Sultan and Mermaid, Indonesia, Java, Sultan Hamengkubuwono by Paul Spencer Sochaczewski

Published in the International Herald Tribune
14 June 1994

THE SULTAN AND THE MERMAID: A LOVE STORY FOR THE AGES

PELABUHAN RATU, Java, Indonesia

People who pay special attention to royal affairs of the heart might clip a fingernail or two on June 21 in honor of one of Asia's more magical histoires d'amour.

On this date Sultan Hamengku Buwono X of Yogyakarta will celebrate his official birthday by trekking twenty kilometres to the dangerous surf on the slate-gray southern coast of Java. There he will offer a full set of women's clothing and his own nail and hair clippings in honour of his 15th century ancestors: Senopati, an historical king of Java, and Nyai Loro Kidul, a mermaid goddess. Together, this unlikely couple began one of the world's longest-surviving royal families -- the four Sultanates of Yogyakarta and Solo in Java, Indonesia.

Several years ago I longed to meet the current Sultan's father, Hamengku Buwono IX. Eventually a friend (herself a member of the royal family) introduced me to the late Sultan, a former vice president of Indonesia, a man with a Dutch university degree, a powerful and kind man who was born to accept the fealty of dozens of millions of Javanese. Unlike many royals he had earned respect to accompany the common person's devotion, partly due to his diplomatic courage during Indonesia's war of independence from the Dutch.

I had one question I wanted to ask him, and I tried to phrase it in a refined Javanese manner. How was it that a man as pragmatic and cosmopolitan as the Sultan -- he had also held positions as Indonesian Minister of Finance and of Defence -- could pay homage every year to a mermaid?

Sultan Hamengku Buwono IX received me with grace. Over sweet tea he told me that during the Indonesian fight for independence he had fasted for two weeks, eating only rice and water in order to meet Loro Kidul in a vision. "Then I saw her, Eyang -- I call Loro Kidul Eyang, grandmother -- seated behind two of my nephews," he said. "She was young and pretty, as is usual when she appears in the first half of the month."

His Highness, wearing thick glasses and a long-sleeved batik shirt in his souvenir-filled Jakarta office, said that in his vision the young men were killed. This unfortunately came true; those two beloved nephews died within the week.

He continued. "One night during the Dutch occupation of Yogyakarta, I, and others as well who were living in the kraton [palace], heard soldiers moving noisily about, as if wearing armor. It is said they were the soldiers of Loro Kidul protecting the kraton." I asked him for details. "There was no one in the kraton except our family and staff. But we all heard the soldiers' drums."
This was a critical period for Indonesia, a time when difficult decisions were being taken about when to fight and when to negotiate. The Dutch ruled all but the seven percent of Java which was governed, under contract, by the royal houses of Solo and Yogyakarta. Each time a Sultan died, the colonial administrators would impose a new contract which successively reduced the power of the new ruler. The negotiations between Hamengku Buwono IX and the Dutch were long and difficult. According to the Sultan, the crucial moment came when Loro Kidul appeared in a vision and told him, "Give them their contract, because soon they will go home." He signed the contract, but to this day has never read it, having been reassured by Loro Kidul that the Dutch were on their way out and that the contract was irrelevant. Her predictions came true: A year later, the Japanese invaded Indonesia and evicted the Dutch.
I was more than a little skeptical. The Sultan didn't quote Shakespeare, but he might as well have. He gave me the Javanese equivalent of "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio/ Than are dreamt of in your philosophy". He explained: "When I was four years old I was already living with a Dutch family, so my brain is in some ways a western brain. But many things happen which can't be explained in a logical way."

I must have looked bewildered, a not uncommon situation for me.
The Sultan then told me not to get too caught up in a Cartesian view of the world.

This to me was ludicrous. How could I avoid asking western questions? I was born in Brooklyn, not Bandung; my favorite participant sport is softball. I like algebra.

After an hour, in danger of exceeding my ration of royal patience, I left, only half satisfied. I pestered K.R.T. Hardjonagoro, the regent of the Susuhunan's palace in Solo, for a touch more enlightenment.
"In 1966 Sultan Hamengku Buwono attended the opening of the Samudra Beach Hotel, on Java's southern coast, which of course is Loro Kidul's home territory," Hardjonagoro told me one evening while we watched a wayang kulit performance.

"The night before the opening a local lurah (village headman) asked for an audience with the Sultan. The old man told the Sultan that he had had a dream the previous night in which a lady said she wanted her offerings. She was dressed in green.

"The Sultan, of course, knew that the old man had seen Loro Kidul. His Highness thanked the humbled old man but explained that he would not make an offering since he was attending the hotel opening in his civilian capacity as Minister of Defence, and he wanted to separate the affairs of the state from the mystical duties of the palace." The gamelan orchestra tinkled away and the dalang sang a half dozen parts as Hardjonagoro continued. The performance would last all night. "I was outside, near the pool, when the Sultan said goodnight to the well-meaning old man," Hardjonagoro said. "Shortly after his refusal I heard the sound of a locomotive. The noise increased until it sounded like ten locomotives were coming towards the beach-front terrace where we were enjoying the hotel's hospitality. Then a ten-meter high tidal wave erupted from the sea, which had been calm. It washed away the hotel's buffet table and soaked all the visitors. Some trees were knocked down. Shortly thereafter the Sultan changed his mind. He said his prayers to Loro Kidul and made the appropriate offerings, and the sea was calm once again."

I was incredulous. Hardjonagoro showed me the photos. I said "come on," or something equally un-Javanese. Instead of arguing, he simply told me to go to the hotel and ask for Room 319. Sometime later, I did. This, it turns out, is the room in which Sultan Hamengku Buwono IX made peace with the easily irritated mermaid queen. It is kept locked and reserved only for her. For a tip, hotel staff will allow people access to pray to the Queen of the Southern Ocean. It is a good business.