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SRIKANDHI DANCES LNGGR

Boek LYSLOFF.indb 1 21-4-2009 17:04:28


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V E R H A N D E L I N G E NVA N H E T K O N I N K L I J K I N S T I T U U TVOOR TAAL-, LAND- EN VOLKENKUNDE

248

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SRIKANDHI DANCES LNGGR

A performance of music andshadow theater

KITLV Press

Leiden2009



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Published by:

KITLV PressKoninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde(Royal Netherlands Institute of Southeast Asian and Caribbean Studies)P.O. Box 95152300 RA LeidenThe Netherlandswebsite: www.kitlv.nle-mail: [email protected]

KITLV is an institute of the Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences

(KNAW)

Cover: Creja ontwerpen, Leiderdorp

ISBN 978 90 6718 298 0

2009 Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any

means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information

storage and retrieval system, without permission from the copyright owner.

Printed in the Netherlands



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Contents

Acknowledgments vii

List of illustrations ix

Part 1 Background

I Cultural universals and local traditions 1

II Shadow theater as a cultural institution 19

III The temporal organization of wayang kulit 35

IV Wayang temporalities 55

V Sugino and his audience 77

VI Music and intra-cultural difference 97

Part 2 Translation

Synopsis 111

Act 1: Pathet nem 127

Interlude: Gara-gara 235

Act 2: Pathet sanga 259

Act 3: Pathet manyura 311Appendices

I Music transcription: Overture (Talu) 339

II Music transcription: Act 1 (Pathet nem) 355

III Music transcription: Interlude (Gara-gara) 419



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IV Music transcription: Act 2 (Pathet sanga) 473

V Music transcription: Act 3 (Pathet manyura) 507

VI Illustrations 523

Bibliography 549

Index 559

Contentsvi



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Acknowledgments

The learning, the interest, and the effort that resulted in this book wouldnot have been possible without the help of many generous people, both inAmerica and in Java. To my teacher and dear friend, Rasito Purbo Pangrawit,I owe my deepest gratitude for all the hours he spent working with meduring my research in Banyumas. He gave up much of his valuable time inteaching and explaining Banyumas music and theater to me as well work-ing with me in the early stages of the transcriptions. I also wish to thank KiSugito Purbocarito, Ki Sugino Siswocarito, Ki Taram, and Ki Darmosoewito,for their gracious cooperation, their many anecdotes, and especially theircontinued patience. A special thanks goes to my friend, Eko Punto Adji

Hartono, who helped me throughout my stay in Java in 1986-87 and alsoworked with me on the text transcriptions. To each of the musicians whoperformed with these outstanding dhalang, I owe a lasting debt of gratitudefor sharing their time, knowledge, and experience.

The fieldwork that led to this study was supported through a Fulbright-Hays Dissertation Fellowship and a grant from the Wenner-Gren Foundationfor Anthropological Research in 1986-87, and a grant under the FulbrightSoutheast Asian Regional Research Program in 1994. Sponsorship for mystay in Java was kindly provided by LIPI (Lembaga Ilmu PengetahuanIndonesia), Departemen Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan, and IKI (Institut

Kesenian Indonesia) headed by Dr. Soedarsono.My gratitude goes out to Judith and Alton Becker for sharing their wis-dom and time in the early stages of this project. To my friend and colleague,R. Anderson Sutton, thanks for his generosity in making available the mate-rials he collected during his own work in Banyumas, and especially for ini-tially sparking my own interest in Banyumas. To my students, friends, andcolleagues, especially S (you know who you are), for your faith in me. Mostimportantly, to Deborah Wong: for being there during those best years.

My sincerest thanks goes to my friend and colleague, HendrikMaier,who read a draft of this book and urged me to submit it to KITLV Press.

Thank you, Henk, for your many useful suggestions and ideas. I also wish toexpress my profound appreciation for the patience and editorial assistance I



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received from KITLV Press in preparing this book for publication, especiallyMarjan Groen and Dan Vennix. Thank you for your professionalism, yourgood humor, and your excellent work in making this book a reality.

Finally, love and gratitude to S for believing in me.

Acknowledgmentsviii



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List of illustrations

Appendix 6 (pp. 525-48):

1 Prabu Suyudhana, King of Ngastina2 Dhang Hyang Durna, Royal Priest of Ngastina3 Prabu Ajijaya Diningrum, King of Jongparang4 Radn Jatikusuma, Crown Prince of Jongparang5 Patih Tenung Turanggamaya6 Patih Tenung Turanggadhsthi7 Prabu Baladwa, King of Madura8 Sang Hyang Kanka Putra (Narada)

9 Prabu Kresna, King of Dwarawati10 Radn Arjuna (Janaka)11 Radn Wrekudara (Bima)12 Radn Srenggini13 Radn Gatotkaca14 Ki Lurah Togog15 Sarawita16 Ki Lurah Semar17 Nala Garng18 Ptruk

19 Bawor20 Dwi Banowati, Queen of Ngastina21 Dwi Wara Srikandhi22 Dwi Wara Sumbadra23 Gonjing Miring24 Ja Wana



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Of self and injustice



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Introduction

PART 1

BACKGROUND



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chapter i

Cultural universals and local traditions

Terms like culture and tradition are almost sacred in the fields of anthro-pology and ethnomusicology. They take on a performative quality in ethno-graphic publications and the learned discourse of academic conferences. Byuttering or writing them, we pronounce an art form legitimate, worthy of ourscholarly consideration. And of course the two terms culture and tradition must go hand in hand since one can hardly be invoked without reference tothe other. Culture can be described, using Geertzian phraseology, as the websof significance that humans weave.1 When we use the term to characterize asocial group along lines of ethnicity, religion, language, history, and so forth,it also reveals our own ideas about difference along those same lines. On the

other hand, we understand tradition as a cultural institution (a set of prac-tices, body of knowledge, etc.) which remains more or less consistent throughtime, passed from one generation to the next. This implies a historical dimen-sion and it is easy to infer, as well, that true traditions are by necessity ancientand immutable. Otherwise, we have learned, they are invented discursivelyundermined by the very same cultural impulses that gave rise to them.2

The notion of traditional Java suggests a people bound by a set of culturalpractices and knowledge that have remained fixed over time. Nancy Florida(1995:10-1) notes that traditional Java is

the nonunitary discursive world in and through which a wide variety of Javanesesubjects lived over a roughly 250-year period that closed (more or less conclu-sively) in 1942 with the Japanese invasion of Java and the consequent sudden endof Dutch colonial domination. A world that was generated and regenerated underthe conditions of colonialism, traditional Java became recognized by emerging

Javanese subjects as Javanese over the course of the nineteenth century. Thisheterogeneous and diverse world (or better, these worlds) became fixed as tradi-tional after the fact, toward the beginning of what would later be considered itsend; for traditional Java as such was born toward the end of the nineteenth cen-tury; and only in the face of its potential recession before its presumed opposite,the modern world.

1 See Thick description; Toward an interpretive description of culture (in Geertz 1973).2 This opening passage is drawn, in part, from Lysloff 2002.



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Srikandhi dances Lnggr2

In Java, both terms culture and tradition had been assimilated into the lan-guage of New Order Indonesia to control local customary practices. Placedinto global circulation through ethnographic studies, tourism, and media,the terms have returned to haunt those very people and institutions schol-ars have sought to celebrate and protect. Javanese tradition (tradisi), as JohnPemberton (1994:11) notes, has emerged as a kind of meta-spook endowedwith a profound appetite that virtually guarantees the reproduction of devot-edly cultural desires, that is, the desire for culture. In other words, discreet

Javanese customary practices like rituals, pre-Islamic religious offerings,asceticism, performing arts, and so on, had become thoroughly absorbed intothe larger New Order modernist narrative of authentic culture (kebudayaanasli).

When I first came to the region of Banyumas, I was keenly interested inhow the court centers of Yogya (Yogyakarta) and Solo (Surakarta) exertedtheir influence on the outlying regions of the Central Javanese province and how those outlying regions localized such influence. Banyumas isparticularly interesting because, although it has had a long history of tieswith the Yogyanese palace (even while it fell under the political jurisdictionof the Solonese court), it also borders the province of West Java or what isethnically identified as Sunda. Once a residency under Dutch colonial rule,

Banyumas has since been divided in four smaller regencies (or kebupaten):namely, Banyumas, Cilacap, Purbalingga, and Banjarnegara. However, manypeople still identify these four regencies as each a part of what they call theformer residency of Banyumas (or eks-karesidenan Banyumas) because of acommon lingual dialect and other regional characteristics.3 The designationis often invoked by inhabitants of the four regencies to express mutual cul-tural and lingual affiliation and to show they are distinct from the Sundanesepeople to the west and the Javanese to the north and east. This regionalismis not surprising considering the relative isolation of the area with ruggedmountains to its east (the Dieng Range), west (Priangan in West Java), and

north (a spine of mountains and volcanoes running lengthwise through mostof Central and East Java). The coast to the south forms a natural border aswell since it has no major ports and few natural harbors.4

Thus, when I speak of Banyumas, I am referring to the larger area thatconstitutes these four regencies. Because of the ethnic make up of its people,its language (dialect notwithstanding), and its political history, Banyumas isclearly a Javanese rather than a Sundanese region. At the same time, however,

3 See Oemarmadi and Koesnadi Poerbosewojo (1964).4 The people of the former residency of Banyumas are, in fact, ethnic Javanese, but they havea unique history and a strong sense of regional identity. This is discussed in greater detail in thesection, On being Javanese in Banyumas, in my conclusions (pp. 103-9).



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the people of Banyumas see themselves almost as a unique ethnic group.

They often refer to themselves as a mixture of Javanese and Sundanese cul-ture, making them really neither one nor the other. They are apeople, with totheir own origin myth, specialty foods, humor, distinct performance tradi-tions, and even characteristic physical features.

At the same time, Banyumas culture is not necessarily seen as truly Javanese by those from the court centers. My friends at STSI in Surakarta5viewed Solonese gamelan music asgendhing Jawa (traditional gamelan musicof Java) and that of the Banyumas region asgendhing Banyumasan (traditionalgamelan music in Banyumas style). In the imagination of those conservatorytrained musicians is, perhaps, a hierarchy of cultural authenticities, radiat-ing out from the Solonese court center.6 The site of true Javanese culture, itskraton (palace) has become a museum where Javanese culture is inscribedin the sacred objects of empty power and archived in archaic script ondusty manuscripts all reflecting a kingdom whose cultural heyday beganat the exact moment of its political emasculation. But, the New Order seatof Javanese Culture (read: high culture) is no longer the palace but insteadSTSI, once a music academy but now an institute of higher learning in theperforming arts.7 STSI continues the cultural work of the palace, formal-izing that hierarchy of authenticities, with Solonese arts at the center and

apex, and those of regions like Banyumas relegated to the realm of periph-eral and folk arts (seni rakyat). Unlike the palace, STSI has been thoroughlyinculcated in the project of Indonesian New Order modernity, a narrative oforderly progress that turns tradisi into an abstract but ravenous desire (usingPembertons phraseology) for an equally abstract Javanese culture. Localcustomary practice now serves a larger state ideal, bound up in national(read: Javanese) ideology and the expansion of tourism. This same narrativehas now been brought to Banyumas, where scores of school teachers andgovernment bureaucrats armed, as it were, with degrees from STSI or itssatellite academies, educate children and entire communities about cultural

hierarchies: teaching them that their quaint local practices are now firmlygrounded in folk tradition.

5 STSI is a widely known abbreviation for Sekolah Tinggi Seni Indonesia, perhaps translatedas Institute of Higher Learning in the Fine Arts of Indonesia.6 The gamelan music of that other court center of Java, Yogyakarta (Yogya), was often called gendhing Mataraman that is, an archaic style from the ancient Mataram kingdom, a style nolonger relevant to modern Indonesian sensibilities. On the one hand, Mataram is recognized asthe once powerful kingdom that had resisted Dutch colonial control yet, on the other, it was partof Javas feudal, pre-modern past.7 The school was formerly known as ASKI (Akademi Seni Karawitan Indonesia or NationalAcademy of Musical Arts). As an institute of higher learning, STSI is recognized as a researchinstitution.



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Universalizing particularities and particularizing universals

The Hindu-Javanese epic tales Mahabharata and Ramayana not only haveformed literary source material for wayang kulit (traditional shadow-puppettheater) but also provided the inspiration for Javas cultural ideology anideology rooted in a feudal past, however real or imagined it might be, yetprevalent to this day. In performance, however, Banyumas shadow-puppettheater revises this cultural ideology, placing it within a local framework andmodifying it with local practices and social norms a process Bruce Kapferer(1986:191) views as the universalizing of the particular and the particular-izing of the universal.

The fundamental aim of this study is to examine the process that bringsBanyumas particularities and Javanese cultural universalities together in aperformance of shadow-puppet theater. I believe that, by translating and ana-lyzing one performance in detail, we might better understand how Javaneseuniversals and Banyumas particulars are brought together and transformed.This study, then, is a translation both in the specific sense of renderingJavanese narration into English and in the larger sense of interpreting thoseparticulars and universals presented in shadow-puppet theater. It is a long

look at a particular performance one in which I try to explicate some ofthe knowledge an audience in Banyumas needs to understand, not only thisparticular performance, but other performances as well.

My work is inspired by the works of Victor Turner and others who havebeen focusing on experiential rather than ideational aspects of culture. Untilrecently, Turner writes, social reality was represented in terms of staticideals:

There was a general preoccupation with consistency and congruence. And eventhough most anthropologists were aware that there generally are differences

between ideal norms and real behavior, most of their models of society and culturetended to be based upon ideology rather than upon social reality, or to take intoaccount the dialectical relationship between these. (Turner 1986:73-4.)

Ethnomusicology, too, has been more concerned with ideals than with realbehavior, at times stressing abstract exemplary musical products more thansocially dynamic performance processes. The musical arts of Java are rep-resented through exemplary models and idealizations that, although theymay explain what a performance is supposed to be, do not always help us

understand what it actually is in terms of practice. This concern for musicalideologies can be seen in the studies focusing on conceptual issues in gamelanmusic, for example, inner melody (see Sutton 1978 and 1979; Forrest 1980,and Sumarsam 1976 and 1987), tempo relationships (see discussions of irama in


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Becker and Feinstein 1984), form (gendhing in Becker and Feinstein 1984), etc.8This is not to argue against such idealizations, however. Rather, my study

will show how various cultural ideologies are put into practice locally andexamine the great variance between conservatory or palace notions of musi-cal ideals and the realities of Banyumas village performance. In the realm ofshadow puppetry, aesthetic ideals are presented through books on pedhalan-

gan, the art of the dhalang (puppetmaster). These various sources are attemptsto idealize and canonize the musical and dramatic elements of this perform-ance genre. My purpose here, however, is neither to invalidate these idealsnor to dispute past studies of gamelan music but instead to illustrate the con-trasts between performance standards and their corresponding realities in thevillage, and to caution against the tendency to reify such abstract ideals. Theunderlying agenda of this study is to argue that, despite the hegemony of thecourts and conservatories of Yogya and Solo, regional performance traditionsare surviving even flourishing. While textual sources seem to set standardsof performance, actual praxis demonstrates the viability of regional varietyand innovation. Thus, it is important that ethnomusicologists do not fall intothe same old patterns of canonizing and mystifying the so called courtly tra-ditions at the expense of rural practices.

The recent attention toward regional music traditions of Java, by schol-

ars such as R. Anderson Sutton, Paul Wolbers, and others, has explodedseveral of the court or conservatory derived ideals of gamelan music.9These scholars have shown that such established rules and norms do notsatisfactorily explain the great variance found to exist in the performancepractices of Javanese gamelan music. Many regions of Java simply do notfollow the prescribed norms of performance. For example, the traditionalmusical life of Banyumas inhabitants includes the ensemble of instrumentsknown as calung. Made up mainly of bamboo xylophones, the calung wasoften described to me as a kind of poor mans gamelan. Yet, musicians arealso quick to point out that, while calung music may have perhaps begun

as a kind of bamboo gamelan, it no longer remains so it has become some-thing new and unique. Although most instruments have similar functions to

8 For an example of this concern for ideational aspects of gamelan music taken to theextreme, see Hughes 1988. Hughes pursues the question of how so-called gendhing lampah(known individually as ayak-ayakan, srepegan, sampak, etc.) are generated in gamelan music per-formance using structural linguistic models as a basis for analysis a line of investigation begunby Becker and Becker (1979) but long since abandoned by them (see Becker and Becker 1983).Hughes posits rules in generating standardgendhing lampah ; those that do not easily fit into hisanalysis are rationalized as exceptions to the rules.9 For example, Sutton (1986:85-8) has shown that Banyumas ideas of tempo relationships(irama) simply do not fit within conservatory standards. See also the chapter on Banyumas inSutton 1991.



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gamelan instruments, the two featured xylophones are distinctive in soundand style. The relationship between gamelan and calung is largely histori-cal, musicians argue. While the calung may have started as a portable andcheaper gamelan, its practitioners have developed a distinct and rich reper-toire of music. Indeed, a great deal of Banyumas gamelan music, particularlylocally rooted music (as opposed to pieces that have historical links to Solo,Yogya, or other regions) is influenced by calung music not the other wayaround. This is heard in the bonang parts (the two elaborating gong-chimesinstrument known specifically as bonang barung and bonang panerus) and thesinging (both by the female soloist,pesindhn, and the chorus,grong) as wellas in the way the music is performed (such as the used of extremely fasttempi and aggressive, virtuosic drumming techniques). I want to point out,however, that influence runs both ways: calung performances commonlyinclude many gamelan compositions from both Yogya and Solo, as well asBanyumas. The relationship between these two ensembles is dynamic, mostlocal compositions are played by both types of ensembles. If we were toconsider breadth of repertory, calung music is the most open ended sincetroupes often draw from gamelan as well as other sources, including folkand popular music. There are several calung compositions, on the otherhand that are rarely, perhaps never, performed on the gamelan. Why this is

so, remains unclear to me. Another distinction between the two ensemblesis socially based. While some local musicians can play both gamelan andcalung, most tend to specialize in one tradition or the other, and the moreprestigious ensemble continues to be the gamelan (perhaps because of thehegemony of the Javanese courts and conservatories).

The schism between courtly (or conservatory) aesthetic ideals and ruralperformance realities became especially apparent to me during my own fieldresearch in Banyumas. As I began to attend performances and study themusic, I learned that idealized models for Javanese shadow-puppetry andgamelan music could not account for the distinctly Banyumas way of doing

things. The ideal was there many Banyumas performers even referred to it and it was tempting to reduce Banyumas to a regional style or variant formof the Central Javanese norm. Yet, it became increasingly clear that, to talkabout shadow-puppet theater or gamelan music in the region of Banyumas,I would have consider the dialectic relationships between Central Javaneseideals and Banyumas realities, even between local performance norms andactual performance practice. My study, then, will compare the hegemonizingcanon of Javanese puppetry and traditional music as indicated in variouswritten sources with local practice as observed in a particular performance.More specifically, however, it will examine how one puppeteer and his troupe

of musicians transformed the culturally universal traditions of Javanese shad-ow puppet theater and court gamelan music, drawing from the regionally



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specific lingual dialect, humor, and performing arts traditions of Banyumas,to articulate a uniquely regional style of performance that expresses localidentity and concerns. This might very well be true of other areas of Java,including the region of Solo, but how such local matters are expressed israrely discussed in scholarly writings of Javanese performance.

This book is concerned, then, with local ways of performing dramatic nar-ration, making music, conducting ritual, expressing humor, and communi-cating and understanding Javanese values and norms. It is about performingand watching wayang kulit in the region of Banyumas, west Central Java. Itargues that, in this theater form, content is defined by context and that mean-ing is locally framed.

Research methods and general background

The area of my research was mainly in the Regency of Banyumas (KebupatnBanyumas) but included many trips to the neighboring Regencies of Cilacap(to the south), Purbalingga (to the east), and Banjarnegara (also to the east).For eighteen months (during 1986-87), I was based in Purwokerto, the presentcapital of the Regency of Banyumas, and lived comfortably in a kind of

middle-class housing complex on the southeast fringe of town. My neighborswere made up of bankers, teachers, and local government workers who alltook great pride in their suburban lifestyle. The streets and front yards werekept immaculate and a few homes even sported well-tended lawns. I wasquickly absorbed into the community and, after some initial interest, was leftmore or less to my own devices. Since the street I lived on was a dead-endand outsiders were carefully watched, I was able to escape from prying eyesand also come and go as I pleased. I traveled mainly by motorcycle sincemost of my activities took me out of town local public transportation wasin general inconvenient and limited to daylight and, to a lesser extent, early

evening hours.My main informant was a unique musician, called Rasito Purwo Pangrawit

(throughout this study, I refer to him as Rasito) who came to be my teacherand very dear friend. Only a few years older than me, he was the drummerand musical director of Suginos wayang troupe, called Purba Kencana,10and a highly regarded instructor at SMKI (Sekolah Menengah Karawitan

10 R. Anderson Sutton (personal communication) reports that the name Purba Kencana isused on cassette covers although the groups original name is Mudha Budaya. Purba Kencanais used for marketing purposes, since it reflects the make up of the troupe whose members livenear either of the districts of Purbalingga (purba) or Banyumas (kencana is the poetic equivalentfor mas, or gold).



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Indonesia, the national high school of traditional music) in the town ofBanyumas as well as at STSI (Sekolah Tinggi Seni Indonesia, the nationalinstitute of traditional arts) in Surakarta. He is the acknowledged lead-ing expert on the traditional music of Banyumas and one of the unnamedauthors of Sumbangan pikiran tentang karawitan Banyumasan [ContributingThoughts on the Traditional Music of Banyumas], an important source ofinformation on local musical style.11 When I returned to Banyumas in 1994,Rasito was completing a one-year stay in the U.S. as a Fulbright visiting art-ist. I learned that since my first trip to Banyumas he had completed a degreeat STSI. Although he was already an accomplished musician, Rasito had noformal education beyond high school and he felt he needed additional train-ing and education to advance his career. However, I learned recently that hisadvanced education and his trip to the U.S. had unexpected negative con-sequences. After he returned from the U.S., Rasito found that he no longercould return to Suginos troupe, except as a guest musician. As it turned out,Sugino had replaced Rasito with a younger drummer for a far more modestsalary. The new drummer, while lacking Rasitos seasoned skills and depthof musical knowledge, brought youthful talent and energy to the troupe. Infact, Sugino had begun replacing several older musicians with younger, andcheaper, talent. Thus, when I returned in 1994, many of Suginos musicians

I had come to call my friends had either retired (if they were older) or wereplaying for other dhalang of less stature.In 1994, I also learned that Rasito had resigned from his teaching position

at SMKI Banyumas shortly before he left for the U.S. Apparently, this wasthe culmination of ongoing tension between teachers and SMKIs admin-istration, particularly the rector. The school had reputedly come into hardtimes since student enrollment was down to a fraction of what it was duringmy last visit to Banyumas. In the 1980s, during Indonesias economic boon,the government passed several initiatives to stimulate arts education in thepublic schools and SMKI Banyumas drew many students because of its teach-

ing certification program. In the early 1990s, however, most of the teachingpositions created by the government initiatives had been filled and thereforestudent interest in traditional performing arts had begun wane. By 1994, theschool was in a state of crisis: its library had no funds to purchase materials,teachers were underpaid and demoralized, and facilities had fallen into dis-repair. Furthermore, the Indonesian rupiah had been devalued for the second

11 This study describes itself as a working paper (kertaskerja) set forth by a committee formedby the local office of the Department of Education and Culture (Departemen Pendidikan dan

Kebudayaan). However, officials there, and Rasito himself, told me that he assisted in compilingthe material. The study is listed in my Bibliography under Departemen (1980).



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time in what was to be, it turns out, only the beginning of a long downwardspiral into economic collapse. Thus, when Rasito returned from his first tripto the U.S. he found that, while his social prestige increased as a result ofhis education and travels, his employment possibilities decreased. In otherwords, he was over qualified and under employed. In 1998, however, Rasitowas invited to teach gamelan at the University of Texas at Austin where heworks currently.

When I returned to Purwokerto in 1994, I lived at the home of Rasito,located in a middle class neighborhood of school teachers and civil servants.Selling off some of his earlier real estate investments and borrowing heavilyin the late 1980s, Rasito slowly began building, section by section, a spaciousnew house of stone and brick on the same lot where he once lived in a smallcottage of rattan and bamboo. His new home was finally completed not long

before I arrived in Purwokerto and it stood out like a palace among the lessconsequential dwellings of his neighbors. With the additional income ofhis temporary employment in the U.S. he also bought an automobile and Iwas chauffeured around the area by his son. By the time I again visited himin 1998, he had added a second story and outfitted his home with modernelectric appliances. Finally, I recently received an email message from Rasitotelling me he now owns a computer and has access to the Internet.

The area surrounding Purwokerto is generally quite rugged with moun-tains both to the north and to the southeast. The mountains to the north aredominated by Gunung Slamet, a dormant volcano and perhaps the secondhighest mountain (3,428 meters) on the island of Java.12 It virtually loomsover Purwokerto. About halfway up the mountain is a popular domestictourist area, Baturadn, with a lovely park and a government protected forest.Locally, Baturadn is notoriously popular as a tryst for adulterers and knownfor its thriving prostitution among the many small hotels nestled in the for-ests. The northern mountains form a natural barrier separating Banyumashistorically from the former residencies of Tegal and Pekalongan. The moun-

tains to the southeast are less rugged than those of the north, cut by severalrivers flowing from the northeast, and therefore have not seriously hinderedcontact between Banyumas and the coastal areas beyond. Nevertheless, theroads going southeast from Purwokerto through this mountainous area areextremely treacherous, winding through the mountains with steep inclineson one side and deep gorges on the other. Many villages located deep in themountains and valleys of this area are so isolated that some still remain with-out electricity or adequate roads although government efforts to modernizeeven these areas have been considerably successful. During the monsoons,

12 The highest is Gunung Semeru (3676 meters).



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bridges and roads in and around these mountains are often washed outafter heavy rains and the affected areas become for all intents and purposesimpassable, sometimes for several weeks. Once, after an all-night wayangperformance in an isolated village during a heavy rain, a friend and I wereforced to walk our motorcycles over a mile through clay mud twelve inchesdeep. The thick sludge made even pushing motorcycles (much less automo-

biles) all but impossible. We were so completely covered with red mud thatwe had to wash ourselves and our motorcycles in one of the many icy coldmountain streams. The car carrying the dhalang and hispesindhn (femalesingers) was pushed, almost carried, through the sticky mud by scores ofmen and boys. Another time, while winding our way home through themountains after a wayang performance, we were forced to go back and findan alternate route because a bridge had been washed out by heavy rains. Wehad to descend the mountains from the opposite side and drive around themto return to Purwokerto: a trip that should have taken two hours turned intoa day-long journey.

Despite the weather and relative isolation, most of the area had beenreceiving the benefits of Indonesias modernization at least up to 1998 whenthe economy began to spiral downward. The government was systemati-cally building a network of electrical power that was soon to be available to

even the most remote villages.13

Mountain villages generally seemed cleanand modern although many were still without electricity. When they alldo become electrified it will clearly be the end of a picturesque era. Severalmountain villages I drove through had street lamps all along the main road,

but the lamps were actually oil burning lanterns hung on posts in front ofeach house facing the road. The effect was startlingly beautiful and subdued.Other villages were depressingly dark and squalid, their inhabitants seem-ingly impoverished and barely able to subsist. Perhaps these different villagesreflect the varied local economic conditions throughout the region, certainlysome areas were far wealthier than others. I was told that the general state

of a village also depended on its leadership and some, like the village withoil burning street lamps, managed to maintain orderly and clean conditionsdespite changing economic tides. These different villages, perhaps, bear wit-ness to how national politics (and the resultant domestic policies) are playedout locally.

Many of the mountain villages are located around plantations, theirinhabitants making up the labor force. Clove and palm sugar are probably

13 While I was conducting my research in 1986, Suginos troupe once performed wayang kulitas part of a ritual celebration to facilitate the safe explosion of a mountain side in the region ofBanjaranegara. The rock obtained from the explosion was to be used in the construction of amajor dam that would provide electricity for the surrounding region.



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the two most important cash crops in the mountains surrounding Banyumas,and local economies depend on the vagaries of Banyumas climate. If the rainyseason lasts too long and is too heavy the crop will rot in the ground, and ifthe area experiences a drought the plants will die before they are fully grown.Most years, however, yield a fairly good crop and many villages have at leastone successful plantation owner who may hold a wayang performance to cel-ebrate the harvest, a life-cycle event (birth, circumcision, or marriage) withinhis immediate family, the fulfillment of a vow he (rarely, she) made sometimein the past, or some other important event. I learned recently, however, thatmany of these plantations went out of business with Indonesias economiccollapse in 1998, forcing entire villages into poverty and destitution. As aresult, there are now (in the year 2002) far fewer wayang performances. Onthe other hand, some villages had been left largely unscathed by Indonesiaseconomic troubles, perhaps they were too poor to be affected by nationaltrends and simply continued with subsistence farming.

Much of my research time from 1985 to 1987 was spent visiting thesemany villages either to watch, or participate in (as a guest musician, of sorts),wayang kulit and other performances, or to interview local performers orexperts. During my first field research, I traveled to these sometimes remoteareas either by motorcycle, driving a heavy and large framed Kawasaki with

a rather small 200 cc engine (larger motorcycle engines are generally prohib-ited in Indonesia), or riding with the troupe in their somewhat cramped (atleast for me) minibus. When I returned to Java in 1994, I traveled in Rasitosautomobile. Although this proved to be convenient and relatively comfort-able, it also increased the social distance between me and the some of thepeople I interviewed. While my Javanese friends saw this as natural I was,after all, a university professor at this point I felt vaguely uncomfortablewith my new found status and missed the more relaxed social interactions ofmy student days.

I spent my time mainly with one troupe in particular, that of the dhalang

Ki Sugino Siswocarito, known by local inhabitants simply as Sugino.14

Hewas clearly the most popular puppeteer in the entire region and his gamelantroupe was considered outstanding. Although Sugino was by far the mostwell-liked dhalang, he was not the most respected nor was he regarded asthe best. The dhalang viewed as the most knowledgeable and skillful wasKi Sugito Purbocarito (known as Sugito or Pak Gito) who, unlike Sugino,descended from a long line of highly regarded puppeteers. It was difficult,at first, to decide on whom to focus my study: the most popular or the most

14

Mixing familiarity with respect, those who knew Sugino referred to him as Pak Gino. Theword Pak (from bapak) literally means father and is used in this case as a title of respect. Thename Gino is derived, of course, from Sugino.



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respected dhalang in the region. Perhaps another, more conventional, study

would have focused upon Sugito, since his restrained style and concern forestablished norms would have approached the ideals of shadow puppetperformance. Yet Sugito was not even remotely as popular as the apparentlymore innovative and relatively unrestrained Sugino, and I felt that his artisticconservatism might not best represent the performance realities of Banyumaswayang kulit. It was Sugino, not Sugito, who was most emulated by otheryounger dhalang. Aspiring puppeteers spoke of Sugitos skill and knowledgewith admiration, but they all, almost without exception, imitated Sugino.

To try to understand Suginos popularity, I simply stayed with the groupmembers and accompanied them to all their performances. This led to anunspoken agreement between the dhalang and me. I was allowed to travelwith the group, documenting as much as I wanted and in whatever way Ipleased, but I was obligated to perform on command especially duringthegara-gara, the interlude in the story late in the evening when the clownscome out and the dhalang takes requests from the host and his guests. Thisarrangement seemed to be beneficial to both of us: I was free to observeand document while he enjoyed the status and prestige of having a foreignresearcher in attendance. Sugino carefully exploited this relationship, milkingit for everything he could. He always announced my presence to his audi-

ence and publicly requested I play in a piece or two with the group, such asJineman Uler Kambang a short but virtuosic gamelan composition that fea-tures female singing and only certain soft-style instruments. After the piece,he always explained (through one of the clowns) to the audience that I was anAmerican researching Banyumas wayang kulit and able to play all the instru-ments of the gamelan (calling me a niyaga, or professional gamelan musician),sometimes adding that I spoke perfect Javanese and could even mayang (thatis, perform as a puppeteer). While his hyperbolizing certainly felt flattering,the underlying message was, of course, clear. In my supposed knowledge andsophistication, I had chosen Sugino and his troupe as exemplary Banyumas

wayang kulit and gamelan accompaniment. He also enjoyed and thoroughlyexploited the novelty of having the rare landa (white foreigner, the wordoriginally referring to the Dutch or wongWelanda) and the only researcher inthe region following his performances. My presence lent his troupe a bit ofexoticism (a curious reversal of stereotyped roles) that added, I was told, toSuginos reputation and charisma among local inhabitants.

The hosts for the many performances I attended, as a kind of foreign mas-cot, were sincerely pleased to find me among the members. Many insisted Icome inside the house to sit and chat with the guests during the performance,or sometimes even deliver a speech. I usually tried to avoid this rather tedi-

ous duty or returned to the stage as soon as etiquette allowed because I wasespecially interested in the performance itself and the mass of villagers that



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constituted the spectators outside. I came to appreciate the prestige related to

my presence during the latter part of my research, when I accompanied thetroupe less often in their travels: Sugino himself sometimes dropped by myhome to insist that I participate in a particular performance because the hostspecifically asked for me.

Occasionally, Sugino invited me to accompany him in his own car (Suginowas chauffeured, along with his favorite pesindhn, separately in his automo-

bile or in another minibus). For every performance, a total of three vehicleswere used to transport the troupe and its paraphernalia: one for the dhalangand his pesindhn (either a car or a minibus), a small bus for the musicians,and a van for the musical instruments, puppets, and amplification equip-ment. The van with the instruments always left for the performance locationearlier in the day, the time depending upon the distance, with the soundmanand two assistants to set up the gamelan, the screen and puppets, and theamplification. The whole production seemed, in my mind, much like a rockconcert. Less popular dhalang and their musicians traveled by whatevermeans they could, sometimes even by public transportation. Sugino, howev-er, was clearly a major performer and the massive effort needed to set up hisperformance suggested he was in a different league than most other dhalang.Indeed, like a rock star, he generally remained unseen until he was ready to

begin his storytelling (other dhalang often performed with the musicians inthe concert before the actual wayang performance), arriving with an entou-rage of the youngest and most beautiful female singers. His shaggy hair wasrather long in back and he often wore outlandishly colorful clothes (at leastto me). One of my American friends visiting me in the field remarked that helooked surprisingly similar to James Brown during the height of his Motowncareer. All in all, Sugino painted an imposing picture carefully designed toenhance the mystique that surrounded him.

If the ritual was for a village-wide celebration, such as village spirit cleans-ing (bersih dsa), or if the host was particularly wealthy and felt the need,

two performances of wayang kulit were held one in the daytime and oneat night. Daytime performances were generally regarded more as a kind ofoffering than entertainment, directed mainly toward an unseen audience ofspirits. In any case, Sugino considered them far less important than his night-time performances and always delegated one of the troop members to per-form in his place. Many of Suginos higher paid musicians were not involvedin daytime performances, leaving them to the lower ranking musicians ofthe troupe and artists from the immediately surrounding area. The pay wasfar less for daytime performances than those in the evening, and the audi-ence and spectators tended to be mainly children and a few adult passersby.

During the course of the day, the host was visited by guests who stayed onlybriefly, rarely watching a wayang performance with any sustained interest.



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Nevertheless, such a daytime event provided less experienced (and skillful)dhalang with an opportunity to perform. If the village or some institution wasthe host, then various daytime activities, such as pole-climbing competitionsor badminton tournaments among employees, were held in addition to theperformance. On the other hand, many wealthier institutions and individualssometimes held performances of bg (hobby-horse trance-dance) during thedaytime, with wayang kulit at night. These often attracted fairly large villagecrowds, possibly because trance seems to fascinate many local Javanese.

The big event of course was the performance by Sugino. Although otherdhalang, such as Ki Sugito Purbocarito and Ki Taram, also attracted fairlylarge audiences, none could match the sheer numbers of spectators that cameto see Sugino and stayed through the entire night. The musical and theatri-cal elements were far more carefully coordinated in his troupe than in anyof the others, and this might have contributed to his tremendous popularity.Another reason might be that Sugino seriously tried to give the audiencewhat they wanted: good entertainment. Indonesia has recently become moreand more immersed in television culture and this has undoubtedly changedthe role of the traditional arts. Television, movies, and the secularizationof wayang kulit and other traditional art forms through Islamization andIndonesias modernization, has presented the dhalang with more challenges

to maintain the interest of increasingly sophisticated (or, perhaps more accu-rately, jaded) village audiences. Nonetheless, despite the rise of media tech-nologies, wayang kulit is still extremely vital in Banyumas, even in the faceof Indonesias rapid changes.15

My other main informant was Radn Soepardjo, a talented artist (in pup-pet making, pen and ink drawing, and painting), an elderly local aristocrat(a direct descendent of the Banyumas regents and a retired government offi-cial) and scholar knowledgeable in local history, lore, and culture. Sadly, PakParjo (as his friends called him) died shortly after my return to the UnitedStates from an illness that began during my final few months in Java in 1987.

He was also one of the two artists I commissioned to draw the illustrationsof Banyumas-style puppets shown in the appendix to this study. We spentmany pleasant afternoons together sipping tea or coffee discussing the vari-ous unique characteristics of Banyumas puppetry, puppet-making, dialect (asopposed to Javanese language), history, food, humor, religious practices, andmany other topics.

Another important informant was Dhalang Ki Sugito Purbocarito, theacknowledged master of wayang kulit in the Banyumas region and Suginos

15 For more on traditional wayang within a changing Indonesian society, see further Anderson1965. J. Becker (1980a) discusses the place of traditional gamelan music in modern Indonesia.



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main rival puppeteer. Pak Gito, as he is affectionately called, is locally and

nationally recognized as the leading expert of Banyumas style shadow pup-petry. He is one of the principle authors of the book, Pathokan pedhalangan

gagrag Banyumas [Principles of the Art of Wayang in the Style of Banyumas],an important source of information on Banyumas shadow puppetry.16 Otherinformants included the members of Purba Kencana (his troupe), DhalangKi Taram, and Dr. Sudarmadji (a medical doctor and local historian, as wellas expert on local genealogies). A crucial general informant was the interna-tionally known Indonesian author, Ahmad Tohari, whose novels brought theregion of Banyumas to the world. His outstanding novel, Ronggeng dukuh

paruk (The dancing girl of Paruk village) has been translated into severallanguages (including Dutch, German, Japanese, and, more recently English).I first met Pak Tohari, as he is called, in 1986 after learning he lived close by. Ifound out that he had moved back to his birthplace (the village of Tinggarjaya,about a half hour drive from Purwokerto) after living in Jakarta for severalyears. Meeting him was extremely fortunate for me since he not only knows agreat deal about the region (indeed, in some ways, his novels read like ethnog-raphies) but he is also an extremely intelligent and well educated man. I oftenvisited him to discuss my research and his insights have been invaluable.

Finally, Sugino, whose wayang performance I translated for this study,

was also a supportive albeit somewhat enigmatic friend and informant. Ioccasionally visited him at his home, during those rare times when he wasnot performing. My meetings with him were often filled with long and some-what uneasy silences. When he did talk, it was with a voice raspy and tiredfrom many performances. I had the impression that all of his energy wentinto performing since he seemed so animated behind the puppet screen yetalmost lethargic off stage. Yet, Sugino is known to be reserved and cautiousin his social relationships. Despite his local fame, his notorious pleasure ingambling, and the myths regarding his sexual charisma among his femalesingers, I found Sugino to be shy and self-effacing. A man of few words, he

spoke honestly about himself and the tradition; indeed, I heard little of thecompetitive posturing so common among other dhalang.

Some notes on the translated performance

The transcription and translation used in this study are based upon aneight-hour commercial recording of a studio performance that Sugino and

16 This book is authored collectively by members of the local chapter of Sekretariat NasionalPewayangan Indonesia (National Secretariat of Indonesian Shadow Puppetry). The reference islisted in my Bibliography under the acronym, Sena Wangi.



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his troupe made in December 1985 (Kusuma Recording KWK 097, entitledSrikandhi Mbarang Lengger). In 1998, I visited the Kusuma recording companyin Klaten and purchased the master tapes and all rights to the recorded per-formance. While I retain rights of distribution, copyright ownership belongsto Purba Kencana under the guardianship of its past musical director, RasitoPurbopangrawit. All royalties from this book and the recording will goRasito.

There are, of course, a number of other studies that examine wayang kulitperformances in their entirety.17 Few, however, attempt to unpack one partic-ular performance while also providing detailed background information onthe tradition and the people involved in performing wayang kulit. The onlystudy thus far to provide a transcription and translation of an entire perform-ance is the recently published work by Andrew Weintraub (2001). Weintraubprovides a superb recording (on a set of six compact disks, released throughMulticultural Media), along with well-written and carefully researched (albe-it brief) background notes, of a complete performance of Sundanese wayang

golk (three dimensional wooden puppetry), another extremely important tra-dition of puppet theater in Indonesia. Future scholars may want to comparemy study with that of Weintraubs (since both include audio recordings alongwith text transcriptions and translations).18

When I decided to make a transcription and translation of an entire per-formance of wayang kulit, I realized I needed to hear the dhalang, the femalesingers, and the gamelan musicians with approximately equal definition.My two microphones and small cassette tape recorder (a Sony WalkmanProfessional) could not possibly have provided the clarity and quality ofsound reproduction necessary for such a task. Furthermore, live performancesin Banyumas are filled with a variety of ambient noise: the audience chatter,

17 See, for example, Arps 1987; Brandon 1970; Feinstein et alia 1986; Pink 1977 and Weintraub

2001. Arps provides a recording, with summary notes, of an abbreviated version of wayangperformed in Holland; Brandons well-known study contains what might be considered textualscripts for (as opposed to transcriptions/translations of) three abbreviated and idealized perfor-mances of wayang. Feinstein et alia is a major work (in three volumes) with textual transcriptions(without translations) of different versions of several stories as well as summary plot outlinesof numerous other stories. (Note that this study was prepared as a kind of resource, mainly forIndonesian/Javanese researchers.) Pink provides a transcription and translation (into German)of a wayang performance, along with detailed notes and annotations. However, it contains somemodifications to the narrative, made at the request of the puppeteer, and does not include arecording of the performance. The most significant work is that of Andrew Weintraub (2002). Hisrecording and notes of a Sundanese wayang performance also include (as electronic files on oneof the compact disks) the transcription and translations (in English as well as Indonesian) of theSundanese narration.18 For more details on Sundanese wayang golk , see Weintraubs PhD dissertation (Weintraub1997).



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signals of food and toy vendors, nearby motorcycles and automobiles, raindrumming on the corrugated roof of the stage, booming echoes of the ampli-fied voices of the dhalang or singers, and so forth. Commercial recordingsare ideal for study because they are made in sound-proof studios with fewextraneous sounds, using as many as sixteen microphones, a multiple-trackmixing board, and other high quality electronic equipment.

To be sure, the recorded performance is not live since it did not takeplace in a natural setting (that is, outside on a temporary stage and in fronta large audience of village spectators) nor was it part of a larger ritual event.However, Sugino performs for studio recordings much like he performs forlive situations: he narrates continuously for eight hours, without rest andwithout re-recording a single utterance. He is also clearly aware of the dis-tribution of his commercial cassette recordings they are sold almost exclu-sively within the Banyumas region. In other words, Suginos recorded per-formances, like his live performances, are aimed specifically at a Banyumasaudience.

These arguments, then, make up my rationale for choosing to use acommercial cassette recording as the source for my transcriptions andtranslation. My general comments and discussions, however, are basedupon interviews and observations I made in Banyumas during my initial

fieldwork of eighteen months in 1986-87 and again when I returned to con-duct follow-up research in 1994 and 1998. Altogether, I watched almost onehundred different live wayang kulit performances, most of them by Sugino

but many also by other dhalang, and I discussed these performances withboth my main informants as well as other musicians, dhalang, and audiencemembers. Thus, my study closely examines a product, the commerciallyrecorded performance in transcription and translation, and a larger proc-ess, the performance event. Most important, my study attempts to get at thelocally framed knowledge needed to understand both the performance andthe performance event.

I translated the title of the recording as Srikandhi Dances Lnggr toemphasize the intersection of Javanese universals (Srikandhi, a heroine fromthe ancient Hindu-Javanese epic,Mahabharata) with local particularities (theuniquely regional performance tradition featuring female street dancers/singers, known as lnggr). While similar stories are told in other regions ofCentral Java, and while the performance is in many aspects quite conven-tional, it is also clearly aimed at a local, specifically Banyumas, audience. Asthe title makes clear, this version of the story assumes specific kinds of knowl-edge that are locally oriented, based on practices and social values unique tothe Banyumas region.

The title might be literally translated into English as Srikandhi performsas an itinerant dancing girl, or perhaps Srikandhi wanders about as a danc-



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ing girl, but I have chosen to simply call it Srikandhi dances lnggr. I haveintentionally left lnggr in its Javanese form because the term means morethan itinerant female dancing. It refers to a performance tradition (discussedin detail later on) peculiar to the region of Banyumas and connotes a distinc-tively local perspective of wayang kulit. Thus, the title, Srikandhi danceslnggr, takes on a much deeper significance: Srikandhi, a major characterin the Hindu-Javanese epicMahabharata, becomes an itinerant dancing girl inthe Banyumas dance tradition known as lnggr.19 It reflects and highlightsthe intriguing juxtaposition of cultural universals and local particulars fea-tured in this and all performances of Banyumas-style wayang kulit.

The story I transcribed and translated is well-known among local fansof wayang kulit and has been performed, at one time or another, by manydhalang in the Banyumas region. It is about adultery, abduction, revenge, anddivine retribution in a characteristically Banyumas fashion that is, with con-siderable humor at times. In the story, Srikandhi, the wife of the great warriorknight Arjuna in theMahabharata, becomes a wandering dancing girl to saveher husband who has been abducted by a foreign king. She is accompaniedby her faithful clown servants, Ptruk, Garng, and Bawor, who act as hermusicians. However, this theme only constitutes a small part of a larger story

of political intrigue between two warring clans, the Mahabharata (discussedin Chapter II).

19 For a more detailed description and discussion of the tradition of lnggr, see my commen-tary (as a footnote) to item 818 in the English translation.

asia srikandhi

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