Ancient empire of Majapahit comes to life

By C.G. Miller

SURABAYA (JP): On a recent visit to Indonesia's second largest city, Surabaya, I happened to be strolling by the convention rooms of my hotel, when a door was opened by an exited guest. As the door hung on its hinges, I glimpsed the speaker at the rostrum, and heard a fragment of his speech that was to change what had become an otherwise mundane visit, "... the nearby temples of the Majapahit empire."

Suddenly I thought of how this ancient kingdom had been brought to life from dusty texts by the force of my history lecturer's enthusiasm and how he tried to pass this excitement on to me. When I left college, thinking all was said and done, I closed the books and got on with the here and now.

But from the time I first started to travel in Indonesia, coincidence conspired so I would not forget Majapahit, as I saw roads, restaurants, and hotels bearing its almost mythical name, and many others besides with the names of its two principle heroes, Gajah Mada and Hayam Wuruk.

Yet strangely, as I wandered the archipelago, I never so much as tripped over a hint of the empire's ruins, like one does of Borobudur. I admit I never went out of my way to find them, but they hadn't really struck me as having an existence until after the convention room door swung shut.

Stopping in my tracks, I spun on my heels and pushed the door open, finding a seat at the back of the room. With growing anticipation I waited until the speaker's presentation was finished, so I could get directions to the empire of my long finished historical studies.

The speaker reminded the audience that the Majapahit empire had ruled with an iron fist and unified the entire archipelago. Citing the achievements of this ancient nation-state, Indonesian freedom fighters strove for six centuries to re-ignite the flames of pan-Indonesian nationalism that had burned so brightly under Majapahit's shining sun.

Yet the pan-Indonesian state was not first mooted by Majapahit kings; that distinction goes to Kertanagara, the last king of the Singosari dynasty, Majapahit's immediate predecessor.

Unfortunately, his place as an Indonesian nationalist hero was denied by a pincer movement of historical circumstance. The mighty Kublai Khan, supreme Mongol ruler, sent a force against Singosari in 1292, in response to Kertanagara's rejection of the Khan's friendship.

With the Mongol threat just over the blue line of the horizon, and uncertainty in the realm, Kertanagara's brother-in-law Jayakatwang laid siege to the palace, catching the king in the middle of an orgy. A ritual prescribed by Singosari's religious cult to prepare for battle, some scholars say.

Whatever the reasons for Kertanagara's dalliance in the face of attack, Jayakatwang, having caught the king with his sarong around his ankles, put him to death and assumed the throne.

When the Mongol forces landed on Java, they found the target of their wrath already dispatched heavenward, and his usurper making peaceful noises. Taking full advantage of the lull in proceedings, Vijaya, Kertanagara's rightful heir, gained the ear of the Mongol commander, seeking his assistance to take his destined place on the throne, in exchange for recognition of Kublai Khan's lordship over Java.

Betrayal

Vijaya, with the Mongol force behind him, easily defeated Jayakatwang, then in a betrayal of Shakespearean proportions, Vijaya fell upon his now trusting allies, hounding them back to their ships and the Asian mainland. Erasing the memories of Jayakatwang's short reign, Vijaya destroyed the old palace and started afresh on the fertile plains of the Brantas river valley, at a place he called Majapahit, after the bitter maja fruit that grew in abundance there.

Equipped with directions to the town of Truwulen, on the river banks of the lower Brantas, I set off on the morning after the seminar, in search of the remains of Vijaya's empire. Leaving Surabaya before sunrise I traveled the short section of the city toll road, then emerged into the countryside. Darkness gave way to pre-dawn light as cityscapes changed to rural scenes that have probably remained the same since Majapahit was established at the end of the 13th century.

Bullocks urged on by farmers plowed waterlogged fields, with small nurseries of rice in their corners, holding the next crop, waiting for the beasts of burden to finish their work.

Entering Truwulen, I turned off the highway, arriving at Candi Wringin Lawang as dawn was breaking. The temple, one of the finest remaining examples of the East Javan split gates, is sited on a small patch of lawn, bordered by frangipani trees. Whether their presence indicates that the temple is a memorial or if in the restoration process they were planted in honor of the long dead empire, I know not.

As birdsong greeted the day, the temple's red sandstone blazed in the sunrise and not far off farmers, who were at work long before I arrived, tilled the soil, raising a fecund smell. I watched the sun rise slowly over Mt. Penanggungan, in the distance. Its near-perfect volcanic cone gave rise to the Majapahit myth that it was the holy Hindu mountain Mahameru, transported from India by the god Vishnu at the dawn of time.

Described by archaeologists as the entrance to an important complex of Majapahit buildings long since lost to the corrosive effects of the steamy Javan environment, the date of construction is thought to have been sometime during the reign of Hayam Wuruk, the empire's most revered king.

Hayam Wuruk's reign has long been associated with the achievements of Gajah Mada, his able prime minister. Like his great-grandfather, Kertanagara, Hayam Wuruk much enjoyed the pursuit of lusty religious rituals, leaving the governance of the kingdom to others.

In reality this only continued the pattern Gajah Mada had established, when he engineered the death of Majapahit's second king, Jayanagara. Having risen under the king's guidance, from personal bodyguard to trusted minister, Gajah Mada had waited patiently to revenge Jayanagara's wanton enslavement of his wife.

In return for delivering the throne to Tribhuvana, the slain monarch's older sister, Gajah Mada was made the empire's prime minister in 1330, and remained so until his death in 1364, during which time he was the real ruler of Majapahit.

As the power behind the throne Gajah Mada's determination was ultimately responsible for the Majapahit empire's rise to greatness. The beginning of this process is often cited by scholars as his oath of allegiance in front of the council of state in 1331, in which he vowed never to rest until Nusantara was united.

Confidence

Walking around Candi Bajang Ratu, some kilometers southwest of Candi Wringin Lawang, the temple's beauty spoke of the confidence of its builders and the greatness of the empire. Ascending the stairs of the tall slender structure to its singular doorway, I looked out on fields of sugarcane and tried to imagine what had stood before the temple all those centuries ago, for surely this was just but one of many classical Majapahit tapered spires that dotted the ancient capital. As I stood reflecting on the empire's fall from grace, the funereal fragrance of frangipani carried to me on the wind.

When Tribhuvana's son, Hayam Wuruk, came of age in 1350, she abdicated in his favor, and Gajah Mada's hold on power was secure. The 15th century Javanese Pararaton or Book of Kings, records Majapahit's dependent states at the time of Hayam Wuruk's coronation as being many and far-flung. Its authors recognized that Gajah Mada was responsible, not the young king. All of Java, Bali, Sumatra, Borneo, and parts of the Malay peninsula as well as places as far removed as the Molaccas and northern Australia were said to be under Majapahit control.

Whether these "dependent states" were really under the direct rule of the empire by force of arms or were just vassal states paying feudal tribute to a distant overlord may never be known. What is sure is that Majapahit's domination of the region can be directly attributed to Gajah Mada's political skill, for on his death the council of state declared that there was no one with the ability to take on his role, and distributed his official duties between four people.

Of Hayam Wuruk after his prime minister's death not much is known, though from a poem in his honor, Nagarakertagama, it can be understood that he didn't suddenly develop an interest in the affairs of state when the opportunity presented itself; he is recorded as continuing to enjoy life to the full, "Truly King Hayam Wuruk is a great potentate. He is without cares and worries. He indulges in all pleasures. All beautiful maidens in Janggala and Kediri are selected for him, as many as possible, and ... are brought into his harem."

Candi Tikus, not too far down the road from Candi Bajang Ratu, looked to me to be one Hayam Wuruk's favorite spots. These bathing pools looked like the sort of place, the lusty king would have brought his harem on a sunny day for a splash in the refreshing waters. Almost as if to echo the past, the pools now resounded with the croaking of mating frogs.

But it was Hayam Wuruk's lustiness that planted the seed of the slow decline of the Majapahit empire. Having lived a long life of royal indulgence, he died in 1389, leaving a daughter by his queen, and a son by a favored concubine. Wanting to provide for his children, he divided the empire between them, setting up a destructive civil war that started not long after his demise.

Of Majapahit's last century not much is known, but the dynamic spread of Islam is often said to have been the deciding factor in its eventual collapse. Yet Islam was already widespread in the empire by the time Hayam Wuruk came to the throne, as evidenced by the many Islamic tombs dating from 1350, bearing the inscription of Majapahit's shining sun, that dot the Truwulen plains.

While the end of the empire may well have been due to more commonplace causes, such as economic collapse and incompetent leadership, if legend is to be believed, then it is to the tomb of the princess of Champa, in central Truwulen, that we must look to for some clue to Majapahit's final demise. For her legend has it that she married the last monarch of the empire and converted him to Islam. Though what bearing this may have on her husband's terminal reign, the legend doesn't say.

With dark falling, I left the princess's tomb and headed back to Surabaya, delighted because an ancient empire I'd thought of as really only existing in dusty history books had come to life, as I walked around its red sandstone temples under a blazing east Javan sun, the result of a comment overheard in passing.