Part 2

So the meaning of the mentioned scholars _doesn’t explain these 3 images_ whereas Siam’s king, on his visiting this temple in 1896, satisfactorily interpreted the north-westerly image, wearing, like he does himself, a Buddha image in his crown, to be perhaps the king of the buddhistic empire, under whose reign the Båråbudur was built.

Further he supposed the other image to be the latter’s not-buddhistic father and predecessor whilst both father and son (the latter afterwards became a buddhist), might have been honoured by their descendants who brought together the two images in this sanctuary under the _blessing_ of the only Buddha, the redeemer of this world. So this Buddha image has nothing to do with any _Dhyâni-Buddha_, and by no means with the _first_ of them.

This explanation of the king-Buddhist became so comprehensible and logical to me that I could not but accept and defend it against others, and so I came to the hypothesis that the ashes of the two kings (but certainly the _son’s_ ashes) must have been buried in this _tyanḍi_. Their urns may be found back again in a deep pit under the throne of the Buddha, or under the seats of the other images, just as we had found such urns of ashes in other tyanḍis, in square pits, under the pedestals of the images, and generally adorned with some figures of precious metal and provided with some coloured precious stones, the emblems of the _seven treasures_, the _sapta ratna_ which were given to the dead.

These pits occupied the whole depth of the foundation of these temples, under the floor of the inner-rooms which may have been intentionally built so high above the surface of the earth. This, perhaps, is also the reason of the heavy substructure of _tyanḍi Mĕndut_.

Had _Van de Kamer_ remained charged with the work of restoration to these ruins the Resident of Ked̆u would then have granted us to examine this affair more closely before the throne was rebuilt again, and the Buddha image replaced upon it.

But this didn’t happen.

That Siam’s king declared the two images before the entrance to be the representations of the buddhistic king’s parents with their children seemed more than reasonable to me, especially, because of all difficulties being solved then. Didn’t _Mayâ_, like any other mother of Buddha, die seven days after his birth? And then, all writings known to me, don’t mention anything about _Siddhârta_’s brothers or sisters. And all these children can’t possibly be angels or celestials, because in the smaller panels, above the groups in the porch, we always see them hewn floating in the air.

However reasonable this idea of the hînayîstic king may have seemed to me, yet I could not maintain this when I was told by Mr. A. Foucher, the great knower of the ancient Indian Buddhism, that in Old _Gandhâra_ he often saw the Buddha, just as is the case here, sculptured in the _mudrâ_ of preaching, standing between the two Bodhisatthvas, _Avalokitésvara_ and _Manjusri_. This, among others, is to be seen at _Sârnâth_ in the northern environs of _Bénarès_ which passes for the very place where the _Buddha_ should have preached for the first time. This is ordinarily indicated by means of the tyakra between two gazelles, and consequently hewn at the foot of Buddha’s throne. Mr. _A. Foucher_ also taught me that my fellow-country-man, Dr. _J. Ph. Vogel_, leader of the archaeological service in British India, rightly declared the two demi-relievoes in the porch (volume 4th of the “_Bulletins de l’école française d’Extrême-Orient_”) to be the representations of _Hâritî_ and _Kuvera_, the goddess and the god of the _Yakshas_ with some of their children. In many a cloister in _Gandhâra_ he saw the Yakshî _Hâritî_ represented with one child at her breast, and that, after she herself, who is said to have been the former personification of small-pox (_variolae_), had been converted by the _Buddha_.

He had taken away one of her 500 children, and remonstrated with her on the sorrow she gave the mothers of the children killed by her, in consequence of which she totally changed her character, became truly converted and afterwards honoured as a patroness of children.

I am not going to expatiate about the artistic value of this produce of the ancient plastic arts in Old India. One should see them oneself and then judge whether the Indian sculptor knew how to chisel out living thoughts which are not less striking and beautiful than those of the Greeks in the age of _Pericles_, and much better hewn than those of the Egyptians in the time of the hieroglyphics, of _Memphis_ and _Thebae_, of _Carnak_ and _Philae_[12].

But there are more things to be seen in the sanctuarium of tyanḍi Mĕndut.

The space within the four heavy walls is not a square or rectangular one, but rather a trapezoid with parallel front- and back walls. Its side-walls somewhat join each other from front to back. I don’t know any other example of deviation from the rectangular form, and therefore try to find its meaning in the sculptor’s effort to increase the impression the large images make upon the visitor, by slightly supporting its perspective.

Two niches have been spared in each of these side walls, but not symmetrically like we see them hewn before the impressive image-group, and not behind it or on the back wall. Half way between the entrance and the two corners however, two similar niches adorn the front wall. All these six niches have been framed with the _garuḍa-nâga_ ornament, that is, with two composed serpent’s bodies whose tails disappear into the mule of a monstrous _garuḍa_ head we see above the vault of these niches, and whose outward turned heads are provided with a proboscis.

In each niche there lies a small lotus cushion but without any image. Even in 1834 during the digging up of the ruin buried under an overgrown mound, no images were found in- or outside these niches.

What then was the meaning of them?

They were explained to us by the French Indian architect _Henry Parmentier_ who spoke of analogical cases in Farther India [_Bulletins de l’école française d’Extrême Orient_][13]. Even there the temples closely related to the Hindu ruins in Java had _no_ windows or openings outside the entrance which opened into an equally dark porch; and as it was very dark inside the walls were provided with niches for lamps to light the images throning in these sanctuaries.

After mature consideration I came to the conclusion that the niches of tyanḍi Mĕndut must also have had this destination, and this may be the reason why all of them were affixed in front and opposite (not behind) the three images, so that I never doubted the four walls to have had _any other opening_ than the door which opened through the front wall into the almost equally dark porch.

This conviction of mine has been confirmed by some corresponding cases, among others, by the fact that the four still undamaged walls of the comparatively large inner-rooms of _tyanḍi Sévu_ in the plain of Parambanan, have no other opening but the door which gives entrance to the (eastern) porch. However, we don’t see any niche in the inner-room of _tyanḍi Kalasan_, perhaps because there was room enough in these two sanctuaries to place one or more lights before or on the altars which carried the _Buddha_ or _Târâ_ image.

In the main temples of the _Parambanan_ group, with the exception of _tyanḍi Shiva_, there was no place for these lights. The altar-shaped pedestals of the images were much smaller there, and round about them there was but little room.

This temple’s walls hewn with exquisitely modelled festoons had also no niches, and could not have had them unless one would have partly sacrificed its panels. But in all other, less spacious temples whose walls were unadorned, are still to be found simple and square formed stones, 2 of which we see in each side-wall, and 1 on every side of the entrance through the front wall, consequently just as the 6 niches in _tyanḍi Mĕndut_ and equally fit to the same purpose. Had not the front walls of these sanctuaries partly fallen down I am sure we then could see that they also had no windows above the entrances, and that neither the inner-rooms of _tyanḍis Sévu_ and _Kalasan_, nor the sanctuary of _tyanḍi Mĕndut_ ever had them till before some years when the president of the “_Oudheidkundige Commissie_” (board of antiquarian science) ordered these openings to be pierced through the front wall scarcely rebuilt by Van de Kamer. And that, _contrary_ to this architect’s official objections, and against my not-official but well argued warning. An irresponsible _deforming_, a _violation_ of the original architecture, a _desecration_ of a primevally pure style!

And this becomes much clearer to us when we raise our eyes, and fully _see_ how this polygonal hole spoils the harmony of the character of the pyramidical vault so beautifully thought, and which I mean to have once known as a closed whole.

Those who contemplate this pseudo-vault unprejudicedly will no more regret than I do, that such a thing could have happened without having been redressed up to this date. It is true, it would cost much labour again, and money too, but this labour and money would undoubtedly be far better accounted for than that which was uselessly spent to commit such an unpardonable mistake.

_Dr._ Brandes may have been deceived by the form of the hole the dropping stones had made _outside_ in the front wall above the entrance, and which he knew from engravings only, for, when he first visited this temple Van de Kamer had this wall erected again just as it once was, and without any other opening but the door. On account of analogical Indian ruins pictured in Fournerau’s and Porcher’s works, I stated elsewhere how the falling asunder of such walls which had been run up with hewn stones without mortar, are to form the very same angular lines of breach _Dr._ Brandes unrightly ascribed to the architect’s intention to build them so.

It is true that the front wall of the inner-room of _tyanḍi Sévu_ makes us think, from its inside at least, of such a _relievo vault_, but this had been entirely shut off to its outside, and consequently not likely to have ever done duty as a “light-case”[14]. Had _Dr._ Brandes taken van de Kamer’s objections and my warning into unprejudiced consideration, this meaning of his would not have been possible.

_Tyanḍi Mĕndut_ has the outward appearance of a quadrangle with a somewhat rectangular wing in the centre of each of its four sides.

Consequently an icosahedral resting on an equally polygonal foundation of larger extent. The north-western forebuilding, which reached much farther, and formerly had been separately roofed in, contained the porch to which a broad and fourteen-tread staircase will lead us even now. This staircase is flanked by heavy banisters formed of composed _naga_ and _garuḍa_ heads we are going to know somewhere else.

However, among the sculptures we see on the outer-wall, Mr. M. Foucher recognised not without some reserve the main image on the _northeast_ side as the eight-armed mahâyânistic deity _Tyundâ_ or _Tsyundâ_, standing between the _Bodhisattvas Avalokitésvara_ and _Manjusri_; on the wall to the _south-east_ (the hind-part thus) he thought he saw _Avalokitésvara_ himself, four-armed, and between two _Taras_; and on the _south-western_ side he saw _Tsyundâ_ once more, but now four-handed and standing between the very same two _Bodhisattvas_ we see on the north-easterly outer-wall. On the side-panels of _this_ wall he recognised the _Bodhisattva_ _Manjusri_, on the _south-east_ side _Vajrâpani_, the _Bodhisattva_ of the _second_ _Dhyâni-Buddha_; and on the outer-wall to the _south-west_ he saw _Manjusri_ again, the former with his sword and the latter with his book on a blue lotus. All the small series sculptured on the outsides of these heavy stairs refer to ancient legends.

The king of _Siam_ told us that in the whole of his buddhistic empire there was only one image which, though much more damaged, could be compared to the colossal Buddha image we see here, whilst his brother, prince _Damrong_, called the Mĕndut Buddha _priceless_.

In 1896, and afterwards in 1901, H. M. rendered due homage to the _Buddha_ image by a devout _sĕmbah_ (salaam) and by strewing _sĕmboja_-flowers (_Plumeria acutifolia_ Poir) in its lap; and so did the Queen.

Tyanḍi Pawon.

V.

Leaving the native village of Mĕndut behind us, crossing shortly after the small iron bridge built over the river _Elo_, and after having been ferried over the Praga, when a mile’s drive farther westward, we arrive at the little dukuh of _Bråjånålå_ (or _Bråjånalan_) where we see the very small _tyanḍi Pawon_ before our having turned into the broad _kĕnari_-avenue which leads through the native village of _Bårå_ to the hill of the Båråbudur. Some years ago this _tyanḍi_ had been pulled down and afterwards rebuilt again. Its name which means “kitchen” is clear enough to make us understand how the Javanese would have shown the striking contrast between this small temple and the other more extensive one, as if it were a kitchen compared with a mansion or temple.

Why then was this small ruin pulled down and afterwards rebuilt again?

It once stood there under the shadow, partly upon and among the roots of a gigantic tree, the most beautiful _randu alas_ or “wild cotton-tree” (_Bombax malabaricus_ D. C.) I ever saw. A whole, so strikingly beautiful that it charmed the eyes of all who understood a little the language of lines and forms (and colours), and of harmony and contrast. “An image of life which kills, and rises again from death.”

In 1901 conducting the Jena professor Ernst Haeckel to this spot, when on our journey home from the ruins of the Båråbudur, this scholar so sensible of nature’s beauty drew this rare scene in his sketch-book, and devoted himself for two or three hours to the contemplation of this combined creation of art and nature.

And even to him the mutilation this majestic tree had already undergone in its frame of roots beautifully formed by nature, seemed to be a sacrilege _against_—just as very long ago the destruction of ancient art—_by_ Nature. But the latter worked quite unconsciously whereas the profaning hand of man _did not_.

I know full well the most insignificant remainders of this ancient Art to be of great value to Science; as well as the creations of Nature; in my opinion however, it would have been by no means necessary to fell this gigantic tree in order to preserve this small produce of art, though others with a less developed sense for nature’s beauty may be inclined to think otherwise.

The architect van de Kamer, one of the two members of the former Båråbudur Committee however, did not. He also thought it wrong to sacrifice this tree “not because the ruin doesn’t show us anything else we don’t know better preserved elsewhere; but because it might have been pulled down stone by stone, and then ... rebuilt again _without_ killing the tree itself.” That which had been hidden under the ... tree on the north side was crushed long ago, and I therefore thought the felling down of this tree a useless deed and _consequently_ a mistake. Attending in 1900 the Dutch Governor-general _Roozeboom_ to these ruins we were photographed under this tree by his adjutant the naval officer _de Booy_, but the photographic productions soon faded. The following year I accompanied the _Padang_ photographer C. Nieuwenhuis to _tyanḍi Pawon_ spending one night in the Båråbudur pasanggrahan (resthouse). Next day he successfully succeeded in photographing the glorious group which still speaks of the truth I asserted, though the tree itself has been lost for ever.

The small ruin has some conformity to the many, almost as large grave temples, which surround the main temple of _tyanḍi Sévu_, in Parambanan valley, in four rectangles. Probably, also to those surrounding the terrace of the larger ruins of the _Parambanan_ group in three quadrangles, still, these are no truisms, because out of the 157 small _tyanḍis_ we dug up we found nothing else but their foundations only, and a few altar-shaped pedestals (without any escape-pipe for the holy-water the different sculptures were aspersed with, so that these pedestals are likely to have carried Buddha images) such as are to be seen in the small temples of _tyanḍi Sévu_. Other ones now adorn the premises of the residences of leaseholders living in these environs, for instance, at the _tyanḍi Sévu_ sugar-factory.

But this conformity is not a perfect one.

A small square room with a very small porch we enter by means of some narrow treads flanked by the _Garuḍa-Naga_ ornament, but this room is empty and unadorned, and I haven’t known it otherwise for more than 30 years. There is only a shallow niche in each side-wall in front of the place where once may have stood a pedestal and image.

On account of their height and breadth I estimated these niches too shallow for an image, a long time ago, and before I knew their destination. Just as in tyanḍi Mĕndut these niches may have been consequently used to light the inner-part by means of little bronze or earthenware lamps we also found elsewhere, and all this in spite of the very small and narrow air-openings, even those in the back wall which, though newly covered, only admit a very dim light now that the small porch, separately roofed in, has been rebuilt and covered again even when the two small doors remained open.

I suppose that, just as in other such tyanḍis, there must have stood in this dark inner-room opposite to the (westerly) entrance a small cubic pedestal without any sidelong escape-pipe, and thereupon a small image of the Buddha or of another buddhistic greatness. Beneath there, in a small square pit, may have been buried an urn containing the ashes of a _guru_ or of some monk of high standing, and finally I suppose this small mausoleum to have been built by their surviving relations who _generally_ but not _slavishly_ kept within the provision of the existing examples of such a style of building.

The outer-walls of this small temple have been also hewn with demi-relievoes of _Bodhisattvas_ and _bodhi_-trees with _gandharvas_.

It is an extraordinary thing that even the entrance of this incontestably true buddhistic temple had not been made on the east side but to the west. But as for the small tyanḍis _Sévu_ and _Parambanan_ they also did not follow this rule.

Tyanḍi Båråbudur.

VI.

After having walked through the umbrageous _kĕnari_-avenue and the village of _Bårå_ which we meet on our way when starting from the dukuh of _Bråjånålå_, we shall arrive within half an hour at the hill upon which we see stand the pasanggrahan, and the colossal ruin. By carriage in less than a quarter of an hour.

The first sight of this wonder of architecture is a rather disappointing one because, when standing at the end of the avenue, we only perceive the outer-walls of its south-easterly angle.

But this becomes quite otherwise as soon as we have reached the top of the hill, and got out of our carriages in front of the mentioned pasanggrahan lying opposite the north-west corner of the ruin, but which has been built as high as its foot. We then overlook the enormous mass of stone gradually developing itself in majestic lines and forms, in all the terraces, following each other in a regular range of succession till we see rise in their centre the high cupola now covered again by a cone with three sun-shades[15].

If we want to understand the overwhelming beauty of this ruin we must first try to know the whole in its different parts, and best of all, examine to what purpose this work of art had been produced by the Buddhists of Central Java who are said to have existed there more than eleven centuries ago.

I suppose that, when their predecessors left India for Java, they are likely to have brought a vase or urn containing some real or pretended ashes of the Buddha himself in order to bury them under a simple hill or in an artless _dagob_ as soon as they had reached the place of their settling, to render these ashes to the worship of the believers, and to make them suppose as if this hill or cairn were the real grave of the Master himself.

But after a lapse of an uncountable number of years or, perhaps some centuries, this colony became a large and powerful empire, and—just as the Christians first assembled in grottoes or catacombs, and afterwards built churches rich and magnificent like St. Peter’s at Rome, and the Cologne cathedral—the Buddhists also disregarded their simple cairn, and wanted something better, something more worthy and beautiful, in consequence of which they built a _dagob_ large and in solemn style, surrounded by many gradually descending terraces, walled in and covered with sculptures abundantly hewn, which was to speak, with the clearness of plastic art or in the poetic language of symbolism, of the Master and his doctrine, of the Redeemer and redemption, of life’s insufficiency and of victory after death.[16]

He who would approach this dagob to sacrifice his flowers to the Buddha, to meditate his life there, and perhaps, to utter his homage in a prayer[17] was obliged to mount all these terraces, and walk along these sculptures which became, as it were, a revival of the Buddha and his doctrine which taught him the dissolving in the _nirvâna_, the approaching of the infinite _not-to-be_ as the end purpose of all life, and the deliverance of all the miseries of a sensual existence[18].

Many a sculpture reminded him there that self-conquest, self-command, singleness and purity of heart, veracity and meekness, and the love for all beings, either man or beast, were to lead him to that final purpose.

And if not blind with his eyes open, he reached at last the Master’s grave in a frame of mind so pure and noble, so serious and well-meant that the pilgrimage itself became a step on the right path.

But not always, and not to every one.

For even the impressions received there were of a transient kind, and it may be that many a one who went there for form’s or appearances’ sake only, remained as insensible of these impressions as he was of the majestic vista the highest terraces displayed deep down and far off on the surrounding mountains, valleys and plains, a view most astonishing, and culminating in the satisfaction of mounting the ruin even at this day.

Let us now follow the way the pilgrim took, and mount the hill which carries this heavy mass of stone.

Standing on the small plain at its north-west corner, in front of the _pasanggrahan_ where we now find comparatively nice accommodation, and where once may have stood the cloister or dwelling of the monks who took care of the _stûpa_, we overlook the whole scene: a polygonal mass of dark-grey stone, a chaos of dome-shaped roofs and cones, of re-entering walls and projecting frame work, crowned by a higher situated middle-cupola the lost cone of which van Erp renewed after the copy of found fragments, but which was afterwards removed again.

We approach and ascend the outer-terrace, a tridodecahedral or rather a quadrangle, each side projecting twice outside in the shape of a rectangle, and encircling the equally polygonal temple.

This terrace has nothing to do with the original style of building. For about two yards deeper there lies another one, formerly extending three yards farther to outside, but now for the greater part hidden under a burden of 5500 cubic metres of stone[19].