Monday, January 18, 2016

Volcanic Alchemy and Signposts of Ancient "Indosphere": A Passage to Indonesia


Every step down was precarious. Moonlight was ethereal and a few shimmering flashlights would illumine only a small stone step.  Burning sulphur blinded and gagged if you took that oppressive mask off your face.  Do not worry, that rumbling sound was the roar of the volcano behind us, our guide Rafiq had assured us! We walked down one step at a time, not quite sure where and for what, especially after a long uphill hike in the middle of the night.  It was a dark and strangely quiet moment. Then flashed before us that dazzling blue flame. 


Out of nonexistence arose existence, and danced. The flame vanished and returned again momentarily illuminating the dark night of the planet. As morning light dawned, revealing the magnificent surroundings, the flame could no longer be seen. A gem like green lake and the brilliant blue fire deep in the volcanic crater; colors of divinity and ephemeral beauty as palpable as life itself. These visions could alchemically transmute the viewer into a spectacular specter.


We were at Ijen Crater in Banyuwangi, Indonesia at the eastern edge of Java. This tale is of an encounter with a primeval landscape where volcanic islands speak a language that can be heard in the pulsating rhythm of our bodies. This is also the tale of a journey into the ancient “Indosphere,” a term that denotes influences of Indic languages and culture in Southeast Asia.  Here signposts from an older world speak volumes to a traveler who feels at home in its strangeness.  I sing here of my passage to Indonesia.

The plane turned and dipped towards the runway, mountains raised their heads above the clouds; I beheld the volcanic tops of the archipelago.  I was on my way to Yogyakarta, Indonesia from Kolkata via Singapore.  Somehow I was going to be a part of the 2015 Sakyadhita (Daughter of the Buddha) conference, a conference that I did not know of just a few months ago.  I was going to speak of Prajnaparamita, Mother of all the Buddhas, goddess of the perfection of transcendental wisdom whose exquisite murti was carved by East Javanese sculptors in the 14th century when Tantric Buddhism held sway in the royal court there. 


Sitting on the plane, I could visualize the landscape that Atisha Dipankar Srijnana, the 11th century Vajrayani Buddhist sage, must have traversed centuries ago when visiting the islands of Sumatra and Java.  He may have boarded a ship on the port of Tamralipta, today’s Tamluk in Medinipur district in West Bengal.  This ancient space was referenced in the Mahabharata and has been continuously inhabited since the 3rd century BCE. Tamluk has the site of a thousand year old Kali temple called Devi Borgobhima or Bheemakali. Kali is Kapalini here. Legend has it that the temple housed the Buddhist Tara! Here Shakta, Vaishnava, Buddhist as well as Bengali and Oriya traditions mingled, dissolving all identities into the womb of the Mother.


His journey by water was precarious and long.  Atisha may have bathed in the rivers Rupnarayana and Subarnarekha. Was he also fond of hilsa fish from those rivers as today’s Bengalis are? Tibetan Buddhists are very familiar with Atisha’s journeys and their chroniclers speak of his learning the Tonglen meditation from Dharmarakshita in Sumatra. This form of meditation is widely taught by teachers like Jetsunma Tenzin Palmo who is the president of Sakyadhita organization. She was the reason for my trip who led us through this meditation at the conference.


Travelling comfortably by air on the wings of modernity, I could not stop thinking what it would have been like for Atisha, a child of Bengal, to have made numerous journeys that ended in his death in Tibet. In India I had the great fortune to speak with Khyapababa, my guru, and descendant of Atisha.  Baba had led me through the text of Prajnaparamita and told the story of his ancestral village, Vajrayogini, where Atisha was born.  Baba spoke of hearing about Tibetan manuscripts in their home that were lost to history as the partition of India broke an ancient continuity.  The 1971 bombings in the war that created Bangladesh destroyed even more sites.

I spoke of my natal family’s history and its lost layers in Sylhet in my April 2014 blog. This triggered another pang of strong emotions as I recognized the enormity of these losses.  However life and history like Ijen's blue flame are fleeting; Shakyamuni Buddha knew this well.  But sometimes ancient signposts reveal themselves. A recent excavation in Munshiganj unearthed what might have been the Vihara of Atisha.  Bikrampur was the capital of Pala dynasty, and Buddhist India’s signposts can be seen in vast areas beyond today’s national borders.


As part of my BA, I studied Ancient History at Allahabad University.  This course explored what is called vrihattar Bharat or greater India.  Scholars speak of an “Indosphere” that carry the markers of Indic traditions, languages and cultures. This mingled with the Chinese “Sinosphere” and indigenous Southeast Asian cultures to create unique civilizations.  As soon as I landed in Yogyakarta, those signposts spoke to me.  I stayed at Griya Prasada that recreated the entire Ramayana in its design and decorations. Surrounded by “Hanoman” and “Ayodya” I could see the active volcano, Mount Merapi, emitting a windswept, smoky cloud.  Culture and volcanoes! A vital juxtaposition to begin my Indonesian travels.


Today’s Buddhist world of women revealed itself at this conference. In an open air space with soft green canopies of banana plants was also visited by a serpent during a talk! The Sakyadhita conference opened with Bhikkhuni processions that included Buddhist women from around the world in multicolored robes. The Srivijaya Javanese dance almost recreated an ancient court.  Historians speak of Pala dynasty’s connections with Srivijaya, a stronghold of Vajrayana Buddhism. Gamelan music created a spectacular “sama” of Sufi Islam that is beautifully integrated in Hindu, Buddhist and other indigenous aspects of this archipelago.  I read that a Singhasri king Kertangara called himself Shivabuddha.  A conference participant told me about Shiva Buddha temples in his village.


Then I met my Bangladeshi sisters; Sramani Gautami and her young novices stood out. I was thrilled to hear about her sangha. Today in Chittagong she is bravely fighting the local monks’ prejudices against women’s ordinations.  She invited me to visit her and offered to show me archaeological sites that so far I have only heard of.  I received a beautiful Ektara from her and my soul yearned to break into songs that are embedded in my very DNA. For a moment I participated in a Tara dance ensemble of Prema Dasara that led to visions of an ancient time and space.    


Flames of history extinguish sooner or later but sometime they just transmute into other forms. Before leaving Yogyakarta, my husband and I sat spellbound watching a Ramayana ballet performed at Candi Prambanan, a 9th century Hindu temple and UNESCO World Heritage Site. The exquisite and delicate Balinese performance accompanied by Gamelan music revealed how a mythic tale can be transformed by another culture's tradition. Many of the women dancers wore flame decorations on their head as they enacted Sita’s trials and tribulations.   


Borobudur was also built in the 9th  century. It is the world's largest Buddhist stupa and shaped in the form of a Tantric mandala.  As we climbed the many steps we took in the black beauty of the temple surrounded by a primeval landscape. Countless Buddhas sat inside their stony stupas meditating on the impermanence of all that exists. However two volcanoes bookended Borobudur as if to protect this all too human attempt to capture in sturdy stone that which is ephemeral.  Our guide explained that Borobudur, engulfed in volcanic ash, lay hidden for centuries.  As recently as 2010, the temple was again inundated by Mount Merapi's eruption.


We stopped at a totally deserted but magnificent Mendut, another 9th century temple.  Apparently there were a series of temples that were built, celebrated, forgotten and covered over by ash, vegetation and time.  This temple was striking with a triangular ceiling and imposing figures of Buddha Vairochana, Avalokiteshwara and Vajrapani within its womb space.  Exquisite carvings on its walls spoke of a different reality. They included remains of an eight armed goddess, perhaps Tara and a beautiful Hariti.


By the time we reached Bali, I felt as if we were time traveling.  Nothing could have prepared me for the sites, structures and beauty of this enchanted island.  Our guide told me the names of empty stone altars; Tugus and Padmas with offerings dotted every nook and corner. It seemed to me that Balinese worship “emptiness” that can stand for any religion or none at all- Buddhist, Hindu, Daoist or Islamic! Among the many temples, I was taken in by the almost 2000 year old Mother Temple, Pura Besakih nestled in the bosom of another volcanic mountain.  I felt very much at home there with its gentle priestess.


As we made our way back home via other lands, we heard that Bali’s Denpasar airport was shut down; Mount Raung, a volcano in Banyuwangi, had erupted, spewing ash all around. Rafiq was not kidding when he told us that the rumbling we heard while descending into the belly of Ijen was the sound of that volcano. But these were regular events, nothing too dramatic. How people live so peacefully and gently in the presence of these fiery mountains in this ancient land, people who have avoided cultural eruptions although lately some troubling elements have been creeping in.

The Sakyadhita conference, dedicated to compassion and action, had found a welcome venue blessed by the Mother Principle. Tara and Prajnaparamita encompass this country that preserves layers of human history connected with lands far away. Travelers like Atisha and many Sufi fakirs made their way to these islands participating in this beautiful hybrid culture. Our Muslim guide in Banyuwangi told us that women are the only ones who plant rice because they represent Shri and are auspicious. It is perhaps the magic of this alchemy that transmutes volcanic ash into stupas, mosques and temples of an incredible Indonesia.