I dedicate to Rabindranath Tagore, great grand mother Kasipah and land of Java
Written by Nurel Javissyarqi
Translated by Agus B. Harianto
In his age which to 69 Bagus Burhan (first name R. Ng. Ronggowarsito, 1802-1873), India poet of Rabindranath Tagore was born to the world. Precisely in Joransko, heart town of Kalkutta on May 6, 1861. As fourteenth son of fifteen brothers, by couple of Maharishi Debendranath Tagore and Sarada Devi. Or 6 years after pass away of Pangeran Diponegoro ( 1785-1855). The great grandfather of Rabindranath Tagore was activator of India Renaissance, with his name was Rommohan Roy.
With his best friend Mahatma Gandhi (1869-1948), Tagore was assumed by India society as epitomizing of demigod mankind. Year of his born at the same time with ambitious actor, Frederic Remington (1861-1909), which was his masterpiece in the form of painting, chiseling and writing. In that year too, Abraham Lincoln (1809-1865) was chosen as United States president.
Masterpieces of Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) among others in the form of poems, novels, short stories, paintings and also music. In his age which to 52; the son of Bengali was awarded Literature Nobel, precisely in the year 1913. And at the year 1915, he got noble title from government of English. But few years later, he returned the title, as protest of United Kingdom policies on his beloved land, India.
Here I will open his poem screen, which entitles Kepada Tanah Jawa (To the Land of Java), year sign 1927. He was visiting to the land of Java after voyage to Europe (1924-1925). At his age that was sixty six, truly a period to rest. But like parikan that have got about to expand, that the land of Java is the second of motherland India.
There is no Gangga river In Java, but Bengawan Solo is enough to become legend for him. If Chinese Wall can be seen from the moon, the stories of commerce in the past that was trough the stream of Bengawan Solo, have stick in Java society heart until now. If magician David Copervill could penetrate Chinese fortress, so, composer Gesang (born at October 1, 1917) have recited the song of Bengawan Solo, to be heard to the ear of the world.
Hereunder is the poem of Rabindranath Tagore, which I got from K.R.T. Suryanto Sastroatmodjo (late). And the drawing story, vibration feeling of its sentences, which I perform as the evidence of Rabindranath Tagore was ever really residing in to the land of Java.
(KEPADA TANAH JAWA)
TO the LAND of JAWA
By Rabindranath Tagore/1927
In calm epoch, what far, unwritten
we meet, you and I
and in my words intertwines in your word
and my heart is in your soul.
Rabindranath Tagore was alike sticking deeply his confidence in, wrestling in coition of spiritual between him self with the land of Dwipa. His decent hands were so soft, grasping the clay of Java strongly. He looked at it with really seriousness; he felt emotion, he was bootlicker the clay as Java tradition, smelled its aroma. Then, he stroked the dirt to his eyebrow, as thanks respect sign to be brought into contact his body with the land of Dwipa or the land of Java.
According to all foreign tourists, at the year 1803-1939, still saw the seventh Temple of Singosari (as evidence of the truth of formed dynasty) monarchic omission of Singosari (Monarchic of Singosari was standing up at 1222 M, its first king was Ken Angrok, representing earlier of empire Majapahit). But, unfortunately, omission in the form of the temple nowadays remain one. This is evidence of greedy of the colonist, also carelessness of the youth of nation (Java) that unable to take care of the history omission. Everything was connected with the history is changed with Public square nuance, for example the legend of Jembatan Merah in Surabaya. Are we Criminal?
At that time, the mountains was still fit and well, giving ruthless of eye to look into. Spiritual watched to emit a stream of alike pretty wellspring recites flowing in black stone, fully with deepness of contemplation. Birds even also did not shy at to warble, its piercing voice was chirping at the morning ear and afternoon. The flowers were blooming without disturbed by the deathly mentioning, like prestige puts at affluence pot. If there is some, the flowers at the podium house still addressing the other flowers, which does not be paid attention by house owner.
Simple and nice nature bounds into the soul, similar like hymn of prosperity, and the Java girls croon when her nimble feet step to go to lake, letting her smooth husk caressed by stream of mountain water that is fully with ruthless warmness. Tagore stared at the motherland deeply, sticking till his marrow bone was freezing onto powerlessness, when bearing the words. So beauty to accept Javanese songs worship nature to The Creator. Until he could feel benediction what overflows from the land of Dwipa, as if reborn again to the world, fresh as odorous as the body is still young. In that period, Sultan Hamengku Buwono IX (1912-1988) was just stepped on his age to 15 years old. With white chromatic clothes as well as the Resi, Tagore continued his story of wander …
East wind brings your dulcet exclamation
trough space way that does not seen
far, to the place of sun illuminates the coastal area
that shading by coconut leaves.
Tagore was sitting among the stones, and coastal wind assaulted him, he remembered to beginning of journey to the land of Dwipa. Before his sea transport to the land of Java, he got the command of poem from the Lord, followed the heart to go on board. Splitting the wave, caressing the light, at the same time was joking with sound of ocean wave, beside read address of wander, the cloud of soul.
At the day, his old skin stung by the sun, but assumed as the first journey, he enjoyed alike first mountaineering, really amuse until he didn’t feel his back skin was abrade. Supposing like the child finds his toy, which long time hidden by both parent, because it can causing to forget to eat also to get rest.
At night,he was always dialogued with the stars, and once in a while the princess of moon came to amuse his lonely. As if the self of Rabindranath Tagore will have never burst from bustle of most quiet conversation and transparent, considers, feels, and thinks in whole devoted time. He always reminded by instruction of all old poets, which made him stayed firmness to his principle, did the command even in deeply tired to feel heavy sleepy, and also guarded from tempted in passing. The chosen person could choice, and execute his choosing rigidly heart. In other place, young man of Soekarno (1901-1970) was just 26 years old.
Then Tagore bolted among the stone. His memory scatterbrained about yesterday journey, then he continued to step his feet on the land of seashore-sand, white sands, dinky stones. Once in a while saw dancing of coconut leafs that compatible with blue time, and the wind waged his volute long hair unfolds, as small’s wave of river Gangga.
He was always smiling in each his solitary, addressing nature of motherland, hoping to share playmate. Sometime the old feet incised by wild and be wilder cactus flowers thorn, he were candid for the shake of greeting of joke to be chummier to the soul. Whereas, coconut flowers became eyewitness of his eye’s beauty, which was overripe to summarize knowledge of nature by his wandering. His eyeball glance was so shine by the teaching of life’s pearl that have been enjoyed.
And then, he finally found those wellspring again, source of philosophy of prosper life, similar like august tropical nature fully with affluence of authority. Beauty of spiritual translated mildness, his eyeball stared without end, discovering transparent douche of prosperity. Seriousness of promised love, for each mankind that willing to scatter the atmosphere of affection as essence of human being.
That exclamation consists with sound of chronogram
which blown when praying
in the temple at the side of sacred Gangga.
Oscillation of Javanese musicals is melancholy for a while and then ringing out. That’s trembling of spiritual to mean exclamation of The Power, striped miraculous sentence trough his hand fingers, more becoming vibrated when the light of poeticism really befall to the self of wanderer. As if be attacked by sudden fever, before his words utterance echoes to the deepest soul of universe. Shakes the tops of fir-tree, breezes flower seeds, presents the further beauty. This is the flower pistils that is scattered by his hands, when entering to the road to countrified. The twilight begun to draw near, Tagore stared at the sun in such a way of yearning sweat, as if did not be sincere to be apart of the friendship.
Paddy grasses at countryside boundary that is starting to turn to yellow, its tortuous body is bowing, its leaf spiraling upwards is matured by the sun, offering adulthood aroma. And every smelling is the beginning of season, which continued to transform to be congeniality. While, understanding each other is the language that does not burst by the change of epoch. At the first nodded to be kept quiet, at the same time dispersed smile mystery. The twilight started to be reddish, children shall no longer be enabled to play at, Java’s term is sandiolo or near to badness. The red color is getting to be purple, lining nightfall sky, similar like there is river boundary over there, he remembered to sacred river of Gangga in his country.
Deity of great Excellency Wisnu utters to me
and Uma, goddess with ten arms, that way also;
“Provide axe and bring it to across the foreign sea,
all say to curtsey us”
When looking into the lines of nightfall, as if river body hollowing of Gangga. Tagore felt him self one atmosphere in a temple, chink of bell was becoming continuously exclaiming, stroke by bright wind, so even also the bell on reddish white cow neck choker, replied each other. He felt going upward to the top white cloud, coalescing in sky’s wish at that period. And again, his soul was jarred by exclamation of long time ago, during in India. The same second calling, as the execution of duty after stepping his feet on the land of Dwipa. After crossed foreign ocean, where the place of sun collects the energy, strong stars transmits its body on the land of Jawi.
The twilight was continuing to finish its duty, engulfing the sun, rousing firefly to decorate anomalous night, then its soul return to go down to the earth, as free as wafting, recalling Great August polite exclamation. The village of sojourn at that time was accepting him as most friendly room. A wandering is guest of all settlers. The wanderer is the king that has no dinky palace of worldliness, but his castle is in the form of universe, standing pillars is the intention, firmness of heart. And his house wares is consisted of submission, and also sincerity, in atmosphere opening in a wall lure transition, while his crown is in the form of faithfulness.
Night was progressively stepping up, he was drinking a draught of white water for the shake of fill his hunger, and he was sipping the aroma of early morning, as strong as copulates the seriousness of command. A glory man was dedicating his life to The God, all his contemplation in running this life. All came and went to him, transformed to be songs that continue to fill the air. If sorrow was tinkling, caught up by cordiality happiness, until found perfection, spiritual balance, compatibility of soul, solidity of heart tones to the heart of his life. And practice command is not heavy matter, after gathered to the body of wishes.
River of Gangga raises its hand to the east ocean
in very awful wave
from sky commands the words two voices that powers to me- one of it is
the one who sings the beauty of Rama misery,
the other sings the victory of Arjun.
Insists me to bring its marriage to across the sea
to the east islands.
The dawn rises; Tagore was reminded again to the beauty of river of Gangga by the delivering birth of east sun. Two voices came repeatedly to him, victory and misery. He was just alike be governed to wade among both. That morning he was have meditation, pouring the whole attention of his spiritual to step, fringing dart by taking of long deep breaths. And he flied upward as flash, no bothering to the pain or happiness, did not suffer weighted sorrowful or even like, stepped into vacuous space. The love of this long time was just lost, so even also the dislike. His soul [was tasteless alike sugar cane that is after sipped by shepherd children. Likely does not have a meaning and continues.
Until his spiritual was pulled stronger by both directions. There was energy of graffiti among the misery of Rama also the victory of Arjuna, but he tried to be firmness did not applause in party, nor conducted sorrow tear. This is the enemy of passion and inner heart. Rabindranath Tagore was still closed his eyes while facing to the sun. He have resided in east of Java land, but his dart of heart remained to invite him of flying upward, and finally stuck to sun. He even also felt to be hit by arrow; there was dots of meet, his soul with sun, then lost his feeling to have meditation. He opened his eyes slowly, by the teaching of the sun heat, when the sun was as high as tree of jambu klutuk beside local resident house, the place where he lodged last night.
At the day after, he continued his journey. Don’t know how many months he resided in the land of Dwipa, but he still remembered onto the birth land. Or he was allying the energy, India and Java, because in his mind, Java-India is one blood. Step swayed to continue the intention, imposed clothes started to be brass chocolate, by hot forging of the sun, also dirt flinging down of caravan feet. Until he was on the temple feet plate of Borobudur, and at a that time, his body curtsey to the greatest love of God.
In that period colonist on the land of Java did not so bother to the foreign people, especially from the land of India. Presumably, merely tourist or just got have religious service if believe in Hindu or Buddha. And, Islam had become colonist threat bogey, as the way to go through second independence, on the land of Palapa curse. A period where organizational founder of Nahdhotul Ulama, Hasyim Asyari (1875-1947) was at 52 years old.
At that time on the different place, area of Ponorogo in countryside of Tegalsari, Jetis. Qur’an school of Kyai Ageng Muhammad Besyari have famous by its student’s pearl that was called as R. Ng. Ronggowarsito (buried 54 years ago in countryside of Palar, Klaten, of calculation of Rabindranath Tagore in the land of Java). Rabindranath Tagore continued to take a ride temple level doorstep of Borobudur, from the most under level, kamadhatu aimed to the level; rupadhatu, until the third level; arupadhatu. At the last stupa, by the height of white cloud also wander birds, he returned to be recalled by his journey. If Goenawan Mohamad have ever written down; “Where the past time comes to us, and we will become guest.”
The morning comes; my ship dances on dark blue wave
its white alike flower sail is gallant to be blew by the wind
it smells your coastal area, sky is trembling and green shroud of your jungle goddess
even also make a move, we meet in the shadow of nightfall,
when the night is silent, night is becoming dismally;
the noon disperses its gold on the street—our place to meet
as the way for both of us to take the era together,
from century to century, among so bright and untold dream.
On the highest level of Borobudur temple, arupadhatu, he wrote down the poem entitle Candi Borobudur, while relying on the biggest body of its stupa. At that place, Tagore was freely looking into around temple, coconut trees stands erectly; its leaf’s spiraling upwards is always joggled by mountain wind. Maiden grass green of paddy was breaking the news about fertility. Once in a while, the birds descended upon the stupa, like saying greeting of his arrival.
Azure was full, discussing his past sailing, when addressed by coastal birds, gulls were pursuing each other in the face of seashore dispersed its chirp. The mountains was green of their leaf, he recalled the trees, always hypnotizes him at the depth of excellence spiritual. Until came the nightfall that as if suddenly by soft fantasy soften to the feeling, flexible and flex to the voice. Nightfall shadows started to be looked, at the bodies of stupa, the trees of banana seem small at height far.
The time started to be sunless, a local resident youth girl came to the temple, the place of old Tagore was enjoying view. That woman had lanky body and wear dress kebaya, her smiling was so sweet alike Java’s sweet dispersed the enchantment, allowed to the poet to enjoy the fruits she brought. The girl was always came to that place every sunless, for the shake of visiting if there is a wanderer visiting to the temple.
She was doing that ritual as her respect on govern of her parent, then youth blood of the son of Bengali was remembering to the girl faces in his country, which cattish as the symbol of eastern. And don’t know for long, the sweet girl requested to take leave, left her fruits to him. Tagore nodded as the sign to accept thanks. And again, he attacked stillness of night, no firefly at the height of Borobudur, even birds chirp was also lost together with the afternoon send the sun back.
Deadly night wrapped the body with really cool wind, the old body was alike did not have the power by night puff. But he did not want to step down from the stairs at the temple bevel. And then, when the face of moon emerged, his silence was amused, little by little started to feel warm feeling. Then he sat with cross leg on the height of temple until the morning was fetching the sun again.
Golden morning ray started to breeze warm feeling atmosphere, like taking the air space, and the mind vehicle on imagination remained to do, dispersed possibility of meeting the values, while bringing a heap of story, to be deviled again and again at anomalous calculation of determinant of fullness heart, in which the health of spiritual. And the spirituality is the light that teaching the self repeatedly. Entering the centuries and then sank, he continued it until nowadays, till so bright era, the top where he becomes unity of brighter eyewitness of the land of Dwipa.
The epoch also becomes past, dark night closes over us
we don’t recognize each other anymore
our place to sit is lost, to be piled up by the dust of cart wheel.
Tagore was jus alike threw fish-net of possibility that very sprat. He screeched his restlessness on the bad period. Bide designated bleak possibility, from nature that started to be bored, by the action and behavior of its children that is getting benediction fully greedy. Saw rotation of colonist that progressively clutched hard farms, lame civilization was growing wilder; the heart was sided to the edge of silence. The mind and thinking became foreign, all were vanished, to be changed by norms of importance, the souls were thrown away so far and outlying, and difficult to find back.
The land of Java and India returned to be detached from its mores, in concern changed by modernization clothes that has no character of indigene, foreign discourses engulfed the world of feeling, lifted logic at the farthest, so that annihilation was lost, all were mortgaged by calculation of requirement. Congeniality of former plutocrat was the lack of asking for personal requirement, but ever gives sheltered of humanity, or pittance requirement of him self, but fulfilling requirement of others sincerely and lovely. Innocent faces was changed by lovely seducing faces, friendliness smiling was also turned into to small smiling to step on humanity.
Where, all predecessors have forecasted, him too. A poet takes distance of his era, he does not be floated off also does not have vehicle. He resides in across of reality, the other more eternal place from merely reality of. A poet is an attracter and dredger of august values with simple seriousness, for the shake of dedicated to his homeland, motherland, in order not to break the rules to forget the history. But doesn’t mean to take the uselessly source, he draw important roots as tonic compounding, for the health of humanity, continuity of life to be cultured, respect reality of essence of societal, fair humanity fully authority, in term of R.Ng. Ronggowarsito as Sastra Jendra Ayuningrat.
And I am swept away by oblivion ebb
return to my own quiet coastal area
my quiet hand is empty and my spirit is zero
the ocean at my home become mutely,
does not narrate our meeting that witnessed by it,
and the river of Gangga that fond of talking
does not advise to me where hidden road
and which far, to its other place, which is sacred.
At that time Rabindranath Tagore was in the verge of desperation of fog, trailed by his prophet oscillation to dusky nature, his memory was empty on transparent of so bright yesterday intend, one by one of his yarn of expectation was discoloring, when watching the nature screamed to ask for help, begging for mercy. He did not have the power to return the longing to the beginning place, which is to holy wishes also glorify. His spirit gradually went to emptiness, he was not in middle resting or slackened nerve blood-vessel. But he was feeling his body immersed in heavy sorrow. If even also there was grudge, that even also will not be able to come out.
When his sorrow was increasing, he did not have the power again to accept situation. All were seen mute at his fore part, nature that before now was friendliness always give news to him, was changed by silence. His spiritual was lonely likely the God leaved the dinky heart. Without there was any witness when lugubrious times continued to elapse. Hushing the self with fog and foggy, dissolved to the world of blur memory. He lose dignity footstep or like a boredom period, which closing all possibility doors, until no more lesson that enter and synchronized. Everything strange became usual, and the ordinary was longer lose its congeniality.
Nightfall colors was not again discussing about the river of Gangga at its eyebrow lines. Resembling like a bird forgets direction, floats and forgetting on destination, flying around but not on the prowl, but looking for its missing address from wanderer rotation. Only fatigue, he brought that blankness to resting place, going to the world of darkness. Tagore slept in difficulty to look for, the spirit of natural was blessing him, fulfilled his soul when moment he did not awake.
I come to you, looking into your eye
and like seeing shiny occult brilliance
when we met for first time in your forest, the happiness of universe was so shiny
when we was fastening each other bangle with red yarn of brotherhood.
Rabindranath Tagore woke up from his sleep. Making a fresh start memory, from accompanying him to fall asleep in well-sleep. The emptiness of his prophet to civilization, if only the children of life will be; only merely claiming requirement to their only era wheel. If picked from history, Einstein (1879-1955) was 48 years old at that time.
He was staring at the sky of stingingly noon like seeing very bright expectation was wafting above the head. White cloud disseminated to the edge of firmament. He saw freely blue sky without clouds of doubt. Sun gave the light of fullness at that moment, hitching from long fantasy of failure.
The wind addressed again, trough leaf’s spiraling upward of great shade tree that sent joy news to dismay of soul. And then, his humanity was dancing, felt like the first time stepped the feet under the sun. And, tropical natural humming even without stylized became to captivate the heart. He floated off by togetherness, solidity of around panorama with him as guest in the land of Jawi. At that time Tagore had come to guest at the same time host. Because, that august homeland is kindness to translate east oscillation to corners of real feeling, cloistered orchard of human being instinct.
Tagore returned to be so fresh for a few times on the land of Java. But in his marrow was still enquiring; is this merely hallucination, have felt intimate friendship? His soul was sent back between really and doubt. Drifted by the spirit and in passing way, which is in every its period be able to ensnare the step. He was likely returning to dourness of stone, but there was detained, still really listening command of early journey, the command words of The Great Power of God, for the shake of the self of wander to sail the ocean, to see archipelago of east of Java.
The old nature had dismal,
but not yet got out of your hand.
He affirmed again in his self, to good news from centipede of dispersed white cloud. Tagore embed promises to souls of seriousness, they are unshakeable of his intention, which have militant intention. He was not appealing, but this is exhortation that very really, to homeland nation, which does not wish to get out of its great destiny.
Old Tagore exclaimed to Java land also India, for the shake of its children later, as respectable heir of august easting tradition. But who can translate his advise, when mankind is racing each other to seek a place in the world (at that time, 12 years before War World II, 1939-1945). Spiritual is not case of physic, and physic that glamour dressing, unable to sit for long time in the place where precisely degrading benediction of poet’s mahabbah. Passion meets passion, inner heart sees his nation, altogether emit a stream of to follow each way, so also intention of doing worship.
In the way that we go through ahead
still spread over secondhand of my word,
so that I get the way again into your deepest heart,
light’s place still glowing, we flame the light together,
At meeting night of yore.
Rabindranath Tagore was likely saying the words; “If longing comes to beginning place, the place of our first met, devoted to experience harmonious of spiritual to the opening each other. And throw away all distrusting also obsessive sneaking of the soul. Because, arranged building, was coming from heaping longing buoyant with the feeling.”
“Whoever long it is of course meet, whoever crazy about will meet too. This meeting is so bright light, destiny of coalesce add its glossy brilliance, even in the darkness of night. Because, the dusky night is also add to captivate the soul. Walk into stillness of most noble creation, spiritual links to the world of great east.”
“Be grateful to the meeting, so that its durable is brilliance reach to resting place of era. Our friendship will be endless, swear as good as one’s word until die. Your words transform my words, and my words are also your word, when our selves really in lip sucking of great longing. What far shall no longer far, what is near by progressively sliver, and altogether take place in fully enjoyment.”
“The bright love, mustering feeling, so that dawn is arising. We unite the dawn and dusk to the memory of era, on the journey that keep recorded in the shadow also in flying bird’s chirp.”
“Our spirit with wander hawk body, for the shake of searching the experience, feel thanks to have religious service in whole action and behavior of life to receive real destiny, by feet that completed by great-grandparents prayer, and the blessing of The God. And, when obliged to apart at crossroad of way, we still one soul at wandering prayer ritual.”
Remember me as I remember your face
and look at me with all the past time
but what we must reanimate and we renew.
“Parting is not the end of friendship, because its essence we are same. Nowadays, merely place difference, you are in Java and I am in India. The beauty face of your motherland always I breathe in its flower aroma, and I will not release it. The smell, Color, and also waving of our spiritual are spreading fish-net each other, by it will not feel to lose until the end of time. The eyes of world even also records our permanently friendship, in renewal of tropical nature, which keep blows to hillsides – our archipelago. And, our words, is the evidence of continuity of coition of self-supporting souls.”
“Once again, the distance, time, and place are nothing, after equality of wave creates the power. I am looking into you deeply, sticking without never disappeared, even not close the eyes, and onto you too. Unity of this eyewitness, please broadcast it, in order they to know that I am really have stepped my feet on your land. And let unconvinced, because they will understand how it feel, if we walk off him.”
“Let us fly pennons of poet in our each nation land, emotionality becomes melting of values on poet’s words command of The Asih (The God). We flow those rivers till they are awaked, in unrecorded time besides plump, wave, wind, and ocean, which sending the renewal, to the one who joins in struggle.”
“I kiss your eyebrow, Tagore, and peaceful greeting from my great grand prents—“
*) On page 357, precisely in the subtitle; Hubungan Kita Dengan Rabindranath Tagore. Ki Hadjar Dewantara in his book, part II A: Culture (published by Majelis Luhur Persatuan Taman Siswa, year 1967), said that in the year 1927, the poet Rabindranath Tagore was visiting to school of Mataram – Jogjakarta.
Parikan: a kind of Javanese’s poems