Traditional Indonesian Dance Calls Angel to Earth

Arriving at Lara Djonggrang restaurant in Menteng, Central Jakarta, on the evening of Halloween, I was surprised to see a traditional market occupying the courtyard.

Illuminated with torches and oil lamps, open bamboo huts showcased traditional delicacies from Cirebon, West Java, such as tahu gejrot (crisp-fried tofu bathed in a thin, dark sauce flavored with green chili and shallots), empal gentong (tender beef in creamy turmeric and coconut soup) and nasi lengko (steamed rice served with marinated tofu, soybean cake and vegetables).

Hawkers dressed in traditional clothes shouted out the names of their offerings to passersby. Guests — Indonesians and expatriates alike — sat together chatting at long wooden tables. The atmosphere made me think of the Kasepuhan night market in Cirebon.

“We want to bring the history and culture of Indonesia back to life by showcasing local culinary delights and almost-forgotten traditional cultures,” said Annette Anhar, the general manager of Lara Djonggrang.

To this end, once a month the restaurant presents a cultural night featuring traditional dishes and a dance performance from a different region of the country.

On the evening of Oct. 31, the focus was on Cirebon and the performance was “Tari Turun Sintren” (“Dance of the Descending Angel”), a mystical show traditionally danced by a beautiful young virgin in a trance.

Cirebon, a quiet town on the northern coast of West Java, has a unique history and traditions. A sultanate, it was founded by Sunan Gunung Jati, a 16th century Muslim religious leader. It later became an important port town during the Dutch colonial era. Although the people of Cirebon are generally devout Muslims, most still maintain ancient Javanese traditions and mystical beliefs.

“Tari Turun Sintren” originated from a traditional game among Cirebonese fishermen and is considered both sacred and magical. In the old days, fishermen’s wives and children played the game on the beach at night as they waited for their husbands and fathers to return from the sea.

“The performance is directed by a pawang sintren [a shaman who prepares and oversees the entire dance performance]” said Eddy Bagja, a representative of the Cirebon tourism office.

It’s not easy to qualify to be a Turun Sintren dancer. “Prior to the performance, the dancer has to be ‘redeemed,’ ” said Mang Tarman, the shaman.

This means the dancer has to conduct mutih , which involves consuming nothing but rice and water for seven consecutive days. Upon completion of the mutih, just before the dance, the girl must take a bath with seven kinds of flowers in the water to sanctify her body for spiritual possession.

To this day the dance is performed during major traditional celebrations in Cirebon, such as Nadran, a festival of the sea.

Interviewed prior to the Halloween performance, the 18-year-old dancer, Nita, confessed to being nervous, as well as excited. “I just want to get it over with,” she said.

Nita has been dancing the “Turun Sintren” since she was 14 years old. “I want to perpetuate this unique tradition,” she said. “I hope people will learn to appreciate our cultural heritage.”

The props for the show include copper jugs of various sizes, a hollow bamboo gong, a floor mat and a chicken cage with a yellow velvet covering. The show also features four female vocalists who sing traditional songs to summon a spirit to descend upon the young dancer.

Hajjah Nani Kusnaeni, the leader of the Sintren Sinar Bahari group performing at the restaurant, said the dance represented Indonesia’s struggle for independence.

“During the colonial era, the people of Cirebon protested against the colonial occupation by staging this show,” she said. The dance boosted their courage, as well as symbolized their undying hope for freedom.

At Lara Djonggrang, the performance was staged in the parking lot of the restaurant, just below a two-century-old banyan tree decorated with ribbons made from young coconut leaves. A huge gapura (traditional Javanese teak gate) with a long piece of Cirebonese batik featuring a pattern of paksi naga liman (mythical creatures that combine an eagle, a dragon and an elephant) served as the backdrop to the stage.

At the start of the show, the bamboo mat was set in the center of the stage with the chicken cage sitting on top of it. Male musicians began beating the jugs and bamboo instruments rhythmically. The singers began a haunting, repetitive melody in Cirebonese.

During the song, the shaman, carrying an earthen bowl containing burning incense, blew smoke in all directions.

“He is asking for anyone who might possess similar powers not to disturb our performance,” Nani said.

Dressed in a batik blouse, Nita, the dancer, stood between the shaman and the chicken cage. The shaman covered her body, from neck to ankles, with plastic ropes. He then blew smoke from the incense into her face. Nita immediately fainted.

Two hundred guests fell silent as they watched her limp body being swathed in a white shroud, like the dead. The singing grew louder and more persistent, as the white shroud suddenly became empty. The singing continued, with lyrics that translated into English as: “Please come down, dancer. The dancer is actually an angel. She then finds a flower, let’s swing her around.”

“They are singing to summon an angel from the heavens to come down and set her free,” Nani said.

It was a hot, balmy evening, but a cold shiver went down my spine.

Two men lifted the chicken cage. Inside was Nita, made up and dressed in a red satin blouse with a Cirebonese batik sarong, looking austere behind a pair of black sunglasses.

“The angel has descended,” Nani said. “Nita is being possessed.” As the vocalists sang a new tune, Nita slowly rose and danced to the rhythm with her head slightly bowed, as if she were blind. The MC encouraged guests to toss coins at the dancer.

“When her body is hit by a coin, she will faint. And the shaman will revive her again by blowing the smoke of the incense into her face,” said Meggy, the master of ceremonies. A man rose to toss a coin at her. True enough, when the coin touched her body, Nita fainted. Her limp body slumped against a male performer who was watching over her from behind. The shaman put the bowl of incense in front of her nostrils and blew. Smelling the incense, Nita stood up and danced once again to the cheers of the audience.

Indonesian fashion designer Ghea Panggabean, who was in the audience, came forward and danced alongside Nita before throwing a bunch of coins toward her. Again, Nita fainted and had to be revived by the shaman.

“Guests throw coins to express their happiness,” Nani said.

Songs urging the dancer to wake up marked the end of the performance. Nita slowly knelt and the chicken cage, once again, was brought down to cover her body. The shaman recited prayers over the cage. The air was thick with suspense as the audience awaited the culmination of the performance.

As the shaman lifted his hands the chicken cage was hoisted up. Inside, Nita, drenched in sweat and once again dressed in her batik blouse, without any makeup, sat still with her eyes closed. Her small hands were clutching a kris (traditional dagger) adorned with a garland of jasmine.

“The kris in her hands symbolizes the return of power and sovereignty,” Nani said.

The shaman circled Nita’s head with the incense bowl, murmuring prayers. Nita opened her eyes, smiled, stood up and bowed. The audience broke into applause.

Ghea, originally from West Java herself, was happy with the dance. “It is very interesting to watch a traditional show in a place that makes us feel transported to Cirebon. The dance itself is very magical and I’m actually a bit scared.”

The performance also renewed her appreciated for the culture of Cirebon. “The costumes are very pretty and colorful. They have inspired me to design new dresses using vibrant Cirebonese batik,” she said.

Sylviana Hamdani

http://thejakartaglobe.com/lifeandtimes/traditional-indonesian-dance-calls-angel-to-earth/340065