Noto of Java: A Tale of Love, Struggle, and Ascension in a Land of Ambiguity

By Jono Hardjowirogo

Java is never what it seems to be. It is lush and beautiful, yet the volcanoes that dotted the island from west to east clearly hid the explosive power in its belly, often exploding as if to remind those living nearby that there are powers bigger than any human can muster. The Javanese, the largest tribe residing on the island also reflect this hidden dichotomy. Calm and pleasant and yet on occasion had been known to savagely killed thousands of its own for the same of ideology or religion. Most Javanese avowed to be Muslims, yet older Hindu-Buddhist rituals are often performed without question. This inability to break with the past makes the Javanese often derided by people from other tribes as non Muslims as Noto encountered later.
Noto was facing an uncertain future after losing both his parents during the troubled year of 1965, yet Noto was able to move through life with relative ease; succeeding in everything he did through his sheer determination, cunning, and, very likely, the intelligence with which he was born. Following his instinct, he chose to enter the Army Transport Unit after graduating first in his class at the Indonesian National Military Academy to the dismay of the Superintendent of the Academy. His instinct was proofed right when he defeated and captured a rebel leader and all his troops with a rag tag group of Indonesian army mechanics soon after his arrival in the trouble spot; a feat which earned him swift battle-field promotion from Second Lieutenant to Major and attention from the new Army Chief of Staff.
While on leave from the army for a scheduled R&R, he accidentally unravel the mystery of whom his parents were. It eventually led Noto to the palace, where the Sultan had been forewarned of his arrival through the Court Recorders unusual dream. The Court Recorder had told him more than ten months earlier that in his dream someone kept on saying saying: The golden river that flows from the north will bring order to the kingdom The spiritual aspect of the premonition which foretold his arrival and the revelation of Notos ealier encounter with the Goddess of the Southern Ocean (Nyai Roro Kidul) marked Noto as a special person; someone to be reckoned with.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469199986

Jono Hardjowirogo

A graduate of Long Island University and the University of California at Los Angeles, Jono Hardjowirogo had worked for Hayden Books, Bantam Books, Simon & Schuster, Henry Holt, and Berlitz International. He then spent twelve years with the Association for Computing Machinery (ACM) as its publisher of professional peer-reviewed journals. He was actively involved in the Association of American Publishers, for which he chaired its prestigious Journals Boot Camp for new editors in Montreal in 2001 and in Philadelphia in 2002. In 2010, Jono was honored by Cambridge Who’s Who, which named him Professional of the Year of the Publishing Industry. In the same year, he also received a Certificate of Recognition for inclusion into the Elite American Executive.

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Copyright © 2012 by Jono Hardjowirogo.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2012906766

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4691-9997-9

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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114324

FOR ARIANE AND DAMON

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1 – 1965: HOW IT ALL BEGAN

2 – A NEW FAMILY

3 – RITES OF PASSAGE

4 – THE CHAOS IN JAKARTA

5 – A NEW BEGINNING

6 – BACK TO SOLO

7 – VISITING THE PALACE

8 – WORKING FOR A LIVING

9 – LOVE IN BLOOM

10 – HIGHER EDUCATION

11 – IT’S ABOUT NOTO

12 – SON OF A DANCER

13 – SARI

14 – THE LOVE OF AN OLDER WOMAN

15 – THE GRADUATES

16 – THE WRATH OF THE GODDESS OF THE SOUTHERN OCEAN

17 – BECOMING A HAJJ

18 – THE COWBOY OF LHOKSEUMAWE

19 – EAST TIMOR, ANOTHER WAR

20 – NOTO’S DISCOVERY

21 – THE PREMONITION

22 – MY FATHER’S HOUSE

23 – THE WEDDING PLANNER

24 – THE CROWN PRINCE NOTOADIJOYO

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Writing is such a lonely profession, yet those around you always bear the brunt of isolation. My children, Ariane and Damon, knew when I needed to concentrate on this project. I love you guys! My better half, Rina Aswati, encouraged me to have this done by whatever means feasible.

There are times when ideas need to be hashed and cleared, and for these, we need feedback from others. In my case, Roma Simon, who was my managing editor at ACM, was always ready to talk about what I was trying to accomplish. She went through the early draft of this book; her help is greatly appreciated.

This is a work of fiction. Many of the situations in this book are created strictly for the benefit of the story line. This work is inspired by many sources, one of which is by the nonfiction work written by Bapak, the author’s father, Manusia Jawa.¹ As an anthropologist/ethnologist, Bapak dealt with Javanese culture at a crossroads—a feudal culture, which is trying to move forward in an atmosphere of democracy where deference and respect must be earned and not prescribed. In this book, we’ll find the culture with the power of their ruler diminished. Clearly, a new way needs to be found if Javanese culture is to survive.

GLOSSARY

In any book dealing with another culture, a glossary is probably needed to guide the reader to differentiate words often used.

PREFACE

The Javanese tribe is by far the largest in Indonesia. With over 100 million individuals, the word tribe is probably not even appropriate, as it is larger than many nations in the world. Yet the Javanese are truly just one of the many groups that inhabit the Indonesian archipelago. The relationship the Javanese have with the other tribes in the archipelago is always a source for contention. Being the largest tribe, the Javanese often dominate by their sheer size alone. This domination, be it intentional or not, presented the Javanese with an interesting dilemma: dominate and control, or defer and coexist.

Defer and coexist? Well, one of the best examples in which the Javanese did defer and coexist is in the choice of national language for Indonesia. During the Youth Congress in 1928, when the decision was made to choose the national language, the Javanese representatives to the Congress threw their support to a language from the island of Sumatra rather than championing their own. While most Javanese feel that they are deferring while coexisting, the other side often doesn’t share this sentiment. People from other tribes will tell you that the Javanese do dominate and control everything, the exception being in the economy, where the Chinese are often blamed for dominating! But that’s another story altogether.

Religion is another area in which the Javanese sincerity is often questioned. While most Javanese avowed to be Muslim, often only the basic requirements for being a Muslim is met—these being circumcised and testifying that he/she believes in the god Allah and that Mohammed is his prophet (Ya Illaha Illalah Muhammad Rasul Allah). As far as the other pillars of Islam (i.e., praying five times a day, fasting during the holy month of Ramadan, and going on hajj) are concerned, all of these are often not observed as strictly for one reason or another. Because of these, people from other tribes often question whether the Javanese are truly Muslims.

1 – 1965: HOW IT ALL BEGAN

This story is about Noto. His full name is Notoadijoyo. Some of us call him Noto or Mas Noto, which means brother Noto. My name is Dharmawan Sostrodiningrat. It turned out that Noto and I are related; how we are related will be revealed in this book. We are the same age. I was born in May, and he was born in August, a slight difference in age that becomes less important and, maybe, even meaningless as we grow older.

Noto came to us on October 14, 1965. I remember that date well because it was two weeks after September 30, 1965, a date that marked the turning point in the history of modern Indonesia. My father told us that Noto was a relative from a distant village, though he never elaborated at first what that relationship was. Not until much later did we come to realize how close a relative he was. He came from a village near Boyolali, a small town on the foothill of a mountain some thirty kilometers outside of Solo, Central Java. Legend has it that the name Boyolali comes from the term "mbok yo lali, which literally means Can you please forget it!" It truly is such a nothing place—except for those living there, of course.

It was remarkably lucky for Noto that we were even in Solo when he showed up, since most of the time we lived in Jakarta, some three hundred kilometers or so to the west. Normally, only my grandfather Mbah Kakung; Giman, the caretaker; and Waginah, the maid, would be in our house in Solo. We happened to be there for a slametan, a solemn celebration, to commemorate the one thousand days since the death of Mbah Putri, my grandmother. She passed away after a long bout with tuberculosis (TB), which was common in Indonesia then. Though she clearly died from exhaustion after coughing up blood for several days, everyone still said she died peacefully in her sleep.

The one thousandth day commemoration, or nyewu dina as we Javanese called it, is one thousand days in name only, because the Javanese believe that the spirits of the dead travel at a much faster speed than do the living. I found it hard to comprehend, but everyone around me seemed to take it for granted that this was so. So the one thousandth day celebration is usually celebrated a lot sooner than it should be. Yet we common mortals continued to call it one thousand days, a nice round number. We traditionally commemorate the dead at seven, thirty, one hundred, and one thousand days. Each one of those days signifies a milestone for the body and the soul in their journeys back to whence they came, though only the elders and those who care enough to study that sort of thing would know what those milestones mean. A meaningful slametan is like a good send-off for the soul; those of us left behind are sad, but willing to let the soul go or go back to whence it came.

The date on which Mbah Putri’s one thousandth day commemoration caused for much debate in my family. It seemed Bapak and Ibu argued for days. Ibu finally consulted an expert who knew what’s involved. Afterward, Bapak—though remaining skeptical and still feeling that his original calculation was the right one—dropped his claim. Clearly, he didn’t want to argue with Ibu anymore. He accepted the expert opinion as a way of ending their impasse.

The slametan was held on the evening of September 30, a Thursday night—a night when all evils are said to be out lurking about. To ward off those evil spirits, everyone usually burns frankincense on Thursday night, filling the air with sweet, aromatic smoke. The slametan went well, at least as well as could be expected. Many relatives came, and some even stayed overnight in our large family compound. Some familiar as well as some not-so-familiar faces were there paying their respects to my late grandmother.

Who is that one? I must have asked Ibu over and over every time a new family member arrived in our compound.

Oh, that’s your third cousin who works at the sugar mill! That one is your father’s cousin from Jogya.

Frankly, I hardly knew my grandmother because we lived far from where my grandparents lived. Because of their advanced age, they were weary of traveling far. So I rarely see them. As a result, I never got to know my grandmother well when she was alive. From those who came for the slametan, I heard she was much loved by everyone. Still, the onset of TB, which started several years before she died, kept most relatives away, even though they still claimed to be very close to her. Call it self-preservation, but TB is a nasty disease, and avoiding someone with it is quite understandable. My parents had put Mbah Putri in a sanatorium in Cipanas in West Java for several months, but she really disliked being there with other TB patients; she found it too depressing. She wanted to be among people she knew, so she came home to Solo to spend the rest of her days.

You know you look a lot like your grandmother, especially when you smile, said my aunt Tante Murnie, Bapak’s younger sister, as she hugged me.

She would have loved you had you spent more time with her. You and your Mbah Putri are much alike, she said further.

As nice as that compliment might have sounded, somehow at such a young age, being likened to someone who was already dead—even when that person was my own grandmother—really made me feel uncomfortable.

Do I look dead to her? was all I could think upon hearing her comparison; I even went to the bathroom to glance at the mirror to make sure that I am not as pale as I thought she implied by her remark.

The following morning after the slametan, while we were having breakfast in the dining room, the restful sound of gamelan music on the radio was suddenly interrupted by an unexpected emergency bulletin. It was a rare occurrence, something no one in the room was accustomed to.

Attention. Attention. The following is an important news bulletin we have just received from Jakarta. Early this morning, several generals were kidnapped from their homes by unknown groups. More details to follow.

The bulletin was repeated several times that morning, and the promise of more details never came. Still, we were all glued to our seats around the radio, listening to it, hoping to understand more of what was happening in the capital, Jakarta. That short announcement stunned everyone in the room. No one seemed to move from the same position he/she was in when the announcement was first heard. Understandably, some of the relatives who were about to leave decided to postpone their departures. They dropped their suitcases and gathered around the radio.

Actually, the political situation during that time in 1965 had been extremely tense and deteriorating badly as clashes between followers of two of the biggest political parties, the Nationalist Party (PNI) and the Communist Party (PKI), were happening almost daily. So this was expected, but kidnapping several generals? That was a new development. It must be the culmination of those clashes. Almost everyone was expecting a move by either one of these parties and/or the military for control. A rumor that President Soekarno was ailing was widely circulated before we left for Solo; maybe that was the catalyst that sparked the fire. Since we didn’t yet know who kidnapped the generals that morning, our minds wandered, and speculations ran rampant.

Which generals were kidnapped, which ones? Bapak asked again and again, but no one could answer him. Obviously, everyone else knew even less than he, and the silence of the radio didn’t reveal anything anymore.

We all sat around the radio, waiting for the next news splice; but within the hour, the RRI Solo, our local radio station, too was off the air with nary an explanation. Being a journalist, Bapak immediately rushed to his room to call his office in Jakarta, but there was no telephone service to Jakarta. The telephone operator told him that there was no trunk open.

Tell Pak Mijat to warm up the car, he told someone to tell his driver. Bapak was going out somewhere to get confirmation of the kidnapping. His reporter’s sense was on. As soon as he dressed, he rushed out toward the car in the driveway. To the radio station, Pak Mijat, he told the driver.

As soon as he got to the radio station, he rushed into the building. He has been there often enough to know where to go.

Do you know who received the bulletin from Jakarta? he asked the clerk on duty at the radio station.

It must be Mas Gunawan, Pak, he is the only one on the air right now, the clerk said, pointing toward the studio toward the back of the room.

Bapak rushed toward the studio. Were you the one who received the news from Jakarta? Has there been confirmation? he asked.

I have been trying to get confirmation, but no one answered the phone in Jakarta, Pak! answered Mas Gunawan, the announcer.

Did you try sending radiogram? I am sure that’s open, Bapak suggested.

That’s a good idea, said Mas Gunawan while handing Bapak the microphone.

Bapak was startled by the fact that he has to do it himself, but he took the microphone nonetheless; and as soon as Mas Gunawan gave him the thumbs-up sign, signaling that the radiogram is on, Bapak immediately began to broadcast, This is RRI Solo on the air calling RRI Jakarta. Hello, hello, is anyone there receiving?

Bapak repeated the recognition signal several times. Mas Gunawan, who was listening through the headphone, shook his head.

Not even static, Pak! There is nothing wrong with our equipments here. We are sending, but no one in Jakarta is receiving, said Mas Gunawan politely.

The radio operator must have assumed that Bapak was an important person. After all, only an important person would have known that you could actually send messages through radiogram.

There was no communication with Jakarta at all. No one could figure out why the radio transmission had gone off the air. He immediately left the radio station.

To the army headquarter, Pak Mijat, Bapak ordered the driver as he entered the car.

I am not sure where that is, Pak, said the driver in his Jakarta slang; after all, he is not at all familiar with Solo.

Bapak told Pak Mijat where to go.

I think it’s on Slamet Rijadi Boulevard toward the east! said Bapak, pointing the direction.

Bapak was sure that the military radio communication would work, since military radios used different frequency bands than civilian ones, and they are always manned. Oddly enough, there was roadblock in front of the army headquarter. He got off the car and was able to pass the first garrison by showing his credential, but he was finally stopped when he tried to enter the building.

I am sorry, Pak. We are closed. We are on high alert. Only military personnel may enter at this time, said the soldier on duty.

Bapak tried to tell the guard who he was, but the guard still wouldn’t let him into the building. He had his order—no one may enter. Just when he was about to leave, an officer who was about to enter the building interceded.

May I help you, Pak? he asked politely.

Bapak showed his credentials, and the captain looked it over. Oh, I have read many of your articles before. Very nice to finally meet you, Pak Sostrodiningrat. Unfortunately, we are on a high level alert right now, so I am afraid civilians are not allowed into the building. How may I help you? he asked, offering his assistance.

Is the alert has something to do with what’s going on in Jakarta? Bapak asked bluntly.

Well, yes and no. I guess you don’t know that there was a killing here last night as well. Our regional commander was murdered. We have not made any announcement because it is still being investigated, and what with the kidnapping in Jakarta, we don’t want people in Solo to panic, whispered the captain.

So is it related to the kidnapping in Jakarta? Bapak asked his earlier question.

Well, we don’t know yet. We are still investigating. It’s very likely, but we are not sure yet, answered the captain.

I just came from the radio station. The announcer who received the bulletin from Jakarta said he never received any confirmation. We tried to get confirmation by telephone and through radiogram, but there was no answer either way, explained Bapak. I was wondering if it is possible to get a confirmation about the kidnapping through the military channel.

I may write an article on this for the local newspaper, said Bapak.

Frankly, I also want to know myself, said the captain. Maybe we can ask the radio operator inside to send a simple query to the Jakarta Military Command! I am sure that would be all right.

The captain took Bapak directly to the radio room inside the headquarters.

Sergeant, please radio Jakarta Military Command and ask for confirmation about the kidnapping. Just ask if it was true!

Yes, Captain, answered the sergeant while saluting.

He didn’t have to wait long before the confirmation was received almost—and some more.

Six generals and a lieutenant were kidnapped and, feared, killed early this morning by unknown group. The radio operator in Jakarta also said that he heard the presidential palace is surrounded by tanks of unknown detachment! said the sergeant.

I guess that’s a solid confirmation, said the captain.

Thank you for your help, said Bapak as he shook the captain’s hands before leaving. If it is at all possible, can you let me know if there is any further development? said Bapak while handing his business card to the captain.

I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything new from Jakarta!

Before he went home, Bapak stopped by the office of the local newspaper, which often syndicated the article he wrote. He quickly typed his article and filed his story. What little he knew made the front page of the local newspaper the following day. Bapak felt there is no reason why people far from the capital shouldn’t be informed of what’s going on.

When he finally got back home, Bapak gathered everyone in the living room and told us, I think we are going to be here for a while until we can be sure that it is safe. I am not sure how long this will take, but no one is to leave this house until we know what’s going on. One of the soldiers told me that there are lots of army activities all over the place. Even the presidential palace in Jakarta is surrounded by tanks. Seriously, I think there is a major catastrophe taking place in Jakarta.

Bapak spent the rest of the day making a list of all the army generals he knew. There weren’t that many in the Indonesian Army at the time, so the list was quite short. Bapak created two lists. One was right targeted—the generals targeted by the rightists, primarily by religious fanatics. The other left targeted—those generals targeted by the leftists, the Communists. He drew the lists based on the political leanings of the generals. As a journalist, he knew most of them in person, so it wasn’t hard to put them in either list. He spent quite a long time sorting his lists—definitely the meticulous habits of a journalist.

***

The next day, the radio station began broadcasting again. The names of the six army generals as well as a lieutenant and a general’s daughter who were killed the previous day were announced. Bapak immediately compared the names to those on his lists. Except for the army chief of staff who appeared on both lists, the names of the other five generals didn’t appear on either list. Bapak was puzzled and kept on mumbling that he couldn’t have been that wrong in his analysis. He was always very proud of his analytical skill and was clearly disturbed by how off he was. He sensed that there was something more to these killings than meets the eyes. His journalistic sense, honed by years of working as a reporter, told him that even though he was far from where the killing took place, something else was clearly at play. So he kept on thinking for more possible scenarios.

There must be more to these killings. They don’t make any sense. Why would they kill those generals, instead of the ones on my lists? Most of the victims are administrators, desk jockeys. There are no obvious advantages in killing them. Why not kill the field commanders? he said to himself out loud. I think it’s an internal power struggle within the army itself. It must be a cover-up. Something else is clearly in play.

We didn’t quite understand what he was saying, but from his facial expression, we knew he was quite disturbed and a lot quieter than usual, and we knew better than to ask him why. Meanwhile, the radio kept on repeating the bulletin, Elements of PKI, the Communist Party, have kidnapped and killed the six army generals and a lieutenant. To add to the drama, these elements of the Communist Party were dubbed GESTAPU, an acronym derived from Gerakan September Tigapuluh, or the Thirtieth September Movement. Someone was obviously trying to capitalize on the similarity with the notorious GESTAPO of the Nazi during World War II.

This announcement was immediately followed by martial music to further inflame our sense of nationalism. This went on all day with nary an explanation. Still, no one was willing to turn the radio off. We were afraid to miss whatever the next development was going to be. Being far away from the capital where everything was happening made our imagination ran wild.

The next day, Soekarno, the president of Indonesia, finally came on the radio and made a speech addressing the situation. For some unknown reason, he chose another acronym for those involved in the killing of the generals; he called them GESTOK, an acronym for Gerakan Satu Oktober, or the October First Movement. Since the event took place in the early hours of October 1, 1965, Soekarno’s acronym was clearly the right one; maybe that was his intention, simply to correct the misnomer. However, it was becoming clear from the fact that the other acronym continued to be used that opposing camps were forming, one behind Soekarno and the other behind whomever, who, at the time, wasn’t clear. No one knew who was in charge nor who was on the other side since many of the generals were gone. After the speech, the radio broadcast mentioned that the bodies of all six generals had been recovered from a shallow well called Crocodile Hole outside Jakarta, and there was an indication that the generals had been tortured before they were killed. As a journalist who always looked for meaning behind what was said, Bapak thought that the word tortured in the news piece was more propaganda in nature than factual.

How could they know that they were tortured without proper medical examinations? Their bodies must have been bruised and damaged quite a bit from being dropped into such a deep dry well. Imagine falling into a twenty-foot-deep well. They need closer examination to determine that. How could they know so fast? he voiced his suspicion out loud for the benefit of everyone in the room. I could see that everyone nodded in agreement.

For the next several days, we could tell whose camp the speaker was in by the way he referred to the killers of the generals. Those who referred to as the GESTAPU, or the September Thirtieth Movement, were clearly anti-Soekarno, while those referring to the GESTOK, or the October First Movement, were Soekarno’s backers. This black comedy didn’t last too long, as the term GESTAPU was clearly winning. Since the army controlled the radio transmission throughout the country, it was clearly a foregone conclusion; a change was in the offing—the military was gaining control of the government.

The army moved quickly, and within days, a new army chief of staff was named; and subsequently, a local army commander for Solo Military District was also appointed. Fortunately, the local army commander, Colonel Suprapto, turned out to be someone whom Bapak knew quite well. The local military commander seemed to cherish having his old friend, a famous reporter from Jakarta, hanging around his headquarter; it made him feel important, even though he knew that Bapak was there on vacation.

I think we are entering a new era! he told Bapak.

Colonel Suprapto told Bapak, confidentially of course, I heard rumor circulating through the ranks that some army units had actually broken up and were actually fighting for the ‘other side.’ There was fighting reported around the Halim Air Force Base outside Jakarta.

What do you mean by ‘the other side’? Bapak pushed for more clarification.

I don’t know any more than that. As I said, it is a rumor.

Though he wouldn’t elaborate as to who was with the other side, the colonel confirmed the rumors about problems along the main road along the Java’s north coast. So driving back to Jakarta was out of the question. It was just too dangerous. Roadblocks were set up all over the place. No one was even sure who set them up. The local military commander himself wasn’t even sure if the military had set up those roadblocks or the other side had done. Just who the other side was, no one wanted to guess.

The army special force group, the RPKAD units, moved swiftly to establish firm control and to hunt down members of the PKI and its sympathizers. Unfortunately, before long, we also heard that several Muslim and students groups had joined in the chase. Some ulemas, leaders of the Muslim groups, even declared the move a Jihad, a holy war against the Communist nonbelievers. Hundreds, or maybe even thousands, answered the call of jihad, which, the ulemas said, guaranteed immediate entry to heaven. Bapak found the entire move sickening and objectionable, but during that time of uncertainty, he didn’t want to criticize the ulemas openly. For such a transgression, they could very easily have branded him Communist or sympathizer, thus making him their next victim.

***

Another week passed by quickly, and still the situation didn’t improve; if anything, it had gotten worse. Military checkpoints were everywhere, even in the city. As a way to take our mind off what was happening, Ibu decided to make another slametan for the safe deliverance of everyone in the family. It was during