An Awesome Pile of Rocks

On the island of Java stands a mountain of a thousand statues...surrounded by volcanoes, shrouded in mystery. In 1814, two hundred men cross the lush Kedu plains of Central Java to search out this legendary mountain near the small village of Boro. For six weeks, they slash and burn the choking vegetation. They clear away tons of volcanic ash. Hidden beneath the debris, they find strange figures carved in stone—thousands of them.

-From “Borobudur: Pathway to Enlightenment"

From the moment we got to the airport in Manila, waiting for our flight to Singapore from where we would fly to Jakarta then to Yogyakarta, Rhoda and I had been planning a side trip to Borobudur. I was relieved to find someone as eager as I was to visit the World Heritage Site, even if it meant heading out from Yogyakarta, where we would be billeted, while it was still dark so that we could glimpse the ancient monument at first light. Rhoda’s quite an adventurer too, I discovered. While studying Bahasa Indonesia in Bandung about a decade ago, she’d explored the length of Java, including, in fact, Borobudur, which judging from her enthusiasm to see it anew I thought must really be worth losing a few hours of sleep for.

We didn’t quite make it at sunrise; we left the hotel a little before six o’ clock, which at this time of year is already light. No matter. What we missed in terms of the dramatic, golden hues of daybreak was somewhat compensated for by the crisp blue skies of the early morning, which afforded clear views of Mt. Merapi and Mt. Bromo along the way. Voltaire from the Embassy, who had spent three years studying at Gadjah Mada University in Yogyakarta, made sure that we would have someone to drive us to and from Borobudur and any other place we might wish to visit. The entire DFA delegation joined the excursion, save Nina who had returned by train to Jakarta with her four sisters the previous evening.

As we bought our tickets, a couple of tour guides offered their services, saying, “Without a guide, it’s just a pile of rocks.” We declined politely and made off for the monument—and what an awesome pile of rocks it was: sitting on the apex of a hill, commanding beautiful views of Mt. Merapi and Mt. Bromo, were several tiers upon which were seated hundreds of stone Buddhas in eternal meditation. Sadly, many of them had been decapitated, their severed heads presumably gazing benevolently on private art collections around the world.

Rhoda, Ronald and I opted to do a circuit of the monument, rather than climbing up the steep stairs right up to the top. We made our slow way around the terraced pyramid, the way, Rhoda explained, it must have been intended by those who built it: the carvings on the monument portrayed the life of the Buddha, progressing towards Nirvana even as the circumambulating visitor progresses up towards the pinnacle of countless stupas. Now and then, we would pause to rest against the cool stones in the shade, following the gaze of the stone Buddhas towards Mt. Bromo, a halo of clouds hovering below its summit.

When we finally made it to the summit, we slid our arms through the diamond-shaped holes in the slatted stone stupas, trying to reach the Buddha’s hands caught in a meditative pose. If we succeeded, said Rhoda, it meant that our wish would be granted. It was then that I discovered the second most popular artifact for looters—most of the Buddhas had their stone hands severed at the wrists. Some people, it seems, want a monopoly of fulfilled wishes. Fortunately, I was able to find one stupa-sheltered Buddha whose hands I managed to touch. Of course there's something that doesn’t seem quite right about making a wish to the Buddha. Wasn’t it he who taught us to let go of all attachments? And isn’t wishing for something, no matter how altruistic it may be, a form of wanting? Perhaps, this idea of having your wishes granted upon grazing the Buddha’s hands is some modern-day notion thought up by foreign visitors.

Another distinctly un-Buddha-like notion occurred to me then. Nirvana is supposed to be a state--or a non-state, you may say, because it is the state of being extinguished--rather than a place, the way some of us imagine heaven. But if it were something that could be geographically located, I thought, it must be here, or someplace like it.

(May 2007)