outings and invite me to go along. But by my third night in Java he had already decided to take me to

40

one of those peculiar places where he loved to spend the night meditating and calling upon all sorts of

companion spirits. We went to a cemetery of freedom fighters (pejuangan) on the moonlit summit of a sacred hill

named Kanigoro on the northern edge of Bantul district. There, three separate invocations of local spirits were

performed by Joko and his friend Pan, much more meant as an informal introduction to my topic than any other

ritualistic function. In his own words he had made the habit of performing these ‘rituals’, away from home, in

order to feel rejuvenated. Asked if that meant that he needed these nightly sessions of spiritual communication

in order to be ever effective in the treatment of clients, he answered positively.

“At least to a certain degree”, he said; I learned later that he was trying to grow away from depending

on spirits’ help and strengthen his own powers from within. This is the way of kasunyataan or ilmu kesempurnaan,

“the perfect knowledge”. Having been told by his late guru that the Sufis —whose philosophy was the initial

form of Islam imported to Java through the famous Wali Sanga—regard miracles as ‘veils’ intervening between

the self and God, Joko understood long ago that clinching to the universe of spirits and other powerful

elementals was in fact a barrier for humans to discover pure consciousness and the divine inside. Indeed, the

masters of Hindu spirituality (the core of contemporary kejawen) urged their disciples to pay no attention to the

siddhis, or psychic powers, which may come to them unsought, as a by-product of one’s one-pointed

contemplation during meditation. Despite that recognition, he told me that his controlled manner of dealing

with spirits was part of a spiritual quest initiated long ago and that he felt confident—meaning protected from

danger—to continue to experience the deepest understanding of these residual psychic powers. Going beyond

the veils to find the pure revelation of Truth, he felt, would have to happen in the future.

Magical Heat and Astral Flight

Part of the reason of my reporting on Joko’s spiritual evolution and experiences is to show the reader

that in Java mystical practitioners combine clearly shamanic techniques with higher spiritual pursuits which are

closer to a Yogic or even Vedic practice. Especially as to their purpose of the annihilation of worldly suffering

and the attainment of divine enlightenment, ilmu sejati. Mircea Eliade’s comparative work on the relation of Yoga

to shamanism is extremely pertinent in the sense of the recognition that while these are two separate disciplines,

they are not mutually exclusionary and even borrow similar techniques from each other. (Eliade 1990: 318) His

treatise on the shamanic techniques of “magical heat” and “astral flight” and their resemblance to practices in

certain yogic traditions is very informative as one starts to examine the work of dukun in Java. Both of these

techniques are extremely popular amongst Javanese mystics, the one known locally as ilmu raja and the latter as

nrogosukmo. Stories abound about the feats of so and so who was able to put these forces at work when the

situation required such a deed to be carried out.

In the case of magical heat for example, the well-known concept of hot and cold in Javanese folkloric

medicine is a derivation of the spiritual significance of induced heat or coolness. (Samson 1974) Studies on the

production and utilization of Jamu have elsewhere demonstrated this point. (Jordaan 1985: 207, Manderson

1981: 510) On a more supernatural level, during mystical exercises of the jurus type and at some slametan, it is

not unusual to test the concerned person on his invincible strength by making them lick a red hot blade of a

41

knife that was placed over a hot fire. Similarly, one would be required to hold a hand palm down above a lit

candle for a minute or more, without showing any pain but more importantly, without showing any subsequent

corporal symptoms. More general tests involve feeling comfortable and cool in a situation of intense sun

exposure, or reversely, being able to dry a wet towel with one’s body warmth at night on the chilly slope of a

volcano. As these latter examples demonstrate, the purpose of all these exercises is not to be found in the literal

result of the action, rather in the satisfaction of knowing that one can dominate matter merely with a strong

suggestive willpower. It is not an accident that successful spiritual teachings like these have influenced the way in

which locals view their approaches to disease and health, even as far as the detailed knowledge of the virtues of

plants and their uses.

The exceptional holders and producers of that power are the ones that have deeply understood the

secret knowledge of the ilmu, their profound esteem of the concepts thus being differently rooted than most

ordinary people. Offering an illustration, Joko told me about the first time that he was initiated to the art of astral

flight or nrogosukmo. When he entered a deep state of concentration he could first perceive how his body was being

left behind as his inner self (sukmo) was moving out of it. The next steps were a series of gruesome

encounters with hideous demons and ogres who proceeded to decapitate what was left of his body and eat

it. After a series of encounters, he found himself near a familiar place near Kudus in the north of Central

Java. There a figure resembling a 16th century Wali (Muslim saint) came up to him, put a body together out

of clay from a rice field and proposed Joko reside in it. When he woke up, his facial hair had grown so as to

indicate he had been in trance for more than four days. It seemed to him that he had only been away

momentarily.

This description of nrogosukmo ―although a very inexperienced trial as it was an initiation― shows many

similarities with Eliade’s notes on shamanic practices involving “magical flight”. (Eliade 1990: 326-30)

Nrogosukmo seems to be an ideal of many aspiring mystics in the region of Yogyakarta and presumably beyond.

The most famous acts of this type of ilmu in popular Javanese conscience are the ones perpetrated by figures

such as the Prince Diponegoro or Sukarno in their struggles against the Dutch colonial armies. The capacity to

live outside of one’s material body and to travel enormous distances in such a state is one of the attractions, but

it is also said that it is while in a nrogosukmo state that the mystic can easily meet with ghosts of famous teachers

and personalities and communicate with them. I will bring refer to this type of experience later when I introduce

another informant who was admittedly very active in the pursuit of such events, i.e. Pak Agus. In Yogyakarta the

divine ancestors who seemed to be the most popular beings to communicate with were Sunan Kalijaga, one of

the nine Wali, and the great founders of the Mataram empire, Senopati and Sultan Agung as well as their terrific

bride, Kanjeng Ny Roro Kidul, the Queen of the South Seas20.

To come back to Joko, he was more than enthusiastic to reveal some of these concepts that Javanese

hold in high esteem as it affects nothing less than their life from birth till death. But, I repeat that for most of the

Javanese, these values are primarily based on and reinforced by the direct experience of concrete results when

these powers and their accompanying interpretations are solicited by korban (victims) of supernatural spells and

20 John Pemberton relates a fascinating chapter on the pilgrimages (ziarah) of Javanese and their efforts to have contact with these legendary entities. Pemberton 1994: 271-304.

42

other clients with specific needs. This takes place in a specific social imaginary which is conducive to the

synchronicity that takes place between healer and patient. The key word is sugesti, the power of suggestion, which

is a prerequisite on the part of the patient to be in a situation of compatibility with the healer (the Javanese call

this relationship cocok or jodho21). Sometimes, a patient will try several dukun before he feels jodho with any one of

them and when recovery or success is therefore best guaranteed. In conclusion, powers and abilities attributed to

the mastering of ilmu’s and the acquisition of certain spirit-helpers though kanuragan training were listed by Joko

as follows:

1. The power to charge and consecrate objects without the use of any media whatsoever (should circumstances

demand it), such as water, flowers, incense, etc; often used in healing treatments.

2. The ability to acquire information from someone without the need of meeting them face to face; this is done by

invoking the person magically and/or attuning with their mind (ex. finding thieves/criminals)

3. The ability to detect an area where a hidden treasure or sacred objects are buried and the action to be taken in

order to retrieve them.

4. The power to automatically exercise self-defensive techniques when threatened.

5. The ability to conjure various kinds of spirits and to communicate with them. This can be to attract them or

instead to chase them away.

6. The ability to move spirits or power associated with a sacred object to other media.

7. The ability to exercise the ‘distant punch’—that is, the ability to hit an aggressor without physical contact. One

simply goes through the motions of hitting, the khodam (spirit-helper) would simultaneously exert a force that

would topple the aggressor.

8. The ability to acquire further information or knowledge on the magical arts.

9. Invulnerability (ilmu kakebalan).

10. The gradual unfolding of clairvoyance and telepathy which are useful in divination and finding lost/stolen

objects.

11. The ability to assist the healing process of those suffering physical ailments.

3.3.2 Agus

Rendam and the making of a healer

From what Agus would disclose (and which was later confirmed and supplemented by friends and

relatives of his) I gathered that he came from a family of highly mystical forefathers. His grandfather, amongst

others, was a catholic priest during the Colonial period that had been highly regarded as both a healer and a

devoted abdi dalem from the court of Sultan Hamengkubowono VIII. In the function of abdi dalem, he had helped

perform numerous annual Kraton ceremonies and rituals, especially the labuhan ceremony where belongings of

the Sultan were offered to the Queen of the South Seas at the Parangkusumo beach and to the guardian spirit of

Mount Merapi at Kaliadhem, on the slopes of the volcano. People said Agus’ grandfather had obtained a wahyu 21 Jordaan 1985: 173, Keeler 1982: 215, Geertz 1960: 91

43

(divine revelation) while performing tapa near Giri Sekar in the hills district of Gunungkidul. This fact alone lifted

him to the rare level of people who were considered sacred (sakti) in a mystical way. As a boy, Agus hung around

his grandfather’s house quite often and helped him prepare various types of jamu. At a later age he used to

accompany him to secret rituals where he first came into contact with the otherworldly powers believed to reside

in the tanah Jawi (lit. the Javanese land). When his grandfather passed away, Agus promised himself in turn to

explore the mystical world of kejawen. Clearly inspired by this ancestral figure, he saw this task as a way to

contribute to the harmony of society, first locally but with more global aspirations in a later stage.

Constantly looking for ways to expand his mystical capacities and understanding, he met Joko when

this latter co-opened the local branch of the ‘Teratai Putih’ sect where Kanuragan and inner power (tenaga dalam)

were taught. I have heard numerous stories of this wild period through old members of this brotherhood, but in

particular Joko and Shalim, a common friend of both Joko and Agus who was from Chinese descent and had

been actively involved in the esoteric exercises of this sect. These three characters and a few others apparently

were obsessed in continually removing the limits of magical exploration, promising each other to help one

another in moments of real danger on their path to magical wisdom. The stories are almost too incredible to

relate here but some anecdotes are worth a mention.

As young kanuragan practitioners, it makes sense that this restricted group were constantly seeking to

come into contact with various beings that inhabit the alam katriyan (the astral realm)22. Agus answered the

questions on motivation and methods of acquisition of supernatural power in the following way. The purposes

of this potentially dangerous venture are varied, but one could name the ability to invoke the help of specific

spirits or ancestor ghosts to achieve certain activities in this human realm. Agus repeated that this is not the only

approach of achieving supernatural exploits, as some people frown upon having to depend on spirits. They can

develop such powers with a pure and trained batin (inner essence), a manner which is closer to the accepted

protocol of spiritual enlightenment. He calls it the debate between the mediumistic method and the telepathic

method. Personally as a mystic adept, he said, he agrees with the wisdom of the critics of mediumistic

techniques, but he also names the fact that as a dukun, rapidity and efficiency are primordial, and as such the

mediumistic approach is initially more attractive to candidate dukun. Nevertheless, dealing with spirits is a very

popular aspiration amongst many young and old Javanese mystical adepts, and there is no clear consensus about

the boundary between what is considered right or ethical and downright evil and unacceptable.

This search for contact and interaction with spirits led Joko and friends to perform rituals and

exercises (latihan) in the most unlikely locations. Amongst the obvious favourites were graveyards, remote angker

(haunted) spots in forests, caves and underground tunnels, Hindu temples and ruins, mountaintops, beaches and

rivers. Nearly all of these places had been known for years and even centuries to be places of power, where one

could easily stumble across a spirit on a evening outing or see and hear various strange phenomena. Most of

them consequently were places of ritual pilgrimage (ziarah), where adepts would perform long periods of tapa or

22 The members of this group, reflecting common beliefs of various Aliran kebatinan, see reality as consisting of two separate realms: the human realm or alam kadriyan and the astral realm or alam katryian. The second realm is further divided in different levels, but essentially it is used as a conceptual opposition to the human realm, with the understanding that these two are interdependent in this reality. What this means is that although the alam katriyan is not part of the normal human experience, it can nevertheless exceptionally be explored and dealt with through specific mystical techniques. The alam katriyan is believed to be home to, amongst others, various nature spirits and the ghosts of ancestors. It is colloquially known as alam ghaib.

44

request supernatural help through giving offerings and doa (prayer). (Pemberton 1994: 170-184) One of the most

popular exercises of Agus and Joko’s group was the latihan rendam or kungkum23. Intermediate and advanced

students of tenaga dalam were all required to spend a few hours on a particular night sitting immersed in the

central bedding of a river. Agus explains further:

“In this exercise just the head stays above the surface of the flowing water, usually at a tempuran, the meeting

spot of two rivers24. The obvious purpose of this seems to be training endurance, since the cold flow of the

water creates a situation of loss of corporeal heat, which loss is accordingly complemented by a desired

influx of tenaga dalam released in the form of heat around the body. Tenaga dalam, it is said, manifests itself

the best in situations of a shortage or vacuum of normal physical energy or motivation. Thus many of the

drills in the training of tenaga dalam are composed so as to create an imbalance or a deficiency of power

needed to overcome the eventual obstacle, whereupon it is hoped that the inner power will emerge and fill

that void. But the rendam exercise also has wider purpose which is rarely named in the presence of

uninitiated people. The rendam ordeal allegedly is such an extreme form of asceticism that entering a higher

state of consciousness is almost unavoidable for the practitioner. In this state, where the materiality of

his/her own body and the surrounding nature are basically being denied any functional meaning, it is

frequent and easy to encounter the various beings which are believed to inhabit the alam katriyan. The

energy which is forcibly released around the practitioner’s spot is said to attract other fine masses of energy

near the water. Interpreted as spirits or ‘others’, it is eventually the goal of the practitioner to come into

contact with these and ultimately to coerce them into helping him/her.”

Joko and Agus both confirmed the advantage of this method as opposed to tapa in crowded places

such as the royal mausoleum at Kota Gedé and Imogiri or other popular sendang (pools)25. Evidently, they add, it

is much more demanding than the more accessible forms of tapa, consisting usually of fasting or meditative

contemplation lasting hours and even days, but the results are supposedly far faster and greater in magnitude

than one could possibly expect with a collective type of ritual such as the ones named above. This is a very

important point, since people who are ready to go through very risky ordeals to attain mystical powers generally

believe very pragmatically that the strenuous path they follow will guarantee immediate results at a much higher

intensity, compared to a more gentle way of approaching the dunia lain (litt. ‘other world’) through regular

meditative practice. It is important to distinguish this difference in emphasis because it seems obvious that

people who have aspirations to become dukun or healers—thus to consciously provide services and who rely on

their mystically gained knowledge and powers to do so—want these powers and communicative abilities with the

invisible to come both rapidly and convincingly in the eyes of their customers. ‘At the snapping of fingers’, one

could say. In essence this rapidity and familiarity with the invocation of invisible powers and beings is

determined by the arduousness of the mystical training that one is ready to go through.

23 see paragraph 3.3.1 24 Two rivers flowing into each other to become one perfectly symbolizes the Manunggaling concept of kejawen: the divine reality becomes one with the reality of men. 25 Sendang are sacred manmade pools, many dating from Hindu Buddhist times, where people come to bathe while praying and giving an offer. In return the local dhanyang (resident spirit) would help to arrange their problems, whatever these may be. In Kasihan, southwest of Yogyakarta, a famous sendang is located which would inevitably be crowded on Juma’t kliwon nights

45

The ultimate purpose of such mystical brotherhoods is indeed the capacity to invoke the invisible

powers and to later implement them, which comes instinctively as the consequence of a strong will, thought or

suggestion. Agus once told me that what really distinguished dukun and certain mystics from ordinary people

was not merely the ability to experience the other world of our present reality (known alternatively as alam ghaib,

alam roh, dunia lain or alam katriyan) or to encounter spirits occasionally. That type of experience, good or bad, is

logically given to anyone. The point is to achieve this type of experience at will, in a very intuitively controlled

manner and preferably as swift as possible. Moreover, specific powers or spirits have to be invoked in

accordance with specific needs.

To return to the rendam exercise, Joko and Agus both stated eloquently that its purpose was not just to

meet any type of kasar (vulgar) spirits, while one would be fighting the cold of the flowing waters, but to direct

the power of suggestion that inevitably comes with such an important release of tenaga dalam towards the calling

upon of important respectable ancestor spirits. Indeed, the ability to call upon the wise advice of personalities

such as Raja Browijoyo or Sunan Kalijaga is considered the ‘crème de la crème’ in the art of dukun. The sacred

advice delivered by these higher beings is used in divination and problem with decision making. Nearly every

Javanese would blindly abide to it if he knew it came through the mouth of a reputable dukun or mystic. Agus

told me about the above-mentioned spirits making impressive apparitions during one such all-night rendam : “He said the natural surroundings had totally changed when he opened his eyes during the wet meditation,

and suddenly the earth started trembling, volcanoes were erupting and the water level of the river had risen

dramatically. Chaos all around, but he knew he couldn’t budge to the delusive phenomena which came his

way. After a perilous fight to remain calm against the scenery of adverse elements, everything returned to a

state of calm and a figure appeared on the riverbank. Agus recognized a saint-like figure who presented

himself as Sunan Kalijaga. The apparition saw that Agus was trying hard to become a mystical pundit in the

likes of his grandfather. It thus offered him secret knowledge that would guarantee him success if he

promised to only work towards the beauty and harmony of this world, including manusia (humankind) and

nature. A spirit guru was to accompany Agus to teach and help him find the right path in conducting his life

as a healer and a mystic. “

Stories make a reputation

Although such stories are hard to evaluate here for their ethnographic validity, I am nonetheless

concerned with the impact that they have on the psyche of the dukun in relation to his activities. Such fantastic

stories, told throughout the entirety of the province, convey an aura of authority to the one to whom these

things are said to have happened. Perilous metaphysical feats of the sort like all-night rendam or nrogosukmo are

usually witnessed by some friends or other practitioners, and the stories that they bring forth originate from the

informal recollections of these witnesses after the fact. Stories risk becoming rumours, but the occasional

Javanese who gets exposed to these stories will often silently record the name of the dukun who is mentioned in

them. Who knows? He might one day get sick or need a divination, sell his land or solicit a new job... It is

interesting to listen to this discourse, since this is often what makes or what breaks the reputation of a dukun in

the eyes of the public. Agus’ adventures with the alam gaib are famous with his old friends for the simple fact that

46

he was considered to have literally passed away for a few days while performing extreme ascetic exercises. Joko is

also attributed to such a feat.

After he was found lying immobile in his backyard by a mango tree showing no sign of heart activity in the

pulse, he was later buried. He reappeared to his mother three days later, dressed in the white cloth reserved

for mayat (cadaver). He explained the incident as a dream into which he had been absorbed, feeling it had

only lasted three hours while in reality it had lasted three days. He did not, and still does not remember

anything from the burial or from what had happened just before he passed away. He only knew he woke up

in his mother’s bedroom when she came in and shrieked at seeing him on the bed dressed in his funeral

gown.

What is important is the fact that this anecdote about Joko is retained by friends and clients alike and

often mentioned to other people who are getting to know Joko for the first time. Depending on the client, this

story and other ones which carry a certain contravening weight may be spread to a larger public. The truth is that

every Javanese I met always knew to mention about at least one dukun because of a particular spiritual feat of the

latter.

Shalim, the abovementioned friend of both Joko and Agus, told me that he had broken contact with

Agus ever since Agus had tried to push the limits of astral travel for a second time by going beyond the

technique of nrogosukmo where one’s ghost basically leaves the physical envelope of the body and travels in the

world of spirits or elsewhere in this world. The story, known by different people, goes as follows:

“Agus one day decided, after a serious bout of mystical readings of past kejawen teachers, to take his own

physical life and attempt to continue on in his astral form in order to experience the revelation of the

divine essence of the universe. He promised his wife he would come back to mortal life after the

experience had succeeded. Agus locked himself up in a room and ingested the contents of a bottle of rat-

poison. His wife had panicked and called Shalim to come over and persuade her young husband to return

to reason. But by the time Shalim had forced the door-lock of the room in which Agus had killed himself,

it was too late and the face of his friend had turned blue due to severe asphyxia. Shalim understood what

Agus’ wife reported to him about her husband‘s intentions. It was not the first time he had heard these

plans from the mouth of his friend, and thus kept confident while he waited by his corpse on the bed

through the rest of that night. Before sunrise he saw Agus’ body tremble and violently spitting blood, but

slowly coming back to life. Agus had proven that he was capable of performing racut, an extreme form of

astral flight where the adept’s soul is said to go beyond the realm of the living to visit the one of the dead

and to return from it. Halim stated that he had never been so shaken prior to that in his life, as he had

heard of mystics performing self-death like this but had never witnessed it first hand. He had a heavy

argument with his friend for showing an irreverent irresponsibility towards his wife and family.”

Agus later confirmed the story with a wry smile on his face, denying the reality of the danger, for a

higher revelation had called and convinced him to do it. Prior to performing it he had moreover consulted the

petangan (numerical astrological listings) for the appropriateness of the timing. Agus had also read specific esoteric

primbon (book of spiritual practices, ilmu and the way to prepare offerings) dealing with the ilmu racut.

47

Shalim, for his part, told me that this episode had signified a break in his relationship with Agus, on

the count that he had gone too far according to Shalim’s standards. The latter admitted that he himself had no

intention to seek sanctity or enlightenment at this price, and defended his weakness by stating that his priorities

lie first with his family and not with mystical achievements of the type. Shalim nevertheless had an enormous

esteem for the powers that Agus was able to generate, and went on to tell me the single most troubling element

that he knew about Agus. The fact of the matter is that Agus’ acquaintances sometimes call him by the nickname

‘Semar’, referring to the old sage/ half-god of the Wayang Purwa stories. The reason for this, besides the

familiarity that Agus demonstrates with dealing with the invisible world of ancestors and spirits, is a physical

feature undeniably linked to this mythological character. Indeed, he has a small tuft of white hair growing on the

top of his head, surrounded by the black hair natural to Javanese people. The story which both Joko and Agus

confirmed goes like this:

“One day, Agus felt it was required of him by some omen to perform a three day and night tapa

to attain understanding of a mystical riddle. During a dream he had envisioned a place in the mountains, a

wind swept hilltop with forest covering the slopes, were many notorious Javanese sages had meditated

before. When he woke up, he told his friends he had to go right away to the place in question which was

no other than a hill named Mbanglampir, in the low mountainous region of south Gunungkidul district.

From the records it was known that Mbanglampir had been a place of choice for Senopati (the founder

of the 16th century Mataram empire) to perform tapa and other ascetic exercises. It was also known that

court officials, Sultans, dukun, politicians, the two former Presidents and many others came there to

perform tapa in the Senopati tradition. It is reputed to be a place of immense potential power, and the

privileged ones obtain either sacred pusaka (heirloom) or wangsit (divine revelation). Agus, listening to

none other than his inner voice, departed at once in the middle of the night towards the famed hill, and

insisted on going barefoot. The distance between his village Jogonalan and Giri Sekar (closest village near

Mbanglampir) is estimated to be almost 60 kilometres, by foot an entire day of walking for the fit. He

spent the next four days and nights in tacit meditation on the windswept hilltop, having been let in by the

local juru kunci (spiritual guardian of sacred spots, appointed by the Sultan himself). When he came down,

invigorated and perfectly healthy, Agus appeared with the permanent white tuft of hair on his head,

whereas before his scalp had been totally black. His friends were all mesmerized by this, there was no

trick and surely he had received some type of divine wangsit during his tapa.

Incidents like these tend to make Javanese imagination run wild, but no one will dismiss the seriousness of

the situation at hand. This public awe only contributed to Agus’ reputation, as I could witness from the

convincing attitude of some of his clients in the practice towards the Semar-like feature of their healer.” In

the next chapter we will see how the fantastic powers in these dukun reputations and stories, garnered

through rigorous ascetic exercises, are put to use in their varied activities as public dukun.

48

Chapter 4: Dukun (1)

Dukun, or Indonesian shamans, have been part of Indonesian culture since pre-history. They have played

a major role in Indonesian society as curer, priest, magician, sorcerer, sage and basically one that can help

alleviate or eliminate both physical and psychological problems. The dukun of Java base their practice on

Javanese mysticism or kejawen, which is an essential element of Java’s unique culture and identity. Geertz’s 1950s

study of Javanese religion and culture contains comprehensive insights into the role of the dukun. However since

then, literature regarding this role is limited. As mentioned in Chapter 1, Indonesia has experienced major

changes and influences in its turbulent history in terms of religion, politics, ideology, economics and culture.

Throughout these changes, the dukun have maintained their significant role, one that has evolved, adapted and

diversified yet also retained its ancient roots.

This research attempted to provide a view into the position and role of some dukun in the province of

Yogyakarta, and to tentatively discern pertinent reasons for why dukun are still, and even in an increasing

number, consulted to resolve a variety of problems which are related to clients’ personal ‘welfare’. My

assumption is that besides attending to problems of physical and psychological nature, certain so-considered

powerful dukun play a role in overcoming societal challenges of a more secular nature such as the acquisition of

wealth and status, success in business or professional positions or simply the obtainment of a competitive job.

These types of consultations are not new in the range of demands to which dukun generally attend, but clearly an

interesting link can be imagined between the rise in such consultations and the pervasive spread of a culture of

consumption ideology which has been noted by several observers of Javanese and Indonesian society26.

Another more immediate link connects dukun with the practice of mysticism which is seen by many as

an alternative way to arrive at harmony—and assumingly to provide a certain type of welfare—in a period of

social and economical confusion. Several of my informants played an active role in the teaching of kebatinan and

as Ward Keeler noted (1987; 235), dukun are thought, just like some dalang, to be both possessors and

transmitters of traditional wisdom. Through their activities, they can thus also be viewed as cultural agents or

brokers, consciously or unconsciously reinforcing a certain kejawen worldview.

An important finding in this study on the role of dukun then revolves around the perceived ‘welfare’

that dukun and other mystical practitioners are seen to provide, which could explain an alleged increase in the

‘profession’ of dukun, their clients, and their mediated popularity. First a definition of dukun is given, with an

explanation of various terminology associated to dukun, based on the observations of other researchers and the

feedback from clients and dukun themselves. Subsequently, four dukun will be presented and their experiences

analysed against the background of current modern society as it is in Yogyakarta.

26 A pertinent study which revealed this link is for example Martin van Bruinessen’s research amongst the poor urban migrants of Bandung in the eighties. The observations on the position of dukun in this setting, although quite dated, are particularly revelatory in the context of my own research argument. More recently, Romain Bertrand extends this point to include the more politically and economically dominant classes as well in a Java after the krismon. (See: van Bruinessen 1988, Bertrand 2002)

49

4.1 Definition and terminology.

Varieties of dukun

As mentioned above, the Javanese equivalent for indigenous healer and/or shaman is dukun, a word

which is used to indicate various part and full-time practitioners. Of the better definitions of what a dukun might

represent, Roy E. Jordaan’s use of the term ‘magico-medical specialists’ seems to me to be the one most

pertinent to the subject. By this he indicates that it is not possible to make a clear-cut distinction between dukun

as magicians and dukun as medical practitioners. This is because, he argues, all dukun rely more or less on

supernatural abilities, which is what distinguishes them from modern medical practitioners (Jordaan 1985: 162).

More importantly, he states, local villagers do not necessarily distinguish between specialists in magic and

practitioners in native medicine, and this is because medicine, magic and religion are seen as parts of an

indivisible reality along the same continuum (ibid).

Jordaan provides extremely detailed information about the Madurese dukon in all its varieties and this

can be compared to the Javanese dukun in an almost identical way (ibid: 174-194). His classification of the

various specialists is highly judicious as it uses the variables of medical and magical to position them according to

their specific activities (ibid: 163). For instance the kyai or dukun sarat, terms which are also used in Yogyakarta,

are closer to the magical pole of Jordaan’s illustration of this continuum, whereas dukun jhamo (J. dukun jamu) is

closer to the medical pole. The former are known to have formidable magical powers whereas the latter is a keen

specialist of medicinal herbs. Both work towards diagnosing and treating disease and illness although different

ones and in a very different fashion. It is important to note that Jordaan’s classification of dukun along magical

or medical pole is an arbitrary tool as many dukun are able to perform various specialties at once, depending

upon the need. The specific practitioner may thus have a different position on the graph depending upon the

moment.

What is important to point out is that dukun who are known to treat illness and other problems with

the use of magical cures rather than more profane and accessible knowledge and skills are usually held in higher

esteem since their cures translate the strength of their inner spiritual power (kasekten or kakuawatan batin). To

hold such power and let it manifest through healing or other altruistic or honest activities is a phenomenon

which is highly regarded in traditional Javanese culture (see § 1.3.3). It shows the practitioner’s discipline in

asceticism and spiritual surrender. The belief in the efficiency of the supernatural specialists goes along with the

concomitant indigenous belief that a disease need not have been generated physically. Indeed disease, illness, and

also many other problematic occurrences are often thought to be caused by supernatural or occult forces and

agents: spirit possession, sorcery, divine karmic punishment, and so on. Jordaan makes a case in discussing the

disease etiology of Madurese by comparing the folk-medicine system with the naturalistic and personalistic

systems elaborated by Foster. (1976, quoted by Jordaan 1985)

As in Madura, Javanese agree that illness or other problems can be triggered by natural conditions, but

it is believed that these conditions themselves may be influenced by supernatural circumstances. In a prevalent

kejawen conception of the cosmos, Javanese consider the natural world as being permeated by the supernatural.

Furthermore, many see the operation of natural forces as dependent on supernatural circumstances. This is why

50

dukun and traditional self-help are often still chosen above the care of doctors in local Puskesmas27 or hospitals.

To treat the symptoms along western medical guidelines may prove to be insufficient as the supernatural causes

of the disease or complication are often left unresolved. Indeed, additional ritualistic and herbalist measures need

to be taken to restore a metaphysical balance of the essential elements. If the problem is grave, exorcism and

spiritual powers are often used to chase unwelcome invisible agents and forces. In the latter case, practitioners

who are reputed to command high levels of kasekten (spiritual power) are consulted to attend to the problem.

In an ambivalent manner, such people may also be viewed suspiciously by members of the community

at times where inexplicable problems occur or in times of crisis, merely on the suspicion that the powers to heal

can easily be reverted and inflict damage. The fine line between what is generally called ‘white magic’ and its evil

reflection ‘black magic’ or sorcery, is crossed as people of different creeds interpret the activities of a dukun or

any mystic practitioner differently (see below).

Clifford Geertz, in his famous study of religious activities in the east Javanese town of Modjokuto,

indeed opens his chapter on dukun saying “that there are all kinds of dukun”, following with a long list of

different terminologies of dukun according to their specialization. (Geertz 1960: 91-106) This list is roughly

similar to Jordaan’s Madurese list (Jordaan 1985:161). Thus there are different fields of expertise that are

apparent in the name ascribed to the dukun. For example an expert in making land fertile and guaranteeing good

harvests is called a dukun wiwit, a spirit medium is a dukun prewangan, bridal decoration and love affairs are the

problems of a dukun paes, a midwife is called dukun bayi (Geertz 1960). Moreover, other titles, such as kyai or

akhli kebatinan, usually associated with religious ritual are used to refer to dukun who have a highly regarded

spiritual power. Because of the common belief in their magical powers, such specialists are frequently solicited to

help someone make him/herself universally attractive to the opposite sex, a quality acquired through the

possession of a talisman or jimat. The qualities of strength and invulnerability, also acquired through possession

of a dukun’s amulet, are very popular requests as well.

Next to these categories there is the type of dukun who is associated with harmful magic, in Central

Java, often known as dukun sihir or d. santet. An essential characteristic of these ’sorcerer’ dukun is that they are

often believed to employ the services of evil spirits, whom in many cases are being tended as spirit-companions.

The typology of dukun sihir who perform the ilmu santet or black magic (also known colloquially as tenun and guna-

guna) is in fact an arbitrary one, depending on the individual perspective of the person involved. Firstly, dukun

who perform malign sorcery will rarely advertise themselves as such, and this is therefore not a self-defining

category as is often the case with the previous examples of categories. Instead, they speak of themselves as

dukun with special healing powers, where some will then suggest that they may employ those powers for

malevolent purposes. Secondly, it is more often the community that will ascribe to a dukun this power to

perform malign magic. Within any community, some individuals may regard a specialist simply as a dukun, with

no other moral conception of him, while others may regard the same specialist as having primarily evil

intentions, most often if they are influenced by reformist Muslim dogmas, or the modern santri.

It is noteworthy to add that the ‘dukun santet’ are nearly always strangers to the community of accusers.

James Siegel in his article on the witch massacres of Banyuwangi in the summer of 1998, discusses the

27 Puskesmas are sub-district level clinics.

51

importance of the local identity or asal-usul, formalized by the KTP identity card, and how the recognition by the

community of being familiar or stranger mattered enormously in the accusations of murder of alleged sorcerers.

(Siegel 2001: 27-29) Black magic witches, it is assumed, could only be outsiders of the victim’s community, and

reciprocally murderers of suspected witches are thought to be strangers by the relatives of that sorcerer. This

situation easily creates a collective paranoia which in turn produces the horrible acts of communal justice, known

as massa diamuk in Indonesia. According to some of my informants, there is also further ambiguousness for a

genuine dukun sihir to actually have the awesome reputation of being an ‘evil’ dukun, since this is a reputation of

which they can make an income. If this was not the case, there would not be much impetus to perform sorcery

and gravely disturb the harmony of a given social relationship. Acts of sorcery can more or less easily be

countered by an experienced dukun, but since this latter nearly always will discover the identity of the sorcerer

and his solicitor—who in most cases is familiar to the victim—the emotional relational rupture that this

discovery entails usually never gets pardoned (Personal communication). The feuds between people of the same

community that this involves are long-lived and can manifest themselves in violent outbursts, where sorcery is

used along with punitive vendettas. In the sometimes extreme polarized political climate around an election

period, such feuds tend to appear in increasing numbers, and I could observe that certain dukun are solicited

more than usual for acts of anti-sorcery or pacification between antagonists.

At the same time, some of my informants admit they perform malign magic from time to time when it

concerns a noble cause. Asked what they understood to be ‘noble’, they replied that sorcery is acceptable when it

is to find for example a culprit of some crime, return a stolen object, or to give clues as to where a criminal is

hiding. I have received testimony of a few dukun relating to such acts of sorcery on criminals, whose actions all

received the approval of witnesses. It is not necessary to relate them all, as the methods used are very similar and

are known in anthropology as sympathetic magic. Someone on the run who has been identified or has left some

personal items behind, has basically few chances to remain unharmed for long if a skilled dukun has been asked

to solve the case. Police and army often become dukun clients when such a need is inevitable. Joko and Pak

Kuman, a good friend and fellow assiduous mystical practitioner, both tell me that usually culprits who have

been spotted by a dukun become so mentally tortured with horrifying visions that they turn themselves in

voluntarily.

Indigenous Terminology

Because of the potentially negative connotation of the word dukun, many practitioners prefer not to

be called ‘dukun’ even when they are popularly referred to as such. This attitude is something I often

encountered during the fieldwork. While most informants would deny that they were dukun, they were

comfortable with being referred to as Ki or Kyai, orang maghrifat or orang pinter. These were terms used by friends,

relatives and other people who were positively acquainted to the dukun, when they would refer to his

occupation. The term ‘dukun’, I was told, may be an appropriate word to describe a general type of practitioner

who is willing to publicly offer his magical and medical skills. This is how the public and the media use the term,

but it is too general or sensitive to aptly describe a specific person with whom one has a direct relation; whether

as a client, pupil or relative. Wong or orang pinter (also known as wong tuwa) is used for anybody who shows some

52

dexterity in activities related to the supernatural, such as divining, connecting with spirits or finding lost objects.

Ki and orang maghrifat are highly honourable titles since they indicate that the person is a holder of a high degree

of inner power (kakuawatan batin) and that his batin, his inner self, must by extension be extremely pure. Kyai

usually indicates a religious teacher of Islam doctrine and literature; but in the nominal Muslim abangan tradition,

they often double as healers and mystical teachers. Moreover, according to the son of one Kyai in Krapyak, ,

many Kyai are known as respected guru of martial arts and esoteric knowledge of invincibility (kakebalan) through

the teachings of Sufist Tassawuf in the Pesantren Muslim boarding schools where they teach. Maghrifat is the last

and highest stage in the practice of mysticism, where one’s inner self has blended with the universal soul and

thus becomes a representative of ‘God’ on earth. To be recognized as such by the greater public is quite an

honour. It validates the notion that since the dukun is considered pure of batin, he necessarily has a high moral

and religious integrity, and consequently is unable to perform gratuitous evil.

Two of my informants, Agus and Joko, were sometimes considered to have the latter reputation. But

here again the terminology is arbitrary, as some pious orthodox merchants told me that they considered ‘dukun’

anybody who performed unauthorized activities with spirits and ‘ghosts’ to reach their goal; they felt that these

‘dukun’ were playing with forces which only Allah had the right to manipulate. In this definition, Agus and Joko

would have fit as well. In the eyes of some orthodox Muslim, “the term dukun represents everything remaining

from the old Javanese culture which should be banned as it contravenes the sacred tenets of the Koran”.

(Personal communication) Taken together, the word dukun is indeed ambiguous and problematic, but since

there is no better collective term which is so widely used, I will continue to use it throughout the paper.

4.2 Studying dukun and their activities

The anecdote on dukun and other mystical masters’ involvement in political parties (see p. 37)

reinforces my belief that studying such specialists—and the atypical world they tend to represent28—is a more

than valid and arguably underestimated approach to analyse and explain wider aspects and developments of

Indonesian society.

Studies on the choice of health alternatives amongst Javanese and other Indonesian cultural groups

have previously echoed this belief, in particular Reurink’s research in Yogyakarta. (Reurink 1992)29 My own

interest lies more particularly with the contemporary fascination of Javanese, young and old, for the supernatural

rewards gained via ascetic rituals or dukun consultations. These ‘rewards’ are seen to downplay frustrations and

setbacks that are directly or indirectly related to modern consumer ideology and the simultaneous economical

crisis. Martin van Bruinessen’s study of migrant settlers in Bandung in the early eighties perfectly demonstrates

this point as far as the success of dukun in this highly urbanized setting is concerned. The author’s surprise at the

28 Atypical from a western rational perspective, that is. 29 See also the studies in this ethno-medical field by Cynthia L. Hunter amongst the Sasak of Lombok (1997, 2000), and by Roy Jordaan (1985) and R. Sciortino (1987) in Madura and Java respectively.

53

compatibility of an (falsely) alleged ‘rural’ tradition in the harsh urban environment of Bandung reveals the

effectiveness and popularity of dukun activities to ease the societal frustrations and problems that come with a

‘modern’ way of life. This popularity, according to the author stems from the belief that supernatural treatment is

efficient in the cases of disease, economic difficulties, and career and partner problems. (van Bruinessen 1988:

35-65) What is peculiar is that these traditional spheres of activities of dukun are somehow magnified in a

stressful urban setting, in direct relation with the poor urban situation. (ibid: 22) This observation reflects my

own findings in the Yogyakarta setting of the post-Krismon period.

Dukun cannot be looked at in a simplistic manner as some sort of marginal actors (healers, soothsayers

or spirit mediums) inside the social communities, since in my view they are deeply integrated in that particular

culture and as members of it they may play an openly active role. This role may prove to be of relative influence

on developments inside Javanese society. Their sphere of influence indeed reaches from the familial levels to the

higher levels of the Indonesian political and economical spheres, depending on the background of the clients. A

revelation by a notable Yogyanese mystic, indicating that no president or high political and military figure ever

appears publicly without his or her dukun (or other kyai or spiritual expert), made a deep impression on me.

Romain Bertrand indeed argues that this functions to earn the validation of the public, who is usually aware of

the particular role of paranormal sentinel of this figure, and who recognizes this as an inherent element of

leadership harking back to the tradition of the Raja-King figure. (Bertrand 2002).

Joko testified about the regular habit in the nineties by ex-President Suharto to summon to the Istana

Cendana (Presidential palace in Jakarta) a dozen powerful dukun from Central and East Java to help him with

decisions or to simply secure his personal safety, with the help of some of his closest courtiers such as General

Humardhani Soedjono. Back in early 1998, one of Joko’s clients was indeed a high ranking general who drove

especially once a month from Jakarta to Gamping for personal as well as professional problems. The following

comes from my notes at that time:

“The general’s chauffeur would wait outside in Joko’s courtyard in the shiny black Mercedes with the military

license plate indicating the high official position of his employer. While this latter, accompanied by his wife,

were being hosted by Joko inside, he would confide to me across the blue smoke of our kretek about the

headaches that Colonel Prabowo and KOPASSUS (the elite troops of the Indonesian ABRI army) was

providing the rest of the government with, but that “no”, the poor-health fits of the general’s wife were surely

due to something else than the daily pressure under which her husband was working lately and anyway Joko was

to find that out…According to chauffeur, the General, and others in Jakarta, had complete confidence in Joko

for such things.”

To understand what someone like Joko, an apparently ordinary villager, could mean or offer to a five-

star ABRI30 general from Jakarta, I was compelled to examine the figure of dukun in Javanese society more

closely. As Joko was already a friend and business partner by then, it was obvious I would seek clarification on

the topic from him first. He accepted quite readily to become an informant of sorts, and soon proposed to teach

me some rudimentary practice of kebatinan mysticism as well. When I returned to Yogya to perform a more

30 Formerly known as ABRI, the Indonesian army is now known as TNI (Tentara Nasional Indonesia).

54

systematic fieldwork, he introduced me to other healers and ‘paranormal’ practitioners. Here follows some

anecdotes on these informants through which analysis thereof the role of the dukun hopefully can be revealed.

In particular, their experiences, starting with Joko’s, may be shown to reflect the argument that they represent

much more than just healers as they are seen to provide a certain form of welfare.

4.3 Joko

The duty to help: A mixed blessing

My first questions to Joko involved the perception that he had of himself as a dukun in particular, and

if relevant, on the role of dukun in general. Ward Keeler starts his paragraph on dukun by noting that appeals to

wong tuwa and dukun for assistance in matters of kebatinan are culturally approved and very frequent, and that in

his opinion almost everyone in Java has occasion at some point to consult a dukun. (Keeler 1982: 212-13) The

client requests that he mentions—from improving one’s profit in trade or assuring success in one’s bid for a job

or bureaucratic rank, to curing and love-magic—are all duties which Joko confirms are possible in the daily cases

that he gets confronted with. The word duty is rather problematic here.

Joko said that being recognized as a dukun by others was a mixed blessing. By this he meant that while

his ultimate desire was really to make it as a trader in handicrafts for export-markets, as a dukun it became a duty

to serve the guests who came for help. It dawned on me that he was not totally a dukun by choice, at least not at

that time. Throughout his earlier life as a talented murid of mystical gurus and as he increasingly displayed

formidable powers to cure (amongst other applications), people, initially just his family and neighbours, started to

come to him for all kinds of ailments and problems, mostly through word of mouth. Because of his belief that

his powers are the blessing of Tuhan (God), he takes the attitude that he cannot refuse to help someone who is

requesting his services to solve a problem as long as it does not involve santet or any other form of black magic

which is essentially considered evil. This altruistic attitude is something often recognized in reputed mystical

practitioners who prefer humility to fame. (Geertz 1960:94) It is a quality, I was told, which goes along with the

traditional kejawen lessons of self-effacement, but which stands in contrast with the unabashed mediatic touting

of some modern-day ‘dukun of the rich and famous’, many of whom are considered to be frauds or fakes.

I was witness to the never-ending stream of clients and friends who would come by his house

whenever he was at home. Sometimes people came sporadically, with consultations then taking longer as there

was more time for a chat over tea and numerous kretek. At other times there would be one group after the other

(clients rarely show up alone, they are usually accompanied by a friend or a relative), and people would be waiting

outside in the front yard. Moreover, Joko’s cell-phone would recurrently ring with other clients setting future

appointments or asking for lottery predictions. I could understand his decision to rent a warehouse close by

where he could work on handicrafts with a team of friends and neighbours. He explained that it alleviated the

burden of consecutive consultations both on him and his family. This ambivalent situation where one’s

reputation as a performing healer becomes potentially too heavy to carry, succinctly shows that the ‘profession’

55

of dukun is made or unmade by the clients more than by the conscious efforts of the practitioner to establish

him/herself as a dukun.

In the days that followed the incidents with the wooden beams (see introduction, on which I will

elaborate below), I repeatedly visited Joko’s homestead, not as much for the furniture anymore as out of

curiosity about his peculiar qualities and the fascinating stories that these engendered. I was fortunate since he

was very open and had no objection to my sitting in during his consultations, as irregularly as they might occur.

Most clients would indeed literally jump in the door or give him but a few hours notice, whereas some would

have arranged a meeting days in advance. This was especially the case with people who came from other regions,

even from as far as Surabaya, Jakarta, Lampung, Medan or once Malacca. Most of those latter patients obviously

knew him from previous consultations, and Joko had spent his younger days roaming around the archipelago

(especially Sumatra and Kalimantan), practicing with local gurus. But he told me that frequently people came

who had heard about his reputation by word of mouth, and this would sometimes annoy his wife since often

perfect strangers would show up at his home.

She told me she had learned to live with it, and that things were better than three years ago when he

had started a praktek (a practice) together with one of his mystically inclined friends, Pak Heri. She found it

insane because Joko and his friend would be busy all day helping people. They opened the praktek at Joko’s

house as they did not have enough funds to rent an office somewhere else. After the first days, people were

lining up outside the door by 9 AM and would continue to queue past 6 PM, so they decided to rent out a

private office in nearby Nanggulan. Their reputation dramatically gained in popularity without even having put a

single ad out. The truth of the matter is that they had not expected such a hectic pace and volume. He became

aware that after a few consecutive consultations the accurateness of their powers would diminish drastically due

to the constant appeals. This manner of making his living, he realised, was not appealing to him or his family.

After a mere three weeks, they called it quits. This was not a dramatic decision for Heri and Joko as they looked

at this work of offering their services for the benefits of others as an exercise in their mystical path to ilmu

kasempurnaan (the perfect knowledge).

It needs to be noted that Heri and Joko left it to the customers discretion as to the price for their

services, whether monetary or in nature. Joko remarked that this should be the way of the real dukun and

mystical teachers. They cannot directly request remittance for their service, but the understanding between

dukun and client is one based on the concept of sukarela, essentially a system of individual donation. What this

means is that everyone gives in relation to their own resources. In practice a farmer would leave the dukun some

rice or agricultural foodstuff, a shop owner would offer batik clothes or cookies, a politician or businessman

would leave money or guarantee facilities and so on. Indeed a very arbitrary system, but always balanced and

striving for a certain level of harmony. Joko says that when he visits a friend or an acquaintance that needs help,

a sum equal to a full tank of gasoline is usually given though it is not the rule. In fact, he affirms on his behalf—

the ‘provider of supernatural interventions’—that he no longer cares about that aspect of the service. It should

not be on a mystic’s mind, he explained; it is irrelevant, mystically speaking, since what is regarded as being

important is really the karmic flow that is generated by the helping of people who are genuinely in need.

56

The spiritual ethic of kejawen forcefully comes to the surface here and its core maxim sepi ing pamrih,

ramé ing gawé, mamayu hayuning buwono has been reflected by Joko’s action31. Joko indeed views his activity as a

dukun as an obligation towards Tuhan, since it is this godly entity which provides him with certain powers, and

consequentially it must be for the benefit of the client as much as the curer. One tacit prerogative is that he may

not seek out potential clients consciously; rather they must come to him by their own free will. This is an

additional reason why he decided to quit the public practice. He interpreted the unease of the venture, the work

overload, the familial stress, the draining of his magical powers (potentially fatal to him), as the karmic

consequence of divine disapproval of the idea of being a public dukun, at least in his case. Be this as it may, the

‘praktek in Nanggulan’ experience brought him definite name recognition in the region. His brother told me that

after he had stopped going to Nanggulan, people started coming again for visits at his home in Gamping. As I

said earlier, I am witness to the frequency with which this happens, as well as the amount of pleas he receives on

his cell-phone nowadays. The stress brought upon by the praktek in Nanggulan in the nineties lead to his work

as a handicrafts dealer, with the hopes that there would be relative freedom from the insatiable clients that would

otherwise flood his house.

The situation in 1998 had stabilized when I first met him, in the words of his wife, to more or less five

visits a day usually in the evening. When I came back in 2003, his handicraft enterprise had evolved. It was

interesting to see that at times of low activity when he was consequentially staying at home more often, the

numbers of visitors and related cell phone calls increased dramatically. It would not be exceptional to have a

client come every hour throughout the day until well after ten PM. This was fine for me considering my purpose

in Yogyakarta. But more importantly I saw how working in handicraft manufacturing and sales, far from being

the desperate money-making venture out of foreign capital that characterizes many furniture and craft businesses

around the region, allowed Joko to attain a balance in his life both as a dukun and personally for his family.

Magically charged objects (1): Ngruwatan

The following section deals with the widespread belief of the capacity of objects to serve as the

recipient to a resident-ghost. This particular belief has important ramifications for the dukun ‘trade’, as they are

thought to be experts at manipulating these objects and spirits for the benefit of humans.

Indeed, there is an inherent belief amongst Javanese that particular material objects may become the

recipient for invisible hosts called penunggu (literally spirits in waiting), and that these are usually thought as

guardians or protectors of the person who owns the object. This is best illustrated with the love of Javanese for

sacred keris (stylized dagger) or precious stones which are said to be materialized sources of power. In Jathilan,

the folkloric trance-dance which make use of hobbyhorses and demonic masks, the crux of the performance lie

in the possession of the dancers by spirits thought to reside in those two specific objects. Objects from keris to

masks and antique statues which are occasionally found in the rice fields or near small creeks, are given extra care

by their owners through regular cleansing, incense burning or gifts of aromatic flowers. Inside houses and other

structures, another type of object is often found either pinned to the ceiling or dug underground. It consists of 31 As a reference, Niels Mulder’s concise explanation of the ethic and philosophy of kejawen mysticism is one of the best efforts to this day by a western author (Mulder 1998, pp 59-69).

57

rolled up leaflets with an Arabic prayer or mantra inscribed on it: these are called radjah, and they are believed to

have a magical effect if the spell is done correctly. These protective charms are the exclusive work of some

specialized dukun or wong tua who possess the power of magnetism, that is to force a spirit to reside inside the

object and make it help the owner of the object.

Joko told me that in the old days, when wooden beams were still the main material used in the

structure of houses, they would be the location of the magnetized spirit-protector chosen by dukun. Sometimes

the dukun would pick a tree in the wild which he considered to contain an apt spirit to serve as protector of the

family; “He would mount a ritual to honour the spirit inside the tree and ask forgiveness for the cutting of the tree,

ask it to accept to remain there and to help the residents of the house against drawbacks such as burglary or

destructive storms and so on.”

In the area of Yogyakarta, Joko is known to be such a specialist of spirit manipulation, and he is often asked to

help officials, police and villagers to examine places or objects which are suspected of being anker, or haunted

and which may be at the origin of a particular problem. In contrast, he is often asked to induce spirits to reside in

places and objects which are then supposed to benefit the owner of the place or object in some way. The first

operation of removal of spiritual disturbance is usually referred to as ngruwat or pindah (‘to move out’). The

second one, involving the invitation of a spirit to reside near a client towards helping the latter is called pengasihan,

and if it is intended to bring the client riches and material wealth it is known as pasugihan. The successive

operations of pengasihan and ngruwatan are interesting in the sense that these are frequently solicited by clients to

dukun such as Joko, the results of these operations are always aimed at a gain for the client. During the fieldwork

in 2003, I was amazed at how many of Joko’s consultations were dedicated to these latter activities and less to

mere curing or healing. He admitted that since 1998 demand for pengasihan had risen dramatically as it was seen

to be efficient to fight drawbacks stemming from the poor economic and political situation.

In the first anecdote, an operation of ngruwatan was performed around mid-1998 for the benefit of a

client, who in this case was me. It took place somewhere in the hills in the Kulonprogo region, east of Yogya,

where according to Joko there was a supply of old teak to be had from the granary of a farmer. He wanted me to

come along by motorcycle to see the product for myself and eventually to purchase it on the spot before

someone else would place a bid. Joko had arranged to have a friend’s truck to come pick it up and bring it back

to Gamping.

In short, we arrived at the farmer’s house and tried to haul the wood onto the truck. Even with six people,

the beams could not be lifted! Joko was forced to improvise a ritual, surrounded by the whole population

of the hamlet. He called it a ngruwatan, and it was meant to retrieve the penunggu (resident spirit) from the

wood. After much mantra-whispering, trembling and offerings of incense and flowers, Joko got up and

smiled to indicate that the wood could be safely loaded onto the truck. This time there was no problem at

all! We drove down to Yogya but the truck broke down a few times on the way, and this situation required

another small ritual on the side of the road with Joko bent over whispering to the wooden beams.

I thought he would show us a little coloured stone in his hand, as I had already seen him perform this

trick a week before with different beam (see Introduction). During that prior occasion, he had asked a carpenter

58

to cut a beam across a certain spot. When the two parts were later separated, a little yellow stone had fallen out

of a small cavity in the middle section of the wood. I thought after the fact that this was biologically impossible,

since how does a semi-precious stone occur in the heart of a wooden trunk with no outside hole perceptible?

Needless to say, Joko or anyone else in Yogya for that matter could not provide me with a scientific explanation

of this incident.

His interpretation was similar to what I later frequently heard in relation to pusaka and other magical

objects. The stone contained the roh (spirit) of a penunggu and it probably had been placed there by a mystic or

dukun a hundred years earlier, when the beam became part of the construction of a house or other structure.

The function of it was to bless the house and protect (slamet) it and its occupants from eventual accidents or

disasters, and this would have been done during a safety ritual known in Java as a slametan. (Geertz 1960: 11-85)

This was hence the case in the Kulonprogo teakwood incident as I later called it as well.

He confirmed that it wouldn’t be a problem to turn the wood into furniture and guaranteed another ngruwatan for

this occasion, just as he had done at the carpenter’s workshop the week before.

We could extend the application of such a supernatural ilmu not only to inanimate objects, but also to

humans, as occasionally people become ‘possessed’ by some vagabond spirit and may suffer tremendously as a

result. Whether the consequence of sorcery or not, a ngruwatan will be performed in an attempt to communicate

with the guest spirit before it is chased away. I have been witness to a few such accidental possessions and

subsequent efforts by a dukun to exorcize the culprit of the spiritual attack. In every case, the dukun talked with

and appeased the spirit in order to lure it out of the victim’s body. Each time, the audience had no doubt that the

cause of the problem was an evil spirit. One incident that involved Joko actually took place at a major hospital

of Yogyakarta, and I saw how doctors did not try to intervene during the exorcism. Joko himself says that often,

as a dukun, he encounters spirits in need of help. One of the problems which comes with extra-sensorial abilities

is that one can perceive the lamenting and distress of particular spirits and angry souls. As posited before, it is

believed that people who die from an accident, murder or suicide are likely to produce an angry soul which is

bound to stay close to the spot where they were killed or where the corpse was buried (opinions vary on this

detail). All metaphysical speculations aside, Javanese say that these ghosts, along with other nasty nature-spirits,

bother humans since they find no immediate peace in the after-life.

In itself this concept and the beam story are not regarded as anything exceptional by the Javanese, as it

follows a respectable integrity with the traditional protocol of Javanese culture. What is out of the ordinary, is the

capacity of an individual to exorcise or manipulate the forces that were understood to be present in such objects.

An aide to Joko explained that the ability to exert power over supernatural beings requires the knowledge of

ilmu. This ilmu is considered to be an important attribute that reinforces the rituals for the preservation and

intensification of those powers.

In the traditional Javanese point of view this attribute comes in the form of magical energy (kasektèn).

Indeed kings and many leaders are believed to possess such magical energy besides the ascribed hereditary quality

of kewibawaan or legitimate power of ruling. But many Javanese individuals are also believed to be able to

accomplish extraordinary feats because of their control of kasektèn. These include mostly religious teachers,

curers and dukun, but also some common folk dancers, university teachers, and even thieves and criminals. No

Javanese however will regard the latter as being in possession of the necessary power which makes them eligible

59

for leadership (kewibawaan). The abovementioned incidents (and the witnesses’ commentaries that accompanied

them in the field) seem to strongly indicate that Joko was considered by his peers as being one of those few

individuals who had undergone the mystical ordeal required to possess such kasektèn. I do mention ordeal, since

the path to the obtainment of kasektèn and other powerful ilmu is quite arduous and demands a vast amount of

discipline and surrender, (J. sumarah) as I later heard from the experiences of other informants as well.

Magically charged objects(2): Pengasihan and pesugihan

Other activities where the collaboration of spirits is invoked are numerous but I will in a first instance

only mention two of the more common applications pertaining to Joko’s treatment of visiting clients. The first

one, pengasihan, is a term that could be translated by ‘giving something extra’. This service involves giving a

magical boost to someone’s intended activity, by which the chances of success or cumulative increase are forcibly

guaranteed. ‘Forcing someone’s destiny for the better’ could be an appropriate interpretation as well. The most

common example of this, in concurrence with the amount of clients who requested this type of help from Joko,

were university students asking for good grades, people applying for a job and those wanting to improve their

promotion in existing jobs. Sales can be increased with pengasihan, and this can apply to shop owners and export

businesses as well as prostitutes and taxi drivers. Once the entire board of a local bus company were sipping coffee in Joko’s living room finalizing a

request to boost passenger sales on their lines. They had no problem convincing Joko to perform a

pengasihan later that night at their bus park where all the vehicles were gathered for the ritual he had

prepared. Joko told me later that these people had at first tried to have him cast some spell on the

competitor’s bus company, an action which would surely have had undesirable implications for him as well

as the clients. Instead the second more reasonable option was easier to implement and moreover he was

promised unlimited free travel on the particular line for his entire family if it worked. A pengasihan ritual can

take many alternative forms depending on the request, but that particular one at the bus park contained the

many usual elements, redundant enough as to be able to generalize the format of a pengasihan, according to

Joko. First a bag of earth from the concerned location is required, upon which Joko then performs a ritual

consisting of incantations and semedhi (meditation) at his house, together with all of the usual props used to

call upon spirits. 32 The request by the bus company required at least one whole black rooster to be boiled

in santen (coco water) and various cooked side dishes. The bag of earth and the offerings are consequently

brought to the place in question—here the bus station. After more incense burning and mantras, a hole is

dug somewhere centrally inside the compound and the bag of earth, together with the other offerings, are

placed in it. Sometimes a personal object from the owner or the client is added to the pile; in this case a

part of one of the busses’ transmission was added33. The hole is filled to level again, whereupon a bit of the

earth from the bag which was saved for this purpose is separated into many smaller plastic bags and those

are then kept in the front of each bus above the dashboard.

32 That is to say dupa (incense), sesajen (flowers, food) and other aromatic goods. The amount and the variety of props for the offers are relative to the seriousness of the problem at hand. 33 This was done, I was told by one of the owners, to safeguard the company from serious mechanical problems with the busses. One of the more costly and feared reparations or replacement with busses is the one involving a failing transmission.

60

In reality, many objects can be filled with a beneficial form of energy, which would then alter the

fortune of the carrier. In this the pengasihan concept resembles the notions of pusaka (heirloom) and jimat (amulet,

talisman) who are believed to protect one from bad fortune, but the function of a pengasihan is explicitly more

pragmatic, it allows one to go beyond the safe haven of protection as it forces destinies for the good. Joko was

also an adept at protective magic, and many clients consulted him for this type of magic. An anecdote here

perfectly illustrates his point:

Shortly after I moved into my third house, Joko came with a hammer and a purse. He proceeded to make

little bags by rolling human hair that he wet with sandalwood-oil into small pieces of leather and tightly

strapping them closed with some rattan-cord. He then went around the property’s brick fence and at

intervals nailed the little leather bags into the top layer of the wall. He told me these bags were charms that

would protect the house and the warehouse inside the property from burglars. Later that year Abut, the

guard who was living there, woke up one night to find a man standing impassively outside his bedroom

window with the water-pump from the well under his arm. Abut went out, turned the light on and asked

the stranger what he wanted. The stranger just looked confused and mumbled that he couldn’t remember

why and how he got there, but that he had not been able to find the way out. So Abut recuperated the

pump, gave him some fruit and walked him out of the front gate. Joko, three months earlier, had told me

that although an occasional burglar would successfully be able to climb up and jump over the fence, he

would never be able to find the way out.

An amelioration of the present situation is strived for through intense power of suggestion. Because of

the nature of pengasihan and the illicit help of spirits to arrive at the anticipated results, many a purist among

Javanese mystical adepts condemn it as a dishonest way to achieve one’s goals, on the same level as Kanuragan as

a way to defeat one’s opponents. But due to the difficulties of the era of krismon, Joko was of the impression that

pengasihan consultations were certainly not likely to subside, on the contrary, it was increasingly popularized by

mediatic dukun in the press and on websites; it became almost trendy.

Pengasihan rituals and objects are popular nowadays, I argue, and nowhere is the role of the dukun in

implementing and retrieving them so popular as in the formal and informal sector of the Javanese economy.

Business owners, whether from large corporations, posh storefronts or humble market stands, increasingly

consult dukun to help them restore their fortunes of increased sales and high production. This is based on

personal observation and local rumours amongst the public and informants. Joko and a few other dukun have all

acknowledged that the various forms of pengasihan are dominating the requests for supernatural help. In the four

months that I followed Joko around the five districts of the province, I counted no less than 24 merchants or

businessmen who came to him to request his help to boost sales or start up a successful venture. Three of those

were for perusahaan burung walet , companies who bred swallows for their nests. One was already in existence while

the two other two were just starting I accompanied Joko for his pengasihan ritual for two of them:

Joko said it is always similar to this. A couple of swallows (siji pasang walet) need to be bought by the owner

in a bird-market in the region of Banyuwangi, East Java. No reason except that the best quality of bird nests

is to be found in that region due to the special subspecies there. Joko places the couple in a cage in the

61

future room set for the breeding of the birds, usually on the top level of a building. He then burns kemenyan

and dupa (incense) and invokes the spirits. The birds each become possessed with the same winged spirit

which separates across sexes yet remains one (manunggal). This guarantees successful procreation. The birds,

as they are magnetized, drop on the floor and slowly start flapping their wings, they seem dazed. After the

ritual is over the birds fly to a corner and hole up there as a pair, a sign that the pengasihan should be

successful and many generations will follow. The initial couple will also attract other birds from the region

to come nest at the particular breeding house.

Many shop owners came by with a bag of sand or earth from the foundations of their stores, to be

magnetized by Joko. A spell is formulated on the bag, and it remains in Joko’s backyard for a night. The next day

the owner would come and pick it up. They are expected to bury it back under the foundations. For serious cases

Joko does the ritual on location, as was the case of an important batik retailer on Jalan Solo or several export-

furniture manufactories in Yogyakarta and Bantul.

Another popular method of pengasihan application is the insertion of golden needles under one’s skin.

This makes the person physically attractive to others, especially around the area where the needles have been

placed. The susuk, as these needles are called, have to be placed by a dukun and are said to basically disappear

gradually after a while. This method, Joko told me, is very popular with people who have relational problems,

prostitutes and political candidates. The latter allegedly use this in times of elections.

A subtle difference in emphasis characterizes the second most common application of spirit powers,

the pesugihan. This type of ilmu guarantees one becomes prosperous. Clients come to Joko to request luck with

the lottery, to get luck for future investments or to simply ask for a change of fortune concerning income.

Whereas pengasihan implies a general beneficial turn in the evolution of someone’s life or business, pesugihan is

explicitly dealing with ways of making one richer from a monetary and wealth-oriented perspective. Stories about

pesugihan activities gone awry have been recorded by Dutch scholars since the last century, especially those

involving a pact with the devil personified by evil spirits such as Ny Blorong from the South Seas, Kethek Putih

(the White monkey) and other Tuyuls. The reason why many people searching for sugih (riches) fail for one reason

or another in their attempt, and even end up worse off, is the misplaced greed and desire that blinds these people

from seeing what is really important in life and the ways to achieve those goals. Pesugihan, as a clear product of

greed, affects the proper karmic redemption and instead calls for karmic punishment, according to kejawen

purists.

Nevertheless pesugihan requests are more common today than ever, mostly due to the enduring krismon

or economic hardships that many Javanese have to face daily. What unscrupulous dukun provide for these clients

is to establish a channel between such a companion spirit and the interested person. The bad reputation of these

pacts lies more in the fact that the imbalan (cost) for the provided services are very high and that neighbouring

people in the community may eventually suffer from these, than that someone would play around with the spirits

to attain certain private objectives. In the recent past, numerous incidents of barbaric murders of individuals by a

mob of villagers were reported, which attributed such extra-legal incidents to these individuals having partaken in

‘malevolent pacts’ with evil spirits in return for riches. The discovery of such a pact by a village council or

62

neighbours apparently incites a violent response by the local community towards such greedy individuals who are

considered unscrupulous and amoral.

This type of incident speaks powerfully to the deranged set of relationships inside the Javanese

communities due to the penetration of modern capitalistic mechanisms of accumulation. The ‘traditional’ values

of equality and cooperation were for a long time the characteristic features of local Javanese communities—albeit

superficially imposed by the doctrine of Suharto’s New Order (Pemberton 1994: 10-15). Yet it is often stated

and observed that the desire for individual accumulation of commodities, which is at the core of modernization

along capitalistic lines, do erode this ideal status-quo of a harmonious village. Although greed and amoral

tendencies to obtain wealth have always existed in Java, people claim that they evolved form a marginal

phenomenon towards a present plague of society. Besides merely accepting those of the globalisation process,

Romain Bertrand also points to the nefarious consequences of the ‘glocalisation’ process, which affect

developing economies such as Java. Interestingly he ties the market of illicit dealings with spirits embodied in

pesugihan with the tensions arising from such modernisation effects34.

Unscrupulous dukun are often the catalysts of this suspicious ‘merchandising with spirits’ and

obviously tend to keep a low profile about activities involving pesugihan. For this reason, Joko affirms not to

provide this type of service to clients in need of ‘great amounts of money’ or to those whose requests would

have to occasion an amoral offering35. Besides an innocent trick to help friends to pick the right numbers of the

officious bandar lottery, he stands convicted that money earned through the methods of pesugihan is always dirty

money and never free of undesired consequences. As an additional side-effect of modern forms of

commoditisation, he noted that most of the modern day tabloid-dukun include some form of pesugihan in the

advertised services, complete with websites and e-mail addresses. Although he is of the opinion that most of

them are wry cheaters (penipu) demanding enormous fees in exchange for very dubious results, he thought it was

still safer than the same client obtaining a genuine fortune with some serious dukun’s help. When I asked him

why, he said that it is potentially fatal to obtain money in this manner, mentioning a few examples of dishonest

people who had gained large sums but nearly died in extremely disturbing fashions. He admitted, to make his

point clear, that he had once performed a ritual to know the exact four number combination of the local lottery

on a particular night.

“All his friends constantly ask him for the right numbers. He attributes this power of divination to a kodam

spirit residing in a little gilded keris, to which he offers a bit of raw opium each time. He knew it was illicit

in the eyes of Tuhan, but decided to try it to see what would happen. He told me that the night he decided

to try his luck himself, he won the jackpot, around five million rupiah! But when he drove home after

picking up his prize money, the car turned over a median and crashed. He miraculously survived, but the

car was a total loss, setting him back about 13 million in investment. Joko said that he afterwards

distributed the money to relatives and local Muslim charities, not keeping a single cent for himself.

Incidents like these are interpreted as a supernatural retribution in the most karmic sense of the word. Joko

reprimanded himself for having tested a variety of ilmu pesugihan to the extreme.”

34 Bertrand 2002: 83. For a more detailed discussion of the political and local dimension of the ‘invisible’ in Java and the relationship of this with the break-up of the ideal Javanese village (Desa diatur) see Bertrand 2002, 53-112. 35 Imbalan offerings such as the murder of a newborn or other sacrifices.

63

Romain Bertrand ties the belief in sugih-giving spirits to the political debate which goes on between the

‘little people’ of the community and the notables thereof. A common belief in the powers of the invisible brings

about the existence of a certain language of power. Indeed one who is suspected of dealing with the invisible

forces can in this way be accused of the anti-social tendencies that surely lead to a break in the harmony of the

village or between neighbours and family. To accuse someone of dealing with a white monkey or a thuyul36 or

one of the seductive female spirits like the pri or Nyi Blorong, is to accuse one of tending towards adultery or

‘wrongly acquired’ wealth. This accusation reiterates the Javanese tatakrama communitarian principles:

interfamilial and neighbour solidarity, refusal of excess and display, the bad nature of love for gain and the

karmic effects of jealousy and greed in terms of the harmony in the village or the neighbourhood. (Bertrand

2002: 37)

Besides the negative discourse that pesugihan magic never fails to prompt, I was told that the attraction

of winning the favours of such alluring spirits is very real amongst many Javanese. Indeed, many people in the

region of Yogyakarta believe in the chances of occasionally stumbling upon one of those ghosts who

irremediably tease the human into closing some kind of a deal with them in return for goodies. Joko, together

with many people in his village of Gamping, affirms the nocturnal presence of quite a few of these creatures

along the abandoned banks of the river or the railroad. When walking home at night along these deserted places,

it is quite possible that some contact with such a familiar spirit37 will happen.

A deep apprehension fills almost all Javanese when they hear about spirit stories or when they are

questioned on their opinion of paranormal dukun. Their interpretation of such phenomena is extremely

pragmatic as they feel that a different reality is imposing itself on the worldly reality of their daily life to which

they are accustomed. They are in general believers of this invisible reality of forces and beings, but it is one that

few can find their way into with any sense of control. It is a situation that is prolific for a certain type of fear, a

permanent sense of suspicion, one that rises as soon as a problem is understood to have a metaphysical cause. A

wary owner of one of the many furniture plants in Yogya called Joko up to come over.

“He told him he was afraid that a malevolent spirit or force had been sent (implying sorcery by a

competitor) to his factory and wreaked havoc there. The cause of his suspicion is that there had been two

serious accidents resulting in deficient machinery and two injured workers in just the past week. (One of

the workers had virtually lost his hand). His suspicion was confirmed by Joko, but a ritual was needed to

break the spell. This was done and a pengasihan ritual followed to secure the place against other such

occurrences.”

Of course this is not a new phenomenon in Java, and the superstition that is constantly fed and

regenerated by tabloids and the media does not have the dramatic features of collective fears such as the ones

that are characteristic with other invisible enemies such as virus and plagues (HIV, Dengue, SARS,…). Spirits

36 A thuyul is a demit (nature-spirit), which specializes in stealing money and will serve a person who desires such service, in exchange for ritual retribution of course. 37 Such as Pri: a beautiful nymph with a hole in her back., Gendhruwo: monstrous, hairy red giant, Buto Ijo: green giant, Koentianak: ugly woman, or simply ancestral specters from deceased persons.

64

and the invisible world they represent have been studied and confronted, and their powers and forces been

appropriated and controlled by mystic specialists throughout the centuries. Many of these mystics have set up

brotherhoods and mystical sects where this secret knowledge was being transmitted through to the innumerable

young practitioners. The kejawen sects (aliran kebatinan) are now more numerous and popular than ever.

In defence, Joko, an accomplished yogi, said that the denial of the existence of a wider reality and the

choice to cling to the ‘material’ and surroundings is done out of ignorance. A wise person knows that suffering is

created by overestimating the material conditions in which we live, essentially to regard material experience to be

the limits of human experience. Because of certain remarkable realizations made during his mystical practice, it

was impossible for Joko to interpret causal relations of events merely in a worldly and rational (i.e. scientific)

way. Although rather pragmatic towards the human condition and the consequences of human intelligence and

behaviour on life, relationships or nature, he was staunchly convinced that a metaphysical force or prana was

responsible for much of the functioning of this world. This position is in itself not exceptional; it replicates the

experience ands teachings of great historical sages and other luminaries. My point is that in the present Javanese

realm of spiritual activity, this idea of a permeating force is seemingly demonstrated in a very practical, accessible

and pervading manner, especially through the work of certain dukun and adepts of kejawen mysticism.

The batu aki ritual

I will end here with a description of a ritual which represents one of the main reasons for many people

to visit Joko and specialists like him. The result of this ritual can be summarized as the production of a jimat or

amulet which in most cases comes in the form of a little semi-precious stone, popularly known as batu aki,38.

Besides the fact that it is popular with dukun, it is prevalent in televised shows and press articles covering the

esoteric works of dukun in Java.

In essence, the ritual is of the pengasihan type, as functionally it is meant to provide the beneficiary with

a supernatural protection against general evil, accidents and, as sometimes reported by informants; it also endows

them with clear suggestive power. By this I mean that the power in the stone would allegedly help to eliminate

doubts in decision-making and wrong instincts, and brings intuitive clear-sightedness. When a person requests

such an object to be retrieved from the alam ghaib (spirit world), Joko insists and expects the client to act morally

sound in their choices in life, whether this is accompanied by spiritual practice or not. He adds that the power in

the stone may only be effective if the holder of it has a strong power of suggestion, implying a certain degree of

spiritual training or acceptance. Essentially, the importance of performing some ascetic deeds (laku) and being a

giving person increases the chances that any supernatural benefit might occur, whether through a perceived

accumulation of spiritual power hidden in a precious stone or anything else. Again, this statement reflects a

typical kejawen rationality.

The two following anecdotes illustrate the batu aki ritual:

38 Though the stone is usual the object retrieve, it can be replaced by virtually any type of object which can be carried permanently near the body of the client who requested the ritual in the first place.

65

On two occasions where I was a witness, Joko performed such a ritual to retrieve the desired jimat from

the realm of spirits. The first such operation was held on a Jumat-Kliwon night39 by the tombstone of an

ancestor of his in Gamping’s own graveyard. The clients consisted of a famous businessman from Jakarta

(named B.) and his wife (S.). The problem was to guarantee the safety of the wife while she travelled alone

abroad. Joko promised them that a precious stone taken from the spirit realm (batu aki) would do fine. His

confidence was contagious, and the ritual went ahead. After a series of prayers, incense-burning and flower

offerings40, he caught a burning red stone in the air above the tomb. The stone was hot to the touch, and

the couple was very delighted about the benevolence of Joko’s great-grandfather towards them.

A second such ritual I witnessed in the furniture manufactory of a Dutch friend in Bantul, where Joko

was asked to please the Javanese manager with such a ‘power-stone’. The latter gave as reason that he

needed power to convince certain business associates (teakwood dealers), police officers and lawyers (he

was involved in a court-case) with promises of being granted trading benefits and legal facilities. As Joko

had pity with the crooked manager, he performed a ritual right in the middle of the main warehouse of the

plant. Here again, after the usual series of incense and meditation, a precious stone―brown this time―

appeared in Joko’s hand after it swayed many times through the air. The manager was elated, and a week

later we got news that he had won a court case in his hometown near Semarang. He attributed this entirely

to his new jimat.

When I asked Joko about these relatively spectacular rituals and the appearance of the scorching red

stone, he had a dual explanation. He understood what was going on, based on his sense of interpreting such

supernatural occurrences. The grave of his great-grandfather he knew to be the home of his ancestor’s nyawa or

roh, which can be translated as astral body or ghost. At the furniture plant, it was a memedi living in the Sawu tree

by the main door of the warehouse. According to Javanese belief, the ghost of someone who died can evolve in

three different ways. The ghost of a person who has lived a proper life will separate at death from the physical

body and return to its original source or Tuhan. It may then become reincarnated into a newborn or other

sentient being. In contrast, the ghost of someone evil or of someone who died in a violent manner will not

immediately return to that original realm, since it is condemned to haunt that place where he has died from

murder or suicide in the form of what Javanese call a memedi or spectre. Lastly there are the roh of people who

have lived ‘perfect’ (istimewa) throughout their entire life, for instance sages who have reached a level of holiness

(kesaktian). These latter entities are believed to remain close to their descendants and can at all times be invited to

help them out in case of urgency. Such roh are believed to speak through the mouths of people who function as

mediums, usually dukun prewangan. Different aliran kebatinan (mystical sects) treat the question of these roh and

the communication with them in detail. Joko explained that his great-grandfather had been in his time considered

a sage, and that such a roh makes available for those who can manipulate the appropriate ilmu, a certain type of

power which is left around the grave where he was buried. Such a power is named kodam, and in this case the

39 Nearly every mystical adept and others in Yogyakarta performs some sort of tapa or offering to ancestors and spirits on the malam Jumat-kliwon, the Thursday night before that particular Friday on the 35 day Javanese calendar. Popular places in the region are the Parangtritis beach, the Royal cemeteries of Imogiri and Kota Gede and various other magically charged places in what Pemberton refers to as the ‘Topographies of power’ of the Javanese heartland. (Pemberton 1994, 270) 40 Usually a mix of red and white rose (mawar), jasmine (mlati)and two types of frangipani (kanthil). Kembang talon means three varieties of flowers are mixed and become one.

66

access to it had been facilitated because of the direct lineage between Joko and the roh in question. One

manifestation of this borrowed power is objects retrieved from the realm of spirits such as the above-mentioned

batu aki. These are thus extracted from an otherworldly realm—typically referred to as the Alam ghaib—and are

considered with the highest devotion by most Javanese. In this respect B’s request was very legitimate in the eyes

of anyone who heard about the ritual in the days that followed. Anyone would have done the same to guarantee

the safety of a spouse travelling abroad by herself.

In the following chapter, through the experiences of three other dukun, I will elaborate on the various

manners in which dukun release the power acquired through mystical practice on behalf of clients. With Agus

more particularly, the relationship between healing and this energy which is called alternately prana, tenaga dalam,

getaran or hyang suksmo is demonstrated. Links between dukun and companion spirits appear with both with Agus

and Sugeng, in which the spirits are believed to contribute in providing welfare to the clients. Welfare here can

mean good luck in finance, business matters, health, profession or status, finding a partner and so on. Through

their experience, and that of Agung, one can see the sheer variety of clients and reasons for consultations for

which these relatively modern dukun are consulted.

4.4 Pak Agus: Kejawen teacher and public healer

I was introduced to Pak Agus by Joko in early October, at the former’s house in the village of Kasihan,

on the south-western edge of Yogyakarta. I had asked Joko if he knew anyone who was sufficiently erudite in the

philosophy of kejawen and who would be at the same time familiar with the practice of dukun. I thought that

maybe such a person would be able to elaborate on the mystical aspect of such activities, whether in a critical or

sympathetic way, and thus provide me with some sort of structural framework in which those esoteric and

magical activities were inherently embedded. Joko admitted to be hesitant about the origins or the logic of

powers and entities. He would even tell me that sometimes he had no idea why such and such actions were

possible; he just did them according to his personal techniques and the ones he had learned from past gurus. The

key was to control and dominate the powers that were called upon at particular times and direct them in a certain

way so as to obtain a determining result, whether it was a cure, a pengasihan or pesugihan.

This merely shows the pragmatic and practical attitude of some dukun towards their powers, and the lack of

rationality or structural reasoning regarding magical mysticism and the practice of pure kebatinan, especially the

paranormal side of it. For that reason he decided to take me to meet one of his old friends.

Pak Agus, who in his function of healer goes by another name, received me with great enthusiasm

after being briefed on who I was and what my purpose was in this part of Java. After the usual cup of tea had

been brought by his wife, he asked me to speak about my experience with spirits and tenaga dalam in Java so far,

and to not be shy with details. Right away Agus was inclined to complete my fragmented knowledge of the

mystical practices by bringing in new concepts, some of which I had heard about and some of which I had not.

He would listen to me recount my experiences and then would excitedly draw diagrams of the eight-limbed

67

theory of the human body or the fivefold path integrating the five fundamental elements (Lima unsur) and would

explain the sensations I had during my experience with the help of these diagrams.

I was very surprised at such an immediacy and enthusiasm in explaining the more secret knowledge of

the Javanese philosophy. But as I got to know him better, it became clear that Agus was more than just a healer

or mystical adept. He was an avid reader and practitioner of not only the kejawen techniques but also the orhiba

or Yoga (through the Bagavadh Gita and the Yoga Sutra’s of Patanjali), the Yin-Yang theories from the Chinese

philosopher Sun Wen and most especially, acupuncture and acupressure methods from India and China. He had

the ambition to teach and spread this type of knowledge to as many people as possible. In some way he regarded

this to be his duty in life, clearly inspired by the great pujangga41 of the past like R. Ng. Ronggowarsita or R.T.

Yasadipura and their works, especially the former with his Wirid Hidayat Jati. As it happened he was extremely

happy to meet foreigners who were interested in this type of science and consequently in sharing the findings of

the kejawen masters with them. I assumed he was moreover keen on comparing western philosophical ideas with

the eastern Indic ones which he had been brought up with. When such comparisons were at stake, conversations

soon turned into debates but never with the intention to impose one’s knowledge upon the others. In the course

of my visits with Agus my understanding on kejawen, yoga and the Chinese methods of healing was greatly

enhanced.

No Healing without Prana and spirits

The real value of befriending someone like Agus in the context of my research was the fact that his

main activity consisted of incorporating this entire body of knowledge in his preparations of Jamu (Indonesian

homeopathic medicine and treatments) and his healing practice. To most ordinary people in the area Agus was

known as a very efficient dukun (although he himself wasn’t keen on being called a ‘dukun’). The practice next to

his house consisted of a waiting room where people came to order and drink jamu and a treatment room closed

off by a heavy curtain where patients were diagnosed and treated with acupressure, acupuncture and prana

massage while laying on a recycled operation bed. A third room was allocated for the actual preparation of jamu,

with hundreds of little jars, pots and beakers containing different ingredients in powder, liquid or crystal form

and the tools needed for the crushing and mixing of all these. He showed me an additional backroom which

served as a warehouse for raw ingredients in the vegetal form, mostly dried homeopathic plants from the entire

archipelago. This latter room contained—besides the huge bags of grasses, leaves, bark and roots—a noteworthy

installation; a low batik covered table holding stone and wooden statues, sealed terracotta jars, a few very ancient

keris and many other items such as incense, essential oil bottles, kemenyan rocks (Arabic incense). This was

obviously a shrine, and some radjahs (magical writings) inscribed in Arabic script on rice paper completed the

general scene. The shrine was set in the centre of the collection of bags. Agus admitted that benevolent spirits

were keeping home there.

41 Pujangga are the literary masters of the royal courts of south-central Java. In this function they were regarded as the keepers and transmitters of the sacred past knowledge and history of the forefathers, besides themselves being assiduous mystics. Many a mystical teacher in Java is inspired by the writings of these spiritual masters. The Wirid Hidayat Jati by R.Ng. Ronggowarsito named above is one of those manuscripts on mysticism which has influenced many a founder of a sect or aliran kebatinan to the present day.

68

It is the conviction of Agus that the ingredients which he uses in the preparation of Jamu have intrinsic

active bio-chemical properties apt to combat specific viruses and malfunctioning cells in the human body, but

nonetheless he insists on the futility of using these vegetal ingredients if they have not been blessed beforehand

by a divine force. The shrine purportedly serves just that function in the storage room. By invoking and making

offerings to the various penunggu in the sacred objects of the shrine, these plants become ritually blessed which

confers to the ingredients an added potency of healing faculties. The mantras and ritual songs (dhandanggula)

which are weekly expressed during a little ritual by the shrine, guarantee this potency to be present, brought into

existence by an esoteric trick of the guardian spirits. He made sure to add that he saw in the action of the spirits a

proof of the all-pervading emanation of Tuhan and that it was this godly entity that was ultimately being

worshipped.

I pertinently asked him why there is an intermediary realm of spirits which needed to be

conceptualized in order to reach the benevolence of this almighty Tuhan. Could Tuhan not be communicated

with in a direct manner, and why not do away altogether with this intermediate realm if this were the case? Agus

smiled at me, shaking his head. He told me that although the divine entity (call it God, Tuhan, Gusti or

Purusa…) is present in every single material thing—including humans—it is not to be directly encountered or

communicated with by a human. In this life the only thing a man can do is to experience the revelation of Its

presence in everything and most importantly, in the inner self or batin. In other words reaching Tuhan directly

was impossible in this waking life, lest one performs a form of asceticism known as racut.42 This perilous exercise

is reserved to the serious mystics of this world. Agus told me about his own near-tragic attempt to meet God.

The point, he said, is that since it is impossible to reach God directly, one has to communicate through the

transitional help of higher beings such as souls of ancestors and certain types of benevolent spirits. Essentially,

he was imagining a system of messengers as a conceptual model for this otherworldly type of communication.

Clients came to Agus for treatment of all sorts of ailments and diseases. He kept a logbook of the past

medical cases which he had performed. It was a carefully organized list of each patient that had come to be

treated, with the latter’s name, age, address or telephone and the nature of the ailment. I could see by browsing

though the list that there was virtually no limit to the variety of diseases and ailments that he took upon himself

to heal; regular flu and cold, sciatic pain, cataract, infection, dengue fever, breast cancer, kidney stones, venereal

diseases, paralysis, rashes and so on. The techniques he applies to the treatment consist of a combination of jamu

preparation, acupressure or acupuncture and prana massage where inner power is used to smooth the flow of the

meridians (energy channels). The diagnosis is established by a feeling of the pulse and examination of symptoms.

By taking the pulse, Agus says he can immediately recognize the area which is affected and elaborate a personal

jamu based on one’s prana (life force) and metabolism. Every jamu is made on the spot from separate ingredients,

in essence guaranteeing a personalized recipe for each patient, unlike the popular Jamu kiosks on Javanese

roadsides where every jamu is already pre-mixed and packaged. He was adamant in conveying that jamu was

limited in its curative action if the preparation was not based on an accurate personal diagnosis of the patient.

The temporary condition of a patient—since one’s physical condition always changes—is said to be

reflected by the suffusing prana in its intensity (measured through the pulse) and aura (visible near the head of the 42 This basically implies that the adept lets his body die for a temporary period, during which his sukmo (astral ghost of a human) travels to the alam katriyan (astral realm) to return to the world of the living in a later stage.

69

patient). It is this reflection that will determine the amounts and varieties of the numerous ingredients available

in his lab which are selected for each particular concoction. He dismissed the mass-produced jamu found in

roadside shops as mere vitamins and mineral supplements; on itself not a bad thing but not very effective for

healing sickness and diseases. Agus quietly prided himself for having developed a jamu-method which combined

the ancestral Javanese wisdom of homeopathic remedies and the science of Yin-Yang developed by the Chinese

philosopher Sun Wen. He was tireless in his efforts to convince his colleagues of the BATTRA association43

about the benefits of this method in curing several life-threatening diseases. He based his own conviction on the

positive responses of his customers.

Public recognition of dukun

The mission of Agus and his colleagues in the BATTRA organization of Bantul is noteworthy as it

translates the efforts of local healers, paranormals, herbalists and masseuses to have their curing powers

recognized and guaranteed by law. I had the chance to attend two meetings of local healers from the Bantul

region. They came together to discuss strategies to better become accepted in the society. These were especially

directed towards various local state-representatives, from the Dinas kesehatan (local Department of Health) or

Dinas Hukum (Dept. of Justice) for instance. Such representatives were invited to the meetings to see how best

the traditional healing methods could be integrated in the regional health plan. The aim, Agus said, was twofold:

To have as many of these healers sign up as members of the organization as possible and to establish lists of the

so-called public traditional healers per Lurahan (greater village) in the Bantul district, and to therefore have the

capability of defending the healers’ rights and reputations in case of litigation. This would eventually allow for

the upholding of the traditional healers in Javanese society, and at the same time it would permit public

condemnation and purging of the frauds, manipulators and sorcerers who often give the tradition a bad name in

society and media. Agus said that over time, Javanese traditional healing would regain its place of honour in a

modern institutionalized framework and allow the clients to search for healers without worries of getting

cheated, which is unfortunately a common affliction these days.

I was allowed to see the lists of practitioners according to every lurahan of kabupaten Bantul; they were

the most complete lists of dukun I have ever dared to imagine, indicating the names, age, place of practice, and

specialty. Practically, given the time and with the generous help of someone like the secretary of the movement

itself, these BATTRA lists would be a key to achieve a qualitative and quantitative study of Yogyanese dukun in a

more systematic way.

Many of Agus’ clients who I spoke to, including local University professors, Abdi dalem44 from the

Sultan’s court and local businessmen, preferred to consult him over the trained medical doctors of the

Puskesmas state-owned field clinics or private Hospital staff, and admitted to partaking in word-of-mouth

rumours which invariably brought new customers to Agus’ small semi-rural practice. This specific type of

43 BATTRA: paguyuban pengoBAT TRAdisional. The association of traditional healers, under the legal auspice of the national department of health (DINAS kesehatan). Agus is the secretary of the BATTRA branch of Bantul district 44 Volunteer servants at the royal court of the Yogyakarta Kraton, handpicked by Gusti Pangeran, the brother of the Sultan.

70

positive discourse, which has all the attributes of a rumour, represents the usual source of clients for any dukun

in Yogyakarta and Java. Although nowadays some dukun like to publicly advertise themselves through various

media or distribute name cards, this manner of hearsay is still the conceived ethical way for dukun to gain

popularity. It needs to be noted that their reputation is in fact entirely determined by the rumour related to their

powers and efficiency, and thus not by conscious efforts to reach that level of popularity.

This being said, it is undeniable that the volume of customers of a dukun is greatly enhanced if the

latter is able to associate positive reputation with an aggressive marketing of his services. This is clearly

demonstrated by the expensive healers and paranormals who have both the capital and the urge to invest in

tabloid format advertisings or have made connections with celebrities and other famous personalities of Jakarta

show business, politics and business. This consideration speaks to the debate of commoditization of mysticism

and spiritual knowledge, and the distinction between ‘circumstantial’ dukun and so called ‘professional’ ones. I

will come back to this point in a later chapter discussing the relation of dukun and media. Suffice it to say, most

of the dukun who I met in the context of my research were not inclined to reach such regional or national level

of celebrity, although all of them had a relatively strong base of clients. It is interesting to see how, depending on

their convictions, many reputed dukun shy away from public recognition, even to the point of discontinuing

their dukun activities if they feel saturated with requests, as was the case with Joko for example. The story of

Agus is revealing in this sense, as he and Joko had a very similar journey into the world of Javanese mysticism.

(see paragraph 3.4)

A companion-spirit named Gusti Panular

I include here further data which relates to the perceived sources of power which dukun such as Agus

see as vital to their trade and reputation as such. This information ties in well with the public’s general

conception about dukun and the world in which they live.

Agus told me that at a certain point, towards the end of his kanuragan period and after having tried out

most extraordinary feats and exercises common in this type of pursuit, he realized that the Truth of existence

(kunci kehidupan), which the elders spoke about, could be revealed to him. But he first needed to alter his

approach and live by different standards in order to achieve this goal. Those standards and principles are the

same ones exposed through the philosophy of the various central Javanese aliran kebatinan, a body of work which

has been elaborated on by various sages throughout the centuries, taking their original inspiration from the Vedic

and yogic teachings of India. Agus believed ardently in the goodness and truth of these teachings, saying that its

core maxims were concerned with beautifying the world for the benefit of others and growing beyond the cycles

of suffering through incessant reincarnation. Two things had convinced him to search for a truth beyond merely

the phenomenal world of powers and astral beings: “The first was the realization that though one could experience and use these supernatural

phenomena to his guise, these were merely side-effects—granted, with fantastic physical outcomes—on

one’s path to discover the divine inside oneself, and with this quality they represented a danger for the adept

to stray away from the meaningful path towards the understanding of existence and consequent liberation.

There are no moral pledges to abide to if one aspires to obtain and use/abuse these types of powers, indeed

71

tenun, santet and sorcery in general are the most damning illustrations of that. These skills clearly do not

guarantee in themselves a peaceful life after death in the alam katriyan. Worse, they offer the practitioner a

glimpse of the awful possibilities in the after-life. As side-effects, these powers and spirits, useful as they

may be, are considered by Agus (and Joko alike) as mere tools in their activities and he warns against

considering them as an end in themselves. They are at best an interesting deviation, useful for the dukun,

but not for the serious mystic.”

The second thing which drastically changed his life and made him decide to pursue a full time path as a

healer as well as a kejawen scholar was the fact that, ironically enough, he was assigned a companion spirit by a

higher being no other than the spirit of Sunan Kalijaga (see caption above). This astral being, as an intermediate

of the divine entity was to become a teacher of sorts, eventually disclosing the secrets of existence and helping

Agus understand and achieve the way of the perfect knowledge (ilmu kasempurnaan) in an incremental way.

Agus conceptualized this figure as a bhikku (monk) from the time of King Browijoyo V. According to

the history of the Javanese kingdoms, the spirit guru, known under the name Kanjeng Gusti Panular, had been

one of the main war-generals of Prabu Browijoyo, but had later chosen to dedicate himself to the path of

mysticism and became a monk. As an aging monk he had already taught and professed the right divine path to

his contemporaries. Agus told me that in this way, Gusti Panular’s orally transmitted insights influenced the

emerging Wali Sanga, the nine early Saints of Muslim Java who introduced Islam to the kingdoms of the island.

A small graveyard in the hills south of the old colonial Madukismo sugar factory in Kasihan contains a

refurbished tomb of this venerated mystic from the 15th century. The alleged tomb of Gusti Panular45 is set

inside a walled cungkup at the top of the hill covered by virgin forest. This is the place where Agus comes to

meditate and burn incense, alone or with friends, to receive knowledge and advice from his spirit-guru.

“This ‘ritual’, as he calls it himself, took place once a week, starting at midnight and ending around

three or four o’clock in the morning. Amongst Javanese, Malam Juma’t is indeed a highly auspicious day to

connect with all sorts of spirits. Having attended five of these rituals in a row, I could recognize the

patterns and similar features as well as the peculiar differences in the reactions of Agus as the ‘master of

ceremony’. First of all, he would almost always be accompanied by three or four of his disciples, amongst

other a priyayi (noble) from the Mangkubumi branch of the royal family, Pak M.

A devoted mystic himself, Pak M. was a dance teacher at the royal school of arts downtown. Another of

Agus’ friends was Pak J., who was the leader of the Kraton gamelan. Pak J. came twice to the ritual, whereas

Pak M. was a sort of right-hand man of Agus and was present every time, preparing the place by brushing

away the dead leaves and branches, burning incense sticks and candles and setting them all around the

perimeter of the cungkup. Around midnight, as we would get started, the place was illuminated and fragrant

from the candles and the incense. The tiny doorway of the cunkup would be unlocked and opened up. First,

we would all discuss philosophical issues pertaining to our lives with Agus as a mediator and advisor.

Difficult principles of kejawen would be applied to each other’s experiences in life or connected to current

events. After this preliminary part, we would go up to the cungkup and sit outside in front of the opened

doorway to the tomb. Here Agus would start singing sacred dhandanggulo (poetic songs of the macapat type),

sounding much like a dhalang (Wayang puppeteer). These allegedly served as incantations to establish our

45 Noone is really sure if this is really the last resting place of this semi-historical figure, nevertheless he is supposed to have meditated there on one of his favorite spot. For this Javanese habit of raising Saints’ tombs, see Pemberton 1994: 286-287.

72

presence by the grave in order to be welcomed in peace by the spirit of the place. The poems would be

followed seven repetitions of a particular mantra called Aji sejati, composed by Agus after the guidance of

Gusti Panular himself. The purpose of the mantra was for everyone present to be blessed by the divine

force through the intermediate of the spirit, and to serve as an introduction for the wishes/favour

(permohonan) that someone eventually wanted to express. A part of the mantra read by Agus contains a blank

where the name of each participant present is inserted. After the reading of this mantra a period of

meditation starts, lasting for about twenty minutes. The purpose of the meditation is to connect one’s batin

(inner) with the powers and presence of the nearby spirit, and as such to hopefully obtain a message or a

revelation, which may appear in various ways. Agus says that it is at this time that he receives new wisdom

transmitted from the other world, pertaining either to his own personal life or to his practice and role with

the association of traditional healers to which he belongs. After this particularly oriented meditation, each of

us in turn enters the small cungkup with a piece of banana leaf filled with the kembang talon mix of flower-

petals. The purpose is to spread these petals above the tombstone inside, and perform a last doa or prayer.

Agus indeed believes that he has a divine mission to save and consolidate the teachings and wisdom of

kejawen philosophy and incorporate specific ancestral methods into the existing techniques of traditional healing

which may have been lost over time. Essentially, he admitted he tried to transfer this soothing energy

accumulated from Gusti Panular’s grave to his clients, through the channel of jamu or prana massages. These

‘rituals’ are the single most important activity in his life nowadays, since they give him direction and assurance as

to his ambitions as both a healer and a guru of spiritual healing methods involving kejawen, Indian and Chinese

techniques.

Chronicler ands teacher

But this relationship with his companion spirit, for all its worth, provided him with another yet more

esoteric element. Agus shared his intention of writing some sort of chronicle, what is known in Javanese literary

terms as a Serat or Babad, which would tell the biography of Gusti Panular and the related history of the kingdom

of Browijoyo the fifth46. The interesting twist to this ambitious venture is that all of the information he collects

would actually come from the very spirit of this legendary monk; in other words the source of the biography

would be the spirit itself! Agus said textually that he actually conceived of it as an ‘auto-biography’, since he

viewed his role as the mere chronicler, who, by his ability to tap into this peculiar realm of knowledge, could

offer his contemporaries just this type of invaluable wisdom.

Pushing the seriousness of his ambition even further, Agus admitted that he looked upon his function

as healer and patron of the Javanese pengobatan tradisional (traditional healing sciences) as his necessary duty in this

46 To appreciate this topic, one has to know the importance in Javanese mysticism of this and other near mythical rulers of the past. King Browijoyo V was the last ruler of the Majapahit kingdom, once an empire that stretched over vast parts of the archipelago and the Malay Peninsula. He was defeated by the rising Muslim chiefdoms of the Pasisir (north coast of Java) which were supported by the nine Wali’s of Java. Many kejawen followers are highly intrigued in the history of this king since he was the one of the last royal patrons and practitioners of the purely Hindu-buddhist mystical legacy. Pre-Muslim Javansese mysticism is a topic of intense speculation and interest.

73

life. But additionally these activities, he hoped, would somehow proffer him with what we could call

respectability among the public. In short someone who could be trusted. Ultimately this respectability would

serve him well when he was to release his manuscript to the public. He knew that credibility was something

earned through a spotless reputation of serving the community in a selfless manner. Although the Javanese

audiences are familiar with such half mythological histories as most tend to partake in this language of the

‘invisible’, Agus did not want to take any chance in his desire to get approval.

Apprehending the protocol reserved for visionary authors such as the famous court pujangga of former

times, and to which he identifies himself in this particular project, he made sure he is preparing for the moment

when he will officially disclose his writings to the public. Besides his reputation as an honest healer, mystical

teacher and protector of Javanese culture in general, he surrounds himself with a group of friends from

notorious circles. Obviously, the circles that matter to his situation are the ones related to the Kratons of

Yogyakarta and Solo, as well as to the artistic and cultural circles of the periphery. Amongst others, Pak J., the

leader of the Hadiningrat house’s gamelan was just such a figure. Pak J. often visited Agus for nightlong debates

on philosophy and kejawen, and he told me personally about the highest esteem he had for Agus:

“At a Wayang Kulit show under the pendopo at the Magangan courtyard of the Yogyakarta Kraton, Pak J.

came to greet Agus and me right before he was to take his seat amongst the orchestra in front of the court

dhalang Ki Timbul. Pak J. came with an entourage of other important abdi dalem, amongst which the juru

kunci (spiritual guardian) of Mount Merapi, Mbah Marijan. As we were being introduced, this group was

joined by another illustrious guest. Indeed we had the honour of shaking hands with the younger brother of

the Sultan, Raden Gusti Yudoningrat, who is the head of the Kraton’s army and royal collections of

heirlooms (pusaka). After some light chatting, Pak J. declared that his very respectable friend Agus, here in

our midst, was about to achieve something very important, a work they would all soon recognize the

immense value of. Everyone nodded in silence and he left it at this cryptic announcement, but I realized

that this was a historic moment for Agus. He was obviously very pleased with the evolution of things at that

time.”

In recent months (April 2004) Agus was able to erect a school for traditional Javanese healing, the

‘Lembaga Pelatihan Kerja Seni Pengobatan Timur “Tamilin”, with the help of a grant from the Dinas

Kesehatan’. The curriculum of this school proposes his version of spiritual healing with amongst others,

acupressure, prana massage and Jamu Yin-Yang. Previously Agus stated that this had been forecasted by his

companion-spirit Gusti Panular in the name of Maha Esa (God). I imagined that his circle of friends who

regularly join him during that ritual were not surprised by the turn of things. Their belief was that it was bound

to happen, an irreversible divine predicament of sorts, and their confidence in this burgeoning guru seemed

resolute. Agus himself told me about the necessity—once a practitioner became involved in these particular

mystical exercises—to never doubt one’s instinctive goals but instead to develop them with unremitting resolve.

Ora iso ngomong nyobo, kudu diamalkan: One may not speak about ‘trying’; it must be achieved because one has

conviction.

The advantage of having been able to follow Agus in his activities, both as a dukun and as a kejawen

guru, was to be able to ascertain how such a figure gradually obtains a degree of authority amongst his

74

surrounding community and consequently, through rumours and hearsay, a larger public. This authority he had

gained through his own insistence on the relevancy of mystical methods to know and acquire power through

personal experience. This power was then transferred into his own practical activities of healing and teaching. It

is important to note that this situation is only made possible if the larger community in which he evolves is

responsive to these types of esoteric and mystical endeavours, and more importantly acknowledges the ultimate

potential benefits that they represent for the community itself. A receptive cultural atmosphere is necessary for

people such as Agus or Joko to even be able to perform and develop their activities in total freedom.

As this public attitude is prevalent in Yogyakarta, Agus, as a total cultural broker, strives to gain an

even better name for traditional healers such as him through the activist organisation BATTRA and his own

school of the healing arts. My point is that through the experience of such a figure as Agus, the contemporary

cultural values of the wider community may be reflected upon in a straightforward manner. Concurrently it

seems to me that however long this cultural validation of and fascination with the ‘invisible’ has persisted in

places like South Central Java, it was never as popular and in as much demand than it is in the present era of

modernization and globalization.

75

Chapter 5: Dukun (II)

5.1 Sugeng

Prewangan: Spirits are given a voice

When I first came to Java in 1997, I would sometimes hear stories of mediums that could upon will

invite spirits to enter their body and have these then speak through their mouths. Usually this was done upon the

request of a family or an individual who wished to ask the spirit certain questions to which it was hard or

impossible to find answers with more logical or usual methods. The nature of most questions would be of the

divination type or relating to obscure causal relations. For example a person would ask about which choice to

make, unsure about the right decision and fearing disaster if making the wrong one. This could concern issues of

work, travel, marriage and so on. Or a person would ask the spirit to clarify a doubt or suspicion that he had,

look for a cause or origin of problems, stolen objects, misfortune etc. Sometimes general advice about one’s

future course of life is requested.

The medium involved brings about this possibility by basically invoking a specific spirit to take

possession of his body, while the former’s soul rests outside of his body. One could conceive of the medium’s

body as an emptied vessel which in turn gets filled with a different life-force, the ghost of a non-human astral

being. In the region of Yogyakarta, such mediums are named dukun prewangan (or d. tiban). The general attitude

towards them is very ambiguous to say the least, as their activities are highly reprimanded and suspicious

amongst certain groups of people while it is common knowledge that many other people use their skills on a

regular basis. It is in my opinion rather difficult to sort the critics or the supporters of prewangan activities in neat

categories according to religious conviction or social status. In my experience such arbitrary categories were

blurred when it concerned the issue of using these particular dukun to obtain vital information. As Geertz notes

about dukun tiban, the poor social acceptability of such a practitioner is exchanged for the quality of greater and

more immediate access of power through direct possession. (Geertz 1960: 100) As we have seen with Keeler, it

is spiritual power, nurtured by a life of asceticism and moral discipline, which conveys a mystical master with a

general public respect, as if this recognized type of power somehow emanates from them during interaction.

(Keeler 1982: 175) None of this is possible for the dukun prewangan because the power comes from a foreign

source, a spirit indeed. Nonetheless, many people pressured by drawbacks in these ‘crazy times’ (zaman edan)

cannot be bothered by such ethical principles in their quest to find solutions or treatments to their various

problems. It makes sense that in a society less and less affected by concerns for hierarchy according to the old

Javanist etiquette, prewangan could logically receive more requests for their perceived ability to help.

During the compilation of my research-proposal concerning the dukun of the Yogyakarta region, it

was clear that I was going to try to find such dukun prewangan to serve as informants on this particular activity. I

am particularly interested in how modern problems or issues that arise with the economical and political

76

adjustments in early 21st century Java can be addressed using such archaic forms of ritualistic activities, of which

prewangan is a clear example. Based on observations and conversations concerning this and other types of

spiritual strategies, I found that for a selected amount of people and groups in the Yogyakarta region these

activities were valued in their quest for harmony and wellness. I see that this type of service, based on clues or

help from the ‘invisible’ world to which dukun have a privileged access, is regarded as totally relevant in the

formation of decision-making in the social landscape. My initial guess was that this sounded like a rather

marginal method for people to choose in their quest to improve harmony in their daily lives. During the

fieldwork however I realized that it was more common to consult the help of a medium than I had imagined. I

discovered that people from various levels of society would solicit such mediums to obtain answers to their

questions and worries. I looked forward to seeing the findings of a research in the sociological context of the

dukun phenomena in Java, and to see how these powerful and sometimes controversial practitioners are

perceived in modern times by different Javanese communities and individuals.

Before I returned to Java to meet with dukun and attend their divination activities, I tried to inform

myself on the subject with the hopes of finding previous reports in the scientific and colonial literature which

dealt with cases of prewangan in the past. In this respect I would like to mention an article, written in 1902 by the

Dutch scholar Lekkerkerker on the element of dukun in Madura and Java. The merit of this article, albeit short

and concise, lies in the fact that it is arguably one of the earliest, if not the earliest, ethnographic report on the

subject, making it invaluable for comparative research in the field of religious and magical practices of the

Javanese. In his article entitled “Enkele opmerkingen over sporen van Shamanisme bij Madoerezen en Javanen”,

Cornelis Lekkerkerker essentially attempts to fill the void (or lacuna?) left by his compatriot the great Professor

Wilken47 in his treatise about shamanism and religious beliefs amongst the people of the ‘Indische’ archipelago.

Indeed, in Wilken’s dissertation, which offers numerous concrete examples of people in the archipelago who

practice some form of shamanism, the case of the Madurese and the Javanese is singularly absent. Lekkerkerker,

who deplores this situation as early as 1902, argues that the dogmas and practice of ‘natuurgodsdiensten’

(animism) do not yet belong to the popular folklore of Java. He pertinently points out the active status of

various animistic practices on the island. As an illustration of his argument he brings up the phenomenon of the

dukun, which he calls the magical practitioner per excellence, as reported from observations on Madura and Java.

“In Madura, the shamanic practitioner is called dhoekon kedjhiman or just kedjhiman. Djhim comes from the

Arabic djinn, which means spirit. Some people also say dhoekon se kesosobhan sètan, ‘dukun within who a setan

(demon) has landed’. Another common denomination is the term dhoekon reng-bharengan, dukun who takes a

companion (in this case a spirit). This last word actually corresponds to the common Central-Javanese name

for a shaman, dukun prewangan. From these various labels it is already evident that the Javanese and Madurese

shamans belong to that category of practitioners who temporarily ban their own individual soul from their

body to receive and host a spirit. Clearly it is believed that it is the spirit who gives advice, pronounces the

divination or points out the appropriate medicine. The shaman plays an entirely secondary role from the

moment that the spirit has come down inside him.”(Lekkerkerker 1902)48

47 Wilken, G. A. De verspreide geschriften. Semarang : G. C. T. van Dorp, 1912 48 Lekkerkerker, C. Enkele opmerkingen over sporen van Shamanisme bij de Madoerezen en Javanen, Tijdschrift voor Indische Taal-, Land-, en Volkenkunde Deel XLV, Batavia, Albrecht &Co, 1902

77

Lekkerkerker, clearly describing what appears to be a dukun prewangan (as they are called in the

Yogyakarta region), notes that on Madura and Java, it is mostly women who fulfil the role of this type of dukun

although he names a few male dukun in the region of Sumenep (Eastern Madura) and Bangkalan. He further

reports that each spirit always descends into its specific host kedjhiman, and in the case of the passing away of the

host the spirit will choose another.

Evidence from the literature suggests dukun prewangan still perform divination and magical rituals today

in Central Java as they probably did almost a hundred years ago, with the same array of mantras and spells and

preparatory material. Clifford Geertz (1960) mentions the similar dukun tiban in his study from the fifties. In Java,

the dukun tiban’s method of possession is considered a direct way to contact spirits, but it carries less esteem than

the efforts of the dukun biasa. Ward Keeler (1982) admits that the mostly female Javanese Prewangan earns much

less social respect from the Javanese public compared to the regular dukun kebatinan whose power is acquired

though severe ascetic practice. Roy Jordaan (1985) similarly replicates Lekkerkerker that on Madura, dukun jinn

are nearly always women.49 These observations show the resilience of a system of beliefs that has survived

through many centuries, although it will probably be impossible to assess exactly when such practices first

originated on Java. As a comparative exercise, I will below relate examples of different situations in which a

dukun prewangan was involved, at the same time introducing this dukun as a third informant dukun who I spent

quite some time with; Pak Sugeng from Krapyak. In contrast to the observations of previous authors, this

dukun pewangan is male. I have not been able to find a female practitioner in the area around Yogyakarta.

Prewangan in service of a family

My encounter with a dukun who specialized in prewangan in his array of services took place in Sewon,

Bantul south of Yogya, in the house of a family who had been our neighbours back when my wife and I lived

there in 1998. I had a lot of esteem for Pak D. and his family. I went to visit them last year when I returned for

my fieldwork, and discovered that Bapak had passed away. They were very pleased by my visit, and made me

promise to come for regular visits as I found time. Eventually, after I told them the purpose of that particular

stay in Java, the family progressed to be full of interesting resources concerning the subject of local dukun and

mystical adepts. Ibu D. and her son Rico especially became interested in my findings and wanted to help me to

get even more data on dukun, magical pilgrimage places and other elements pertaining to the ‘invisible’

dimension of Javanese reality.

Soon enough they put me in touch with a middle aged man named Sugeng who was a regular visitor at

their house. He looked like an unassuming and simple man; he came from a rather modest background. At our

first meeting organised by Bu D. he was very friendly and direct, constantly joking around in the familiar ways of

a Javanese man who often spends his time in the little warung on the roadsides in the company of peers. That

night he confirmed the fact that he regularly helped people of all walks of life with problems or requests of a

supernatural nature. Although he professed to be knowledgeable about preparing powerful jamu, he did not

49 Geertz 1960: 99-13, Keeler 1982: 223-228, Jordaan 1985: 179-180

78

consider himself to be a public healer and rarely applied his skills for healing requests except when it concerned

his direct family.

In fact he often offered prewangan service to this particular family. On one of these prewangan séances

where I was present, he lost consciousness and returned speaking with other voices as if in a trance:

“The attendees would ask him questions when he was in such a state. First, they would establish which

spirit was present inside the stunted body. Next followed questions about work and trying to make ends

meet. What were they to do or to make that would sell, on what days should they sell it? And what colour or

fragrance of cakes should they bake for the market-sale on Sunday so that they would be laku (sold-out)?

Bu D. and her daughters, while not in school, indeed survived in part by catering for parties and selling food

at the market. They knew to ask for detailed elements such as right dates, right food, colours and types. Bu

D. sincerely thought this information would make a difference on sales in a strange psychological manner.

The spirit in Sugeng, believed to be the one of the comedian Kepeng, responded to some of the questions,

sometimes explicitly positive or negative and at other times with short metaphorical anecdotes referring to

Wayang heroes or Javanese poetical characters. I was quite amazed by his precision of judgement of these

worldly situations which were confusing the mortals in the room. Further questions of clairvoyance were

asked, and he would predict trivial things to happen, such as an earthquake in Purworejo the next morning

(which happened), or where to find a valuable antique keris buried in a field somewhere. Everyone listened

attentively, now beyond the initial excitement of the prewangan phenomenon.”

After a while Sugeng regained his wits and acted as if he had been away for a while, surprised to see himself in

this room and surrounded by these people and the plates of food by his knees. Asked if he remembered anything

he said he went into a dark dream where he saw himself as a double lying on the side of his own body. When

people can see their own body from the perspective of an outside position, Javanese often say it is bilokasi: the

ability, whether induced or not, to be in two places at the same time. I was told by Sugeng that this is possible if

one’s own ghost leaves the material body to explore another place. When induced consciously, with the help of a

special ilmu, this type of action is known as nrogosukmo. But Sugeng did not make any reference to astral travel

when he was doing the prewangan ritual. As far as he is concerned, he lies on the side and sleeps for a while. Later

when I met Bu D. again, I asked her why and how they had first solicited the help of Sugeng to perform this type

of activity, as apparently he often came to do this at their house and would sleep over for few nights in a row.

Dukun activities as a social and national duty

Bu D. said Sugeng was a protector of the family, appointed by her late husband before he died to help

them with their various needs and provide supernatural-level protection. Apparently Sugeng had been an early

student of Pak D. in the latter’s function as Kyai and mystic guru and had known the family since he was a young

adult. It was thanks to Pak D. that Sugeng, leaving a life of preman (thug), became a somewhat honourable dukun.

He was taught the various ilmu of the kebatinan tradition, but at the same time learned the moral teachings of

the holy Koran under the guidance of Pak D. Ibu D. said that her husband had basically decided to take the ex-

hoodlum under his wing and saved his life as he was otherwise clearly heading straight for ‘murka’ (hell in the

79

Koran). Sugeng once told me about the gratitude he felt for this man, and the moral obligation he felt to help

the Kyai’s family. One of the understandings that he apparently had with Pak D. was that he might have to serve

as a channel of communication between his spirit and the rest of the family. Prewangan being one of the most

common techniques to realize this type of communication explained the frequency of visits. This does not mean

that Sugeng had no other dukun activities, as he later showed, it merely shows the bond of obligation he had

with this family.

Another mystical ability for which he was renowned was demonstrated on the seventh night that he

guarded the grave of Pak D. Grave-robbers particularly look for corpses who died on a Jumat Kliwon, since it is

believed that their special daya (aura) can be borrowed for esoteric purposes. Sugeng was witnessed to have been

attacked, hit hard several times with a pacul (machete). Instead of dropping down he tackled both attackers before

they ran away. He showed no traces of cuts at all! This feat of course was remembered by lots of people in the

village, and they acknowledged the power of kekebalan—basically meaning ‘invincibility’—displayed by Sugeng

that night.

Kekebalan is one of the more controversial types of manifestations of the inner force, since it is

consciously learned by adepts for use in fighting and combat, or at least demonstrations of it. The search of

invincibility, a condition thought to be very real in Java, is sometimes associated with black magic and sorcery,

since the perpetrators of these evil activities fear for their protection in case of denunciation. Nonetheless the

science of kekebalan is very popular, from what I could observe and hear during the fieldwork, and it is

particularly appreciated in military and police circles. Nearly every dukun I have met and many other mystical

practitioners mentioned being in control of that type of power.

Of all these informants Sugeng appeared to be the most actively involved with this type of ilmu of

invincibility (see below). After the slametan for the funeral of Pak D., Sugeng was recognized as having been

appointed by the former as a supernatural protector and servant of his surviving family. This was done officially

by a council of elders of the village—many of them kejawen practitioners—in which Pak D. had been an

important member. To say that Sugeng had no choice in this decision is the truth, but it did not bother him the

least to be of service to the family. Sugeng confided in me how, triggered by the experiences with Pak D., he

slowly became a respected ‘paranormal’50 amongst specific segments of the Yogyakarta society.

Ilmu bolosewu

Besides the regular sessions between the two men, Pak D. also knew some other very powerful mystics

in the region on a personal level and had sent Sugeng to learn under their tutelage. A few of these old masters—

some of whom were far more than a hundred years old according to Sugeng and Rico—were considered hermits

and lived removed from civilization in the forested hills of the Gunung Kidul district. They were considered to

be very powerful in their control of supernatural forces and secret knowledge, but because of this and their need

50 People are called paranormal for their public interventions (whether healing or other) of supernatural nature. They mostly specialize in the kanuragan variant of mysticism, with a great emphasis on supernatural powers and spirits help. This term separates them from jamu healers and other specialists who do not use kanuraga in their services.

80

to nurture these otherworldly capacities it was impossible for them to live with a family or in a community. Their

life had become a great lasting tapa (asceticism) and they were unable to return to the level of mere mortals.

Sugeng spent a long time in the forests with these gurus. He told me about three of them especially who all had a

thing in common; since they were living by themselves in the company of spirits they had all mastered the ilmu

named Bolosewu. Literally translated as ‘thousand ghosts’, this esoteric knowledge allegedly allowed one to have a

thousand supernatural beings as helpers. This multitude of spirits answers the requests of the mystic in any

venture he undertakes. One of them, Pak Yoso, for instance was known in the region of Wonosari to have built

a double-storied house there in a matter of three days with no outside help. People who had witnessed this house

being erected almost overnight without spotting any workers besides Pak Yoso soon concluded that he was

blessed with ilmu Bolosewu. (personal communication)

Many people in Java believe this to be possible, and the critics actually reinforce the possibility of its

existence by arguing that this type of request always requires a huge sacrifice or payback to the spirits, a concept

named imbalan. This attitude I found was so common on Java. You will obviously find many people who

criticize kejawen practices, dealing with spirits, prewangan and pesugihan, and all of the other ‘pagan’ activities that

concern the ‘invisible’ world. But instead of clearly refuting the existence of these phenomena and forces, or just

merely calling it unfounded pagan beliefs, these critics will instead complain about the cost that humans are to

pay with their karma or in the afterlife to the spirits, demons, gods and other ancestors for having requested and

obtained their supernatural help.

When I state throughout this paper that ‘many people in Java believe’ in these supernatural

phenomena, I do not imply that they all support and partake in the secrets and possibilities of the ‘invisible’, far

from it. The reality is that if they were asked if these things and the efficiency of the kejawen techniques to tap

into the realm of these things were real or true in this present experiential world, hardly anyone would deny this.

The question of whether it is right or not is a totally different matter. The atmosphere that is hereby created is

one where no unusual happening or incident is taken for granted. Interpretations of these incidents often clearly

deviate from rational or Cartesian paths of logic to arrive at an explanation, and when one follows and observes

such interpretation on a nearly daily basis, a certain structure of thought emerges, doubled by a specific language,

what I will call ‘a language of the invisible’ to reflect Romain Bertrand’s nomenclature. (Bertrand 2002: 27)

The rumour that Pak Yoso, one of Sugeng’s gurus, was helped by a thousand spirits to build his house

became, for lack of a better rationalization, the official explanation to the incident. Sugeng told me that it did not

help the popularity of Pak Yoso in the community to have demonstrated these powers in such a public manner

as he was suspected of dabbling with illicit forces and even sorcery. He eventually retreated to the forest when he

was about 65 years old and has virtually never come out of it, sustaining himself with everything one needs, even

cigarettes, with the use of magic. A recurrent theme of stories that involve ilmu bolosewu is the presence of tiger

ghosts amongst the faithful helpers of the figure who controls this ilmu. Macan putih (white tigers) are often

reported to be seen in the forests around Wonosari, but always at night. Sugeng said that during his initiation

period at Pak Yoso’s cave in the forest, white tigers—both real and ghostly in appearances—would come to Pak

Yoso’s feet. He would whisper into their ears whereupon they would disappear and bring back all sorts of

objects and food for his survival. Very seriously he would tell me that Pak Yoso often metamorphosed into a

81

tiger himself, especially on New Year’s Day or the first day of the month Suro of the Javanese calendar. I never

sensed any scepticism amongst my Javanese listeners when I recounted this.

Guru of Ilmu Kakebalan

After our first meeting at Ibu D.’s home where he had performed the short prewangan related above,

Sugeng would invite me to join him on some of his other favourite assignments. I accepted these invitations

because I was keen on following this intriguing character to determine what services he provided to society in

general and what sorts of people his clients consisted of. I suspected he was rather genuine in his function as a

dukun since he never asked for money or retribution from his clients, leaving it entirely to their discretion. His

lifestyle differed very much from Agus’ or Joko’s. Whereas Agus would rarely make house calls, preferring to

operate from his practice at home and Joko most often receives his clients at home nowadays, Sugeng was a

drifter and was hardly ever home. It was much harder to reach him as a result. So when he would call to invite

me to join him, I would accept immediately.

We nearly always met at the main bus station of Yogyakarta where he would hang out at the booth of

the station’s security police. We would play cards with the active policemen and security officials who were there

to make sure that the bus traffic ran smoothly and that no one created trouble in the station, which looked like a

mini-town on its own. One of Sugeng’s good friends was the Captain of the police forces of South Yogya

(KAPOLRES), in Kota Gede, who occasionally showed up in civilian clothes on his weekly tours. They would

chat about recent criminal cases or disturbances in town, discussing the search for a tersangka (suspect) or the

results of criminal investigations. Sugeng introduced me as a handicraft exporter who came along to visit angker

places, which would never fail to generate exciting and light-hearted exchanges of stories involving ghost,

haunted places and strange supernatural incidents. I came to the realization that Sugeng had a long history of

cooperating with the police and the armed forces in specific cases as a ‘supernatural consultant’. This was later

confirmed by him as he started to boast about numerous occasions where he had helped to solve a case. These

stories involved supernatural feats of divination, clairvoyance and interrogations of stubborn suspects. His skill

at the prewangan technique was common knowledge amongst all the acquaintances at the station, both when

applied to professional purposes as well as personal/familial purposes of individual policemen, bus owners and

ticket salesmen around the station compound.

He told me that he started providing these types of services after he had accomplished his training in

the Gunungkidul hills with secluded mystics such as the aforementioned Pak Yoso and Mbah M. who was

allegedly 130 years old near Pantai Krakal. Having mastered the different ilmu kanuraga, and amongst other

things the prominently regarded ilmu kekebalan (power of invincibility), he soon landed a job as a freelance

instructor of tenaga dalam at the military camp of the Indonesian Marine corps (BRIMOB) on Jalan Imogiri in

Kuta Gede, directly south of Yogya. Sugeng said that all the soldiers would be trained in the jurus (mystical drills)

to sharpen their abilities to use tenaga dalam, especially in combination with the famous Indonesian martial arts

Pencak silat. This fighting technique is rarely taught without assimilating the tenaga dalam exercises first. In the eyes

of Javanese connoisseurs it would prove utterly useless to do otherwise since tenaga dalam offers the power

82

necessary to make the pencak silat moves efficient51. The two are thus complementary to each other or so they are

regarded by the armed forces or the police.

But the reason of Sugeng’s popularity as an instructor was undeniably his skill at teaching the methods

of the secret ilmu of kekebalan. He said that all the officers and soldiers who were sent from Yogyakarta or

Magelang camps to troubled regions of the archipelago—many of whom went to Aceh at the time of recording

this information—were avid patrons of the kekebalan powers, for understandable reasons. Boasting a bit, he

added that no one of those soldiers that he had personally instructed with this ilmu ever appear on the lists of

war casualties, and dared me to verify it.

I remind the reader about my surroundings during this unusual conversation, sitting between a couple

of security guards and an important police commander who had close ties with the Kuta Gede Marines Brigade.

Sugeng was boasting, yet he was sure of his statement. I never did pursue his peculiar offer to check the lists, but

it was interesting to see that the audience around us seemed to be convinced of Sugeng’s assertion. No doubt

was emitted, as a few of them had had personal experience of Sugeng’s supernatural abilities and had no

apparent reasons to doubt him. Most of the people there knew he was regularly active in those army camps.

They completely accepted the fact that people who were scared for their own lives (numerous soldiers had died

in Aceh by then) would gladly put their full trust in the hands of an avowed dukun who could offer them such a

thing as invincibility from bullets and sharp weaponry.

I state this anecdote here because it was not the first time I had heard of the popularity of kekebalan

amongst troops and security forces. Joko (see 3.3), had in the past been hired as a tenaga dalam instructor for

troops at the Asrama Tentara NI on Jalan Godean on the western outskirts of town and at the large Army base

in Magelang. He too had trained soldiers preparing for pacification missions in other islands, and the quality of

kekebalan was equally much solicited in his case by officers and other combat troops. A common denominator

between Joko and Sugeng was that they were both very eloquent about two historical centres of kekebalan

practice in Java, Banyuwangi and Banten. These two regions, each at one extreme of the Javanese land, were

supposed to be the pusat (hubs) for all sorts of masters and dukun who specialized in this type of activity. Both

dukun had visited these places at one time or other in their quest to master the arts of kanuraga.

Banten, on the extreme western tip of Java, is especially known from historical chronicles to be a place

where such miraculous feats could be witnessed. It is mentioned in the Serat Centhini as a place famous for its

great amount of witches, and today this reputation holds fast as it is the place one needs to go to find powerful

dukun santet (sorcerers, witches) performing unscrupulous acts of black magic. It is said that kekebalan was used

originally—besides for feats of prowess at war—by evil dukun to protect them from eventual retribution by

opposing dukun or mobs. Sugeng told me that the art of kekebalan has different skill levels of which the ultimate

one is the capacity to change into the shape of an animal to escape pursuit or become invisible to eventual

assailants.

Joko was more sceptical about the capacity of non-mystics to acquire such powers without going

through a severe ascetic ordeal first, something which was not particularly popular at military asramas. He himself

51 for an elaboration on Pencak Silat see Barendreght. Bart “Written by the Hand of Allah: Pencak Silat of Minangkabau, West Sumatra” in van Zanten and van Roon (eds.) Oideion, The Performing Arts Worldwide 2, Research School CNWS, Leiden, 1995: pp. 113-130.

83

would prepare a jimat (amulet) for the individual soldier who could then call upon the power at the required

moment. But even then that power if invincibility is temporary and will disappear as soon as the soldier no

longer implements certain mystical practices which are essential according to Joko. Another famous exhibition of

kakebalan is the various trance-dances which are performed across Java and Bali, where dancers afflict themselves

with all sorts of weapons but apparently remain unharmed. I have witnessed several of these acts of resistance to

pain during Yogyanese Jathilan performance. Again, the feats are explained by the fact that the actor is

temporarily possessed by a spirit (khodam) which itself is insensitive to pain and which lends a protective aura

around the body of the dancer.

Clairvoyance help for Police

Besides the periodical emphasis on kekebalan instruction, Sugeng’s admitted role in the military and police also

revealed the invisible dimension of crime and the repression or investigatory methods of crime by the security

forces. One such case involving Sugeng dealt with the stolen car of a businessman in Sleman, where he had been

invited to attempt a supernatural localization of the car and eventually of the carjacker as well.

He showed me the police forms indicating the details of the theft, with information on the car, the owner

of the car and a general description of the incident. He said he had performed a divination ritual at the

spot of theft and at the owner’s house to invoke the help of ‘astral witnesses’. He had come up with a

strange riddle consisting of symbols and Javanese and Arabic script which if elucidated would give the

exact current location of the car. On the night we were discussing this he said he had been up all night

translating the riddle with the help of two police officers. The next day he left with an investigation team

to the region of Pati in the north of Central Java Province. A week later he told me they had found the

car, helped by his indications, and the police had moreover uncovered a regional gang of carjackers by the

same token. A related case involving the recent arrest of one of the presumed leaders of a gang in

Banyuma,s west of Yogyakart,a was also based on Sugeng’s divination efforts. This story was published in

the local newspaper, Kedelautan Rakyat. They had suspected that this theft was part of a bigger series of car

and motorcycle thefts in the province of Central Java and the DIY, which is why they requested the help

of someone like Sugeng.”

Interestingly, when I showed the newspaper article to some of my neighbours to ask if they had any

comments on the authenticity of the original ritual which initiated the ultimate solving of the case, their reaction

was not at all one of disbelief. Instead of doubting that it was really the divination that had triggered the spate of

arrests and recoveries of stolen vehicles, they were upset that the police had seemingly waited so long to hire a

dukun to do the job while so many people lost their cars or motorcycles. Other dukun commented on this

basically along the same lines, dismissing the difficulty of performing such a divination and arguing that they

could have achieved the same results if they had been requested to do so.

Joko said that the truth was that in some areas outside of the Yogyakarta province, some Muslim

clerics had exercised pressures on the security forces to chase mystical practitioners instead of using them for

their own purposes. This could explain the lag in this criminal investigation of an inter-provincial scale.

84

Apparently, dukun, diviners and other practitioners of the ‘illicit’ powers were being victims of a conspicuous

campaign of discreditation by certain influential Islamic groups tied to political parties. One could probably

justify these pressures because of the proliferation of genuine cheaters and manipulators (penipu) posing as

mystical experts who indeed specialized in deluding many individuals in Javanese society. This was an inevitable

and recurrent topic in my conversations with various dukun in Yogyakarta. They all agreed that there was not

only an increase of well-intended aliran kebatinan which attracted prospective mystical adepts, but that this

phenomenon was accompanied by an increase of charlatans and cheaters who were out to take advantage of the

people in the Javanese communities that had been hardest hit by the krismon of the 90’s.

Agus (see 2.3) had warned me about this evolution in the field of traditional healing (pengobatan

tradisional) and that is one of the determining reasons why he took his position as secretary of the BATTRA

organization so seriously. It was extremely important to him to rid the community of these self professed healers

and mystical experts whose only aim was financial gains, and in so doing gave the overall profession of dukun

and traditional healer a bad name. An old debate of religious integrity versus pagan practices was continually

rekindled by this deplorable situation, but now it had taken an additional politicized aspect. Joko, Agus and

Sugeng were aware of the sometimes radical position of reformists towards their alleged role as dukun in society,

but in Yogyakarta this antagonism was not significant enough to break up the deep cultural values concerning

mysticism in general and the position of dukun in particular.

Indeed, as the anecdote of the car-theft investigation shows—as well as the insistence of army and

police to learn the ‘powers of invincibility’ from such mystical specialists—there is a deeply ingrained recognition

of the determining role that these specialists have in their society. It is exactly this recognition from various social

actors in the Yogyakarta society, which constantly emerges when one follows the footsteps of a respected dukun

long enough, that I had set out to uncover and report on in this paper.

A society in need of supernatural adjustments

The following anecdote illustrates another evocative case which clearly shows this recognition. The

patron of supernatural protection here was no less than the Sultan of Yogyakarta himself, flanked by his court-

entourage and some important officials from the city council such as the mayor and the gubernatorial cabinet.

The occasion was the 247th anniversary of the Yogyakarta Kraton—and by extension the city as a whole, and

was held on October 7th 2003 at the local football stadium MandalaKrida.

“The ‘Lomba Ulang Tahun’ was a very colourful event, with the several old-fashioned army divisions of the

Kraton performing all sorts of parades, and groups of students from virtually all the colleges of the city

represented in choreographed dances. The night was concluded with fireworks to the dramatic sounds of a

gamelan orchestra. I noticed that the section of the tribune set aside for the Sultan and other VIP’s was

surrounded by a discreet cordon of men in traditional Yogyanese attire, dressed with batik and the typical

blangkong (type of beret) but no other more conventional types of security guards were present. Someone

down below on the field told me that the Sultan did not particularly fear aggression on his person, “that is

just unthinkable here”, but that he was indeed protected by some of the more powerful mystics of the

85

province who had been called upon just for this major event. Most of these ‘wong pintar’ served as abdi dalem

at the court, but others were simple men form the surrounding countryside who were said to be assiduous

kebatinan specialists. In any case they were there to avert any incident that might occur inside the stadium

that night, which was open to the public for free.”

One of those mystics, an old man named Pak H. explained to me that he and the others had been

commissioned to come here by the captain of the Kraton’s ceremonial guard, but that he had no formal

obligation to do so. The only real fear that the organizers had was that gangs of political parties would clash with

each other or with some of the thousands of students that where present52. Rumours had it that some of these

gangs, attracted by the crowds, could show up on the parking lot of the stadium. That and petty crime such as

pickpocket were the only potential problems for this night. I was amazed indeed to see that there was virtually

no police or armed guards present anywhere inside the stadium, not even near the royal tribune.

When I asked Pak H. if he and his colleagues were suspecting any action against the Sultan or the

important officials, he calmly responded that the simple presence of this cordon of metaphysical security would

prevent any such action. In fact, the thirty or so mystics hired by the Kraton for the night were collectively

keeping a huge supernatural fence in place around the stadium’s perimeter, he said. Conceived virtually as a

major protective dome of energy, most of the people informed, including the Sultan himself, were quite assured

that nothing wrong could happen. “Not even rain will fall in the stadium!” Pak K. exclaimed. With this

exclamation he informed me that some of the mystical guards were doubling up as pawang hujan, basically dukun

in charge of controlling the weather and the clouds. Pawang hujan are always present at major events such as the

Garebeg religious ceremonies or any other lomba (event) organized by the Kraton. Important all-night wayang kulit

performances and wayang wong dance contests are usually assigned some of these pawang hujan. Many such dukun

are solicited by farmers as well, especially in the dry season, to help bring about the opposite effect, rainfall.

Pusaka hunting and Exorcism

The approving attitude of the aforementioned police supervisor at the Umbulharjo bus station towards Sugeng

only confirmed this latent recognition of the necessity at times to apply supernatural remedies to potential or

existing social problems. It encouraged me to attach more importance to the peculiar character of Sugeng. As he

felt that he had convinced me of his integrity as a ‘paranormal’, he became keen on accepting to let me document

some of his other activities besides prewangan and kekebalan services.

He would usually call me to visit several angker places or witness incidents, such as the exorcism of a poltergeist

phenomenon in a house which was thought to be haunted by its owner. Another time we went hunting for a

52 These fears were totally justified, as in this period of presidential campaigning for the forthcoming elections the usual clashes between opposing political gangs were taking place at intervals almost everywhere on Java. The situation in Yogyakarta was rather calm in this context, but there were continuous incidents of reciprocal intimidation, mostly between supporters of the PDI, PPP, PKB or Golkar. I personally witnessed one of those minor fights in front of Shalim’s house, a friend of Joko and a staunch PDI supporter, where the antagonists were wielding machetes.

86

pusaka in the graveyard of Ki Ageng Mangir53. Pusaka hunting, which involves a sacred heirloom filled with

ancestral kodam power being retrieved from the astral realm, is a popular activity of many mystics in the region.

Sugeng allegedly performed quite a lot of these requests for various people, notably military and police personnel

with whom he spends a lot of time. Like the kekebalan training, the pusaka are considered as luck giving jimat or

talisman, and many a soldier sent to the front will carry theirs faithfully close to the body. Two methods of

retrieving the khodam energy are possible, Sugeng explained. The first is when an object dear to the client is

ritually filled with this power, usually in a graveyard or wherever the dukun feels it appropriate to come into

contact with a companion spirit or ancestor. The second is to directly obtain the sacred object from the realm of

spirits, usually following a ritual invocation such as the one described above with Joko. In Sugeng’s company, I

witnessed two such ritual acquisitions. The first was at Ki Ageng Mangir’s graveyard mentioned above where a

small gilded Koran (Kitab Stambul) was obtained for a Muslim Pesantren teacher who was a neighbor of Sugeng

in Krapyak. The second occasion took place inside the Kraton’s walls and involved a bronze ornamented keris

commissioned by a client from Surabaya, a civil-engineer who was coming to Yogya to celebrate Idul’Fitri (the

end of the Ramadan fasting period) with his family.

Another recurrent activity of Sugeng was the exorcism of alleged haunted houses. The phenomenon

known in the West as poltergeist is certainly believed to exist in Java. Many reports and stories tell about

domestic places where strange noises or invisible activities take place without the intervention of humans living

there. The spirits which are believed to create the stir are nearly always unwelcome guests, although it is common

knowledge that well-intended spirits of ancestors or nature-spirits often take residence side by side with the

inhabitants of the house. Islamic orthography qualifies these as good or bad djinns, the good ones being

welcome and the bad ones in need of removal (dipindahkan). In ngoko terms they are simply known as demit or

lelembut, none of which are especially desirable inside one’s house (Geertz 1960:19). Such beings are said to

favour the places with water, thus it is often in the mandi (bathroom) and toilets or kitchens that a Javanese will

feel or hear the presence of the spirit. Inevitably the place where one stores his/her pusaka (such as a keris) will

often show audible or even visual signs of their presence as well. A friend once demonstrated that noises came

from inside a dresser in which his keris was storedy, soon after the midnight hour had passed, in accordance with

what he had previously predicted. A trembling of the door-panels and an irregular knocking on the wood were

the manifestation of the presence of the penunggu. Elsewhere, in Kasihan, a furniture factory was shut by the

owner for two days because the toilets of the workers were haunted by a plaguing ‘demon’ (buto) which had

chosen residence in the nearby well. Not until a dukun had performed a ngruwatan ritual for appeasement and

eventual displacement of the spirit had the production restarted.

5.2 Agung

Kedudukan: Professionals solicit dukun to beat competition

53 Though this famous 16th century rival of Senopati, the first Sultan of Mataram II, is said to be buried in three different graveyards around Yogyakarta: one near Jalan Godean in Sidoarum, one near Bantul and the most famous one in the royal cemetery of Kota Gede where his tomb lies outside and inside the royal mausoleum.

87

I had met Agung through the intermediary of Sugeng at a mystic tarikat meeting at Parangtritis beach

on an auspicious Jumat kliwon night. That night had been good to him since he walked home from there with a

newly acquired tombak, an ancient type of spear-point. He agreed to meet me later that week at his house near the

Ambarrukmo Hotel on Jalan Solo. He lived in a small house made with old-fashioned rattan walls, in a packed

neighbourhood with small streets and imposing houses. This was definitely a recent neighbourhood, judging

from the other houses, and indeed it was confirmed by the Pak RT, the chief of the local block. We had all

gathered at the little pos kamling, a hut which was destined to shelter the night vigil patrols, consisting of men

from the neighbourhood. The village-head told me that this was the village of Ambarrukmo, which had been

built on lands which were owned by the Kraton, the direct property of the Sultan in fact. The construction of the

village had only started in the mid-eighties, and the latest additions of perumahan (multiple-house blocks) were the

sign of the latest wave of real estate speculation in the region. Agung’s house was in fact the oldest structure in

the area, built almost entirely out of wood and bamboo in the forties when this was all still farmland. It looked

quite out of place, surrounded by these fortresses of concrete, with its more typical Javanese yard containing all

sorts of fruit and palm trees. But Agung, who lived there with his wife and two kids, really liked it that way. He

said the house reminded him of his ancestral village in East Java near Gunung Lawu.

We had a discussion with the village-head who deplored the fact that there were no longer established

village traditions here. He was referring to the absence of relations and mutual help amongst neighbours, the

communal rituals such as bersih desa and the cleaning of the cemetery, in one word the custom known as gotong-

royong54. “How could it be otherwise though?” he said, remarking that this modern village was housing families

and students who came from the four corners of Java or Indonesia. “Most of them mind their own business;

there is not as much interaction as was the case in the past or in the countryside.”

The sis kamling or ronda, uniting volunteer men to make nightly patrols around the neighbourhood, was

an exception to that social apathy which according to them inevitably came with modernization. They would play

cards, drink tea and relay each other in groups of three to do the rounds. I mention this here because it was

always at these patrols that I would meet up with Agung, and consequently join the card-games and trivial

chatter. It was a good setting to collect information, if one was not too sleepy at least as the night progressed.

Agung was respected among these men, since they knew he was an upright healer and paranormal. They would

occasionally solicit his help to perform all sorts of slametan, curing and penghasihan rituals. One night there was a

performance and celebration to commemorate a brand new concrete hut which would now serve as the shelter

for the ronda. This was welcome since the monsoon was especially wet this season. Agung and the others would

relate how he had ritually blessed the new structure by using sand from Gunung Lawu in the mortar. When I

asked why this was important, he took me aside and we started to wander on a patrol.

Some things he preferred not to disclose in front of his neighbours, like the answer to my previous

question for instance. Gunung Lawu is near of Magetan district where he grew up, on the eastern slopes of the

volcano. He said his family had had a long pedigree of asceticism practicing mystics, and he followed the

tradition upon the request of his late paternal grandmother who had been a famed curer in Surakarta under the

Dutch. He had thus performed all of the usual pilgrimages and rituals at the several potent places in South- 54 For an interesting approach and discussion on ‘tradition’ in Java see Pemberton, John On the Subject of ‘Java’, Cornell University Press, Ithaca, 1994.

88

central and Eastern Java, what John Pemberton calls the “Topographies of power”. (Pemberton 1994:270-84) As

Pemberton reports, the places alongside the southern coast where the court of Brawijoyo V and his descendants

took refuge from the Muslim armies in the north are especially sought by a multitude of mystics and pilgrims.

Likewise, Agung had found a companion spirit in the ghost of a one-time princess from Browijoyo’s court at an

old grave on Lawu’s eastern slope. He would regularly perform special rituals to invoke the spirit and get advice

about how to pursue his quest for supernatural powers, moving from kanuraga exercise to more spiritual forms

of mysticism leading to ilmu kasampurnaan. Apparently he had succeeded in receiving the advice since he was

frequently solicited by all sorts of people to perform mystical services. The sand from Mt. Lawu, he said, came

from a place where according to legend Browijoyo V had interred a famed pusaka. It would offer an aura of

protection to the structure and by extension to the community of West Ambarrukmo.

Kedudukan

He actually didn’t want to work as a public dukun, fearing that if he did, too many requests for black

magic would come upon him. According to him, dukun from the region of Gunung Lawu often had the

reputation of being unscrupulous providers of such services. He admitted that this was true, and said he had lost

quite a few friends who had decided to choose that path, blinded by greed and arrogance. So instead he chose to

humbly provide for his family by working at the cantina/cafeteria of UII (Universitas Islam Indonesia) up the

road of Jalan Kaliurang in Pakem. But the fact of working at a huge campus like this one, and previously at

Gadjah Mada University, meant that he often had requests by students for various supernatural help. Many

students would come to his house, knowing him from campus or through word-of-mouth. Most of the services

were of the pengasihan type, forcing the success rates of presentations, skripsi (theses) and graduation exams. Some

students would come to him after they had graduated and were looking for work, sometimes as far as Jakarta,

Saudi and Japan. The other main category of clients of his was professors from those campuses, officials, civil

servants and businessmen. Like Sugeng he said that he had the capacity to specialize in curing or healing, but

chose not to offer his services to that category of patients.

The above category of professionals all had one thing in common in their requests for Agung: to help

them either keep their present employee position or to get a promotion. The situation of holding one’s job

and/or promotion of that job is colloquially known as kedudukan, (from the Indonesian root duduk meaning to

sit). Here we have a direct correlation of dukun with a professional life in modern establishments in Yogyakarta

and Central Java. He said that actually he was trying to restrain his activities of pengasihan for these types of

requests because they were just too many of these clients calling him up. Word-of-mouth had equally brought

people from Jakarta and Bandung to his house. He was afraid of reprisals because such activities are considered

to be on the borderline of correct ethics. Quite understandably, if it became known that one had recourse to

‘magic’ to better his position inside the organization, this potentially could create a certain vicious type of

jealousy amongst colleagues. Agung said he was aware of that, and he was waiting for the moment where

someone would decide to use some counter-magic directed at him to avenge an angry clerk. Usually this does not

happen though, as it is the client who becomes victim of santet in case of jealousy or intense grudge, a dukun

rarely being directed at. But even then these victims would first come to him since he understood the original

89

situation that would create the santet. Agung concluded that on the whole, work related pengasihan was sometimes

a delicate type of activity because of the possibility of santet reprisal, but he nevertheless admitted that it was a not

negligible source of income if the pengasihan succeeded in its purpose.

Agung was of the opinion that such requests were translating the viciousness of social relationships

nowadays. Far from the deeply ingrained tatakrama (Javanese art of living) of the past, professional people who

were exploiting all the possibilities that modernization and capitalism were bringing to Java tended to be greedy,

self-reliant and jealous of other’s accomplishments. Agung, originating from a modest background himself,

thought they were almost all hypocrites for portraying themselves as defenders of the traditional Javanese culture

and art of living. Business, politics and other dimensions which included positions of power were arenas of

greedy and corrupt individuals, and Agung sometimes sighed at the fact that they misused the powers of the

astral realm to achieve their dubious goals of prestige. Javanese culture had forgotten its morals in this time of

the post New Order of Suharto. He said he just wanted to help individuals to get a better life in these hard

economic times, where mass layoffs had been rampant since the krismon of 1997-98. It was thus a habit of his to

screen the potential clients before he would accept to help them.

Election magic

As kedudukan was a popular reason to go see a dukun in these troubled times, a slightly different version of this

pertaining to political elections was equally a prime request amongst dukun from the Kanuraga school.

I say this because Joko, Sugeng and Agung all had helped local officials to get elected for positions of Pak Dukuh

(village head), Pak Lurah (Mayor of a town) and even Bupati (District Regent) in some rare cases. As there were

Pak Lurah elections towards November last year, I was able to witness how some candidates came to both Joko’s

and Agung’s house to ask for a pengasihan ritual in order to make them more attractive to the voters. In Gamping,

Joko even received visits from all three candidates from the main competing political parties in the race; but on

different days. He himself thought this was quite funny as they all requested the same thing from him. He finally

decided through a divination ritual that one of them would be the logical favourite and helped him with a

pengasihan involving the insertion of susuk, whereupon that candidate indeed became the winner of the Pak Lurah

elections in Gamping. Agung repeated that he was often reluctant to help these people with their political

agenda as the possibility for the application of black magic was very real during election times. Popularity

contests between candidates could easily turn awry if one decides to hire an unscrupulous dukun to perform

santet on his competitor or his entourage.

Similarly, Joko was actually called to the house of his wife’s uncle in Wates one day, for this latter had

been diagnosed as being victim of black magic.

“The uncle had been campaigning for a Lurah candidate, functioning as his right-hand man. Joko went to

the bedroom where he had been lying in bed for almost a week now, whereupon the uncle’s body started

to tremble and shake very heftily. Joko talked to the spirit who had possessed him and asked who it was

that had sent the spirit to take refuge inside the uncle’s body. They could make out from the gargled

answer that the santet had been commissioned by a competitor in the race for the Pak Lurah election in

90

his county. The spirit was wailing and moaning, letting Joko know that it wanted to get out and disappear,

which Joko helped perform as he exorcised the body of the uncle. Joko’s wife had been in tears the entire

time outside the bedroom, because she had never actually seen someone possessed by another being let

alone her own beloved uncle. Joko afterwards said pragmatically that this was usual business during such

election periods, except that he was particularly saddened that it had happened to his in-law’s family.”

While discussing such stories, Agung said he was growing increasingly weary of these arrogant clients

with their threats of sorcery and contemplated moving back to East Java with his family because he regretted the

reputation that he had acquired in Yogyakarta. Comments like these by an assumingly bright and popular dukun

have to be understood in the light of a spiritual conception of merit through selfless service. I found that many,

young dukun excelling at kanuraga techniques, allegedly releasing formidable powers and initially appreciated for

just that quality, were looking to recycle their knowledge for more spiritual aims and follow the path of the wise

mystics who had preceded them on their future ambitions to pursue ilmu kasunyataan, the perfect knowledge.

What these young paranormal realize in fact, is that the art of kanuraga offers one a position of individuality,

since they have discovered that the true power lie in the inner self attuned with the divine cosmos surrounding

them. The temptation to dismiss secular and religious poles of authority becomes very real as this awareness

grows with every supernatural feat upon feat. What this mysticism offers is in fact liberation from the strong

social hierarchy in which every Javanese sees himself as being a part of. Years of New Order Pancasila

indoctrination and erroneously revived royal tatakrama customs have built a weighty culture of collective

subservience to the powers in place55. That feeling of dependency is still there, albeit increasingly eroded by

political and economical turmoil and scandals.

An emerging mystic finds his liberation and independency through the formidable access of invisible

powers which lie there to be controlled. This feeling of superiority can create understandable problems if it

reaches a certain level of arrogance, but more importantly it becomes paradoxical once they have to adjust to

family life as they get married and have children. It is then that the protocol of customs and obligations reaffirms

itself onto the once overconfident mystical adept. What they then find is that they can assume the life of

husband/father (in the case of my male informants) while still remaining a practicing mystical adept, except now

they would have to look for a more spiritual, less supernatural, way to achieve liberation. For this reason, serious

mystics often bring up their ideal of ‘the path to perfect knowledge’, Ilmu kasunyataan, which perfectly integrates

mystical endeavours with the social obligations of one living amongst his family and community. I had the

impression that after having followed all of these peculiar characters in their almost routine activities, the destiny

of a righteous dukun eventually pointed in that direction. In a karmic sense, many of my informants looked at

their altruistic services as boons to obtain a certain amount of spiritual merit which would benefit them in the

afterlife, and no longer as unique qualities which somehow stemmed from their powerful self. Agus put it clearly: “To accept that these powers come automatically―albeit in different amounts and forms―while one is on

the path to kasunyataan, should be a realization of every person who decides to become a dukun, along

with the other truth by which these powers and visions are a tempting but potentially deceiving deviation

on that path.”

55 See Pemberton 1994 for his insights concerning the New Order’s use of tradition to reinforce the central power of the state.

91

Chapter 6: Dukun in the social landscape

6.1 The role of dukun in contemporary Java

When one looks at the role of the dukun in contemporary Java by judging from the backgrounds of

their clients and the reasons why they request a consultation, it becomes readily apparent that these dukun

characters hardly exist in a social vacuum. A close analysis of those two variables seemingly obliterates a false

dichotomy between on the one hand the world of kejawen and mysticism in which most dukun have sought

their powers and esoteric instruction, and on the other hand the world of social reality in which they actually live

their daily lives. Except for some extreme ascetic mystics who are incapable of readjusting to normal society and

prefer to live far away from human dwellings, most dukun are completely integrated in their local communities

and as such influence and are influenced by their social surroundings, in a relative manner, much like most

ordinary citizens who hold a certain degree of power and repect. Most of them actually are only dukun part-time,

as they usually have more secular jobs anyway.

In Java, based on centuries of an abstract but at the same time concrete interaction, it is a fact of life

that almost nobody will regard mysticism (and everything it arbitrarily stands for) as irreconcilable with everyday

social reality—whether this translates into the economical, political or merely sociological sphere. Indeed, unlike

the West where mysticism is usually considered to be too ‘irrational’ to serve in the solving of secular problems,

mysticism has its place of honour amongst other concepts which structure social life in Java, whether for the

good or bad of the maintenance of harmony inside a given society. Even stronger, for a significant amount of

those Javanese, mysticism (and the cosmological ideas it sustains) is ‘life’. Niels Mulder explains how mysticism

has shaped Javanese culture and ‘Javaneseness’, especially so since Colonial times and reinforced during each

consecutive period of rapid change. (Mulder 1998:27-9) Subagyo and Koentjaraningrat both conclude that ‘all

mysticism develops as a sign of protest and criticism against present times’. (Subagyo 1973, Koentjaraningrat

1985) As such it seen to provide wisdom, individual equilibrium and fulfilment of dependency needs, especially

in times of social stress and turmoil. (Mulder 1998:27) It is because of this general conceptual interpretation that

dukun, as mystical masters, are able to manoeuvre inside their communities to offer alternatives when socio-

economic, political, medical and religious options fail in times of crisis or conflict.

Thus when we look at some recent historical events inside Indonesian society, we see that they had a

direct or indirect correlation with the phenomenon dukun in Java, and for that matter in the rest of the

archipelago. The fall of the Suharto government and the continuing instability—political and economical that

is—in Indonesia has created more problems for Indonesians in terms of finance, family breakdowns, conflicts

and illnesses, producing an air of uncertainty and irrationality as people find it hard to know where to turn for

comfort. As a consequence, it is the irrational powers of dukun that many people turn to when the rational is

threatened; hence the increase in consultations with dukun since 1998. This was confirmed by all of the dukun

which I met during my fieldwork who have always accepted to serve the public since or before that year. In

regards to post-Suharto political and economic instability, authors of literature on Indonesian society, up to 2002,

92

have anticipated its continuation along with the subsequent conflict and violence among social groups in

Indonesia56. These predictions have proved correct up till now and may explain the continuing guarded attitude

of dukun and members of the public concerning the profile of dukun practice in 2003. Furthermore, it may be a

sign that dukun trade will continue to increase, thus also increase the significance of their role in Indonesian

society. Let me explore these arguments through some of the results of the fieldwork.

In the exposition of the four informants above one common element clearly emerged from the

research into their respective activities (and echoed in the experience of other dukun who I met during briefer

periods). It is the fact that they were all extensively solicited for their services by various types of clients from all

levels of society. Indeed, some of them have a clear field of specialization as to what type of service they provide,

but I was given a strong impression that all of them at one point would complain about the unstoppable

frequency of client’s visits. This frequency had risen since the effects of the krismon in 1998 started to be felt

across Indonesia, they agreed. It seemed the increase of clients was in general welcomed by them, but on the

condition that it could be personally controlled. Over-exertion of supernatural services is in their minds as

undesirable as exaggerating in esoteric pursuits with spirits; one becomes drained both physically and mentally,

which is a condition far from the mystical ideals of kejawen. Each of them thus had a strategy to lessen the flow

of clients to which they committed themselves. Joko for instance sought to make it as a part-time handicraft

exporter. Agus narrowed his hours of public ‘praktek’ as a healer through the opening of a school on traditional

healing methods and the composing of a chronicle on fifteenth century mysticism. Agung chose to work in a

University cantina to be less available for clients and even contemplated to move back to East-Java to escape his

growing reputation in Yogyakarta. Sugeng acted like a drifter, and since he was rarely home he guaranteed

himself the ability to choose his commitments on his own terms (though he was partially tied to his duty as a

supernatural advisor and protector to a family in Sewon).

Their role as public dukun was arguably a popular one amongst the masses, not the least because each

of them in their own way upheld the image of the genuine dukun who had gone through the mystical ordeals to

obtain their powers. They had mastered the secrets of metaphysical mysticism which they would readily display

and with which they would eventually produce satisfying results in the eyes of their customers. But even more

importantly, they upheld that image of the genuine dukun of the past because of the altruistic nature of their

services. In my opinion this fact is not to be neglected if we consider the economic hardships with which many

Javanese had to deal with in the past five years. The set retribution for their services was based on a system of

donations, but in monetary terms it would rarely surpass an amount of 30,000 rupiahs (roughly 4$) no matter

what the service involved. This class of dukun apparently represent a continuation of the past dukun (as

presented by Geertz 1960 and Koentjaraningrat 1985), since it can be concluded that the characteristics of dukun

practice have largely remained the same and the essence of traditional Javanese mysticism has firmly been

56 Azra, A., ‘Islam and Christianity in Indonesia: the roots of conflict and hostility’ in Religion and Culture in Asia Pacific: violence or healing?, ed J.A. Camilleri, Vista Publications, Melbourne, 2001 Mietzner, M., ‘Abdurrahman’s Indonesia: political conflict and institutional crisis’ in Indonesia Today, eds Grayson J. Lloyd and Shanon L. Smith, Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, Singapore, 2001. Bertrand, Romain Indonésie: la démocratie invisible. Violence, Magie et Politique à Java. Editions Karthala, Paris, 2002.

93

retained. However, the role of dukun has evolved, diversified and increased in significance as an aspect of a

changing Javanese culture.

Through the research it was found that not only do dukun exist in Yogyakarta, they are abundant and

thriving in this current period of uncertainty in Indonesia. The role of the dukun in Yogyakarta (and arguably in

the rest of Java) today is still one of significance and in many ways has remained unchanged. However, their

practice has evolved and has been influenced by changing attitudes towards politics, ideology and religion.

Furthermore, recent events, such as the Southeast Asian monetary crisis, the fall of Suharto, and the 1998-2001

murders of suspected dukun santet both in East Java and Central Java, have also had an effect on the role they

play and the way in which they conduct their present day practice. This study suggests that the demand for

dukun services has increased, and as such the significance of their role in Yogyakarta province has increased, yet

so too has suspicion surrounding them. Indeed, the climate of instability and uncertainty in Indonesia has

contributed to socio-political conflicts and mass irrationality, of which the santet murders are but one example.

According to some informants, it has also raised the level of suspicion and fear surrounding dukun, although in

Yogyakarta this is probably less the case than in other regions such as East Java or Jakarta. Paradoxically, it is

argued that this atmosphere of irrationality has caused people to seek help and refuge in the irrational powers of

dukun, hence the increase in demand for their services. Furthermore, as Indonesia’s instability is predicted to

continue, this may indicate a continuing increase in dukun trade and in the significance of their role in society.

Joko and Agus had their own opinion on the increasing visits they received. They blamed the negative

aspects of the consumer-culture ideology that was spreading so fast amongst the more modern oriented citizens

and especially the younger generations. Urban Yogyakarta was irremediably following the example of larger cities

such as Bandung and Jakarta with the transformation of a whole infrastructure geared towards consumption.

They agreed that it looked like progress, and personally admitted to modestly partake in some of the benefits

modernization had brought. On the other hand, because of this budding ideology filled with excitement and

admiration for foreign or upper modern-class lifestyles, most people forget the inner dimension of their lives and

concentrate too much on the lair (outer) aspects of life. According to them, this is where confusion starts and it

gradually aggravates the frustrations and drawbacks of everyday life. Agus said that ‘happiness is sought in the

wrong places’. Dukun, seen by many people to have maintained the connection with the old wisdoms of the

forefathers (and this can be a pretty ‘romanticized’ view, even in Java), somehow emerge as containers of hope

because they dedicate themselves to the higher truths along a mystical path. “People do not always lose their

fortunes or livelihoods in this reckless society; they often lose themselves, because they become forced to

subscribe to new values which are not easily maintainable in Java or Indonesia. The glitter and perfume of

modern life hides a more competitive and unflattering reality of urban slums, unemployed masses, landless

labourers and bored students. When something goes wrong, as it often does in Java, people think the dukun can

resolve the problem, especially when it involves work and money. Agus knew this to be true, “because in the past

when kejawen practices were more widespread and people lived according to the Javanese spiritual values, the

need for dukun was far less than today, at least what concerned the pengasihan and pasugihan consultations”. In

today’s Javanese society, a larger number of dukun are more involved politically and financially than ever before.

94

6.2 Dukun and Clients

From the previous presentation of individual dukun, we have seen that, as well as healer, a dukun

traditionally fulfils the role of shaman and medium to the spirit world at various rituals, rites and ceremonies.

The dukun can also help solve the problems of clients in many areas of their lives and improve various

situations. It is clear that dukun today still perform most of the specialties of past dukun, something most of

them actually pride themselves in when they name the feats of their gurus, mystical models or ancestors who

transmitted their knowledge to them. Problems of dukun clients that were typical in the past may still exist in the

present but the needs and wants of dukun clients have naturally evolved with time and changing conditions. The

reasons why people consult dukun relate to problems in their personal lives but can also reflect the current

problems in society. Major problems today such as unemployment, loss of social services and food shortages,

have resulted in financial difficulties, relationship breakdowns, poverty, stress, and illnesses. The main problem

areas can be generalised into common themes. These themes were succinctly summarised by Joko who explained

that there are five main areas in which people believe dukun can help: in love matters; business, professional and

career matters; illnesses sometimes believed to be caused by sorcery; social relationships such as disputes and

problems with neighbours, friends or family; and desire for physical strength and invulnerability which could be

summed by the acquisition of supernatural protection.

Welfare

Interviews with clients and observation of activities by Joko, Sugeng, Agung and others found that business,

financial and security issues are major reasons why one seeks the help of a dukun today. This can range from

issues of agricultural production to the good functioning of established or starting enterprises, as well as

guaranteeing success at a job interview or determining the right choice to make in case of a career mutation. All

of these cases were represented in the activities of Joko, as he alternatively would help farmers, young graduates

applying for work and professionals wanting to start a new venture or to decide about a geographical mutation

inside their company. He would perform a combination of divination and pengasihan rituals to get results in these

cases, each of which I witnessed turned out to be positive and bear satisfaction to the specific clients. Besides the

ones already mentioned earlier in the text, a short list of examples can serve here to illustrate this point.

― A farmer from the Sentolo area west of Yogya came during the dry season, which was particularly

harsh last year, to ask Joko if he could help him find a place on his property where water would flow

underground and where he could dig a new well. He was terrified of losing his entire crop because his existing

well had totally dried up. Irrigation-water from canals and rivers had stopped coming. Joko went to the eight

square acres field, and after having surveyed it with his right hand palm facing down, he indicated a place where

the farmer should dig. Joko was already home when the latter called him to say they had indeed stumbled upon

an underground pocket of groundwater that no one had ever suspected to find there. He later had a five kg bag

95

of rice sent to Joko’s house. One has to understand the disproportionate reliance of poor farmers on a single

crop to appreciate the drama of this case.

― Professional clerks or civil servants wanting to be transferred to different branches where they could

be closer to their families or simply make more money. For this latter reason and other job applications, Jakarta

was a favourite destination. But fear of refusal would draw them to consult a dukun first for advice and

eventually a supernatural boost.

― Graduate students or other young job-seekers asking for pengasihan to force the success of their

interviews and applications. On one such occasion, a youth landed a job in Japan after a session with Joko.

Whether it is a coincidence or not in case of a positive result, the fact is that many people in such a stressful

situation will consult a dukun to augment the chances of being hired.

Joko and Agung noted that pursuits of business successes or financial wealth through supernatural means may

occasionally engender relational problems such as grudge or jealousy, both with other members of society and

more directly with spirits themselves57. Sometimes people believe sorcery, initiated by a competitor, can be

behind such problems, as is the case of kedudukan where one seeks stability or promotion in their career. Less

common but still widely suspected is the problematic request of pesugihan through the acquisition of wealth-

giving spirits such as thuyul (boyish thieves) and other syetan (demons).

Curing and Health

With most informants, illness by far is another reason to go to a dukun. In many instances though

clients say that if they became ill, depending on the type of disease, they would first go to a doctor to be healed

before consulting a dukun. If the doctor’s treatment proved unsuccessful or another illness emerged in place of

the original illness, then the informant would seek the help of a dukun.

In contrast to earlier predictions of researchers like Siegel (2001) and Geertz (1960), dukun showed to

still have the power to combat sorcery and many informants testified to this. In some cases, people went directly

to a dukun rather than a doctor. This occurs when clients have symptoms believed to be typical of sorcery, or

considered ‘strange’ such as disorientation, confusion and fevers, or a bloated stomach. Doctors from the

Bethesda Hospital in Yogyakarta sometimes admitted they couldn’t help the patient because they also believed

sorcery to be the cause.

Regardless of sorcery, treatment by a dukun is also cheaper than going to a doctor and often more

convenient, as most of the reputable dukun work on altruistic principles, correlating their selfless service with

their individual mystical pursuits oriented by kejawen or the occasional aliran kebatinan. This may also be a

contributing factor as to why one would go to a dukun rather than a doctor, but in my opinion and based on the

interviews of people, financial consideration is still subordinate to mere confidence in the efficiency of dukun

57 see also Bertrand 2002, 53-72

96

versus the bio-medical sciences. But since we are in Java after all, syncretism in healing paradigms is eminently

possible and dukun are sometimes invited to practice at hospitals if that is what is required by a patient or a

doctor.

Agus took me twice to the Bethesda hospital to go see a client of his who could unfortunately not

leave his berth there. “He was struck by nearly total paraplegia due to the complications of a stroke nearly five months previously. The

patient, an important Indo-Chinese investor under normal circumstances for whom money was not necessarily an

issue, had been unsuccessfully treated by doctors during his first four months in hospital. A Javanese colleague of

the patient suggested during a visit that he should try the services of a dukun since he had nothing to lose. Thus

Agus was put in contact with the patient and treated him twice a week over the course of a month in the hospital

room, with doctors occasionally supervising the process. The treatment, combining acupressure, acupuncture and

prana massage bore off positive results, and the patient was able to move some of his limbs for the first time in

four months. When I asked Agus if the doctors agreed with this rather unconventional approach, he said

confidently that they all knew very well that ordinary medicine was helpless for this type of condition, and

moreover that the senior doctors believed in the powers of dukun as an efficient alternative to their scientific

applications. He told me about other previous instances where he had cured in-patients at hospitals, mostly dealing

with cancer problems or blood clot complications.”

Joko had had experience of curing paralysis and stroke complications inside hospitals as well, where he

would actually be solicited by the doctors directly since they found themselves unable to help the patient. More

often, however, the request is done by a relative or close friend of the patient. Sometimes the involvement of a

dukun in such a manner may create conflicts between members of a family about the actual choice of a curing

method for a common relative. People in the same family can be proponents of medical diagnosis and treatment

or, in contrast, of a social cathartic solution. Cythia L. Hunter’s study on sorcery and science in a Sasak village

(Lombok), which highlights such an observation, reflects my own experience with a family from Godean which

was equally split over the choice of dukun or doctor. (Hunter 2001: 165)

Relational problems

Problems of social and familial relationships are another main area regarding the consultation of dukun. Despite

the admirable tolerance levels of most Indonesians towards each other, conflicts regularly emerge in social

relationships; between friends, family members, neighbours and work colleagues. Dukun are sometimes

consulted in response to such problems and can advise on solutions, as well as help ease the tension, or dispel

the volatility of the situation with a spell or two.

An interesting point of view from a social scientist like Niels Mulder on this crisis of relationships is

appropriate here. Building up his analysis on kejawen mysticism in Java, Mulder notes the paradoxical relation

between the individualizing nature of kebatinan versus the superficial indoctrination of collectivism of the

Pancasila under Suharto’s government. “As a way to self-realization…kebatinan individualizes, it makes the self

important (whereas) in Pancasila education…autonomous individuals are dangerous to harmony.” (Mulder 1998:

128-130) Indonesian individuals are part of the collectivity—they realize themselves in ‘collectivism’—which

97

according to Mulder is a fiction in the case of Javanese culture. He goes on further to denounce the uselessness

of Pancasila doctrine in helping to fight problems of personal or familial relationships and inherent conflict. He

advocates the respect which is attributed to kebatinan to address just these types of problems, both through

observation and through a review of Javanese-authored literature.

In my opinion this point of view is quite justified, as it is easily observable that, for all the material and

productive progress that they have brought, modernization and capitalistic development have also contributed to

the alteration of social and familial bonds inside Javanese society. There is in itself nothing very exceptional in

this observation, since processes of aggressive commoditisation and penetration of markets by free global trade

are known to have such disruptive sociological effects such as cultural estrangement and individualization in

many less-developed agricultural societies, ‘disembedding mechanisms’ as Giddens calls these processes. (Giddens 1990: 21) The social problems that may arise become exacerbated however when there is no social or

cultural structure in place to address them in a compromising manner. Since the failure of Suharto’s New Order

policies (amongst which arguably the state doctrine of Pancasila) concurrently with the politico-economical

turmoil of the last five years, it is understandably challenging for ordinary Indonesian citizens to learn to assume

the new social conventions that come with aggressive capitalism and commoditisation. It is interesting thus to

note that, in this context, the ‘individualizing’ nature of kebatinan gains renewed esteem, for it may be seen as a

tool to cope with the present changes that Javanese society is undergoing. If we accept this view, it is also easier

to understand why characters such as dukun, who often profile themselves as champions of kebatinan, are on the

increase or at least why their continuing activities are seen to experience resurgence.

A recurrent problem through my observations in the field concerning this topic was the issue of

inheritance and the recipients of the inheritance. The greed of some family members can create divisions inside

the extended family in regards to heir, especially now that prices for land and property have risen exponentially

in recent years. Joko was often consulted with such complex feuds, and most of the time it concerned the

inheritance of land in the immediate periphery of the city of Yogyakarta, where prices have nearly tripled in the

past four years. A case in Jepara, on the north coast of Java, was memorable in this context. “Joko could hardly refuse to help a close friend, M., whose direct family was being torn apart over a land-feud.

The property, a dry parcel of land unfit for housing or agriculture, but with an important grove of teakwood, had

been heavily contested between M’s father and his paternal uncle. It is undeniable that the proximity of Jepara’s

enormous export-furniture plants was a factor in the financially induced ravenousness with which the brothers

had been fighting each other over the inheritance. A court case was ultimately going to decide who the

benefactor was going to be. M., who lived in Yogya but often travelled back and forth between the two places,

was often depressed at the suffering his family was going through. He said his uncle had even ordered a santet on

his own brother and family, upon which his mother nearly died of dementia. Joko had helped the bewitched

woman, and now M. had asked him to alter the course of the court-case to defeat his uncle’s delusional

prosecution team. Although Joko honestly abhorred the requests for tenun (J. weaving58) or black magic, he had

nevertheless, in his own words, sent a companion spirit to confuse the uncle during his prosecuting arguments.

The next day he received a fax from M. in Jepara thanking him profusely, as they had won the court-case after a

58 Tenun is used to indicate the evil elements forcibly ‘woven’ into the life of a victim.

98

disastrous argumentation of his uncle had shattered the latter’s tightly organized prosecution. The jury had seen

through the lies of his uncle as this one was stumbling to answer the questions of the family’s lawyer. But in

addition, seeing his wrong actions had left him a humiliated man, the uncle asked for pardon to his brother,

whereupon the latter, in a very emotional manner, forgave and took him back in the family circle. M. said

everyone had been pleased at this ‘newfound harmony’, including troves of neighbours from the village who had

followed the feud over the past months. M. was convinced it had been Joko’s help that had made the ultimate

difference.”

A less dramatic form of help by dukun in social relationships is the very popular love magic. It is

undeniable that many clients go to dukun to obtain help in finding a partner (jodhoh). Joko was often asked to

offer penghasihan solutions for someone to make him/her attractive to their would-be partner. This can become a

serious business, both literally (with commercial dukun) and figuratively, when grave problems of relations

between couples arise or when middle aged singles are getting dangerously desperate in their quest. Not only

partners are sought but also offspring. Many infertile couples who are unable or are not successful to have

children may come seek the dukun’s help for better results. Joko achieved this miraculous feat twice when a

couple who was deemed sterile by medical representatives and doctors got pregnant after he had performed

some special ilmu rituals and massages with the couple. The story of an important General and his wife also

attested to this type of ilmu being applied by Joko.

This research revealed that besides the requested presence of dukun at certain ceremonies, rites and

rituals, the most common reasons for consulting dukun today are for business or money matters and illnesses,

followed by social relationship problems. Basically these problems are typical of modern society, especially in

consideration of the economic and political instability affecting Indonesia today. According to literature dukun

are treated with suspicion and today this is still the case, however, the reasons for such suspicion may have

changed. As people generally differentiate between dukun and dukun santet, another cause for suspicion basically

lies in whether dukun are fakes. Today the public, and most dukun alike, generally believe that a genuine dukun

does not seek to benefit materially from their work and that their motives are purely altruistic. Thus people are

more suspicious of dukun that are materialistically well off. This point leads us to look at the image of dukun in

the media, since it is through the media that some new entrepreneurial dukun may offer their services for

exorbitant (to Yogyakarta standards) prices on a nation-wide scale.

6.3 Dukun in the Indonesian Media.

A most interesting evolution concerning the phenomenon of dukun in Java seems to be the wide

coverage on dukun practices in Javanese and national media. Indeed, in the streets of Yogyakarta, one would

easily be able to gather printed or audiovisual reports on dukun practices, alongside the paraphernalia of mystical

powers and spirits with which these practices are—for right or for wrong reasons—often identified. The topic of

dukun is to be found in printed articles of specialized and general newspapers and magazines, in stories and

testimonies of people on the radio waves, and in programs on the national television channels. The fact that

there is a relative abundance of specialized press—but also to a lesser extent more general magazines and

99

newspapers—covering stories involving dukun denotes the fascination of the printed media for these mystical

specialists.

Although my fieldwork purposes did not allow me to find enough time to research this important

topic of media reports and coverage on dukun, I had the chance to meet a few informants who were active in the

propagation of such stories in selected printed media. A more elaborate research could be developed to cover the

topic in more depth, given the right amount of time and with the right connection to the public and private

spheres of the media. It would offer more tangible data to support the hypothesis that the ‘invisible’ is not only

‘in’ in the mediatic sense, but that according to Romain Bertrand(2002) it is also revelatory of a politicizing of

Javanese society which unfortunately often culminates in conflict. If it is right that covering and publishing the

discourse of rumours around supernatural incidents and opinions of dukun and dukun clients is a manifest way

to criticize the violent power of the dominant classes, the merit of such a research would be readily confirmed. I

repeat that I did not have the comfort to analyze this hypothesis as to its suggested validity, as for instance

Romain Bertrand has partially attempted in a book about the ‘language of the invisible’ in Java59.

A first step would be to dissociate those reports into two categories of media: the specialized media

and the general media. The reason is one of emphasis, as the specialized media of mysticism and its

manifestations clearly covers any report or testimony concerning this topic, whereas the general media only

include reports of this type if it is relevant to their journalistic rubrics and headings. During my research I found

several examples of both but have to add that there is obviously an infinitesimal difference in the sheer quantity

and details of reports when we compare the specialized press to the general one. A difference in approach is also

perceptible if one compares articles on dukun or supernatural occurrences in both types of press, as the first will

be more sympathetic, extraordinarily informed using local jargon and details towards the topic at hand. Whereas

the second will often betray suspicion and distance with the topic, will use less informed language and is keener

to weigh the journalistic value of the testimonies or interviews from dukun or client as to the relevancy to

current news. Another unmistakable element is the more explicit stress on the sensational aspect of these reports

in the specialized printed press and broadcasts.

Nationwide examples of this type of media are amongst others the magazines Wahana Mistis, Gerbang

Mistis, Posmo, Latar and the ‘Supernatural’ pages of various local newspapers, in Yogyakarta for instance Merpati

Pos and Suara Pagi.

Specialized radio programs which broadcast testimonies of listeners are represented by f.ex. Kota Misteri

from Radio Kota 87.95 FM from Surabaya, the evocative Nightmare Story on radio RIA FM88 in Jakarta or simply

Mistery on radio Bahana 101.95 FM also in Jakarta. On television dukun often are the guest stars of the extremely

popular reality shows Percaya, nggak Percaya on SCNTV and Dunia Lain on Indosiar. In the more general press,

reports and articles involving dukun regularly appear in the magazines Gamma, Tempo and in the newspapers

Kompas, Suara Merdeka, Jakarta Post (in English) and various local newspapers too numerous to name here.

As Romain Bertrand has remarked, since the fall of Suharto and the consequent degree of

liberalization of the media from the state’s arbitrary censure, the flow of coverage on the practices of the

’invincible’ in Javanese society, politics and economy has dramatically increased judging by the publication of 59 Bertrand, Romain Indonésie: la démocratie invisible. Violence, Magie et Politique à Java. Editions Karthala, Paris, 2002: 30-34

100

articles in newspapers and magazines. The specialized media such as the examples named above are all quite

recent phenomenon but they are going over very well with the Javanese public, hungry for these types of reports.

The proof of this appetite for supernatural stories and those on the practice of dukun in sensational situations is

reflected by the success of the above-mentioned TV shows: Dunia Lain and Percaya Ngak Percaya. In the second

half of 2003, these reality-show formats of broadcasts topped the monthly ratings per program. Fascination with

spirits and astral powers is also reflected by the innumerable TV soap series where these subjects have a

prominent role, the most famous of which is still probably Tuyul dan Mbak Yul on RCTI.

Influential magazines

During my own fieldwork in Yogyakarta I met two correspondents of such specialized press who,

through their work, illuminated me on the mediatic importance of dukun and traditional mysticism in Yogyakarta

and Java. The first one, Pak Supri, was a 50 year old freelance wawancara (lit. interviewer) who worked as a

columnist for various different newspapers and magazines. The main patron of his articles—and the one of

which he was most proud—was the bimonthly magazine Wahana Mistis, published in Surabaya by C.V. Wahana

Mistis Multimedia. The second recipient of his articles was a monthly newspaper named Gerbang Mistis, published

locally in Yogyakarta. Supri, aside from writing articles about metaphysical occurrences and their mystical

signification, was also active as a dukun himself, though he spent much more time as a journalist. His title of

dukun he attributed to the years of mystical training he enjoyed while living and working at the Kraton of Solo,

as he told me he was a member of Pakubuwono X long list of remote descendants. He showed me the special

access identity card to penetrate inside the Kraton of Solo and his official titles and pictures to put weight to this

statement. As a dukun he was especially restricted to Priyayi and court-type slametan and rituals. He would also

occasionally perform pusaka hunting for selected clients and curing for friends and family. His forte in the

acquisition of objects from the alam ghaib seemingly consisted of keris and magically potent pieces of wood and

bamboo. He agreed to the sacredness of pring pathok, pieces of solid bamboo that did not grow in nature but

were allegedly sent by spirits. In Javanese mythological history such special bamboo appears in the hands of

heroes in stories relating the history of the Javanese kingdoms. The most famous one to handle this type of

pusaka was said to be Joko Tingkir, an ancestor of the first king of Mataram Senopati.

During all of our visits to kramatan (ancestor-worship) and ziarah (pilgrimage) places of power and his

own journeys to other places such as magical ponds, graveyards, kraton halls, beaches and mountains, Supri

collected information of esoteric nature from local people, and especially from ones who would be

knowledgeable or practitioners of the mystical ilmu. He told he met a lot of dukun on his trips because they were

usually the best informed about the local places and understood the spirits and powers thought to reside there.

Dukun were always a plus for his journalistic ambitions since they would sometimes even perform certain rites to

prove one or more types of supernatural manifestations on the spot. The information he collected and the

pictures he would take were to be processed into neatly authored columns for the respective magazines and

101

papers with which he was a contributor. He famed himself on his contribution to the Dukun Ki Joko Bodo case

in early 200160.

In unison with Aden, another reporter who Supri knew from working with the paper Gerbang Mistis,

Supri would declare that stories on the supernatural and dukun practices were definitely ‘in’ nowadays and sold

extremely well. Aden himself was a journalist and mystical practitioner originating from Bandung, but working as

a head redactor for the organisation Yayasan Mappati Suci, which amongst other activities publishes the magazine

Gerbang Mistis. This organisation groups traditional healers and supernatural practitioners from all over Indonesia.

With branches in the main cities of Indonesia, the purpose of the organisation was to recruit members to

establish their profession and beliefs with more strength inside the Indonesian society. The Gerbang mistis paper

was thus also a tool for engaged agency, explaining and defending notions of kejawen mysticism and belief in

metaphysical occurrences along strong kebatinan rhetoric.

Gus Muh, the proclaimed leader of this organisation whose headquarters are located in Yogyakarta

south of the Mandalakrida stadium, is a charismatic prophet of the social benefits of kejawen thinking. Through

him and his team of associates, including Aden, hundreds of mystics and spiritual adepts from all regions of

Indonesia are lured to become members of the organization. At regular seminars held by Gus Muh in Yogya,

well to do professionals are taught how kebatinan, following Gus Muh’s teachings, can actually enhance quality

of life and concurrently power in status relations. Through the seminars and the articles in the paper, the

importance of supernatural forces and the astral realm of spirits in the daily lives of Javanese are conveyed to a

larger public. Besides this main activity, which costs the attendant 1 million rupiah per seminar, Gus Muh’s

Mappati Suci organisation is funded by donations, sales of magical essences and other trivial objects of power.

They also provide healing and dukun services of all sorts at their main office. The dukun who are active

members of their organisation get an advertising space in the papers, promoting their various services.

Throughout the reading of magazines such as Gerbang Mistis and Wahana Mistis, it is clear there is an

avowed contempt towards dukun palsu, ‘false’ dukun who are cheating clients with non-existent powers and who

give the paranormal practice a dubious reputation. The advertisements of supposedly honest and powerful

dukun throughout the pages of these magazines point to two facts:

1. That the commercial aspect and modern commoditization of the dukun practice is well

underway, made obvious by these deliberate efforts of public exposure which are almost always include a

reference to an E-mail address or a webpage.

2. That judging by the prices of the advertised services, this commoditization process is targeting a

market composed of well-to-do Indonesians, thus the higher spheres of the population, usually in the

proximity of bigger agglomerations such as Jakarta, Surabaya or Bandung. I have met a dukun from

Sedayu near Gamping who said he invested 25 million rupiahs per month—an immense fortune for the

average Indonesian—on advertisement in various publications and audiovisual clips. He boasted that his

60 This was a case that reached national news, when a local dukun from the Jakarta region foiled a car-bomb plot and reported on supposed terrorist activities by Tommy Suharto (the son of the ex-President) who was sought by the police. see Gamma Nr. 48, second year, 24-30 January 2001.

102

clients came from Jakarta and other Jet-set circles, including the ex-interim President Habibie as one of

his more regular clients.

Another facet of the commoditization of dukun practice in Java is powerfully illustrated by the

production of TV shows like Dunia Lain and Percaya Ngak Percaya, which are immensely popular amongst

Indonesian audiences. The figures of dukun are the main protagonists of the various sketches in the reality

shows. They are the ones who hunt spirits in haunted places, heal people or invoke some ancestor ghost to come

to a spot where an attractive-looking person is waiting in fear—but undoubtedly well compensated—all taking

place in front of the watchful eye of the camera. All of the (familiar) ancient and traditional aspects of mysticism

are recuperated and presented in a sensational manner with seducing graphics and plots. The admiration of the

audiences for these figures, some of which are regular actors in the series, is apparent when we see the almost

cult-like status that they acquire in the media or by the E-mailing lists of specific websites where fans (and non-

fans alike) come together to communicate and exchange views. Again, it is unquestionable that the image of the

dukun here lies at the base of an immense circulation of money between production, salaries, advertisements and

returns. This process, which is still young in its maturity, is undeniably representing a conflated image of dukun

and spirituality in the bemused eyes of genuine dukun such as Joko or Agus and their modest aspirations of

mystical perfection. It would be interesting to observe and analyse, in a meticulous ethnographical manner, the

repercussions of such publicity and popularity on the activities—in terms of demands, types of services and types

of clients―of hundreds of active dukun in the smaller Javanese communities,

103

Chapter 7: Conclusive remarks

Some conclusions can be drawn on the topic of dukun in the region of Yogyakarta, based on the

observations of, interviews and experiences with selected informants during the fieldwork. Indeed through the

examples of Joko, Agus, Sugeng, Agung and other informants certain facts about contemporary dukun can be

posited.

Considering previous literature on the topic of the Javanese dukun, and especially Clifford Geertz’

study from the fifties, a first point would be to say that based on my research kejawen philosophy and kebatinan

practice are still considered fundamental in the instruction of dukun. However, several exceptions in their

practice methods were found and distinct divisions in their various beliefs and ideologies were evident. The

systems of spirit beliefs and the manipulation of invisible forces are intimately integrated in the kejawen

teachings and the understanding of these helps to define the interpretation of these informants regarding their

secular and ritual activities. These activities are ultimately seen, by those informants who are guided by kejawen

philosophy, as moral duties that enter in the logic of their mystical commitment to a future spiritual

enlightenment (kasunyataan).

Problems of dukun clients are of similar nature today as those reported by past authors such as Geertz,

Jordaan and Koentjaraningrat. However consultation with dukun is now sought predominantly in the areas of

business matters, wealth and illness, followed by social relationship problems. These problems in many of the

cases can be seen to reflect the negative effects of today’s environmental and societal conditions. As I have

already stated based on my observations from a sample of dukun from the region of Yogyakarta, there is an

increase of practitioners and of clients of these dukun which guarantees the relative continuity of this peculiar

practice inside Javanese society. Although the types of dukun have largely remained the same, we can add the

successful emergence of an explicit commercially oriented trade in dukun services, reflecting the

commoditization of the ‘product’ and in line with consumption ideology, in contrast with the more traditional

figure of the altruistic dukun. These new dukun entrepreneurs utilize modern strategies to promote their services,

which include modern communications access, media exposure, associations of likeminded colleagues, seminars

and so on…Although this development is viewed ambiguously by my informants in Yogyakarta, it has an

undeniable impact on the modern perceived image of dukun today.

The role of dukun in traditional rites, rituals and ceremonies, is still one of importance though some

ceremonies have changed in how they are conducted. Rites tend to be more informal and expedient nowadays,

with very pragmatic and practically oriented approaches. But new developments of sociological, economical and

political nature have played an influence on the role of the dukun in present-day society. An erosion of the

traditional cultural values of Javanism is precipitated by a replacement of values along a culture of consumption

ideology, which is especially prevalent in the urban settings. One of the consequences of this, it can be argued, is

104

the general weakened interest towards or the irrelevancy of ‘old-fashionned’ spiritual discipline for masses of

Javanese. Whether from Sufi or kebatinan origins, these disciplines are left to a restricted number of mystical

specialists, amongst which are dukun.

In cases of dire economic and political periods, however, as we have seen in Indonesia since 1998, the

problems which arise alongside the dynamics of deprivation such as loss of jobs and general wealth, inflation,

unemployment, relational problems can hardly be attended to by a virtually non-existent social security system in

place by a transitory government or by largely disintegrated communities. As many desperate people look to less

rational and more supernatural ways to overcome the various setbacks of the crisis, and also to express their

frustrations, it is the familiar figure of the dukun which emerges for many as a valid social broker. As a result, it

is possible to posit an increase in the significance of their role and credibility in Javanese society, independently

of factors such as the simultaneous rise in orthodox reformist Islam or the general level of scholar education

amongst the Javanese. Furthermore, predictions of continuing trends could see the cultural significance of

Javanese dukun increasing in the future. In Java the village and local discourse of the ‘invisible’ is not mutually

excluded to a modern and global discourse of development and rationality, in fact in a very Javanese manner of

syncretism, the latter is often seen to be subverted by the former.

In this context, and as Romain Bertrand has posited in his own study, there is possibility for further

research into the arbitrary role of dukun and other specialists of the ‘invisible’ inside the Javanese but also the

wider Indonesian society, given more time and scope. Many questions are unresolved, although presumptions

exist about the role and influence of dukun at higher echelons of regional and national politics. A more thorough

study in the field of media and the consequent discourse generated around these ‘invisible’ dynamics and related

actors could prove revealing in understanding the tendencies of how Javanese and Indonesian people and

communities feel about the supernatural, traditions, commoditisation, modernity and intrinsic relations between

each of these.

105

Glossary

Abangan syncretist Muslim

Aji magical formula; mantra

Aliran organized stream of thought; sect

Alus refined; ethereal

Asrama military camp

Batin inner self; spiritual; essence

BATTRA Paguyuban PengoBAT TRAdisional

BKKI Badan Kongres Kebatinan Indonesia

Budaya mind; culture, civilization

Daya energy; aura; mystical influence

Dukun a magical specialist to whom people turn for cures, advice, and

other mystical assistance

Gamelan Javanese percussion orchestra

Guru teacher, often of mystical wisdom

Gusti master, lord (God)

Ilmiah science, knowledge based on mundane perception

Jiwa soul; psyche

Jathilan trance dances in which dancers use masks and hobby horses

Jodho to fit; to be suitable to one another; (syn. Cocok)

Kakuwatan batin mystical strength, spiritual potency

Kalurahan smallest administrative unit in Java; village of several hamlets

Kanuragan mystical training to gain spiritual power, lower level of revelation

Kasar crude; coarse

Kasektèn supernatural power; sacred potency

Kasunyataan Truth in religious sense; enlightenment (syn. kasempurnaan)

Kebatinan anything to do with spiritual power and mystical energy

Kejawèn the culture of the South Central Javanese principalities

Kyai Muslim teacher, spiritual master

Lair the visible; apparent to the senses; mundane

Laku an ascetic exercise

Latihan (mystical) exercise

Lurah village headman

106

Mandi to be effective or powerful

Ngèlmu (or ilmu) esoteric knowledge/science

Ngoko low javanese

Pamrih self-interest; desire; envy

Pendopo Javanese ornate performance stage

Penunggu host, resident spirit

Petungan numerological calculations to determine propitious days and times

for important activities

Prewangan spirit medium

Prihatin solicitude

Pusaka sacred/potent heirloom

Rasa intuitive inner feeling; ‘sixth sense’

Roh spirit

RT rukun tetangga

Ruwatan (or ngruwatan) a preventative ritual, to stave off mystically caused

misfortune

Samadhi meditation to increase potency

Slamet well-being; harmony

Slametan communal religious meal

Sujud surrendering self to ‘God’ (syn. Sumarah)

Susuk golden needle w/ magical properties

Tapa austerity; ascetic exercises

Tarékat Muslim mystical brotherhood

Tenaga dalam inner (mystical) power

Wahyu revelation; divine charisma/blessing/legitimation

Wayang shadow theatre

Wedi fear

Wong tuwa an elder; any person thought to have great wisdom or spiritual

power

107

Bibliography Anderson, Benedict R.O’G. The Idea of Power in Javanese Culture (1972) reprinted in Benedict R. O’G. Anderson Language and power: Exploring Political cultures in Indonesia, Cornell University Press, Ithaca 1990 Aragon, L. V. Fields of the Lord: Animism, Christian minorities, and state development in Indonesia. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. 2000 Azra, A., ‘Islam and Christianity in Indonesia: the roots of conflict and hostility’ in Religion and Culture in Asia Pacific: violence or healing?, ed J.A. Camilleri, Vista Publications, Melbourne, 2001 Barendreght. Bart “Written by the Hand of Allah: Pencak Silat of Minangkabau, West Sumatra” in van Zanten and van Roon (eds.) Oideion, The Performing Arts Worldwide 2, Research School CNWS, Leiden, 1995: pp. 113-130. Beatty, A., Varieties of Javanese Religion: an anthropological account, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1999 Bertrand, Romain Indonésie: la démocratie invisible. Violence, Magie et Politique à Java. Editions Karthala, Paris, 2002 Brenner, Suzanne Domesticating the Market: History, Culture, and Economy in a Javanese Merchant Community, Dissertation for the degree of PhD, Cornell University, 1991, printed by University of Michigan Dissertation Information service 1992 Eliade, M., Shamanism: archaic techniques of ecstasy, Pantheon Books, Penguin Group, 1964 Geertz, C., The Religion of Java, University of Chicago Press, Chicago and London, 1960 Geertz, C., ‘Ritual and Social Change: a Javanese example’ in The Interpretation of Cultures: selected essays by Clifford Geertz, Basic Books, New York, 1973 Giddens, Anthony The Consequences of Modernity. Cambridge, Polity Press 1990: 21 Gupta Akhil, Ferguson James, ‘Discipline and Practice: The ‘field’ as Site, Method and Location”. In: Anthropological Locations. Boundaries and Grounds of a Field Science. Berkeley/London. University of California Press: 1-45. 1997 Holtzappel, C.J.G Het Verband tussen Desa en Rijksorganisatie in Prekoloniaal Java, Dissertation for the title of PhD in Social Sciences, Leiden University 1986. Jordaan, Roy Traditional medicines in Madura. Ph.D. thesis, Leiden: Leiden University Press 1985 Keeler, Ward Father Puppeteer, Dissertation for the degree of PhD, University of Chicago, Illinois June 1982 Keeler, Ward Javanese Shadow plays, Javanese Selves, Princeton University Press, Princeton 1987 Koentjaraningrat, Javanese Culture, Singapore: Oxford University Press, 1985

108

Koentjaraningrat (1985) ‘Javanese Terms for God and Supernatural Beings and the Idea of power’, in A. Ibrahim, S.Siddique and Y.Hussain, eds Readings on Islam in Southeast Asia, Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, Singapore, 1985 p. 290 Lekkerkerker, C. ‘Enkele opmerkingen over sporen van Shamanisme bij de Madoerezen en Javanen’ , Tijdschrift voor Indische Taal-, Land-, en Volkenkunde Deel XLV, Batavia, Albrecht &Co, ·1902 Liddle, William R. Leadership and Culture in Indonesian Politics, Allen & Unwin, Sydney, 1996 Mc Vey, Ruth ‘Building Behemoth: Indonesian Constructions of the Nation-state” in Daniel S. Lev and Ruth Mc Vey, eds. Making Indonesia: Essays on Modern Indonesia in Honor of George McT. Kahin, Southeast Asia program, Cornell University, NY, 1996 Mietzner, M., ‘Abdurrahman’s Indonesia: political conflict and institutional crisis’ in Indonesia Today, eds Grayson J. Lloyd and Shannon L. Smith, Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, Singapore, 2001. Mulder, N. Individual and society in Java: A cultural analysis. Yogyakarta: Gadjah Mada University Press.1989 Mulder, Niels Inside Indonesian Society. Cultural Change in Java. The Singapore: The Pepin Press 1996 Mulder, Niels Mysticism and everyday life in contemporary Java. Singapore: The Pepin Press. 1998 Nakamura, Mitsuo The crescent arises over the Banyan Tree; a stuy of the Muhamadiyah movement in a central Javanese town. Yogyakarta: Gadjah Mada University Press, 1983, Pemberton, John, On the subject of “Java”. Ithaca and London: Cornell Uiversty Press, 1994 Purwadi, Sejarah Sunan Kalijaga: Sintesis Ajaran Wali Sanga Vs Se Siti Jenar, Persada, Yogyakarta, 2003 Reurink, Marten ‘Dokter of Dukun: De keuze voor medische hulp in Yogyakarta’, in Anthropologie: Een juweel van een vak, edited by Peter Kloos, Van Gorcum, Assen/Maastricht 1992. Ricklefs, M.C. A History of Modern Indonesia: c. 1300 to the Present. London, Mc Millan, 1981 Robison, Richard ‘ The Middle class and the Bourgeoisie in Indonesia’ in Richard Robison and David S.G. Goodman, eds. The New Rich in Asia: Mobile phones, Mc Donald’s and Middle Class Revolution, Routledge, London 1996 Samson Susan Berkowitz, Concepts of hot and cold in Javanese folk medicine. MS Thesis, Dept. Of Asian Studies, UC Berkeley 1974 Siegel, James T., ‘Suharto Witches’, Indonesia, issue 71, pp. 27-78, 2001 Tirtokoesoemo, R. Soedjono, “De viering van de garebeg Moeloed 1863 in Jogjakarta”, Djawa XII, 1932 Turner, Victor Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure. Cornell University Press, Ithaca 1976 Van Hien, H.A. De Javaansche geestenwereld en de betrekking die tusschen de Geesten en de zinnelijke wereld bestaat. Semarang, Java. G.C. Van Dorp, 1896

109

van Bruinessen, Martin "'Duit, jodoh, dukun': Observations on cultural change among poor migrants to Bandung", Masyarakat Indonesia jilid XV (1988) Wilken, G.A. De verspreide geschriften. Collected by Van Ossenbruggen F.D.E. Semarang, Soerabaja, ‘s-Gravenhage. G.C.T Van Dorp, 1912 Woodward, M.R. Islam in Java. Normative Piety in the Sultanate of Yogyakarta, Tucson, The University of Arizona Press, 1989 Zoetmulder, P. Pantheisme en Monisme in de Javaansche Soeloek literatuur, Nijmegen, Berkhout 1935 Website resources: Abdullah, I & Sairin, S Viewing Yogyakarta through Billboard Media , paper presented at International Academic Forum on Urban Culture organized by the UCRC, Gadjah Mada U, march 29, 2003 www.lit.osaka-cu.ac.jp/UCRC/ data/pdf_03yogyakarta/11_abdullah.pdf BPS (Badan Pusat Statisik) via the website of the DIY Provincial government: www.pemda-diy.co.id Shulte Nordholt, Henk and Abdullah, Irwan, eds. Indonesia: in search of Transition. Multidisciplanry research programme, Yogyakarta: Pustaka Pelajar (2002) PDF file www.knaw.nl/Indonesia/transition/workshop/chapter1shultenordholt.pdf Spyer, Patricia and Arps, Ben Indonesian Mediations: the re-imagining and re-imaging of community(s) in transition—a position paper. Yogyakarta: Pustaka Pelajar (2002) PDF fie www.knaw.nl/Indonesia/transition/workshop/chapter8spyer.pdf Press Articles: “What Religious leaders say about Black Magic” The Jakarta Post, 7 January 1996 “Police Arrests Seven for Witchcraft Killings” The Jakarta Post, 25 February 2000. ‘Suharto abused Javanese culture to maintain power’, Jakarta Post, 6 november 2002. GAMMA magazine. Kisah Ki Joko Bodo. Nomor 48 Tahun II. 24-30 Januari 2001

110

The author sharing lunch with various healers, all

members of BATTRA, at their monthly meeting near Bantul.

Pak Agus mixing the ingredients for a jamu remedy.

111

Pak Monel ritually cleansing the ‘charged’ masks

after a Jathilan trance performance.

A scene of entranced dancers with pawang (in black)

tending to them. Many pawang double as dukun in everyday life. Sleman district.

Jailangkung doll, sometimes used in divination activities.

112