AN URBAN ANGEL HITS THE DUST
About 300 years ago a princess from Denpasar's
Pemecutan Palace wed a distant cousin, a Muslim prince from the island of Madura,
East Java. As is the Muslim custom the princess had to convert to Islam before
the wedding: the court rituals of her new home were Hindu in origin and therefore
gave her some comfort over the years of her full conversion to the new faith
in a foreign land.
After thirty years in the Madurese palace her husband died and the princess
returned to her father's palace in Denpasar with a small court and a band of
Madurese retainers.
On her first night back she donned the white-hooded robe, traditionally worn
by devout Moslem women during prayers, and chose a western quarter of her father's
vast garden to pray to Mecca. A palace guard came upon her and, presuming she
was performing black magic, prostrate in the dirt, in this witch-like garb,
drove a sword through her.
The King, when learning of this terrible mistake, vowed to build a Muslim Mausoleum
to his devout daughter's memory and give her retainers some land in Bali: his
younger brother was sent to build a Dalem palace in the village of Kepaon, 10
kilometres south of Denpasar. Bali's first Muslim Kampung was built on the village's
outskirts.
 Gung Ayu, Gung Nik's old flame, at the cremation  The village men hoist the 'bade' tower aloft  Stephen Little, Gung Nik's guru, at the graveyard  Komang with Gung Nik's sister and his padma before the final prayers at the seaside |
When I first came to Bali in 1974 I lived in Dalem Kepaon and would often visit Kampung Islam and, more rarely, the Moorish temple Pura Kramat, which sits in the royal graveyard in Denpasar. The story of Bali's Muslim princess was often told in the coffee shops that lined the neat alleyway that lead to the Moslem kampung's imposing timber mosque, built in traditional Madurese wantilan style. The relations between the Kampung and the Dalem were always cordial: each side inviting the other for important feasts and festivals. Pak Haji's coffee was legendary and his androgynous offspring were always visible at major Hindu festivals, madly waving fans and adjusting their butterfly clips. The horse and cart drivers now parked outside Pizza Hut, Legian, are descendants of these original Muslim refugees. Over the last decade urban sprawl has accompanied the unchecked growth of tourism in South Bali: Kampung Islam Kepaon has become an urban ghetto bursting at the seams with itinerants and newcomers who have no idea about the special social and cultural fabric of the area. Five years ago curiosity turned to animosity between the two religious communities: skirmishes broke out, the old mosque became a concrete fortress, the Kepaon Agung's, descendants of the royal 'duke' first sent to civilise the backwater, affected militancy (fat wheels were sported on black land-cruisers). Gang warfare rocked the rice fields. The stage was set for tragedy. o o o 24th December 1997, Christmas Eve.Little Agung is dead, murdered in a village mêlée on Christmas Eve. The December pin-up boy who never made it to the end of his month, was to be married on January 1, now the date for his cremation. o o o 'Gung Nik (Little Agung) worked for me for the last
twelve years as head of our office's art department. There had been a midnight raid on a Hindu house temple by Kampung trouble- makers the week before. A Moslem teenager had been killed in a fracas last June when rioting broke out one Saturday night. Little Agung had been drinking tuwak palm-toddy at the cockfights all day. He returned home to his mini-palace, Jro Dalem Kepaon, at 8 p.m. just as the kul-kul watch tower drum sounded the frenetic beat that signals a skirmish. It was raining. The electricity was down. Emboldened by the demon alcohol he raced out into the night with a sabre in his hand. He followed the swarm of village men towards Kampung Islam where, in the dark, in the confusion, in an act of revenge he was dragged into a warung stall and slit from ear to ear. |
Jan 1, 1998, Gung Nik's Royal Cremation, Jro Dalem KepaonFearing unrest the police have closed off the road that leads from the palace, past the Kampung Islam, to the graveyard. It is a blissfully beautiful day and the village is a sea of black Gung Nik commemorative T-shirts. Gung Nik's guru, Stephen Little, has arrived with a brace of artists (including Gaugin's grandniece) from Vanuatu and Tahiti. Three bands have arrived, to honour Gung Nik's unflinching service to his temple community, and many senior uncles from Denpasar's ruling families. The procession sets off at noon with Komang, the
fiancée, at the head, carrying the sawa, a ceremonial
'sack' of Chinese coins, symbolising a celestial
palanquin from which the deceased's soul 'leads' the
procession. Two miniature nieces of breath-taking beauty
and elegance dressed in golden garb and glittering
headdresses, are hoisted aloft-palace 'mascots' for the
event. They survey the swarming crowds with the
imperviousness that goes with ultimate beauty. The
perfect grandeur of the procession is a show of the
community's love for Gung Nik, a perfect soul. The flute orchestra is first, for Gung Nik had a
gentle spirit, follow by the honour guard of floral
tributes, like a can-can chorus. Then come the celestial
nymphs in their chariots, the palace standards and
palladia lead by Komang, still in shock, still in
control. Atop the bade tower Ida Bagus Surya, the lead Brahman
of the youth group waves a stuffed bird of paradise,
called Manuk Dewata (Bird of the ancestor spirits), on an
ivory perch: it's ruby eyes and golden beak catch the sun
as the tower tears down the tarmac. It is a magnificent
event-solemn, stunning, but essentially sad. One thinks
of the family of the little Moslem boy murdered,
senselessly, the same night as Gung Nik and buried the
next day. What must they be feeling about all this pomp
and circumstance as it rolls past their eerily empty
Kampung? As the mile long procession turns into the graveyard I
recall that the last time I was here, six month's ago, it
was to cremate Gung Nik's mother. Another saint - Another
day. |
 The can-can chorus of floral tribates  Gung Nik R.I.P.  Komang, the fiancee-in mourning, scoops Gung Nik's ashes into a golden coconut cup  Visiting artists pay their respects  Stephen Little and Arthur Karvan at the palace before the cremation  Gung Nik's paint brush on his coffin  At the graveyard (the Gung Nik T-shirts) |
Some hour's later we are praying at the seaside. Gung Nik's ashes have been spooned into a golden coconut. A spirit effigy, called padma, has been formed. Komang nurses it on her lap as we all pray. In failing light, the golden padma is carried out and flung into the ocean.
Goodbye my lovely.
You were loved by all who knew you.
Komang, the fiancee-in mourning,
prays to the departed soul of her beloved
