The Swingers’ Guide To Islam
On
a hill in the centre of Java, thousands of Muslims regularly turn up to
a religious ritual with a surprising stipulation: to seek their
fortunes, they abandon spouses, find strangers, and have sex with them.
Every 35 days, the Friday of the Gregorian calendar intersects with
Pon,
one of the five days of the ancient Javanese lunar calendar. Its eve is
an auspicious date at Gunung Kemukus, a hilltop Islamic shrine in
the centre of Java, Indonesia’s main island.
If she happens to be
feeling down on her luck, it’s also the date when Sarimah, a thickset,
63-year-old widowed grandmother, makes her pilgrimage from the city
of Solo. Finishing work at her small cart selling soup in one of the
town’s markets, she powders her face, applies a shock of red
lipstick, slips on a headscarf, and makes the hour-long journey to
Gunung Kemukus.
Sarimah arrives at dusk, ascending a path of stone
steps that passes under a scattered canopy of trees in Java’s
hyper-real green, to the single grave believed to hold the legendary
prince Pangeran Samodro and his stepmother, Nyai Ontrowulan. In the
cramped room, Sarimah drops aromatic leaves in a brazier and moves
over to the grave, sprinkling it with flowers. She kneels down, raises
her hands in supplication and mutters to herself
surahs from the holy Quran.
Sarimah
gets up, and plants herself by the yellow stucco wall by the shrine’s
entrance, and waits to complete the next part of the ritual.
Ali Lutfi
Sarimah waiting for a ritual sex partner
It’s just before
maghrib, the fourth of the five daily prayers required of all Muslims.
It’s time to find a stranger — and have sex with them.
This
is when I run across Sarimah. I’ve been standing at the top of the
stairs, trying in vain to find someone to talk to among the waves of
pilgrims who ascend the hill, dump their shoes, and enter the
shrine. Sarimah spots me, and waves me over.
“I’ll talk to you.
It’s better to be honest,” she says, as I sit cross-legged on the floor
across from her. “Being a hypocrite just makes it worse. I’m already
sinning, why add another sin?”
Like the of thousands of pilgrims
that have turned up this night to Gunung Kemukus, Sarimah is here to
seek her fortune. According to local belief, the ritual here can
guarantee success in business, usually for those at or near the bottom
of the ladder – bus drivers, rice farmers, market stall traders and the
like. Pilgrims mostly come from Indonesia’s Javanese-speaking core,
but some travel days across the massive archipelago to get here.
It’s just before maghrib, the fourth of the five daily prayers
required of all Muslims. It’s time to find someone and have sex with
them.
But the ritual needs to be done right. First, prayers and
offerings must be made at the grave of Pangeran Samodro and Nyai
Ontrowulan. At some stage, pilgrims must wash themselves at either
one or two of the sacred springs on the hill. Then they must find a sex
partner who meets two conditions. First, your mate for the night
must be of the opposite sex; and second, they cannot be your spouse.
Many people believe the ritual only works if you return at seven
consecutive, 35-day intervals, either the night before Friday
intersects with
Pon, or when it crosses with another Javanese day,
Kliwon.
The
way Sarimah puts it, life became hard when her husband died back in
2001, leaving her to support two daughters by moving from her hometown,
Semarang, to Solo. Each time she comes here, she finds a new man by
about midnight. Often, the men will hand her money afterwards. She
doesn’t ask for it upfront, or haggle over the price – sometimes up
to 200,000 rupiah, or about AUD20 – but she accepts it gladly, she says,
even though accepting money might detract a little from the
ritual’s spiritual power. At about 2am she heads home after bathing at
one of the springs, bringing the water home in a plastic bottle to
sprinkle over her stall, which buys her about three weeks of good
business.
This time, Sarimah has arrived with three friends, all
middle-aged women. One of them, a woman in a headscarf, had declined to
talk to me earlier. I tell Sarimah, of her friend, “
Dia masih malu” – meaning, “She’s still shy.” Sarimah corrects me. “
Dia masih mau,” Sarimah says, laughing at her own wordplay. “She still
wants it.”
I
ask Sarimah if she’s found a partner. Not yet, she says, but she agrees
to an interview later, after she’s found someone. She hands over her
mobile phone number, so we can meet in a couple of hours.
Unless, she adds, I want to be the lucky guy.
Ali Lutfi
A palm reader waits for customers
IT
GOES WITHOUT SAYING that there is a glaring contradiction in the fact
that Gunung Kemukus, a mass ritual of adultery and sex, is going on in
the middle of Java, the demographic heart of the world’s largest
Muslim-majority country.
Of course, the ritual isn’t Islam as most
would recognise it. Instead, it’s emblematic of Indonesia’s – and
especially Java’s – syncretic mix of Islam with earlier Hindu,
Buddhist and animist beliefs. But what is truly surprising is that even
while Indonesia undergoes a steady shift towards more orthodox
Islam, the ritual on Gunung Kemukus is exploding in popularity. It’s a
quintessentially Indonesian contradiction.
Tracing the roots of
the ritual at Gunung Kemukus involves dipping into the confused story of
the fall of Majapahit, the last great Hindu-Buddhist empire of
Java. At its height, Majapahit ruled vassals as far away as southern
Thailand. But by the start of the 16th century, it had fallen apart and
was being eclipsed by a plethora of small courts that were steadily
adopting the new religion of Islam. The remainder of Majapahit’s court
fled to the volcanic hills of eastern Java and Bali, where the old
religion has carried on and evolved to today. Across Java, Islam spread
unevenly. In some areas, a more orthodox form of the religion took
hold; in other areas, a more pragmatic fusion was made with Java’s
traditional beliefs, which are collectively known as
kejawen.
It’s the kind of culture that will allow a ritual of adultery to exist
alongside a moral code imported from the sparse deserts of the Arabian
Peninsula. Nothing is black and white here.
All cultures are a blend of influences. But for the Javanese, a
very cornerstone of their identity has been the ability to blend
together contradictory ideas and belief systems that would leave
other peoples hopelessly divided. It’s the kind of culture that will
allow a ritual of adultery to exist alongside a moral code imported
from the sparse deserts of the Arabian Peninsula. Nothing is black and
white here.
According to one version of the local legend, Pangeran
Samodro was a child born at the fall of Majapahit and raised in the
court of Demak, a Muslim sultanate on Java’s north coast, says
Floribertus Rahardi, an Indonesian writer who has studied the ritual.
The young prince struck up an affair with his stepmother, Nyai
Ontrowulan, and the two were forced to flee. They were staying on Gunung
Kemukus when they were found out. “People believe that they
committed incest in that place, but before that had finished having sex
they were chased by the soldiers of Demak, killed, and buried together
in the one hole,” Rahardi says. “From there, the word emerged that
whoever can finish off their sex act will receive blessings from Nyai
Ontrowulan.”
There’s no historical evidence
that the two lovers ever existed, or if there are in fact bodies in the
grave, Rahardi says. There are also radically differing accounts of
the legend. Some believe Pangeran Samodro and Nyai Ontrowulan were
Hindu, and not Muslim. In Sragen, the sleepy rural district that is
home to Gunung Kemukus, the local government and religious authorities
promote a G-rated version of the story, with the prince cast as a
devoted proselytiser of Islam.
But what no one is doing is trying to shut the ritual down.
Ali Lutfi
A karaoke hostess sings and dances with customers
As recently as the 1980s, Gunung Kemukus was an almost entirely undeveloped hill marked by sacred
dewadaru
trees and the twisting roots of massive figs. At night, small groups of
pilgrims would arrive and have sex mostly in the open, their
anonymity protected by the dark. These days, electric lamps light up the
hill, which is plied by scores of traders selling aphrodisiacs, food,
novelties, miracle cures and kitchen appliances. The
dewadaru
are still there, but the trees are unhealthy, and share space with
shacks offering drinks, karaoke, prostitutes and rooms for sex.
There are multiple tolls to get in, and businesses are levied a daily
charge. With between 6,000 and 8,000 pilgrims arriving on the
busiest nights, according to official figures, it’s a big money spinner
for the local community and the Sragen government.
At his
house in Yogyakarta, about two hours away, Keontjoro Soeparno, a social
psychologist from the city’s Gadjah Mada University, says he misses
the old days. “It’s not as porn, as vulgar, as before,” he says, sitting
in his garage with a neighbour, Wahyudi Herlan.
“They’re getting payments, they’re clearly profiting from all of this.
They’re hypocrites. Look at the entry fee. They won’t admit there’s a
sex ritual, but then they’re charging people to get in.”
These days, prostitution is taking an increasing role in the
ritual. By Koentjoro’s own reckoning, about half of the women who show
up are commercial sex workers. Another 25 percent are “part-timers,”
people like Sarimah who carry out the ritual but will accept money if
it’s on offer.
The 1980s was when commercial sex workers, as
well as other businesses, started moving into the area, Koentjoro says.
It’s also when the local government decided to spread its own
cleaned-up version of the ritual — while at the same time profiting from
sex-seeking pilgrims.
“They’re getting payments, they’re clearly
profiting from all of this. They’re hypocrites. Look at the entry fee,”
he says. “They won’t admit there’s a sex ritual, but then they’re
charging people to get in.”
Since the 1998 fall of the Suharto
regime, religiously-minded authorities have cracked down on many legal
red-light districts. Gunung Kemukus, on the other hand, has come to
be seen as a safe place.
“There used to be no water in the rooms.
So if I was to have sex in one of the rooms, there’s no water, no
handkerchief, so it depends on what you bring. If you bring a
tissue, use a tissue,” Koentjoro recalls of the old days, before Wahyudi
cuts in, cackling.
“Bring a newspaper! Use a newspaper!”
Another neighbour, Abdul Hamid Sudrajat, drives his motorbike by, stops and joins in.
Ali Lutfi
Throngs of pilgrims ascending the stairs to the grave of Pangeran Samodro
“You don’t mind if my story is filthy, right?” he asks, as he takes his place on a stool.
Abdul
tells us of a visit back in 1987. Standing on one terraced level of the
hill with a friend, he decided to relieve himself into the dark on the
next level below.
“It turned out was pissing on the back of
someone who was having sex,” he says. “He had no idea it was piss, I
think. He just thought it was somebody pouring out some water.”
ENTERING
GUNUNG KEMUKUS in the early afternoon, it is clear just how lucrative
the shrine has become. From a main road, local villagers levy a charge
on every vehicle entering, and
ojek – motorcycle taxis –
wait for those without vehicles of their own. During the wet season,
when water fills up the Kedung Ombo dam, boats ferry pilgrims across
to the hill, which rises symmetrically over the water like an upturned
cup of rice.
At the other side of the dam, pilgrims pay another
5,000 rupiah at a post belonging to the Sragen government’s tourism
department, before ascending a road of banana trees and shacks that
loops around to the top of the hill.
“If their intention isn’t good, then they’re just here to seduce you.
It’s only the genuine ones that are good for your business.”
Here, the man in charge of collecting the money, Suyono, hands
over a government pamphlet that describes what he says is the real
legend of Pangeran Samodro. According to him, Pangeran Samodro was a
prince and disciple of Sunan Kalijaga, one of the
Wali Songo,
or nine saints, credited with spreading Islam throughout the
archipelago. The prince travelled Java preaching, before falling ill and
dying near Gunung Kemukus.
When Pangeran Samodro’s stepmother – with whom he most emphatically was
not
having sex – heard of his death, she rushed to grave. As reached
the base of the hill she received a vision from the prince, telling her
to wash in one of the springs. As she ascended the hills, flowers
began falling from her hair, and sprouted into rare
dewadaru trees
behind her. Reaching the grave, she fell down dead. Her body then
disappeared – whether it was into the air, or absorbed into the
grave, nobody knows.
Suyono is adamant that few people turn up at
Gunung Kemukus for ritual adultery. Ninety percent are chaste pilgrims,
he says. “The rooms are for people to rest in if they’ve been on
long journeys,” he says. “These are places for staying the night, not at
all for prostitution or people having affairs.”
The official
concedes that the sex that does go on at the mountain offends some
conservative Muslims in the big towns, but says the site is well
protected. When word got out recently that a radical vigilante
group, the Islamic Defenders Front, was going to conduct a raid from
Solo, the police showed up in force to protect the hill. The shrine
is too valuable to shut down, he says. “This is tourism. Every
component, every element, every layer of society gets something out
of tourism.”
Ali Lutfi
Wagiyo, left, and Sarimah after meeting
All over the hill, the nod and wink of officialdom is blatant. At the grave, Hasto Pratomo works as the
juru kunci, or ceremonial head. He is the eighth generation of his family to hold the job (there is also a separate
juru kunci
for each of the two springs). His version of the myth is similar to
the government’s, although he concedes the prince and his stepmother
may have been sleeping together. “Maybe there was a sexual
relationship – I don’t know,” he says. “But what’s important was that
her love for him was extraordinary.”
Hasto also admits most
pilgrims come here for sex, and that this is a misinterpretation of the
ritual. If they come to talk to him about the ritual, he sets them
straight. But he takes a
laissez faire attitude to the couples
meeting each other just metres away from where he sits, or the dozens of
prostitutes that lean against the wall of the shrine waiting for
customers.
Even when Hasto does correct the pilgrims, he does it
pretty gently. He recounts a story of a meeting with one man who got
rich from having sex at Gunung Kemukus. “He tells me, ‘I came here
with nothing, but I found a partner. I was a bus driver. The woman I was
with was a vegetable seller. We came here for five years and I’ve
had success. If you don’t believe me, come to my house. I have more than
20 minibuses. I got these with my lover – not my wife, but the wife
of someone else. That’s the reality.’
Hasto also admits most pilgrims come here for sex, and that this is a misinterpretation of the ritual.
“I replied to him: ‘Everything you got was because of
yourself. If you’re convinced it’s because you had a lover here, go
ahead. I won’t forbid it. If that’s what you believe, by all
means.’”
Further up the hill, Trihardjatmo, the owner of one
karaoke shack — where customers drink beer and ginseng spirits while
singing with sex workers — cracks up when I mention a sign by the door
from the local police that says alcohol and prostitution are forbidden.
Trihardjatmo explains he’s a retired cop, and introduces me to one
of his customers, Erry, a police intelligence sergeant in the city of
Semarang. All the customers in the next room, it turns out, are
police.
IN THE RITUAL ADULTERY of Gunung Kemukus, there are many
ways to reach your goal. Some people arrive with the blessing of their
spouses; others do it secretly. For some, paying for sex invalidates
the ritual; for others, it’s just a shortcut. Everyone has a different
idea of just how Islamic the whole thing is.
Mohammed Saputra, a 43-year-old clothing trader from Mantingan in East Java, is something of a purist. “I’m looking for the
ladies”
– he uses the English word – “with good intentions, not the ones
looking for money,” he explains. “If their intention isn’t good,
then they’re just here to seduce you. It’s only the genuine ones that
are good for your business.”
Saputra says his wife doesn’t know
he’s here, and that in two visits he hasn’t yet found a woman he fully
trusts. This might be a self-serving statement; during a break in
our interview I see him try, and fail, to pick up a younger woman beside
us. But already he says he’s seen benefits from coming here: he
recently bought a new house, a garden and some rice paddies.
Ali Lutfi
Pilgrims praying and spreading flowers over the grave of Pangeran Samodro
“This
is all Islam. There are those here who are only Muslims on their
identity cards, but there are also people here who have been on the
pilgrimage to Mecca, who come here to help out their business. Sure,
adultery is against Islam but it’s no big deal if it’s to benefit your
business.”
Near one food stall further down the hill, I come
across Murni, who is clicking along in heels, a headscarf and a blue
leopard skin dress. She looks drunk, or wasted on something at
least. Murni is 46 and from the town of Jepara, as is her partner,
Rosidi, 50. Both have been meeting each other here for a year.
Rosidi has been coming behind his wife’s back, but Murni has the full
blessing of her husband – although the two men still haven’t met.
Even
though they’ve already completed the mandated seven consecutive
meetings, they’re still meeting up, and seem to have formed some sort of
attachment. Rosidi says he has gotten richer, but still wants more.
“I haven’t reached my goals,” he says, before correcting himself.
“Well, I have, but there’s still temptation.
“It’s always this isn’t enough, this isn’t enough. There’s no limit to it.”
Finally,
on a bit of concrete wall near the shrine, I run into Sarimah again. I
don’t recognise her at first – she’s changed her clothes.
“I just finished!” she exclaims gleefully.
It
turns out Sarimah had already found herself a partner, Wagiyo, a rice
farmer from Purwodadi, not so far away, who estimates he’s in his
mid-sixties. Wagiyo isn’t very keen to meet at first, but he also seems a
little smitten and, after some goading from Sarimah, he comes and sits
down to talk. He opens up fairly quickly.
Wagiyo says this is
his first visit to Gunung Kemukus. His wife died in 2007, and his joint
business with family and friends selling rice and beans was
flailing. “I heard from a friend that if you came here you’d get your
fortune, so I thought I’d try it out,” he says.
Wagiyo was
approached by two younger women who offered themselves in exchange for
money before he spotted Sarimah. “He sat down and then he came over
closer to me,” Sarimah recalls. “He asked me where I was from.
‘Semarang,’ I said.”
“He said: ‘Purwodadi.’ Yeah, that’s it, it was on.”
The
two went together to one of the small rooms for rent on the hill.
Afterwards, Wagiyo slipped Sarimah 100,000 rupiah and bought her a cup
of tea. He asked her to come back home and live with him on his
farm. Sarimah’s not so sure about this. In a moment when Wagiyo isn’t
paying attention, she says she doubts his wife is really dead, and,
miming her own throat being slit, says she’s afraid of the fracas that
would take place if the two ever met.
Whether the two will meet again or not seems to be an open question.
Since he seems taken with Sarimah, I ask Wagiyo if he’ll be back in 35 days.
“
Insha’Allah.”
It all depends if God wills it, he says, and if Sarimah is keen to meet again, too.
Retrieved from: http://www.theglobalmail.org/feature/the-swingers-guide-to-islam/419/
October 11, 2012
