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JARANAN
V E R H A N D E L I N G E N
VA N H E T K O N I N K L I J K I N S T I T U U T
VOOR TAAL-, LAND- EN VOLKENKUNDE
252
victoria m. clara van groenendael

JARANAN
The horse dance and trance in East Java
Translated by Maria J.L. van Yperen
KITLV Press
Leiden
2008
Published by:
KITLV Press
Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde
(Royal Netherlands Institute of Southeast Asian and Caribbean Studies)
P.O. Box 9515
2300 RA Leiden
The Netherlands
website: www.kitlv.nl
e-mail: kitlvpress@kitlv.nl
KITLV is an institute of the Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences

(KNAW)
Cover: Creja ontwerpen, Leiderdorp

Audio engineer: Fridus Stijlen
ISBN 978 90 6718 306 2
© 2008 Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any

means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information
storage and retrieval system, without permission from the copyright owner.
Printed in the Netherlands

Contents
Acknowledgements ix
part one
The dramatic genre of the horse dance (jaranan)
I The horse dance (jaranan) 3

Prelude in Pulihrejo and introduction to Samboyo Putro 3
The aim of this book 8
Arrangement of the book 10
II The horse dance under the Orde Baru 13

The horse dance in Java 13
The popularity of the horse dance in Kediri 15
The supporters of the horse dance 17
The trance in the horse dance 18
Contacts with the immaterial world 18
Some theories about the trance in the horse dance 21
Comments 25
The trance master (gambuh) 25
The relation between the gambuh and the dhalang ruwat 30
The horse dance in the interface between a national and
a regional identity 34
part two
Aspects of the genre of the horse dance
III Samboyo Putro and other genres of horse dance groups 41

Introduction 41
The history of Samboyo Putro 43
The members of Samboyo Putro 45
The actors’ props, parts and costumes 48
The jaranan sénthéréwé according to the report Deskripsi rekapitulasi 63
The jaranan jawa Haswo Usodo and other genres of horse
dance groups 67
The jaranan pégon 69
The jaranan brèng 69
The jaranan képang 70
vi Contents
The jaranan buta 70

Conclusion 73
IV Performances by horse dance groups 77

Introduction 77
Occasions for performances by horse dance groups 78
Kaul 78
Family celebrations: weddings and circumcisions 79
Village or neighbourhood community celebrations 80
Community celebrations by private or government institutions 81
Processions 81
Itinerant horse dance groups (jaranan barangan) 84
The kuda képang in Jombor 84
Comments 87
The jathilan in Yogyakarta 88
Comments 89
Sedentary horse dance groups 90
The slametan, a typical ritual in Javanese society 91
The slametan for young people in Menang 94
Comments 94
The slametan for young people in Mlorah 96
Comments 97
A horse dance demonstration by Samboyo Putro 97
Comments 98
Bu Dhukun’s surprise in Menang 99
Comments 101
The blessing of the penis (njurungi planangan) in Sumberagung 103
Comments 103
The performance for a konduran 105
Comments 105
Ad hoc groups in Yogyakarta and Dongko 107
A prayer for rain 107
Comments 107
The Turonggo Yakso in Dongko 108
Comments 108
The baritan ritual 109
Comments 110
The place and the significance of the horse dance in the festivities 111
V Rituals surrounding horse dance performances 115

Introduction 115
Rituals surrounding the production and maintenance
of stage requisites 115
The ritual preparation of the performers 118
Samboyo Putro’s opening ceremony 120
The opening ceremony in Mojoroto 122
Comments 123
Contents vii
The offerings 125

The closing ceremony 131
VI The trance 133

Introduction 133
The trance of the four horsemen, a helper and several spectators 135
Comments 141
The triggering of the trance, and the trance master’s role 142
The different phases of the trance 146
The entry of a spirit 147
The surrender to the trance 150
The ‘recovery’ of the trance dancers 162
The dangers of the trance 164
The significance of the trance 166
VII The significance of the horse dance legend 169

Introduction 169
The horse dance legend according to Harjono 170
Comments 172
The earliest reports of the horse dance legend 172
Comments 174
A few Central Javanese horse dance legends 175
The story of Prince Panji and Princess Sekar Taji 175
Comments 175
The downfall of Ki Ageng Mangir 176
Comments 176
The legend as told by Samboyo Putro members 177
The story of Dèwi Sanggalangit according to Pak Samboyo 179
Comments 180
The story of Dèwi Sanggalangit according to Pak Dhalang 181
Comments 181
The symbolism of the barong 182
The significance of the legend for the horse dance 184
part three
Theme and variations: the performance in Pulihrejo
VIII Pak Dhalang’s verbal contribution in Pulihrejo 187

Introduction 187
The structure of the performance 187
The role played by Pak Dhalang 188
The presentation of the legend 190
Comments 197
The remaining, chanted contributions 198
Comments 207
Pak Dhalang’s contribution as master of ceremonies 208
Comments 213
viii Contents
IX The character of the opening dances in Pulihrejo 215

Introduction 215
Explanation of the symbols 218
Jaranan nem: the dance of the six horsemen 220
Comments 223
Jaranan pat: the dance of the four horsemen 224
Comments 226
Jaranan ro: the dance of the two horsemen 226
Comments 227
Kucingan: the dance of Toh Bagus, Pujangga-Anom, Singakumbang,
Kethèk, and Macan 227
Comments 228
Barongan-cèlèngan: the dance of the six horsemen, Toh Bagus,
Singabarong, and Kala Srenggi 229
Comments 231
X The element of play in the performance in Pulihrejo 233

Introduction 233
The wayang play (jaranan ro) 234
Comments 236
Interlude: a bridhèn dance led by youths from Samboyo Putro 238
Comments 238
The action in act four (kucingan) 239
Comments 244
The final act (barongan-cèlèngan) 245
Comments 247
The character of the performance in Pulihrejo 249
XI Conclusion 251
Appendix: Transcription of the CD recording 257
Bibliography 273
Index 285
Introduction
Acknowledgements
The manuscript about the horse dance groups Samboyo Putro and Haswo
Usodo of Kediri was ready in 1991. As a result of a variety of circumstances
it became lost, however. Because I meanwhile became involved in a number
of other projects, I left the material untouched for many years. A later reread-
ing of the fragments still remaining in my possession prompted me to make
another attempt at writing up this material. By that time I had been back to
Kediri twice. In 1992 I had been lucky enough to make a renewed acquain-
tance with the Samboyo Putro company, for the greater part still intact,
though under a new leader. I was even able to attend one of the performances
of the group in that year. By 1997 the company had ceased to be. Only its
name still survived, having been adopted by a new group in another place.
The performances of the first Samboyo Putro took place wholly within
the Suharto period (1966-1998), which had meanwhile also become a thing
of the past. Hence for both the period concerned appeared to be a closed
period. This provided me with an extra stimulus to go into the material on
the horse dance and the trance once more, as it was now possible to observe
the functioning of a specific group in a particular historical period from a
greater distance.
Many people have contributed to the completion of the monograph as it is
now. The mention of only the names of the author and the translator on the
title page is justified by the fact that, even if this book could not have been
written without the help of so many, the author bears sole responsibility for
any shortcomings that may mar it. If all the people who helped me in one
way or another were to be mentioned, the list would become too long. Hence
I will only mention a number of persons. To the others I just wish to say:
Thank you for all your help and support, both in the field and at home. Your
readiness to discuss and advise, to offer constructive criticism, to stimulate
me and to provide practical solutions has been invaluable to me.
The persons I wish to thank especially are: Marije Duijker, for her warm
friendship, her unceasing readiness to lend a listening ear, and her wonder-
ful company on the unforgettable trip we made together through East Java
in 1992; Els Bogaerts, for reading through the manuscript and providing con-
x Acknowledgements
structive criticism and suggestions again and again with unflagging inter-
est and concern; I. Supriyanto, for his constant preparedness to correct the
Javanese texts; Fridus Steijlen provided valuable assistance with putting por-
tions of my recordings on the cd that accompanies this book. Pak Hadi, my
regular becak driver, I thank for his readiness to take me wherever I wanted
to go, for the lively interest he showed in the interviews and performances,
and for afterwards sharing his impressions with me, often surprising me
with novel ways of looking at things; Pak Usodo of Haswo Usodo for his
patience and kindness in answering my many questions; the Sukaton family,
my neighbours in Kediri, and Pak Wijono, the Wedana of Paré, and his fam-
ily for introducing me to many different aspects of East Javanese society; and
the late Bertha Humardani of Solo and Nel Postma and Soejatni of Jakarta for
their never-ending warm hospitality.
This English version of the book is the outcome of close, harmonious
consultation and teamwork between the author and the translator. The act of
translating, as I experienced once again, has a dynamism all its own and is
apt to give the original text an added dimension. Hence the translator’s name
is justifiably mentioned on the title page.
The research for this book was made possible by a grant from the BIS
(Bureau Indonesische Studiën, Indonesian Studies Bureau), the executive
office of the PRIS (Programma Indonesische Studiën, Indonesian Studies
Programme), in Leiden. Much appreciated assistance was obtained from LIPI
(Lembaga Ilmu Pengetahuan Indonesia, Indonesian Institute for the Sciences)
in Jakarta and from STSI (Sekolah Tinggi Seni Indonesia, College of Indonesian
Arts) in Solo. The English translation from the original Dutch was fund-
ed by NWO (Nederlandse Organisatie voor Wetenschappelijk Onderzoek,
Netherlands Organization for Scientific Research) in ’s-Gravenhage.
This book is dedicated to the memory of Constanzo Italo Prospero Camilo

Caesarino Sandrino (Papalo) Clara and Maria Johanna Martina (Vic) van
Groenendael, who passed the necessary talents on to me; Anna Johanna
(Annie) Moerkercken van der Meulen, who helped me develop these talents;
and to the memory of Pak Samboyo Sukiman of Mojoroto, Kediri, the leader
of the jaranan Samboyo Putro, and of Ibu Tirtasudarma (Mbah Darmo) of
Baluwarti, Solo, who was always ready to give me practical help and advice
throughout my various stays in Indonesia.
N
W O
1
Z
9
16
2 3 10 MADURA
11
29 n
30 a 17 23 24
g aw 15 s
n
a
33 n t
Be
4 18 Bra
8
34 20 26
5 7 12 A 19 25
6 B 27
p 13 22
31 32 14
21 28
1 DKI Jakarta 14 Tulungagung (Karanganyar, 26 Besuki

2 Bandung Campurdarat, Kutaanyar) 27 Bondowoso
3 Cirebon (Gegesik) 15 Nganjuk (Mlorah in kec. Rejoso) 28 Banyuwangi (Gladah/Rogojampi;
4 Banyumas 16 Tuban (Kerek) Kemiren/Glagah/Tapanrejo/Muncar)
5 Kebumen (Karanganom, Puring) 17 Babad 29 Semarang
6 DI Yogyakarta (Jogonalan) 18 Jombang 30 Temanggung
7 Klaten (Bendo, Jombor) 19 Pare 31 Prambanan
8 Surakarta 20 Kodya Kediri (Pesantren) 32 Wonogiri
9 Rembang 21 Blitar (region Lodoyo) 33 Madiun
10 Blora 22 Wlingi 34 Karanganyar (Sawo/Puring)
11 Bojonegoro 23 Lamongan A Gunung Wilis (Guwa Sélamangleng)
12 Ponorogo 24 Surabaya B Gunung Kelud
13 Trenggalek (Dongko) 25 Pasuruan
Map 1. Kabupaten and Daerah Istimewa of the island of Java

an as
aw rant
ng B
Be
Mrican
Kecamatan Kecamatan Gampengrejo
Grogol
Mojoroto
Gunung Baluwerti
Wilis
Bandar-
lor
Kecamatan
Guruh
Kecamatan Semen Pesantren
an as
aw rant
ng B
Be
Kecamatan Ngadiluwih
Kecamatan Kandat
Map 2. The neighbourhoods of the Kotamadya (kodya) Kediri

Purwasari
Plemahan
Grogol Papar
Kandangan
Pagu
Pare
Gampangrejo
Kotamodya Gurah
Semen Kediri
Kepung
Plosoklaten
Mojo Puncu
Ngadiluwih
Kandat
Wates Ngancar
Kras
Map 3. Kecamatan in Kabupaten Kediri

Part One
The dramatic genre of the horse dance (jaranan)

chapter i
The horse dance (jaranan)
Prelude in Pulihrejo and introduction to Samboyo Putro
On the morning of Saturday, 12 April 1986, the village of Pulihrejo (Plosoklaten),

in the foothills of the East Javanese Mount Gunung Kelud, was preparing for a
nocturnal celebration. The Kediri horse dance group Jaranan Samboyo Putro
was to come and give a performance on the occasion of the circumcision of
one of the boys of the community. The village was all abustle the whole day
to have everything ready in time for the festivities. The yard in front of a clus-
ter of houses, including that of the sponsor of the celebration, Pak Begja, was
swept clean. On one side of the compound a number of mats were spread on
the ground. Some young men were putting up strings of lights in the trees sur-
rounding the yard and connecting these to a generator hired especially for the
evening by the host. A few technicians were setting up microphones and loud-
speakers, producing awesome squeaking noises, followed by the words tes,
tes, tes, satu-dua-tiga (‘test, test, test, one-two-three’), from time to time. A truck
delivered some metal chairs and tables, which the young people arranged
in rows in front of one of the houses. These were immediately occupied by
a group of elderly men, who then proceeded to watch and comment on the
activities in and around the yard, smoking and chatting. From a marked off
area behind the houses was to be heard the chatter of women and young girls,
who were busy cooking rice, grating great quantities of coconuts and chop-
ping and grinding all kinds of herbs and spices. Now and then some guests
arrived, the women disappearing behind the house with their contributions in
kind, and their husbands joining the group of old men in the front yard.
In the district capital Kediri, some twenty-five kilometres to the west, the
horse dance company Samboyo Putro likewise made preparations for the
festivities later that day. By about three in the afternoon most of the members
of the group, some accompanied by their wives, had gathered in front of
the house of Pak Samboyo, the leader of the company. They carried outside
Pak, an abbreviation of bapak, ‘father’ (Javanese bapa), is the polite Indonesian term of
address and reference for male adults.
Jaranan
The horses being put in readiness for conveyance to Pulihrejo. Photograph by author.
all the theatrical requisites, such as bamboo horses, masks, a leather puppet
representing a wild boar, whips, baskets containing costumes, gamelan instru-
ments, and a number of other paraphernalia, and set them out at the side of
the road. When all was in readiness, they stood laughing and joking together,
waiting for the car that was to convey them with all this to the venue of the
performance. After a long wait an open-backed truck arrived. The driver
was one of the members of Samboyo Putro. As soon as the truck pulled up,
everyone helped to load the equipment onto it. Then a few members of the
group got onto their mopeds, preferring their own means of transport to get to
Pulihrejo. Most of the others clambered into the open tray of the truck among
the theatrical props, however. I was given a seat in the cabin. At last we set
off, just before five o’clock. After picking up the female singer as well, who sat
down beside me, we drove in an easterly direction towards Kelud.
En route, the performers were constantly making music. Every time
the truck passed a village or a group of people by the side of the road, the
destination of the company was announced through a megaphone and the
passers-by were invited to come and watch the show. As we came closer to
Pulihrejo, we were continually overtaking groups of people likewise heading
for the place of the festivities. The women and children were carrying baskets
or trays of fruit and other refreshments as their contribution to the feast.
I The horse dance
The group Samboyo Putro ready for departure. Photograph by author.
By the time the truck arrived in Pulihrejo it was dark. We drove through
the village and then turned into the compound of the factory where the
performance was to take place, manoeuvring with some difficulty through
a gateway. The musicians immediately unloaded their instruments and pro-
ceeded to arrange them, with the assistance of a number of youths, on mats
spread on the ground especially for this purpose. As soon as everything was
in the right place, they started playing. The dancers had meanwhile taken
charge of the two baskets containing the costumes. With these they disap-
peared into the makeshift dressing room, a curtained-off area between two
houses standing close together. Pak Samboyo was meanwhile watching how
a few women from Pulihrejo were putting baskets and bowls of food on two
tables placed on either side of the entrance to the dressing room. They put
two buckets of water with kenanga flowers under one of the tables and tied a
hen to the table by one of its legs.
Above the table a large banner with the name and full address of the com-
pany on it was put up. Finally, one of the women brought in a burner with
charcoal and lumps of incense. Pak Sajèn, who was responsible for the food
for the offerings (sajèn) and the physical comfort of the actors, put the masks
See the drawing of the compound in Pulihrejo, Chapter VI, p. 136.

In the dressingroom. Photograph by author.
The sacrificial chicken tied to a leg of the table with offerings.
Photograph by author.
Samboyo Putro’s banner. Photograph by author.

Jaranan
that had been brought along on display beside the food on the tables. In the
meantime some Samboyo Putro helpers were checking the yard for stones,
branches and any other bits and pieces against which the performers might
hurt themselves. After a careful inspection they carried the horses, masks,
whips and slomprèt (a kind of shawm) to the centre of the performance area,
placing them on a few new mats spread on the ground. While all this was
going on, new guests and curious bystanders were continually entering the
yard, so that there was a constant coming and going.
At about seven thirty all the necessary preparations were completed and
the members of Samboyo Putro assembled near the props in the centre of the
performance area. The horse dance performance was ready to begin.
The aim of this book
The above description of the preparations for a performance by the horse

dance company Samboyo Putro brings us to the subject of the present mono-
graph: the dramatic folk genre of the horse dance (jaranan, derived from jaran,
‘horse’), which I studied in the mid-1980s. This popular group from Kediri
was active between 1971 and 1997, that is to say, in the period of the so-called
Orde Baru or New Order, the era of Suharto, the second president of the
Indonesian Republic (1966-1998).
The Suharto government from the beginning faced numerous problems,
most of which are beyond the scope of this monograph. For the present pur-
poses I shall discuss only two of these, namely the question of the role of tra-
ditional ‘artists’ in the realization of the government-planned development
of Indonesia into an economically strong modern nation, and the issue of the
relation between the centre and the regions in the creation of an Indonesian
cultural identity.
One of the chief reactions of the Suharto regime to the problem of the
economic malaise in Indonesia – a legacy from the Sukarno period – was
the launching of a succession of five-year plans, Repelita (an acronym for
The period of Suharto’s presidency, thus named to distinguish it from the previous period
of Soekarno, the first president of Indonesia (from 1945 to 1966), which from then on was referred
to as the Orde Lama or Old Order (Muskens 1970:259).
Soekarno resigned his powers to Suharto by letter of 11 March 1966, which has since
become known as Supersemar (‘Surat Perintah Sebelas Maret’, ‘Staatsbrief/Besluit [van] elf
maart’). Suharto resigned under pressure from the student population on 21 May 1998, when
Habibi was sworn in as third president of Indonesia (Elson 2001:xv, xix). This at the same time
marked the end of the New Order.
The traditional ‘artist’ was more a craftsman (tukang) than an artist (Indonesian: seniman) in
the modern Western sense of the word. Javanese has no special word for ‘artist’, but paraphrases
it as wong ulah kagunan (ing)kang èdi-èdi, ‘someone striving after a precious skill’ (Pigeaud 1982).
I The horse dance
Rencana Pembangunan Lima Tahun, ‘Five-Year Development Plan’). To make

the implementation of these plans a success, the government needed to be
able to rely on an effective parliament supported by a party that would
unconditionally endorse its targets and be capable of mobilizing the popula-
tion. To achieve this latter aim, a special role was assigned to, among others,
the exponents of traditional performing artists. This was on the one hand
because the latter give performances all over the country, down to the small-
est hamlets, and so are in a much better position than the government to
reach many people directly. On the other hand it was because they speak the
language of local rural populations – agriculturists constituting the largest
population group in still predominantly agrarian Indonesia – better than the
bureaucrats. As we shall see, there is an obvious link between this govern-
ment policy and the formation of Samboyo Putro.
The second important problem was how to give shape to an Indonesian
identity in a country with such a great diversity of regional (mostly ethnic)
population groups and cultures. Was the emphasis to be on the development
of a national culture, or was the Indonesian identity to be realized by stimulat-
ing the development of regional cultures in accordance with the demands of a
modern society? In other words, which was the better option: the component
‘unity’ of the Indonesian motto ‘Bhinneka Tunggal Ika’, ‘Unity in Diversity’,
or conversely, that of ‘diversity’? The choices made in this connection were
of great consequence for the development of the regions, and in particular
for the degree of freedom of the regions in shaping this development in their
own individual way.
Under the New Order the accent has always come to lie explicitly on unity.
An important means towards the desired end was a clearer definition of the
Pancasila state philosophy, first articulated by Soekarno in the prelude to
Indonesian independence. The definition of the five (panca) basic principles
I have elaborated this point in my publication on the role of the Javanese puppeteer (dhalang)
(Clara van Groenendael 1985). A similar argument for involving local traditional artists in the gov-
ernment’s national development programme has been put forward by Wesley Gultom (1985). He
was writing about a district in West Kalimantan, which shows that this was not a local practice.
The definition of the Indonesian identity has been a subject of debate ever since the rise
of nationalism at the beginning of the twentieth century. Yamin, for instance, held the view that
culturally Indonesia had always constituted a unity, a bangsa budaya (‘cultural nation’), but politi-
cally had only recently been transformed into one, a bangsa negara (‘political nation’). Hamka
gave much more prominence to the religious and ethnic diversity, on the other hand, and argued
that, seeing that the whole was composed of many parts, Indonesian unity was dependent on the
regions (Deliar Noer 1979:257).
The five themes formulated in Soekarno’s Pancasila speech of 1 June 1945 are: 1. national-
ism; 2. humanity; 3. representation (Indonesian-style democracy); 4. social justice; and 5. belief in
one god (in whatever way this was professed: in accordance with the tenets of Islam, Christianity,
or whatever other religion). The latter was soon elevated into the first of the five pillars (Muskens
1970:149-62).
10 Jaranan
(sila, literally ‘pillar’) was continually refined and came to be applied to every
possible area of public life. One subject of ongoing debate was the definition
of the religious article, formulated in what had meanwhile become the first
pillar, Ketuhanan Yang Maha Esa (‘Belief in the One and Only God’). The
interpretation of this article was crucial for the position of folk religions, and
by extension for that of the traditional dramatic genres that are an expression
of regional religious beliefs. In this monograph I shall try to show what, and
how great, has been the effect of this debate on the dramatic genre of the
horse dance, a regional folk genre that has been classed as one of the most
characteristic ‘traditional art forms’ (kesenian tradisional) of East Java. I shall
do so with reference to a few horse dance groups in Kediri, in particular
the Samboyo Putro company, the preparations for whose performance in
Pulihrejo have been described above.
Before going into the performance by Samboyo Putro in Pulihrejo in great-
er depth, I shall discuss some aspects of performances by horse dance groups
in general, and by Samboyo Putro in particular, in a number of separate chap-
ters. Here we shall see that the horse dance is not an isolated phenomenon,
but has borrowed much from other manifestations of the Javanese dramatic
tradition, such as the mask dance (topèng), the shadow theatre (wayang kulit),
the dance-drama with singing derived from the latter (wayang wong), play
scenarios (lakon), and historical accounts (babad).
Arrangement of the book
This monograph is divided into eleven chapters, arranged in three parts. Part
One, ‘The dramatic genre of the horse dance (jaranan)’ (Chapters I and II),
presents a general introduction. Part Two, ‘Aspects of the genre of the horse
dance’ (Chapters III-VII), gives more detailed information on the genre of
the horse dance as manifest in the present and past. In Part Three, ‘Theme
and variations: the performance in Pulihrejo’, the subjects discussed thus
far are given a more factual basis in a description of three important aspects
of Samboyo Putro’s performance in Pulihrejo (Chapters VIII-X). This part is
rounded off with a general conclusion (Chapter XI).
In the present chapter we have made our acquaintance with the two focal
points of the monograph: the village of Pulihrejo and the horse dance group
Samboyo Putro. In Chapter II a description will be given of the phenomenon
of the horse dance in Java, followed by a discussion of a number of issues that
were prominent in the rapidly changing society of Suharto’s Indonesia in the
period 1966-1998, and which affected the appreciation of the horse dance as
a traditional dramatic genre.
This general introduction will be followed by an exposition of the different
I The horse dance 11
aspects of the horse dance. In Chapter III, for instance, we will make a closer
acquaintance with the Samboyo Putro company and compare it with other
types of horse dance groups in East Java. The descriptions here are based
partly on personal observation in both East and Central Java, and partly on
official reports drawn up by regional and local governments in East Java by
order of the central government in Jakarta. The aim of the latter was to gain an
insight into the cultural heritage of the various regions, in particular as regards
dramatic genres. I shall investigate to what extent these reports meet this
objective. In Chapter IV, I will go into the question as to the kinds of occasion
for which horse dance groups give performances and what may be concluded
from this about the significance of the horse dance for the community. The
rituals accompanying or preceding performances by Samboyo Putro and other
horse dance groups will be discussed in Chapter V. The object of these rituals
is to ensure the success of the performance and to prevent mishaps. This is cru-
cial because, as will be shown in Chapter VI, in the course of performances by
companies like Samboyo Putro the dancers and other actors, and sometimes
also members of the audience, go into a trance. We shall try and find out the
significance of the trance for the dancers involved and how the performance
of the trance dancers is perceived by the audience. Chapter VII will discuss the
different horse dance legends in order to find an answer to the question of the
importance of the legend for the genre of the horse dance in general and for
the Samboyo Putro company in particular.
After thus dealing with each particular aspect of the horse dance as a
dramatic genre and explaining the views about each aspect held by the mem-
bers of Samboyo Putro, I shall return to the opening theme of this book and
describe the performance by this group in Pulihrejo step by step as a follow-
up to the earlier description of the preparations. The performance will be
discussed from three different perspectives.
Samboyo Putro appeared to be an unusual group in its sort, in the sense
that the trance master (gambuh), who was the leader of the dancers, was
assisted by a narrator-singer (dhalang), who played a part similar to that of the
narrator-singer of the wayang theatre, in particular wayang wong. Samboyo
Putro in its performances thus gave greater prominence than other horse
dance groups to the verbal aspect.10 Chapter VIII looks at the different kinds
of spoken and chanted text of the dhalang (recordings of which are on the cd),
preceded by an outline of the structure of the performance. Chapter IX con-
Wayang wong is a dance-drama with singing that was grafted onto the shadow theatre and
was developed in Surakarta in the nineteenth century. It has humans instead of puppets playing
the various roles and is accompanied by a gamelan orchestra led by a narrator (dhalang).
10 Nevertheless, the verbal aspect also plays some sort of a role in horse dance groups without
a dhalang.
12 Jaranan
tains a description of the opening dances of the respective acts up to the point
where the first dancers go into a trance. In Chapter X attention will be given
to the components of the play that are closely connected with the trance, in
which a varying number of members of the audience took an active part. We
shall see how, partly as a result of this, the performance took on the character
of a kind of communal game.
By way of conclusion I shall try and formulate an answer in Chapter XI to
my key question, namely how the horse dance group Samboyo Putro, as the
exponent of a traditional dramatic genre, came to be the most popular group
but one of the town of Kediri11 in the very period in which the tradition came
under pressure from the government as well as from society. In other words,
what was responsible for Samboyo Putro’s success?
11 ‘Kediri’ is the name of the urban municipality (kotamadya), hereafter simply called ‘town’,
as well as of the district (kabupaten) of which it is the capital. Unless otherwise stated, I shall use
the name for both.
chapter ii
The horse dance under the Orde Baru
The horse dance in Java
Nothing is known about the origin of the horse dance in Java. The earliest
description of a performance by horse dancers as far as I know is to be found
in the Serat Centhini, a Javanese picaresque romance from the beginning of
the nineteenth century (Pigeaud 1967:228-9). Here we read the following,
in Canto 291, stanza 37, about a number of mythical beings (gandarwa) and
‘horsemen’ mounted on bamboo horses (képang):
The gandarwa flourish swords
those mounted on képang
snort and kick backward like a horse
neighing and rearing.
Horse dances, according to this fragment, are performances by dancers

‘mounted’ on small, flat bamboo (and sometimes leather) horses. Performances
by dancers on horses like this are found all over Java, among the Sundanese
of West Java as well as among the Javanese of Central and East Java (Pigeaud
1938:215-43). Th.G.Th. Pigeaud, who was one of the first to devote a detailed
study to this kind of folk entertainment, believed that it was originally a
Javanese dramatic form that was adopted by the Sundanese via Cirebon
(Pigeaud 1938:216). Among the Madurese it was found only among those
groups living in East Java, he believed. It is difficult to establish at this junc-
Ngikal lamêng gandarwo amolak-malik / kang anumpak képang / pindha kuda (m)bêkos
(n)jondhil / mbêngingèh alunjak-lunjak (Kamajaya 1988, IV:161).
Various descriptions of horse dance performances had been published before Pigeaud,
who has sometimes quoted extensively from these. Pigeaud was the first author to attempt an
explanation of the importance of this kind of performance, however.
Pigeaud 1938:242-3. There were performances featuring dancing horses, jaran nandhak, jaran
jogèd or jaran kencak, on the island of Madura, but these were real horses. They probably had little
or no connection with the horse dances discussed in this book (compare Pigeaud 1938:208-9).
Pigeaud supposed that there was possibly some sort of relation, however, between these dancing
horse performances and the monèlan or jaranan horse performances, found likewise among the
Madurese, in which the dancers stand in a kind of bamboo framework in the shape of a horse
14 Jaranan
ture whether the horse dance is originally Javanese, in fact. What is clear,
however, is that it only occurs sporadically in Madura at present.
In Kediri the term for horse dance performances is jaranan (derived from
jaran, low Javanese for ‘horse’) or réyog. The latter term is somewhat vaguely
defined by Pigeaud as ‘a kind of street performance involving the horse dance,
using a kind of hobby-horse’, but also as ‘hand-to-hand fight or procession’.
In East Java we find the following genres of horse dance: jaranan jawa,
jaranan pégon, jaranan sénthéréwé, jaranan képang, réyog panaraga, jaranan brèng,
and jaranan buta. With the exception of the latter two, these also occur in
Kediri (Buku inventarisasi 1981; Data organisasi kesenian 1985). These types are
mutually distinguishable as regards actors’ costumes, number and kinds of
theatrical props, characters and roles, and musical instruments.
The horses after which the performance is named are made of screens of
woven bamboo (képang) cut into the shape of horses without legs. To stop the
wickerwork from fraying, the edges are clamped between two thick bamboo
strips. They are sometimes referred to as jaran képang or kuda képang (kuda
being the high Javanese word for ‘horse’), after this wickerwork. In some
regions in Java we come across the term kuda lumping, as the horses there
are made of lumping or leather (Kartomi 1973b:20). Clifford Geertz observed
that the horses in Pare (a sub-district of Kediri) were made of paper (Geertz
1964:262). This also seems to be the case in Tengger (East Java), where the use
of paper instead of bamboo appears to have something to do with a belief in
the magical potency of bamboo. This plant, which is subject to certain taboos in
Tengger, is allegedly held to be too dangerous as a material for the horses.
(Pigeaud 1938:207-8). He may have been referring here to what Hélène Bouvier calls cheval-jupon
javanais or kuda lumping, a kind of horse dance-drama that she does not describe further (Bouvier
1994:98, 139). This horse dance genre, which was unknown at the time of my research in Kediri,
is beyond the scope of the present study.
Bouvier 1994:98, 139. Elly Touwen-Bouwsma’s diary entry (from around 1979) describing
the performance of a horse dance group in a neighbourhood of the town of Sampang, which
she kindly placed at my disposal, suggests that trance dancing on wickerwork horses (djhatilan
képang) did still occur in Madura at that time.
Javanese is a stratified language, that is to say, word choice, and sometimes also syntax, is dif-
ferentiated according to the status of the person addressed or spoken about. Low Javanese is used
for persons of the same status as the speaker, high Javanese for persons of higher social status.
Pigeaud 1982. The term réyog does not always refer to horse dancing, however. In West Java,
and elsewhere as well, it is a term for a musical dance-drama which features no horse dancers
(Pigeaud 1938:251-2). Originating from Ponorogo, the réyog is a popular performance of two or
more horse dancers, four to seven musicians, a mask dancer (Prince Bujangganong) and a tiger
monster with a huge mask covered with peacock feathers (Singabarong), which is based on the
Panji legend (Go Tik Swan 1971; Sugiarso 2003; Ayu Sutarto 1992).
I regard the réyog panaraga, like the jaranan jawa and jaranan brèng, as a specific genre,
which is also found outside the kabupaten of Ponorogo. I have therefore rendered the term in the
Javanese spelling and without initial capitals.
Personal communication by the Swiss anthropologist Barbara Lüem, November 1986.
Both the bamboo and the leather horses are generally painted and deco-
rated with beads and small bells. For the horses’ manes and tails the fibres of
the areca palm, which look like horsehair, are often used, though the manes
may also be made of strips of red and white cotton. Sometimes the horse’s
legs are painted on the flat body.
The term jaran èblèg or kuda èblèg likewise refers to bamboo wickerwork as
a basic material for the horses (èblèg, variant of èblèk, ‘wickerwork screen’).
Other words for theatrical entertainments featuring horse dancing are jathilan
(derived from jathil, ‘young male dancer’) in Central Java (Inggris 1923:98),
kuda èbèg (èbèg, ‘decorated pommel’) in Banyumas (Kartomi 1973b:20), prajuri-
tan (derived from prajurit, ‘soldier’, hence indicating the rider of such a horse)
in Semarang (Kartomi 1973b:20), and turangga10 in Trenggalek. We often find
the word turangga, a poetic word for ‘horse’, as part of the name of a horse
dance company. In Kediri I found names like Turangga Sekti (‘Supernaturally
Endowed Horse’), Turangga Mudha or Turangga Anom (‘Young Horse’),
Turangga Jati (‘True Horse’), Turangga Jaya (‘Winning Horse’), Turangga
Warsita (‘Skilled in Horse Dancing’), Turangga Séta (‘White Horse’, in the
sense of ‘pure’), or Krida Turangga (‘Experience in Horse Dancing’) (Data
organisasi kesenian 1985). In Tulungagung I came across the name Wahyu
Turonggo Budoyo (‘Culture Horse Conveying Divine Blessing’), moreover,
and in Trenggalek, finally, Turonggo Yakso (‘Monster Horse’).
The popularity of the horse dance in Kediri
An official survey of the different dramatic genres in East Java conducted in

the years 1983 and 1984 show that in the 1980s horse dance performances were
the most popular genre but one in Kediri. At the time of this survey, 1,345 horse
dance performances were registered for the district (kabupaten) and municipal-
ity (kotamadya) of Kediri combined, over against 2,134 shadow play (wayang
kulit) performances. Following well behind these two types of theatrical
entertainment were kethoprak,11 in third place with 633 performances, biduan
(Indonesian, ‘female singer’), in fourth place with 581, ludruk,12 in fifth place
Inggris (1923:98) lists èbrèg as a variant of èblèg, translating this word as ‘horse’s jog’.
Pigeaud (1982) does not list this variant in his dictionary, which does, however, have an entry
ngéjèg, ‘prance, to run at a trot (of a horse).
10 Personal communication by an official of the arts bureau (Kantor Kesenian) of the district
of Trenggalek.
11 Kethoprak is a relatively recent commercial folk theatre genre originating in Central Java
(Yogyakarta) (Hatley 1973:40).
12 Like kethoprak, ludruk is a relatively recent commercial folk theatre genre originating in
Surabaya (Peacock 1968; Hatley 1973:40).
16 Jaranan
with 499, and wayang wong,13 in sixth place with 384 performances (Data organ-
isasi kesenian 1985). As far as the shadow play and horse dance are concerned,
these figures relate only to performances by non-commercialized groups that,
at least in Kediri, were given only in the context of family and community cel-
ebrations or on behalf of private organizations or government agencies. In the
case of the other four types there are also groups operating on a commercial
basis. It is not clear from the data, however, whether these were also included
in the survey, though I suspect that they were. Biduan, the singing of popular
songs, usually to the accompaniment of an orchestra, differed from the other
five types in its modern character and in that, at any rate in Kediri, it was exclu-
sively an urban phenomenon (Data organisasi kesenian 1985).14
The great popularity of the horse dance in Kediri district is apparent from
the fact that 73 of the 345 village communities (désa) in all,15 or an average of
almost one in five, had one or more horse dance groups of their own. Their
distribution over the district was rather uneven, however. The largest con-
centrations of horse dance companies were in the sub-districts (kecamatan) of
Kandat, Mojo and Kras, to the south of Kediri town. For these areas, twelve,
eight and six village municipalities with one or more horse dance groups of
their own were registered respectively (Data organisasi kesenian 1985).
As regards frequency of performances, the above report indicates that for
the groups in Kediri district the situation was slightly less favourable than for
those in Kediri town at the time of the survey. The 117 registered companies
in the district of Kediri together gave 926 performances in the period 1983-
1984, which comes to an average of almost eight performances per group.
This figure was inflated by the data of three groups from two villages to the
southeast of the sub-district capital, Pare. For these, 200, 100, and 50 perform-
ances respectively were registered for the relevant period. These figures
camouflage the fact that a large number of registered groups had given only
one to three performances in the period of the survey, while a few had given
none at all, and so to all intents and purposes were defunct. In Kediri town
the average number of performances was appreciably higher, the 18 groups
13 A dance-drama with singing derived from the shadow theatre, in which the parts are
played by humans instead of puppets.
14 Aside from Kediri, biduan was also found in the districts of Jombang (with ten performanc-
es in the relevant research period) and Banyuwangi (388 performances). These districts include
no urban municipalities (kotamadya) with an administration of their own, and it is not clear from
these figures whether the performances concerned took place exclusively in urban areas or per-
haps also in villages.
15 This number is only a rough approximation, as the data from the Kediri district office on
which I base myself do not tally wholly with the data from the respective sub-districts (kecama-
tan). As a result of divisions and fusions, the total number of villages tends to vary considerably.
It is not improbable that the resultant mutations were not always entered straightaway in the
district records.
registered there having given an average of well over 23 performances in this

period. This figure again was positively influenced by the Samboyo Putro
company, from the neighbourhood of Bandar-lor in the neighbourhood
(kalurahan) of Mojoroto, which with 140 performances towered far above the
other groups (Data organisasi kesenian 1985). This group, led by Pak Samboyo,
also turned out to be the most popular horse dance company in the town of
Kediri during my field research in East Java in the period 1985-1986.
A possible reason for the larger number of performances by the horse
dance groups of Kediri town is that the majority of their leaders, namely ten
of the eighteen, occupied a slightly higher rung on the social ladder than
their colleagues in the villages. They held functions in the army or, in the
case of Pak Samboyo, in the police force, in teaching, or in government offices
like the Cultural Affairs Bureau (Kantor Kebudayaan), or were members of
the village or neighbourhood administration (pamong désa). The relatively
higher status of their leaders served as a boost to the prestige of these groups.
Through these leaders they moreover had easier access to a more affluent sec-
tor of society, which tended to increase their chances of giving performances.
Samboyo Putro’s success was without any doubt attributable in large part to
the social status of its leader.
The supporters of the horse dance
For the members of horse dance groups – dancers, musicians and helpers
– participation in horse dance performances is always only a sideline. In
daily life they are mostly peasants or agricultural workers, artisans, traders
or labourers. Their audiences generally comprise members of similar kinds
of occupational groups. Hence the horse dance relies largely on the agrarian
population and the urban proletariat for its support. The leaders of horse
dance companies, as we have seen, generally occupy a slightly higher rung
on the social ladder than the other members. As a rule they are the owners
of the stage requisites, costumes, musical instruments and other parapherna-
lia. Although they usually enjoy a slightly better income than the members
of their troupe, for a variety of reasons they often live only just above the
poverty line, just like them. Their groups share in the ups and downs of their
financial situation.
Participation in horse dance performances seldom offers the actors sub-
stantial financial advantages. It is not in fact the money, but the personal
challenge of performing and the feeling of belonging somewhere that is their
prime concern. In addition they derive a certain degree of fame from taking
part in performances, which lifts them above the general anonymity of their
existence. In the circle of their relatives, friends and neighbours they usually
enjoy a certain reputation as interpreter of the part they play in the perform-
18 Jaranan
ance, and are often addressed accordingly.

The above figures show that in Kediri horse dancing was a popular form
of entertainment in the 1980s. Samboyo Putro in fact owed much of its suc-
cess to the interest taken in this genre by the community of Kediri, besides
the enthusiasm of its actors and the connections of its leader. Family as well
as community celebrations in Java as a rule take place in the public arena and
are therefore accessible to everyone. The host or hostess will preferably opt
for an entertainment genre that is popular in his or her town or village, in the
hope of thus attracting a large audience (Umar Kayam 2001:256). The choice
of a particular form of entertainment accordingly is often a measure of the
popularity of that genre in the sponsor’s surroundings. Therefore the audi-
ences turning out spontaneously to watch horse dance performances should
also be classed among the supporters of the horse dance, in addition to the
actors and the sponsors. The size of the audience is invariably one criterion
of the success of a celebration, and hence of the prestige of the sponsor of the
performance, and, needless to say, of an individual actor or group.
The trance in the horse dance
Contacts with the immaterial world
In the introduction I have already indicated that horse dancing is frequently

accompanied by a trance. That is to say, contact is sought with beings from
the immaterial world (dunia alus) and is established through a consciously
or unconsciously induced state of trance.16 Of the many types of trance or
‘altered state of consciousness’ discussed in the anthropological literature
(Rouget 1985; Bourguignon 1965), only a few are relevant to our subject.
The trance that immediately strikes one in the performances of Samboyo
Putro and similar horse dance groups is the trance of possession – a state
in which the dancer loses his identity and believes himself to have become
possessed by a spirit from the other world. The trance of possession is not
merely an individual experience, but is also a social event (Rouget 1985:322;
Bourguignon 1965:100), as the spirit communicates itself to the bystanders as
16 According to Erika Bourguignon (1965:41) the term ‘trance’, which is derived from ‘psy-
chiatry’, is little used today in the clinical literature, and it is better to speak of ‘spirit possession’.
This author makes the reservation, however, that neither the concept of ‘trance’ nor that of ‘spirit
possession’ covers every facet of altered states of consciousness, which she calls ‘dissociational
states’, and in which communication with the spirit world may occur (Bourguignon 1965:42).
Such an ‘altered state of consciousness’ is indeed characteristic of the conditions that I subsume
under the general heading ‘trance’, as will become apparent further down.
well through the specific behaviour of the ‘possessed’ person.17 The trance
dancer’s behaviour is characterized by, among other things, sudden fits of
convulsions, disorientation, diminished sensory sensitivity, loss of memory
and of social decorum, total surrender or, conversely, bouts of ranting and
raving, and periods of abandonment alternating with assertiveness and
arrogance (Belo 1960; Rouget 1985; Darmadji and Pfeiffer 1969). There are
various phases to be distinguished in the trance, which will be discussed
in detail in Chapter VI. Another striking feature of the trance of possession
is that the behaviour of the trance dancer clearly is culturally determined,
notwithstanding the fact that it also displays great similarities worldwide. In
Jane Belo’s words: ‘All the varieties of trance behavior are culturally stylized:
they bear the imprint of cultural patterning’ (Belo 1960:1).
What gives the trance of possession such great fascination for the specta-
tors is the unpredictability of the behaviour of the possessed person and the
uncertainty about the extent to which the possession is genuine (dadi, ‘suc-
cessfully completed’) or only simulated (éthok-éthok). The performances as a
result provoke both feelings of awe, and even fear, on account of the putative
visitors from the other world, and hilarity mixed with feelings of disgust at
the often extravagant behaviour of the trance dancers. An important aspect
for the possessed person is the loss of shame (ora weruh isin), as a result of
which he or she feels free to behave with complete abandon. After all, it is
not he/she, but the spirit that has entered him/her who is now responsible for
his/her deviant behaviour. As we shall see below, the sense of release from
inhibitive social norms and values was mentioned by members of Samboyo
Putro as the principal reason for joining the company.
However, not all contacts with the invisible world proceed as dramatically
as in the trance of possession. Meditation (semèdi) and dreams (mimpi) were
also frequently mentioned as channels via which people received messages
from the invisible world.18 This kind of communication eludes every form
of social control, however, and is only inferable from what the persons con-
cerned themselves say about it.
Pak Samboyo was very uncommunicative about his contacts with the
17 Rouget (1985:28) is of the opinion that only the trance in which the ‘deity’ responsible for
the dancer’s perturbation, in other words the spirit that has entered him, may be identified can be
regarded as a trance of possession. As we shall see in Chapter VI, identification of the spirits that
have entered the dancers is not of prime importance in the horse dance. The occurrence of the
trance of possession does, however, strengthen the belief in the presence of spirits that manifest
themselves in the human world through the medium of the dancers.
18 That the dream is regarded as an important condition for communication with representa-
tives of the other world is apparent from, among other things, the role of the dream in another
dramatic genre in Kediri, wayang gandrung (Clara van Groenendael 2000:50), in so-called ‘control-
led dreaming’, one of the principal techniques used by the Nage of Flores (Forth 1991:5), and in,
for example, the Jombee dance of Montserrat (Dobbin 1986:49, 63, 65, 178).
20 Jaranan
immaterial world, for reasons to be explained later. He said that he had

received the inspiration to start a horse dance group while meditating once.
As a result of his work as a policeman he had gained an understanding of the
human psyche, which stood him in good stead as trance master. He attrib-
uted his success not to his relations with intangible beings like spirits, but to
his physical and spiritual superiority.
Pak Usodo, the trance master of the Kediri horse dance group Haswo
Usodo, about whom I will say more below, told me, on the other hand, how
he was once visited in a dream by a spirit (bangsa alus) who promised him his
help as long as he, Pak Usodo, would continue to honour him.19 From that
moment on he had studied esoteric science (èlmu gaib). As soon as he was
able to call up this spirit at will, he had started operating as a trance master,
down to the present moment.20 Although he admitted he regularly went into
a trance in order to meet his spiritual guide, he remained in control of his own
behaviour, unlike his horse dancers.
The trance of the trance master and that of the horse dancers are in fact
diametrically opposed. Although the initiative for an encounter between a
human being and one or more spirits in both cases seems to be taken by the
spirit world, in the case of the trance master the spirit is said only to ‘pay a
visit’, and in the case of the dancers to ‘take possession’ of the person, whose
own personality then temporarily withdraws. The trance master at all times
remains in control of the situation and in this respect shows some resem-
blance to a shaman. The term ‘shaman’ is however better avoided, since, as
Kathy Foley (1985:44) puts it, ‘the term shaman for the spirit controller […]
conjures up images of trance flights to spirit worlds that are inappropriate in
the context of West Java’. I myself have never heard either the trance master
or the members of the horse dance companies, also in other parts of Java,
speak of a supposed journey by the spirit of the trance master to the spirit
world, in fact. Rouget (1985:19) concludes, on the basis of a large-scale project
of research into the phenomenon of the trance in many parts of the world,
that there is no evidence to be found anywhere, except in Siberian shamanis-
tic practices, that the trance is viewed as a journey by a human being to the
world of the spirits. In all the cases he investigated the trance was interpreted
as the visit of a spirit or a god to the world of man.
Although my informants were vague about the names of the visiting spir-
its, these appeared in almost every case to be the spirits of deified ancestors
(‘divinities’, in Rouget’s terminology), that is to say, of some deceased relative
(nènèk moyang), of the founder of a particular settlement (cikal bakal), or of the
19 A similar occurrence led to the creation of the wayang gandrung, a thanksgiving ritual, in
Pagung, Kediri (Clara van Groenendael 2000:50).
20 Personal communication during a chance meeting in Kediri, May 1986.
original inhabitant of a place (baureksa).

In conclusion, people mentioned cases to me of persons, usually women,
with all kinds of vague physical and/or mental disorders who had a feeling
they were being harassed (diganggu) by beings from the immaterial world
without actually being ‘possessed’ by them. These so-called imps (dhedhe-
mit) or demons (sétan), often the inhabitants of conspicuous landmarks like
crossroads, bamboo clumps, springs, big boulders, and so on, should be
distinguished from the above-mentioned deified ancestors, as they report-
edly never manifested themselves as humans.21 They allegedly belong to a
lower echelon of the spirit world. This hierarchical structure of the immaterial
world has certain implications for the social appreciation of the horse dance,
as will become apparent below.
Some theories about the trance in the horse dance
Various theories have been put forward about the phenomenon of the trance
in horse dance performances. W. Staugaard, referring to horse dance groups
performing in Kediri, remarked in a lecture in Solo in 1919 that he had come
across horse dance shows both with and without a trance. The former he called
the Tulungagung and the latter the Ponorogo type, after their respective regions
of origin (Staugaard 1921:421). But, as a study by Pigeaud (1938) reveals, there
were horse dances both with and without a trance to be found in other parts of
Java as well, many of them without any demonstrable causal connection with
the districts of Tulungagung or Ponorogo. Hence the name Tulungagung or
Ponorogo to denote either of these two types is not very appropriate.
Pigeaud believed there was a connection between the occurrence of mock
fights and of the trance (of possession). According to him no trance figured,
at least not prominently, in performances dominated by mock fights. This was
true particularly of so-called ‘major performances’, featuring various mask
dancers besides horse dancers.22 This connection does not seem very plau-
sible, however, Pigeaud himself indicating that performances in which so-
called ‘possession’ played a prominent part, as for example in Karanganyar
(Central Java), sometimes also featured mock fights (Pigeaud 1938:229). My
21 They may be comparable with what Gregory Forth (1991:5), writing about ‘mystical prac-
titioners’ (toa mali) among the Nage of Flores, calls ‘free spirits’, which he then defines as ‘a kind
of being distinguished from human ancestors and spirits of the dead’.
22 Pigeaud 1938:228-9. In his book Javaanse volksvertoningen, Pigeaud (1938) draws a consistent
distinction between masks only covering the whole or part of the face, which he calls ‘masker’
(plural ‘maskers’), and masks covering the entire head, and sometimes even part of the body,
which he calls ‘mommen’. I do not make this distinction, but prefer to use the word ‘mask’ in
both cases, except with reference to the mask of the barong dancer, to which my informants also
invariably referred as barong.
22 Jaranan
data from Kediri likewise refute such an inverse relation between the occur-
rence of mock fights and the trance, while the same is true, I was assured,
for the groups Wahyu Turonggo Budoyo from Tulungagung23 and Rukun
Santoso from Tapanrejo, in Banyuwangi.24
Yet another theory posits that no trance occurred in performances in
which a story is enacted. My Solo informants cited the réyog panaraga as an
example of this. On the whole, this theory does not appear to be correct either.
In Samboyo Putro’s performances, in which the trance of possession plays a
prominent part, the same story was acted out, though with some variations,
as in the réyog panaraga, for example. That the combination of a story and
the trance is no recent development is moreover apparent from the above-
mentioned article by Staugaard, in which he states that there was probably a
play, possibly with a story, underlying horse dance performances including a
trance (Staugaard 1921:424).
According to a casual remark by Ward Keeler, the inclusion of a trance
in horse dance performances sometimes seems to have a financial motive. In
his discussion of village politics in Karanganom (Central Java), he observes
with reference to the horse dance group (here called jathilan) of the village
head that in the past this company was sometimes hired to perform at ritual
celebrations, for instance at weddings for the purpose of accompanying the
bridal couple from the bride’s house to the bridegroom’s. It was agreed
beforehand whether or not the dancers would go into a trance, the inclusion
of a trance commanding a higher fee (Keeler 1987:100). This dependence of
the occurrence of a trance on financial remuneration should be regarded as
an exception, in my view.
Margaret Kartomi mentions a deeper underlying reason for the occur-
rence or non-occurrence of a trance in horse dancers. Alluding to the horse
dance in general, she writes: ‘At some time it became associated with various
ancient magico-religious elements, including eroticism and fertility beliefs
in the Ponorogo region, and belief in the possession of entranced dancers
by animal and ancestral spirits in other areas’.25 As regards the relationship
between horse dances, eroticism and fertility, Kartomi is basing herself on
the earlier mentioned Serat Centhini, in particular on its description of a réyog
23 Personal communication by the musicologist Paul Wolbers, who did research among this
group in 1985. I am much indebted to him for his valuable help in providing all the information
on this group.
24 Personal communication April 1986.
25 Kartomi 1976:105. Kartomi was basing herself on Pigeaud here, who in his turn was citing
a Javanese tradition attributing the origin of horse dance performances (jathilan) to military drills
on horseback under Sultan Hamengkubuwana I (Pigeaud 1938:229). This leaves the question of
how a ritual significance came in the course of time to be attached to the secular origin of the
horse dance unanswered. More will be said about this in Chapter IV.
group in Canto 291. Here a number of warok and jathilan are mentioned as
accompanying a circumcision procession, in addition to horse dancers. These
jathilan, also referred to as gemblak, were particularly handsome young boys
dressed up as women (lare jaler kang prakati / kang wanda wanodya).26 They
were purchased at an early age by warok (‘master of martial arts’, Pigeaud
1982), known for their pugnacity, and were maintained by them. With these
young male dancers, according to Kartomi (1976:107), the warok often had
homosexual relations.
J.B.M. de Lyon, basing himself on an unspecified source which I have not
been able to trace, attributed the homosexuality of the warok to their member-
ship of the crack troops of the demang (middle-ranking official) of Kutu, in
the ancient East Javanese realm of Wengker (Ponorogo). This demang report-
edly rebelled against his sovereign, the ruler of Majapahit, Brawijaya V.27 To
avoid wasting their energies, the warok were supposed to have no sexual rela-
tions with women, and instead had a sexual relationship with their gemblak
– young boys studying magic and dancing with the demang. After the decisive
battle in Kutu, which was fatal for the demang, the warok disappeared from the
political stage, according to De Lyon (1941:740-4), to turn up again with their
gemblak in the Ponorogo réyog performances later.
This is not the place to go into the relationship between the warok, the gem-
blak, and the réyog panaraga at length.28 I would like, however, to mention one
aspect of this relationship, as it may possibly explain why Kartomi does not
say anything about a trance in connection with the réyog panaraga. De Lyon,
writing about what he calls the ‘gemblak-fetisch’ (‘gemblak fetish’), uses this
term to refer on the one hand to the warok’s belief ‘that the relationship with
their gemblak was the source of their strength and vigour’, and on the other
to their supporters’ conviction ‘that the gemblak lend their warok magic pow-
ers and inspiration for their ilmu [magic science]’ (De Lyon 1941:750). On this
point there is quite a significant difference between the relation between the
warok and his gemblak on the one hand and that between the trance master
(gambuh) and his horse dancers (jaranan) on the other. Kartomi explains this
‘source of vital energy’ or fertility from the circumstance that the gemblak,
as a transvestite, unites the male and the female principle within himself
and as such symbolizes the unity of the cosmos, the human world and the
supra-human or spirit world (Kartomi 1976:108). The concept of the gemblak
as a symbol of fertility allegedly also underlies the custom pointed out by De
26 Serat Centhini, Canto 291, line 14 (Kamajaya 1988, IV:160).

27 ‘Majapahit’, founded by Prince Wijaya (later known as King (prabhu) Kertarajasa) near
Trowulan (East Java), covered a period of over two centuries of Javanese history, from the end of
the 13th to the beginning of the 16th century – a period known as Java’s ‘golden age’.
28 For this the reader is referred to the above-mentioned article by Kartomi of 1976, and to a
more recent publication by Sugiarso 2003, for instance.
24 Jaranan
The réyog panaraga at the home of Go Tik Swan (KRT Hardjanegara) in Solo.
Lyon of ‘lending’ the gemblak to a bridal couple to share their bed during the
wedding night (De Lyon 1941:745), symbolizing the wish that the young cou-
ple may be fertile and produce numerous offspring. Hence the special talent
or spiritual power of the warok and the gambuh is different. The réyog, with its
emphasis on eroticism, fertility and pageantry, symbolizes supra-human or
spiritual powers (Kartomi 1976:118). In the réyog panaraga these are already
in the relationship between the warok and his gemblak. In the jaranan, on the
other hand, these supra-human powers, or in this particular case the spirits,
have to be sought out by means of the trance. Whereas the gemblak himself is
regarded as the source of vital power, the jaranan only serves as a temporary
vessel for the spirits evoked by the gambuh. In order to be able to keep these
under control, elaborate precautions have to be taken.
Although Kartomi says nothing about ritual acts performed to summon
the spirits in the réyog panaraga, I am convinced that these were not entirely
lacking. Here I am basing myself on a personal experience in the course of
a réyog panaraga performance at the home of Go Tik Swan29 in Solo in 1971.
There I witnessed how the réyog dancer was put into a trance out of sight of
the spectators.
While the play is in full progress, the réyog dancer, who up to then has remained invis-
ible behind a low wall beside the dance floor, goes to sit down opposite the medicine
man (dhukun). There is an incense burner on the ground between them. While the
dhukun mumbles some prayers, the dancer sniffs up a few lungfuls of incense fumes.
The dhukun picks up a piece of incense, chews it for a while, and spits it onto the danc-
er’s head. Then he picks up a white cotton rag, sprinkles some aromatic oil (lisah wangi)
on it, and roughly pushes it into the dancer’s face. The latter suddenly becomes rigid,
sits on his knees, and wildly snatches at the mask that a few helpers hold out to him.
The dhukun and dancer disappear under the cloth hanging down from the mask for the
purpose of fastening the mask. This done, the barong rushes to the dance floor and starts
acting his part in the drama. He adroitly bends the mask now forward, now backward,
now to the left or right. He even manages to rise to his feet with it from a supine position
– a feat of extraordinary skill and strength, as the heavy barong mask is topped with an
almost two-metre high, very flexible bamboo crown. This requires a strength which the
dancer scarcely seems to command when he is his usual self.30
Comments
The dhukun explained to me at the end of the show that the barong is prepared
to appear only after people have ‘fed’ him (nyaosi dhahar) incense and scented
oil. If they forgot to do this, the barong would be unable to dance, as the mask
would in that case be ‘too heavy’ (kaboten). The members of Samboyo Putro
frequently gave me a similar reason for the ‘feeding’ of the horses, masks and
whips at the beginning of its performances. The difference between the réyog
panaraga and the jaranan is in fact no more than a difference in emphasis. The
element of the trance is not entirely absent in réyog panaraga performances,
either, although here it seems to be restricted solely to the barong, as Andrew
Beatty (1999:60; see also Pigeaud 1938:438) has also pointed out.
The trance master (gambuh)
The horse dance in Kediri owes its popularity principally to the spectacular
or comical stunts performed by the dancers while in trance, acts from which
they would recoil in normal life. An aspect that is less conspicuous, but
29 Alias Gotekswan, Hardjono Gotekswan, and K.R.Tmg. Hardjanegara.

30 Diary entry, field notes May-September 1971.
The crown of the réyog panaraga seen from behind.
according to my informants is often more important than these histrionics, is

the possibility of establishing contact with the spirit world (alam alus) through
these dancers to ask the spirits’ advice for problems that are impossible for
humans to solve. An example of this will be discussed further down.
As indicated above, the horse dancers serve as temporary receptacles.
They are the vessel (wadhah) through which the spirits may become manifest
in the human world.31 In the case of the horse dancers from Kediri they do not
do so verbally but by means of gestures. The signals emitted by the spirits via
the dancers are interpreted by trance masters, who have developed a special
relationship with the spirit world. In Kediri these trance masters are called
gambuh, meaning roughly ‘to be well acquainted with someone’ (Gericke and
Roorda 1901). This refers in particular to familiarity with the world of the
spirits, which the gambuh is able to manipulate at will. As trance master he is
responsible for the proper progress of the trance. In many cases he is also the
leader of the company.
Because of the local character of horse dances – a characteristic of all ‘folk
art’ – there are many different names for the trance master in Java. Here I
will not list all of them, making an exception only for the terms dhukun and
dhalang to refer to the trance master in Central (Inggris 1923:105) and dalang
in West (Hidding 1935:97) Java respectively.
A dhukun (meaning ‘exorcist’ as well as ‘male or female healer’, Gericke
and Roorda 1901) is someone specialized in contacts with the spirit world.
In terms of control over the spirit world and authority in the human world,
dhukun can be divided into two categories, namely that of medium (préwan-
gan) and healer/exorcist (dhukun or, in Keeler’s terminology, wong tuwa).32 A
préwangan, reportedly often a woman, is someone who for the benefit of her
clients maintains a special relationship with one or more spirits, which she
may at all times invite to take possession of her body in order to manifest
themselves in the human world. As a rule the client is then able to commu-
nicate personally with this spirit. The medium will say at the end of such a
session that she cannot remember anything that has passed during it (Keeler
1987:120).
Although there is a certain resemblance between horse dancers and
préwangan, both referred to as ‘medium’, as they are both possessed by an
alien spirit, there is an important difference. The horse dancers remain pas-
31 In Java, people seek contact with the spirit world exclusively for the sake of improving their
own situation in the here and now. In Buddhist Thailand, conversely, the so-called ‘horses of the
spirit’ (ma khi) apparently seek out humans with the aim of improving their position in a future
incarnation by enhancing their own karma through the chosen person (Heinze 1988:50).
32 Literally ‘old man’, but in this particular sense someone who has specialized in esoteric
science (èlmu gaib or ngèlmu). Contrary to dhukun, this word has an unambiguously positive con-
notation (Keeler 1987:114).
28 Jaranan
sive with regard to their contacts with the spirit world. They lose conscious-
ness as soon as the spirit, which they are unable to call up themselves, has
taken possession of their body.33 In this connection people use the terms
kesurupan and kepanjingan, the impersonal passive forms of surup and panjing,
‘to enter’, respectively, which roughly mean ‘possessed (by a spirit)’ (Pigeaud
1982). These terms suggest the involuntary nature of the state for the person
concerned and indicate that he or she has no control over this. If the spirit
does not leave the person’s body of its own accord, the trance master’s help
has to be enlisted to induce it to return to its place of origin. This is different
for the préwangan. This medium appears to be able to exercise more authority
over the spirit world and not only to call up a spirit but also to send it away.34
Nevertheless, the préwangan enjoys a lower social status than the dhukun-heal-
er/exorcist because, unlike the latter, she has no access to mystic lore (ngèlmu).
More than that, the préwangan is supposed to have placed herself, and even
her clients, under an obligation to the spirits coming to her assistance in order
to be able to perform her function as such. She is believed, in fact, to serve
only as an empty vessel for the spirits (Keeler 1987:121). Even less prestige is
enjoyed by the trance dancer, as he has no influence in the spirit world at all
and is entirely dependent on the trance master.
The most neutral meaning of the word dhalang (Javanese) or dalang
(Indonesian) is ‘leader, director’, for instance of a puppet play (wayang), or,
in a more general sense, ‘(someone) behind the scenes’ (Teeuw 1996) who
pulls the strings. As a synonym for ‘trance master’, that is to say, someone
who possesses esoteric knowledge, the word dhalang is associated with a spe-
cial kind of puppeteer, namely the dhalang ruwat. This dhalang is the leader of
the exorcist ritual (ruwatan) in which the story of Murwakala, dealing with
the origin of human suffering in the form of Kala, the god of time, is enacted
(Clara van Groenendael 1985:52-3, 1998). Of the numerous puppeteers in Java
only a few are capable of performing this ritual without danger, according
to traditional belief.35 The dhalang ruwat has many years of practical train-
33 My informants were unable to give an answer to the question about where the person’s own
spirit remains while he or she is in trance. They had not considered this question and showed
little interest in metaphysical issues, possibly as a consequence of the low level of their education,
their relative youth, and the markedly materialistic spirit of the times. The literature on trance
sometimes suggests the existence of more than one soul and the possibility of one soul temporar-
ily making way for the visiting spirit (Rouget 1985:41).
34 Keeler observes, however, that in the case of the préwangan, too, the term kepanjingan is used
to denote the entry of her body by the spirit she herself has invoked (Keeler 1987:120).
35 Foley (1984:56), writing about the dhalang ruwat, whom she calls dalang kandabuana, says
‘There are thousands of dalang in Sunda. There are perhaps thirty who are dalang kandabuana,
that is, dalang ruatan.’ Although the taboo on acting as a dhalang ruwat is violated more and more
often these days, the number of dhalang bold enough to venture on this traditionally magically
dangerous enterprise is still relatively small.
ing behind him as a pupil (cantrik) of a dhalang ruwat, who has initiated him
in esoteric science and set him up as his successor (Clara van Groenendael
1985:55-7). As Foley rightly suggests in an article on healing and wayang in
West Java, a dhalang ruwat (Sundanese: dalang ruat) enjoys more social stand-
ing than a dhukun (Sundanese: dukun),36 though he is functionally comparable
with a dhukun, since he may also practise as a healer, like the dhukun (Foley
1984:53).
Like the dhalang ruwat, the gambuh has acquired his esoteric knowledge by
different means, including a period of trials. The methods may vary, depend-
ing on time, place, and personality of the candidate gambuh. The most com-
mon practices include abstinence from (certain kinds of) food, sleep or sexual
contact for a period of time; isolation from the community at set times; and
keeping vigil at a sacred spot. These trials are aimed at obtaining a divine
inspiration (wangsit), often in the form of a talisman or a personal guide in
the spirit world. In addition, the candidate gambuh may sometimes appren-
tice himself for a while to a teacher famous for his esoteric knowledge, who
need not necessarily himself be a gambuh. As far as I know, gambuh possess
no tradition prescribing that the profession is to be transmitted from father to
son or adopted son.37 In principle every man may become a gambuh provided
he has received a sign from above.
Although there were also female horse dancers, they could not become
gambuh, according to my informants. The reason for this, they stated, was
that women lack the necessary inner strength (kakuwatan batin) to grasp the
requisite esoteric knowledge.38 A practical reason why a woman is alleg-
edly unable to acquire ngèlmu is that, in view of her many social obligations
(domestic duties and child-rearing), she is not in a position to undergo the
rigorous trials that are a precondition for the acquisition of such knowledge.
This explanation, which was given to me by a few male informants, was
endorsed by some female informants. Other women rejected it as being irrel-
evant, however, pointing to the numerous female dhukun, some of whom (like
Pak Samboyo’s mother, for example) enjoyed a reputation far beyond their
own town or village for their extraordinary gift. Like their male colleagues,
they reportedly had to submit themselves to certain trials to boost this talent,
be it that they usually only exercised it in one specific area, for instance as
36 As opposed to a dhukun, a dhalang ruwat, or, as Foley (1984:65-6) calls him, dalang kanda
buana, is versed in the kawi mantra (magic formulae in archaic literary Javanese) that enable him
to bring the demon god Kala under control.
37 Although this was once the custom among puppeteers (dhalang) in the Central Javanese
principalities, it is now no longer strictly enforced (Clara van Groenendael 1985:27-30).
38 See also Keeler 1987:114. For a detailed discussion of the relation between inner strength
(potency) and gender see Keeler 1987:119-24.
30 Jaranan
midwife (dhukun bayi).39 The deeper, and to my mind real reason is that for
a woman, unlike her husband, it is felt to be unfitting to neglect her social
duties. Although males in search of esoteric knowledge may sometimes shirk
their social obligations for longer periods, and may often have to endure a
great deal of criticism for this in private life, they do enjoy social respect for
their spiritual life-style. That there were no female gambuh, at any rate in
the past, is in fact primarily a reflection of the difference in social position
between men and women in Javanese society.
Hence the activities of the gambuh and the dhalang are connected with the
belief in a world inhabited by spirits that may be influenced in favour of man
by specialists in esoteric science. This belief is commonly known as ‘Javanese
religion’ (Agama Jawa). Under the New Order there were calls for qualifying
Agama Jawa as a faith (kepercayaan) rather than a religion (agama).40 Although
the followers of Agama Jawa generally regard themselves as Muslims, accord-
ing to Harsja W. Bachtiar Agama Jawa is in no way identical with Islam
(Harsja Bachtiar 1973:98). Strict Muslims (santri) in fact label them as infidels.
In an effort to legitimate Agama Jawa, various authors have defined it in such
a way as to ‘purify’ it of undesirable elements. As we shall see, this has had
certain implications for the social appreciation of jaranan.
The relation between the gambuh and the dhalang ruwat
Harsja Bachtiar, in his critique of Clifford Geertz’ The religion of Java, writes
that Agama Jawa is manifest first and foremost in worship of the ancestors
(para leluhur) – a category including the immediate ancestors who are still
known by name and the ancestors from a more distant past, as well as the
creator of the universe. They are regarded as the source of vital strength with-
out which man cannot live. Not only have they left the Javanese a culture and
civilization that, in the eyes of the Javanese themselves, has brought them to
a higher level of social and spiritual development than the surrounding peo-
ples (of the Indonesian archipelago),41 but they also continue to exercise an
39 According to Keeler (1987:114) the midwife (dhukun bayi) forms an exception to the gener-
ally negative appreciation of female mediums.
40 As’ad El Hafidy 1982:99. In his chapter on government policy, this author states that the
problem of religious ideologies (aliran kepercayaan) allegedly forming an obstacle to a healthy
development of religious life was again brought up for discussion in the 1978 session of the
National Congress. It was decided at that time that belief in God by itself does not constitute a
(officially recognized) religion: ‘Kepercayaan terhadap Tuhan Yang Maha Esa tidak merupakan agama’
(As’ad El Hafidy 1982:98-9).
41 This idea of the supremacy of Javanese culture was formulated as follows by, among
others, Soeriokoesoemo (1918:6), a Javanese nationalist and prominent member of Boedi Oetomo
(‘Edel Streven’, founded in 1908), in the debate with the Indonesian nationalists in the journal
influence on the lives of their descendants all the time in the present (Harsja
Bachtiar 1973:98).
Koentjaraningrat gives a more detailed summary of the hierarchical
organization of the alam semesta (universe), distinguishing: Tuhan Yang Maha
Esa (God); the Prophet Muhammad and the other prophets; the saints, with
in the first place the Wali Sanga (literally ‘Nine Saints’) who according to
Javanese tradition propagated Islam in Java; the gods borrowed from the
Hindu pantheon, among whom Déwi Sri, the goddess of rice, and Bathara
Kala, the god of death, occupy a special place;42 the 12th-century ruler of
Kediri, Jayabaya, who is especially revered for his prophecies about the sub-
jugation (of Java) and subsequent independence; the immediate ancestors
and the local guardian spirit (dhanyang), who is often honoured as the found-
er (cikal bakal) of a particular settlement; and finally, the host of spirits, goblins
and giants inhabiting secret spots such as springs, bamboo clumps and wells
(Koentjaraningrat 1984:322-42). Belief in the latter category in particular is
viewed as superstition in present-day Indonesian society. Bachtiar also uses
the word ‘superstition’ in this case, implying that these spirits are ‘non-legiti-
mate’. He still classes the dhanyang as members of the legitimate category of
spirits, conversely, in the sense that belief in them may be regarded as consti-
tuting part of Agama Jawa (Harsja Bachtiar 1973:99).
The dhalang, who while performing the ruwat ritual has to join battle
with Bathara Kala, in this view maintains relations with a legitimate spirit.
Koentjaraningrat (1984:376) in fact classes the ruwat ritual as a typically
Agama Jawa ritual. Partly for this reason the dhalang enjoys the status of a
respected artist.43 The task of the gambuh that immediately strikes the eye (he
also has a secret task, about which more will be said a little further down),
on the other hand, is not concerned with these legitimate spiritual beings.
As exorcist of the spirits of horses, tigers, monkeys and all kinds of monsters
figuring in the performance – which is generally regarded as a sign of super-
stition – the gambuh has less standing in society than the dhalang.44
Wederopbouw (‘Redevelopment’) about the future of the Dutch East Indies: ‘No one with an eye
for a natural, gradual development, and besides some knowledge of the “human” psyche, can
demand that the Javanese Nation sacrifice itself for the sake of an Indies Nation [...]. The sacrifice
is too great.’
42 As well as Nyai Lara Kidul, the goddess of the Southern Ocean, who is especially wor-
shipped by followers of Kejawèn (another word for Agama Jawa) (Kartapradja 1985:59).
43 The ruwat ritual has really taken off among the Indonesian elite and in the process has
assumed incredible proportions, inter alia in the ruwat massal ceremonies, of which I attended
one in Hotel Sahid Kusuma in Solo in 1992. For this a large number of well-to-do families had
joined forces. Due to widespread publicity and the presence of television crews, the whole thing
was promoted as a tourist attraction.
44 The criticism of the horse dance is not directed at the belief in the possibility of maintaining
relations with such esoteric beings as ancestors, as witness the immense popularity of places of
32 Jaranan
Nevertheless, the difference between the dhalang ruwat and the gambuh is
not as absolute as it would seem. The dhalang ruwat, on the one hand, also
communicates in his exorcist rituals with so-called non-legitimate spirits like
the imps and demons appointed by Bathara Kala to punish any humans block-
ing his way in his search for prey (Clara van Groenendael 1998:21, 23). The
gambuh, on the other hand, as I implied just now sometimes also has dealings
with the spirit(s) of (a) deceased ancestor(s), as when he has to act as mediator
for persons with personal or social problems presumably as a result of care-
lessness in the fulfilment of their obligations towards the deceased. The gam-
buh then has to establish contact with the spirits of these deceased in order to
find the appropriate remedy. This less conspicuous aspect of his role without
any doubt belongs in the Agama Jawa sphere. Criticism of the superstitious
character of the horse dance does not concern this so-called therapeutic aspect
of the gambuh’s role, however. Critics of the horse dance have not given atten-
tion to this second, more mystical aspect, as far as I know.
Although socially the dhalang enjoys a higher status as director of the
wayang play than the gambuh as leader of horse dance performances, their
social standing is often dependent on the way in which in the eyes of their
critics they exercise their skills. The popularity of individual dhalang and
gambuh is measured first and foremost by the number of their performances.
Popularity has its downside, however. In East Java (as especially Central
Javanese dhalang pointed out) notably popular dhalang tended to be accused
of maintaining relations with (illegitimate) evil spirits with the object of
harming other people, particularly their colleagues. They were alleged to be
dhalang tenung (‘sorcerers’).45 In the eyes of several of my informants, both
dhalang and members of horse dance groups, the status of these dhalang was
very low. However that may be, the horse dance generally speaking enjoys
less prestige than the wayang. Besides the above-mentioned reason, this
has something to do with the circumstance that, unlike the wayang, it has
never been adopted into the court culture as an independent art form (see
also Pigeaud 1938:215). The few times that animal figures played a role in
court theatrical performances like wayang wong (Pigeaud 1938:182), theirs
was only a very minor part. As distinguished from the refined (alus) courtly
arts, the horse dance is qualified as a genuine folk art, and as uncouth and
vulgar (kasar). Geertz, who has copied this distinction between refined and
crude dramatic genres, speaks of an alus and a kasar art complex, for instance,
pilgrimage for spiritual support, but rather at the belief that these may manifest themselves in a
material form, such as in masks and animal figures.
45 These comments by Central Javanese dhalang, in particular dhalang from the former prin-
cipalities of Surakarta and Yogyakarta, clearly reflect a feeling of superiority vis-à-vis their East
Javanese colleagues, whom they considered to be (still) uncultured.
classing the wayang with the former and the horse dance with the latter.
As an example of this second genre he mentions an itinerant horse dance
troupe (Geertz 1964:296). An established company like Samboyo Putro will
indeed describe such a group as kasar. The qualification kasar in this par-
ticular case does not refer to the genre as a whole, however, but to a low-
status representative within it. Kasar and alus clearly are not such absolute
concepts as Geertz’ classification of the different Javanese ‘art’ forms seems
to suggest, which is why I object to this classification (Geertz 1964:261-2). I
prefer a classification of the different traditional dramatic genres into clas-
sical genres and folk entertainments (alongside modern genres, which will
be left out of consideration here, however). Judging from the headings of
the relevant chapters in his book (‘The role of classical art’ and ‘The role of
popular art’), Geertz (1964:261, 289) in actual fact also uses this classification.
The reservation should be made here, however, that the classical genres, so
called because of the preoccupation of the Javanese (court) elite with them,46
must be regarded as being no more than a sophistication of the more rustic
dramatic genres. The puppet theatre (wayang kulit), for instance, has always
enjoyed greater popularity outside than inside the court, and has played an
important part in society as a folk art form.47 Geertz has not given sufficient
attention to this fact, in my view. Precisely because of its enormous popular-
ity among all levels of Javanese and Sundanese society, the wayang theatre
was an important medium for the New Order government in its campaigns
(Clara van Groenendael 1985:133-51). As we shall see below (in Chapter III),
the horse dance was likewise involved in government campaigns in East Java,
also in Kediri.
Many Javanese regard the wayang as the noblest (adiluhur) product of
Javanese culture.48 In effect, it served as a source of inspiration for many seni-
man (‘artists’) in the development of a genre of their own. For Pak Samboyo,
too, the wayang, and in particular wayang wong, was an important inspiration
in his efforts to give horse dancing a respectable aura. He ascribed Samboyo
Putro’s success primarily to the fact that he had tried to imitate this model
as closely as possible. The role played by President Suharto’s New Order in
setting up the wayang theatre as an example will be discussed in the next
section.
46 That is to say, until about the Second World War.

47 Personal communication R.Tmg. Probohardjono, Solo 1971.
48 As’ad El Hafidy (1982:67) even puts forward the view, with somewhat exaggerated enthusi-
asm, that wayang is a popular theatrical form at every level of society, from the proletariat to the
intelligentsia, including Muslim and Christian religious leaders, ulama and pendeta respectively.
34 Jaranan
The horse dance in the interface between a national and a regional identity
When at the birth of the Republik Indonesia (Indonesian Republic) in 1945 the
various regions of the former Netherlands East Indies were united under a
national banner, the young republic could pride itself upon a rich and varied
cultural tradition as the cumulation of the different regional ethnic traditions.
The new state was in need of a national culture as the expression of a specifi-
cally Indonesian identity, however. This was to be attained by combining the
highlights of the different regional (ethnic) cultural legacies into ‘a hybrid
mix of the best of existing cultures in the nation’ (Hooker and Dick 1993:4).
The numerical preponderance of the Javanese, together with their domi-
nance of the political landscape of Indonesia, has led to Javanese influence on
Indonesian culture proportionally far exceeding that of other ethnic groups
(Hooker and Dick 1993:9; Mochtar Lubis 1985:31). This Javanese influence is
especially conspicuous in the middle-level bureaucracy, which as a conse-
quence of economic developments in Indonesia has expanded enormously.
Unlike in the West, a certain degree of economic freedom of action enjoyed
by this middle class under the New Order has not gone hand in hand with
political independence. On the contrary, political power has come to be con-
centrated more and more in the person of the president and has spilled over
to the lower levels of society hierarchically, via bureaucratic channels, in pro-
gressively decreasing proportion. This has led to the paradoxical situation in
which a capitalist economy has become connected with a feudal, centralistic
attitude (Umar Kayam 2001:274). The model for this feudal orientation was
the priyayi49 culture of the Central Javanese courts, and the wayang theatre
was the apogee of this culture (Umar Kayam 2001:275).
The official culture of the New Order consequently is an artificial con-
struct displaying traits that are obviously similar to those of ‘high Javanese
culture’, such as typically Javanese rituals, dress and performing art genres,
and influences from the Javanese idiom on official occasions (Hooker and
Dick 1993:9). In other words, the national Indonesian identity has increas-
ingly assumed the characteristics of refined Javanese court culture, be it that
this has been subject to reinterpretation by bureaucrats, the new priyayi, from
their present-day position.50
49 The word priyayi originally meant ‘Javanese official’ and ‘man of rank’ (Pigeaud 1982) and
later came to be used more generally also to denote a civil servant.
50 In Foulcher’s (1990:303) words: ‘The result is not the domination of Java in all its cul-
tural diversity or even of Javanese court culture in its original form. Rather, it is Java as defined
through the eyes of its modern-day priyayi, an eclectic combination of aspects of a kebatinan
[spiritual, syncretist religious ideology] world view and the Dutch colonial mix of public moral-
ity and private self-interest, all elaborated against a backdrop of the arts, customs and etiquette
of the courts of Central Java.’
This orientation to ‘high Javanese culture’ and the compulsory nature

of the New Order guidelines have had major consequences for the cultural
development of the regions, and for the traditional dramatic genres.
Edi Sedyawati, in her study on the ‘performing arts’ (seni pertunjukan),
points out two aspects that are affecting the position of so-called ‘traditional
folk performances’ (pertunjukan rakyat). Having their roots in the cultural
reality of a particular region, these display the specific characteristics of that
region. From an Indonesian national perspective, these performing art genres
or dramatic folk genres form part of the regional cultures (kebudayaan daerah).
To be able to function at the national level as well, these regional folk genres
have to be adapted and transmuted, as the ideas and feelings of the original
(regional/ethnic) culture are not immediately comprehensible in this wider
cultural reality. This means that traditional (regional/ethnic) folk perform-
ances need to function on two different levels, namely on the original (region-
al/ethnic) as well as on the new (national) level. In this connection Sedyawati
speaks of the ‘bilingualism’ of traditional folk theatres.51 In addition to this
increase in scope of regional folk drama, Sedyawati goes on to say, there is an
internal development taking place which is connected with the development
of Indonesian society as a whole. This is reflected by the revaluation of the
traditional elements of folk genres under the impact of changing attitudes.
This is giving rise to tension between the desire for adventure (hasrat bertua-
lang) in the satisfaction of new needs, in the form of experimentation with
traditional (and modern) elements, on the one hand,52 and the longing for
the familiarity (kekrasanan) of the old on the other (Sedyawati 1981:40). In the
context of this development, Sedyawati feels it is no longer ‘practical’ to speak
of pertunjukan rakyat and suggests replacing this term with the expression
teater tradisi (‘traditional theatre’) (Sedyawati 1981:40). In other words, she
points to the development of a civil art form, that is to say, a kind of art that
51 Sedyawati 1981:39. That this so-called bilingualism of the traditional arts is not a recent
development is evident from my study of the position of the traditional Central Javanese dhalang
in feudal Surakarta (Clara van Groenendael 1985:91-2).
52 An example of such experimentation is the wayang budha, a creation of the dancer Suprapto
in collaboration with the Central Javanese Cultural Centre (Pusat Kesenian Jawa Tengah, abbre-
viated as PKJT), in which elements of the Javanese wayang kulit, the Thai nang luong, and modern
Western dance have been combined. A more recent example is the Deddy Dance Company,
which gave a performance in the Amsterdam Music Theatre in February 2002. This performance
was based on elements ‘from the rich diversity of Indonesian cultures’ which, adapted to their
new context, reflected an obviously critical attitude to present-day Indonesian culture (Bogaerts
2002:1). An example of much more drastic modification in the case of the wayang is provided
by the experiments in cutting down the length of plays from all-night or all-day performances
to performances of only a few hours’ duration or even shorter, as these experiments throw the
question as to the essence of traditional genres into sharp relief. On this subject see, for example,
Humardani 1972, 1983. There have also been experiments with short demonstrations of horse
dancing in Kediri, as we shall see below (Chapter III).
36 Jaranan
no longer is the expression of a particular community and is determined by

the traditional values of that community, but instead is that of the individual
and his or her perception of both tradition and modernity. Art forms of this
kind are in agreement with the development of Indonesia in the direction of
a civil society.53
Another consequence of social change for the internal development of
traditional dramatic folk genres concerns the belief in the manipulability of
supra-human forces, bangsa alus, which nowadays is regarded as a kind of
superstition. Earlier I drew attention to Harsja Bachtiar’s view on the super-
stitious belief in so-called ‘illegitimate’ spirits. This has led to the trance in
the horse dance, for example, being perceived as an embarrassment, which
is having a negative effect on the image of the horse dance. In the context
of the ‘reassessment’ (revaluasi) of the horse dance in the 1980s, a new horse
dance company, the Jaranan Képang, was formed by Harjono, an official with
the Cultural Affairs Bureau of the village of Mojoroto (Kantor Kebudayaan
Mojoroto). This all-girl group of dancers and musicians directed all its atten-
tion to the aesthetic aspects of the dance, music and costumes, but featured no
trance. Except for the name, this Jaranan Képang group had little in common
with the kuda képang described by Staugaard (1921:421-6), which gave per-
formances in Kediri around the 1920s. The formation of the Jaranan Képang
company had everything to do, on the other hand, with the strategy of mak-
ing regional dramatic (folk) genres fit for ‘national’ consumption, delineated
by the Department of Education and Culture (Departemen Pendidikan dan
Kebudayaan) as part of the national cultural policy.54 In the same context,
the local cultural affairs bureaus, including that in the town of Kediri, took
the initiative in organizing competitions of horse dance groups made up of
young people and often formed ad hoc for schoolchildren during the school
holidays in East Java. On the national level, annual competitions for the
title ‘artist/performing arts group of the year’ were held both for individual
performing artists and for groups in the framework of so-called ‘festivals’.
In these stepped competitions, starting at the local level and culminating in
Jakarta, the contestants had to articulate the ‘essence’ of the particular genre
in a programme lasting maximally ten minutes. The companies involved,
53 The idea of the development of Indonesia towards a civil society has been articulated
by, among others, Bachtiar Alam. Taking the pluriformity of Indonesian society as his point of
departure, he points to two core concepts: ‘practice-oriented’ (praksis) and ‘discussion’ (wacana).
Basing himself on Pierre Bourdieu’s ‘theory of practice’ of 1977, he interprets praksis in the sense
of the so-called subjective consciousness of the individuals together making up a society. To
arrive at consensus about the course of society, discussion, in particular with the administration,
is indispensable (Bachtiar Alam 1999:6-8). As may have become clear from the above, there was
little ‘discussion’ under the political conditions of the New Order.
54 Personal communication by Harjono, August 1985.
including Samboyo Putro and Haswo Usodo which were to represent the
district of Kediri in these national competitions, composed a special chore-
ography for this purpose under the supervision of a Cultural Affairs Bureau
official. In this the horse dancers’ and mask dancers’ dance was stylized on
the model of the wayang wong. It included no trance of possession, even
though many people regarded the trance as the essence of the horse dance.
This ‘revaluation’ of the dance has in fact had an impact on Samboyo Putro’s
‘regular’ performances.
This development, whereby the form is copied and (after the example of
the wayang) sublimated but the content is adapted to contemporary needs
(at least, to those of the bureaucracy), is, in effect, resulting in a change in the
character of dramatic folk genres and even, to cite Sedyawati, in a loss of the
latter’s folk character (Sedyawati 1981:40). This was the principal reason why
Sedyawati refuses to speak of ‘folk performances’ any longer, but prefers the
term ‘traditional theatre’, in a rather broad sense, as this art form no longer is
a ‘tradition-bound’ one (terkait pada tradisi), but is a form ‘possessing a tradi-
tion’ (mempunyai tradisi) (Sedyawati 1981:40). If I understand her correctly, she
means by this that the word tradisi in the expression teater tradisi (‘traditional
theatre’) should be taken in the secularized, dynamic sense of a complex of
conventions that has developed organically in the history of the development
of this theatre, not necessarily with the aid of supernatural intervention. This
interpretation of tradition is diametrically opposed to the usual religious
one, namely as a complex of conventions or rules of conduct instituted by the
deified ancestors in a distant past, which should be handed down from gen-
eration to generation in as pure a form as possible, on pain of incurring the
ancestors divine wrath (Beattie 1966:226). The suggestion given by the latter
interpretation is that tradition is static and unchanging. In practice, of course,
it is anything but static, for, provided it is supported by the community, tra-
dition is subject to a constant process of innovation. Horse dances of today
are the end product of a long process of deliberate addition and omission of
elements, depending on time and place, by generations of actors. Sometimes
such modifications were (and are) inspired by circumstances, though the
desire for an individual identity by distinguishing one’s own group from
others has always played a role as well. Every generation gives expression
to its own interpretation of the cultural heritage. Only where society as a
whole changes its orientation and ceases to uphold the traditional values to
which a particular dramatic genre owes its existence, this may spell the end
of that genre. The fact that more than half the kinds of performance listed in
the above survey (38 of the 68) have become rare, in other words, are almost
extinct (hampir punah) (Data organisasi kesenian 1985:159-63), speaks volumes
in this connection. They seem to be no longer nurtured by society. The crea-
tion of the Jaranan Képang, according to Harjono, represented an attempt
38 Jaranan
to guard the horse dance against a similar demise by liberating it from the
element of the trance, which was no longer compatible with the spirit of the
age. This way he hoped to preserve this valuable genre, inherited from the
ancestors, for following generations.55 So far this attempt had met with very
little response from the community of Kediri, while that little response was
moreover confined to the relatives and friends of the young actors.
The developments outlined by Sedyawati and supported by government
officials like Harjono so far have taken place mainly in larger urban centres,
in art academies, and in activities sponsored by the national, regional and
local administrations. Although Samboyo Putro and Haswo Usodo seized
the opportunity of performing in this network with both hands, they contin-
ued to be chiefly dependent for their survival on audiences still oriented to a
large extent to traditional values. These then are audiences made up mostly
of members of the lower classes, or wong cilik (‘little people’), who have not
yet made the changeover to a bourgeois lifestyle or have done so only very
partially. For them the view that the horse dance, and particularly the trance
occurring in it, ‘is a door to the spirit world, where causes and cures for social
and personal problems may be sought’, put forward by Kartomi (1973b:27),
was still very true. This door to the spirit world makes the horse dance in a
sense elusive, both for the actors and for the audience. Here the role of the
trance master is crucial. The way Pak Samboyo interpreted this role appeared
to be very successful. He managed to hold the attention of his audiences
by on the one hand playing on their fear and awe for the unknown – the
anticipated appearance of the spirits from the past – and on the other hand
working into his performances topics that were of current interest, giving the
dancers a prominent part in this.
55 Personal communication, Kediri, August 1985.

Part Two
Aspects of the genre of the horse dance

chapter iii
Samboyo Putro and other genres of

horse dance groups
Introduction
The horse dance company Samboyo Putro of Kediri is the focal point of this
book. I shall therefore now introduce this group further by giving an account
of the history of its origin and a description of its members and the number
and kinds of its stage requisites.
The factors prompting the foundation of Samboyo Putro and the social
position of its leader, Pak Samboyo, have turned out to be crucial for its suc-
cess. This became apparent after the latter’s sudden death in 1990, depriving
the group of an important sponsor. When I attended a performance in 1992,
Samboyo Putro’s character had changed. Pak Samboyo’s heirs appeared to
have no interest in the group’s continued existence and had meanwhile sold
a number of its props. When I visited Kediri in 1997, the company had ceased
to be. Pak Dhalang, whom I shall introduce presently, was the only member
of the old group to have ‘relocated’ to Samboyo Putro II, a new group found-
ed in Ngetrep Lor (in the sub-district of Prambon, the district of Nganjuk) by
Pak Supandi, a fruit trader. The actors, according to Pak Dhalang, now were
mostly teenage schoolchildren, while he himself still chiefly fulfilled the func-
tion of secretary. This new group had adopted the name of its predecessor, in
the hope of being able to take advantage of its old fame.
One of the projects launched in the framework of the Suharto govern-
ment’s series of five-year development plans Repelita involved the inven-
torying and documentation of Indonesia’s great wealth of regional dramatic
genres in the 1980s. One of the aims of this project was to gain an insight
Personal communication by Pak Dhalang, 6 June 1997.

Acronym of Rencana Pembangunan Lima Tahun, ‘Five-Year Development Plan’, which,
once the plan had been well and truly put into operation, and hence was no longer a ‘plan’, was
shortened to Pelita, for Pembangunan Lima Tahun, ‘Five-Year Development’. The fourth plan
was launched in 1984 (Elson 2001:170).
42 Jaranan
into the potential of still active performance types. The need for a survey
of this kind was provided by the consideration, formulated in a report on
the media, that the medium of traditional folk entertainments possessed a
certain surplus value (kelebihan) over modern means of communication. For
a greater effectiveness of the message of Pelita, participation of this medium
was therefore considered to be of essential importance (Laporan pergelaran
media 1985:10-6). For the purposes of this survey, which was conducted prov-
ince by province, questionnaires were drawn up, which had to be filled in by
officials of the district and sub-district cultural affairs bureaus. The results
of this broad survey for the province of East Java are recorded in a number
of unpublished reports intended only for internal use. These reports deal
with all kinds of aspects of the various dramatic genres, such as the number
and kinds of organizations, the types of performance, the number of actors
involved and their social backgrounds, the frequency of performances, and
so on, as well as giving descriptions and classifications of the different gen-
res. These official reports, which are a product of the Proyek Pengembangan
Kesenian Jawa Timur (‘Project for the Development of East Javanese Art’),
implemented in the years 1981-1985, constituted an important source of
information in my research into the dis-tribution, popularity and character
of horse dances in Kediri and the districts of Tulungagung, Trenggalek and
Banyuwangi.
In these reports Pak Samboyo’s group Samboyo Putro is classified as
a jaranan sénthéréwé (Data organisasi kesenian 1985) to distinguish it from a
number of other genres of horse dance groups such as the jaranan jawa, the
jaranan pégon, the jaranan brèng, and the jaranan buto. The criteria used in
determining these ‘types’ were not applied consistently in the areas studied
– Kediri, Tulungagung and Trenggalek – however, so that this typology has
failed to achieve the object of the survey, namely to establish a clear-cut clas-
sification of horse dance groups. As it is possible to demonstrate the great
variety of such groups by reference to the descriptions of these so-called
types, on the other hand, I am taking these reports into consideration never-
theless. We shall see below that for horse dance groups another classification
is more appropriate.
The Javanese term is jaranan buta, but the reports are written in Indonesian, and where cit-
ing them, I follow their spelling.
The history of Samboyo Putro
It is no coincidence that Samboyo Putro was established in 1971, the year of

the first general elections in Indonesia under the New Order. The initiative
for its formation was taken in January of that year by the police officer Pak
Samboyo, who was a member of the government party Golkar, which was
primarily intent on preserving its own position. He told me how he had con-
ceived the wish to help his party actively at the start of the election campaign
in January 1971, when members of the different political parties were called
on to do their best to make the elections a success. Initially he did not know
how to go about this. While meditating in the place of pilgrimage Pamenang
Jayabaya one day he received a wangsit (‘divine inspiration’) to form a horse
dance group with other members of his neighbourhood to add lustre to the
Golkar campaign. The aim was to enlist as many people for the election cam-
paign as possible and to put them in the right mood by means of performanc-
es. Because shows of this kind were regarded as a voluntary contribution to
the elections, the actors received no fee. These performances did help make the
group’s name known, however. Fourteen years later Samboyo Putro appeared
to have become by far the most popular horse dance group of Kediri town.
Pak Samboyo also received the inspiration for the name Samboyo Putro
The information for this section is drawn largely from interviews with Pak Samboyo.
These were the second general elections in the history of the Indonesian Republic, the first
taking place under President Sukarno in 1955, in the period of the so-called Old Order (Dahm
1971:169-73).
In 1985 Pak Samboyo was regional commanding officer of the mobile police squad (Komda
Mobrig, Komandan Daerah Mobile Brigade) of Mojoroto (Kediri).
The name Golkar is an acronym of Golongan Karya, ‘Functional Groups’, an organization
of so-called politically neutral groups or, in Pemberton’s (1989:2) words, groups ‘not defined as a
political party per se’. During President Suharto’s regime it was the government party, of which
inter alia public servants were supposed to be members.
Other names for this place of pilgrimage are Memenang/Mamenang Jayabaya and Menang
Jayabaya, after the village of Menang in the sub-district (kecamatan) of Pagu (Kediri), where the
remains have been found of what may once have been a royal bathing-place supposedly belong-
ing the palace of the legendary 12th-century ruler of Kediri, Jayabaya. A start was made in the
mid-1970s with the partial ‘restoration’ of this complex and the construction of a symbolic grave
(officially inaugurated 17 April 1976) in commemoration of this famous ruler, to whom the
prophecy of the coming of a Ratu Adil (Just Ruler) is attributed (Suwarsono 2000:14; Petilasan Sri
Aji Joyoboyo 1989:10). This prophecy has played an important role in Javanese history (see, for
example, Carey 1981:xxxii). Pak Samboyo was assured of the protection of a powerful ancestor,
therefore, which stood him in good stead as trance master.
It is clear from Kartomi’s statement that ‘In the period leading up to the general elections in
1971, réyog was used most extensively, indeed almost exclusively, by Golkar’ (Kartomi 1976:118)
that the use of horse dance troupes was one of Golkar’s tactics. Bouvier likewise points to
Golkar’s influence on Madurese performances, which incorporated political slogans and public-
ity for Golkar (Bouvier 1994:97-8).
The crown as part of the monument of Pamenang Jayabaya. Photograph by author.
(the Indonesian spelling of the Javanese name Sambaya Putra) during his
meditation. It is an acronym of samad bebaya putra, literally meaning ‘exercising
a beneficial effect (samad) on the peril (bebaya) to the sons (putra)’, which Pak
Samboyo explained as putra kalisaa ing bebaya, ‘may my sons be invulnerable to
danger’. This name, representing a plea for the performers’ wellbeing, contains
an unmistakable allusion to the dangers of the trance. In recognition of his
position as leader of the group, Pak Samboyo, whose real name was Sukiman,
had the name of the group bestowed on him by his family and friends.10
Samboyo Putro was classed as a jaranan sénthéréwé. This name is a com-
pound of the words sénthé, denoting an edible tuber (Alocacia macrorhiza
Schott) the juice of which causes itchiness,11 and réwé, a variant of rawé, des-
ignating a wild climbing plant (Mucuna prurita Hk) with hairy pods, which
likewise cause itchiness.12 The common feature of the two component parts
of the name is that they each designate a plant causing irritation to the skin.
According to Pak Dhalang the name sénthéréwé alluded to the often jerky
movements of the horse dancers when in trance, as though they were con-
tinually suffering from itchiness, a physical reaction known from elsewhere
as well (Darmadji and Pfeiffer 1969:3287). The origin of the characterization
sénthéréwé has not become clear to me. Except in the above-mentioned reports
and in interviews with government officials, I have not come across it any-
where. On its banner, the group did not describe itself as a jaranan sénthéréwé
but as a kesenian jawa asli, an ‘authentic Javanese art form’.
The members of Samboyo Putro
The group Samboyo Putro comprised from 21 to 30 players, aside from its
leader, Pak Samboyo. The latter was assisted as trance master by Pak Gambuh,
his assistant gambuh, and Pak Sajèn, who was responsible for the offerings
(sajèn) and for the physical comfort of the dancers once they were in trance.
The three of them were responsible for the wellbeing of all those present: the
dancers, the musicians, the helpers, and the spectators. Pak Gambuh also
doubled as a mask dancer. For the musical accompaniment Pak Samboyo
10 As will become obvious from what follows, a few other members of the group were also
referred to by the name of their part in the performance. I have copied this practice, as in the con-
text of the subject of this book the name of their part is more eloquent than their personal name.
11 Gericke and Roorda 1901. Heyne (1927:422-3), under Alocacia macrorhiza Schott, or Javanese
centé, says nothing about its causing itchiness, but does mention that the pith of the stem is used
for food and as a medicine.
12 Gericke and Roorda 1901. Described as follows by Heyne (1927:825): ‘The fruits [...], like the
stems and the leaves, are densely covered with small, fine, gold- or brown-coloured hairs with
fine barbs at their ends [... causing] unbearable itchiness’.
46 Jaranan
The almost complete Samboyo Putro company in Mojoroto. Photograph by author.
was assisted by the above-mentioned Pak Dhalang as singer, narrator and

conductor of the musicians – thus a role comparable to that of a dhalang of the
wayang theatre. By chanting passages from the legend on which the perform-
ances were based, he gave a rough indication of the course of these perform-
ances. He was supported by a female singer (swarawati), Bu13 Swarawati, and
seven musicians. One of the musicians, the slomprèt player Pak Slomprèt,14
usually went into a trance during performances and in that state invariably
acted the part of the clown from the Panji mask dance, Penthul. The group
of dancers, finally, was composed of six horse dancers, seven mask dancers
(including Pak Gambuh and Pak Slomprèt/Penthul), and the dancer with the
wild boar puppet (cèlèngan). Sporadically a number of children of members
of the company would also take part in a performance, such as a group of six
very young horse dancers on tiny horses and a group of three young bridhèn
dancers giving a demonstration of American break-dancing, for instance.15
13 Bu is an abbreviation of the word ibu, ‘mother, Mrs’.

14 The other slomprèt player, Pak Beja, was to be heard playing the slomprèt much less often. As
a rule he played a variety of instruments, which is why I am calling him by his own name.
15 Break-dancing, called bridhèn, or sometimes tari pribènan, in Kediri, was exceptionally
popular at the time of my research there.
Among the actual number of persons actively involved in the performances

the players’ wives should also be mentioned, as well as a varying number of
helpers. They rendered all kinds of services behind the scenes, both at home
and during performances.16
The members of Samboyo Putro considered themselves to form one big
family. Many of them were, in fact, related to each other by marriage. Pak
Samboyo was their spiritual leader – a position he owed first and foremost
to his role as trance master. He felt responsible for the ups and downs in the
lives of the members of his group outside performances as well, however.
His social position, which, with the exception of Bu Swarawati’s, was consid-
erably higher than that of the other members of the company, played a not
insignificant part in this. Thus he helped out wherever possible if one of them
was in (financial) difficulties, for instance.
The relatively high social standing of Bu Swarawati, who in daily life
was a teacher, posed no threat to Pak Samboyo’s position. It was generally
assumed, as we saw in the preceding chapter, that as a woman she would
have no access to the necessary esoteric knowledge, and hence would not
possess sufficient authority to act as leader.
The low social status of the majority of the members of Samboyo Putro
was to a large extent commensurate with their low level of education. Most
of them had enjoyed only a few years of primary education, while some
were virtually illiterate. Only Pak Samboyo, Bu Swarawati, Pak Dhalang, and
Pak Slomprèt, had enjoyed some sort of secondary education, the two latter
as puppeteer at one of the numerous Central Javanese dhalang schools. The
low level of education of most of the others was partly responsible for how
they made a living. With the exception of Pak Samboyo and Bu Swarawati,
none of the members had a regular income. They were generally registered
as swasta, ‘(small) businessmen and traders’, which term in actual fact was a
euphemism for ‘unemployed’. They had to make ends meet as casual labour-
er, truck driver, pedicab (bécak) driver, or stallholder. Some Samboyo Putro
women ran a small shop from home as a sideline. Excepting Pak Samboyo
and Bu Swarawati, the members of the group belonged to the class of wong
cilik. They regarded their participation in horse dances as a hobby, which they
only practised when they were contracted for a performance, however.
About the origin of such groups of occasional performers I have come
across only a few sporadic bits of information in the literature. Pigeaud, in
his description of mask dances in East Java, tells us that these performers and
16 In Menang, on the occasion of National Independence Day on 17 August 1985, the women
got busy washing the sweat-stained clothes of the dancers while the performance was still in
progress, so as to have these ready in time for the next day’s show. National Independence Day
generally ushered in a succession of performances for Samboyo Putro.
48 Jaranan
the audiences to which they play are often members of some society founded
especially for this purpose. They give performances for each other without a
fee, in the knowledge that they can similarly count on their fellow-members’
cooperation when they give a party themselves (Pigeaud 1938:155). This
kind of society should be distinguished from the amateur societies set up,
chiefly in urban centres, for the sake of practising a particular art form, more
especially (Javanese) dancing, around the 1920s. In imitation of the West, this
kind of society was meant to rehearse at set times under the supervision of a
specialist. They might give public performances, for instance benefit perform-
ances, on special occasions,17 but the principal aim of these societies was to
play together (Pigeaud 1938:37).
Samboyo Putro differed from these kinds of societies in two respects. It
was unlike mutual benefit societies in that it had not been established with
the express aim of adding lustre to each other’s parties to keep down the costs,
although this might happen when occasion arose. It was dissimilar to ama-
teur societies in that its members perform only if commissioned. Although
I regularly found the members of the group in each other’s company – they
were most of them neighbours – I have never seen them rehearse. As in the
wayang theatre, it is true that every horse dance performance should be
regarded up to a point as the dress rehearsal for the next performance. The
more commissions a group is able to secure, the better attuned to each other
its members become. The quality of a performance is, in fact, often directly
proportionate to the popularity of the group.
The actors’ props, parts and costumes
Samboyo Putro’s stage requisites were owned by Pak Samboyo. They com-
prised two sets of six horses, one large and one small, seven masks, a big
leather puppet in the form of a wild boar (cèlèng), several small and two big
whips (pecut), musical instruments, and costumes with matching ornaments.
I have already for the greater part described the bamboo horses (jaranan).
The larger horses measured about 140 centimetres from head to tail. The
smaller horses were about half this size. The riders sat astride these and held
them by the neck alternately with one or both hands. The horses moreover
had cords attached to them that could be tied over the dancers’ shoulders,
so that they could freely move both hands simultaneously. The horses,
17 Like the wayang wong performance given by Javanese amateurs living in Deli (Sumatra)
under the auspices of the Delische Kunstkring (Deli Art Society), for example (Lakon ‘Pergiwo-
Pergiwati’ 1916; Clara van Groenendael 1987:96-7).
which were painted black, displayed the name of the group on their rumps.
Depending on the occasion for which the performance was given, sometimes
a particular emblem was affixed to the horses’ necks as well.18
The masks were of two different kinds. The first comprised the so-called
facemasks, which were tied before the actor’s face and represented human
beings. The second were placed over the actor’s head and represented animals
and ogres. According to the type of character depicted by each of the seven
Horse in the ‘Police Day’ performance with a traffic sign on its neck.
masks, they may be further divided into the categories of knights’ masks
(two, representing Toh Bagus and Pujangga-Anom), clown masks (one, rep-
resenting Penthul), animal masks (two, representing the tiger (macan) Macan
and the monkey (kethèk) Kethèk), and mythological animal or ogre masks
18 For performances on National Independence Day this was a circle painted red and white,
the colours of the Indonesian flag, and for Police Day traffic signs, a different one on each horse.
50 Jaranan
Toh Bagus mask.

Line drawing by Hans Borkent.
Pujangga-Anom mask.
(barong) (two, representing Singakumbang and Singabarong).

The wooden mask representing Toh Bagus, a prince from Ponorogo, was
painted black and had round, bulging eyes and a bulbous snub nose. It had
a black cloth with a woolly mop of hair and long red tassels on either side
attached to it. With this cloth the mask was tied around the dancer’s head. Toh
Bagus’ patih (grand vizier or first minister), Pujangga-Anom, was represented
by a wooden mask, painted red, with bulging eyes and a long, rather pointy
nose. This mask, with a woolly white wig and long red tassels, was likewise
tied around the dancer’s head with a cloth.
The clown mask representing Penthul was a half-mask painted white that
covered only the upper part of the dancer’s face. It had whiskers painted on
either side of a rather stumpy nose,19 which sometimes moreover had real
hairs glued on top of them. The upper jaw had two large teeth affixed to it.
19 The name Penthul is derived from menthul, ‘resembling a thick knob’ (Pigeaud 1982).
Penthul mask.
Singakumbang mask.
As the mask had no lower jaw, the dancer’s mouth remained visible. This
half-mask was tied to the face by a cord or a piece of elastic.
All three of the above masks had small slits cut into them under the eyes
to enable the dancers to see. In order to be able to see their surroundings, the
dancers had to tilt their head slightly back, therefore. This gave them a rather
cocky air, as befitted their part.
In contrast with the above-described masks, which were delicately carved
out of a light kind of wood, the two barong masks were coarsely worked out of
a heavier type of wood. They were placed over the dancer’s head in such a way
as to enable him to see through the open mouth. The jaws were movable and
produced a loud, dry, cracking sound when snapped shut. Singakumbang20
was the leader of the wild forest animals (sato galak) and was Toh Bagus’ oppo-
nent. His mask had a pronounced snout with two pairs of tusks, a whole row
of pointed teeth, and a leather top painted in different colours and having the
20 A compound of singa (Sanskrit, ‘lion’) and kumbang (Javanese, ‘carpenter bee’) (Pigeaud
1982).
52 Jaranan
form of a crown (makutha) of the type

worn in wayang plays. It represented
a cat-like animal and for this reason
was also called Kucingan (derived
from kucing, ‘cat’). Singabarong,21 the
ogre king, not only was Toh Bagus’
principal antagonist, but also the lead-
ing character in the performance as a
whole. His mask had a very prominent
snout with a long row of teeth, so that
he slightly resembled a dragon or a
snake. His painted leather crown had a
bull’s horns marked on it, as well as a
few Javanese characters, which accord-
ing to Pak Dhalang spelled the word
brahala, ‘idol’ or ‘false god’,22 inscribed
in the centre. Both barong masks, each
worn by a different dancer, had a cloth
suspended from them, which largely
hid the dancers from view. Both barong
Singabarong mask. represented hybrid creatures.
The masks representing Macan and
Kethèk, the so-called sato galak and
Singakumbang’s companions, were
made of papier mâché. They exact-
ly fitted the dancer’s head and were
moreover tied tightly around his head.
Macan’s mask was painted yellow with
dark stripes and resembled the head
of a tiger. The cloth suspended from
the mask, which partially covered the
dancer, was sometimes painted so as to
look like a tiger skin. Kethèk, the mon-
key mask, was black and had a pro-
nounced snout and big holes in place
of eyes. These masks, except that of
Macan mask. Penthul, sometimes had bells attached
Line drawing by Hans Borkent. to them, which gave the dancers’ per-
21 Singabarong is a compound made up of singa, ‘lion’, and barong, from Old Javanese bar-
wang, ‘sun bear’ (Ursus malayanus) (Zoetmulder 1982).
22 Pigeaud 1982. These Javanese characters were rather unclear, however.
Cèlèng Kala Srenggi puppet.

Kethèk mask.
formance a cheerful note.

The wild boar, Kala Srenggi or
Cèlèng, in Samboyo Putro’s performanc-
es and in some legends Singabarong’s
companion was represented by a leath-
er puppet in the form of a legless wild
boar. It was chiefly black and had the
animal’s snout and tusks painted on
it in bright contrasting colours. It had
rattan handles affixed to it at the head
and tail ends, by which the dancer held
the puppet with both hands.
There were two kinds of whips,
small and large ones. The former was
for the horse dancers, who in the vari-
ous opening dances described graceful
figures with them. As the dance grew
wilder, they continually cracked them
in the air. I have never seen them strike
themselves or each other with them. The Kyai Samandiman whip.
Nor have I ever seen the two gam- Line drawing by Hans Borkent.
buh use the big sacred whip, named
Kyai Samandiman, to hit the actors,
as seemed to be the practice in some
54 Jaranan
Horseman in trance, being restrained by Kyai Samandiman. Photograph by author.
other groups.23 They only served to help the dancers go into a trance by
means of loud cracks. They were also used as a ‘therapeutic’ agent, for exam-
ple by stroking the dancer’s head with it to restore him to consciousness.
I have never seen the whip used as a ‘weapon’ in performances by
23 For example, a jaran képang group in Banyumas (Central Java). To cite Kartomi (1973b:21):
‘The leader may then pick up a long whip and strike the entranced dancer on the legs, back or
arms. But the dancer, in a state of hypnotic anaesthesia, neither winces nor shows any other reac-
tion; he feels nothing and the whip does not seem to hurt his skin.’
other groups that I attended in Kediri

and surroundings either. My Kediri
informants told me that the use of
whips or sticks to strike each other in
play is found only in the tiban ritual
(derived from tiba, ‘to drop, descend’)
of Ngadiluwih (Kediri),24 which has
nothing to do with horse dancing.
The two big whips called Kyai
Samandiman by Pak Dhalang in his
chants had magic powers attributed
to them by the members of Samboyo The kendhang panaraga, the
Putro. The sound they made was kendhang gendhing and the ketipung.
like that of the ‘voices of a thousand Line drawing by Hans Borkent.
thunderstorms’ (Kartomi 1976:112).
According to a legend from Ponorogo
the whip Jimat (‘amulet’) Samandiman
was a present from an esoteric science
guru to his pupil Klana Séwandana,
ruler of Bantarangin, whom we shall
encounter again later. Although the
big whips are some of the regular req-
uisites of East Javanese horse dance
groups, the name Samandiman does
not appear to be common. Aside from The two kenong and the kethuk.
Samboyo Putro and the Ponorogo réyog Line drawing by Hans Borkent.
(Kartomi 1976:112; Go Tik Swan 1971),
I have only come across it in the jaranan
jawa of Tulungagung. Everywhere else
both the big and the small whips were referred to simply as pecut or cambuk.
Samboyo Putro’s performances were accompanied by a gamelan orches-
24 The word tiban means, among other things, ‘to drop from the sky (like a miracle)’ (Pigeaud
1982). The ritual was originally a rain ritual, comprising a series of hand-to-hand fights in which
the male participants had to hit each other in turns with sticks or rattan canes until they drew
blood – a kind of ‘imitative magic’, based on the theory of ‘like produces like’ (Keesing 1965:334).
For the history of tiban see Permainan rakyat 1984:53-63. Today it consists of a series of man-to-
man fights using whips or sticks, subject to very strict rules, in which skill is all-important and
bloodshed is supposed to be avoided as much as possible (personal communication by an official
of the cultural affairs bureau for the district of Kediri, summer 1985). It bears a certain resem-
blance to a game called ‘gitiqan’ (Brandts Buys and Brandts Buys-van Zijp 1926:211-2), known
also among ethnic Madurese as ojung (Permainan rakyat 1984:132-40).
56 Jaranan
The slomprèt. Line draw-

ing by Hans Borkent.
The gong ageng, gong suwuk and

the kempul. Line drawing by Hans The demung.
Borkent. Line drawing by Hans Borkent.
The saron.
tra consisting of the following instruments.25 A set of double-headed drums

(kendhang), ranging in size from large to small, as follows: the kendhang pan-
araga, the kendhang,26 and sometimes the ketipung. A framework with three
kettledrums of different sizes and pitch: two kenong and one kethuk. A series
of hanging gongs of different sizes, from large to small: gong, suwuk, and kem-
pul. Two wind instruments of the shawm type (slomprèt). A varying number
25 Little research has been done to date on the composition of East Javanese gamelans. There
are major local variations in the names for the instruments, sometimes within one and the same
group, and the most common names originate from Central Java. The instruments were very
simple, moreover, and sometimes, in comparison with the gamelan of Solo, of a hybrid form.
26 The smaller kendhang, in Solo also called kendhang gendhing, has been described by Kunst
(1949:202) as ‘the principal one of the drum forms which are part of the large Central Javanese
gamelan’, In the leather-puppet play (wayang kulit) of Solo it is the largest and most important
kendhang; in the jaranan of Kediri and surroundings, the kendhang panaraga is one of the three
most characteristic instruments, the others being the slomprèt and the angklung.
The angklung.
Line drawing by The keprak.
Hans Borkent. Line drawing by Hans Borkent.
of metallophones, of which the smallest is a kind of saron (centhé),27 a slightly

larger one is sometimes called demung, and the largest is also referred to as
slenthem. A varying number of bamboo instruments, of different sizes and
pitch, played by shaking (angklung). And finally, a kind of clapper (keprak)
consisting of one or more brass discs. In the 1992 performance the angklung
was substituted by a pair of maracas.
Kartomi (1976:103) describes the kendhang panaraga (Ponorogo) as ‘excep-
tionally long, heavy and wide compared with most Southeast Asian drums’,
and as ‘typifying’ horse dance performances. The most suggestive instrument
accompanying the horse dance is the slomprèt (or selomprèt), however, which
Jaap Kunst (1949:238) describes as ‘a wooden shawm’ or a ‘kind of oboe’
having a double blowing reed made of lontar leaf.28 The slomprèt provides
what Kartomi (1976:99-100) calls the pélog-sléndro ambiguity of réyog music.
For where most horse dance music is in the seven-note pélog scale (as distin-
guished from the five-note sléndro scale), she says, the slomprèt player puts the
listener’s tonal sense to the test by an ambiguous combination of sléndro-like
intervals and deviating pélog intonations, which gives the music an element of
incessant tonal uncertainty and surprise. Later we shall see how this ambigu-
ity of the slomprèt is reflected by the trance.
As in the réyog panaraga, the kendhang panaraga and the two slomprèt played
a leading part in Samboyo Putro’s performances. In the réyog panaraga, how-
ever, the tension created by them was released not in a trance, as in the case of
Samboyo Putro and other horse dance groups, but in some spectacular feats
27 Of the centhé, which was found only in Pulihrejo, I have no illustration, as I was unable to
take any photos at the time and Samboyo Putro’s instruments were quite different from those of,
for instance, the Central Javanese (Solo, Yogya) gamelan.
28 I have heard this instrument referred to a few times as srunai (a variant of sarunai, saruni),
which is actually a more appropriate name for it (see Gericke and Roorda 1901, I:761: ‘saruni, also
sarunèn, name of a kind of oboe or clarinet’).
Pak Beja in Sumberagung. Photograph by Marije Duijker.
performed by the barong and his companion, a very young horse dancer.29
The role of the angklung was not uniformly the same in all of Samboyo
Putro’s performances. Sometimes, as for instance in Sumberagung (in
Plosoklaten, Kediri) in 1992, it was absent altogether. In one brief demonstra-
tion performance30 the angklung accompanied Pak Dhalang’s chants. And in
Pulihrejo it was played repeatedly to introduce a change in the horse danc-
ers’ dance patterns, among other things. The other instrument that sometimes
fulfilled this role was the kecèr. Contrary to what was the case in other horse
dance groups from Kediri, the kecèr did not appear to be part of Samboyo
Putro’s standard equipment.
From interviews with members of different horse dance groups it appeared
that the size of the gamelan (as well as the kinds and numbers of other requi-
sites) was to a large extent dependent on the financial situation of the group,
and so, indirectly, on its popularity. Samboyo Putro, which had started off
with a small number of instruments, had been enabled by its success to
enlarge its gamelan to some extent. Pak Samboyo told me that his ambition
was to possess a ‘complete’ gamelan some day. What he had in mind here was
the composition of so-called classical Solonese wayang wong gamelan orches-
tras, supplemented with the kendhang panaraga, the slomprèt, and the angklung
– instruments that according to him were inextricably bound up with (East)
Javanese horse dances.
There are a variety of reasons for which a group may have to part with
some of its props or one or more of its instruments, and even to dispose of its
entire gamelan. The principal such reasons are financial pressures as a result
of a drop in the number of commissions, and the departure or death of the
leader and often the owner of the requisites. The latter happened to Samboyo
Putro and eventually led to the group’s disbandment.
The musicians of Samboyo Putro showed themselves to possess a high
degree of flexibility. Although they each had a certain preference for one
particular instrument, they regularly stood in for each other during perform-
ances. Pak Samboyo and Pak Gambuh or the helpers sometimes also joined
the gamelan for a while. The slomprèt was played by invariably the same two
musicians, Pak Slomprèt and Pak Beja, however, never simultaneously but
always alternately. This was necessary, according to both, because playing the
slomprèt is extremely exhausting.
Samboyo Putro’s costumes were a mixture of traditional, folksy costumes,
the dress of Central Javanese wayang wong dancers, and fantasy outfits. Pak
29 In the performance at the home of Go Tik Swan in Solo, this small horse dancer jumped
onto the réyog’s head.
30 An abridged performance of only one hour on the occasion of a visit from some distin-
guished guests from Jakarta.
60 Jaranan
Pak Gambuh behind the kendhang panaraga. In the background the two slomprèt
players, Pak Beja (left) and Pak Slomprèt (right). Photograph by author.
Samboyo strove to achieve a certain uniformity in the dress of the musicians

and horse dancers. But it was difficult especially for the latter to keep this up
throughout the performance, as the dancers had to get changed regularly so
as not to catch cold, since they usually perspired profusely as a result of all
the capers they cut.
The costumes of the musicians, Pak Sajèn, Pak Dhalang and the two trance
masters were the simplest, and moreover provided the basis for the costumes
of most of the other players. They consisted of a pair of wide black cotton
trousers, sometimes decorated at the hem and seams with coloured edging
or fringes. On top of these was worn a loose black jacket over a cotton top or
t-shirt with horizontal red and white stripes.31 This was complemented with a
very wide leather belt to which magic powers were attributed32 and into which
often a talisman or pieces of incense were tucked. The two trance masters, Pak
Samboyo and Pak Gambuh, as well as Pak Sajèn and Pak Dhalang additionally
wore a so-called victory cord (lawé menang) of white or red-and-white braided
cotton thread around their neck as a sign of their supernatural powers.
Except for the victory cord, this was also the typical outfit of the itinerant
horse dance troupes (jaranan barangan) wandering around in the area sur-
rounding Kediri. In the case of these itinerant groups there was hardly any
difference in dress between the musicians and the dancers. The costume of
the horse dancers of Samboyo Putro, on the other hand, was more similar to
that worn in the wayang wong. It consisted of a fairly tight pair of knee-length
trousers with a long batik hip cloth tied crosswise over them, the tips of
which almost touched the ground in front, a shirt or t-shirt, sometimes with
the name of the group or, like soccer players, a number on the back, and a
colourful cotton headband (iket). The horse dancers further wore two dance
sashes (sampur) tied to their belt (sabuk) and a leather band with small bells
(gongsèng) around their ankle. In some performances the horse dancers also
wore decorated leather bands on their upper arms (kelat bau) and around their
wrists (gelang), as well as leather ear ornaments (sumping), all of the same type
as those worn by mask dancers and wayang wong dancers.
The costume of the knights Toh Bagus and Pujangga-Anom and of the two
barong was partly the same as that of the musicians, except that the two knights
additionally wore two dance sashes and sometimes a kind of cotton apron.
Because they were wearing masks, they had no headbands. The actor playing
the part of the clown Penthul was one of the musicians, as was mentioned
above. When he went into a trance he just had the penthul mask tied to his face.
Because the two barong dancers, like Macan, were almost completely hidden
by a cloth hanging down from their masks, they did not as a rule wear special
costumes. Macan sometimes wore a kind of army camouflage suit. Kethèk,
on the other hand, generally wore a close-fitting black suit with a black-and-
white chequered cotton hip cloth tied over it crosswise, two dance sashes
around his waist, and often another sash around his neck. The most colourful
31 Except for the coloured trimmings and the red-and-white striped top, this was the custom-
ary dress of the peasants and labourers in the surroundings of Kediri.
32 In the legend about the origin of the réyog panaraga (a more elaborate version than that given
by Staugaard in 1921), this ‘magic belt’ is explained as being a means of neutralizing the ‘magic
power’ of Singabarong (Kartomi 1976:113).
62 Jaranan
Pak Slomprèt as Penthul. Photograph by author.
costume was that of Kala Srenggi, the dancer with the puppet of the wild boar
(cèlèng). Under his black cotton knee-length pants he had on brightly coloured
cotton socks, while he also wore a varicoloured chequered hip cloth.33 The six
young horse dancers sometimes got up like young wayang wong dancers. The
three bridhèn dancers, on the other hand, were dressed wholly in black, with
two coloured dance sashes around their waist and a coloured band around
their head. Bu Swarawati wore now traditional Javanese dress – for example
on fairly solemn occasions, like the demonstration performance in Mojoroto
and the performance in Pulihrejo – now, on more informal occasions, Western
dress. The horse dancers, the two knights, Toh Bagus and Pujangga-Anom,
and cèlèng Kala Srenggi, finally, lent their faces greater expressiveness by
means of make-up, that of the latter being the most striking.
33 In the 1992 performance in Sumberagung the former cèlèng dancer was replaced by a young
girl who had first performed with the gamelan as singer. She was dressed like a ngrémo (dance of
welcome) dancer, that is to say, a transvestite, and made up like a man, with a big moustache, and
around her neck wore an embroidered velvet breast cloth like that worn by some horse dancers
in other groups.
Macan’s entrance. Photograph by author.
The jaranan sénthéréwé according to the report Deskripsi rekapitulasi
As indicated above, Samboyo Putro is classed as a jaranan sénthéréwé (Data

organisasi kesenian 1985). An idea of what is meant by this term is given in the
summary (Deskripsi rekapitulasi 1985) of this report.34 As we shall see, there is
a wide divergence between this description and the real situation in Samboyo
Putro. For example, the section under the heading pelaku (‘cast’) gives the
following list (Table 1): two horse dancers (kuda-kudaan), one Thèthèk-melèk
(another name for Pujangga-Anom), one Penthul dancer, one barong dancer
(barongan), one tiger dancer (macanan), one wild boar dancer (cèlèngan), one
trance master (gambuh), and one female singer (swarawati). This summary
runs to a large extent parallel to the list under pelengkapan alat (‘props’), which
34 As the data in this section have been taken from this report, except where otherwise indi-
cated, and only the first of the two pages covered by it is relevant for our purposes here, I shall
give no page references for it in what follows.
Table 1. The composition and equipment of the jaranan sénthéréwé of Kediri according
to the report Deskripsi rekapitulasi 1984/1985 and in Samboyo Putro
Deskripsi rekapitulasi* Samboyo Putro
Cast (pelaku) 2 kuda-kudaan 6 horse dancers
1 Thethek-melek 2 knights
1 Penthul 1 Penthul
1 barongan 2 barong dancers
1 macanan 1 macan dancer
1 celengan 1 cèlèng dancer
1 gambuh 2 trance masters (gambuh)
1 swarawati 1 female singer (swarawati)
1 narrator
1 master of offerings
5 to 7 musicians
helpers
Props kuda 6 horses

(pelengkapan alat) cambuk whips
thethek-melek 2 knights’ masks
penthul 1 penthul mask
barong 2 barong masks
macan 1 macan mask
celengan 1 wild boar puppet (cèlèngan)
1 kethèk mask
Gamelan 2 kendhang 2 kendhang (kendhang panaraga,

(iringan) kendhang [1 ketipung])
[2 kettledrums:] 3 kettledrums
kethuk, kenong (2 kenong, 1 kethuk)
3 gong 3 gongs (gong, suwuk, kempul)
3 angklung 3 or more angklung
2 trompet 2 slomprèt
[metallophones:] 2 saron 2 or 3 metallophones (centhé,
saron, demung, slenthem)
[1 ketipung] 1 kecèr
2 maracas
Costumes and ikat kepala headcloth (iket kepala)

ornaments baju jacket and knee-length trousers
(pelengkapan busana) kain panjang batik shirt
sampur dance sashes (sampur)
gongseng anklets (gongsèng)
upper-arm bands (kelat bau)
wrist bands (gelang)
ear ornament (sumping)
* The report follows the Indonesian transcription of the Javanese words
Bu Swarawati in Sumberagung. Photograph by Marije Duijker.
has: horses (kuda), whips (cambuk, a synonym of pecut), thèthèk-melèk mask,

penthul mask, barong mask, tiger mask (macan), and wild boar puppet (cèlèn-
gan), with no numbers being specified.
In comparison with Samboyo Putro, the box headed pelaku therefore lists
four fewer horse dancers, one fewer knight (not mentioning Toh Bagus), and
one fewer barong dancer (leaving out Singakumbang), while omitting the
monkey dancer (Kethèk) and one of the two trance masters, as well as the
narrator and the master of the offerings, and not mentioning the musicians
at all.
66 Jaranan
Pak Gambuh as Singakumbang. Photograph by author.
The participation of only one instead of two gambuh need not necessarily
be problematic for the performance. In the case of Samboyo Putro, too, Pak
Sajèn and the helpers regularly stepped in to take care of the trance dancers.
Here, moreover, Pak Gambuh himself always went into a trance for a while in
his part as Singakumbang or, as he put it, fell ‘under the spell of the barong’
(kesawaban barongan). The absence of Kethèk presumably had little real effect
on the performance either, apart from the liveliness this figure usually imparts.
As regards the number of horses and the second barong, this was a differ-
ent matter. In Samboyo Putro’s performances their appearance determined,
among other things, the fixed order (pathokan)35 of the different acts. Hence the
absence of two pairs of horse dancers (they invariably performed in pairs) and
of one of the two barong presumably had certain implications for the number of
acts in the performance. The absence of Toh Bagus would especially affect the
relation of the performance to the legend. As Pak Dhalang brought the legend
to the audience’s attention in various ways during performances, it became an
integral element of these, in contrast to horse dance shows without a narrator.
The gamelan instruments listed in the box headed iringan (‘accompani-
ment’) in the report on the whole correspond with those used by Samboyo
Putro, namely two kendhang, one kethuk and one kenong (both of them kettle-
drums), three gong, three angklung, two trompèt (variant of slomprèt), two saron
(metallophones), and one ketipung. The latter, being a small drum, belongs
to the kendhang group. However, as this group is not further specified, it is
not clear whether the addition of the ketipung to it does or does not bring the
group of kendhang to three. In view of my experience with Samboyo Putro,
which sporadically included this small drum in its gamelan, it seems proba-
ble that it does. Owing to this uncertainty, I have placed the ketipung between
square brackets in Table 1. Finally, the jaranan sénthéréwé group Samboyo
Putro, contrary to the list, counted two instead of one kenong among its stand-
ard instruments, according to the musicians and my own observations.
On the subject of the performers’ costumes and ornaments the report is
very brief. The box headed pelengkapan busana (‘costumes’) only lists the fol-
lowing: headcloth (ikat kepala), jacket (baju), a long hip-cloth (kain panjang),
dance sashes (sampur), and anklets (gongseng). This list corresponds largely
with what I found to be the case in Samboyo Putro. Only the ear ornaments
(sumping) and upper-arm and wrist bands (kelat bau and gelang) are not men-
tioned in the report.
Summing up, it may be said that the data in the report Deskripsi rekapitulasi
differ from what I observed to be the case in Samboyo Putro’s performances
as regards a number of not insignificant items. The same was true for another
Kediri group, Haswo Usodo, which was described in the report as a jaranan
jawa group (Data organisasi kesenian 1985).
The jaranan jawa Haswo Usodo and other genres of horse dance groups
The jaranan jawa was generally defined as the ‘prototype’ (babon) of the phe-
nomenon of the horse dance (Sinopsis 1985). Judging from the number of
groups registered as jaranan jawa in Kediri district, it appears to be by far the
35 The structure of the performances will be discussed in Chapter VIII.

68 Jaranan
commonest type. No fewer than ninety-two of the total of a hundred and

twenty recorded horse dance groups are classed as jaranan jawa, as opposed
to only three jaranan sénthéréwé, twenty-one jaranan pégon, and four réyog
panaraga groups (Rekap 1985). What the ratio between the different types was
in Kediri town was impossible to determine, as the only report containing a
description of the various kinds of horse dance there, Deskripsi rekapitulasi,
gives no exact details. According to this report the réyog panaraga is not found
in the town, and hence this will not be taken into further consideration.
The leader of the jaranan jawa group Haswo Usodo (‘Healing Horse’)
was Pak Hadisutoyo, a member of the local administration (pamong désa) of
the Kediri neighbourhood of Balowerti. Differently from Pak Samboyo, the
leader of Samboyo Putro, he did not act as gambuh. The trance master and
director of the performances was Pak Usodo, alias Pak Kusmani.
The group was formed in the 1970s.36 As far as I was able to establish
during my attendance at a few of its performances, the group comprised
about fourteen to twenty players, most of them between the ages of fifteen
and twenty-five. Among them my regular informant, Pak Hadi, recognized
several of his fellow-bécak drivers.37 It included four horse dancers, each on a
differently coloured horse: black, white, red and yellow;38 one knight, Klana
Séwandana (alias Toh Bagus); two barong dancers; one cèlèng dancer; one
trance master; at least five musicians; and a number of helpers.
The gamelan was made up of two drums, the kendhang panaraga and the
kendhang gendhing; one kethuk; two kenong; one kempul; and one slomprèt.
The four horse dancers were very simply dressed. They wore only a pair of
black trousers with coloured trimmings, and additionally a few wayang wong
ornaments, such as leather upper-arm bands (kelat bau), leather ear ornaments
(sumping), and a leather anklet with bells (gongsèng). Each dancer held a whip
in his hand, which he cracked continually. The knight Klana Séwandana, also
referred to as Thèthèk-melèk39 (Deskripsi rekapitulasi 1985), was dressed in a
black, wide, calf-length pair of trousers with coloured trimmings and fringes
at the seams and hem. On his bare torso he wore a kind of velvet collar or
chest ornament (hiasan dada) embroidered with beads. Differently from his
opposite number in Samboyo Putro, Klana Séwandana wore no mask but
36 Pak Hadisutoyo and Pak Usodo had widely divergent opinions about the exact year.
37 In Kediri and surroundings I was often accompanied by Pak Hadi, my regular bécak driver,
who, whenever the journey took us beyond the town boundaries, exchanged his bécak for his
moped.
38 It is striking that these horses each had a different colour, as the horses as a rule perform
in pairs. An article on the djaran képang of Wonokriyo mentions that there six pairs of horses, of
as many different colours, took part; this article also discusses the symbolism of colours (Inggris
1923:99-100).
39 For other synonyms, including Pujangganom, see Kartomi 1976:106, note 43.
had his face painted like a mask. Other groups, too, sometimes used face
paint instead of real masks, as in the case of Penthul and his regular opponent
Tembem in the group Wahyu Turonggo Budoyo of Tulungagung.40
Of all the characters figuring in Samboyo Putro’s performances, there were
six – the narrator (Pak Dhalang), the master of the offerings (Pak Sajèn), the
female singer (Bu Swarawati), the second trance master (Pak Gambuh), the
tiger dancer (Macan), and the monkey dancer (Kethèk) – that I did not see in
the performances of Haswo Usodo. This group moreover featured only four
instead of six horse dancers. It furthermore had a smaller number of regular
musicians as a result of the smaller gamelan ensemble. Because of the con-
tinual changes in cast, it did not become clear to me how many there were
exactly.
As far as outward appearances were concerned, the jaranan jawa group
Haswo Usodo was clearly less differentiated than the jaranan sénthéréwé
group Samboyo Putro. The extent to which their performances differed from
each other as to content as well will be investigated further down. The con-
tent of the performances is not apparent from the reports, as these only give
information on the casts and the material aspects of the different genres.
The jaranan pégon
The jaranan pégon is described as a hybrid form, the word pégon meaning,
among other things, ‘alien, not wholly Javanese in style’ (Pigeaud 1982). The
name implies that this type comprises a mixture of traditional Javanese and
contemporary and/or non-Javanese elements. I did not have an opportunity
of attending any jaranan pégon performance – as far as I know, not a single
performance took place in the town of Kediri during my stay there. I was told,
however, that the jaranan pégon gamelan included a bedhug, in addition to
the usual instruments. This big, double-headed mosque drum does not form
part of the standard traditional Javanese gamelan orchestra. The genre may
possibly owe its name, pégon, to the presence of this non-Javanese instrument,
borrowed from the Muslim religious service.
The jaranan brèng
The jaranan brèng, a type that appears to be found only in Trenggalek (Data
organisasi kesenian 1985), also features an instrument that my informants
described as an instrument that does not form part of a traditional gamelan
40 Personal communication by Paul Wolbers, who attended a performance by this group in

Kutaanyar in the summer of 1985.
70 Jaranan
orchestra, namely a jidhor (or jidhur). This likewise is a large kind of drum
(Pigeaud 1982), a bedhug (?) – an instrument that is difficult to square with its
name, brèng, meaning ‘cymbal beat’ (Pigeaud 1982), which is an onomatopoeic
evocative of a metal instrument , for example a Chinese gong.41 Although my
informants were unable to give an explanation for this anomaly, they did
put forward the view that the type of gamelan concerned was one in which
Javanese and non-Javanese instruments are combined. This would imply, how-
ever, that the jaranan brèng in actual fact belongs to the jaranan pégon genre.
The jaranan képang
The term jaranan képang, not to be confused with the name of the Kediri
Jaranan Képang group, is rather misleading. The report of the survey of the
district of Kediri treats jaranan képang as a synonym of jaranan sénthéréwé and
lists it in the same category (Rekap 1985). In that case the name may refer to
the material, képang (bamboo wickerwork), of which the sénthéréwé horses
are made. The jaranan jawa and jaranan pégon horses are also made of képang,
however. Hence the name is inappropriate as a criterion for distinguishing
this genre from others. In Banyuwangi, on the other hand, where a distinction
is made between horse dance companies using bamboo horses, referred to as
jaranan képang, and groups using leather horses, called jaranan buto (Javanese
jaranan buta), this distinction was relevant.
The jaranan buta
The jaranan buta owes its name to the horse dancers’ mount, which, although
it has the body of a horse, has the head of an ogre (Javanese buta, Indonesian
buto) resembling a forest ogre (raksasa alas) of the wayang theatre. My inform-
ant from Trenggalek believed that the jaranan buta was found only in the sub-
district of Dongko. According to him, the horse dance company concerned,
Turonggo Yakso, was a rare one, which gives performances exclusively for
the annual celebration of the Pesta Ternak, the ‘Feast of the Livestock’.
Curiously enough, the report of the survey of East Javanese dramatic
genres, which is arranged by district, does not list the ‘jaranan buto’ under
Trenggalek but under Banyuwangi, a district in the easternmost tip of Java
(Data/Sensus kesenian 1984). In the course of my stay there in August 1985 and
April 1986 I came across three jaranan buta groups, two of which were still
41 I have come across a Chinese gong in a Javanese gamelan orchestra once, in effect. This was
not a gamelan accompanying a horse dance performance but a wayang kulit purwa performance
given on the occasion of the opening of the annual Chinese temple festival in Kediri in 1985,
however (Clara van Groenendael 1993:27).
The jaranan buta of Rukun Santoso, Tapanrejo, Muncar, Banyuwangi.

active, namely that of Pak Sorip in Gladag, in the sub-district of Rogojampi,

and the group Rukun Santoso (‘Close-knit and United’) of Tapanrejo, in the
sub-district of Muncar. In contrast with the Turonggo Yakso company of
Dongko, the performances of these groups were not linked to any specific
ritual, but took place on all kinds of occasions, just like those of the other
companies discussed so far.
According to the head of the Directorate of Tourism (Bapparda) in
Banyuwangi,42 Pak Sardjono, jaranan buta groups enjoyed greater popularity
than jaranan képang ones. He believed that the idea for the jaranan buta was
conceived by an immigrant from Trenggalek, but could not say when. Nor
did the leaders of the companies I visited know anything more about the
how and when of the origin of the jaranan buta in Banyuwangi. They told me
that jaranan buta performances had taken place there as far back as the time of
their parents, and possibly even earlier. Data from the 1930s show that horse
dances did not occur at the time of the ‘old inhabitants’ of Banyuwangi, the
42 An acronym for Badan Pembimbing Keparawisataan Daerah, literally ‘Regional Board for
the Direction of Tourism’.
72 Jaranan
Thithit-thuwit of the barongan of Kemiren, Glagah, Banyuwangi.

wong osing43 (Pigeaud 1938:243). This might indicate that the phenomenon of
horse dancing was in fact imported in Banyuwangi. I was not able to find out
when this supposedly happened, however.44
There was a marked similarity between the structure and the sequence
of the different acts in the performances of the Rukun Santoso company of
Tapanrejo and those of Samboyo Putro of Kediri. The mask dancers in the
former included, instead of a monkey, a Thithit-thuwit, a kind of garuda,45
which, like the monkey in Samboyo Putro, mainly provided a comic effect.
My suggestion that the group was really a jaranan sénthéréwé met with disbe-
lief, however. The classification I found in the western part of East Java was
evidently unknown here. My informants only knew of the jaranan képang, that
is to say, horse dancers on ‘ordinary’ horses, the jaranan buta and the barongan.
The latter was described as a type of performance featuring, besides one or
more barong mask dancers, various other kinds of mask and puppet dancer
(including Thithit-thuwit), but no horse dancers. It does not come within the
scope of this book, therefore. Although the characterization jaranan sénthéréwé
(like the other genres) was not unfamiliar to Pak Sardjono of Bapparda, he
felt that this kind of distinction was not usual in Banyuwangi. Hence it is
evidently a far from common classification.
Conclusion
The criteria applied in the official reports of Kediri appear on closer exami-
nation to provide no clarity regarding the great diversity of genres. In the
confrontation with practical reality, the classification used in these reports
appears to be inadequate in dealing with the dynamics of the different
groups. The compilers of the report Deskripsi rekapitulasi moreover took only
the material aspects of horse dance performances into consideration. They
wholly ignored aspects of their content, such as the nature of the music and
the character of the performances. This is all the more curious since the char-
acter of the performances was felt to be more important for the horse dance
companies concerned and their sponsors than these superficial features,
which are subject to marked variation, what is more.
43 The word osing in the Banyuwangi dialect means ‘no’ and is the Javanese name for this
dialect.
44 The article on music in Banyuwangi by Brandts Buys and Brandts Buys-van Zijp (1926:211)
refers to the jaranan buta in passing. The group concerned was not from Banyuwangi, however,
but was a company from Madiun performing in Solo, which only means that the genre was not
unknown in East Java at the time.
45 A character from the wayang theatre representing a mythical bird of prey.
The barong of the barongan group of Kemiren, Glagah, Banyuwangi. Photograph by
author.
For the players themselves the question of the degree of popularity – of

being laris, or in demand – of the various groups was of prime importance.
A popular company was quick to have the epithet maju (‘progressive’) or
modèren (‘modern’) bestowed on it. This then was less dependent on out-
ward appearances than on the way the group worked allusions to current
trends into its performances. The label ‘modern’, moreover, was not applied
to any one particular genre exclusively. As was indicated above, besides the
jaranan sénthéréwé Samboyo Putro of Kediri town, three jaranan jawa groups
of Kediri district also enjoyed great popularity and gave frequent perform-
ances. Companies that, for whatever reason, were unpopular were often
rather derogatorily labelled kuna (Indonesian kuno, ‘old-fashioned, dated’).
Government officials responsible for promoting traditional culture in particu-
lar tended to ascribe the lack of popularity of such groups to the circumstance
that they were too tradition-bound and therefore were not open to the reality
of the here and now. As we shall see below, however, the designation ‘old-
fashioned’ did not invariably have a negative connotation. The groups Haswo
Usodo of Kediri and Turonggo Yakso of Trenggalek in particular were treated
with a certain respect, also by members of so-called modern companies, on
account of their special role in society.
Local and national authorities seem to take scarcely any interest in the
more substantial aspects of horse dances, which as a rule they summarily
dismiss as being archaic (kuna). The dry enumerations of the outward char-
acteristics of the different groups and the over-estimation of these superficial
qualities in the said reports are an outcome of this tendency. The so-called
reassessment, as of the jaranan képang by Harjono, appear so far to have met
with little response from the community beyond the very narrow circle of the
performers and their relatives.
In the next hapter I shall investigate what place horse dance performances
occupy in the family and the community celebrations, as well as what impor-
tance is attached to these performances.
chapter iv
Performances by horse dance groups
Introduction
One of the distinguishing features of horse dance performances is that as a

rule they take place in public. Depending on the kind of sponsor – a family,
a village or neighbourhood community, a private or government institution,
or an organization – the performance will be held in a compound in front of
a house, a village hall, an office, a school building or a factory, or in a market
square, and sometimes anywhere at all by the side of a public road. This
means that horse dance performances in principle are freely accessible to
everyone. In other words, horse dance performances have not become com-
mercialized. There are roughly two categories of horse dance groups to be
distinguished: itinerant groups (jaranan barangan) and ‘sedentary’ groups,
that is to say, groups with a regular base. This second category includes,
besides Samboyo Putro, Haswo Usodo of Kediri, Wahyu Turonggo Budoyo
of Tulungagung, and Rukun Santoso of Banyuwangi, for example. These
companies give performances on a contract basis, that is to say, they enter into
an agreement about the conditions and fee prior to a performance. Itinerant
groups, on the other hand, travel from place to place at random and perform
spontaneously wherever large crowds gather, for instance in marketplaces.
When such a group, while on the road, passes through a village or a place
where some festivity is scheduled or in progress, it may be invited to give
a brief performance. In such a case there will be some bargaining about the
remuneration (we will find a few examples of this in the section ‘Itinerant
horse dance groups’). But these groups even so remain chiefly dependent for
their takings on what chance lookers-on are prepared to pay them.
In addition there are groups that are hard to fit into the above categories
because are formed ad hoc, such as the Turonggo Yakso.
The occasions for which both itinerant and sedentary groups give per-
It is not improbable that some horse dance groups in urban areas specialize in performances
for tourists, like some wayang and topèng performances in Yogyakarta, for example. Kediri and
surrounding districts are not tourist areas, however, and this phenomenon was not known there.
78 Jaranan
formances are partially the same, namely family or community celebrations.

Itinerant groups may additionally be hired by market-stallholders to liven
up the atmosphere. This is especially true for the annual markets held over
several days, to which people come flocking from far and wide.
The role of horse dance companies in the festivities as a whole is generally
fairly marginal. Apart from the beneficial effect their performances are com-
monly held to have, they seldom contribute anything to the ceremonies with
which such celebrations are attended. It is nevertheless the case that occasion-
ally one or more members of the group may be called on in the course of the
show to perform some act that is directly related to the immediate occasion
for the celebration – a sign that the performance then is more than mere enter-
tainment for the persons concerned and refers to a deeper level of meaning.
In addition there are horse dance groups, including Turonggo Yakso, that
play a more specific role.
With the following descriptions of performances by a number of mutually
very different companies I attempt to provide an insight into the role of the
horse dance in the festive context as a whole, as well as into its significance
for the community.
Occasions for performances by horse dance groups
Kaul
To my question as to the reason for a particular festivity, the members of

Samboyo Putro and other groups frequently replied that this was a kaul,
a vow to perform some special act (to offer a sacrifice or hold a party, for
instance) upon fulfilment of some urgent wish. Where people believe that the
affairs of the living are influenced by the ancestors, they will often ask these
for help in important matters. So they may ask them to fulfil a wish for chil-
dren, the recovery of a sick person, a good harvest, the passing of an exam, a
promotion at work, or a prize in the lottery. In such cases a vow will be made
to thank the ancestors in a fitting manner if the wish is granted. It was claimed
that often the person concerned had the form of such an expression of grati-
tude imparted to him or her by the ancestor in question in a dream.
If a kaul is the reason for commissioning a horse dance performance, the
decision accordingly as a rule is taken by a limited or extended family. For
Samboyo Putro families constituted the largest category of sponsors.
Personal communication by Soetrisno, the son of the puppeteer in Jombor, Klaten, in 1977.
Personal communication by Pak Dhalang. See also Clara van Groenendael 2000:50-1.
Family celebrations: weddings and circumcisions
The interval between the granting of a wish and the celebration as an expres-
sion of gratitude may sometimes be quite long (Clara van Groenendael 1985:
115). Unless there are urgent reasons for redeeming a vow as soon as pos-
sible, for instance if there has been a succession of misfortunes (Clara van
Groenendael 1998:xii), people will generally await an occasion that requires
some sort of solemn celebration for this. In the family this will be the mar-
riage of a daughter or the circumcision of a son. Families which observe the
numerous rituals prescribed by tradition (adat) – such as for the seventh
month of pregnancy or the birth or name-giving of a child – only minimally,
often for financial reasons, will want to make an exception for a wedding or
a circumcision. If need be, they will run up debts to celebrate such events in
grand style. Marriages and circumcisions are, in fact, occasions par excel-
lence for redeeming old vows. People moreover want to avoid every chance
of harassment (ngganggu) of the young couple or the circumcised son by the
ancestors in their/his new phase of life as a consequence of unfulfilled vows
to them. Weddings and circumcision feasts were most frequently mentioned
by Samboyo Putro as occasions for its performances.
It is apparent from the literature that such events are frequently attended
with a procession in which the principal personages – the bride and bride-
groom or the boy(s) about to be circumcised – surrounded by dignitaries, rel-
atives and a group of performers, including horse dancers, are ceremonially
led around the neighbourhood (Keeler 1987:100; Inggris 1923:101-2). I never
attended such a procession in Kediri, and according to local informants they
are seldom to be seen there today. There was, however, mention in the period
of my research of a procession staged by the Turonggo Yakso company of
Trenggalek on the occasion of the Feast of the Livestock, which bore some
resemblance to the wedding and circumcision processions described in the
literature. As processions like this shed light on one interesting aspect of the
performance of horse dancers, and moreover play a role in some versions of
the horse dance legend, I shall deal more fully with them further down.
During my stay in West Java in 1978 and 1983 I witnessed several such processions in the
surroundings of Bandung. According to local informants they were still a regular sight in rural
areas there.
80 Jaranan
Village or neighbourhood community celebrations
A second important category of sponsors is that of village or neighbourhood

communities. The chief events for which they tend to commission a horse
dance group are the annual symbolic purification of the village or neighbour-
hood (bersih désa) and the annual national celebration in commemoration of
the proclamation of Indonesian independence on 17 August 1945 (Javanese:
Pitulas Augustusan, Indonesian: Hari Kemerdekaan). The bersih désa tradi-
tionally is a harvest festival, which generally took place in the period between
the harvesting of the rice crop and the beginning of a new rice cycle, between
mid-May and mid-June, according to the Javanese solar calendar (pranata
mangsa) (Brandes 1899:between pages 26 and 27). In order to keep down the
costs of the annual community celebration as much as possible, as well as to
lend it a modern character, the traditional harvest festival nowadays is often
combined with the National Independence Day celebrations. This was the
case with Samboyo Putro’s performance in Menang (in the sub-district of
Pagu), for instance. This performance, which took place on 17 August 1985,
was to a large extent sponsored by Pak Samboyo’s mother, Bu Dhukun, a
well-to-do widow who, as we saw above, was also a dhukun. She told me that,
as the mother of a wong seni, or ‘artist’, she felt it to be her duty to honour
the tradition and thus set an example. It was on her initiative, in fact, that
Samboyo Putro was invited to come and add to the fun of the bersih désa cum
Pitulas Augustusan celebration. The use of the yard in front of her house
and the reception of the performers and spectators constituted her personal
contribution to the festivities. The decoration of the compound was the work
of her neighbours. The costs of the religious meal (slametan) for the collective
villagers that goes with a bersih désa ritual were borne by the village commu-
nity as a whole, finally, as were those of the official part of the proceedings
with speeches in honour of National Independence Day. The performance by
Samboyo Putro thus provided Bu Dhukun with an opportunity of sharing
some of her prosperity with her neighbours in an informal way. I shall come
back to this further down. In this performance in Menang personal and com-
munity interests thus fused together.
In some municipalities official pressure was exerted to combine the bersih désa with the
National Independence Day celebrations with the express aim of foregrounding the latter in the
minds of the people. The motivation here was that, as a result of multiple annual harvests, it is
difficult to find an appropriate moment otherwise (Clara van Groenendael 1985:123). A second-
ary reason is that more and more people nowadays are employed outside the agrarian sector.
Beatty (1999:60), writing about Banyuwangi, states that the bersih désa is rapidly disappearing
there, too.
Community celebrations by private or government institutions
In addition to families and village or neighbourhood communities, we find

private and government agencies or organizations sometimes also commis-
sioning horse dance performances as a so-called third category of sponsors.
This happens only relatively rarely, however, and many groups never receive
an invitation from this category. In this respect Samboyo Putro compared
favourably with other groups in Kediri and surrounding districts, thanks to
the fact that its leader himself was employed in a government organization
as a policeman. Between June and November 1985 I attended three perform-
ances commissioned by the police force, namely one for national ‘Police Day’
(Hari Kepolisian, 1 July), one for a brief demonstration on the occasion of a
visit by a few high police officials from Jakarta (6 August), and one for the
anniversary (Hari Ulang Tahun, HUT) of the Mojoroto Mobile Police Squad
(HUT Mobrig Mojoroto, 14 November). The performances during election
campaigns – to which Samboyo Putro owed its fame, and in a sense its origin
– and the competitions-cum-festivals in which Samboyo Putro participated
several times also belong to this category, in which the performances of the
Jaranan Képang of Kediri may be classed as well.
Processions
In the above, I have briefly mentioned the appearance of horse dancers in

processions. An article on the horse dance in Jogonalan (Yogyakarta) and
Bagelen (Kebumen) gives the following description of horse dancing (jathilan)
in processions (Inggris 1923:101-2).
Often, when a bridegroom is escorted in state to the house of his bride or a boy
about to be circumcised is taken around in procession – usually mounted on horse-
back – one will witness a djatilan [...]. The djatilan with the accompanying band will
head the procession, while the bridal or circumcision train will follow behind. The
barongan, and especially the pentoel and the gandarwo, will cut all kinds of capers to
attract the attention of the crowd. The barongan will chase people, the pentoel crack
jokes, and the bango-tontong – a character called Titit-toeit in Bagelèn – harass the
onlookers and beg at the side of the roads, while the gandarwo will do his best to
frighten any boys and girls who make fun of him during the procession.
The procession will then cheerfully head for the house of the bride or for the
place where the boy is to be circumcised.
This is not the place for a lengthy discussion of processions. I would, how-
ever, like to go briefly into a number of points in this description.
The general nature of the description indicates that in the 1920s proces-
sions of this kind were a frequent phenomenon in the southern part of Central
82 Jaranan
Java. Pigeaud’s (1938:215-57) compilation of descriptions of horse dances

suggests that this was the case in other parts of Java as well. Such processions
were not uncommon in Kediri, either (Poensen 1872:79-80).
Inggris (1923:98) compares this jathilan, involving different groups of play-
ers, to a ‘kind of theatrical performance’. Besides a few mounted horsemen, it
featured a number of other characters, as we saw, such as the clown Penthul,
a forest sprite (gandarwa), a monster (barongan), and the giant bird Thithit-tuit.
The gandarwa is described as a huge puppet with a wooden face and a jute-cov-
ered bamboo torso – a disguise worn by one man. The barongan, contrary to
that of Samboyo Putro, had two men inside it. The giant bird Thithit-tuit was
represented by a figure with feathers stuck all over it and a long beak, looking
like a kind of stork (bango-thonthong). Penthul wore a half-mask with a thick
knob of a nose (penthul). According to some, Inggris (1923:99) tells us, Penthul
represents Pétruk. This much-loved servant character from the wayang theatre
is marked by an exceptionally long, pointed noise, however. Hence this iden-
tification cannot have anything to do with this figure’s appearance, but must
relate to the similarity in roles played by these two characters in their respec-
tive contexts. Both represent the ever-cheerful, incorrigibly optimistic, often
cheeky, but invariably loyal servant of the hero or heroine of the story.
There is a striking similarity between the procession described above and
the wedding procession figuring in one of the many versions of the horse
dance legend that is popular in Kediri. This describes how the hero, Prince
Panji Asmara Bangun, leads his defeated adversaries – the barongan, the
gandarwa and the bango-thonthong – along in triumph in the procession mark-
ing his marriage to the princess of Daha (Kediri) (Harjono 1981:27-8). These
opponents are explicitly depicted as dangerous forest animals, that is to say,
as sato galak, in the legend as well as in Samboyo Putro’s performance.
Another point to which I wish to draw attention here is the information
that the jathilan headed the procession. Although not all the descriptions
I was able to consult clearly specify the place of the horse dance group in
these processions (Poensen 1872:79-80), it nevertheless seems to have been
quite common for it to be somewhere in front. In Wonogiri the horse dancers
moreover staged a fight every time they reached a crossroads (Pigeaud
1938:235). These two details – the position of the horse dancers at the head of
processions and the fights staged by them at crossroads, which we shall come
See, for instance, Suyitno Martaatmaja 1926, V:28, 49-58.

An illustration of it can be found in Mayer (1897:376), but the caption there has ‘Barongan’s’,
which is either a slip of the pen or a local designation. Pigeaud (1938:169) has pointed out that the
names of these kinds of disguise are not infrequently mixed up, saying ‘we cannot be sure that
the name borne by a particular disguise in one region will not be given to another one in another
region’.
across again further down – point to a possible explanation for the participa-
tion of horse dancers in wedding and circumcision processions. Crossroads
or road intersections, ‘especially in the vicinity of houses’, according to H.A.
van Hien (1933, I:302), have a certain ominous connotation in Java as places
‘where demons, ghosts and spirits have made their abode’. Often on holy
days, such as Tuesdays (selasa) and Fridays (juma’at) coinciding with the day
Kliwon of the five-day Javanese market week, small offerings are placed in
these spots with the aim of propitiating the spirits dwelling there.
One of the exploits of the hero or heroine of wayang plays may shed
some light on the meaning of this way of acting at road intersections. In
these plays a crossroads (prapatan) is frequently depicted as the abode of
demons and other sworn enemies of the hero. To underline the ominous
aspect of these places, they are often set in some wilderness, such as a forest
(alas). In the scene called prapatan (‘the crossroads scene’) or alas-alasan (‘for-
est scene’), after these places, the struggle between the protagonist and his
or her demonic adversaries, who are then invariably defeated, takes place.
This scene, prang kembang (‘flower fight’), constitutes the decisive turning
point in the plot. After his or her victory, the hero’s or heroine’s way is clear
to achieving the desired goal, such as the acquisition of some extraordinary
weapon, a powerful ally, or a divine blessing (wahyu), and almost always a
new partner or the life companion believed lost. In a more mystical sense, this
scene is explained as a young person’s struggle to get his negative tendencies,
symbolized by the demonic opponents (the sato galak) who try to get him to
swerve from the righteous path in life (see Mangkoenagoro 1933:88), under
control. The place of this scene, in the middle one of the three acts, suggests
that this battle takes place at the point where the young person leaves his or
her childhood behind and enters a new phase in life, for instance as a married
woman (in the case of girls) or as a full member of the Muslim community
(for boys).10 The crossroads or forest scene actually represents a rite de passage,
The five Javanese market days are Legi, Paing, Pon, Wagé, and Kliwon. The combinations
Selasa-Kliwon, or in more formal language Anggara-Kasih, and Juma’at-Kliwon are regarded as
being especially holy.
Mangkoenagoro (1933:87) suggests that the word ‘flower’ on the one hand may allude to
the dhalang’s opportunity of depicting a fine battle here, and on the other hand may refer to the
‘refined inner aspect of the concept of “struggle” [against the person’s own imperfections]’.
10 In Javanese families, particularly non-orthodox Muslim families, boys were generally
circumcised around the age of fifteen (Mayer 1897:388; Schrieke 1921:382; Agoesdjam 1921:471;
Mohtoelimah 1921:495). At the time of my field research in Central Java in the 1970s, too, it was
not unusual for teenage boys to be still uncircumcised. With rising Muslim fundamentalism the
social pressure to have boys circumcised, as a symbol of the Muslim community, at a young to
very young age has grown stronger. Of course these boys then cannot possibly be regarded as
full members with all the attendant responsibilities.
84 Jaranan
in which the battle against the gandarwa, the barongan and the bango thonthong
is to be viewed as the decisive trial. The forest animals carried along in the
wedding procession constitute convincing proof that the bridal couple (or the
circumcision candidate) has completed the trial successfully. The position of
the horse dancers at the head of wedding and circumcision processions, and
in particular their ‘fights’ at spots reputed to be magically dangerous (angker),
such as road intersections, symbolize the clearing of the way to a new phase
in life. Yet another interpretation of these processions is possible, but more
will be said about this later.
Itinerant horse dance groups (jaranan barangan)
As far as I know, there has been no recent research into itinerant performers
in Java. Both the members of horse dance companies and the officials of the
Cultural Affairs Bureau of Kediri and surrounding districts were of the opin-
ion that wandering groups used to be more common in the old days than they
are today. Pigeaud (1938:139) wrote about performances by this type of actors
in the past tense as early as the 1930s. Even so, wandering performers have
not yet disappeared from the Javanese scene altogether. In the surroundings
of Kediri I occasionally came up with small groups of wandering musicians
and sometimes also horse dancers. Once I was on a bus with a member of
such a wandering horse dance troupe. He told me that he was on his way to
the market in Mrican (Kediri), where he and his group had been engaged to
perform for an hour at a wedding that evening. Following this, he wanted to
try his luck at the market for as long as the takings were good. He expected
an especially big crowd there now that the kethoprak had just pitched its tents
there. When driving past the market again weeks later, I saw the group hav-
ing a meal in a stall next to the kethoprak. Apparently luck had been on their
side the past weeks. I never saw a performance by this group, however. But I
had once had a chance to attend a performance by another itinerant group a
few years previously. This was in January 1977 in Jombor, a village slightly to
the southwest of the district capital, Klaten, where I happened to be visiting
an old puppeteer.
The kuda képang in Jombor
In the course of my interview with the puppeteer and his son I heard the
monotonous sounds of the kethuk, which came nearer and nearer, announc-
ing the approach of a horse dance group. When soon afterwards the group
appeared around the corner of the village path, it was hailed by one of my
host’s neighbours. While he bargained with the leader of the company, whom
he addressed as Pak Suwuk,11 on his front veranda, the news that there was to
be a performance spread like wildfire. In no time the spacious yard in front of
the house was packed with women and children, with a few old men stand-
ing in the background. As it was the middle of the day, most adults were still
in the fields.
A few new mats were spread on the ground in front of the veranda, and
on these two bunches of choice bananas and a roof tile with a few pieces of
burning charcoal were placed, along with some glasses and an aluminium
teapot. While the group was being treated to refreshments inside, a number
of villagers swept the front yard and sprinkled it with water to stop the dust
blowing up. When the nine players appeared again, seven of them sat down
on the mats. The three musicians unpacked their instruments – a kendhang
gendhing, a kethuk, and a framework with two kempul and a kenong – and
began playing. They were joined by two dancers, their masks still wrapped
in cloths, as well as the two helpers. Pak Suwuk and a second horseman took
up their positions on either side of the yard, opposite the musicians, holding
their horses tightly between their legs. They were surrounded by the crowd,
standing in a wide circle around them. The show was ready to start.
The gamelan starts playing again, first slowly but soon faster and faster. The two
horse dancers dance in a wide circle, one behind the other, to the beat of the music,
imitating the different paces of a horse, first prancing, bending the horse’s head
from left to right, then cantering, and then galloping, and alternating this with
big leaps, as of a rearing horse. The two helpers are still sitting calmly watching
and smoking a roll-your-own cigarette. Suddenly the gamelan changes over to a
monotonous melody on the kenong, which is constantly repeated in an increasingly
wilder, more frenzied rhythm. The foremost of the two dancers is in trance. The
second horseman, Pak Suwuk, now stops playing and puts his horse to one side.
Together with the two helpers he takes up his position in front of the audience,
evidently to prevent the dancer, who now gallops round wildly with his horse,
now leaps high in the air, from hurling himself at the spectators. Every time he
comes too close, they send him off. This continues for a while.
Pak Suwuk walks to the middle of the yard with the roof tile with charcoal and
there starts fanning the fire. When it bursts into flame, he throws in a few pieces
of incense that he takes from a bundle suspended from his belt. Thick clouds of
incense curl up, and the trance dancer approaches on his horse and sniffs up the
fumes in deep gulps. Pak Suwuk sends him off. But he comes back again and
again, as though irresistibly drawn by the scent, and takes in big mouthfuls of
smoke, to start wildly galloping around once again. Suddenly he leaps high in the
air, horse and all, and, tumbling backward, is caught by the helpers. They pull the
horse out of his hands and lead him to the mats. There he lies as in a kind of spasm
11 Suwuk, ‘to (cause to) stop, to blow (on someone’s head as a magic protection against dis-
ease)’ (Pigeaud 1982).
86 Jaranan
The ‘recovery’ of the trance dancer in Jombor. Photograph by author.
and is forcibly restrained by one of the two helpers, who sits down on his stomach.
Meanwhile the gamelan has changed to a quieter melody, with the musicians, the
two helpers and Pak Suwuk all singing along. The latter seizes the trance dancer’s
horse and passes it a few times over the head of the half-unconscious man, who
continually snatches at the horse. He manages to seize hold of it the third time,
when he is pulled to his feet, horse and all. He immediately tries to mount his
horse, but it is soon snatched away from him again. The trance dancer flies at
Pak Suwuk, who grabs the madman by the head with both hands, spits chewed
pieces of incense on his crown, blows into his ears, and massages his head. While
the other players continue singing without pause, the trance dancer finally allows
himself to be led to the mats again. Leaning heavily on one of the helpers, he sits
staring in front of him with a vacant gaze and does not react at all to the other
helper, who meanwhile massages his limbs.
Only now do the two mask dancers come into action. They tie their half-masks
to their face by a string and appear to represent the two clowns, Penthul and
Tembem. To the great amusement of the young bystanders, they chase each other
but then repeatedly snatch one of the children from the audience instead of catch-
ing each other. Now and then they pause in their chase to deliver a dialogue, in
which the young people join in with great gusto. The audience pushes further and
further forward, until finally there is hardly any room left for the performers.
Suddenly the show ends. The musicians gather up their things, the trance
ancer and Pak Suwuk pick up their horses, the two clowns take off their masks
d
and, while they are still busy wrapping them in cloths, the group leaves the yard.
The monotonous sound of the kethuk can still be heard for a while, gradually
growing fainter and fainter. A few children snatch the leftover bananas away and
disappear with them among the houses. The compound, only a short while ago
still filled with laughter and cheering, suddenly lies empty and deserted.12
Comments
The son of my host, the puppeteer, who accompanied me to the show, told me
at the end that the players came from a village in the mountains to the north
of the main road from Klaten to Prambanan. They were seasonal performers
operating chiefly in the area around Klaten. He had seen them several times
at the annual fair in Klaten. Neither he nor his father could remember wheth-
er they had ever performed in Jombor before. According to the puppeteer, his
neighbour, though not exactly rich, was fairly well-to-do. He had a reputation
as a great lover of traditional Javanese performances and had invited itinerant
actors for a brief show in his compound before. Father and son believed that,
as sometimes before, he had taken the decision accordingly impromptu the
moment he heard the group passing, possibly in fulfilment of a kaul.
For the mostly young spectators the antics and jokes of the two clowns,
who involved them in their act, undeniably formed the climax of the per-
formance. Though at first they had stood watching full of curiosity how the
two horsemen chased each other, they had soon lost interest. They had stood
mainly joking with each other, and only now and then were startled when
the trance dancer came too close to them. As soon as the two mask dancers
entered, however, they were all eyes for the performance again and pushed
further and further forward so as to be sure not to miss any of the action.
The way in which the two horse dancers first danced around the yard in a
circle behind one another was especially striking, as this is a familiar opening
figure in horse dancing, be it that usually all the members of the group take
part in it (Kartomi 1973b:20-1). I shall return to this later. Differently from the
leader of Samboyo Putro, the leader of this company at first took part in the
dancing himself. This was mainly, as later became apparent, to strengthen
the dramatic impact and to stir the second horse dancer into action. The lat-
ter persisted in his role as mounted horseman, even once he was in trance.
He showed no interest in the bananas and the tea that had been especially
put ready for the players, but evidently could not get enough of the ‘spirit
food’ (the incense). According to my companion this was proof that he had
12 Diary entry, January 1977.

88 Jaranan
indeed been entered by a spirit. The identity of the spirit remained uncertain,
however.
In a performance by another group that I attended that same year during
the Yogyakarta Sekaten,13 the spirit, which according to the bystanders had
taken possession of the dancer, appeared to have an earthlier, though even so
far from ordinary, appetite.
The jathilan in Yogyakarta
The festivities here took place in the northern square or Alun-Alun Lor in
front of the Sultan’s palace. The group, which according to bystanders came
from a village in the vicinity of Yogya, gave its performance in the midst of
a cacophony of noise produced by other attractions: a carousel with loudly
honking horns, a kroncong14 band, a man extolling the virtues of his medicines
through a microphone with crackling amplifiers, and the countless blaring
radios and cassette recorders of the surrounding food stalls and vendors.
The group comprised eight persons, namely the leader, two horse dancers,
two unmasked clowns, one male and one female, and three musicians with a
kendhang, a slomprèt and a kempul. By the time I noticed the group, the show
was already in full swing.
The two horse dancers are in trance. One of them drops his horse and falls upon
a bucket of fodder. He stuffs the unhusked grain into his mouth by handfuls. He
chews his food, but drops most of it, mixed with saliva, from his mouth again, all
the while making jerky movements which are not at all reminiscent of a horse.
The second horseman has meanwhile fallen on top of a pile of broken glass and
charcoal and lies there taking bites of this.
The latter is now given a coconut by the leader. He removes its fibrous outer
shell with his teeth and chews the inner shell to pieces, letting the juice trickle
down his chin. The leader takes a live chicken from a basket and puts its head in
his mouth. He crushes the skull to pieces with a gruesome cracking sound and
swallows down the whole thing. All these actions are accompanied by the shrill
tones of the slomprèt and the stirring rhythm of the other two instruments. On the
periphery of the performance area, the man and the woman engage in a dialogue
without taking any notice of the other players, while they go round with a bowl
to collect money. Every now and then a spectator drops a few coins in the bowl.
One of them stuffs a banknote into it. There is a lot of pushing and shoving and
13 An annual market or fair with shows and entertainments on the occasion of Mulud, a holi-
day commemorating the day of the birth and death of the Prophet Muhammad in the Javanese
month of Rabingulakir, which has of old been held in the court cities of Surakarta, Yogyakarta
and Cirebon.
14 According to Sumarsam (1995:254), ‘a genre of Indonesian popular music whose origin can
be traced back to Portuguese music of sixteenth-century Java’.
I have lost sight of the trance dancers. When the music suddenly stops and the
crowd disperses, I see them sitting smoking on a stool. This is evidently the end
of the show.15
Comments
In contrast to the show in Jombor, the two groups of actors – the horse danc-
ers and the clowns – here combined to give a joint performance. There was
little coordination between their acts, however, and it was as if there were
in fact two performances going on at the same time. The actions of the two
trance dancers and the leader, who did not appear to be in trance, formed
the undeniable climax of the performance, eliciting cries of amazement
and admiration as well as horror from the spectators, young and old. The
behaviour of the two horsemen in trance was not suggestive of horses at all,
in spite of the fact that one of them was given horse food to eat. Their act
was undoubtedly spectacular nevertheless, so that they were successful in
holding the attention of the extremely mixed audience. Partly because of the
ear-splitting din, produced by both the musicians belonging to the group and
the surrounding attractions, it was impossible to understand a word of the
dialogue of the two comedians from even a short distance. That it was funny
could only be inferred from the expressions on their faces and their often very
erotic gestures. Because they went around with the money bowl at the same
time, the onlookers were not much inclined to stay and listen to them, but as a
rule quickly disappeared among the crowd at their approach. The sums given
seemed to be very small, with the exception of the one banknote, according to
the person standing next to me a 5,000-Rupiah note (at that time worth about
11.30 Euros). Noting my surprise at this, he said that this gift had probably
been intended as the fulfilment of a vow.
It is not unusual, in fact, for people to join (mbéla)16 a performance organ-
ized by someone else for a small fee. For poor families this is often a godsend,
and for the better-off family hosting the show it will bring extra luck (rejeki).
The event for which this is most often done is the circumcision of a son, which
a poor family will then hold together with that of a son from a more well-to-
do family (Inggris 1921:89) or of a close relative or neighbour (Mohtoelimah
1921:495). Sometimes it is also done in the case of the fulfilment of a vow
(Hefner 1985:171).
I did not manage to talk to the woman or with the leader of the company,
and so do not know if they had agreed prior to the performance to have a vow
15 Diary entry, Mulud 1977.

16 Béla, ‘to share (someone’s troubles, and so on)’ (Pigeaud 1982; see also Inggris 1921:89).
90 Jaranan
fulfilled. The consumption of the head of a live chicken may be an indication

that there was indeed a kaul involved. One of the musicians I was able to chat
with for a while after the performance said he knew nothing of any such
agreement, however. He told me the group gave performances here at Mulud
every year, as the place at that time was ‘abustle with crowds of people’ (ramé)
and the takings were good. The latter comment may imply, considering the
tiny sums given by the majority of the onlookers, that redeeming a vow this
way during Mulud (for which slightly larger contributions are usually given)
is not unusual, and in fact is even quite common.
Performances by itinerant groups are often qualified as unrefined (kurang
alus), or even as outright crude (kasar). In support of this qualification, people
will point to such gory details as the biting off and swallowing of the head
of a live chicken, for example. But sedentary groups do not always appear to
shun this kind of practice either. Sometimes it is even a regular feature of their
performances. This was the case with the Haswo Usodo company of Kediri,
for instance. The occasion for the performance by this group that I attended
was the bersih désa of Balowerti, a neighbourhood of the town of Kediri.17 At
the end of the performance the trance master announced that, besides being
intended as a diversion, it had at the same time constituted the acknowledge-
ment of the recovery from illness of a woman in that neighbourhood. The
‘proof’ of this, according to Pak Usodo, had been the inclusion of a kupat luwar
ritual, in which he had pulled apart a small package (kupat) wrapped in palm-
leaf (pandhan) together with the woman, spilling the contents of yellow rice,
flower petals and a few coins on the ground. This kupat luwar ritual, which
is often also performed in exorcist rituals like the ruwat murwakala (Clara van
Groenendael 1985:115, 1998:xvii), is generally regarded as a public acknow
ledgement of the granting of a wish and the fulfilment of a vow. As we shall
see in the next section, Pak Usodo placed great emphasis on his role as helper
in the solution of personal problems.
Sedentary horse dance groups
Performances by sedentary horse dance groups like Samboyo Putro are first
and foremost a form of entertainment (senengan), intended to add lustre to
celebrations. Because the trance of possession is an integral part of these per-
formances – suggesting that there may also be representatives of the invisible
world present – people expect them moreover to have a beneficial effect. This
is generally no more than a vague idea, however. Pak Samboyo stressed that
17 Balowerti was Haswo Usodo’s home base. This performance was held on 16 March 1986.
his performances were intended primarily to release the spectators from the
daily grind by letting them forget their cares and quarrels for a while. ‘People
are all members of the same big family and after all have to live together in
peace’ (wong padha waé kaya keluwarga mesthiné rukun), was his oft-repeated
motto. His prime concern was to please everyone present as best he could and
to promote the spirit of fellowship among them.
The way in which Samboyo Putro met the audience’s wish for diversion
will be discussed in greater detail in Chapter X. Here I would like to draw
attention to a number of activities that give us an idea of the way in which
Samboyo Putro toed the line of the New Order ideology on the one hand and
met the specific wishes of its sponsor on the other. The first example I will cite
is the ‘slametan for young people’, which was a regular feature of Samboyo
Putro’s repertoire, as also of that of Haswo Usodo. Whereas the latter invari-
ably held this slametan in the course of one of the brief intervals and intended
it only for its own performers, Samboyo Putro integrated it into the perform-
ance and aimed it at the young members of the audience. To bring out the
significance of this ‘young people’s slametan’ more clearly, I shall begin by
giving a description of slametan in general.
The slametan, a typical ritual in Javanese society
A slametan18 is a communal meal, introduced by a formal speech and con-

firmed by a prayer, which marks all kinds of events, both in the family and in
the community. The slametan is, in Geertz’ (1964:11) words, a ‘simple, formal,
undramatic, almost furtive, little ritual’ that lies at the core of the Javanese reli-
gious system and symbolizes the mystic and social unity of the participants.
The qualification of the slametan as a religious event has drawn criticism
from various directions. Koentjaraningrat, taking Harsja Bachtiar as basis,
for example, argues that, even though a slametan is always accompanied
by prayers (often uttered in a mixture of Arabic and Javanese and invok-
ing Muslim as well as Javanese saints), it does not by definition possess a
religious character for those present.19 He takes the view that, of the great
variety of occasions for a slametan, one will evoke religious emotions, as does
a slametan for a deceased person, for which the word kendhurèn would be
18 My description of the slametan is based on my own observations, which agree largely with
descriptions by, among others, Geertz 1964:12-4; Robert Jay 1969:206-16; and Koentjaraningrat
1984:343-9.
19 In Koentjaraningrat’s (1984:347) words, ‘Tidak semua upacara slametan merupakan tindakan
keagamaan seperti yang juga telah dikatakan oleh Harsja W. Bachtiar [...] yang telah mengecam
pandangan Geertz yang tidak mengadakan perbedaan antara upacara slametan keagamaan dan
upacara slametan adat, dan antara slametan yang bersifat keramat dan slametan yang tidak bersifat
keramat’.
92 Jaranan
more appropriate,20 while another will be aimed solely at promoting solidar-

ity and an atmosphere of peace among people. In the latter case, according to
Koentjaraningrat, it is better to speak of a tradtional ceremony prescribed by
adat (‘tradition’), notwithstanding the prayers. Whether or not religious emo-
tions are evoked is also dependent on the intention with which a slametan is
held (Koentjaraningrat 1984:347). As Geertz (1964:11) himself points out, the
slametan is not a religiously satisfying experience for everyone, particularly
since the twentieth century, as a consequence of changing life-styles in urban
and semi-urban communities. Hence Bachtiar’s criticism of Geertz, as cited
by Koentjaraningrat (1984:347), is not entirely justified.
The problem indicated by Koentjaraningrat (1984:349) is that slametan
may also be held in connection with matters relating to esoteric science (èlmu
gaib) involving (black) magic. Such matters, though bearing a sacred (keramat)
character, should not be classed as religious since, as I pointed out earlier, the
spirits concerned are so-called non-legitimate spirits. In other words, the term
‘black magic’ (ilmu sihir) is justified here.
The essence of the slametan, as both Geertz and Koentjaraningrat as well
as Pak Samboyo agree, is that it functions, at any rate for the duration of the
ceremony, as a mechanism of social integration.21 This is what stimulated Pak
Samboyo to hold a ‘slametan for young people’.
In the case of a family celebration the social integration is intended first
and foremost for the circle of immediate neighbours and relatives living near-
by.22 Depending on the nature of the occasion and the resources of the host or
hostess, the circle may be extended by including further-off neighbours and
relatives and (local) dignitaries to give the event so marked added weight. A
village slametan, as, for example, for a bersih désa, is in principle a community
affair to which each household contributes.
A slametan is traditionally attended by male heads of families.23 They
partake of a meal prepared jointly by their wives at the home of their host
or hostess or, if the celebration is a community slametan as, for instance, at
20 Geertz (1964:11) gives the word kendhurèn as a variant of slametan, without indicating, how-
ever, whether it refers to any special occasion.
21 Beatty (1999:27) regards the slametan somewhat negatively as a ‘temporary truce’. In his
words, it ‘illuminates a critical function of symbolism in an ideologically diverse setting: namely
its capacity to focus diverse interests and thus to compel a collective respect – to forge a unity’.
22 Robert Jay (1969:211, 213) has added two tables indicating the locations of the different
households vis-à-vis the house of the two host families to his description of their system of invi-
tations.
23 In urban centres it is nowadays customary for both women and men to attend, be it that the
women and men still often sit apart in separate areas. Here it is also becoming more and more
usual to engage a catering business to prepare the meal and to expect the guests to give only a
financial contribution.
a bersih désa, in their own home. The ritual involves the guests’ assembling,
usually towards sundown, in the host’s or hostess’ front veranda and sitting
cross-legged (sila) around the food set out on mats spread on the floor. Near
where the host – or, if the host is a woman, her male proxy – is sitting there
is a kindled incense burner. As soon as all the guests have arrived, the host
gives a formal speech of welcome thanking those present for coming, briefly
indicating the reason for the gathering, offering his apologies for any short-
comings, and finally requesting the specially invited mosque official (modin)
or one of the guests versed in Arabic prayers to say a prayer. The guests
respond with inggih (‘yes’) or amin (‘amen’), with their hands raised to their
chest, palms upward. Then the host urges the guests to take of the food, after
which it is served on the banana leaves lying in readiness. As soon as every-
one has his share, they start eating. But after only a few mouthfuls, the oldest
or most distinguished guest takes his leave24 and departs, immediately fol-
lowed by the other guests, taking the remainder of the food, wrapped in the
leaves, with them to eat at home with their families. Although on arrival the
guests chat together and discuss the events of the day quite informally, the
mood becomes very formal as soon as the host gets up to speak. This, accord-
ing to Geertz (1964:12), suggests that, in spite of its brevity and lack of drama,
the slametan indicates that something important is going on.25
The formal character of slametan in general contrasts sharply with the char-
acter of the slametan organized in the course of Samboyo Putro’s performances.
Not only did these invariably take place in an atmosphere of great excitement
and gaiety, as we shall see, but in addition very young children were selected
to take part in them each time. Even so, this ‘slametan for young people’ defi-
nitely had a very serious undertone for Pak Samboyo, as will become appar-
ent presently. As an illustration I reproduce below a fragment from my field
notes taken during the performance in Menang. It comes from the final act
(barongan-cèlèngan), where the six horse dancers, partially in trance, are play-
ing a ‘cat-and-mouse’ game with the monster Singabarong, the wild boar Kala
Srenggi, and the two knights, Toh Bagus and Pujangga-Anom.
24 My experience differs from Jay’s (1969:240) observation that the guests treat each other as
equals during a slametan, which would mean that it would fall to no particular person to take
leave first.
25 The so-called ‘polite, embarrassed, muted manner’ (Geertz 1964:11-2) of the slametan should
be taken with a grain of salt, in my experience. During a very elaborate slametan on the occasion
of the birthday of Gusti Putri, the spouse of Mangkunagara VIII, in 1971 one of the twelve (!) per-
sons leading the prayers was obliged to pause in his prayer repeatedly to admonish those present
to show greater respect. Notwithstanding the presence of the numerous religious officials and
the length of the prayers, the event had a far from solemn character. On the table with food a
sucking pig moreover took pride of place, which made the Islamic character of this slametan
rather questionable, to put it mildly.
94 Jaranan
The slametan for young people in Menang

Meanwhile it is a quarter to four in the afternoon.26 A few mats are spread on the
ground in the periphery of the performance area. Pak Sajèn and a few helpers
place the leftovers of the food from the table of offerings and a small pile of banana
leaves torn into large squares on top of these. Pak Samboyo sends several of the
dancers into the audience with orders to fetch six little boys of eight to ten. One
of the dancers keeps running away but is pulled back rather roughly, under loud
protests, each time by Pak Samboyo. Another one only wants to bring back an
old man or woman and gets angry when Pak Samboyo points to a nearby child
instead. After a lot of horseplay, six boys are finally assembled. Now an elderly
woman is also taken from the audience and led to the mats. One of the helpers
passes around a bucket of water in which the children and the woman, assisted by
two dancers, are supposed to wash their hands, while they are constantly splashed
by their ‘helpers’. A third dancer checks the result and scolds them. The bucket
returns and the whole process starts all over again.
Kala Srenggi, the wild boar, has approached and looks as if he is about to inter-
vene. Then he catches sight of the incense burner and disappears into the audience
with it. Meanwhile Pak Samboyo has thrust the pile of banana leaves into the
woman’s hands and signals to her to fold them into small dishes. Then the food is
handed out. Every time one of the dancers comes and checks on her, she is scolded
for giving either too much or too little, in any case never doing it right. The boys
are also told off all the time for fidgeting and turning around to their friends, who
continuously cheer them on from the sidelines.
The dishes are filled and shared around and the children are made to sit cross-
legged on the ground. When they are about to start eating they are given another
telling-off. First a prayer has to be said. Pak Sajèn is asked to come forward again.
He gives a speech, which, because he has no microphone, is virtually inaudible,
like the prayer, which seems to be exceptionally short, however. Suddenly there
is a great commotion. Singabarong comes running along at full tilt, tears past the
children, narrowly missing them, and disappears among the crowd, chased by a
few helpers. The little boys cower in fear, but then start eating at last. After only
a few mouthfuls they are chased away by Pak Samboyo and amid loud laughter
from the spectators quickly disappear among the crowd with their dishes.27
Comments
As became apparent from the speech and from retrospective comments, there
was an educational motive underlying this slametan, which was integrated
into the performance like a kind of game.28 Notwithstanding the fact that Pak
26 The performance, which was held wholly in the daytime, started at about 9.30 a.m. and
ended towards 5 p.m..
27 Diary entry, 17 August 1985.
28 The element of play in Samboyo Putro’s performances will be discussed in more detail in
Chapter X.
The ‘slametan for young people’ in Menang. Photograph by author.
Sajèn’s speech was hard to hear, it was not difficult to get the general drift of it,
couched as it was in the usual rhetoric of (semi-) official events of this kind.29
It was the duty of every citizen to nurture the Javanese cultural heritage
(memelihara warisan kebudayaan Jawa), rather than fritter it away in exchange for
superficial (Western) entertainment. Slametan, as Pak Sajèn and Pak Samboyo
afterwards commented, are part of the valuable legacy (tinggalan adiluhur) of
the ancestors (nènèk moyang), which can only be turned to account through
mutual cooperation. By familiarizing young children with this crucial ritual,
based as it is on voluntary cooperation (gotong royong), in a playful way, they
were hoping to promote unity and stem the tide of foreign influences. They
moreover wanted to increase respect for the Javanese identity (kepribadian
Jawa) and so contribute to the development (pembangunan) of Indonesia.
In integrating the ‘slametan for young people’ into his performances, Pak
Samboyo was acting in conformity with a more general trend to actively involve
young people in aspects of tradition that were deemed valuable. In 1985, for
instance, I attended a similar slametan introducing the bersih désa celebration of
Mlorah (Nganjuk), to which one child was delegated by each household.
29 According to John Pemberton (1994:9) the ‘rhetoric of culture’ is one of the most striking
characteristics of the New Order.
96 Jaranan
The ‘slametan for young people’ in Mlorah. Photograph by author.
The slametan for young people in Mlorah

At the appointed time the children, each carrying an enamel bowl of food, arrive
at the village hall. After dropping a few coins into a specially designated box, they
sit down on the floor in long rows with their bowl in front of them. The religious
teacher (penghulu) delivers a long, grandiloquent speech (as in Samboyo Putro’s
performance) about the significance of the traditional values encapsulated in the
bersih désa and slametan. He then recites a long prayer and concludes with the pro-
fession of faith, in which all those present join in at the top of their voice. At a sig-
nal from the village head, the children take a few mouthfuls and then return home,
each with their own bowl. About a quarter of an hour later I see lines of adults
carrying exactly the same kind of bowls filing down to a banyan tree (waringin) at
the edge of a small stream, the abode of the tutelary spirit (baureksa) of the village.
Later that day a wayang performance will be held for the guardian spirit and other
guests, for which the stage (tarub) is in process of being set.30
30 Diary entry 1985.

Comments
The emphasis in ‘young people’s slametan’ like this did not lie, as of old, on
the religious aspect – the strengthening of the bond with the ancestors as a
moral court of justice in the solution of problems – but on its social role as a
binding factor and as a barrier against advancing individualism as a result of
the ever-increasing influence of a ‘West’ that was viewed as a threat.
Pemberton (1994:249), writing about the slametan for young people organ-
ized for the 1983 bersih désa in Bendo (Klaten), likewise observes that ‘coop-
eration’ was an important theme here. Tradition, he says, was stripped of its
contradictory elements and represented as an example of how ideals may be
realized through mutual cooperation.
This emphasis on cooperation (gotong royong) and on the consensus that is
a necessary condition for this reflects not only concern about the increasing
individualization of society, however. Government pressure to conform to the
ideology of a centrally guided development propagated by it, which allows
no room for dissenting voices, plays quite a significant part here as well. The
Islamic confession of faith, of which the prayer in Samboyo Putro’s perform-
ance and that in Mlorah was comprised and which is recited on all kinds of
occasions, is actually no more than an obligatory formula and is wholly in
line with the ‘enveloping power’ (to use Beatty’s words) of Islam as an official
religion and with the repressive policies of New Order Indonesia (Beatty
1999:61). This ‘slametan for young people’, thus detached from its traditional
religious meaning, offers a clear example of what Koentjaraningrat means by
adat ceremony.
A horse dance demonstration by Samboyo Putro
The second example of the way in which Samboyo Putro met the government’s
demands to give the horse dance a more modern image is the brief perform-
ance by a few members of the company on the occasion of a visit of a few
high police officials from Jakarta. The performance took place in Mojoroto,
in the front yard of the home of the superintendent of police of Kediri. The
guests were seated in the front veranda, the gamelan was arranged on the
lawn in front of that, and the dancers stood hiding behind some potted palms
at the side of the house before their entrance. The spectators had assembled
outside the fence enclosing the compound. Samboyo Putro’s performance
opened with an orchestral prelude accompanying the arrival of the guests
around seven p.m. When the musicians had played for about an hour and
all the invited guests had arrived, the gamelan fell silent. The superintendent
gave a long speech also introducing the group Samboyo Putro and stressing
the importance of continuing attention for the Javanese cultural heritage. He
98 Jaranan
thereupon asked Pak Dhalang to say a few words. As the gamelan started
softly playing, the latter in his turn welcomed the guests and gave a summary
of the plot of the legend to be enacted by the performers.31 At the same time
the first dancer entered the performance area.
Toh Bagus comes on, the whip Kyai Samandiman in his hand. He dances around
the yard a few times and thereupon summons the four horsemen onstage succes-
sively with loud cracks. Pak Dhalang accompanies their dance with all kinds of
songs. At a given point he is interrupted by the master of ceremonies, who wel-
comes the guests once again and invites them to help themselves to the food that
is meanwhile carried in on plates by a few young men (sinoman).
The four horsemen have gone to stand to the side of the area with their horses
beside them. Toh Bagus summons Singakumbang, who is immediately followed
by Macan. The horsemen form a circle around the two and dance provocatively
towards Singakumbang and one behind the other in a circle in turns. Macan
weaves in and out among the horsemen, continually lashing out with his paw, and
is kept at arm’s length by Toh Bagus with his whip. Suddenly cèlèng Kala Srenggi
enters. The dance of the horsemen, Toh Bagus, Singakumbang and Kala Srenggi is
very graceful. Macan dances on hands and knees and continually lashes out at the
others. He provides the comic note. After dancing for a little under an hour, the
performers withdraw. No one has gone into a trance.32
Comments
Pak Dhalang told me that for official occasions like this a selection is always
made from Samboyo Putro’s repertoire and the best dancers are picked.
What was striking was the absence of Kethèk and Singabarong. The actor
playing the part of Kethèk appeared to be elsewhere engaged that evening.
Singabarong’s non-appearance was intentional. As the personification of the
traditional religion, he allegedly had no part to play in a secular demonstra-
tion. It was also striking that the crowd mostly remained on the other side
of the fence. Only a few children ventured into the performance area and
crawled in and out among the gamelan instruments. Pak Samboyo, who had
been watching the show from the veranda (he was one of the official guests),
voiced his satisfaction at the enthusiastic reaction of the guests from Jakarta.
‘The art of horse dancing is one of the outstanding art forms of Indonesia’
(seni jaranan salah setunggal seni adiluhung Indonesia), he commented. For him
it was proof that the horse dance has a place in modern Indonesia as well.
31 This legend will be discussed in Chapter VII.

32 Diary entry, August 1985.
The next example of the way in which Samboyo Putro might adapt a per-
formance to some special wish is the performance in Menang. It was intended
particularly for the crowd that had poured in from all directions.
Bu Dhukun’s surprise in Menang
The hostess, Bu Dhukun, who took the initiative in preparing the surprise,
was a relatively well-to-do woman who wanted to share some of her pros-
perity with her neighbours in a playful way by this means without putting
herself in the foreground. But she was motivated by another consideration
as well. Some time before the performance she had fallen ill. As no obvious
cause could be discovered, she suspected she had become the victim of some-
one in her immediate vicinity.33 Therefore she had made a vow to give her
neighbours a treat at the first opportunity. Her surprise was in fact intended
partially as a way of neutralizing any feelings of displeasure on the part of
her less fortunate fellow-villagers. On the advice of her son, Pak Samboyo,
she had had a tall bamboo pole with coconut oil rubbed all over it erected
and topped with a cartwheel, from which she had had a large number of gar-
ments suspended. The meaning of this became apparent in the fourth act.
Most of the performers are just hanging around aimlessly at the table of offerings.
Pak Samboyo approaches Kethèk with his whip and tries to chase him up the pole
with loud cracks. Kethèk clearly does not feel like shinning up the slippery pole
and continually ducks away to the tree immediately next to it, to the hilarity of
especially the younger spectators. After many unsuccessful attempts, he has final-
ly managed to perch himself on top of the wheel and now starts cutting all kinds
of capers. At Pak Samboyo’s repeated urgings he plucks a few pieces of clothing
from the spokes of the wheel and starts to put them on. Meanwhile a large group
of women has approached. They gesture to him to throw the garments down,
which he does after much hesitation. Loudly cheering, the spectators pounce on
the garments, but the helpers snatch most of their spoils away from them. When
Kethèk is back on the ground again, the reclaimed articles of clothing are thrust
back into his arms, evidently with the idea of distributing them among the audi-
ence. It now becomes a free-for-all, with especially the women trying to filch one
or more items from him and receiving a smart slap at each attempt. The handing
out of the garments provokes great hilarity when he tries to force a baby bonnet on
a toothless old man and shows him how to put it on. The whole episode is accom-
panied by the gamelan and Bu Swarawati, who goes on indefatigably singing one
popular song after another. (Meanwhile the other performers have been restored
33 Woodward (1985:1014), writing about recovery from illness and morality, points out among
other things that there is a chance of being struck by black magic from relatives or neighbours
around every corner, especially for people who stand out from their surroundings in terms of
wealth or status.
Kethèk near the cartwheel with garments in Menang.
to consciousness and have disappeared into the dressing room.) The last article of
clothing, an enormous bra, appears to be intended for me and, like it or not, I have
to try it on, to the great amusement of the onlookers. While the musicians are still
laughing about my new acquisition, Pak Dhalang announces the last act and Pak
Samboyo gives Kethèk the rough treatment.34
Comments
Bu Dhukun watched the whole act from her front veranda. When I went
back inside to get a new roll of film a little later, she called me over to her.
While we were chatting, she casually remarked that she felt relieved (lega ning
galih) because her wish had been fulfilled and the whole neighbourhood had
turned out. That so many people had come to her party and had stayed on
was testimony to her that she had been successful in her aim (and need have
no more fear of unpleasantness from her neighbours).
The fact of a special surprise for the throng of spectators is not unusual per
se. The form was unique, however. Further down we will witness another way
in which a crowd of spontaneously gathering spectators was entertained.
Samboyo Putro’s part in the performance in Menang, which had a dual cause,
namely the bersih désa and National Independence Day, was marginal. The
bersih désa ritual had taken place the evening before, for instance. And the offi-
cial part of the celebration – the speeches in honour of National Independence
Day – took place while the members of Samboyo Putro were preparing for
their performance inside Bu Dhukun’s house. The same was true of most of
the group’s other performances that I attended. On one or two occasions Pak
Dhalang was invited to act as master of ceremonies and welcome the guests
and inform them of the reason for the celebration on behalf of the host as for
instance at Pulihrejo discussed further down.
Only once did I attend a show by Samboyo Putro in which the group was
asked to play a part that bore a direct relation to the reason for its perform-
ance. This was at a party in celebration of the circumcision of the eleven-year-
old son of the sponsor, Pak Soetrisno, in Sumberagung, in the sub-district of
Wates (Kediri), on 14 June 1992. This performance, given after Pak Samboyo’s
death, was directed by Pak Gambuh, the former singakumbang dancer. He
had received a wahyu in the place of pilgrimage Pamenang Jayabaya after
Pak Samboyo’s decease to continue the latter’s work. His former role of
Singakumbang was now played by a person I did not know. The ritual for
which the cooperation of a few members of Samboyo Putro was sought was
34 Diary entry, 17 August 1985.

The ‘blessing of the penis’ ritual in Sumberagung.
the ‘blessing of the penis’ (njurungi planangan) of the newly circumcised boy.
Although every performance is in a sense unique, that in Sumberagung
nevertheless was roughly similar to those I had attended during Pak Samboyo’s
lifetime in the mid-l980s – up to the fourth act (kucingan), with the appear-
ance of Singakumbang. Towards the end of this act, when the majority of the
dancers were in trance, a brief ritual was performed in the front veranda of
the host’s house which, owing to the bustle in the performance area, where
the trance dancers were engaged in all kinds of antics, was hardly noticed, if
at all, by the audience at large.
The blessing of the penis (njurungi planangan) in Sumberagung

While the show is in full progress in the central area, the newly circumcised son
of the sponsor, a boy of about eleven, emerges. He is now dressed in a sinjang,35
a white shirt, and a black felt fez (kuluk). He has to sit down between his mother
and grandmother. One of the trance dancers, carrying a small bottle of scented oil
in his hand, clambers onto the front veranda, pokes out his tongue, and gives the
boy a sign to sprinkle it with the oil. Then he kneels down and puts his head under
the boy’s sinjang, whereat the latter grows rigid and wide-eyed with shock. His
parents and grandmother reassuringly stroke him over the head and tap him on
the shoulders. About half a minute later the trance dancer emerges and signals the
family to come outside with him. At his directions, the father has to dig a hole of
about twelve centimetres in diameter and twelve centimetres deep in the ground
beside the steps to the veranda. While he is busy doing this, the trance dancer
walks off. He returns soon afterwards, accompanied by Pak Sajèn, who is carrying
a dish with a raw egg, a few kenanga flowers, and a piece of the circumcised boy’s
foreskin. All this is thrown into the hole under the watchful eye of the boy and
to the accompaniment of a few mumbled prayers by Pak Sajèn. The hole is then
quickly filled in by the trance dancer and the father. The latter has a kupat thrust
into his hands. He and his son pull the packet apart, each of them holding a length
of leaf hanging down from it. This appears to be the end of the ceremony, and the
boy runs inside the house.36
Comments
What exactly happened under the sinjang could not be seen, of course. The
trance dancer told me he had blessed the penis with the sacred oil. According
to Pak Gambuh, he had taken the penis in his mouth to do so, which might
explain the child’s startled reaction. He pointed out that the blessing of the
penis is an authentically Javanese tradition, intended to ensure a speedy
recovery. That this was indeed an old custom becomes apparent from a
35 An ankle-length batik undergarment.

36 Diary entry, 15 July 1992.
104 Jaranan
few descriptions of circumcisions from the beginning of the 20th century.

Mohtoelimah (1921:497), an Indonesian doctor from Nganjuk, reports, for
instance, that the circumciser, ‘mumbling [...] a prayer [...], chews some indig-
enous drugs and spits them out (with force) on the surface of the wound’
immediately after the operation. This was the practice in Madiun (East Java),
too (Agoesdjam 1921:479). Inggris (1921:90) informs us that in Bagelen it was
customary to bury the cut-off foreskin in the hut (kobongan)37 erected especial-
ly for the circumcision in the front yard. Pak Dhalang confirmed that spitting
on the wound or treating it in some other way was very common before the
arrival of Western medicine, but now is unusual. He expressed the view that
these days it is better to trust to modern drugs, and added that now that, since
Pak Samboyo’s death, the group was led by Pak Gambuh, traditional magic
practices were gaining ground hand over fist. This comes as no surprise. For it
had become evident from earlier interviews with Pak Gambuh that, unlike to
Pak Samboyo, he was much more oriented to the past. As a citizen without any
official function, he had no need to keep up appearances, while moreover he
had little affinity with government politics. Pak Dhalang and Pak Samboyo’s
son-in-law regretted the new course struck out by Pak Gambuh, which in their
eyes was leading Samboyo Putro to slide slowly downhill.
The ritual of the ‘blessing of the penis’, which took place virtually unno-
ticed at the edge of the yard where the festivities were held, was a private
affair. It met the need of the host and his family for a traditional confirmation
of the circumcision. For them Samboyo Putro’s participation had a deeper
meaning, in fact. For the audience at large, on the other hand, this perform-
ance of Samboyo Putro’s was first and foremost a great, exciting feast.
One aspect of horse dance performances that Pak Samboyo systemati-
cally avoided in my interviews with him and which was not in evidence in
Samboyo Putro’s appearances, either, was the role of these performances in
crises. This had everything to do with Pak Samboyo’s official position, as
became apparent later, keen as he always was to emphasize the contempo-
rary, modern character of the group’s performances, at any rate towards me.
For the more mystical aspects of horse dances, Pak Gambuh, Samboyo Putro’s
singakumbang dancer, referred me to Pak Usodo, the gambuh of the Haswo
Usodo company of Balowerti (Kediri). This performer had a reputation as
someone who had frequent contacts with the world of the spirits (bangsa alus).
The name of the group, Haswo Usodo, which roughly means ‘Healing Horse’
or ‘Therapeutic Horse’, already indicates that this group specialized in an
aspect other than that of sheer entertainment.
37 Kobongan is also a word for a small room in the rear part of the house in which the bridal
bed is located and ceremonies are conducted on special occasions, in particular at weddings.
The performance for a konduran
Pak Usodo told me the following anecdote concerning the significance of his
role as gambuh in my interview with him with reference to the performance
in Balowerti:
Not long ago a woman came to seek my help for her niece (keponakan), who had
been continually harassed (diganggu) (by a sprite) ever since she had had a mis-
carriage. This was because the niece had got rid of the tiny corpse out of shame
(konduran38 diilangké merga isin).39 I said I was prepared to help her, and we agreed
that I would come with my ‘children’. I established contact (with the spirit) dur-
ing the performance and asked it what the family should do to make it amends,
so that it would leave the woman alone in future. In the course of the performance
I received the message to have the body disinterred, to purify it, to wrap it in
cloths tied with seven strings, and to rebury it with all due respect (that is to say,
in accordance with Muslim custom). I also received a list of sacrifices and instruc-
tions as to where and when the family should offer these. When all the instructions
had been carried out, the woman was as before (kaya ning nguni).40
Comments
Pak Usodo did not want to say anything about the form in which he had had
contact with the spirit of the deceased infant or how the reburial had been
performed, or what kind of sacrifices had been offered on this occasion. These
were matters on which he could not enlarge, as they were some of the secrets
of his specialization and could only be divulged to the initiated. Nor did I
get an unambiguous answer to my question as to the identity of the spirit
invoked by him. I shall come back to this presently.
Many if not all of Pak Usodo’s clients were women who had either had
a miscarriage (terègan) or a stillbirth (konduran), as in the above case. They
had subsequently suffered from all kinds of complaints without any clearly
apparent physical cause, which meant they were being plagued (diganggu) by
a spirit, Pak Usodo alleged. According to him his clients had generally been ill
for some time before they consulted him, because they did not as a rule do so
till all other remedies, including Western medicines (he said this with a wink
38 Derived from kondur, meaning ‘to go (back) home’ or ‘dead’ (Pigeaud 1982), the word kon-
duran here is used in the sense of ‘return to one’s origins’.
39 What the niece felt ashamed about did not become clear to me. Possibly she believed that
her miscarriage had been a divine punishment for violating some adat rule. Quite possibly also
she felt ashamed towards her husband because she had the feeling that she could not be a proper
wife to him.
40 Fragment from an interview on 18 March 1986.
106 Jaranan
in my direction), had failed. He was as it were their last recourse.

Pak Usodo blamed the fact that he was generally only asked for help at
such a late stage on the high costs of the offerings required by a healing ritual.
He thus implicitly forestalled any possible suspicions that his fees might be
responsible for this hesitancy. Like the more old-fashioned puppeteers (Clara
van Groenendael 1985:108), he liked to uphold the traditional healer’s ideal that
he was not out after financial gain and only wanted to serve the community.41
Pak Usodo’s help hence was sought especially for psychosomatic com-
plaints. This was endorsed by Samboyo Putro’s Pak Gambuh, who had drawn
my attention to Haswo Usodo. He told me that the belief that the spirits of the
deceased still actively interfere in the lives of their descendants is still wide-
spread among the Javanese, and not only among the common people (wong
cilik), but also among the higher classes, such as intellectuals and government
officials.42 When someone dies an unnatural or mysterious death, he went on
to say, the spirit of that deceased person seeks out a close relative, someone
who is sensitive to stimuli from the invisible world – often someone in an
unstable emotional condition – and continually harasses this person until
finally he/she enlists the help of a specialist to find out what his/her tormentor
wants. In Solo, according to Pak Gambuh, people will consult a dhalang (of the
wayang theatre), while in Kediri, where the jaranan is popular, they will ask
a gambuh for help.
That puppeteers may also be confronted with this kind of situation
became apparent from a conversation with the Solo-trained Kediri dhalang Ki
Gunawan. Drawing on his own experience, he told me how he had once been
called on for help after a stillbirth. In this particular case the tormentor turned
out to be not the spirit of the child, but that of a grandparent who had passed
away before it and had now come to the child’s aid (dimrinani), desiring to
point out to the tormented relatives that they should respect the adat, even in
the case of a stillborn child.43
41 ‘Modern’, progressive puppeteers like Ki Narto Sabdo of Semarang, Ki Anom Suroto of

Solo, or Ki Panut of Yogyakarta, conversely, prided themselves on the exorbitant fees they often
commanded, which they considered to be proof of their exceptional popularity.
42 I observed an example of this during the preparations for the wedding of a daughter of
the Wedana (sub-district head) of Pare. In the night preceding the wedding (midadarèni) a small
procession, accompanied by the Wedana’s wife, headed for two sacred banyans, one of them
growing in the compound of the kawedanan and the other a little further on at the side of the
public road. They were carrying small offerings for the spirits dwelling in these trees, to whom
they prayed that they might bless the bridal couple. At the end of this ceremony my hostess, Ibu
Wedana, stated that she had only done this for the sake of the peace of mind of her staff but no
longer believed in it herself. But one wonders!
43 Personal communication in the course of preparations for an exorcist wayang ritual (ruwat
murwakala) on the occasion of the annual village purification ritual (bersih désa) at the home of
the head of the village of Gampengrejo (Kediri) in 1985. This celebration was combined with the
circumcision ceremony for the latter’s only son (ontang-anting). Here too, private and community
Ad hoc groups in Yogyakarta and Dongko
A prayer for rain
Another example of a performance in a crisis situation was given me by

a fellow-anthropologist.44 The group concerned was a small horse dance
company from the environs of Yogyakarta, of which she saw a performance
in November 1977. Because the first rains were late in coming that year, so
that there was a serious water shortage, the population of Central Java was
beset by all kinds of diseases, including the dreaded demam berdarah (dengue
or breakbone fever), which made many victims especially among children.
It was in this difficult period that a group of four people – a dancer with a
kuda képang, a musician with a tambourine (terbang), a wild-looking woman
with unkempt hair, and a man with an incense burner and a bowl of offer-
ings – gave a performance near one of the two fenced-in sacred banyan trees
(waringin kurung) in the northern kraton square, the Alun-Alun Lor, in Yogya.
The horse dancer was only wearing a half-length, dark pair of pants and a
lurik45 jacket, with no ornaments or makeup. The other three wore no special
costume either. The musician beat a roll on his tambourine and the horse
dancer started dancing, but soon went into a trance, while the woman yelled
and gestured threateningly in the direction of the tree. The fourth had gone
and sat down at the foot of the tree inside the fence and was burning incense
while mumbling a few prayers. The whole performance, to which none of the
passers-by seemed to pay any attention, lasted only a few minutes, at the end
of which the group left the square without any further ado.
Comments
Of course it is not feasible to draw any fundamental conclusions from this

description by a casual passer-by. What is clear, however, is that the actions
of this group constituted not a performance in the true sense, but a supplica-
tion to the guardian spirit of the banyan. It was a private affair, possibly on
behalf of some local community or other. Judging from the lack of interest in
the performance, that was what it was taken for by the people in the square, if
they noticed anything at all. What message the group was trying to put across
is difficult to say. That it might have had something to do with the current
drought is very probable.
In calamities transcending the local community, such as long droughts,
interests were interwoven.

44 Dr. Danielle Geirnaert-Martin, who was kind enough to share her experience with me.
45 A Javanese striped cotton fabric worn commonly by men in Yogyakarta.
108 Jaranan
excessive rains, epidemics, or other plagues, waringin kurung are regularly

visited.46 As will become apparent in the next chapter, local tutelary spirits
(dhanyang) have only very limited power. For a major disaster, the help of a
more powerful protector is needed, therefore, and who better to turn to than
the guardian spirit from the immediate surroundings of the ruler?47
The Turonggo Yakso in Dongko
In the foregoing I referred in passing to a special horse dance group (or groups)
in Trenggalek, the Turonggo Yakso of the sub-district of Dongko. Owing to
faulty communications between Trenggalek and Kediri during my stay in
East Java, I was not informed in time of the precise dates on which there were
to be Turonggo Yakso performances in the various villages in Dongko. Hence
unfortunately I was not able to attend any of these performances and cannot
speak from personal experience. My informant in the cultural affairs bureau
in Trenggalek was not able to draw from personal observation either. Nor did
he know the local name for the ritual as part of which the performances were
held. Therefore he referred to it by the Indonesian term pesta ternak (‘Feast of
the Livestock’). Basing himself on information obtained in Dongko, he gave
me the following account.
The celebration is held annually in the month of Apit (the eleventh month of
the Muslim-Javanese lunar year), but on a different day in each village. Because
Turonggo Yakso performances take place exclusively in the context of this feast, a
new group is formed each year. The day of the celebration opens with a slametan
by the village in question. After that the Turonggo Yakso walks through the vil-
lage in procession and then circumambulates the fields, repeatedly stopping to
give a brief performance. The group finally returns to the village, where the actual
performance takes place. It is an all-day performance, in which the players go into
a trance several times. It is meant for the spiritual protector (baureksa) of the live-
stock, who, it is hoped, will be present at the festivities and will be satisfied with
46 Personal communication by Pak Arintoko, lecturer in Yogya.

47 An example of the belief in the strong protective powers of the ruler is the procession in
which the sacred weapon (pusaka karaton) Kangjeng Kyai Tunggul Wulung is carried around out-
side the palace when disasters strike the realm (R. Soedjana Tirtakoesoema 1932:42), as well as
the kirab pusaka (the carrying round of the ruler’s sacred weapons in procession outside the pal-
ace) on 1 Sura (the first month of the Muslim-Javanese year) in Surakarta. Pemberton (1989:237),
citing Singgih Wibisono, writes about this: ‘The karaton is a source for slamet and prosperity.
As a center of the cosmos [kosmos] and universe, its magical power is able to radiate out to all
the people by means of sacred [sakral] rituals, the magical power of the king stored within the
pusaka.’ The annual procession instituted in Solo under the New Order in the 1970s according to
Pemberton (1989:235) is not based on an older tradition and had nothing to do with the original
role of this ritual, but represented an attempt by the court (karaton) in Solo, backed by the Suharto
government, to recover its idealized position as centre of Javanese culture.
this mark of respect in his honour and will bless the livestock, so that it may be
fertile and will not be struck by disease and other plagues.48
Comments
Much is left unexplained in the above description. My informant had no idea

of the composition of Turonggo Yakso groups, for example. Does every vil-
lage have its own group and theatrical props, or is there only one group that
wanders from village to village? Who fixes the date for the celebration, and
how? Who are the guests at the slametan and do they include the horse danc-
ers? Who presides over the slametan, the modin (mosque official) or perhaps
the gambuh? What prayers are recited here? And what part does the livestock
play in the celebrations as a whole?
The baritan ritual
The Turonggo Yakso performance at the ‘Feast of the Livestock’ appears to

hark back to an old ritual called baritan (‘a kind of village (agricultural) ritual’,
Pigeaud 1982). The history of the Turonggo Yakso baritan of Dongko is as fol-
lows (Deskripsi tari Turonggo Yakso 1994:19-21):
A dhukun from Dongko received a message (wangsit) from the ‘god who divides riches’
(déwa pembagi rejeki) one day in 1923 to hold a baritan ritual after the harvest to prevent
the crops and livestock from being struck by disease and epidemics. This ritual took
place annually in the wet-rice fields (sawah) and the dry fields (ladang) on 1 Sura from
that time on. In 1965 a stop was put to it because of the political unrest following the
unsuccessful communist coup of 30 September.
In 1972 Pak Sutiyono, then inspector of culture (penilik kebudayaan), made an
attempt to blow new life into the baritan Turonggo Yakso.
The Turonggo Yakso was further developed in the years between 1972 and 1976.
Initially the horses had an ox’s head, but this provoked criticism from the commu-
nity because of its political connotations (the ox was the symbol of the Indonesian
Nationalist Party, PNI,49 ex-President Soekarno’s party), and so it was replaced with a
demon’s head. Moreover, the Turonggo Yakso was disconnected from the baritan ritual,
so that it became possible to develop the dances of the horses (and other characters fig-
uring in the performance) further in agreement with the demands of the modern age.
Between 1978 and 1989 the Turonggo Yakso dance company participated in
various traditional dance competitions, on the sub-district and district as well
as the national level.
48 Personal communication by Pak Mudjiran, acting head of the Cultural Affairs Bureau in
Trenggalek, 18 June 1985.
49 Partai Nasional Indonesia.
110 Jaranan
Comments
Nothing is said about the exact occasion for instituting the baritan ritual. In
view of the form the ritual was given, disease among the livestock seems to be
the most obvious reason, but I have not been able to find any unambiguous
information about this. Like the annual purification ritual, bersih désa, which
had (and has?) primarily a prophylactic purpose, the Turonggo Yakso ritual
was aimed at prevention of disease among the livestock by appealing to the
latter’s spiritual protector(s) and propitiating these by means of a ritual.
Rituals for protecting the livestock are found elsewhere in Java as well. In
Kerek (Tuban), for example, there is a special annual ritual in which people
address the cattle (sapi) and adorn their necks with different kinds of ketupat
(coconut-leaf packets of steamed rice) to thank them for their share in the work
in the fields. In addition a special ketupat is placed on the roof of the cowshed
as an offering to Dhadhung Awuk, the patron saint of the livestock.50
In Gegesik (Cirebon) there is a barikan ritual that is likewise performed
annually. The similarity in name notwithstanding, this ritual is aimed not
only at the wellbeing of the livestock, but in a more general sense at the well-
being of the community and the elimination of negative forces (siluman). This
ritual takes the form of a wayang show, in which the danger of these negative
forces is explained and neutralized (Cohen, Behrend and Cooper 2000:107-
11). The article compares the barikan ritual to the exorcist wayang ritual, ruwat
murwakala. In the same way as in the ruwat murwakala the story is an essential
element of the ritual (Clara van Groenendael 1998:xii), so too in the barikan
the ritual and the story are inseparably bound up with each other; more than
that, the story is the ritual.
In the Turonggo Yakso, monster horses (jaranan buta) played a crucial part.
That is why I would like to describe the Turonggo Yakso as a ritual type of
horse dance.51
After the Turonggo Yakso was ‘rediscovered’ by Pak Sutiyono around
1972, it was detached from its ritual origin, to be developed further as an
independent dance form. This was consistent with the policies of local and
national governments under the New Order, aimed as these were at elimi-
nating aspects that in their eyes were superstitious (in particular the trance).
There was moreover a need for a symbol reflecting the local identity. In 1989
50 I am indebted for this information to Rens Heringa, who was kind enough to give me a
description of this ketupating tegal ritual (‘ritual of the rice parcels in the field’) and let me use her
photographs (Leiden, 6 July 2002).
51 The jaranan buta ritual belongs in the same category as the exorcist ritual ruwat murwakala
(Clara van Groenendael 1998) and the wayang gandrung, for example (Clara van Groenendael
2000:52-67).
this development from a ‘traditional ceremony’ (upacara tradisional) with a

religious dimension into a secular ‘traditional art form’ (seni tradisional) was
crowned by the recognition of the Turonggo Yakso dance as a typical cultural
product of the district by the then district head of Trenggalek (Deskripsi tari
Turonggo Yakso 1994:21).
I am not able to say if in addition to this there is still a ritual Turonggo
Yakso. The information I was given in Trenggalek leads me to suspect that
this was indeed the case, at any rate at the time of my research (1985-1986).
The place and the significance of the horse dance in the festivities
Whatever the occasion for a performance by horse dancers, it will always take
place in an atmosphere of great excitement in which the entertainment aspect
is clearly dominant. An exception to this seemed to be formed by the actions
of the group of four near the waringin kurung in Yogyakarta, which did not
really amount to a performance at all.
The entertainment is meant not only for the visible but also for the invis-
ible guests, the bangsa alus. For it is especially these ‘guests’, present at the
invitation of the trance master, who need to be propitiated by means of the
performance in order to be assured of their beneficial influence.
The performance of horse dance groups, excepting that of the Turonggo
Yakso company at the ‘Feast of the Livestock’, does not as a rule constitute
part of the core of the event that is the reason for the celebration. For example,
the circumcision of the sponsor’s son (in both Pulihrejo and Sumberagung),
the bersih désa ritual (in Menang and Balowerti), and the official speeches in
commemoration of a special date (17 Augustus, National Independence Day,
in Menang, and the ‘Day of the Police’ and ‘Anniversary of the Mobile Police
Squad’ and the demonstration in Mojoroto) had already taken place before
the horse dancers made their first appearance. Their performance in fact
generally constituted the merry close of the celebration. This is not to say that
these performances were valued in the same way by everyone, however.
It is in fact impossible to give an unambiguous answer to the question of
the significance of horse dances. The performances are extremely complex
and often so chaotic one cannot keep track of everything that is going on.
This encourages the idea that there is more going on than meets the eye. It is
precisely this deliberate ambiguity – which, as we saw above, was underlined
by the slomprèt – that lends this dramatic genre its great fascination.
The performances progress on different levels simultaneously. On the
general level they are a form of entertainment. According to some, this in
itself has a beneficial effect – be it that people often have no more than a
vague sensation of this – if only because these shows attract many people
Young calf with ketupat in Tuban. Photograph by Rens Heringa.
to the spot, so that it is ramé, which is viewed as a propitious sign. For the
host or hostess they frequently mark the close of a period that began with
the making of a vow. A successful performance moreover boosts the prestige
of the sponsor(s) (for example, the performances in Jombor and Menang).
At the same time it may provide an excellent opportunity for counteracting
any possible feelings of envy through a generous gesture (as in the case of
Bu Dhukun). On a metaphysical level, the performance is a way to enter into
contact with the invisible world – sometimes periodically, in order to propiti-
ate the immaterial protector(s) so that the community may remain free from
disaster in the future as well (as, for instance, in the bersih désa or the ‘Feast of
the Livestock’), sometimes incidentally, to find a solution for some pressing
problem (Haswo Usodo’s konduran or the Yogyakarta group’s plea for rain) or
to confirm some crucial event (the circumcision in Sumberagung).
The performance creates a formal pause in daily life, a moment in which
time is as it were suspended for a while and the human and spirit worlds
encounter one another in the trance. Because this moment is not without
danger, it is necessary beforehand to create the right conditions in which the
spirits manifested in the dancers may be kept under control. How this is done
will be described in the next chapter.
chapter v
Rituals surrounding horse dance

performances
Introduction
The object of the rituals in connection with horse dance performances is to

allow contacts with the immaterial world to occur as smoothly as possible. The
rituals are aimed on the one hand at establishing these contacts, and on the
other at forestalling the danger inherent in them. When one or more inhabit-
ants of the invisible world are invited to become temporarily manifest in the
human world, this leads to a blurring of the boundary between the two worlds.
To keep the resultant situation under control, it is of the utmost importance
to delimit clearly the place and time of such an esoteric visit. In this chapter, I
shall investigate how Samboyo Putro and other horse dance groups demarcate
the context within which such contacts are permitted and how people try to
arm themselves against the dangers of these contacts beforehand.
Rituals surrounding the production and maintenance of stage requisites
The ritual preparations start in a very early phase. Pak Dhalang told me how
all kinds of precautions need to be taken prior to and in the course of the
production of the horses, the masks, the wild boar puppet, and the whips to
make it easier for these props to become animated (dijiwai) by a spirit and to
ensure that they will be light (ènthèng) to use. The nature of the preparations
is partially dependent on the importance attached to the particular prop.
Thus a barong mask requires more spiritual preparation than, for instance, the
masks of the two knights or of the sato galak. To be assured of the necessary
spiritual power and inspiration to bring off the enterprise successfully, people
will seek contact with the invisible world, preferably with the spirit of the
Why this is so will be explained, in Chapter VII.

116 Jaranan
character for whom the prop is intended, by means of asceticism. Depending

on the personality of the prospective maker and on local tradition, this may
be done in a variety of ways. For example, one may isolate oneself for a while
in order to concentrate on things spiritual, or offer sacrifices and burn incense
at the grave of an ancestor or a famous puppet- or mask-maker in order to
invoke his blessing for the enterprise so that it may be completed without
hindrance. In the old days people were more conscientious in the observance
of these rules, according to Pak Dhalang. At present only a few mask-mak-
ers in Tulungagung follow them, he said, which is why Samboyo Putro gets
its horses and masks from Tulungagung. The group kept the location of the
workshop where they are made very secret, afraid as they were that the inter-
est of a foreigner might force up the prices of the objects. I never succeeded in
visiting such a workshop, in fact.
In the literature as well there are indications that communication with
the spirit world plays an important role in the production of the horses and
masks. So Pigeaud (1938:172), citing an essay by Soepangkat, writes that
(around 1928) it was usual in Bagelen (Kebumen) for the makers of barong
masks to spend some time in religious seclusion before they started work
on these. We are further informed that sometimes bamboo from a clump
inhabited by spirits, which is therefore reputed to be mysterious or magi-
cally dangerous (wingit or angker), is selected for the horses. In Banyumas
at least one of a set of horses was said to be preferably made of such magical
bamboo (Pigeaud 1938:223). In Yogyakarta, people also attributed extraordi-
nary powers to a horse that had such a piece of bamboo incorporated into it.
It was especially this horse that was used to ‘cure’ the trance dancer, that is
to say, to bring him to from his trance, by stroking him over the head with it
a few times (Pigeaud 1938:230). This action, as we saw above, was also per-
formed by Pak Suwuk of the horse dance company playing in Jombor, though
whether the horse used by him also incorporated a piece of bamboo from a
sacred grove I do not know.
This essay, which appeared without a title in May 1928 (Pigeaud 1938:98), was written
by (or by order of) R. Soepangkat, then sub-district head (wedana) of Puring, in Karanganyar
(now Kebumen), in response to a questionnaire sent by the board of the Java Instituut to the
‘Indigenous rulers of Java and Madura’ in 1926 with a request for information about the different
kinds of folk entertainment in their respective areas, in particular mask dances and connected
performances. Pigeaud cites it frequently in his Javaanse volksvertoningen (1938).
Meaning literally ‘commanding respect’ (Pigeaud 1982).
‘Something (a spot, tree, and so on, in which a special force resides) that may not be entered,
touched (by everyone)’ (Pigeaud 1982).
Bamboo is, among other things, a symbol of fertility and indestructible vitality, while
the widespread bamboo shoot (tumpal) motif is allegedly a primeval symbol for vital force
(Encyclopaedie 1917, I:131).
Because the props are intended as the earthly abode of the spirits, they
have to be offered to the relevant spirits on their completion, in order that later
it may be easy for the person using them ‘to be filled with the spirit’ (diisèni
roh), in other words, go into a trance. In Jombang (East Java) the masks and
horses were placed towards this end in a spot commonly held to be angker or
in a prayer house (langgar) for a while before the show (Pigeaud 1938:199).
This custom also existed in Bagelen. Here people preferably chose a tall tree
in a burial ground for this, under which a flower offering was placed and
incense burned, according to Soepangkat’s essay. As soon as a sound like the
soft tinkling of bells was heard in the horses (there is no mention of masks),
people knew that the spirit had descended into them. Then they could take
the horses home with them in the firm conviction that the riders would go
into a trance (Pigeaud 1938:223).
Because the horses, masks, whips, musical instruments, and so on, are the
temporal abode of the spirits, they should always be treated with due respect,
for instance by regularly giving them ‘food’ (nyaosi dhahar), preferably on
holy days. If this was neglected, then the spirit concerned might appear to
remind its descendants of their obligations. So the congkok (deputy village
head) of Sawo (Bagelen) said, according to Soepangkat’s essay, that if no
flower sacrifices were offered to or incense burned for the barong on malam-
Selasa-Kliwon or malam-Juma’at-Kliwon, then the guardian spirit (dhanyang
baureksa) of the barongan would emerge from his bagor-fibre windings – at
least, if these had not been tied as a precaution (Pigeaud 1938:172). This latter,
rather ironic remark would lead one to believe that the congkok did not have
a very high opinion of the dhanyang, which would thus have been too easy
to outwit. On the other hand, ridiculing the sacred is often a way of masking
the deep emotions aroused by something that is of existential importance for
the relevant person.10
Although Pak Samboyo pretended to be indifferent to the mystical aspects
of the horse dance and to his role as gambuh, the flower offering near the barong
This is also true for Bali, where every stage in the production of masks requires offerings in
order that their wearers will be absolutely sure to enter a state of keruhan (‘possession by a spirit’)
(Nadi trance 2000:43).
The Tuesday eve (that is to say, Monday evening) coinciding with the day Kliwon of the
Javanese market week. The Javanese day starts in the evening.
The Friday eve (hence Thursday evening) coinciding with the day Kliwon of the Javanese
market week.
A coarse fabric made from the leaf fibres of the gebang palm (De Clercq, Corypha umbellifera
L.) (Gericke and Roorda 1901, II:636).
10 G.J. Held (1950:89, 82) is of the opinion, however, that there is often a ‘facetious familiarity
with the sacred [to be] observed’ in ritual officiants who are well acquainted with the profane-
sacred dichotomy, which on the one hand makes the ritual act ‘magic’ and on the other hand
reflects a recognition of ‘human insignificance’ that tends to have a rather comical effect.
118 Jaranan
hanging on a wall in his house was regularly renewed. But, he explained, this
was mainly for the sake of the peace of mind of the members of his company
who still believed in the magic of the barong.
The ritual preparation of the performers
From conversations with members of different horse dance companies it

became apparent to me that they observed particular rules of conduct before
every performance. These varied from uttering the brief Muslim formula
Bismillah (‘in the name of Allah’) on leaving home for the performance to
observing a total or a partial fast (for instance eating only one meal a day, eat-
ing unsalted rice, or eating rice only, without any side dishes) for some time,
offering sacrifices in a holy spot, preferably at a family grave, holding a night
wake in such a place, or going on a pilgrimage.
For Haswo Usodo’s gambuh, who invariably placed great emphasis on the
therapeutic aspects of his performance, this personal preparation was a seri-
ous affair. He told me that, contrary to the members of some modern com-
panies, who ‘no longer respect the ways of the ancestors’ (he was alluding to
Samboyo Putro, without mentioning that group by name), he fasted for at
least three days before every performance in order to be wholly pure (bersih),
so that the spirits would have no hold over him. For it was important for Pak
Usodo, as gambuh, to have sufficient spiritual authority over the spirits to be
summoned.
Companies like Samboyo Putro, which he labelled somewhat enviously as
‘modern’ (in other words, popular), did not neglect this spiritual preparation
either, however. Most of the members of this company usually paid a short
visit to the Plethik Kuning cemetery opposite Pak Samboyo’s house, where
many of their relatives lay buried, before setting out for a performance, in
order to invoke their deceased relatives’ blessing on it. Pak Dhalang, on the
other hand, attached little importance to such brief acts of piety, as he called
them. To his mind the best guarantee for an undisturbed performance was a
proper attitude to life. He therefore urged his youthful helpers to fast regu-
larly11 in order to strengthen their inner resistance.
Some horse dance companies have a favourite place they like to visit to
prepare themselves mentally. For the horse dancers of Banyumas this was
Iger Karas (Pigeaud 1938:220), for Samboyo Putro the place of pilgrimage
Pamenang Jayabaya. According to Pak Gambuh, a visit to Jayabaya’s sym-
11 At the time of my research regular weekly fasts, preferably on Mondays and Thursdays,
were popular especially among secondary school pupils and were promoted among schoolchil-
dren as an effective preparation for exams.
Prayer at the principal monument to Pamenang Jayabaya. Photograph by author.
bolic grave12 was even obligatory, at least if the group had to give a perform-
ance in its vicinity.
In the course of the preparations for the show in Menang, the location of
this place of pilgrimage, I repeatedly saw a few members of the group slip
away for a brief visit to Jayabaya’s monument. They would buy a flower offer-
ing for a small sum at one of the many stalls lining the access road to the sanc-
tuary. Then they would mount the steps to the monument in the company
of the caretaker (juru kunci, literally ‘keeper of the keys’) of the sanctuary in
order to pray there for a while. While they did so, the juru kunci would fan the
flames in the incense burner to ensure that their prayer was heard.13 At their
departure from the sanctuary, everyone would take something away with
them from the sacrificial spot: some flowers, a piece of incense, or a small
heap of earth, which, carefully folded in a handkerchief, would be tucked
into their belt as a charm.
12 Tradition has it that Jayabaya ascended to heaven physically, and the grave only indicates
the place where he allegedly departed from this world (Suwarsono 2000:14-5; Petilasan Sri Aji
Joyoboyo 1989:1, 13-5).
13 A bright burst of flame indicated that the prayer was favourably received.
120 Jaranan
The props assembled for the opening ceremony in Mojoroto.

Pak Samboyo, who, contrary to Pak Gambuh and Pak Dhalang, showed
little interest in the esoteric aspect of the horse dance (hence Pak Usodo’s criti-
cism was not entirely unfounded), stressed that his ‘children’, as he always
called the members of his group, were free to prepare themselves in whatever
way they chose, as long as they made sure they remained even-tempered.
Someone who worries or is emotional, he said, finds it easy to go into a trance
but is hard to bring to again, which makes his work as gambuh difficult. His
chief task during the preparations, as well as during the performance, was to
see to it that everyone felt comfortable. That is why he opened each perform-
ance with a communal prayer beseeching Allah’s blessing, so that the show
might come off without hindrance.
Samboyo Putro’s opening ceremony
Samboyo Putro’s communal prayer formed part of a fairly elaborate opening

ritual intended to establish contact with the invisible world, to invite the vari-
ous spirits to honour the performance with their presence, and to underline
the unity of all those present. Despite the fact that the ceremony bore the
The opening ceremony in Mojoroto. Photograph by author.
unmistakable character of a show, the members of the group experienced it

as an essential element of their spiritual preparation. By way of example I
reproduce below a fragment from my diary describing the opening ceremony
of the performance given on the occasion of the anniversary of the Mojoroto
Mobile Police Squad.
The fragment begins after the official part had ended and the guests (mem-
bers of the mobile police squad and their families and a few officials from the
cultural affairs bureau) departed. After that the compound was prepared for
Samboyo Putro’s performance. The gamelan was set up and the table with
the sacrifices made ready. Meanwhile a few members of the group carried the
masks, horses and other stage requisites to the centre of the performance area
and placed them on mats spread out there. In front of the mats they placed
an incense burner, a small pile of charcoal, a pair of tongs, a tin with pieces
of incense (menyan madu), a small bottle of aromatic oil (lisah wangi), and five
plaited banana-leaf dishes with small floral offerings (sekar telon) made up of
white and yellow kanthil14 and red rose petals.
14 A magnolia-like flower (Horne 1974:256); according to Gericke and Roorda (1901, I:407) the
name of a campaka (gardenia) flower.
122 Jaranan
The table of offerings and masks. Photograph by author.
When all the arrangements were completed, the company assembled and
sat down behind these requisites facing east (the performance took place in
the daytime). Pak Gambuh and Pak Beja, the second slomprèt player, sat in
front. This time they were in charge of the ritual.15
The opening ceremony in Mojoroto

Pak Gambuh fans the flames and places a few small pieces of incense on them,
so that thick clouds of smoke come curling up. He taps the ground with his right
hand three times. The whole group thereupon raise their hands, palms together,
to their forehead and then to their shoulder. Pak Gambuh mutters a prayer, unfor-
tunately unintelligibly, to which the group responds with amin a few times. After
thus repeating the obeisance several times, they all rise to their feet except for Pak
Gambuh and Pak Slomprèt. Pak Slomprèt holds the two slomprèt over the incense
while mumbling a prayer, and Pak Gambuh does the same with the five floral
offerings. Then the other stage requisites are handed to them one by one. Every
prop is held over the smoke, accompanied by a prayer, and is then handed back
to one of the helpers, who heads for the sacrificial table with it and places it there
15 In Menang the group was led by Pak Sajèn, in Pulihrejo by Pak Gambuh.
‘Feeding’ Singakumbang (left) and Singabarong (right).

next to the sacrificial food displayed on it. Singakumbang’s and Singabarong’s

jaws are snapped together loudly a few times, as if they were inhaling the smoke.
A few musicians come to Pak Gambuh to have some oil poured on their hands.
They then rub it over their instruments. All the props are consecrated this way.
Pak Gambuh picks up the five floral offerings and walks around the performance
area with them. He places one in each of the four corners, leaving the last one in
the centre of the area. Then he rolls up the mats and takes them to the musicians.
The show is ready to start.16
Comments
The two persons in charge of the ritual gave the following explanation at the
end of the performance. The whole ceremony was meant to inform the invis-
ible beings (bangsa alus), in particular the local guardian spirit (Dhanyang
Mojoroto), the real ruler of the area, of the coming event. The offering of
incense, flowers and aromatic oil, constituting the food of the invisible beings,
is meant first and foremost for him, in fact. The three taps on the ground and
the incense vapours are meant to prepare him and the other spirits for the
projected entertainment. This way they will not be frightened by the sudden
16 Diary entry, 14 November 1985.

124 Jaranan
noise and bustle, but on the contrary, will be put in a good mood and come
and honour the festivities with their presence. To avoid passing any of them
over, every requisite is consecrated by giving ‘food’ (nyaosi dhahar) to each
spirit individually, and inviting it to take possession of the prop designed for
it. The floral offerings, finally, are intended to keep out the sprites (dhemit)
and demons (sétan). They are supposedly frightened off by the scent of the
flowers, as they have a natural aversion to fragrant things.
Judging from this explanation, it looks as if we have here three different
rituals: one to inform the local tutelary spirit of the coming events, one to
invite the spirits to descend into their temporary abodes, and one to keep out
any possible disturbers of the peace.
The identity of the dhanyang was rather ambiguous. Some people referred
to him as Dhanyang Mojoroto, alluding to the real or mythical founder
(cikal bakal) of Mojoroto, the place of the performance. Others mentioned
the name Kyai Buta Locaya (the Venerable Demon Locaya)17 or Kyai Daha
(the Venerable of Daha), the mythical founder of the ancient realm of Daha
(Kediri) the leading character in the horse dance. Whatever his name, all
agreed that no performance was complete without the dhanyang, who there-
fore should be treated with all due respect.
Soepangkat’s essay shows us that all this is also true for Karanganyar
(Central Java). It moreover informs us that there was some sort of cooperation
between the different local tutelary spirits: ‘each dhanjang has its own terri-
tory. When one passes with the èblèg [...] from the territory of one dhanjang
into that of another, the former dhanjang has to hand over (masrahaké) these
objects to the latter’ (Pigeaud 1938:223). What ritual accompanied this transfer
is not mentioned, but its meaning is clear. By submitting to the local tutelary
spirit, and hence respecting its authority, the group hopes to be assured of its
cooperation, so that no harm will come to it. It also implies that the authority
of the guardian spirits is fairly limited geographically. Even the invisible world
has its hierarchy. Thus greater power is ascribed to Kyai Daha, as the mythical
founder of the ancient Kediri realm of Daha, than to the dhanyang of the subject
region of Mojoroto. This is probably the reason for the preference shown by
some members of Samboyo Putro for this powerful protector. As we shall see
below, Kyai Buta Locaya, according to one of the numerous versions of the
horse dance legend, actually was just another name for Kyai Daha.
Pak Gambuh and Pak Slomprèt remained rather vague about the wording
of the opening prayer and the prayers said during the ‘feeding’ of the props.
It is not unlikely that this reserve was prompted by the idea that knowledge
17 He is included under this name in the list of ‘royal spirits’ (ratuning dhedhemit) or invisible
entities (lelambating nusa Jawa) of the island of Java (Kidungan purwajati 1966:19).
of such things was taboo to me as a woman. The only information they vol-
unteered was that the opening prayer was an intrinsic component of the per-
formance, meant to make the actors feel strong and free from fear. The object
of the opening prayer thus was to place the company under the protection
of a higher power, implying that the group could not do without help from
on high. The trance master of the jathilan of Wonokriyo (DI Yogyakarta), a
company with a marked Muslim orientation, formulated it as follows while
he burnt some incense (Inggris 1923:102):
In the name of God, I am burning incense. I obey the precepts of Mohammed and
follow the friends of God; the flame of the incense is as it were the real being, the
fumes of the incense are the true faith. I implore God as far as heaven. May my
wish be granted! A material being like man is powerless. I submit to God’s com-
mands.
To avoid any misunderstanding as to the area in which the invited spirits

might manifest themselves, the performance area was moreover clearly
demarcated. This was done by means of five flower offerings, one at each of
the four cardinal points, the fifth in the middle – the point at which zenith and
nadir, the upper world and the underworld, converge in the middle world,
the world of man. The object of this symbolic act was twofold. On the one
hand it served to indicate the area within which the guests, both visible and
invisible, might move freely. On the other hand it was intended to prevent
uninvited guests from coming and disrupting the show. The flower offerings
were used to draw a magic circle around the area, as it were, inside which
temporary chaos was permitted but was prevented from spreading to the
world outside it and thus escaping beyond the trance master’s control. As in
the case of the parade of the jaran képang in Banyumas (Kartomi 1973b:20-1),
the dance of the full cast opening the Ponorogo-style performance (Staugaard
1921:422), and the circumambulation of the village by the Turonggo Yakso
of Trenggalek, the performance area is thus set apart from its surroundings.
Inside the magic circle lies the hallowed world in which different norms
apply (temporarily) from those in the world outside it and in which all those
present – dancers, musicians, the trance master and his helpers, the relatives
of the host and hostess, the invited guests, and the spectators – enjoy the pro-
tection of the invisible beings.
The offerings
An indispensable element of horse dance performances incorporating a trance

are the offerings. Their preparation is the responsibility of the sponsor of the
Table 2. List of offerings for Samboyo Putro’s barongan and cèlèngan
entertainment. The offerings for the performance18 are intended primarily for
the spirits to be invoked by the trance master, who is consequently consulted
by the sponsor about the necessary ingredients. As a rule this happens in the
course of the negotiations between the sponsor and a representative of the
company in question. It is then also that they discuss the arrangement and the
suitability of the performance area, the role to be assigned to the group in the
festivities as a whole, and the fee to be paid. Samboyo Putro on occasions like
this handed out a stencilled sheet of information about the ingredients for the
offerings for the three principal dancers whose leading spirits must be invoked
(Table 2). There does not appear to be a great deal of difference between their
respective requirements. The offerings for the two barongan comprised the
following ingredients: a cone of rice boiled in coconut milk (nasi buceng) with
various side dishes (lawuhan), such as tahu and tempé soup (jangan tahu tempe);
a vegetable dish with sprouting beans (kulupan kacang, capar); a dish of sliced
vegetables braised in coconut milk (bumbu krawon); small fried sea fish (teri dig-
oreng); and a spit-roasted chicken (ayam panggang disunduk) with some noodles
(mie sedikit). Those for the cèlèngan consisted of: a dish of rice balls boiled in
coconut milk (nasi brokk?);19 a dish of spit-roasted chicken entrails (jeroan ayam
disunduk); and the same side dishes as for the two barongan. In addition the
stencil listed a series of offerings (sajènan) that had to be divided over two offer-
ing trays, one for the two barongan and one for the cèlèngan. These comprised
the following: two coconuts (kelapa); two pairs of half-globes of Javanese palm
sugar (tangkep gula kelapa); two packets of ingredients for betel quids (bungkus
kinangan); two small leaf containers filled with scented flowers (bungkus kem-
bang wangi); two pairs of bunches of ‘king’ bananas (tangkep pisang raja); two
trays of market produce (sajènan beli di pasar), such as various tubers (including
a large quantity of sweet potatoes (ubi)); two small bottles of fermented sticky
rice or fermented cassava (botol kecil dadek tapé); three Javanese hen’s eggs (butir
telur ayam Jawa); a small pot of lumpy Javanese lemonade (panci kecil dawet); a
pot of finely chopped sweet fruits and tubers (panci rujak legi); a new jar (gendi
baru) for holy water (toya suci); a small bottle of fragrant oil (botol minyak wangi)
of the Srimpi brand (cap); kenanga flowers; a few lumps of incense (kemenyan);
and, finally, five small folded banana-leaf containers (takir kecil) filled with
multicoloured rice pudding (jenang sengkolo).20
18 The personal offerings prepared by the host and hostess as part of the festivities are left out
of consideration here, as in this context I am concerned exclusively with the group’s performance.
19 The stencil here reads brokk, which is patently erroneous. Probably meant is nasi brokohan,
‘rice for a kind of religious meal’ (Pigeaud 1982).
20 Beatty (1999:40) mentions a jenang manca warna (‘multicoloured pudding’), which he
explains as follows: dulur papat lima badan (‘four siblings, with ego as the fifth’), that is to say,
the personifications of the amniotic fluid, the blood, the placenta and the umbilical cord that
128 Jaranan
The two ketupat, the new mat, some food offerings and the two bowls of
kenanga flowers. Photograph by author.
The symbolism of these different offerings was not quite clear. Pak Sajèn
explained that their composition was simply part of a tradition handed down
from generation to generation. To him the fact that the tradition was observed
evidently offered sufficient guarantee for the effectiveness of the different
offerings, even though their symbolism was no longer known. What was
noteworthy were the rice cone (nasi buceng) and the rice balls (nasi brok) for
the barongan and the cèlèngan respectively, for which Pak Sajèn was unable to
give any explanation. According to one of my informants from Central Java,
the rice cone (sega tumpeng) often symbolizes the male and the rice ball (sega
golongan) the female genitals. She warned me, however, that there are wide
local variations in the interpretation of the meanings of offerings.21 With only
are buried together after birth and are alleged to protect the newborn child throughout its life.
Referring to Weiss (1977), he says: ‘The four siblings are the personal guardian spirits, important
in magic and protection from sorcery’.
21 This view, which confirmed my personal impression, was also endorsed by Rens Heringa,
who had the same experience in the course of her research in Tuban (East Java).
A horseman being given a drink by Pak Sajèn. Photograph by author.
one exception, Samboyo Putro’s cèlèng dancer was invariably a man. Only
in the 1992 performance in Sumberagung was the cèlèngan a young woman,
who then doubled as a singer. In other companies the part of the cèlèngan was
played now by a man, now by a young girl, without any clear preference.
Hence the relation between the rice offering for the cèlèngan and the female
symbol is hardly convincing.
As far as I was able to see – the situation in the performance area was often
very confused during the trance – each performer chose freely from among
the food set out on the table(s) of offerings. The bowls of kenanga flowers
were particularly popular with all the actors. I regularly saw one or another
dancer drinking from a bowl with greedy gulps and stuffing his mouth with
the flowers. He would then generally go on chewing these interminably till
130 Jaranan
the juice ran down his chin. I was unable to find out if the flowers were actu-
ally swallowed.
The reason for this preference for flower water, I was told by different
people, was that popular belief held the kenanga flower to be an excellent
remedy against convulsions. I have not found any indications of this in the
literature, however.22 In Solo and Kediri it was said to be used especially by
mothers for young children. They chewed the flowers into a poultice, which
they then applied to their child’s head, or made an extract for their toddlers to
drink.23 Because the dancers also often have a kind of convulsions especially
when they go into or have to come out of a trance, they are advised to con-
sume as many of these flowers as possible. Hence some of the offerings are
believed to have a beneficial effect in more ways than one.
Not all of the dishes set out by the sponsor were meant as sacrificial food
for the spirits entering the dancers. A considerable number were shared out
among the audience by the dancers during the performance on Pak Samboyo’s,
Pak Gambuh’s or Pak Sajèn’s instructions, often amid great hilarity.
I witnessed the wildest scenes in Pulihrejo once, when during the inter-
mission between the second and third acts a large part of the audience fell
on the extra food provided by the host at a sign from Pak Sajèn. In next to no
time the table of offerings was stripped clear and I saw an occasional man, a
few women, and a lot of children walking across the performance area with
small bowls, pieces of fruit, chunks of tuber, and what not. A scramble for
food (rebutan, also meaning ‘contest to seize something’, Pigeaud 1982) like
this was a ritual which I witnessed more than once at wayang performances
in Central and East Java but which, as far as I know, was actually quite unu-
sual at horse dance performances.24
Giving the audience a treat by sharing the sacrificial food with them in
East Java actually constituted a form of redistribution, as a large proportion
of the food had been donated by the guests, who still mostly contributed to a
feast in kind.25 The generosity of the host was not so much a sign of his eco-
22 Kenanga (Jav. Cananginum odoratum BAILL) may be used for medicinal purposes (Heyne
1927:628-9), but spasms are not mentioned among the conditions for which they are used.
23 Personal communication by Ibu Tirtasudarmo, my Solo informant.
24 Pemberton, who gives a description of a rebutan ritual during a wayang show on the occa-
sion of the foundation of a new village, states that rituals like this were actually banned by the
government. This was because they might lead to excesses when the spectators were dissatisfied
with the specially provided food, as Pemberton (1994:252-3) once witnessed. I have no personal
experience of such excesses, and though the rebutan I witnessed were chaotic, they never got out
of hand.
25 I would remind the reader here of the description of the preparations for the performance
in Pulihrejo in Chapter I, for instance. At the time of my research in Central Java in the late 1970s
it was already customary there for such contributions to be made in cash, by contrast.
nomic prosperity, in fact, as of his ability to mobilize large groups of people

for his parties, which in turn served to enhance his status in the community.
The closing ceremony
As a rule Samboyo Putro’s performances were rounded off with a communal

closing ritual. For this, the group in Mojoroto assembled in the performance
area again, as for the opening ritual. They sat down with their faces turned
towards the setting sun, this time without the props. After making an obei-
sance again several times, Pak Samboyo uttered the final prayer asking for
Allah’s blessings for all those present and forgiveness for any shortcomings
in the performance, as well as wishing everyone a safe return home. Pak
Samboyo did not explain who he meant by ‘everyone’, but Pak Dhalang and
Pak Gambuh indicated that the closing ceremony was intended primarily to
send the spirits back to where they came from, so that they would not ‘bother’
(ngganggu) people any more. This remark clearly reflects the ambivalent atti-
tude towards the invisible beings, namely one of awe and respect mixed with
fear. The spirits, though beneficent, at the same time are feared as potential
troublemakers, because they keep reminding the living of their obligations
towards them.
The closing ceremony is meant to clearly mark the end of their appear-
ance in the material world, so that the border between this and the other
world will be closed. That the distance between the two worlds in the minds
of many people is not very big is apparent from the formula recited by the
trance master (penimbul) of Wonokriyo (Bagelen) when dismissing the barong
spirit, which was recorded by Inggris. After the barongan had been dancing
‘for a good hour’, according to Inggris, the trance master said the following
prayer (Inggris 1923:103):
In the name of God, my magic prayer, named si Wringin soengsang, is encircled
by huge flames. Bursting apart, it has changed into water. In the name of God, you
have disappeared completely. You, Lord, who are one and all, do you return to
your region, on the rocks or in the trees, where you belong.
‘The rocks’ and ‘the trees’ here stand for the wilderness, the uncultivated
part of the world, chaos. Wringin sungsang (literally meaning ‘upside-down
banyan’) is a very popular magic formula, which has been reproduced, with
minor variations, in numerous publications.26
In practice the closing ritual does not always spell the end of the perform-
26 Kidungan jangkep n.d.:19-20; Kidungan pepek jangkep 1965:20-2; Kidungan purwajati 1966:51-3.
132 Jaranan
ance. In Menang, for example, a few children were fetched from among the
audience after this ritual. They were made to finish off the leftovers from
the table of offerings, which had been placed on the ground. The child who
could get through a small pile of food the fastest was declared the winner
and received, as a prize the chicken tied to the table of offerings throughout
the entire performance. In Pulihrejo the performance ended with a singing
competition. In many cases it was moreover unclear at what exact moment
the state of trance effectively ended. Even when all the actors seemed to have
definitely retired to the dressing room, one of the dancers, who apparently
had not completely recovered consciousness, might suddenly reappear and
have to be calmed down by one of the two gambuh again.
As indicated, the measures discussed above were intended to give per-
formances the proper direction and keep the trance of possession under
control. The next chapter will focus particularly on the trance of the horse
dancers and other persons ‘touched by the spirit’ (disriwili roh), with the aim
of gaining an insight into the way in which this sort of trance manifests itself
in performance practice and how it is experienced by the persons involved.
chapter vi
The trance
Introduction
Of the many different kinds of trance mentioned in the literature, only two are
important in the context of our discussion, namely the trance of the actors and
that of the gambuh. The latter has already been discussed above, and here we
will concentrate on the trance of the actors, commonly referred to as a trance of
possession, or spirit possession. I hasten to add that the actors are by no means
always really ‘possessed’ by an external spirit, as we shall see below.
The ethnomusicologist Gilbert Rouget (1985:14), who has studied all kinds
of trances in their religious context (initiation rituals), has summarized the
outward symptoms of the ‘trance of possession’ point by point, as follows:
1. the possessed person is no longer himself; 2. he is alienated from his sur-
roundings; 3. he may become prey to neurophysiological disorders; 4. his
senses become abnormally acute – in reality or in his imagination; and 5. all
this is observable from the behaviour of the possessed person.
The trance of Samboyo Putro’s horse dancers invariably followed a more
or less fixed pattern. It went through 1. a preparatory phase consisting of a
joint dance in accordance with a set choreography, accompanied by the full
gamelan orchestra and culminating in a series of mock fights; which led up to
2. an altered state of consciousness comprising various phases, such as a phase
of total powerlessness, often alternating with violent physical reactions, and
a phase in which the actors in turns danced around self-absorbed and dazed,
sat staring vacantly into space, or as in a kind of euphoria showed all sorts
of abnormal behaviour; and 3. ‘recovery’, whereby the trance dancers were
restored to normal consciousness, often under violent protest. Each of these
phases, which largely corresponded with the stages identified by Rouget and
others, was characterized by its own dynamics, which Samboyo Putro very
This will be discussed in Chapter IX.

Rouget (1985:32), for instance, distinguishes the following phases: preparation, onset,
climax, and resolution; and Tjiptono Darmadji and Wolfgang Pfeiffer those of 1. absorption
(Versunkenheit); 2. convulsions (Streckkrampf); 3. sleepwalking (somnambulen Zustand); 4. wild,
134 Jaranan
creatively turned to its own advantage, as will be shown in Chapter X.

In order to bring all these different phenomena together under a single
heading, I have taken a fairly broad definition of the trance as my point of
departure. I define trance as a mental state, induced by a variety of factors,
which creates a distance between the person concerned and his surroundings
and now renders him totally self-absorbed, now produces exceptional or
abnormal behaviour, of which he would be incapable in his normal state and
which gives him a sense of liberation. My definition differs from Rouget’s in
that I leave the neurophysiological aspects of the trance out of consideration,
as this is more the province of medical specialists.
I deliberately use the term ‘a variety of factors’ in this definition, as it was
impossible to isolate any single factor that invariably triggered the trance
within one and the same group, and sometimes in one and the same per-
son. Further important in this definition is the qualification that the trance
gives the person concerned a sense of liberation. Rouget (1985:14), who also
mentions this element of liberation in his definition, associates it with the
transcending of personal boundaries as a consequence of the intensification
of the person’s mental and/or physical faculties. He says: ‘Thus trance always
manifests itself in one way or another as a transcendence of one’s normal
self, as a liberation resulting from the intensification of a mental or physical
disposition, in short, as an exaltation [...] of the self’.
This sense of liberation had not only a personal but also a social dimen-
sion. For the trance appeared to be very contagious, and again and again not
only the dancers, but also musicians, helpers or members of the audience
were, if not actually possessed by a spirit, then at least deeply affected by the
electrifying atmosphere and overcome with excitement. This was the reason
underlying the idea that the invocation of one or more spirits created a dan-
gerous situation, not only for the person directly concerned, but also for his
surroundings. That was why people invariably looked forward to the trance
rather anxiously. Those responsible always surrounded it with great care, and
the authorities looked on it with some degree of suspicion. Only when all the
persons in trance had been brought round again and the spirits sent back to
their place of origin would the danger be over, according to my informants.
Hence the mounting tension to which the trance gave rise in Samboyo Putro’s
performances was as a rule gradually reduced through the introduction of all
kinds of games, which will be discussed later.
To give an idea of the progress of and the atmosphere during the trance,
I shall begin my discussion with a fragment from my diary describing the
uncontrolled behaviour (Entgleisen); 5 convulsions (Streckkrampf); and 6. sleep (Schläfe) (Darmadji

and Pfeiffer 1969:3284-7).
For this aspect of the trance see for example Darmadji and Pfeiffer (1969:3287-90).
VI The trance 135
performance in Pulihrejo, the preparations for which were described in

Chapter I above. For this I have chosen the trance in the second act (jaranan
pat). Whereas on the one hand the course of this trance was typical of such
performances, on the other hand an incident occurred here that might easily
have caused the whole show to collapse. Although the duration of this trance
(122 minutes, to a total of 160 minutes for the whole of the second act) was
by far the longest of the entire performance, I have decided not to abridge
the description of it, as otherwise the idea of what a trance like this means to
those present would be lost.
In order to be able to tape-record Pak Dhalang’s chanted and spoken
contribution to the performance in Pulihrejo in full, I was obliged to remain
seated next to him in the gamelan (see the drawing of the compound) all the
time. This imposed severe limitations on my freedom of movement. Because
this spot did not offer a good view of what went on in the rest of the com-
pound or among the audience, there are a few inevitable gaps in my descrip-
tion of the action in and around the performance area.
To make for quick recognition of the performers, I gave each of them a
name in the course of the show, inspired by the most distinctive garment
worn or item displayed by them. It was, however, impossible to keep track of
all of the players all of the time.
The trance of the four horsemen, a helper and several spectators

The four horsemen, holding their horses tightly between their legs, have been
dancing around the area to the music of the gamelan in all kinds of formations for
a while. As the music becomes faster, the dance becomes wilder, and soon changes
into a series of man-to-man fights. Suddenly one of the horsemen falls to the
ground. It is the dancer with a bandage around his foot, whom I shall therefore
call Si Pincang (‘the Lame’).
One of the four horsemen, Si Pincang, trips over a co-actor kneeling on the
ground in front of him and rolls on the ground frothing at the mouth, horse and
all. He appears to be in trance. One of the helpers rushes forward to untie the cord
by which the horse is suspended from his shoulder. His co-actor’s cord is untied
as well, but he goes on dancing for a while. The other two horsemen are holding
their horses by their side and trying to push each other away with them, circling
around each other.
Si Pincang, apparently not yet really, or no longer, in trance, has scrambled to
his feet. He has lost his horse, but his co-actor is still holding his between his legs.
The verbal contribution will be discussed in Chapter VIII.

A description of the different formations will be given in Chapter IX.
As the performance took place at night, I was unable to take any photographs. The photo-
graphs that are included here are of similar situations in daytime performances.
8
10
3
2
8 5
9 1
7
4
1 Pak Begja house

2 Makeshift dressing room
3 Tables for the offerings
4 Gamelan
5 Performance area
6 Front steps of Pak Begja’s house
7 Steps leading to higher ground
8 The audience
9 The guests
10 A neighbouring house
The compound in Pulihrejo

VI The trance 137
They, too, now circle around each other, violently bumping into each other all the
time. While Pak Dhalang sings a song, Si Pincang disappears from my field of
vision, followed by his co-actor.
Pak Samboyo is standing in the centre of the area with his whip Kyai
Samandiman in his hand, now and then cracking it loudly. This causes the other
two horsemen to wince. One of them falls to the ground with his horse right in
front of the veranda where the guests are sitting, while the other, still mounted
on his horse, carries on like one frenzied. Two helpers try to take the horse of one
of the dancers away from him, but he resists violently and they are unsuccessful.
Two other helpers are meanwhile busy removing the horsemen’s headcloths, ear
ornaments and whips. Suddenly Si Pincang’s co-actor, now wearing a variegated
scarf (sampur) around his neck, whom I shall therefore call Si Sampur, is standing
right in front of the gamelan and signalling to Pak Pangendhang, the drummer,
to play a different tune. The latter starts singing and, when the horseman appears
pleased with the song, continues the melody on his instrument. The other musi-
cians are about to join in, but then there is sudden confusion because one of the
other horsemen (I am not able to see which one), who still has his horse with him,
also comes to ask Pak Dhalang for a tune. The latter loudly calls for a sampak and
indicates which one he means by singing a few bars. Pak Slomprèt joins in at once
and the two trance dancers gaily skip away.
Now there is commotion elsewhere in the area, because a third trance dancer,
a real madman, has plunged into the audience with his horse. Screaming at the
top of their voices, the children, who as usual are standing in front, scatter in all
directions. Chased by one of the helpers, the madman scrambles into the house
with his horse.
Si Pincang dances to and fro stiffly to the beat of the kendhang right in front of
Pak Pangendhang, but then suddenly darts off to the centre of the area. His mate,
Si Sampur, meanwhile is standing near the table of offerings, where Pak Sajèn
scatters incense fumes over him and gives him a drink from a bucket of kenanga
flowers.
Again there is great commotion, now because one of the helpers, recognizable
by his red-and-white striped (lurik) top, Si Lurik (‘Stripy Top’), has gone into trance
and is lying in convulsions on the ground. Pak Samboyo and Pak Gambuh hasten
forward, and the latter stands on Si Lurik’s stomach to keep him under control.
While the two specialists are busy with Si Lurik, another great tumult breaks
out, this time behind the gamelan. Everyone has stood up, but it is totally unclear
what is going on. Pak Dhalang in vain admonishes everyone to remain calm, and
Pak Gambuh and Pak Samboyo leave Si Lurik where he is and run with a few
helpers to the scene of the disaster. There is an infernal racket. One of the musi-
cians, who is standing at the back of the orchestra, calls to Pak Dhalang that a fight
has broken out, whereat Pak Dhalang again seizes hold of the microphone and
several times summons the security officials, at the same time signalling to the
few musicians who have remained seated to play a soothing melody. About four
minutes later I see Pak Samboyo taking someone off to the ‘dressing room’, after
which peace is restored. The spectators return to their places and the musicians,
A musical mode which in wayang plays accompanies marching or battle scenes.

A tranced horseman who has fallen under his horse.
VI The trance 139
who have stood huddled together, sit down at their instruments again and strike
up a tune.
Because of the tumult I have lost sight of Si Lurik, the tranced helper. One of the
four horsemen, who still (or again?) has his whip, and whom I shall therefore call
Si Pecut, cracks this loudly. Although his eyes are rolled upwards, so that mainly
the whites are visible, he deftly evades his assailants, who want to take his whip
off him, every time. So he must be able to see something.
The troublemaker of a moment ago, who was led off just now, emerges from the
dressing room, apparently in trance. He is recognizable by his green (ijo) top, so I
will call him Si Ijo. Standing near the table with offerings, he points to Pak Sajèn’s
and then to his own head. He evidently wants the former’s headcloth, and as soon
as it is tied around his head, he dances off happily, clumsily mimicking the move-
ments of the other dancers, to the great amusement of the nearby spectators.
Pak Dhalang has taken hold of one of the three angklung and shakes it now and
then. Si Pincang approaches and makes funny faces. The musicians respond by
playing another tune, and Si Pincang dances away stiffly.
Meanwhile two of the other dancers, one of them Si Pecut, have been sitting
staring in front of them dazedly for some time.
Si Pecut now disappears into the dressing room. In the centre of the area a mat
is spread on the ground. Pak Samboyo and Si Pecut re-emerge from the dressing
room, where there is suddenly a great bustle. Pak Samboyo drags the fiercely
resisting Si Pecut to the mat, where he expertly floors him. Si Pecut remains seated
on the ground with a glassy stare. When a moment later he rises to his feet again,
he appears to be still in trance.
Si Ijo, who has evidently also been hiding in the dressing room, now emerges
from it holding an unshelled coconut between his teeth and a 500-Rupiah note (at
that time worth about 57 Euro cents) in each hand. Pak Samboyo directs him to
the audience, where he is supposed to select two little boys and take them to the
mat. Amid loud cheers from the audience and teasing remarks from their friends,
the two painfully shy children are pushed onto the mat by Si Ijo with their faces
pressed together. From where I am sitting in the gamelan it is impossible to see
what exactly is going on, but a moment later I see the two boys run off, each with
a 500-Rupiah note in his hand. Then Si Ijo starts shelling the coconut with his teeth,
and subsequently dances around with it together with Si Pincang. (There is still
a trance dancer sitting near the table of offerings, but it is not clear to me what
exactly he is doing there.) When Si Ijo reaches the gamelan, I see how he splits the
coconut in two with his teeth. He just lets the juice run down his chin. A moment
later he and Si Pincang are dancing around wildly to the beat of a popular tune
which the gamelan has just begun to play. They do not seem to see each other,
however.
Si Lurik also approaches the gamelan and points to Bu Swarawati. It is appar-
ently her turn to start a new song now. While she sits nervously flicking through
her exercise book, the gamelan falls silent. Then she starts singing a song at ran-
dom, and when Si Lurik appears to approve her choice, the gamelan strikes up.
Meanwhile Pak Gambuh, who has kept in the background for a while, has
spread another mat on the ground and is now placing a small posy of fragrant
flowers on it. Si Pincang, as though attracted by the scent, approaches. Pak
140 Jaranan
Gambuh seizes hold of him and pushes the flowers into his face and then shoves
him onto the mat.
Si Pecut emerges from the audience and I notice that Si Ijo is holding another
two 500-Rupiah notes. Pak Gambuh, who points his big whip Kyai Samandiman
at him, acts as though he is firing a weapon at him, shouting Dhel! Dhel! (‘Bang!
Bang!’), but Si Ijo takes no notice of him. Nor does he show any reaction when Pak
Gambuh approaches him with his whip, drags it along the ground right in front
of his feet, and cracks it occasionally.
Elsewhere in the area two horsemen are dancing face-to-face, each in his own
manner, ostensibly without taking any notice of one another.
Si Ijo, still holding the money, disappears behind the dressing room curtain, but
almost immediately reappears. One of the helpers tries to get him to do something
or other, but evidently unsuccessfully so, and Si Ijo exits again.
There are still two tranced horsemen left in the arena. (Si Lurik has not been
seen anywhere for a while and has probably disappeared among the crowd or
in the dressing room again.) Pak Gambuh, who has meanwhile joined us in the
gamelan, stands watching their actions but does nothing. Si Ijo enters again this
time, apparently, without the money.
Throughout these proceedings, on which the spectators pass comments at
the top of their voices, Bu Swarawati sings on indefatigably. She presents a great
variety of popular songs, accompanied in turns by Pak Dhalang and the musicians
singing in chorus. But she is interrupted again and again by one or another trance
dancer coming to request a song. At these points the gamelan falls silent, and it is
momentarily very quiet, as though the show has been suspended for a while.
Pak Sajèn is fanning the fire in the incense burner near the table of offerings
again, while Pak Samboyo sits quietly smoking beside the burner. He shows no
signs of any intention to intervene, but when one of the two remaining trance
dancers comes near, he gets up, takes hold of him and blows the violently strug-
gling dancer on the fontanel.
Suddenly there is great confusion in the gamelan again, because Bu Swarawati
has not started singing the right song quickly enough. The dancer (whom I do not
recognize) shakes his head and another song is tried. This is rejected too, how-
ever. The musicians now excitedly shout all kinds of suggestions at her, with the
spectators gathered around the gamelan joining in. The dancer suddenly comes
and stands close to me and wildly strikes at the angklung. Two of the musicians
immediately start shaking the two remaining angklung. The dancer seems satisfied
and the other musicians join in with a sigh of relief.
Si Ijo, who has evidently got to his feet again, has got hold of a whip. Now
there are three trance dancers in the performance area again. They dance around
the compound, now with graceful movements of the arms, now very stiffly and
clumsily, and with eyes rolled upwards and a vacant stare. Pak Samboyo gets
one to turn somersaults and another to perform similar acrobatic feats over his
big whip. Si Ijo signals to Pak Sajèn near the table of offerings to wipe him down
with his headcloth. He is subsequently sprinkled with aromatic oil, and a moment
later is wandering around with a lighted incense burner and with a whip clasped
tightly under his arm.
There has been another request for a tune. Si Ijo, who has approached, has lost
VI The trance 141
his burner and runs off into the audience, chased by two helpers.
Pak Dhalang shouts something unintelligible into the microphone. Pak Samboyo
still stands cracking his big whip in the centre of the performance area, but no one
shows any reaction. Two of the horsemen who have disappeared from view for a
while emerge from the audience, followed by someone wearing a yellow (kuning)
T-shirt, Si Kuning, who has gone into trance spontaneously and is now ranting and
raving. He is pushed onto the ground, whereupon a mat is pulled under him. Pak
Samboyo pulls him to his feet again with his whip, and he stumbles off, supported
by two helpers. Another actor appears from among the audience in a trance. Pak
Samboyo throws his whip at his feet and he runs into the dressing room.
Si Ijo and Si Pincang are still dancing in the centre of the compound. The latter
has meanwhile lost the greater part of the bandage around his foot. Pak Samboyo
catches him and takes his face between his hands, mumbling something into both
his ears and blowing him hard on the fontanel several times. Finally he rather
roughly massages the head of the violently struggling Si Pincang, who makes
repeated attempts to escape. But Pak Samboyo has the upper hand.
Pak Gambuh, still sitting with us in the orchestra, has taken the kendhang pan-
araga from the drummer, Pak Pangendhang, who has gone for a rest. Musicians are
continually leaving the gamelan for a while to stretch their legs, the others taking
over from them where necessary. On Pak Pangendhang’s return, he takes the two
smaller kendhang.
Si Ijo appears to be watching from a distance how Pak Samboyo, who has got
his whip again, is measuring his strength with Si Pincang. He has been occupied
with him for at least five minutes. In the end Si Pincang admits defeat and lets
himself be led to the table of offerings, where he remains seated on the ground in a
daze. Pak Samboyo picks up a small whip from the table, blows on it, and swishes
it in Si Pincang’s direction. The latter still does not appear to have come out of his
trance, however. He finally goes off docilely about ten minutes later. Si Ijo now is
the only person remaining. One of the helpers tries to bring him to, massaging his
head and limbs. His whole body is shaking as he lies on the ground in convulsions.
Pak Samboyo now joins them and together with the helper massages him till the
tension is gone from his body. Dazed and leaning heavily on one of the helpers, he
remains sitting for a while. He is handed a jug of water to drink from, and when
he has had enough, the remainder is poured out over him. Then Pak Samboyo and
the helper toss him in the air several times. He is slumped between them like a
limp leather puppet. When they have put him back on the ground, Pak Samboyo
goes and stands on his stomach. Si Ijo lets them do as they like with him, showing
no reaction. They finally leave him alone and he remains in the same state, staring
vacantly in front of him for a while. The gamelan has fallen silent in the meantime.
Act two seems to have ended.
Comments
There is little I wish to add to the above at this point, but I shall come back
to it in the course of this chapter. What was striking was how long Si Ijo, the
tranced ‘troublemaker’ from the audience, took part in the action. As far as I
was able to find out, he was not one of the regular visitors to Samboyo Putro’s
142 Jaranan
performances. Whether he was the instigator of the fight I do not know.

Despite the fact that he was not a member of the group, his behaviour in the
performance area was indistinguishable from that of the regular actors. I did
not have an opportunity of interviewing him after the show, as was my cus-
tom, and hence do not know what motivated him in letting himself go into a
trance. As was observed above, the trance provides a socially accepted pretext
for deviant behaviour, and the desire to be able to act with total abandon
with impunity is certainly a possible motive. But he may also have had other
reasons. It is not inconceivable, for instance, that by handing out 500-Rupiah
notes he wanted to make an impression on his neighbours and so enhance his
status in the community. It is not unusual for people to use a celebration as an
opportunity for making some generous gesture. I would remind the reader
here of the surprise sprung on her neighbours by Bu Dhukun of Menang and
of the refreshments set out especially for the spectators by Pak Begja, the host
in Pulihrejo.
From the reactions of the bystanders it was obvious that Pak Samboyo
had made an impression with his effective handling of the fight. One female
onlooker, who, like many others, had stood with bated breath behind the
gamelan for a moment, nodded with a sigh of relief when the miscreant was
led away by Pak Samboyo. Nudging the woman beside her, she confirmed
the happy end and observed, alluding to the trance master’s role: ‘He is the
gambuh after all, isn’t he?’ (Ya gambuh kuwi ta?), implying that the gambuh to
her satisfaction had come up to her expectations.
The triggering of the trance, and the trance master’s role
The fact that the performers in horse dance shows go into a trance is fre-
quently ascribed to the hypnotic effect of the monotonous music, gradually
rising to a higher and higher pitch of intensity, and the steadily wilder and
wilder dancing of the actors. Kartomi (1973b:23), who has focused particu-
larly on the musical aspects of horse dance performances, writes, for instance:
‘The Banyumas-style outdoor orchestra plays an important role in a jaran
képang performance, building up a tense, exciting atmosphere at the begin-
At this group’s performances in the town of Kediri I regularly noticed an elderly man, who
was not one of the actors, going into a trance and taking part in the show for a while. Usually
people just let him be. In Bali, too, Jane Belo (1960:3-4) frequently observed a number of persons
– men, but more often elderly women – who, although they had no clearly defined, institutional-
ized role in the temple ceremonies, went from festival to festival, apparently seizing the oppor-
tunity of going into a trance offered there for their personal satisfaction and the release of their
emotions.
I was obliged to break off my research prematurely here owing to personal circumstances.
VI The trance 143
ning. It helps would-be dancers to enter into a state of trance through its
mesmeric continuity and loud, dissonant textures.’ The jaran képang perform-
ance described by Kartomi here opened with a parade of the entire company
to the accompaniment of two- or three-note melodies played on a small
group of gamelan instruments, comprising a saron, a few small gong, two
kendhang (not further specified), and a slomprèt. For Samboyo Putro the latter
instrument appeared to be the most important in creating an atmosphere of
excitement. Nevertheless, none of the dancers I interviewed indicated they
became tranced especially by it.10 Kartomi (1973b:21) observes that the trance
evidently only occurred after the trance master appeared on the scene at the
end of the parade. She writes: ‘Calm and relaxed, with feet apart and thumb
and forefinger outstretched, he [the specialist] utters a hissing sound and
hypnotises his first jaran képang subject. The subject bows very low, prostrates
himself on the ground and then, with vacant, dilating eyes, dances in a rather
crude but stylised fashion.’ So it looks as if the trance master here decided
who was to go into a trance and when.
According to Pigeaud (1938:225), citing the above-mentioned essay by
Soepangkat, the performance in the district of Kebumen likewise opened
with a parade (janturan).11
With reference to horse dancing, people sometimes use the word djantoer, which
has the same meaning as kiter (‘to walk around in a circle’). [...] Djantoeran lends
the show a lively character. For after the horse dancers have been made to dance
quietly for some time, they go and form a circle (kalangan) and run around, while
the gamelan plays fast and loudly. When some of the horse dancers thus djantoered
become intoxicated [the local expression for ‘trance’], they may fall down and then
have to be helped at once. [...] Things then become very wild and chaotic.
Hence the dancers here seemed to go into a trance under the influence of
music and dancing but without the trance master’s intervention. Staugaard
(1921:423-4) similarly mentions that the gambuh of Pesantren (a sub-district of
Kediri), for example, was convinced he had no influence at all on when the
performers went into a trance. In another description, of a performance by
horse dancers in Bagelen (Central Java), the role of the trance master (here
called dhukun) is more strongly emphasized, on the other hand. It points out
10 Rouget (1985:72), who has done research particularly into the relationship between trance
and music, also concluded that the music is not by definition responsible for the occurrence of
a state of trance, which is very much dependent on external factors. Rouget writes: ‘In certain
cases, music triggers the fit, in others, on the contrary, it brings it to an end. Sometimes it seems
to play a decisive role in inducing trance; sometimes it seems to have none whatsoever.’
11 The word janturan designates the opening scene in wayang plays, but also means ‘to per-
form a kind of magic’ (Pigeaud 1982).
144 Jaranan
that he invoked the spirits by burning incense and reciting prayers to take
possession of the horsemen or the barongan (Inggris 1923:102). Our conclusion
must be that there were major local variations in the means employed to put
the actors into a trance.
The members of Samboyo Putro generally attributed the fact that they
became tranced to the ‘voice’ of the sacred whip Kyai Samandiman. Some,
as we saw above, did indeed seem to be very sensitive to the sound of this
whip and were seen to wince whenever it was cracked by one of the two
gambuh, even though it never touched them. Other performers took no notice
of this whip at all, on the other hand, and went into a trance without any dif-
ficulty even when it was not to be heard. A slap in the face with Pak Sajèn’s
headcloth sometimes had the same effect on a dancer. The sound of the jaws
of the barong snapping shut when attacking his assailant, or a blow from the
cèlèngan was sometimes also enough to put a horseman (or one of the other
performers) into a trance. But at other times it took a while for such an attack
to produce any effect, and the assailant himself might go into a trance before
he had laid one of the horsemen low. A trance also often occurred without the
two gambuh or Pak Sajèn even being near. Hence the role of the specialist in
triggering the trance of the actors was rather vague.
Some performers appear to become ‘addicted’ to the trance, so that
then little is needed to put them into that state. Pigeaud (1938:224-5), citing
Soepangkat’s essay, says:
The performers allege that they feel they are addicted (karem) to this state of intoxi-
cation. What is certain is that there are two things that may produce such intoxica-
tion, namely the invocations (donga) of the penimboel, here called medhojang, and
the gamelan. Of these two, the music is the dominant factor. Even though the
penimboel intones his invocations while the horse dancers are circling round (kiter),
[...] the dancers in all probability will not become intoxicated as long as the game-
lan remains silent. Conversely, they may succeed in this when only the gamelan
is playing, even if the penimboel does not utter any invocations, indeed, even if he
is not present at all. As proof of this we may take the fact that it has occasionally
come to pass that someone from another region, who had been intoxicated before,
however, immediately became drunk and went running off to the spot where the
horse dancers had started performing as soon as, when peacefully inside a home,
he heard the sound of the gamelan of the horse dance at a distance of about half
a paal.12 Another example is that of the only one of a group of children playing
together once – pretending they were horse dancers and imitating the gamelan
with their voices, so that only the sound could be heard [...] – who had a predispo-
sition to drunkenness,13 immediately becoming intoxicated.
12 A paal was a measure of distance of 1506.94 metres, later 1500 metres (see Van Dale
1961:1459).
13 The local expression for being in trance is ‘being drunk’ (mabuk).
VI The trance 145
Pigeaud’s (1938:443-4) comments on this imply that if people go into a trance

at the slightest provocation, this is mainly because they are addicted to a
‘thrilling of the senses’14 or ‘frenzy’, a state that should be distinguished from
what he calls ‘genuine possession’. For here, in contrast with the latter state,
there is no question of the entry of a spirit.
According to Pak Samboyo, conversely, addiction to the trance was con-
nected with the influence of malevolent spirits (dhemit). He told me that
someone who is prone to this finds it increasingly easy to go into a trance,
so that eventually he need only close his eyes to lose consciousness (hence
evidently also without music!). He considered this an undesirable develop-
ment, as it was usually a sign that such a person was emotionally unstable
and consequently an easy prey for unwanted intruders. For the gambuh, Pak
Samboyo said, it was exceptionally difficult to restore someone who was the
victim of this to full consciousness. One reason why he lived among his actors
was that he wanted to avoid such disagreeable situations. If one of them
were to go into a trance without provocation, then he was near to offer help
immediately.
Although Pak Samboyo believed that someone could go into a trance
without the mediation of a specialist, he was convinced that his actors could
not come round from their trance without his help or the help of his assist-
ant gambuh. He pointed out that everyone has a different personality and
that only the specialist knows how to address each person individually. He
remained extremely vague about how he was able to identify the different
spirits and how he approached these. Pak Usodo said, on the other hand,
that one needed a guide to enter into contact with the spirit world. Someone
who entered the spirit world without ceremony, he observed, ran the risk of
losing the way back and moreover alarming the spirits, with all the attendant
dangerous consequences (for man). His own guide, as we saw above, had
appeared to him in a dream once, from which moment on he had specialized
as gambuh.
Just like the relation with the spirits taking possession of someone, the
14 Pigeaud (1938:444) differentiates between ‘possession by a spirit’ and the state of ‘ecstasy’.
The former he regards as belonging in the province of Javanese religion, and the latter, which in
his view possesses a distinctly erotic element, in that of psychology. At another level he connects
this ‘ecstasy’ and the associated ideas of ‘youth’ and ‘passionate exuberance’ with the Javanese
classificatory system. It is impossible for me to go into this at length. I wish only to point out that
Kartomi (1976) in my view rightly refrains from consigning ecstasy per se and the accompanying
erotic sensations to the realm of psychology, but has given it a place within the socio-religious
context of the dramatic genre of the horse dance. It is my experience, too, that both aspects – pos-
session and so-called ‘ecstasy’, a certain form of euphoria – are invariably present in Samboyo
Putro’s performances as well as in those of other horse dance groups.
146 Jaranan
communications with such a spirit guide15 are extremely precarious. Pak

Usodo’s guide demanded his reward at every performance, and he had to
take care then to be of service to him at once. Although Pak Usodo did not
want to discuss this in more detail – it was, after all, one of the secrets of his
trade – it is not improbable that the consumption of the head of a live chicken,
as during the performance in Balowerti, was in fact the ‘reward’ he had in
mind. At this dramatic climax of his performance, which reminds one of the
gambuh at the annual fair in Yogya, Pak Usodo himself was possessed by his
guide. At that moment there was hardly any difference between his trance
and that of his co-actors, or so it seemed. We must conclude from the fact
that Pak Usodo (like the gambuh in Yogya) was able to send his guide away
without outside help that his contacts with the spirit world were of a different
kind, however.
From the expression ‘appeared in a dream’ we may infer that the initiative
for the very first contact with his spirit guide had not been taken by himself,
or at any rate not exclusively (there is always also a particular predisposition
involved, acquired by practising one form of asceticism or another), but that
it had come about as a result of his being a chosen person. Although the proc-
ess of becoming a ‘chosen’ person according to the literature is often attended
with certain psychosomatic disorders, in particular in the case of traditional
healers (Belo 1960:2; Luh Ketut Suryani and Jensen 1993:51), I did not observe
this to be the case in any of the horse dance companies whose performances
I visited.
The different phases of the trance
The introduction to the trance in the case of Samboyo Putro, as of other groups,
was a dance opening each new act. This dance (which will be described in
Chapter IX) followed a set pattern. Whipped up by the increasingly louder
music and the faster and faster rhythm, it became wilder and wilder. The
music and the dance as it were created the right atmosphere for triggering
15 Rouget (1985:19), writing about the difference between the shaman as someone who goes
on a journey to the spirit world and a possessed person as someone who is visited by a spirit or
spirits, suggests that combinations of the two are also possible. He says, in qualification of his
thesis that the initiative for contacts between humans and spirits is always taken by the spirits,
that ‘There is nothing to prevent someone [...] from setting out on his or her journey only after
having “incorporated” auxiliary spirits to assist him or her in the other world’. It did not become
clear to me how exactly Pak Usodo imagined his contacts with his guide. I had the impression
that he sent his guide on a journey.
VI The trance 147
the trance. The members of Samboyo Putro regarded this introductory dance
as an extra invitation to the invisible beings, such as the local tutelary spirit
and the spirits of the various stage requisites, to honour the performance with
their presence. As was said above, the dance did not end at the same time and
in the same way for every dancer. For Si Pincang and the two horsemen rep-
resented by the second pair of horse dancers the transition was very abrupt.
Rouget (1985:44) uses the term ‘crisis’ or ‘fit’ to describe the actor’s state in
this transition, defining it as a ‘very temporary, often painful and more or less
convulsive state marking the transition from a normal to a trance state, or,
on the contrary [...], the end product of that state’. For Si Pincang’s opposite
number, on the other hand, this transition appeared to be very gradual, in fact
almost imperceptible. In Rouget’s (1985:44) words, ‘there are also nonviolent
– even calm – trances, and others [...] in which possession is so interiorized
as to go almost unperceived by an inexperienced spectator’. The latter form
frequently led the spectators to wonder if the trance was genuine or perhaps
only simulated. But even a quiet transition to the state of trance says nothing
about its further progress. It was not unusual, for instance, for an initially
calm trance to suddenly turn into frenzy without any demonstrable cause.
Hence vigilance was necessary at all times.
The entry of a spirit
Abrupt transitions, in which the dancer appeared to become alienated from

his surroundings, as was indicated above often went hand in hand with such
symptoms as convulsions of the limbs, uncontrollable spasms of the body,
rolling on the ground and frothing at the mouth, or running around blindly
without taking notice of obstacles such as co-actors, the audience, a tree, or
a house. In this state the actor’s eyes were wide open and rolled upwards,
so that the pupils were scarcely visible. For the onlookers this was proof
that a spirit had really entered him and that his trance was genuine (ndadi,
derived from dadi, ‘come off’, Pigeaud 1982), therefore. As long as the dancer
remained in this state, he did not react to his surroundings and seemed to be
totally self-absorbed. He was, to use Rouget’s (1985:13) words, ‘plunged into
a sort of bewilderment’, a state of which he had no recollection at all after-
wards, as the area of his consciousness had been taken over entirely by his
trance. It is as if that which makes a human being human, that is to say, the
cultural facet of his existence, then is temporarily suspended. Accordingly,
this particular phase of the trance, in contrast to the next phase, displays
great similarities worldwide, independent of cultural or personal idiosyn-
crasies, Jane Belo says. She attributes this to a deeper psyche over which the
individual has no control, saying: ‘There is a universality about this strong
seizure: it does not differ, apparently, from one culture to another, nor from
A tranced horse dancer in convulsions on the ground.
Photograph by Marije Duijker.
VI The trance 149
one individual to another. It comes from too deep a level to be influenced by

custom or by idiosyncratic trends of the personality’ (Belo 1960:212).
Pak Slomprèt, the Penthul dancer, described his sensation at the moment
he went into a trance as a feeling of ‘emptiness’ (suwung, literally meaning
‘vacant’, said for example of a house without an occupant, Pigeaud 1982).
But because he was reluctant to leave his body, there was first a struggle
between him and the external spirit, which he always lost, however. After
that he remembered nothing. A similar experience is described in the essay
by Soepangkat, as cited by Pigeaud (1938:224), as follows:
When a horse dancer is on the point of becoming intoxicated, he feels dizzy in the
head (moemêt pêtpêtan); the world turns black to him for a few moments, so that
he can see no one, though there is little change in his hearing. After that he feels
nothing at all any more, all feeling (consciousness) has gone. Perhaps [Pigeaud
concludes] this is the entry, the touch, of the dhanjang.
When the performers entered a trance, the situation became very confused
and chaotic, as is apparent from the description of the Pulihrejo case. This was
to a large extent due to the fact that the trance was infectious, so that often not
only the dancers, but also helpers, musicians, or the odd bystander became
tranced one after another. The two gambuh then had their hands full to keep
things under control. As soon as someone went into a trance somewhere, they
would go running towards that person to calm him/her down. If this person
was a member of the audience, then he/she was led away from among spec-
tators in order to be treated. Young children and women were immediately
brought to by Pak Samboyo, who believed that it was dangerous to leave chil-
dren in a trance, because they did not yet have sufficient spiritual strength to
resist this state (and thus might easily become addicted). As regards women,
feelings of piety were largely responsible for his concern. Someone in trance,
he explained, tends to ‘lose all feeling of shame’ (ora weruh isin) and may do
things that are really unfitting. That is why he brought women out of their
trance again at once, since he was ‘concerned about their good name’ (prihatin
diluwangi becik) – an observation that shows how much he was influenced
by the puritanism of the Indonesian New Order.16 Men and young boys, on
the other hand, he usually left alone for a while as soon as the convulsions
stopped. An example of this was Si Ijo, the ‘rowdy’ from the audience who
remained actively involved for the whole of the second act. But here, too, the
exception proves the rule: Si Kuning and a young man I was unable to iden-
tify were almost immediately restored to consciousness by Pak Samboyo after
16 Evidently Pak Samboyo had pushed the idea that not the dancer in trance but the spirit that
had entered him/her was responsible for his/her behaviour into the background.
150 Jaranan
they had been fetched from among the crowd. Why this was, I do not know.
As is apparent from the various descriptions (Rouget 1985; Belo 1960;
Darmadji and Pfeiffer 1969), such a phase of frenzy or convulsions as a rule
is quite short. This was also the case in other companies of which I attended
performances. When the frenzy had subsided and the convulsions ceased, the
subject usually remained unapproachable and sat vacantly staring into space
near the table with offerings for a while, or just danced around rather stiffly,
though always in a recognizably Javanese fashion. He only seemed to react
to his surroundings again to some extent after a while. This is not to say that
he had then come completely to his senses, however. As Pigeaud (1938:224),
basing himself on Soepangkat’s essay about the tranced horse dancer, reports,
‘after he loses consciousness, sight and hearing are restored but he is unable
to speak’.17 A new phase had then set in, in which the person concerned
seemed to surrender completely to this new state, deliberately or uninten-
tionally, though it might suddenly change again to one of frenzy, convulsions
or lethargy without any demonstrable cause.
The surrender to the trance
This phase was characterized by the tranced person’s in turns walking around
in a daze, with or without some prop or other, with which he or she might
disappear in the audience; coming to the table with offerings to beg for food
and drink; getting up to all kinds of antics in the performance area; bombard-
ing the musicians with requests for tunes; or suddenly lapsing into some sort
of immobility. In the literature this phase is sometimes compared to sleep-
walking (somnambulism) (Belo 1960:212; Darmadji and Pfeiffer 1969:3284).
It is defined by Belo (1960:212-3) as a deep hypnosis in which the subject,
though still unconscious, is capable of performing complex actions which
bear the clear stamp of his cultural background as well as his personality.
Pigeaud (1938:444), as we saw, opted for the term ‘ecstasy’ or ‘frenzy’ and
was of the opinion that there was no penetration by a spirit involved here.
The most typical answer which I received from the trance dancers themselves
to my question how they felt in this phase was wis ora pakéwuh (‘relieved of
a burden’, Pigeaud 1982), in other words, free to do as they pleased, without
fear of criticism from their surroundings. None of the people I questioned
referred to the presence or absence of a spirit, and their description of their
17 The loss of the ability to speak was typical for all horse dance groups of which I saw
performances in Central and East Java. Even so, judging from a statement by C.W. Wormser
(1920:78-82) about a performance in Temanggung (Central Java), cited by Pigeaud, this does not
appear to be a universal phenomenon. The performer concerned here was a tranced kuda képang
dancer who was questioned by the trance master and gave clearly intelligible answers.
VI The trance 151
A trance dancer with a coconut near the table with offerings.

experience in fact closely approximated Pigeaud’s definition. For the bystand-

ers things seemed to be slightly different, however. To most of them the most
striking features of this phase – the rolling upward of the eyes and the vacant
gaze of the performers, alongside their spastic movements and fits of violent
rage – were proof that the person concerned was really in trance (ndadi) and
that the spirits (roh) were in attendance.
As long as the dancers just sat around near the table with offerings or
danced around in a daze, as was regularly the case, people had the impres-
sion that they were completely shut off from their surroundings.18 But then
18 Gregory Bateson and Margaret Mead (1962:4) held that in Bali this vacancy and awayness
from one’s surroundings were characteristic of Balinese culture as a whole. To what extent this is
also true of Javanese culture I would not venture to say.
Trance dancer rolling his eyes. Photograph by Marije Duijker.
VI The trance 153
Trance dancer still oblivious to the world.

again the behaviour of those who got up to all kinds of antics, such as turning
somersaults, or handed out food, flower petals or money among the specta-
tors, proved that, though obviously not in their normal state of consciousness,
they were clearly capable of reacting to their surroundings. Hence the term
somnambulant in the sense in which Belo (1960:11) takes it seems to me inap-
propriate, the more so as the dancers afterwards definitely had some recollec-
154 Jaranan
Singabarong’s entrance in Menang. Photograph by author.
tion, no matter how vague, of what had happened to and around them while
in this state. The dividing-line between the various phases of the trance was
very thin, however, and there was constant uncertainty about the true state
of the dancers. This added to the ambiguous character of the performance,
strengthened by the music of the slomprèt and the continually changing tunes
and songs played and sung at the request of the trance dancers. The true
nature of the trance of the individual performers was put to the test again and
again by the audience, as we shall see further down.
As was observed earlier, the stage at which the spirit makes its entry
shows the same signs worldwide. At this point there is hardly any difference
noticeable in the behaviour of the subjects, whether they be Javanese horse
dancers or participants in some African initiation ritual. This is different in the
VI The trance 155
Singabarong in the midst of the horsemen in Menang.

next phase, and then not only because the cultural component is prominent
here, as I pointed out above. In this phase it becomes clear that horse dances
and initiation rituals are performed on different levels, in fact. The important
point in this phase, described by Rouget (1985:323) as the culminating phase
(of the trance) in initiation rituals, is that the subject enters into and confirms
a relationship with a spirit that will help and support him or her throughout
his or her life. That is why identification of this spirit is of the utmost impor-
tance. Its identity is suggested by the music that is distinctive of it. The music
here (as opposed to the first phase) plays a decisive, socializing role. For the
dancers of Samboyo Putro, on the other hand, for whom the performance
was first and foremost a temporary escape from everyday reality and the true
nature of the spirits to be invoked was not really relevant for their daily lives,
the music fulfilled a different function. There was only one point at which
there was a direct relation between the music and the entrance of one of the
dancers. This was at the entrance of the Singabarong in the final act, which
was invariably ushered in by his very own signal tune. He was traditionally
the leading character in the performance, after all, as will become apparent
in the next chapter.
Although none of the other dancers were identified with a particular tune
or instrument of their own, the music nonetheless played an important role
in the performances. It was essential for keeping the dancers in the desired
156 Jaranan
Kala Srenggi on the offensive in Menang. Photograph by author.
mood, while the numerous songs were also aimed at entertainment of the
audience. But in addition it appeared to be indispensable in creating the right
atmosphere for bringing on as well as terminating the trance. In this connec-
tion I would remind the reader of the role played by the musicians and the
singers in calming down and bringing round the trance dancer in Jombor.
The dancers of Samboyo Putro invariably appeared with the same prop,
and hence always played the same part. Ariyasena Jayasekara Gunawardana
(1977:67), in his study of the modern development of the Asian theatre, posits
VI The trance 157
Kethèk on Pujangga-Anom’s back in Menang. Photograph by author.
Kethèk in a tree in Mojoroto. Photograph by author.

158 Jaranan
that role specialization is characteristic of all ‘traditionalist’ theatrical forms,

as he calls them.19 He writes: ‘the performer’s craft is “particularistic” in tra-
ditionalist theaters, in contrast to its “universalistic” quality in the modern
theater. That is to say, the actor in traditionalist theater prepares himself for a
role with which he stays for the rest of his acting career.’20
The explanation which members of Samboyo Putro gave for their role
specialization was that they had received a divine sign (wangsit) accordingly,
and so had a special relationship with their particular stage attribute: a horse,
demon, monkey, wild boar, and so on. Although initially they stated that they
could play any part at all, they also said that it was difficult, if not impossible,
to bring a part to life (njiwai) if you had not received a divine sign. Therefore,
they commented, you should never forget to ‘feed’ the spirit of the mask (or
horse) in order to persuade it, as it were, to descend in its earthly dwelling.
Notwithstanding this close identification with a particular part, most of
Samboyo Putro’s horse dancers showed little consistency in the interpreta-
tion of their roles. Brief periods in which they behaved in accordance with
the nature of their attribute alternated with longer periods in which they just
danced around aimlessly, played all kinds of pranks on each other or on the
audience, continually came to ask for a new tune, or sat in a daze near the
table with offerings. The mask dancers and Kala Srenggi, on the other hand,
often did act in character for longer periods. Singakumbang and Macan
challenged one knight after another, Singabarong threatened everyone who
ventured near him, and Kala Srenggi went constantly chasing after his ‘prey’.
The actor who most consistently stuck to his part, however, was Kethèk.
Pujangga-Anom and Toh Bagus were the particular targets of his antics. He
was also regularly to be seen climbing the trees surrounding the performance
area, swinging from branch to branch and sending down showers of coconuts
or bananas, or sitting on the ridge of a roof, sending roof tiles flying around.
Every time he did this, the closely packed crowd breathlessly watching all his
antics would disperse just in time.
It was difficult to discover if anyone was ever really struck. As a rule no
one ended up being hurt by these dangerous pranks. I at least do not know,
either from the literature or from personal observation, of any serious acci-
dents ever happening. Staugaard (1921:426) wrote how in one performance in
19 Ariyasena Jayasekara Gunawardana (1977:60) preferred the term ‘traditionalist theater’ to

‘traditional theater’ because the latter term is taken to refer to everything old, that is, non-mod-
ern, whereas the former rather suggests a certain attitude towards tradition. This more dynamic
definition in my view is more appropriate for the development of Asian theatres in modern
Asian societies, which is the subject of his study.
20 This does not entirely agree with my observations. The dhalang of Klaten, for example, who
also performed as mask dancers in the Panji stories, at any rate until the 1970s, strove to play
increasingly more demanding parts, with as ultimate objective the role of Klana.
VI The trance 159
Wlingi (Kediri), for example, the horsemen were dancing around with a kind
of sabre (kléwang) when one of them went flying at a group of children. But
the latter quickly scattered in all directions, so that the kléwang only struck the
rock on which children had been sitting just a few seconds before. Moreover,
during a barongan performance in Banyuwangi21 all the spectators were urged
to leave the performance area before the barong was due to make his entrance
at the end of the show. That this was not a false alarm became apparent when
the barong (whose part was played by two dancers) started grubbing up
stones and hurling them in all directions. He dragged four helpers who tried
to restrain him all over the compound. The performance of Singabarong in
Samboyo Putro was not as wild, although he too repeatedly lashed out furi-
ously at his assailants and often hit home.
Really remarkable was the barongan scene in Tulungagung. According to
one informant from this area the part of the barong was not always played
by the same actor in the group concerned. Regularly a number of persons,
both performers and spectators, appeared to feel the urge to dance with the
barong mask for a while as soon as they fell ‘under the spell of the barong’
(kesawaban barong). Unfortunately I did not have an opportunity of attending
such a performance personally, and so do not know what happened to these
barong dancers.
Wild scenes like those described by Staugaard and witnessed by me
in Banyuwangi as well as in performances by Samboyo Putro and Haswo
Usodo, among others, usually only lasted as long as the dancers did not
have their attribute taken away from them. When this happened, they gener-
ally put up a fierce resistance and flew into another rage, so that the gambuh
then had to intervene to calm the entranced dancers down again. Although
such outbursts of aggression were treated with due concern, they were not
condemned. The violence of the dancers’ resistance when they were brought
out of their trance served as an indication of how the spirits had experienced
the performance. The more they had enjoyed themselves, the greater their
reluctance to leave the dancers, but at the same time the greater the blessing
that might be expected from them in the future. At any rate, that was the
opinion of Pak Beja, the second slomprèt player, and Pak Gambuh, the actor
who played the part of Singakumbang, as well as of various spectators.
As I indicated above, bystanders affected by the excitement of the atmos-
phere might go into a trance as well. So Kartomi writes with reference to a
horse dance performance in Banyumas (Kartomi 1973b:23):
21 A barongan sempritan (sempritan = ‘whistle’) performance by the group Tresno Budoyo from
Kemiren, in the sub-district of Glagah which I attended on (2 May 1986).
160 Jaranan
At intervals, some of the spectators themselves become hypnotised. They emerge

from the crowd, approach and bow to the penimbul, and begin to act and dance.
One man may believe he has become possessed by a snake spirit, and writhe along
the ground like a snake. Another will pant and bark, with his tongue hanging out
like a dog’s; he believes he is possessed by a canine spirit.
This shows how trance dancers from the audience sometimes also believed a
special spirit to have taken possession of them. In this respect there was no dif-
ference between them and the so-called ‘regular’ dancers. I do not know if they
had been ‘touched’ by a spirit before and had formed a special relationship
with it, however. According to Pak Gambuh and Pak Dhalang, the spirits con-
cerned were free-roaming spirits (dhemit) who had come along with the spirits
invoked by Pak Samboyo. As a rule the identity of the spirits that entered the
dancers remained unknown. One exception was the case of an elderly man
who regularly attended Samboyo Putro’s performances, at least when the
group performed in town. He appeared to have a strong bond with Cakil and
believed himself to be continually possessed by the spirit of this rather ludi-
crous, demonic character from the wayang theatre, and behaved accordingly,
even though he never had the mask appropriate to this character put on. A
few members of Samboyo Putro’s regular cast, too, sometimes seemed to be
touched by the spirit of Cakil. In Pulihrejo, the wayang theatre as such even
appeared to be a source of inspiration.
Not all of Samboyo Putro’s performers went into a perceptible trance. I
have never seen Pak Samboyo, Pak Sajèn, or the two knights, Toh Bagus and
Pujangga-Anom, fly into a rage or suffer a fit of convulsions. According to
what they themselves said, they were not really ‘possessed’ by a spirit either.
They did feel touched by the electrifying atmosphere of the performance,
however, so that they always took part without inhibition in the general
merriment predominantly characterizing this phase of the trance. They said
that their participation here was important to them because it made them
feel good and they did not need to be afraid that people would make fun of
them. In other words, the performance offered them, too, a socially accepted
safety valve for abnormal behaviour. In the words of Darmadji and Pfeiffer,
‘the state of trance enables the dancer to abandon the strict rules of custom,
to indulge impulses that otherwise remain repressed. Thus he is able to step
into the limelight, to adopt aggressive, even bestial behaviour.’22
Because the participants themselves unambiguously experienced this
sense of liberation from oppressive social norms as something entirely out of
22 ‘dass es der Trancezustand dem Tänzer ermöglicht, aus den strengen Regeln der Sitte
herauszutreten, um Impulse auszuleben, die sonst unterdrückt bleiben. So kann er nun in den
Mittelpunkt treten, aggressives, selbst tierisches Verhalten annehmen’ (Darmadji and Pfeiffer
1969:3290).
VI The trance 161
Pak Gambuh fighting with Singabarong in Sumberagung. Photograph by author.
the ordinary, I feel justified in subsuming this state likewise under the head-
ing ‘trance’. For many members of Samboyo Putro it was the chief reason for
joining the company. As was said above, the trance afforded an opportunity
of briefly escaping from the daily grind. Moreover, the dancers derived a
certain prestige from their unusual behaviour.
The activities initiated in this phase lent Samboyo Putro’s performances
the character of one great communal game. In this respect this company clear-
ly differed from other horse dance groups whose performances I watched.
Although there was an element of play present in all performances, as for
example in the act of the two clowns in the performance in Jombor, the audi-
ence was never actively involved in the same degree as here. As became
apparent from my interviews with Pak Samboyo, involving the audience in
his performances was his way to encourage a sense of collective responsibil-
ity for carrying on the Javanese traditions. Solidarity, in his opinon, was not
only a sacred legacy from the ancestors (tinggalan adiluhur) that ought to be
cherished, but also provided the basis for the united effort the government
162 Jaranan
expected from its citizens to turn Indonesia into a modern state. This throws
Pak Samboyo’s official position into sharp relief. How he put his views into
practice will be seen in the discussion of the element of play in the perform-
ance in Pulihrejo.
The ‘recovery’ of the trance dancers
On what signs the decision to ‘cure’ (mari) a particular dancer, that is to say,
to restore him or her to full consciousness, was based is difficult to say. The
choice of the right moment to bring a trance dancer out of his trance seems
to be primarily intuitive. This may be ‘When the pawang feels that the time
is ripe – a matter merely of convenience, of boredom with the antics of a
particular horse-man, of feeling that enough is enough’ (Burridge 1961:34).
K.O.L. Burridge (1961:34) also writes that in order to be able to act as pawang
(the word for ‘trance master’ in Johore, Malaysia) one has to be born a
pawang. Pak Samboyo, conversely, felt that his police training had given him
the necessary psychological insight to decide on the appropriate moment.
The decision about the exact moment even so often remains a gamble. When
Pak Samboyo or Pak Gambuh considered the time ripe, they usually met
with fierce resistance from the dancer concerned. They frequently acted with
great circumspection. In the example above we saw how the first attempt to
bring particularly Si Pincang and Si Pecut round from their trance had to be
stopped when their resistance turned out to be too strong. ‘You never knew
what the consequences would be’, Pak Gambuh said, and so it was better to
leave someone a little longer in trance than to force a recovery.
The behaviour of a dancer in trance gives no indication as to the way in
which he or she will come out of the trance. For example Singabarong, who
in Menang behaved very wildly and constantly went rushing at the audi-
ence, put up a fierce resistance when his mask was taken away from him. In
Mojoroto, on the other hand, he could be restored to consciousness without
any resistance worth speaking of. He usually needed a fair while to recover
completely, however, and was never able, or willing, to say anything about
what he experienced during the trance. Kala Srenggi, too, who was also
exceptionally susceptible to the trance, could often only be brought round
again with the greatest of difficulty. Every time it looked as if he had calmed
down completely, he would suddenly go running off again, and the whole
thing would start all over again from the beginning.
In the performance in Sumberagung in 1992 (after Pak Samboyo’s death),
when the part of Kala Srenggi was played by a young girl, the ‘recovery’
took place virtually unnoticed. Her performance as cèlèng dancer was chiefly
restrained and stylized, and it was not clear to what extent she had been
VI The trance 163
The ‘recovery’ of a horseman in Sumberagung.

really in trance. This example shows that the way in which a particular
attribute, in this case the wild boar puppet, is brought to life and affects the
dancer’s behaviour seems to be dependent on the actor himself rather than
on the spirit of that attribute. The dancer’s frame of mind at the time of the
performance appears to play a decisive role.
According to Pak Sajèn it was easy to see why the spirits were not keen
to depart from the performance, the place where they felt at ease and which
was alive with activity (ramé). So they always have to be persuaded to leave
the body of the dancers, for instance by plying them with specially prepared
offerings. We saw how Pak Gambuh tried to tempt the spirit that had entered
Si Pincang with a sprig of flowers, for example. Another method was to
164 Jaranan
induce the spirit to move to its attribute – the mask or boar puppet, or in
the Jombor case, the horse of the trance dancer. Judging by the results, this
often appeared to be a tricky undertaking. Not infrequently the trance dancer
would take off with his prop again and the helpers would have the greatest
of difficulty in parting him from his horse, mask or puppet.
The method used by the two Samboyo Putro gambuh to cure the danc-
ers was roughly the same as that employed in other horse dance groups. It
involved massaging the head and limbs, blowing on the fontanel, the point
at which the spirit allegedly leaves the body, and whispering prayers into the
ears of the actor. Once the dancers had been restored to consciousness, they
would either remain sitting on the ground in something of a daze for a while
(like Si Pincang and Si Ijo, for example) or go running into the dressing room
to recover completely (Si Kuning and a person unknown to me). They would
then look very exhausted, although they claimed they felt none the worse
for the trance, even if, like the dancers of Samboyo Putro, they had become
tranced more than once in the performance. The actors ascribed this to the
fact that they enjoyed the protection of the invisible beings, the bangsa alus,
during the performance.
The dangers of the trance
The members of Samboyo Putro, as well as of other horse dance groups I

came across, stated emphatically how important it was at all times to comply
with the wishes of the trance dancers as quickly as possible. What should be
avoided at all costs was provocation of the tranced person. For if the spirit that
had taken possession of the dancer should become angry, it might refuse to
leave his body. Rumours about the vindictiveness of frustrated or provoked
spirits were rife among the cast. According to one member, a spirit was known
once to have left a trance dancer alone only after several days. It had terrorized
the village all the intervening time and had made the most diverse demands
for satisfaction for insults it had suffered in the course of the performance.
According to another, one colleague who had been badly harassed during his
performance had become ill as a result and still had not recovered. A third
asserted that an offended spirit might sometimes carry the dancer off with
him. So the group had once lost a performer, whom they had only found back,
seriously upset, in the cemetery after a long time (hours, days?). The gambuh
on that occasion had had the greatest of difficulty in bringing him round.23
23 In Bali there appear to be cases of people being ‘hidden by a spirit’ (engkebang memedi) and
sometimes only being found again in a cemetery, a marketplace or a bamboo clump days later.
The spirit is then said to have acted ‘out of love for that person’, while the ‘victim’ may after-
VI The trance 165
Doubtless such stories about the vindictiveness of provoked spirits, of

which never the informant himself but always someone else had been the vic-
tim, added to the tense, nervous atmosphere that took possession of all those
present, performers and spectators alike, as soon as the trance commenced.
Whenever a trance dancer wanted anything, the person addressed by him
would try and oblige him immediately. But, because he had lost the power
of speech and could only make his wishes understood through gestures and
facial expressions, it was not always possible to guess his meaning straighta-
way. Especially when he asked for a particular melody, the musicians might
grope in the dark for a while. Helped by colleagues and spectators, who
would loudly shout all kinds of suggestions, the musician concerned would
then try one tune after another, until the trance dancer would finally start
dancing again and everyone would heave a sigh of relief.
That the excited, nervous mood might occasionally find an undesirable
outlet is shown by the fight among the audience in Pulihrejo. Because Pak
Samboyo managed to separate the troublemakers and to integrate one of
them in the performance, he was able to turn this sudden disruption to his
advantage and thus to dim all memories of the irregular occurrence.
Pak Dhalang showed satisfaction at the favourable outcome, pointing out
in particular that it was proof once more of Pak Samboyo’s great magic power.
‘You never know how the spirits will react, and if a gambuh is incompetent,
all kinds of accidents are liable to happen’, he said. The musicians around us
nodded their heads in agreement and proudly proclaimed that the incident
had confirmed Pak Samboyo’s and the company’s prestige once again. They
clearly connected the outburst of aggression with the unpredictable behav-
iour of the omnipresent spirits.
Awe at the unpredictability of the spirits was not so deep-seated, however,
that there was a taboo on provocation of the trance dancers. The audience
and the musicians alike often shouted all kinds of good-humoured jibes at
them and constantly commented loudly on their actions. Some of the dancers
appeared to react to this by adopting a threatening pose and making as if to
attack the challenger, in play or in earnest. Others seemed to take no notice at
all of the insults shouted at them and to go on doing their own thing. In the
former case the challenger as a rule would swiftly hide among the crowd, and
if the trance dancer became very wild, the gambuh or the helpers would run
forward to calm everyone down. A painful rap on the grasping fingers of a
greedy spectator or a playful rebuke of an inattentive child, as at the ‘young
wards have the pleasantest of memories of his stay in an imaginary world, but be unable to give
any explanation of how he came to be there (Luh Ketut Suryani and Jensen 1993:23). I do not
know if ‘abducted’ Javanese trance dancers retain similar pleasant memories.
166 Jaranan
people’s slametan’ in Menang, were the severest punishments I ever saw a

Samboyo Putro trance dancer mete out.
Although the atmosphere during the so-called ‘liberating’ phase, when
the cast entertained the crowd with all kinds of pranks, as a rule became
more relaxed, it was important for people to remain on their guard even so.
At the slightest provocation, often for obscure reasons, one or another of the
performers might fly into a rage or have a fit of convulsions again. Every time
this happened, the tension would again mount to a high pitch for a while,
until the person concerned had been calmed down. The other performers
generally took no notice whatever of such sudden moods of excitement and
would carry on unperturbed with whatever they were doing.
The significance of the trance
Not only for the spectators but also for the performers themselves, the trance
remains an intriguing, though largely elusive phenomenon. This was appar-
ent not in the last place from the vague, sometimes contradictory replies
from the performers themselves. So they said, for example, that it was easy
to go into a trance and that all you needed to do to get into the desired state
was to enter into the mood of the performance. Hence it looks as if for them
going into a trance was a kind of automatism. On the other hand, they admit-
ted that they were by no means always successful in this, as the spirits (roh
alus) are very fickle, which again indicates that they did believe themselves
to be dependent on a reality external to themselves. Pak Slomprèt put it as
follows: ‘If the spirit still does not come (yèn durung ndadi), it isn’t difficult
to act as if (rak angèl éthok-éthok). It is better to be touched by a spirit (luwih
becik dijiwai), for then the blessings are close by (kanugrahan wis celak). Then
everything becomes light (kabèh dadi èntèng) and easy to keep up (gampang
betah).’ Pak Gambuh formulated it slightly differently. He said, in explanation
of the fact that he had only appeared very briefly in the performance area as
Singakumbang dancer in Pulihrejo,24 that this time the spirit (roh) had been
too heavy for him. This, he said, had forced him to finish his act quickly.
The majority of horse dancers claimed they were touched (disriwili) by
a spirit (roh or bangsa alus) during performances, but were unable to give a
clear description of this spirit. Only one or two dancers maintained they had
never been really touched by a spirit, but this was difficult to tell from their
performance. I at any rate could not discover any difference between their
24 Because I was sitting among the gamelan, I do not know what became of him once he had
disappeared from view. He was probably in the dressing room recovering, but how I was not
able to ascertain.
VI The trance 167
performance and that of their co-actors who asserted they had been in trance.
And, going by the reactions of the onlookers, nor could the audience. What
is clear is that, as far as most of the performers were concerned, the opera-
tion of the trance was attributable, no matter how vaguely, to some real but
impalpable entity, usually referred to as roh or bangsa alus.
The spectators were generally also very sceptical about the real nature of
the trance of the individual dancers, and the question ndadi? (‘in trance?’) or
affirmation wis ndadi! (‘in trance already!’) of the one would often be countered
with the negation durung! (‘not yet!’) of others. That they generally continued
watching fascinated nevertheless was not due solely to the performers’ skill.
Even though they had doubts about the genuineness of what they thought
they saw, the belief in the existence of spirits and in the possibility that these
may take possession of humans was generally still very strong. This was not
affected by the absence of convincing proof during the show. Moreover, the
frequently chaotic and ambiguous nature of the performance helped to keep
this conviction alive. There was usually no first-hand proof of any of the
performers being really possessed by a spirit – no more than of any inform-
ants themselves ever being the object of the vengeance of the enraged spir-
its, reports of which were always from hearsay. This was normally inferred
from the audience’s excited reactions to what was going on elsewhere in the
performance area, but which the informants themselves had evidently just
missed. The stirring music, the bursts of laughter and the cheering, which
rolled across the area in waves, added to the electrifying atmosphere in which
everything seemed possible. It not only put the regular performers in a state
of heightened sensitivity to the supernatural, but also left the spectators any-
thing but unaffected, giving them, too, a sense of liberation.
In contrast to Bali, where the trance, in Belo’s (1960:10) words, is ‘fully
explained in terms of the religious beliefs’, in Java the trance, in particular in
the horse dance, lacks an obvious religiously sanctioned framework within
which the various manifestations of the entities appearing in the trance have
their recognized and recognizable place. The uncertainty about the nature of
the trance among the performers as well as the audience is partly attributable
to this. It is in this respect that there is in fact a significant difference between
the trance in Javanese horse dances and that in the African initiation rituals
studied by Rouget. In both Bali and Africa the trance clearly has a socializing
function. As we shall see further down, this function was fulfilled in another
way in Samboyo Putro’s case.
Samboyo Putro’s horse dance performances were highly ‘modernized’,
in the sense that, in tune with the prevailing politico-cultural climate, their
‘folksy’ character was eliminated as much as possible. They bore primarily
the character of a game, in which the elaborate opening ritual, the introduc-
tory dances, and the antics of the trance dancers possessed unmistakable
168 Jaranan
show-like elements. Thanks to their ambiguity, however, they provided

ample scope for an idiosyncratic interpretation of the trance dancers’ behav-
iour even so. The performances were perceived by cast and audiences alike
as a higher reality in which temporarily everything seemed possible. With
their emphasis on Javanese tradition, as reflected in among other things the
choice of songs, these performances moreover helped to give people a sense
of sharing in the preservation of the precious legacy from the past and in the
strengthening of the Javanese identity.
The so-called socio-cultural dimension of the performances was under-
lined by the legend associating the origin of the Kediri-style horse dance with
a legendary East Javanese prince from a glorious period in Javanese history.
chapter vii
The significance of the horse dance legend
Introduction
In the course of Samboyo Putro’s performances, the legend of the origin of the
Kediri horse dance was recited several times. It deals with the intended mar-
riage of Dèwi Sanggalangit, princess of Ngurawan (Kediri), and when chanted
is presented in the ‘small’ Javanese metre (tembang macapat) Dhandhanggula.
Kacarita ing Ngurawan nagri ‘Now let us speak of the realm of Ngurawan,
jumeneng nata gung binathara ruled by the great sovereign
Lembu Amiséna juluké named Lembu Amiséna,
kinasih déwa agung beloved of the exalted gods.
darbé putra putri sawiji He has one daughter,
Dèwi Sanggalangit asmanya her name is Dèwi Sanggalangit.
ayunya linangkung Her beauty is extraordinary
tinantun ing palakrama and her hand is requested.
gya ngemban dhawuh ing sang She quickly obeys the wish of her father the king
rama aji [to get married],
ning darbé patembaya. but stipulates a condition.
Urawan: ‘archaic name of a region in the eastern part of Java, possibly present-day Blora’
(Gericke and Roorda 1901, I:57). Urawan is also known from the Panji stories, where Lempung-
karas (not Panji) marries the younger princess of Urawan (Poerbatjaraka 1940:90).
Tembang macapat is a traditional Javanese literary genre, subject to strict rules of prosody or
poetic conventions with respect to the number of syllables per line, the end vowels of the lines,
and the number of lines to the stanza. These were drawn up by the ‘men of letters’ (pujangga) in
the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and are distinctive of the different types of ‘small metre’
(tembang macapat) (see, for example, Pigeaud 1967:22; Ras 1982:309-10; Arps 1996:49, note 3).
These tembang macapat were, and sometimes still are, intended to be sung at gatherings (jagongan)
where special events in the life of the family are celebrated, at commemoration ceremonies, or at
meetings of special macapat societies.
The word patembaya means literally ‘agreement, arrangement’ (Pigeaud 1982). In the
present context it has the connotation of an agreement to choose a husband by means of a contest
or competition, that is to say, by holding a sayembara (‘contest with a prize in respect of marriage’,
Pigeaud 1982). In what follows I have taken patembaya in the sense of sayembara and translated
it as ‘marriage by choice of the bride’, meaning a choice made by a princess from among the
candidates who have satisfied the condition set by her.
170 Jaranan
Wus sinebar wartaning The princess’ news has spread.

sang Dèwi
pra kawula jro jaba nagara Many subjects at home and abroad
wus kathah kang mirengaké have heard it.
wau ta Pangéran Toh Bagus Prince Toh Bagus
Pujangga-Anom tan kèri and Pujangga-Anom do not remain behindhand.
arsa nunggu patembaya They prepare to meet the condition
kang nuju prana sang ayu that pleases the princess,
angasta kèpèl sekawan and are on their way with four horses.
Singabarong Patih Singakumbang Singabarong and Patih Singakumbang have
wus nglunasi laju sowan mring already been defeated [by them] and they pay
praja (031) a visit to the capital.’
Hence in this legend, popular in Kediri and environs, the horse dance is
connected with the complications surrounding the marriage of the princess
of Kediri, Dèwi Sanggalangit, usually identified with Dèwi Sekartaji, a lead-
ing figure in the well-known Panji legend. A key motif in this legend is the
marriage of Dèwi Sekartaji to the legendary East Javanese prince of Jenggala,
Panji. Some informants accordingly referred to the horse dance legend as a
carita Panji (‘Panji story’). Contrary to what this title suggests, the perform-
ances appear to be concerned with something other than the enactment of an
episode from the Panji stories. Moreover, the origin of the horse dance is not
linked with the Panji legend everywhere. In the present chapter I will try to
establish how the legend relates to the performance and what is the signifi-
cance attached to the legend.
The horse dance legend according to Harjono
Harjono, the initiator of the Jaranan Képang in Mojoroto, gave the follow-
ing version of the legend concerning the origin of the horse dance (Harjono
1981:26-7):
In the realm of Ngurawan, in Kediri, King Lembu Amiséna is ruler. His stun-
ningly beautiful daughter, Dèwi Sanggalangit, is still single and is courted by
many princes, viceroys and noblemen. She decides to organize a contest for the
choice of a husband (sayembara) among her suitors to prevent fighting between
the candidates for her hand and avoid bloodshed in Kediri. She therefore has the
following announcement made: ‘Whichever of the candidates is able to organize a
performance never before shown [in Kediri] and comes to Kediri with it without
touching the ground shall be my husband’.
‘Panji’ is an East Javanese title for a highborn person. The name of the prince who is the hero
of this legend is Panji Asmarabangun.
When the king of Ponorogo, King Toh Bagus, hears this announcement from
Kediri, he decides to sue for the princess’ hand together with his chief minister
(patih) Pujangganom, alias Pujangganong [Pujangga-Anom]. They form a jaranan
képang group comprising four horses for the soldiers, a mask for Pujangganom,
and a group of musicians. The gamelan consists of a kempul, a kethuk, a kenong, a
kendhang and a terompèt [a variant of slomprèt], and four angklung.
Singabarong, the king of Lodoyo, does not wish to lag behind either. Like
his chief minister, Singakumbang, he is endowed with supernatural powers.
They are each able to change into an animal: Singabarong into a lion (singa) and
Singakumbang into a boar (cèlèng).
The group from Ponorogo is the first to arrive in Kediri. It is received in audi-
ence by Dèwi Sanggalangit. Toh Bagus tells her he has covered the distance from
Ponorogo to Kediri not on foot but on horseback. The horse dance performance he
offers her has never before been shown in Kediri. Dèwi Sanggalangit is impressed
by Toh Bagus’ handsome appearance and accepts his contribution. She promises to
marry him and assures him the marriage will be celebrated soon.
Not long after that the group from Lodoyo led by King Singabarong also
arrives in Kediri. He has not travelled by road but through a subterranean tunnel
and has surfaced in the alun-alun of Kediri. When Singabarong hears that Dèwi
Sanggalangit is already betrothed (dipersunting) to Toh Bagus, he is furious. At
the height of his rage he is like someone possessed. Together with his followers
he destroys everything he finds in his path. He demands that Dèwi Sanggalangit
become his wife nevertheless, as he has after all satisfied the condition stipulated
by her. Toh Bagus, pondering on a means of placating Singabarong and his chief
minister, remembers that they are both very fond of gamelan music. He instructs
his subjects to play the gamelan. As soon as Singabarong and Singakumbang
hear the stirring melodies of the gamelan, it is as if they are overwhelmed by the
music and they start dancing. Even the whole group of attendants of the bridal
procession from Lodoyo dances to the sound of the gamelan from Ponorogo. Thus
the anger of King Singabarong and his minister is subdued. The ruler of Lodoyo
decides to give up his suit for Dèwi Sanggalangit. Indeed, he promises that he and
his followers will keep peace and order at the princess’ wedding to Toh Bagus.
Hence the marriage of the ruler of Ponorogo with the princess of Kediri is per-
formed peacefully and amid great merriment. To add to the gaiety, the horse dance
is performed as well at the princess’ request. Singabarong and Singakumbang do
not remain behindhand, so that there is a full cast. King Singabarong here acts the
part of cepaplok (barong) and his chief minister that of cèlèng (wild boar).
This art form, which we know by the name of jaranan, has been practised down
to the present day and is still very popular with the people of Kediri and environs
as a traditional art.
A region in the district of Blitar, to the southeast of Kediri.

This word, the meaning of which I was not able to trace, is probably an onomatopoeic
derived from the sound produced by snapping the barong’s wooden jaws together.
172 Jaranan
Comments
The performance described in this legend, known in numerous variants in

Kediri and surroundings, is roughly similar to the horse dance performances
of Samboyo Putro. All the elements of these shows – the horse dancers, the
mask dancers, the animals and the gamelan – have a place in it. Contrary
to Samboyo Putro’s chanted version, Harjono’s variant has the marriage
between Toh Bagus and Dèwi Sanggalangit actually performed. As will
become apparent below, this union cannot really take place, however, and it
is never enacted in the performances.
The cèlèng (which does not feature in the chanted version of the legend)
according to Harjono’s version is a disguise of Singakumbang. In Samboyo
Putro’s performances, on the other hand, Singakumbang is represented as
a cat-like monster (kucingan), and the cèlèng, the wild boar Kala Srenggi, is
Singabarong’s regular companion. In the versions of the horse dance legend
used by Samboyo Putro there is no mention of any disguise of the two barong.
The fact that the origin of the horse dance is not attributed to the gods or to
one of the nine saints of Java, but to the profane wish of a princess for a suit-
able bridegroom and a new kind of entertainment is illustrative of the low
status of this art form as compared with the wayang theatre.
The earliest reports of the horse dance legend
The earliest reports of horse dances, dating from the beginning of the nine-
teenth century, contain nothing to suggest that there was a story underlying
this dance genre. They only mention horse dances as part of a circumcision or
wedding procession, as a means for members of some religious community
In the Old Javanese text Tantu Panggĕlaran the origin of the wayang purwa is ascribed to the
gods Vishnu, Brahma and Ishvara, who are sent down to earth as wayang performers to protect
mankind against the voracious appetite and destructive power of Kala-Rudra, that is, Siva (in
wayang plays Bathara Kala; Pigeaud 1924:103, 170). One well-known Javanese treatise on the
origin and development of the wayang theatre, the Sastra Miruda, ascribes its origin to the Wali
Sanga or nine saints who allegedly propagated Islam in Java (Kusumadilaga 1930:10).
Canto 293, verse 33, of the Sĕrat Cĕnthini mentions a group of twenty horse dancers moving
along in a circumcision procession (Kamajaya 1988, IV:170). Poensen speaks of a number of persons
following in a wedding procession with an imitation horse (kapal’an) of plaited bamboo (képang)
between their legs and a pike in their hand (Poensen 1872:79-80). Mayer (1897:375-6), too, mentions
a wedding procession including a number of horse dancers (èbèg or jaran képang) – though judging
from the accompanying illustration of a very singular kind – besides some ogres.
to go into ecstasy, or as a street show.10 There is no mention anywhere of

more or less elaborate performances like those of Samboyo Putro. Only a few
articles from the first half of the twentieth century first tell us something about
the existence of a legend in connection with the horse dance, as was indicated
above. The horse dance shows discussed in these were all mixed perform-
ances, in the sense that they featured, aside from horse dancers, mask dancers
and dancers disguised as animals.
Staugaard (1921:421), alluding to a so-called ‘Ponorogo-type’ horse dance
group from Kediri performing in Pesantren, writes, for example, that ‘in a
simple dance performance [...] a heroic legend from the Babad Kediri’ was
enacted. The episode in question was not similar in every detail to the cor-
responding episode from the history of Kediri as recorded by Sumasentika
(Van den Broek 1902), according to Staugaard. A large part of the latter text,
a sequence of folk traditions about the origin of place names and unusual
features of the landscape, for instance, deals with Panji and his rivals.
The legend of the group in Pesantren recorded by Staugaard (1921:421-2)
runs as follows:
The ruler of Bantarangin, Klono-Sewan-Dono, is on his way to Kediri with 144

horsemen under the command of Boedjangganong to ask the princess’ hand
in marriage. In the forest the tiger Rodjonowo comes to devour the horses.
Boedjangganong fights the tiger and loses. The king thereupon implores the her-
mit Kjai Goenoreso, who has his abode on a nearby mountain, for help. The latter
helps the hard-pressed ruler and eliminates the tiger, whereat the king gives a
party graced by a gamelan orchestra and female dancers.11
The legend was enacted in a four-part dance, Staugaard says. The first part
featured Klana Séwandana, wearing a red mask with a long pointed nose
(so that he was reminiscent of Pujangga-Anom), in addition to his com
mander-in-chief Bujangganong (a variant of Pujangga-Anom), wearing a
white mask,12 four kuda képang dancers, and the barong Rajawana13 (literally
Canto 438, verse 14, of the Sĕrat Cĕnthini gives a description of a performance, called jaran-
jaranan, among the followers of a Muslim religious teacher, who ‘are mounted’ as though on
horses on all kinds of objects, such as kitchen utensils, leaf ribs, and so on, and ride around in a
daze, imagining they are riding the celestial horse Kuda Sembrani (Kamajaya 1989, VIII:102).
10 C.F. Winter (1848:306), in Javaansche zamenspraken, writes about réyog, a show featuring men
on plaited bamboo horses carrying lances in their hands.
11 Kartomi (1976:112-4), referring to Staugaard, reproduces a more detailed version of this
legend.
12 Staugaard probably did not understand the information he was given concerning the differ-
ent clown masks entirely correctly, as is borne out also by another statement. See also Pigeaud’s
(1938:186) comment on this. In Samboyo Putro’s performances a red mask like the one described
by Staugaard was worn by Pujangga-Anom, the white (half-)mask being distinctive of Penthul.
13 Rodjonowo, as the name is spelled in Staugaard’s (1921:422) text, is erroneous, as the author
himself indicates in a footnote.
174 Jaranan
‘King of the Forest’). The latter part was acted by two men, the one in front
wearing a tiger mask topped with a peacock-feather crown (a smaller version
of the réyog panaraga), and the one behind being hidden under the cloth hang-
ing down from the mask. At the end of this first part an actor wearing a black
mask entered as well. Although Staugaard refers to this figure as Penthul, it
is clear from the accompanying photo that it is actually the latter’s opponent,
Tembem, who according to Staugaard did not play a real part in the plot.
Then, in part two, followed the struggle between Bujangganong and the
barong Rajawana, which was lost by Bujangganong. The third part featured
the confrontation between the barong and the hermit Gunaresa (‘Ingenious
Protector’), a character wearing a brown mask with a woolly mop of hair.
The barong was defeated by means of the hermit’s magic formulae. Part four
comprised a comic act, with erotic overtones, by two performers: the dancing
woman Wayang Jepré (‘Chatterbox’) and the clown Patrajaya (also referred to
as Régol-Patrajaya). Staugaard (1921:422) concludes with the statement that
nothing further is said about Klana Séwandana’s adventures in Kediri.
Comments
This legend explains most of the characters appearing in the performance.

The only exception is the clown with the black mask, which is probably why
Staugaard says he had no part in the actual plot. The unnamed princess
plays only a very marginal role in this version of the legend, which seems to
be completely adapted to the play. She does not figure at all in the perform-
ance, her marriage only being mentioned as the cause of Klana Séwandana’s
appearance. The latter is represented as the leading character. In the play, not
Klana Séwandana’s encounter with Rajawana but the confrontation between
Rajawana and the hermit Gunaresa is the key motif, however. As we saw,
Rajawana, the ‘King of the Forest’14 – which symbolizes all that is untamed
– is not defeated by Bujangganong’s physical power, but by the hermit’s magi-
cal superiority. Like Samboyo Putro’s gambuh, he appears to be the specialist
skilled in handling the supernatural forces, symbolized by the barong, that
come into play here. That nothing further is said about the remainder of
Klana Séwandana’s journey is, in fact, understandable in light of the crux of
the performance: the appearance and the defeat of the barong. The reference to
the marriage of a princess of Kediri in the synopsis of the performance creates
the illusion that an episode from the popular Panji legend is being presented
here, whereas in reality the legend was only the framework within which the
Pesantren group enacted this crucial showdown.
14 According to Kartomi (1976:109), the name Rajawana, another name for Singa Barong
(Singabarong), a chthonic creature, points even more emphatically to his untamed nature.
A few Central Javanese horse dance legends
The story of Prince Panji and Princess Sekar Taji
That the above story ‘from Kediri’ was also popular beyond the ‘core’ area of
Kediri is apparent from the earlier cited article by Inggris (Inggris 1923) about
horse dances in Central Java. It relates how Prince Panji is repudiated by his
father, Lembu Amiluhur of Jenggala, because he refuses to marry the princess
chosen for him. He leaves the kingdom and in the course of his wanderings
encounters a Bengal tiger (barongan), a forest sprite couple (gendruwon), and a
giant brooding bird (bango-thonthong), in that order, all of which he subdues.
He finally arrives in Kediri, where he meets the king’s servants, who are in
search of the man with whom the king’s daughter, Dèwi Sekar Taji, has fallen
in love in her dreams. They recognize him as the lover in question and take
him to the palace. At the sight of the princess, he in turn falls in love with her.
The marriage of Prince Panji and Princess Dèwi Sekar Taji is celebrated amid
great pomp. The wedding procession includes the animals defeated by Panji,
besides Panji’s servants Penthul and Tembem (mentioned for the first time
only at this point in the legend; Inggris 1923:107-8).
Comments
This legend is reproduced, together with a second legend to be discussed

presently, at the end of Inggris’ article on horse dances in Jogonalan and
Wonokriyo respectively. The article does not specify from which of these
two areas this particular variant of the Panji legend originates. Going by the
descriptions of the characters figuring in performances in Jogonalan and
Wonokriyo, Jogonalan, in Yogyakarta, seems the more likely of the two. All the
characters found here – the jaran képang, the barongan, the gendruwon, Penthul,
Tembem, and bango-thonthong (the local name for Thithit-thuwit) – occur in the
above legend as well. The description of the characters appearing in perform-
ances by horse dance group(s) from Wonokriyo does not mention Tembem, on
the other hand, while it does mention, in addition to Thithit-thuwit, a kind of
ghost (cèpètan, a masked figure wearing a jute sack with chicken feathers stuck
all over it) that does not appear in the legend (Inggris 1923:99).
Although no information is given on how the legend is enacted in the per-
formance, the hero and heroine of the legend, Panji and Sekar Taji, evidently
did not figure in the performances of either the Jogonalan or the Wonokriyo
group. We are told with reference to Wonokriyo, however, that the horse
dance company participated in a wedding procession accompanying the
bridegroom to the house of the bride (Inggris 1923:101). That is to say, it
appeared in the context in which horse dancers often perform.
176 Jaranan
At Javanese weddings, the bridal couple is represented as the divine

couple Sri and Sedana,15 as is manifest from, among other things, their royal
attire and trimmings. Hence in the bridal procession in Wonokriyo the parts
of the two protagonists of the legend are in fact played by the bridal couple
in whose honour the performance is given. In this case the festive wedding
procession is really an enactment of the legend, therefore. As so often in Java,
we see how closely here, too, myth and reality are interwoven.
The downfall of Ki Ageng Mangir
The tale of Ki Ageng Mangir (‘the Great Man of Mangir’), a popular story
from the Mataram period,16 relates how a powerful man possessing a sacred
weapon resisted the authority of Panembahan Sénapati (reigned ?1584-
1601).17 This caused the latter, the founder of the realm of Mataram, great
embarrassment. To defeat his formidable opponent, endowed as he was with
supernatural powers, without having to fight him, he ordered his daughter
Radèn Ajeng Pembayu to trick Ki Ageng Mangir into marrying her. Towards
this end, she was to go to Mangir, accompanied by a jathilan and a wayang
troupe, to seduce the saint. Once married, she was to persuade him to come
with her to Mataram to pay his respects to his father-in-law, in accordance
with established Javanese custom. In this way Ki Ageng Mangir might be
abandoned to the tender mercies of the ruler (Inggris 1923:105-7).
Comments
About the horse dance group the legend only tells us that it performed during
the day, while the wayang shows took place by night. The horse dance group
played no part in the seduction of the saint, an episode which was enacted in
the wayang performance. Moreover, except for the horse dancers, none of the
characters mentioned as appearing in the performances of the horse dance
companies from Wonokriyo or Jogonalan figure in this story. The legend
provides no key to the characters appearing in the performances, in fact, and
15 Dèwi Sri and her brother Jaka Sedana are the mythical bringers of the crops of the fields, and
in this particular case of agriculture and of pesticides to protect the crops (Kats 1923:87, 169-71).
16 The story of this rebellious nobleman, named after his place of origin, the village of Mangir,
was a regular feature of the repertoires of various kethoprak groups during my stay in Solo (1976-
1978) and Kediri (1985-1986) respectively. Its popularity is also evident from the fact that it has
been adapted for the national theatre (Pramoedya Ananta Toer 2000).
17 Very little is known of the earliest history of the realm of Mataram (De Graaf and Pigeaud
1974:223-5; Ricklefs 1974:12-3).
clearly has no connection with these whatever.18 That Inggris’ anonymous

informant connected the horse dance with this history of Mangir seems, in
effect, to have had something to do with the wish to place the horse dance in
the context of a popular local, in this particular case Yogyakarta, history. The
lack of any clear connection between the legend and the actual performance
is irrelevant here. As we shall see, they each serve a different purpose.
The legend as told by Samboyo Putro members
In the case of Samboyo Putro as well, the horse dance legend was connected
with a popular local history. For instance, the versions recounted by Pak
Samboyo and Pak Dhalang respectively mentioned the Guwa Sélamangleng
(a cave in the side of the hill of Klothok, to the west of the town of Kediri)
and a number of mythical personages venerated there, one of whom played
a very special part in the performances, as we shall see.
Guwa Sélamangleng, in Poensen’s (1866:35) words ‘a cave approximately
three paal19 from Kediri’, is a popular place of pilgrimage, like Pamenang
Jayabaya, though less famous.20 At the time of my stay especially the local peo-
ple regularly placed offerings here. Two of the sculptures in this place figure in
Samboyo Putro’s horse dance legend, namely that known as Putri Kediri (lit-
erally ‘Daughter of Kediri’),21 alias Dèwi Kilisuci (but actually representing a
man), and that of the head of an ogre known as Kyai Buta Locaya. The latter is
in the form of the head of a crowned dragon carved in the rock to the left of the
entrance.22 The carving represents the mythical founder of Daha (the original
name for Kediri; Van den Broek 1902:2, 5-6) and is worshipped as the abode of
the dhanyang of Kediri. Flower offerings are regularly placed on its crown.23
18 Inggris’ article likewise points out that, though there is a close correspondence between this
‘horse dance legend’ and the so-called Babad Mangir (‘History of Mangir’), the episode of the
performance of a horse dance troupe is not found in the legend (Inggris 1923:105; Babad Mangir
1980:Canto XX, Pangkur 115-6).
19 Approximately 4500 metres; see note 12, Chapter VI.
20 According to the Encyclopaedie van Nederlandsch-Indië (1918, II:293) it is a series of man-made
caves visited particularly by Chinese pilgrims, for whom a Chinese altar has been erected. At the
time of my research, sticks of Chinese incense were in fact still frequently burnt in front of the
statue of Putri Kediri here.
21 Some informants also referred to this Putri Kediri as Dèwi Sekartaji. According to the care-
taker (juru kunci) of the cave, the statue represented her aunt, Kili Suci.
22 The history of this cave and of the sculptures it contains has been recorded from memory
by an anonymous author. Here Buta Locaya is represented as the protector of Dèwi Kili Suci, the
queen of Kediri who abdicated in favour of her two brothers and went to live as a hermit in the
cave Sélamangleng, which had been made by Buta Locaya (Ceritera rakyat 1981).
23 These small floral offerings would suggest that the pilgrims were ethnic Javanese rather
than Chinese Javanese.
The Guwa Selamangleng in Kediri. Photograph by author.
Kyai Buta Locaya in the Guwa Selamangleng, Kediri.

Photograph by Marijke Klokke.
The story of Dèwi Sanggalangit according to Pak Samboyo

The Putri Kediri, Dèwi Sanggalangit, alias Dèwi Sekartaji, the pretty daughter of
Lembu Amiluhur (Lembu Amiséna in the chanted version), king of Ngurawan
(Kediri), is urged by her father to hold a sayembara (contest to choose a bridegroom
from among a number of suitors).24 Although she has little inclination for a mar-
riage, as she knows she is barren (kedhi),25 she does not dare oppose her father’s
wishes. Therefore she has an announcement made that she will marry the man
who comes to her without touching the ground. Of the numerous participants
in the contest, two eventually remain: Klana Séwandana (alias Toh Bagus) and
Singabarong. Klana Séwandana, a knight errant from Ponorogo, is really in search
of his father. Arriving in the village of Campurdarat (in Tulungagung), he hears
about the Princess of Kediri’s bride choice and decides to try his luck. He also
hopes to find his father among the crowds in Kediri. To meet the condition set
by the princess, he travels on horseback together with his patih (chief minister)
Bujanganom (a variant of Pujangga-Anom) and four soldiers.
His rival, Singabarong, is the first to arrive. He has had a tunnel dug from the
southern ocean by his patih, the supernaturally endowed wild boar Kala Srenggi,
and, to the princess’ great alarm, surfaces right before her feet. Because he has
met her condition, she cannot reject him and so promises to marry him. Before
she is ready to do so, however, he is to withdraw with his men to the west bank
of the River Brantas. He may not return to town until all the preparations for the
wedding have been made. Singabarong departs and pitches camp near the cave
Sélamangleng.
Barely has King Singabarong left, when Klana Séwandana and his men, all
mounted on horseback, come to pay their respects to the princess. She also prom-
ises Klana that she will marry him, provided he fulfil another condition imposed by
her. This is that he first defeat the monster dwelling near the Guwa Sélamangleng
and threatening the peace of Kediri. Klana Séwandana complies with her request
and goes with his men to do battle with Singabarong. They do not appear to be
equal to their adversary’s supernatural powers, however. Bujanganom thereupon
decides to go and meditate in the Guwa Sélamangleng for a while and ask the
‘Spirit of Sélamangleng’ for help. When the fighting flares up again, he succeeds
in cutting off Singabarong’s head, which is then stuck to the cliff as a reminder of
the great battle. There it is still to be seen today. Klana Séwandana finally defeats
Kala Srenggi. When he returns to the palace to receive his reward, he discovers that
the princess has meanwhile disappeared through the tunnel excavated by Kala
Srenggi, however. Her father subsequently has an announcement made that he will
marry his daughter to the man who restores her to him.26
Pak Samboyo concluded his story with the statement that, although the tale
is much longer, the rest was not relevant to Samboyo Putro, so that he would
end it here.
24 In actual fact this is a competition with the princess’ hand as prize.

25 According to Pak Samboyo, Kediri owes its name to this fact – a good example of folk ety-
mology. See also Van den Broek 1902:27.
26 Tape-recorded interview, Kediri, August 1985.
180 Jaranan
Comments
When we compare this version of the horse dance legend with what we
already know about Samboyo Putro’s performances, we immediately notice
that the legend can only be regarded as a very partial key to the characters
figuring in these performances. The princess of Kediri, Dèwi Sanggalangit,
and her father, Lembu Amiluhur (alias Lembu Amiséna), play no part in the
performances. Conversely, Singakumbang and his companions – Kethèk and
Macan, who, as we shall see in the next chapter, account for an entire act in
the performances – do not occur in the legend.
It is also worth noting that the roles of Klana Séwandana and his patih
appear to have become interchanged. King Klana Séwandana joins battle
with the patih of the other side, while his patih, Bujanganom, overcomes king
Singabarong with the aid of the ‘Spirit of Sélamangleng’, not further identi-
fied by Pak Samboyo. If by this ‘Spirit of Sélamangleng’ Pak Samboyo means
the mythical guardian of Kediri, Kyai Daha or Kyai Buta Locaya – which
seems to be the only plausible interpretation in this context – we moreover
have a contradiction here. For on the one hand this mythical figure does
indeed feature as protector of Kediri, and hence of the princess, by defeating
the unwelcome suitor, Singabarong, as Bujanganom. But on the other hand
precisely this luckless lover is identified with this selfsame mythical guardian
of Kediri. It is after all Singabarong’s petrified severed head that is revered to
this day as the abode of that protector.
Hence this version of the legend is full of internal contradictions, which
are partly attributable to Pak Samboyo’s less than perfect knowledge of the
Javanese literary tradition. He offered his apologies for this at the beginning
of our interview by reminding me that he was only a simple policeman.
His reason for relating the legend to me was not that he wanted to give
me an explanation for the origin of horse dances or for the characters appear-
ing in Samboyo Putro’s performances, but that he wished to show that these
performances are based on the Javanese (literary) tradition. Thanks to Pak
Dhalang, who had introduced the literary aspect in the performances, this
traditional dramatic genre in Pak Samboyo’s view had been lifted to a level
above that of a simple (kasar) folk entertainment and corresponding more to
that of the wayang tradition. This was his way of contributing to the preser-
vation of the Javanese tradition, which after all was also held in high esteem
in the West, (winking at me) as witness my presence. By conforming with
contemporary trends, and so giving his performances an aura of progressive-
ness (kemajuan), he hoped he would be able to make especially young people
familiar with and enthusiastic about the much-praised Javanese heritage, so
that it would not be lost.
Pak Dhalang, who had also listened to Pak Samboyo’s exposition, a few
days later spontaneously brought up the subject again, to add a few more
details, as he put it. His version of the legend was as follows.
The story of Dèwi Sanggalangit according to Pak Dhalang

Although Toh Bagus (alias Klana Séwandana), the knight from Ponorogo, is really
the principal character in the legend, the leading part is not actually played by
him but by his supernaturally highly gifted patih, Pujangga-Anom. Prince Toh
Bagus is merely the person in authority on whose orders other characters act, but
otherwise he remains in the background. On their way to Kediri to take part in the
bridal choice contest they come to grips with Singakumbang’s army in the forest
of Roban – an episode Pak Samboyo omitted to mention. Singakumbang, a ruler
from overseas (bantarangin), like Toh Bagus is on his way to Kediri to participate
in the sayembara. He tries to waylay Toh Bagus and his followers, but after some
bitter fighting Pujangga-Anom succeeds in defeating him. Toh Bagus and his men
continue on their way. At the entry to Kediri their way is blocked again, this time
by Singabarong, the magically gifted guardian of Kediri. He owes his special pow-
ers to the spirit of Buta Locaya, which has entered him to protect Kediri against
unwanted strangers. Singabarong refuses Toh Bagus admission to the palace
because he is not a suitable candidate for marriage with a princess of Kediri, as
is obvious even from his coarse appearance. There is more fierce fighting. When
Pujangga-Anom after many exertions is finally victorious, Toh Bagus is able at last
to pay his respects to King Lembu Amiséna. But then all their efforts appear to
have been in vain, as the princess has vanished. Her father makes a vow (kaul) now
to give her in marriage to the man who shall return her to him.27
Comments
By pointing to Toh Bagus’ encounter with Singakumbang prior to that with

Singabarong, Pak Dhalang brought the legend into line with the reality of
Samboyo Putro’s performances. At both encounters the barong here again is
defeated by Pujangga-Anom. The latter two are in fact the actual protagonists
of the drama. From Pak Dhalang’s version Singabarong’s identity moreover
becomes clearer. He is explicitly identified with Kyai Buta Locaya, alias Kyai
Daha, the guardian spirit and, according to tradition, mythical founder of
Kediri.28 In other words, he is the dhanyang to whom Samboyo Putro dedi-
cated its performances in its opening ritual.
27 Personal communication, Kediri, August 1985.

28 Van den Broek 1902:5. Poensen (1864:234-5) informs us that towns and cities have no dhan-
yang but a ratuning dedemit (‘spirit king’), and that that of Kediri was named Si Korèq. Elsewhere
Buta Locaya is represented as baureksa kadhiri (‘guardian spirit of Kediri’) (Kidungan jangkep
n.d.:81), and hence no distinction is made between the supernatural guardians of the town or
city and of the region. A Si Korek is mentioned as the lelembut ing Panaraga (‘spirit of Ponorogo’),
moreover (Kidungan purwajati 1966:19).
182 Jaranan
The entrance of Singabarong, invariably at the end of the performance,

is regarded by many as the climax of the show. People can tell by the way
he comes on and by the duration and intensity of his performance if he is
satisfied with the entertainment dedicated to him, has accepted the offerings,
and is prepared to bless those present. Although the identity of the dhanyang
manifesting itself in the barong sometimes remains rather vague, as we saw
above, people are unanimous about his true nature. By whatever name he
is known locally, he is always identified with the protector of the particular
region in which the performance happens to take place. Whether he is known
as ‘Dhanyang Mojoroto’, ‘Kyai Buta Locaya’, ‘Kyai Daha’, or by whatever
other local name or names is irrelevant.
The identity of the conqueror of the barong appears to be different in each
version of the legend. He is called now Kyai Gunaresa, represented as a
hermit who brings his great magic authority to bear (Staugaard), now Panji,
the prince of Jenggala who succeeds in subduing his non-human adversar-
ies (Inggris), or Toh Bagus, who has the barong pacified with gamelan music
(Harjono), or Bujanganom/Pujangga-Anom (Pak Samboyo/Pak Dhalang),
who defeats one or both of the barong.
How the struggle between the two protagonists is portrayed in the per-
formances is not indicated in the different legends. In Samboyo Putro’s per-
formances the course of the combat remained vague. Although Pak Dhalang
emphatically pushed Pujangga-Anom to the fore as the barong’s assailant, his
behaviour hardly differed from that of Toh Bagus. It is true that the latter kept
mostly aloof during the fighting, but Pujangga-Anom’s role could scarcely
be said to be heroic either. In the performances, in contrast to the legend,
the barong, or the dhanyang, was defeated not by Pujangga-Anom, himself an
actor in the drama, but by the gambuh. Enactment of the legend, as we shall
see, played only a minor role in the performances.
The symbolism of the barong
In the versions of the legend discussed above, the barong (like the other animal
monsters) invariably appeared to be worsted. According to Pak Samboyo’s
variant he was killed, in the other versions he was only subdued and forced
to admit his opponent’s superiority. In Harjono’s and Inggris’ variants he was
moreover made one of his victor’s followers.
The barong’s defeat seems to be at variance with his role as local tutelary
spirit and, in the performance, as eagerly awaited guest. His role is in fact
polyvalent. The dhanyang, though having a beneficial influence, is first and
foremost the representative of the realm of the dead (Van Hien 1933:249):
The Dhanjang is the source of all blessings, all good fortune enjoyed by the desa,
though not seldom also of the trials and tribulations which it endures, and which
are then regarded as so many signs of the spirit’s dissatisfaction and displeasure,
when remissness in his worship on the part of the inhabitants of his desa has
aroused his anger.
His arrival in the midst of the community of the living leads to a blurring
of the dividing-line between the two worlds. This is given expression by the
trance, the state in which the dancers as it were balance on the boundary
between both worlds. As we saw above, the performers believe that this
state, in which they are touched by a spirit from the beyond, is not without
danger. They are convinced that there is a real risk of the trance dancer’s
being pulled across the boundary for good. I would only remind the reader
here of the many stories circulating among the members of Samboyo Putro
(and other groups) about acts of revenge on the part of the spirits. Although
people look forward in nervous anticipation to the arrival of the dhanyang,
and his appearance is the highlight of the entertainment, his presence is not
supposed to get out of hand. When the proper moment arrives, he must be
prepared to return to his usual abode, so that the two worlds, that of the
living and that of the dead, of men and of the ancestors, may be clearly
demarcated once more.
Pigeaud, in his chapter ‘Algemene beschouwingen van het mommenspel’
(‘General observations on mummeries’), gives an explanation of the role of
the barong in classificatory terms. He points out, for instance, that with respect
to the monster disguise or barong, sometimes along with the ‘dhanyang and
similar spirits’, the view is occasionally taken in the ‘old Javanese way of
thinking’ that the barong is really indispensable and ‘that the only thing one
can do is to try and subdue it’ (Pigeaud 1938:434). Considering the dhanyang’s
beneficial aspect, this conclusion seems to me to be formulated slightly too
vaguely. The sole object of the fight with the barong or dhanyang is that his
opponent may assert his own superiority in order to ensure that the positive
powers of the barong or the dhanyang will act for the benefit of the commu-
nity, while at the same time his negative powers will be neutralized. The crux
of the struggle is a fight between the magic powers of the two adversaries,
which must eventually be decided in favour of the living. This became most
clearly apparent in the legend, in particular in Staugaard’s and Harjono’s ver-
sions. In the former the magic authority of the hermit Gunaresa prevailed,
and in the latter that of Toh Bagus. In the performances, as we saw above, the
role of ‘charmer’ of the barong is invariably reserved to the gambuh.
184 Jaranan
The significance of the legend for the horse dance
The significance of the horse dance legend is twofold. In the first place it
lends the genre a certain measure of legitimacy. In the second place it refers
to a deeper level of meaning which the horse dance has possessed for the
community by tradition.
The Panji legend is part of the universally respected Javanese tradition.
It is represented not only in literature but also in a range of dramatic gen-
res, such as mask plays (topèng dhalang), puppet plays (wayang gedhog), and
kethoprak – genres that are associated with the royal court, either as a result
of being incorporated in the court culture (topèng and wayang) or because
the stories enacted concern figures of royal descent (kethoprak). By linking the
horse dance with the Panji legend, the genre was as it were lifted to a level
above that of ‘uncultured’ folk entertainment and associated, be it only sym-
bolically, with the official (court) culture.
More importantly, however, the horse dance legend symbolically explains,
more explicitly in one variant than in another, the true significance of horse
dance performances. The primary point of these performances is, as we have
seen, communication with the dhanyang, who in the form of the Singabarong
symbolizes the spiritual protector of the community. To him society owes its
physical and moral existence. It is this deeper meaning, the generative power
inherent in the legend that is acted out in the horse dances. How this was
accomplished in Samboyo Putro’s performances will be described in the next
chapters.
Part Three
Theme and variations

The performance in Pulihrejo
chapter viii
Pak Dhalang’s verbal contribution

in Pulihrejo
Introduction
To round off my discussion of the dramatic genre of the jaranan in East Java,
I shall return once more to Pulihrejo. In the prelude to this book a description
was given of the preparations for a performance by Samboyo Putro both in
Pulihrejo, the venue for the performance, and in Bandar-lor, the group’s home
base. In the following chapters a description will be given of the performance
itself. Three aspects to be discussed here in particular are the verbal aspect,
the formal opening dances, and the element of play. To enable the reader to
place the different episodes in the performance as a whole, I shall first give
an outline of the structure of the performance.
The structure of the performance
Samboyo Putro’s performances varied from show to show. Aside from the
unpredictable course of the trance, this had to do with, among other things,
the wishes of the host, the nature and time of the entertainment (day or
night), and the condition of the performance area. A complete day or night
performance lasted on average eight to nine hours. It comprised five acts,
each named after the leading character(s) in it, namely jaranan nem (jaranan,
‘horseman’; nem, derived from enem, ‘six’), jaranan pat (from papat, ‘four’),
jaranan ro (from loro, ‘two’), kucingan (‘cat-like animal’), and barongan-cèlèngan
(‘monster-boar’). That is to say, these five acts featured six, four and two horse
dancers, the kucingan Singakumbang, and the barongan Singabarong accom-
panied by the wild boar Kala Srenggi, referred to in the text as cèlèng gèmbèl.
According to Pak Dhalang only the jaranan pat, kucingan and barongan
were an integral part of the core of the performance. The jaranan nem, jaranan
ro and barongan-cèlèngan had been added later, he said, in order to expand
Samboyo Putro’s performances into events filling a whole day or night. The
spectators would be disappointed if the performance ended too soon.
188 Jaranan
Each act, in turn, was made up of two parts, namely a rigorously directed
opening dance followed by an often chaotic trance phase. This second phase,
which included the dramatic improvisations initiated by the two gambuh,
invariably took up the greater part of the relevant act. In the performance
in Pulihrejo, which started at 7.26 p.m., immediately following the opening
ritual, and ended at 4.24 a.m. the next day – and hence lasted 8 hours, 58 min-
utes – the total duration of the first, formal part of all five acts combined was
2 hours, 50 minutes (for the dance), over against 5 hours, 49 minutes (for the
trance including dramatic improvisations) for the second, improvising part.
Table 3. Duration of the dance and the trance plus improvisations in the performance
Act Duration of Duration of Total duration

the dance the trance plus of act
improvisation
1 jaranan nem 30 minutes 40 minutes 70 minutes

2 jaranan pat 38 minutes 122 minutes 160 minutes
3 jaranan ro 29 minutes 67 minutes 96 minutes
4 kucingan 27 minutes 59 minutes 86 minutes
5 barongan-cèlèngan 46 minutes 61 minutes 107 minutes
Total 170 minutes 349 minutes 519 minutes
The remaining nineteen minutes were spread over four intermissions

between the different acts, when the performers retired to get changed and
take a breather. During these interludes Pak Dhalang and Bu Swarawati often
sang a medley of popular songs to entertain the audience and prevent its
being disappointed and leaving early – the risk of which seemed to be present
all the time, considering Pak Dhalang’s repeated admonitions.
The role played by Pak Dhalang
I tape-recorded the performance in Pulihrejo in its entirety. Because I was

interested first and foremost in Pak Dhalang’s role, and I only had one micro-
phone at my disposal, the verbal contributions of the musicians, including
Bu Swarawati, are often difficult to understand in this recording. These can
therefore only be considered sporadically in the discussion.
Pak Dhalang had the responsibility for the greater part of the spoken and
chanted contributions, frequently in consultation with one or other of the
musicians. His ‘conducting’ consisted chiefly in intonation of the songs and
chants, which were then sometimes taken over or backed by Bu Swarawati
and/or other members of the group. He also often suggested particular songs
Pak Dhalang. Photograph by author.
or melodies at points where there was confusion about this among the musi-
cians as a result of conflicting requests from the dancers. Pak Dhalang’s and
Bu Swarawati’s singing was regularly backed by choral singing (gérongan),
exclamations (senggakan) and clapping (keplokan) by the musicians, which
greatly enhanced the liveliness of the performance.
The verbal contributions consisted both of texts explaining or commenting
on the action or introducing the actors, and of songs and communications
190 Jaranan
intended primarily to create the right mood. Texts of the first type, constitut-
ing by far the smallest minority, formed part of Pak Dhalang’s regular reper-
toire. For his incidental verbal contributions he let himself be inspired by the
situation of the moment, as he himself said. In these he continually reacted
to the wishes of the dancers, the musicians, or the audience and, last but not
least, the host. For, besides being conductor of the musicians, Pak Dhalang
also acted as master of ceremonies in Pulihrejo.
The lyrics of the regular and incidental songs rendered by Pak Dhalang
and Bu Swarawati were jotted down in a handbook (pakem) consisting of a
number of exercise books. This handbook was continually supplemented
with the lyrics of new songs that became popular at a given moment because
they featured in some popular radio or television programme, movie, or
wayang or kethoprak performance.
I shall now discuss three types of text in succession, namely texts pertain-
ing to the course of the performance and containing references to the legend,
other chants and songs, and announcements and speeches by Pak Dhalang in
his capacity as master of ceremonies of the evening.
The presentation of the legend
The texts from this category that I came across served to announce a new act,
to introduce the dancers, to comment on the dancing, or to encourage the
fighting. As a rule they were brief and in prose. The two exceptions to this
which I noted were the song about the bridal choice of the princess of Kediri
and that about Klana Séwandana and Pujangga-Anom, both of them pre-
sented in act four (kucingan). The first of these two songs was sung in Javanese
verse (tembang macapat) in the ‘small’ metre Dhandhanggula, the second in a
free melody not bound by any particular metre. The lyrics of these two songs
were noted down in Pak Dhalang’s and Bu Swarawati’s handbooks. The other
texts in this group were reproduced from memory, be it in fairly stereotyped
wording, by Pak Dhalang.
Because at the performance in Pulihrejo Pak Dhalang only turned up in
the middle of act one (jaranan nem), the customary introduction to this act
was omitted. Although Pak Slomprèt, assisted by Bu Swarawati, stood in for
him temporarily, they did not once refer to the legend. It was not until the
dancers had retired to the makeshift dressing room in the first interval that
Pak Dhalang, who had meanwhile arrived, explained the plot of the legend.
Although he did not do so in the form of a song, he did use practically the
same wording as in the chanted version discussed above. Immediately fol-
lowing this he announced the arrival of the four horsemen, as follows:
Menika cariyosipun mekaten. Mangké adegan ingkang angka kalih menika medal kuda
képang sekawan minangka prajurit lan badhé nglebeti patembaya. Njih menika ngasta
kuda képang menika anggambaraken duk ing nguni. (008)
‘The story runs thus. Presently, in act two, four kuda képang will enter. They repre-
sent soldiers and will take part [as their master’s attendants] in the bridal choice
contest. Indeed, those holding bamboo horses in their hands depict how things
were in the past.’
While Pak Gambuh summoned the four horse dancers one by one, Pak
Dhalang encouraged them with cries like:
Paraga Sambaya Putraaa! Kalisaa ing sambékala. (010)
‘Samboyo Putro! May you be free from misfortune.’
As soon as the horsemen had taken up their positions opposite the game-
lan, but on the other side of the performance area, Pak Dhalang once again
announced the second act, followed by a prayer. Thereupon he gave the four
horsemen a signal to start dancing, saying:
Para tamtama magita-gita lumeksana baris; Paraga Sambaya Putraaa! Siyagaaa! (011)
‘The soldiers excitedly go and stand in line. Samboyo Putro! Attention!’

(Literally: ‘Prepare yourselves!’)
While the horsemen were dancing their set routines, Pak Dhalang sang all
kinds of songs that bore no relation whatever to the legend or to what was
going on in the performance area, both together and alternately with Bu
Swarawati. The horsemen, accompanying themselves with loud whip cracks
and tinkling anklets, meanwhile went on dancing imperturbably. Just before
the first horseman went into a trance, Pak Dhalang asked the following rhe-
torical question:
Sinten ta ingkang nitih kuda képang sekawan menika?
‘Who are the persons riding these four bamboo horses?’
To which he himself immediately replied:

Para prajurit utawi tamtama ingkang badhé nglebeti patembaya ing kitha Kedhiri, saperlu
dhèrèkaken Pangéran Toh Bagus kinanthèn Patih Pujangga-Anom ingkang ngrasuk busa-
naning kaprajuritan ingkang ngasta pusakaning pecut Kyai Samandiman. Lampahnya
para tamtama galiyak-galiyak kados gajah kélangan srati. (018)
The numbers between round brackets refer to the recorded sequence in the Appendix.
192 Jaranan
‘It is the soldiers, or rather the army, on the way to the town of Kediri to take
part in the bridal choice contest. They have to escort Prince Toh Bagus and his
patih, Pujangga-Anom, attired in battledress and holding the sacred whip Kyai
Samandiman in their hands. The soldiers are advancing slowly but steadily, like
elephants that have lost their mahout.’
Only at this point in the story does it become apparent that the soldiers are
escorting their master, Toh Bagus, to Kediri – a detail I have already added
between square brackets in the translation above. This is just one example of
the way in which Pak Dhalang unfolded the plot bit by bit, by adding sup-
plementary information each time he was referring to the legend.
From the time the first of the four horsemen went into a trance, not long
after this last statement, the legend was ignored. The remainder of the ver-
bal contribution to this second act consisted of announcements and popular
songs, which will be discussed in the next section.
The two horsemen entering for act three after another short interval were
announced as follows by Pak Dhalang:
Para rawuh ingkang minulya menika badhé medal ingkang angka tiga minangka sénapa-
tining praja. (022)
‘Honoured guests, the persons about to enter for [act] number three represent the
commanders-in-chief of the realm.’
After the two horsemen had gone through their regular patterns for a while,
Pak Dhalang introduced them once again. He added a few comments, how-
ever, which referred not so much to the performance as to the local situation,
and as such were obviously appreciated by the audience.
Para rawuh ingkang minulya kuda képang kalih menika anggambaraken sénapatining
praja ingkang badhé mriksani ing babakan wewangunan menapa kémawon kadosta kala
wau saking Bandar sowan dhateng Pulihreja, griya-griya sampun saé, néon-néon sampun
padhang njingglang, andamel reseping para kadang mitra sami. Tamtama magita-gita
lumaksana baris. Paraga Sambaya Putraaa! Siyagaaa! (023)
‘Honoured guests, the two kuda képang represent the two commanders-in-chief
of the realm intending to inspect the newly reclaimed areas and buildings, or
whatever. Having just come from Bandar for a visit to Pulihrejo, [they see] that the
houses are fine and the neon lights are shining brightly, which is causing relatives
and friends all to be pleased. The soldiers excitedly go and stand in line. Samboyo
Putro! Attention!’
As the dance of the two commanders-in-chief grew wilder and wilder, Pak
Dhalang sang a medley of popular tunes, only sporadically interrupted by a
brief comment on what was taking place in the performance area, as in the
following example, in which he involved the gamelan as well:
Sinten ta! Para tamtama kalih menika anggambaraken sénapatining praja ingkang
ngrasuk busananing kaprajuritan, nitih kuda, ngasta pusakaning pecut Kyai Samandiman.
Binarung laras ing pradangga, kempul kendhang trompèt munya, surak-surak para niyaga
gumuruh ambata rubuh. Lampahnya para sénapati galiyak-galiyak kados gajah kélangan
srati. (026)
‘Whoever can it be! The two soldiers represent the commanders-in-chief of the
realm; attired in battledress, they are mounted on horseback, holding the sacred
whip Kyai Samandiman in their hands. The gamelan is harmoniously joining in.
Kempul, kendhang, slomprèt, let’s hear you. Let the cheers of the musicians sound
like the rumbling of tumbling bricks. The commanders-in-chief are advancing
slowly but steadily, like elephants that have lost their mahout.’
Pak Slomprèt reacted with a few bars on his instrument, whereat Pak Dhalang
concluded with the words:
Para sénapati mriksani para tamtama ingkang wajib wonten ing palagan. Swantenipun
pecut Kyai Samandiman amecahna ing langit. Hooo! (026)
‘The commanders-in-chief are reviewing the troops, who are performing their
duty on the battleground. The whip Kyai Samandiman sounds as if it is causing
the heavens to split. Whoa!’
Of the many songs, comments and announcements in act three, these were
the only fragments to refer to the legend or to the dancers. When during the
trance phase a few members of the company, assisted by several children
from the audience, performed a wayang play (027), Pak Dhalang joined in
with total abandon from the sidelines, backed loudly by the musicians and
the enthusiastic crowd. At the end of this play he picked up the thread of the
performance again. Until the dancers were brought to from their trance, he
sang a variety of popular songs again, regularly backed by Bu Swarawati and
occasional choral singing by the musicians.
In the brief interval following this third act, Pak Dhalang left the gamelan
with a few of the musicians to have a meal that had meanwhile been put
ready for the performers in the dressing room. The other musicians and Bu
Swarawati kept the performance going by singing and playing all kinds of
tunes, some of them in reaction to suggestions from the audience.
As soon as Pak Dhalang returned to the gamelan, he resumed his role as
director and announced act four with the words:
Para rawuh ingkang minulya adegan salajengipun menika medalipun Pangéran Toh
Bagus kinanthèn Patih Pujangga-Anom. Menika ingkang badhé ngayahi wajib wonten ing
palagan, saperlu nglebeti patembaya, dipunselingi laup-laup kridha jiwa. (030)
‘Honoured guests, this is the next act. Enter Prince Toh Bagus who, accompanied
by Patih Pujangga-Anom, will do his duty in battle, with the intention of taking
part in the bridal choice contest. [Their entry] is interspersed with cheers.’
194 Jaranan
Pak Dhalang then gave the musicians the signal to start playing and sang a
five-stanza song in the Dhandhanggula metre, the last two stanzas of which
contained the history from the legend as reproduced above. Because the danc-
ers and a few of the musicians were still in the dressing room having their
meal, Pak Dhalang, assisted by Bu Swarawati and the diminished orchestra,
entertained the audience with a medley of tunes. As soon as the musicians
returned to the gamelan, however, Pak Dhalang shouted:
Ayo kang, saiki tindak sowang-sowang ing kutha Panaraga! (033)
‘Come on, brother, now let every single person proceed to Ponorogo.’
This was the sign (sasmita) for the musicians to start playing the melody
for the opening dance of act four. The piercing tones of the slomprèt, which
sounded shrilly above the rest of the orchestra, immediately created an excit-
ed mood. With loud cracks of his big whip Kyai Samandiman, Pak Samboyo
now summoned Toh Bagus and Pujangga-Anom to come on. Standing facing
one another, they straightaway started dancing, encouraged at short intervals
by Pak Dhalang with cries like:
Pangéran Toh Bagus ingkang badhé ngayahi wajib, tindak dhateng kitha Kadhiri, prang
tandhingipun kaliyan Patih Singakumbang. (034)
‘Prince Toh Bagus, who will do his duty. He is on his way to the town of Kediri
[for] his duel with Patih Singakumbang.’
As the action progressed, Pak Dhalang sang about horses gasping for breath
and Pujangga-Anom dancing the kiprah. This song was immediately followed
by the song ‘Klana Séwandana’, about the fight between the hero Klana
Séwandana (alias Toh Bagus) and his chief minister Pujangga-Anom on the
one hand, and Singakumbang on the other, which was sung in a free metre. A
few lines were also devoted to a more domestic kind of scene, however, while
reference was made as well to a number of gamelan instruments.
Klana Séwandana ‘Klana Séwandana,

raja mudha ing Panaraga, the viceroy of Ponorogo,
siyaga ing yuda nglawan ready for battle [and] offering resistance
ratu rai singa. to the lion-faced ruler.
Ngasta pusakaning pecut In his hand he holds the sacred whip

Kyai Samandiman, Kyai Samandiman;
perangé sangsaya ramé the fighting is becoming fiercer and fiercer,
kekaroné padha sektiné. the two are equal in magic power.
Pujangga-Anom nglawan pepatihé Pujangga-Anom fights with the patih

ratu rai singa. of the lion-faced ruler.

Swaraning pecut Samandiman The sound of the whip Samandiman
mecahna ing angkasa. as it were causes the heavens to split.
Biyung rina wengi Day and night Mother

tansah uyang-uyung, trudges around and around,
nggéndhong aku nganti aku carrying me on her hip till I
bisa lumaku. am able to walk.
Ayo kanca padha bekti Come, friends, pay respect

maring yayah réna. to father and mother.
Binarung larasé pradangga Sound the kempul, kendhang and slomprèt

kempul kendhang trompèt munya. in tune with the gamelan.
Surak-surak para niyaga The cheers of the musicians
gumuruh ambata rubuh. [sound like] the rumbling of tumbling bricks.
Ya suraka-surak horé! Iya! Let us cheer, hurray!

Ya suraka-surak horé! (035) Let us cheer, hurray!’
After that the kucingan Singakumbang entered. The remainder of the songs
bore no relation whatever either to the legend or to what was going on in the
performance area. Toh Bagus’ and Pujangga-Anom’s dance, which began as
a series of hand-to-hand fights, soon degenerated into a wild chase, in which
now Singakumbang, now one of the two knights was the challenger. They
were encouraged by Pak Dhalang with shouts like:
Pangéran Toh Bagus kinanthèn Patih Pujangga-Anom wajib ngayahi, wajib wonten ing
palagan. Prang tandhing kaliyan Patih Singabarong katungka galiyak sato galak. (036)
‘Prince Toh Bagus, accompanied by Patih Pujangga-Anom, does his duty, his duty
on the battlefield. He has a duel with Patih Singabarong, with the slowly and
steadily approaching dangerous animals at his heels.’
After a while, when the action in the performance area became increasingly
wilder, he added:
Prangipun Patih Pujangga-Anom kaliyan Singakumbang anggegirisi, katungka sato galak
sadulur kaliyan wanara. (037)
‘Patih Pujangga-Anom’s fight with Singakumbang is terrifying. They are soon fol-
lowed by the dangerous animals, brother [Macan] and monkey [Kethèk].’
When Singakumbang eventually went into a trance and fell to the ground,
Pak Dhalang made the following announcement:
Prang tandhing Pangéran Toh Bagus kaliyan Pujangga-Anom. Lampahnya Patih Singa
kumbang sampun nglunasi, katungka lampahnya sadulur kaliyan wanara. (038)
196 Jaranan
‘Prince Toh Bagus’ and Pujangga-Anom’s duel. Patih Singakumbang has died. He
is soon followed by brother [Macan] and monkey [Kethèk].’
A little after this, Singakumbang came bursting into the dressing room. Only
now did Macan and Kethèk (the sato galak) come on. They were accompanied
by Pak Dhalang, in turns growling, hissing or roaring like a tiger and screech-
ing like a monkey. When Macan was placed on the ground in front of the
gamelan and left there for dead, one of the performers drily observed:
Macané mati. (039)
‘The tiger is dead.’
The remainder of this act consisted of acrobatics and often comical antics by
the two knights and the sato galak Kethèk and Macan. The latter had mean-
while reappeared without his mask. His ‘death’ apparently symbolized his
being ‘dead’ to the world, or really in trance, in the same way as Kethèk, who
had likewise lost his mask.
In the interval following this fourth act, Pak Dhalang immediately
announced act five with the words:
Para rawuh ingkang minulya, ingkang nitih kuda menika anggambaraken babaring prang
tandhing kaliyan Singabarong. Kadospundi babaring cariyos. Para tamtama magita-gita
lumaksana baris. Paraga Sambaya Putraaa! Siyagaaa! (040)
‘Honoured guests, those mounted on horseback depict the course of the duel with
Singabarong. How will the story unfold? The soldiers excitedly go and stand in
line. Samboyo Putro! Attention!’
At that same moment Toh Bagus entered and summoned on the six horsemen
one by one with cracks of his big whip. Pak Dhalang once more sang a med-
ley of popular songs in accompaniment of the dancers. At a given moment he
interrupted his musical contribution with the announcement:
Para tamtama ingkang ngrasuk busananing kaprajuritan, ingkang nitih kuda ngasta
pusakaning pecut Kyai Samandiman, ingkang badhé siyaga ing yuda prang tandhing kali-
yan Singabarong. Swaraning pecut Kyai Samandiman amecahna ing angkasa. Lampahnya
para tamtama galiyak-galiyak kados gajah ngoling. (042)
‘The soldiers, attired in battledress, mounted on horseback, and holding the sacred
whip Kyai Samandiman in their hands, are preparing for battle, a duel with
Singabarong. The sound of the sacred whip Kyai Samandiman is as it were causing
the heavens to split. The soldiers are slowly lumbering along, shifting their weight
from one foot to the other like elephants.’
Pak Slomprèt immediately joined in, but was almost straightaway interrupt-
ed by Pak Dhalang, who started singing the song for Singabarong as the latter
came on dancing. His dance soon lapsed into a succession of hand-to-hand
fights between him and one horseman after the other, however. Pak Dhalang
again did his bit here, alternating his roaring and hissing with exclamations
like:
Singabarong katitihaken pecut.
‘Singabarong is made to mount the whip.’
And:
Prang tandhingipun Singabarong kaliyan para prajurit. Swaraning pecut Kyai
Samandiman amecahna ing angkasa. (044)
‘The duel between Singabarong and the soldiers. The sound of the sacred whip
Kyai Samandiman is as it were causing the heavens to split.’
Meanwhile the wild boar had also entered. Because of the enormous din
in the gamelan as well as in the performance area and in the audience, Pak
Dhalang’s comments here were very hard to hear.
Cèlèng gèmbèl katindakaken gèmbèl subekti. Medalipun cèlèng gèmbèl menika minangka
purnaning pasugatan. Kados pundi prang tandhingipun para tamtama kaliyan cèlèng
gèmbèl? (045)
‘The cèlèng gèmbèl appears as a wild boar bearing respect. The entrance of this
cèlèng gèmbèl is meant to render the reception of the guests complete. How will the
duels of the soldiers with cèlèng gèmbèl proceed?’
As Pak Dhalang uttered these words, he switched off the microphone, inti-
mating that his task was accomplished. He left the gamelan to await the end
of the performance in the dressing room. The play was still in full swing,
however, and would continue for almost another hour. The remainder of the
time was mostly filled in with all kinds of games to be discussed later.
Comments
It is evident from the above how loose the connection between the legend and
the action in the performance area really was. Not only was nothing but a bare
outline of the legend presented in the texts recited by Pak Dhalang, but also
little further elaboration of it was given here. In addition it is apparent from
the extremely formulaic wording of Pak Dhalang’s comments and announce-
ments that the story played only a very minor role in the performance.
What was striking was that the introduction of the actors invariably took
198 Jaranan
place in stages, whereby a new detail was added to the information each time.
Although the dance offered no clues as to what part of the legend the dancers
were supposed to be acting, the texts did provide some information on this.
So we were told, for instance, that the four horsemen in the second act (jaranan
pat) and the two horsemen in the third act (jaranan ro) represented Toh Bagus’
soldiers and commanders-in-chief respectively. The obvious inference then
is that the group of six horsemen in the first and fifth acts (jaranan nem and
barongan-cèlèngan) represented the four soldiers and the two commanders-in-
chief together. The information about this in the texts is not decisive, as the
horsemen were not introduced individually in these acts. Inggris’ earlier cited
article indicates that in Jogonalan a definite distinction was made between the
roles of the various horse dancers. The two foremost of the group of six horse-
men there appeared to represent the commanders (Inggris 1923:104).
The actors with djaran-képang stand in two lines side by side. The two foremost
actors play the part of commanders and carry a club or a sword. Their names are
usually Tatit and Mendoeng – Tatit means ‘thunderless lightning’, and Mendoeng
‘rain cloud’ – while the four other actors hold a plume in their hands.
Tatit and Mendoeng, each accompanied by two other actors on horseback, perform
a fight as they dance, in which Mendoeng is defeated.
The information concerning the performers given by Pak Dhalang served as a

loose link between the various acts. His songs, comments and cries of encour-
agement were chiefly aimed at livening up the performance. In this respect
these texts actually differed little from the songs to be discussed below.
The remaining, chanted contributions
The song ‘Sun puji dhateng Pangéran’ (‘I pray to the Lord’), which was sung
at the opening of every performance by Samboyo Putro and repeated end-
lessly in its course, gives a good idea of the type of song that was intended
to create the appropriate mood. For this reason I shall reproduce the lyrics of
this song, chanted in a free metre, in their entirety here.
Sun puji dhateng Pangéran ‘I pray to the Lord

mugi kadang mitra sami that relatives and friends
kalisa ing sambékala may remain free from trouble
anebihna ing bilai. and that mishaps may remain far.
Acelakna ing panunggil May that which unites come near,

ngrungkebi kersa njunjung, [let us] embrace and foster
budaya Jawi asli the authentic Javanese culture
traping tatakrama. in accordance with good manners.
Para kadang mitra sami Brothers, sisters and friends are all
mirsani kuda képang, watching [the feats of] the kuda képang
Rt. pitu dunungipun from household number seven.
Balong padhépokané. In Balong is the house,
Bandar-lèr dhusunipun Bandar-lèr is the village

budaya Jawi asli, of authentic Javanese culture
naluri leluhur kita handed down from our ancestors
ingkang sampun sampurna. who have passed away [literally ‘are perfect’].
Bapa Sambaya pandhégané Father Samboyo is the head

Sambaya Putra Sambaya Putra of Samboyo Putro. May Samboyo Putro
kalisa ing sambékala, remain free from trouble,
mugi Gusti paring pangayoman may the Lord offer protection to us,
kawula tansah ngabekti. who pay Him respect continually.
Mula sinaua basa Begin by studying polite speech

rakitané gendhing Jawi, and the arrangement of Javanese music,
iku ngemu surasa with the intention
anuntun lakuning budi. to be guided by reason.
Nadyan ta sira tan wasis Though you are not really competent,
wajibé kudu angrungu, you must listen
sakecap wanda pada to the spoken word and the form of the
suku pelik menyang legena. punctuation marks, the ‘u’, the ‘i’, up to the bare
character.
Binarung larasé pradangga Harmonizing with the sound of the gamelan,

kempul kendhang trompèt munya the kempul, kendhang and trompèt sound,
surak-surak para niyaga the cheering of the musicians
gumuruh ambata rubuh. is like the confused rumbling of tumbling bricks.
Ya suraka-surak horé! Yes, cheer, cheer, hurray!

Ya suraka-surak horé! (001) Yes, cheer, cheer, hurray!’
Pak Dhalang’s prayer for an undisturbed gathering and request for attention
for authentic Javanese culture – by which he meant in particular the horse
dance, spoken and written Javanese, and gamelan music – as well as the
publicity he made for his own company constituted important components
of Samboyo Putro’s message to the audience. This message was continually
repeated, in the same or a slightly different wording, in both the spoken
and the chanted texts throughout the performance. Its aim, according to Pak
Dhalang, was to stimulate the spectators’ love for their cultural legacy and to
impress upon them that they all shared the responsibility for its preservation.
He gave the Javanese character of the performance extra emphasis by singing
numerous traditional folk songs and chants in various Javanese metres (tem-
200 Jaranan
bang macapat). Although he and Bu Swarawati also rendered old and modern
Indonesian songs, at the request of the trance dancers and the audience, their
respective contributions may be regarded first and foremost as a tribute to
Javanese culture. I shall give a few more examples of this below.
Pak Dhalang intoned the song ‘Poma-poma wekas mami’ (‘My urgent
message’), in the ‘small’ Asmaradana metre, at the point where the first of the
six horsemen of the first act (jaranan nem) went into trance.
Poma-poma wekas mami My urgent message

mring anak putuku to my children and grandchildren is:
aja katungkul uripé don’t let yourselves be totally preoccupied by life
lan aja karem mring pepaès or your minds clouded by the superficialities of
donya; the world,
siyang dalu dèn émut [but] be aware day and night
yèn urip manggih antaka. that life ends in death.
Putra kadang kula sami Children and friends,

sumangga ta kita samya let us
tansah atut ing buriné ever steadily follow
mring pitedah kang prayoga the wise advice
nuju mrih karaharjan; aimed at [our] well-being.
datan kongsi kalimput For one’s mind not to be clouded
kedah kanthi kawaspadan. one has to act with alertness.
Yen tindak kudu tumolih If one sets out on a journey, one must look around
mring kanan lan kirinira to right and to left
awya kongsi katalumpèn take care never to forget it.
iku araning waspada It is called alertness
yèn ta ana bebaya when, if danger threatens,
sumadya sadèrèngipun one is prepared.
bakal manggih karaharjan. Then one will meet with good fortune.
Sampun kathah ingkang bukti Many have proof [already]

sinten ta ingkang sembrana that those who are irresponsible
mesthi nampi ganjarané, are sure to receive their reward,
awit menika sinedya because they are determined
datan nuruti pitedah not to follow the advice
saking para pinisepuh of their elders,
nuruti karsa priyangga. [but] their own wishes.
Wit kasmaran mardi siwi Love starts

timbang samya darbé rasa with concentration on the younger generation,
sumrambah andhap asor; in accordance with one’s feelings.
tandang-tanduk solah bawan One’s actions must
witira lan renga amrih be equally divided among high and low,
datan kari utangku so that my debt will not remain;
tinggal duga lan prayoga. act with prudence.
Prayogané wong urip It is fitting that you

kudu ngerti empan-papan should know your place in life
mapakaké ragané; and act accordingly.
anengganana kalumrahan Abide by custom
nèng jagat sesrawungan in your dealings with others
ja gagé déning patempuh do not go hasty to your goal
mundhak samya ingéwanan (006) otherwise you will give offence.
According to Pak Dhalang, he tried with this song to soothe people’s feelings,
which had become very heated as a result of the stirring music. The song
‘Tumrap kawula gesang menika’ (‘In our view, in this life you must’), ren-
dered in the ‘small’ Dhandhanggula metre, had the same moralistic purport.
Tumrap kawula gesang puniki In our view, in this life you must
tansah èngeta mring Gustinira be ever mindful of the Lord,
ingkang tansah nedahaké Who unceasingly
sedaya marginipun points out all the ways
kajujuran kalawan ing ngerti of honesty and understanding.
kudu tumindak prasaja You must be straightforward
ngudia kautaman, and strive after virtue.
déné srananipun The means towards this is
datan ana penggalih to be free from thoughts
nuju ing pamrih focused on ulterior motives
lan tumindak angkara. and not to act out of self-interest.
Punapa ta ingkang dènnaluri What we will imitate

kagungan Jawi kita sadaya is our common Javanese heritage;
sampun wonten ingkang supé let nothing be forgotten
kinarya buktinipun [but let it] serve as proof
bilih kita trahing Jawi that we are of Javanese descent
punika kinarya tanda and be a sign
dèn tuhonana kesenianipun; that the arts are faithfully practised.
datan ana penggalih Let us be free from thoughts
nuju ing pamrih focused on ulterior motives
lan tumindak angkara. and not act out of self-interest.
Pra miyarsa kadang mitra sami Listeners, relatives and friends, all of you
sumangga ta dimidhangetaké come, let us listen at this hour of the night
macapat ing wanci dalu to [the song in] the ‘small’ metre;
datan kilap sutrisna macapat; do not say ‘love for the macapat is alien to me’.
malem mangkat haririrèki The night of this day is beginning
malem tirakatan [with] this night wake.
Mugi Hyang Mahaagung May God Most High
peparinga mring kawula offer protection to His servants
202 Jaranan
ingkang tansah ngabekti who show Him respect

paringa pangayoman. (019) without cease.
Like the opening song ‘Sun puji maring Pangéran’, this song was repeated
several times by Pak Dhalang and Bu Swarawati in turns during the perform-
ance, each time with slight variations in wording. At the beginning of act four
(kucingan) it was immediately followed by the song about the bridal choice of
the Princess of Kediri with which we are already familiar.
The last song in tembang macapat to be sung by Pak Dhalang was ‘Ana
kidung kang rumeksa ing wengi’ (‘There is a song that affords protection in
the night’), namely at Singabarong’s entrance in act five (barongan-cèlèngan).
This song in the ‘small’ Dhandhanggula metre was allegedly still frequently
sung in the villages to lull little children to sleep. It is to be found, with minor
variations, in numerous songbooks. The version sung by Pak Dhalang ran as
follows.
Ana kidung kang rumeksa ing wengi There is a song that affords protection in the
night,
teguh ayu luputa ing lara steadfast, unharmed, free from disease
luputa bilai kabèh and from all misfortune;
jim sétan datan purun evil spirits and demons are loth,
pan rowang tan ana wani and their comrades do not dare
miwah panggawé ala; to practise black magic.
gunané wong luput Other people’s magic miscarries;
geni atemahan tirta fire ends up being water,
maling adoh tan ngarah mring wak thieves keep at a distance, none targets me,
mami
guna duduk pan sirna. for the spell and the magic vanish.
Sakèh lara pan samya bali All illness returns forthwith,

sakèh ngama pan samya miruda all plagues flee together;
welas asih panduluné the sight of it is pitiful,
kadi kapuk tibaning wesi; just like iron falling on kapok.
tibaning wesi tawa, The impact of iron is harmless,
sato galak lutut, wild beasts become tame,
sakèhing braja luput; all weapons miss their target.
kayu aèng lemah sangar Curious trees, haunted ground,
songing landhak, guwaning wong, the porcupine’s burrow, men’s caves,
lemah miring, sloping ground,
kadi pakipaning merak. (043) like the peacock’s bower.
Like many Javanese, Pak Dhalang believed that this song was an exception-
ally potent charm against evil (see also Arps 1996:48). It was no coincidence,
in fact, that it was sung at Singabarong’s entrance. For, as I demonstrated in
the preceding chapter, he was identified with the principal guardian spirit
of Kediri and was the real protagonist of the performance. From him people
expected to receive blessings, which was the chief objective of the perform-
ance, besides providing entertainment.
In addition to the above songs with a moralistic or exorcist purport, Pak
Dhalang and Bu Swarawati presented a large variety of popular songs, many
of them with an erotic tinge, referring to incidents in day-to-day life. Only
seldom was there a connection with what was going on on-stage at that par-
ticular moment. Many of these songs were repeated several times, in part or
in their entirety, at the request of the dancers and/or the audience. Frequently
only the first few notes were sung, either because the particular song was
immediately rejected or because another dancer put in a new request.
Here it is only possible to discuss a small number of the songs rendered by
Pak Dhalang, as many of the lyrics were hard to understand or totally unin-
telligible because of the enormous background noise. The songs included
some that had been collected by Overbeck as far back as 1938 (Overbeck
1938). Most if not all were, in fact, the audience’s common property. Hence
their intelligibility was not really important.
A striking feature of many of these songs was that they were made up of a
series of disconnected statements, grouped together in varying combinations
and moreover interchangeable with fragments from other songs. They were
often difficult to translate. With one or two exceptions, I shall restrict myself
to a brief characterization of these songs.
At the entrance of the four horsemen for the second act (jaranan pat), Pak
Dhalang sang the well-known Indonesian song ‘Bengawan Solo’ (009), which
according to Pak Tjokromihardjo of Kediri was popular already when he was
a youngster and so must date from around World War II at the latest. It sings
the praises of he river flowing through the Central Javanese town of Solo.
At the onset of the trance of the four horsemen Pak Dhalang sang the song
‘Lenggang Kangkung’ (kangkung, an aquatic plant, a variety of spinach) (012).
Because he frequently repeated various lines and words of this song, its four-
line structure was not immediately apparent. The text without the repetitions
runs as follows:
Lénggang-lénggang kangkung
kangkung di kana-kana.
Pulang sama tambung
jiwa manis terbayang-bayang.
‘Leisurely swinging one’s arms [on one’s way],

with kangkung plants like ‘gold’ bracelets,
[then ] returning home as if in blissful ignorance
[with the image of] a sweet creature in mind.’
204 Jaranan
The two last lines of the poem indicate that it is a pantun (Javanese parikan)
– a four-line epigrammatic type of poem, very popular among the Javanese,
of which the last two lines are the punchlines.
Familiar characters from the wayang repertoire, in particular the clowns,
were often also the subject of these songs. So in the third interlude Pak Dhalang
sang the following song after his introduction of act four (kucingan).
Nèng karang dhong pelik lédhang
Kyai Lurah Semar sapranakané miyat kebon
sami ngundhuh taru pala
sesuka sesindhènan samya njogèd genti-genti. (032)
‘Kyai Lurah Semar and his sons

are strolling to Karang dhong pelik, to the garden;
they pick the fruit of the nutmeg trees,
amusing themselves by singing and dancing in turns.’
The point at which this song was sung, namely when Toh Bagus, the protago-
nist of the legend (though not of the performance, as we saw above), was about
to enter, was very much reminiscent of the corresponding point in shadow
plays at which the hero (or heroine) of the story first comes on. His entrance is
invariably preceded by a comical interlude featuring Semar and his sons. The
similarity between wayang plays and Samboyo Putro’s performance can be
taken a step further still. In wayang plays, the entrance of the clown-servants,
followed by the hero or heroine, at the beginning of the second (and middle)
act, marks the end of the introductory part of the performance (the exposition)
and the beginning of the denouement. In jaranan performances, the entrance of
Toh Bagus – first his ‘fight’ with the forest animals, or sato galak, and then his
encounter with the long-awaited Singabarong – likewise invariably indicated
that the play was moving towards its climax from that point on.
Pak Dhalang always scored a great success with allusions to the local situ-
ation in his medley of popular Javanese and Indonesian songs. He invariably
concluded the enumeration of familiar Javanese place names in the song
‘Njajah désa milang kori’ (‘Travelling to many places’) (014) with the name
of the place where the relevant performance was being held, hence in this
case Pulihrejo.
Pak Dhalang likewise often seized on the song ‘Baris terik témpé’ (‘A row
of meat and soy dishes’) (024) as an opportunity for establishing a link with
the local situation by giving an enumeration of the dishes set out on the table
with offerings by the host or hostess. This was not the case in Pulihrejo, how-
ever, where he restricted himself to a series of disconnected statements on
the following subjects: a row of meat and soy dishes (line 1); burnt soybeans
on a tray (line 2); ducks swimming in the river (line 3); rubbing oneself with
scented soap (line 4); gently stirring flowers representing the soldiers (?)
(lines 5 and 6); friendship turning into enmity, and an attempt at reconcili-
ation (lines 7-12); a warning against divine punishment, and a confirmation
(lines 13-15); and a tangy fruit dish (line 16). He concluded this with the fol-
lowing three lines:
17 jaran képang mangan pari
18 klambi abang marahi
19 Hahuha hi hi! Hahuha hi hi!
17 ‘The jaran képang eats unhusked rice;

18 [the one with] the red jacket is the seducer.
19 Hahuha hi hi! Hahuha hi hi!’
The song ‘Cempa ya rowa’ (‘Short-grained red rice for the party’) (025) may
be classed in the same category. It likewise consisted of disjointed statements
alternating with onomatopoeia. It had the same ending as the preceding
song, with one minor variation, in the Javanese text below.
jaran képang mangan pari
klambi abang sing marahi.
‘The jaran képang eats unhusked rice;

[it is the one with the] red jacket who is the seducer.’
This is an example of the interchangeability of the various fragments.

Fragments that were identical or contained minor variations were often
attached to different songs without any transition. This was the case with,
for instance, the songs ‘Ayo ngguyu’ (‘Come on, smile’) (016), an appeal to
give expression to one’s joy, though not too noisily (aja seru-seru), and ‘Kecik-
kecik isiné sawo’ (029), in which the opening line and a warning (lines 1
and 2) are followed by a statement about the lost stone of a ring (line 3) and
an admonition not to forget one’s friends (line 4). These songs were sung in
acts two (jaranan pat) and three (jaranan ro) respectively at the request of the
trance dancers. Both included the statement, with only minor variations, that
the crowing of the cock at dawn is a sign for people to rise (lines 5 and 6),
followed by an exhortation for people to enjoy themselves but not to forget
to remain alert (lines 7 and 8).
‘Ayo ngguyu’ (016) ‘Kecik-kecik isiné sawo’ (029)

line 5 ésuk-ésuk jagoné padha keluruk ésuk-ésuk jagoné keluruk
line 6 pratandhané yèn bangun ésuk mratandhané yèn bangun ésuk
line 7 ayo kanca padha suka-suka ayo kanca padha suka-suka
line 8 sajroning suka éling karo waspada élinga kelawan waspada
206 Jaranan
Another example of the combination of loose fragments is the song ‘Lur kilir
kilur kombang’ (kombang, ‘carpenter bee’) (041), sung in the course of act
five (barongan). Its first four lines correspond, with only one tiny difference,
with song no. 388 in Overbeck, which contains the same opening lines, left
untranslated by Overbeck (1938:210).
Pak Dhalang Overbeck no. 388

Lur kilir kilur kombang Loer kilir-kiloer kombang
kombangé janur kombangé djanoer
bocah cilik turu kasur botjah tjilik toeroe kasoer
embahé nusul. baboené noesoel.
? (?)

‘A coconut-leaf carpenter bee (?); ‘(?)
the little child is asleep on the mattress, the little child is asleep on the mattress,
presently followed by its grandparents’ soon followed by its wet-nurse’
This is where the similarity ends, however. The remainder of Pak Dhalang’s
version appears to correspond with the song ‘Thit Thoethoeit’ (a variant of
thithit thuwit, ‘bird disguise’), listed as no. 552 in Overbeck (1938:267), though
it evidently differs quite considerably from it.
Pak Dhalang Overbeck no. 552

Thit thuwit (?) (name of the song?),
‘re-light the extinguished lamp (?) ‘re-light an extinguished lamp
the toad is sitting on a stool a poisonous toad in a bamboo clump
a nickel belt but no money a nickel belt, bought on easy terms.’
half a cent buys a rotten tuber.’
This shows that the combining of disconnected statements is not a recent phe-
nomenon, but was not uncommon even in Overbeck’s time. The same was
true of the song ‘Kembang jagung’ (‘Corn flower’) (015), which Pak Dhalang
sang several times in act two (jaranan pat). The lyrics sung by him are largely
the same as in song no. 415, ‘Mbang djagoeng’, in Overbeck (1938:221), with
only minor differences. It runs as follows: corn flower (line 1); three village
houses by the side of the road, the middle one intended for ego (lines 2-4);
Gempa ascends to a cave, descends to the royal garden, picks asoka flowers
there, and offers them to his father, the king (according to Pak Dhalang), or
to the king (Overbeck) (lines 5-8); you are wounded on attacking, crushed on
retreating (lines 9 and 10); followed by a knight’s challenge (lines 11-14).
In the phases in which the actors were in trance and were continually
bombarding the musicians with requests for new songs, the Javanese ele-
ment sometimes receded somewhat into the background. Some of the danc-
ers seemed to have a predilection for more modern Indonesian songs with
a romantic or revolutionary purport. Examples of the former type were the
songs ‘Bunga rampai’ (‘A nosegay of flowers’) (013), comparing Balinese
female dancers to a posy of different varieties of blossom, and ‘O Sarinah
ayu’ (‘Oh, pretty Sarinah’), an invitation to pretty Sarinah to go home with the
singer, which immediately followed it. The absolute smash hit in the reper-
tory of romantic songs, and in the performance as such, was the song ‘Madu
dan racun’ (‘Honey and poison’) (017), however. The refrain of this song,
which was about the uncertainty of the loved one’s intentions and was very
popular at that particular time, ran as follows:
Madu di tangan kananmu, ‘Honey in your right hand,

racun di tangan kirimu. poison in your left hand.
aku tak tahu I don’t know
mana yang kau kan beri kepadaku. which one you’ll offer me.’
As we shall see below, it was sung again and again that night, with the active
participation of the younger members of the audience.
The revolutionary song ‘Dengar seruan massa’ (‘Hark at the call of the
people’) (028), an appeal to people to lay down their lives for the freedom
of the fatherland, was only sung once, on the other hand. It was moreover
the only revolutionary song that night. In the performance on the occasion
of National Independence Day (Pitulas Augustusan) in Menang, conversely,
not only this song but also various other songs relating to the struggle for
independence were sung a number of times – an unambiguous reference to
the occasion for that particular performance.
These and many other songs sung in Pulihrejo likewise formed part of Pak
Dhalang’s and Bu Swarawati’s standard repertoire. In all the performances by
Samboyo Putro that I attended, the songs appeared to be combined slightly
differently each time, however.
Comments
Pak Dhalang, as the examples show, possessed a stock of texts, besides the
legend, for imparting the gist of his message – respect for the cultural legacy
inherited from the ancestors – to the audience. He catered to a wide range of
tastes, with the moralistic texts appealing mainly to the older and the songs
chosen by the dancers more to the youthful members of the audience.
A striking feature of most of these contributions was their four-line struc-
ture, which unfortunately it is impossible for me to go into further here.
Many of the songs consisted of a number of statements lacking any logical
connection. We have seen some examples of this above. As Pak Dhalang’s and
208 Jaranan
Bu Swarawati’s contributions formed part of a familiar repertoire, the lyrics

– of which there are moreover a number of regional variants in circulation
– were not really relevant. Because of the enormous background noise, it
was often virtually impossible to hear the words, what is more. In fact, it was
not so much the content of these songs and chants as the mood they evoked
– ‘authentically Javanese’ (cara Jawi tulèn), as one of the spectators put it in a
nutshell – that was important.
Pak Dhalang’s contribution as master of ceremonies
One of Pak Dhalang’s tasks in Pulihrejo was the official welcoming of the
guests, the introduction of the Samboyo Putro company, and the communica-
tion of all kinds of messages from the host to the audience. As Pak Dhalang
was late in arriving in Pulihrejo, Pak Slomprèt temporarily stood in for him
as master of ceremonies.
After the six horsemen had made their entrance for the first act (jaranan
nem) and stood lined up in a row at the back of the performance area, Pak
Slomprèt addressed the guests and bade them a warm welcome (002). First of
all he introduced the company and its leader, Pak Samboyo, not omitting to
mention Samboyo Putro’s full address. Then he enumerated some important
guests, such as the sub-district head, Pak Camat, the military district com-
mander, Pak Danramil (Komandan Rayon Militer), the section commander,
Mr. Dansek (Komandan Sektor), and the village head of Pulihrejo, Pak Lurah,
and his staff, and asked them for their blessings. He concluded his speech
with the announcement that the guests would be treated to an authentic
Javanese dance performance (sendratari Jawi asli) in the form of a kuda képang
show, in the style of the ancestors, so that this tradition might be preserved
and not vanish without a trace.
After these words of welcome, the gamelan struck up and the horse-
men started dancing. As they were going through their regular routine, Pak
Slomprèt once more drew attention to the leader of Samboyo Putro with the
words:
Para pamriksa ing dhusun Pulihreja lan sakitaripun ngaturaken tetepangan, mbok bilih
kuda képang Sambaya Putra taksih sepindhah menika sowan wonten ing dhusun Pulihreja
wonten ing dalemipun Bapak Begja. Mbok bilih panjenengan sami dèrèng tepang kaliyan
Bapa Sambaya, menika wujudipun Bapa Sambaya, ingkang ngasta kenong. Njih menika
Bapak Serma polisi wilayah Kediri utawi Bapa Sambaya ingkang ngasta kenong menika.
Piyantunipun alit, sanès menika, sakalangan menika. Mbok bilih bénjing sanès dinten
kulawarga Sambaya Putra badhé sowan mriki malih. Nuwun. (005)
‘Honoured spectators of Pulihrejo and surroundings, as this is the first time
the Samboyo Putro horse dance company has come to perform in the village of
Pulihrejo, at Mr. Begja’s house, let us introduce ourselves. In case you do not yet
know Mr. Samboyo, that is Mr. Samboyo, the one playing the kenong. That is Mr.
Serma polisi of the district of Kediri or Mr. Samboyo, playing the kenong. Not the
little man sitting in the same circle [of musicians]. Perhaps the Samboyo Putro fam-
ily will pay another visit here some day in the future. Thank you.’
With the remark about ‘the little man’, meant as a joke, Pak Slomprèt was
alluding to Pak Dhalang, who had arrived only a moment before and was sit-
ting next to big, heavily built Pak Samboyo, just then playing the kenong.
In anticipation of act two (jaranan pat), Pak Dhalang addressed himself
directly to the audience with the words:
Para rawuh ingkang minulya, para rawuh ingkang minulya, kawula matur gunging
panuwun ingkang tanpa upami dhumateng Gusti ingkang Mahaagung sampun amarengi
kanugrahan arupi menapa kémawon ingkang sampun kawula tampi. Amin. (007)
‘Honoured guests, honoured guests, I wish to say thanks from the bottom of my
heart for the blessings I have [been fortunate enough to] receive(d) in whatever
form from God Most High. Amen.’
Thereupon Pak Dhalang received a request from the host to say another word
of welcome and at the same time explain what the occasion for this festive
gathering was. He did so as follows:
Nuwun sèwu menika taksih ngemban dhawuh saking ingkang kagungan dalem. Kula
ngembani malih lan kula ngaturaken pambagya kasugengan lumèbèring dhateng para
kadang mitra sami; kagem para pinisepuh ingkang mengkoni dhusun Pulihreja, lan
cikal-bakal, lan kagem panjenenganipun Bapak Kepala Dhusun sakandhahanipun, lan
para Ibu-Ibu PKK, saha kagem para taruna LKMD, keluarga Sambaya Putra nyuwun
tambahing pangèstu. Mboten kalépyan kagem panjenenganipun Bapak Camat, saha
Bapak DanRaMil, saha Bapak KaPolSek, lan bagian kebudayaan sakandhapipun keluarga
Sambaya Putra nyuwun tambahing pangèstu.
Para rawuh ingkang minulya ngaturaken salam pitepangan kuda képang ingkang
dipunpandhégani Bapa Sambaya kanthi alamat gamblang dhusun Bandar-lèr, kidulipun
rumahsakit Gambiran, menika wonten pasaréan Plething-kuning, dalemipun ngajenga-
nipun persis, utawi kanthi alamat Polisi Wilayah … (?) Kadhiri.
Para rawuh ingkang minulya sowanipun paraga Sambaya Putra ing dhusun Pulihreja
ing dalemipun Bapak Begja saperlu mèngeti tanggap warsa utawi selapanipun putranipun
ingkang khitanan. Kaping kalihipun inggih menika ngiras … menapa menika tanggap
warsa putranipun ingkang, nuwun sèwu, medal sakembaran, kakung utawi putri. Mugi-
mugi lumantar pasugatan sonten menika ingkang khitanan sageda waluya temah ing jati.
Mugi-mugi putranipun ingkang kembar kalawau sageda widada lir ing sambékala. Mugi
Gusti paring pangayoman.
Para rawuh ingkang minulya kuda képang ingkang badhé kawula pamentasan ing dhu-
sun ngriki menika wonten sejarahipun, inggih menika sejarah kitha Kadhiri asli.(007)
‘Please, excuse me. I am acting in compliance with the request of the host. I wish
to add something [to the welcoming speech of just a moment ago]. I would like
210 Jaranan
to welcome you all warmly and wish you all, relatives and friends, good health,
as also the elders responsible for [the well-being of] the village of Pulihrejo, the
guardian spirit, and you, Mr. Village Head, and your staff, and the ladies of the
PKK, as well as the young people of the LKMD; the Samboyo Putro family asks
your blessings. And last but not least you, Mr. Sub-district Head, and you, Mr.
Military District Commander, as well as you, Mr. Kapolsek, and [the representa-
tive of] the Cultural Affairs Bureau, together with your staff; the Samboyo Putro
family asks your blessings.
Honoured guests, I welcome you and introduce to you the kuda képang led by
Mr. Samboyo, of the easy address: village of Bandar-lor, south of Gambiran hos-
pital, directly facing Plething-kuning cemetery, or of the address Police District
[…?] of Kediri.
Honoured guests, [the reason for] Samboyo Putro’s visit to the village of
Pulihrejo, at the house of Mr. Begja, is to celebrate the selapanan (a 35-day period)
of his son’s circumcision. Secondly, um, also including, um, the birthday of his
children who, please excuse me, were born simultaneously, a boy and a girl. May
the night-time performance contribute to a speedy recovery of the circumcised
boy. May the twins remain far removed from misfortune and may the Lord offer
protection.
Honoured guests, there is a story connected with the kuda képang which I will
stage here in the village – the history of Kediri in former times.’
That Pak Begja was not just anyone, but was someone with a high position,
can be inferred from the presence of the various civil as well as military dig-
nitaries. What exactly his position was did not become clear to me, however.
Pak Samboyo also appreciated the presence of so many prominent persons,
but in particular that of his local colleague. He regarded this as a mark of
respect to him and his group.
Pak Dhalang did not omit to address the invisible guardian of the village,
the dhanyang of Pulihrejo, in his welcoming speech either. As has become
apparent from the foregoing, it is important for the group to show the proper
respect to the local protector. After all, he will manifest himself in the barong
in the course of the performance, it is hoped. Hence it is to be avoided that
the dhanyang will disrupt the performance from displeasure at lack of respect.
Nor did he forget the village elders, who have of old occupied a special posi-
tion in the community on account of their experience in life and the supposed
spiritual understanding connected with it.
Especially striking was the emphatic publicity the company made for
itself. As we saw earlier, it started doing so already on the trip to Pulihrejo,
repeatedly urging passsers-by by megaphone to follow it to the performance.
The same message was also frequently repeated later, during the perform-
PKK, Pembinaan Kesejahteraan Keluarga, Promotion of family welfare.

LKMD, Lembaga Ketahanan Masyarakat Desa, Organization for the defence of the village
community.
ance. The group’s name and full address were moreover displayed on a ban-
ner suspended above the tables with offerings. The company really left no
stone unturned to publicize itself – ‘Just as in the movies’ (Kaya pèlem), as one
of its members confided to me jokingly.
Following the above message from the host, Pak Dhalang explained the
legend, announced the second act twice more, and ended with the words:
Wusana kanthia pinarak ingkang sekéca. Mbok bilih wonten paraga saha niyaga ingkang
mboten nuju prana ing penggalih panjenengan, kawula sagugupan titah ingkang limrah
tamtu kadunungan sih penjenengan kersa maring gunging samudra pangaksami. Wusana
mugi-mugi ingkang kagungan dalem minangka ing karaharjan, mugi Gusti pareng pan-
gayoman kawula ingkang tansah ngabekti. Kalisa ing sambékala. (008)
‘Finally, [I would ask you] to sit back and relax. If any dancers or musicians fail to
please you, I beg you to bear with us all, as simple people, and to let your forgive-
ness be as wide as the ocean. Finally, may [the performance] bring the owner of the
house luck and may the Lord offer [us] servants, who praise Him without cease,
protection. May we remain free from misfortune.’
Pak Dhalang received several more requests to pass on some message or other
from the host in the course of the evening, such as the occasional appeals to
the young people of the Siskamling who were responsible for security and
for serving the guests. One such appeal was made in the interlude following
act two, for instance, when the audience remained restless, even after the
performers had retired to the dressing room.
Matur panyuwara wonten para petugas Siskamling ing dhusun Trisula-satu saged ing
dalu menika ingkang wajib, wajibipun tugas jagi setunggal sedhèrèk … (?); nomor kalih
sedhèrèk Akhir; nomor tiga sedhèrèk Syukur, (um, … ?) nomor sekawan sedhèrèk Sukiman;
nomor gangsal sedhèrèk Sambi; nomor nem sedhèrèk Padi. Dados menika supados … (?)
wonten ing pos Siskamling. Matur nuwun. (021)
‘I address myself to the officials of the security organization of the village of

Trisulo-one who have a task to perform, those who are on duty tonight are number
one … (?), number two, Akhir, number three, Syukur, (um, …?) number four,
Sukiman, number five, Sambi, number six, Padi; will those of the security organi-
zation [please take up their positions]. Thank you.’
The call to number one, whose name I could not hear, was greeted with loud
cheers from the bystanders. Because the din did not stop, Pak Dhalang con-
tinued with the words:
Para rawuh petugas Siskamling ingkang sampun dipunaken kala wau supados siyaga ing
posipun piyambak-piyambak. Sepindhah malih, ingkang kagungan kuwajiban Siskamling
kula aturi ngepos wonten ing posipun piyambak-piyambak. Matur nuwun. (021)
‘Honoured guests, I request the Siskamling officials just mentioned to remain on

212 Jaranan
standby, each at his own post. I once more request those with a duty to perform in
the Siskamling to each man their post. Thank you.’
Once in a while one or another of the gamelan players also directly addressed
the audience, for example with a request to stop pressing forward and to
leave room for the performers.
Para pamriksa ingkang wonten ing ngajeng supados pinarak kémawon, ingkang wonten
ing ngajeng kawula suwun supados pinarak dados ingkang wingking saged katingal.
(004)
‘The spectators in front are requested to sit down; I request those in front to sit
down so that those at the back may be able to see.’
Several times the guests were warned that the show had not yet ended. This
was particularly the case when the actors had retired for a while and the
performance area lay abandoned. Pak Dhalang, after announcing the arrival
of the two horsemen for the third act (jaranan ro), gave the audience the fol-
lowing warning, for instance:
Para rawuh menika taksih kirang sekawan adegan dados panjenengan sampun kersa kond-
hur, malam Minggu malam santai malam tirakatan. (022)
‘Honoured spectators, there are four more acts to follow, so please do not go home
yet. [After all] it is Saturday evening, [and so] an evening to relax, a tirakatan.’
Someone in the audience surrounding the gamelan commented:

Malam minggu ngantuk lho, malam ninggu kok ngantuk ta!
‘Saturday evening, hey, and [you’re] sleepy; how can you be sleepy on Saturday
evening?’
Before retiring to the dressing room well before the end of the performance,
Pak Dhalang especially addressed the host once more to thank him for his
hospitality and expressed the following wish:
Samboyo Putro matur panyuwun ingkang tanpa upami dhumateng keluarga Bapak Begja
ingkang sampun maringi kanugrahan arupi menapa kémawon. Mugi-mugi pinaringana
berkah asesanti ‘Sura dira raya ning rat lebur déning pangastuti sumèhing wadana maha-
naning padhang ing bawana’. Nuwun, nuwun. (046)
Derived from tirakat, meaning religious ascetiscism (fasting and the like) (Pigeaud 1982).
Tirakatan resembles a wake, in which an individual or group says up all night, preferably in a
sacred location such as the grave of a holy person, with the aim of increasing spiritual power
preceding an important decision or event (like graduation or marriage).
Samboyo Putro expresses her great gratitude to Mister Begja who has showered
us with all kinds of blessings. May he be given prosperity with the prayer: Sura
dira raya ning rat lebur déning pangastuti sumèhing wadana mahananing padhang ing
bawana. Thank you. Thank you.
Comments
We see that Pak Dhalang’s task that evening was quite comprehensive and
was comparable to that of the director (dhalang) of a wayang performance. I
have often also seen the latter act as master of ceremonies, in fact, especially
in performances for ordinary villagers or in urban working-class neighbour-
hoods. In simple settings like this, the dhalang often was the only person con-
sidered to be sufficiently well-versed in etiquette (unggah-ungguh) and in the
formal Javanese speech (basa) required on such solemn occasions.
In contrast to the dhalang of the wayang kulit, who from his fixed position
in front of the screen has to direct the entire performance and in principle
plays all the parts, Pak Dhalang’s task was a more flexible one. Where nec-
essary, another member of the group would unobtrusively take over from
him. As we saw in the foregoing, most tasks in Samboyo Putro were non-
exclusive, and when occasion required, the members of the company would
stand in for each other without fuss. In Pak Dhalang’s absence, Pak Slomprèt
deputized for him. Later, when Pak Slomprèt himself went into a trance at
the very moment when he was playing the slenthem, one of the helpers took
care of this instrument. It was not unusual either for one of the two gambuh
to play along in the gamelan for a while if they had nothing else to do at that
point. Moreover, the musicians regularly took over each other’s instruments
whenever now this now that player retired for a while. All this underscores
the predominantly informal, improvisational character of the performance.
The only exception were the opening dances of the various acts, which will
be described in the next chapter.
chapter ix
The character of the opening dances

in Pulihrejo
Introduction
The opening dances of the different acts, like Pak Dhalang’s standard rep-
ertoire, constituted some of the more formal parts of the performance. They
contrasted sharply with the following trance phase. The dances comprised
numerous figures, which were executed in perfect harmony with the music,
with the intensity constantly being increased. They often ended most abrupt-
ly the moment the first dancer went into a trance. From that point on, there
was usually no longer anything like orderly, coordinated dancing among the
dancers. I came across the same dichotomy between a rigorously directed
opening dance and a chaotic trance phase in the performances of all horse
dance companies that I attended. In comparison with those other groups,
Samboyo Putro’s opening dances were exceptionally elaborate and carefully
executed, however. This was to a large extent due to the fact that Samboyo
Putro was regarded as the showpiece of the local police and was expected
to turn out to give demonstrations at all kinds of events. I would remind the
reader here of Samboyo Putro’s performance on the occasion of the visit of
a few important guests from Jakarta. The influence of Pak Samboyo’s official
position is clearly noticeable here.
The stylization of what were originally rustic folk dances had taken place
earlier, as was indicated in Chapter II above, under the direction of the Kantor
Kebudayaan (Cultural Affairs Bureau) of the Departemen Pendidikan dan
Kebudayaan (Department of Education and Culture) of the town of Kediri
in accordance with the general guidelines evolved by the government in an
attempt to upgrade regional dramatic genres (see also Sinopsis 1985; Soekarno
Samboyo Putro had no special name for these opening dances. Among horse dancers in
Surinam, descendants of Javanese immigrants, kembangan (derived from kembang, ‘flower’, trans-
lated by Gooswit (1990:26) as ‘ornament’) seems to be the common name for them, on the other
hand. It is a very apposite name for these dances.
216 Jaranan
The barisan formation. Photograph by Marije Duijker.
1983:14-21). The local government’s interference in the development of the

dance met with Samboyo Putro’s general approbation, as it gave the group
a progressive, modern image. As far as Pak Samboyo was concerned, the
dances were a good advertisement for the group.
Samboyo Putro’s dance patterns and rhythms were particulary highly
developed. What was especially striking about the latter was the sudden
‘freezing’ of movement whenever the dancers remained standing motionless
for a moment, often with one leg raised high in the air. These moments lent
the dance great intensity and added to the atmosphere of excitement. All the
different dance figures were performed in both a forward and a backward
direction.
As the horse dancers themselves said, they surrendered totally to the dance
because, as one of them put it, it made them feel good (jogèd kuwi nyenengaké).
Hence what was important to them was, to cite Rouget (1985:118), ‘the pleas-
ure of dancing, of using one’s body in play’, which in itself tends to give the
dancer a sense of liberation, of catharsis.
I cannot say with certainty whether this kind of ‘freezing’ of the dance was the consequence
of a change in the drummer’s rhythm. My impression in retrospect is that it coincided with sud-
den loud beats on the kendhang panaraga.
The tantangan formation. Photograph by Marije Duijker.
The opening dances of the different acts were invariably group dances. In
the trance phase, on the other hand, the performers usually danced by them-
selves. Even when there were two or, more rarely, more performers dancing
in pairs facing each other there was normally no coordination whatsoever
between them. Although the dancers sometimes moved quite gracefully
when in trance, they generally danced rather stiffly and jerkily in that state,
as though in parody, and would frequently break off their dance abruptly to
go and do something else.
In the opening dances of acts one, two, three and five there were five basic
patterns to be distinguished. The dance of the horsemen invariably opened
with a barisan (derived from baris, ‘in line’) formation, with the horsemen
dancing either in a single row side by side or in two rows facing each other.
In the first, second and fifth acts – the jaranan nem, jaranan ro and barongan-
cèlèngan, featuring six, two and again six horsemen respectively – the barisan
was followed by the kitiran (derived from kitir, ‘small windmill’) formation,
in which the horsemen danced one behind the other in a circle. This forma-
tion regularly alternated and was sometimes combined with the tantangan
(from ditantang, ‘challenged’) formation. Here the horsemen in turns danced
towards and away from each other in pairs or circled around each other in
twos. The tantangan, finally, merged into the peperangan (from perang, ‘battle’)
218 Jaranan
formation, in which the dancers often roughly bumped against each other
in pairs. These fights generally quite soon induced a trance in either of the
partners. In act two (jaranan pat) the barisan was followed first by a figure in
which the four horsemen danced towards and away from each other from the
four corners of the performance area. For this figure Samboyo Putro had no
special name, sometimes referring to it as barisan pasagèn (‘square formation’)
and sometimes as pojokan papat (‘[from] the four corners’). Below I shall use
the latter term, as it best describes this dance figure.
Before describing the opening dances of the various acts as performed in
Pulihrejo, I will give a clarification of the meaning of the symbols used in the
accompanying choreographic diagrams.
Explanation of the symbols
The diagrams show only the basic patterns of the dance, the various postures
of the dancers are briefly described in the text.
An elongated triangle denotes a horseman, its point indicating the direc-
tion he is facing.
My point of reference in the discussion of the dance figures was my own
position in the gamelan, so that ‘forward’ means towards the gamelan and
‘backward’ away from the gamelan. The choreographic diagrams are elabo-
rations of rough sketches I made in the course of the performance. They only
refer to those acts in which horsemen figured. I was not able to take any cho-
reographic notes on the dances in act four (kucingan), as I was having a meal
with some of the musicians at that point. As far as I was able to ascertain, the
group itself had no graphical representations of the dance formations. It had
developed the dances from the general basic patterns drawn up in accord-
ance with the guidelines of the Cultural Affairs Bureau, in close cooperation
with the musicians, in the course of time. Because of the frequency of their
performances, the dancers and musicians were well attuned to each other.
For a fairly comprehensive list of the different postures of the dancers in the two opening
dances of the six (kuda lumping unit) and four horsemen (kuda lumping massal) respectively in
Central Java, see Soekarno 1983:17-9.
For a bird’s eye view of the compound in Pulihrejo see Chapter VI, page 136.
standing horseman
horseman sitting on one knee (and sporadically on both knees)
horseman sitting besides his horse
Toh Bagus
Singabarong
Kala Srenggi
forward direction of the dance
backward direction of the dance
barisan, side by side

barisan, one behind the other
kitiran pojokan papat
horse’s head bending alternately

to left and right
tantangan perangan
220 Jaranan
Jaranan nem: the dance of the six horsemen

As soon as Bu Swarawati has finished singing the opening song ‘Sun puji dhateng
Pangéran’ in Pak Dhalang’s absence, Pak Gambuh lures the first horseman, already
holding his bamboo horse between his legs, out of the dressing room with a few cracks
of his whip, Kyai Samandiman. The horseman prances to the back of the area in a zig-
zag course (Choreography 1), to the accompaniment of the shrill tones of the slomprèt,
gracefully letting his dance sash flutter to and fro between stretched fingers. The sec-
ond horseman is summoned on. Number one has meanwhile come to a halt backstage.
After number two has entered in the same way, the third horseman is summoned on
with cracks of the whip. The entrance of the fourth horseman is accompanied by cries
of encouragement (senggakan) from
the musicians. He is followed almost
immediately by numbers five and six,
who come on simultaneously. They
join the others. Standing side by side,
their faces turned towards the game- Pak Gambuh with
lan, they form a long row (the barisan Kyai Samandiman
formation).
The gamelan falls silent and Pak
Dressing room
Slomprèt welcomes the guests. As
soon as he stops speaking, the musi-
cians resume playing. The six horse-
men move forward towards the
gamelan, slowly dancing on their Choreography 1
bamboo horses and accompanying
themselves with whip cracks, and then, without turning, dance back again, dancing
(Choreography 2). When they come towards the gamelan once more, the angklung
starts playing. Then they fan outward in threes (Choreography
3), and the formation dissolves into two circles (kitiran) of
three horsemen each.
Now various dance patterns in the kitiran formation follow
each other in rapid succession, to the accompaniment of the
stirring tones of the slomprèt and the exciting rhythm of the
kendhang panaraga. Every change of pattern is introduced
by the angklung. The two
groups are continually
Choreography 2 circling around beside
each other in opposite
directions, first clockwise and anti-clockwise, for-
ward and backward respectively (Choreography
4). Next the dancers curve towards each other
from the perimeter of the imaginary circle, danc-
ing forward towards the centre and backward
towards the perimeter (Choreography 5). This
Choreography 3
I was not able to take any photos, as the performance took place at night.
they repeat several times, now and then danc-

ing further away from each other. When they
approach each other once more, they rotate in
the centre with their faces turned to each other
(Choreography 6) and then, doing a half-turn, to
the audience (Choreography 7). Dancing away
from each other, they again form two circles. At
Choreography 4
the same time the character of the dance chang-
es. Moving one
behind the other, now clockwise now anti-clockwise,
the horsemen raise the horses to a virtually perpendic-
ular position, while they lift their left and their right
leg high in the air alternately, standing thus perfectly
motionless for one moment. ‘Just like a rearing horse’
(kaya kuda ngrunjah), the man sitting next to me com-
ments. (The lights are
Choreography 5
playing up all the time
and a number of pres-
sure lamps are carried in and pumped up on the
spot.)
After a while the horsemen form a single large circle.
They jump around
Choreography 6 rhythmically, setting
their anklets tinkling.
They vary this with a
prancing step on the tips of their toes, fluttering their
dance sashes with graceful motions. They moreo-
ver slightly lean towards or away from each other
with their horses as indicated by the dotted lines Choreography 7
(Choreography 8).
The angklung again introduces a change of formation.
The horsemen spread out and once more form two circles revolving in opposite direc-
tions. They dance alternately towards each other and back
to the perimeter of the imaginary circle skipping backward.
After a while they dance towards the centre again, where
they rotate around their own axis (Choreography 9), jumping
rhythmically from one leg onto the other, setting their anklets
tinkling, and continually cracking their whips.
As they are imperturbably jumping around like this for a
while, the gamelan falls
silent and Pak Slomprèt
Choreography 8
gives another speech, intro-
ducing the group Samboyo
Putro and its leader once again. At a sign from him
the musicians resume their play. The melody this
time is very monotonous and it is drowned out by
the shrill tones of the slomprèt and the exciting beat Choreography 9
222 Jaranan
of the kendhang panaraga, which becomes faster and faster. This is a signal for the
horsemen to move into the tantangan formation. (The audience, which has pressed fur-
ther and further forward, is again exhorted to leave sufficient space for the dancers.)
The horsemen stand in two rows of three facing each
other (double barisan), and the dance figures now
succeed each other even more rapidly. The horsemen
move alternately straight towards each other in pairs
and then, dancing backward, away from each other
(Choreography 10). They repeat this several times,
dancing now in a line parallel to the gamelan, now
diagonally across the performance area (Choreography Choreography 10
11). Finally they dance past each other and continue at
a gallop to the opposite side (Choreography 12), and
then, dancing backward, back again to their point of
departure. After dancing to the opposite side once
more, they go on to form
another single large circle
(Choreography 13). They
continue dancing like this
for a while with their faces
Choreography 12
turned to the audience
(Choreography 14). The
tantangan formation appears to have changed into the kiti-
ran formation. But the horsemen, dancing past each other
backward, soon return to the centre (Choreography 15).
Choreography 11 After passing one another, they stand facing each other
in pairs. One member of each pair drops to one knee,
while the other leans over him and incessantly cracks his whip over his head. They cir-
cle around each
other this way
(Choreography
16). (The helpers
now rush for-
ward to try and
untie the horses’
cords.)
Choreography 13 Choreography 14
The moment of
the battle does
not appear to have arrived yet after all, and the couples move
away from each other again and form first one large circle and
then two smaller circles. Patterns 8 up to and including 16 are
repeated. The horsemen imitate the paces of a horse in time
with the music, which is now quiet, now exciting. When the
couples stand facing one another once more, the fighting seems
to begin in earnest. The horsemen bump wildly against each
other with their horses in twos and try to push one another away
Choreography 15 (Choreography 17). Each drops on one knee in turn, rotating in
Choreography 16 Choreography 17
the same direction as his partner, who is circling around him, leaning far forward over
him and incessantly cracking his whip. The first horseman soon falls into a trance. His
adversary goes on dancing for a while, but then simply walks off. A second horseman
falls to the ground, and then a third, and from that moment on there is no longer
anything like a dance. Chaos reigns supreme.
Comments
An official report on the jaranan jawa from the sub-district of Kauman in

Tulungagung (Sinopsis 1985) shows that the dances described there differed
little from those performed by Samboyo Putro. Like them, they were a mix-
ture of typically Javanese dance movements (the report speaks of tari baku,
‘authentic [Javanese] dancing’) and imitations of the steps of a horse (tari solah
kuda, as the report puts it). The graceful fluttering of the dance sashes and
prancing on tiptoes, like a horse trotting, alternated with rhythmic jumps,
like a horse galloping, whereby the horse’s head was now raised, now moved
from left to right. The dance figures, too, appear to be roughly similar, be it
that the report mentions fewer variations on basic patterns. The same appears
to apply to the kuda lumping of Temanggung (Central Java), judging from
Soekarno’s descriptions.
It was interesting to note how the horsemen just went on dancing during
Pak Slomprèt’s second speech, despite the fact that the music had stopped
playing. They showed no reaction either to the nervous rushing around
among them of the security people replacing the defective generator, but
just went on dancing imperturbably when the latter entered the performance
area with some pressure lamps and proceeded to pump these up on the spot
Soekarno 1983:20-1. To this description a long list of brief clarifications of dance movements
and a dozen diagrams are added.
224 Jaranan
and hang them up. It was as though they were already a little high and had
shut themselves off from their surroundings. This state, which according
to Darmadji and Pfeiffer precedes the actual trance, is referred to by these
authors as a Zustand der Versunkenheit (‘state of self-absorption’; Darmadji and
Pfeiffer 1969:3284). Pak Slomprèt described it as an inner sense of emptiness
(suwung), a totally blank mind.
Although the opening dance was generally regarded as an extra invitation
to the inhabitants of the immaterial world, the bangsa alus, none of the dancers
gave any sign of being possessed by any sort of spirit in this phase.
The next act was that of the four horsemen. They were summoned on by
Pak Samboyo.
Jaranan pat: the dance of the four horsemen

After a brief interval, in which Bu Swarawati has once more sung ‘Sun puji dhateng
Pangéran’, in addition to all kinds of popular songs the words of which were difficult
to hear, Pak Samboyo enters the performance area with his whip Kyai Samandiman.
When the gamelan starts playing a new melody at a sign from Pak Dhalang, the first
horseman comes running at great speed from behind the curtain. Decked out in a red
headcloth (iket), ear ornaments (sumping), and leather arm and wrist bands (kelat bau
and gelang), he looks like a wayang wong dancer. His dance is very wild, with abrupt,
jerky movements that remind me of the dance of the demon Klana. He dances towards
the back, circling around for a few beats and executing a few steps on the spot in turns.
As soon as he is roughly halfway, Pak Samboyo summons on the second horseman.
The latter enters the performance area just walking, contrary to all expectation, and
only starts dancing, though then straightaway very wildly, when he is standing directly
in front of the gamelan. Every few steps he lifts his leg high and remains standing
motionless like this, with his arm with the whip stretched sideways, for a moment. A
few minutes later number three enters, again dancing. It
is Si Pincang, recognizable by the bandage around his left
foot. When he comes to a halt at the
back as well, number four comes
on. He holds his right arm with the
whip stretched sideways and lifts
his leg high every few steps, mov-
ing his head back and forth, which
Choreography 18
to me is more reminiscent of a bird
than a horse. The entrance of the
four horsemen is accompanied by encouraging cries from Pak
Dhalang and clapping by the musicians.
The four horsemen are standing still at the back and Pak Choreography 19
A demonic character from the wayang theatre, the adversary of the hero or heroine of the
story.
Dhalang relates the legend ‘Kacarita ing Ngurawan nagri’. Then he

gives a sign to the musicians, who start playing at once. As in the
previous act, the horsemen move slowly forward, dancing side by
side, and return to the back dancing backward. Moving to the front
again, they fan out and each dance to a corner of the performance
area (Choreography 18). First they do
some dancing more or less on the spot,
Choreography
bending to left and to right with their
20
horses (Choreography 19).
Then they advance towards
each other from the corners
and, dancing backward, spread
out again (Choreography 20).
After a while, when they have
Choreography 21 come close together again,
they do a half-turn. The dance
changes to the kitiran forma-
tion (Choreography 21). Then
they curve towards each other
again and, when close together,
all four drop to one knee and Choreography 22
rotate in a clockwise and an
anti-clockwise direction alter-
nately (Choreography 22). After
a while they rise to their feet
Choreography 23
again, rotate around their own
axis, and then go on dancing,
each to a corner of the perform- Choreography 24
ance area (pojokan papat) (Choreography 23). Advancing
towards each other once more, they again drop to one
knee, rise to their feet, dance backward back to their point of departure, and then back
to each other again. Now only one of each pair drops to one knee and revolves along
with the upright dancer, who continues circling around him (Choreography 24).
All the horsemen have risen to their feet again and dance back to the four corners,
turn around and, dropping to both knees, dance towards each other again this way
(Choreography 25). When they stand facing each other in twos,
the fighting begins in earnest. While the gamelan repeatedly
plays the same two notes all the time, the horsemen bump
against each other with their horses and circle around each
other, now in an upright position, now on one knee, loudly
cracking their whips and taking great swipes at each other
with their horses. Si Pincang has fallen to the ground with his
horse and seems to be in trance, but he scrambles to his feet
again. His adversary has simply gone on dancing. Suddenly
they both go scurrying away from the performance area. The
two others, who have taken no notice of them whatever, go
Choreography 25 into a trance almost simultaneously a little later.
226 Jaranan
Comments
The entrance of the first horseman in this act was as wild as that of the six
horsemen was quiet and restrained in the first one. This immediately created
an atmosphere of excitement. The entrance of number two was something of
an anticlimax. The comical effect of this drew a burst of laughter from the audi-
ence. But as soon as the horseman began dancing, the tension built up again. He
intensified this by lifting one leg high in the air every few steps. Then he would
remain thus as if ‘frozen’, holding the opposite arm with the whip stretched
sideways, for a moment, to go on dancing even more wildly after that.
Pak Dhalang’s songs seemed to bear no relation at all to the dance. The
dancers only reacted to the angklung, which, as in act one, signalled all
changes in dance patterns, and to the kendhang panaraga, which set the tempo
of the dance, playing now fast and loud, now more slowly.
The vigorous (gagah), but more especially tempestuous (riwut) character of
the dance of these horsemen, introduced by Pak Dhalang as soldiers (prajurit),
again contrasted sharply with the dance of the two commanders-in-chief
(sénapati) in the next act.
Jaranan ro: the dance of the two horsemen

It is again Pak Gambuh who summons the horsemen on. Standing in the centre of
the performance area, he cracks his whip, and the first horseman enters dancing. He
prances to and fro in front of the gamelan for a while, letting his dance sash flutter
gracefully between stretched fingers. Suddenly he dashes backward, dancing in a
zigzag line. The second horseman is summoned on. Like the first dancer, he lets his
dance sash flutter gracefully while prancing around on tiptoes with short steps. As
he reaches number one, both dancers place their horses at their side and wait for Pak
Dhalang to finish conveying his message to the audience. As soon as he stops speak-
ing and the slenthem starts playing the melody, the two horsemen come gracefully
dancing forward side by side and go back again skipping backward, rhythmically
bending their horses’ heads from left to right. The dance patterns are partly a repeti-
tion of those in the two preceding acts. This time, however, the barisan immediately
changes into a sort of mixture of the kitiran and the tantangan
formations, with the two horsemen now prancing around each
other, now moving away from each other, as in the preceding
act, and, describing a wide circle, dancing towards each other
halfway and then backward again, to the perimeter of the imagi-
nary circle (Choreography 26).
The dance is much quieter than in the previous act, and the
movements of the two horsemen are more refined, in the style
of Arjuna. Pak Dhalang’s cries of encouragement are echoed Choreography 26
A young prince in the wayang theatre, whose movements are always refined (alus), and to
by the musicians’ senggakan and underscored by sudden sound explosions from the
angklung each time the horsemen change dance pattern. Finally the two horsemen
move towards each other in a curving line from the large kitiran formation and end up
in a position immediately facing one another. At a sign from Pak Dhalang, the music
slows down. The melody changes to a succession of the same two notes played over
and over again on the kenong with steadily increasing speed and intensity. At this, the
dancers seem to take on a hunted look, and their movements soon degenerate into a
series of wild collisions and swipes at each other with their horses (peprangan). Each
in turn drops to one knee, whereat his opposite number leans far over him, inces-
santly cracking his whip. The two horsemen go into a trance immediately after one
another.
Comments
The most striking feature of this dance was the much greater elaboration
of the tantangan formation in comparison with the two preceding acts. The
dancers’ continual provocative prancing around each other and then leaping
at one another made them look like two gamecocks. It seemed more like an
imitation of the widely popular cockfight than of a fight between horses. The
fights this time again remained undecided, however, as the two opponents
went into a trance.
Kucingan: the dance of Toh Bagus, Pujangga-Anom, Singakumbang, Kethèk, and

Macan
Pak Dhalang announces act four, and Pujangga-Anom enters dancing, followed soon
afterwards by his master, Toh Bagus. The two knights dance facing one another in the
centre of the performance area. Toh Bagus is occupied in alternately grooming himself
and inspecting his troops. Now he strokes the long tassels attached to either side of
his headdress and acts as if he is looking in a mirror or adjusting his clothes. Now
he tosses the tassels back with a motion of his head, holds his left hand over his eyes
with quivering fingers, as though trying to see better, and with his right arm stretched
mimes the counting of soldiers. His movements are very vigorous (gagah). He keeps
his legs wide apart and makes sweeping motions with his arms. Pujangga-Anom’s
dance is likewise gagah, but his movements are not as extravagant as his master’s. He
clearly has a style of his own. The dance of the two knights is like a dialogue, in which
Toh Bagus does most of the talking.
After they have thus danced opposite one another for about eight minutes, Pak
Dhalang announces the arrival of Singakumbang. The suspense among the musicians
and helpers is noticeably mounting, and the audience pushes forward so as not to
miss anything.
Western tastes even affected. In the wayang wong of Solo, the part of Arjuna is usually danced by
a woman.
228 Jaranan
Singakumbang enters dancing with his big wooden mask on his head. He makes rath-
er clumsy movements with his arms, just visible from behind the long piece of cloth
hanging down from the mask, which have a comical rather than a threatening effect.
He dances provocatively opposite Toh Bagus and Pujangga-Anom in turns, now and
then taking his mask in both hands and letting it snap (nyaplok) at one of the two
knights with a loud crack (plokplokan) of its jaws. The dance soon lapses into a wild
chase, in which it is hard to tell who is the pursuer and who the pursued. Suddenly
Singakumbang goes racing towards the gamelan, falls, scrambles to his feet again, and
darts into the dressing room, knocking over one of the helpers. (The two knights are
meanwhile standing idly beside the table with offerings.)
Kethèk enters turning somersaults. Pujangga-Anom immediately challenges him, and
they play a kind of cat and mouse game across the whole of the performance area.
Kethèk makes himself scarce, jumping on all fours, and then suddenly sits down and
starts provocatively scratching himself. A moment later Macan also appears. Crawling
on hands and knees, he lashes out viciously with his paw at anyone coming near him.
Pak Dhalang eggs Kethèk and Macan on with growls and screeches from where he is
sitting in the gamelan.
The two knights and the animals now engage alternately in dancing, tumbling and
clowning, but especially the latter.
Comments
The dance of the two knights was similar in style to the wayang wong of Solo.
Toh Bagus’ dance in particular bore a strong resemblance to Klana’s kiprahan
(derived from kiprah-kiprah, ‘to dance around passionately’), as this demonic,
tragicomic wayang character is preparing for his assignation with the woman
of his dreams. The kiprahan, in the words of Clara Brakel-Papenhuyzen
(1995:43), ‘forms the core of the popular gandrung dance where the dancer
performs a sequence of iconic movements, showing how he is grooming
himself and dressing up [...] in the expectation of his meeting with the object
of his passion’. In the context of our jaranan, the kiprah dance portrayed Toh
Bagus’ passionate longing for the princess of Daha, to whom he was on his
way to propose marriage (in vain, as we saw), according to the legend.
Although Singakumbang’s performance here and there was reminiscent of
a Surakarta style of dancing, his movements were much less refined than those
in the horsemen’s opening dances. He especially gave his dancing a comic
twist so as to stress the non-human aspect of his nature, as it were. His two
followers, Kethèk and Macan, acted in accordance with their animal nature, as
was to be expected, and presented a more or less faithful imitation of this.
It was interesting to note how this time Singakumbang exited quite soon.
In the performances in Mojoroto (for ‘Police Day’) and Menang (for the com-
bined bersih désa and National Independence Day) he continued taking part in
the action together with Macan and Kethèk for a much longer time, and even
went into a trance more than once. Returning to the gamelan, he said with a
sigh ora dadi (‘a failure’). To this Pak Beja, the second slomprèt player, replied
that you just never know what the spirits will do.
The opening dance of the final act (barongan-cèlèngan) was unusually
elaborate. The dance patterns were to a large extent copies of those in the first
act, except that here Toh Bagus joined in the dancing as well.
Barongan-cèlèngan: the dance of the six horsemen, Toh Bagus, Singabarong, and
Kala Srenggi
Pak Dhalang announces act five. Toh Bagus stands in the centre of the performance
area. As soon as Pak Dhalang has finished speaking, he summons on the first horse-
man with loud cracks of his whip. As in act one, the horseman dances towards the
back in a zigzag line. When he gets there, Toh Bagus summons on the second horse-
man with cracks of his whip. He dances towards the back in the same way. Then
the remaining four horsemen are summoned on one immediately after the other. As
soon as they are all on, they dance forward in the barisan formation and then go back
again skipping backward. This figure is repeated several times. Toh Bagus continually
dances in the opposite direction in and out of the line of horsemen (Choreography
27). When the horsemen change to
the kitiran formation, Toh Bagus
dances inside and outside the
big circle (Choreography 28) or
between the two smaller circles
(Choreography 29) in turns. After
they have thus danced for almost
a quarter of an hour, Pak Dhalang
sings Singabarong’s introductory Choreography 28
Choreography 27
song, ‘Ana kidung kang rumeksa
ing wengi’. This is the signal for
the horsemen to withdraw. They dance towards the back and
sit down on the ground next to their horses in the barisan
formation. Toh Bagus takes up his position in front of them
(Choreography 30).
Meanwhile the helpers,
Pak Sajèn and the two Choreography 30
gambuh have gone and
taken up their positions
in strategic places in
front of the crowd, which has come flocking
in in large numbers again. The tension is tan-
Choreography 29 gible. Singabarong enters, holding the mask
above his head in both hands and letting it
snap its jaws all the time. He is challenged by
Toh Bagus and trips around him on tiptoes, in turns holding his mask high above his
head and putting it on his head and making a few clumsy dance movements with his
arms, which has a comical effect. Now and then Toh Bagus and Singabarong dance
230 Jaranan
away from each other and then towards one another

again, and circle around each other once more, chal-
lenging each other. They do not really engage in
battle, however.
In the meantime the horsemen have risen to their
feet. While they form a circle around Singabarong
and challenge him in turns, Toh Bagus stands aside
(Choreography 31). The horsemen leap high into the
air one by one, trying to strike the monster’s open
jaws. Singabarong manages to deftly evade each of
his attackers and finally to escape from the circle. He Choreography 31
calmly walks towards the table with offerings, where
he is given a drink from a bucket of flower water.
While he is attended to there, the horsemen dance one behind the other in a big circle as
before. Toh Bagus has not joined in and stands looking on from the sidelines. He stays
aloof even when Singabarong is back and the horsemen take the offensive once more. A
wild chase soon ensues, in which now Singabarong, now one of the horsemen appears
to be pursued. There no longer seems to be anything like an orderly dance, even though
the horsemen, whenever they are not engaged in a fight with Singabarong, continue
dancing around in a circle as if there were nothing wrong.
Kala Srenggi has also entered, unnoticed by myself. As soon as the horsemen catch
sight of him, they all six form a circle around him and Singabarong (Choreography 32).
It now looks as if there is going to be a free-for-all fight.
Kala Srenggi and Singabarong challenge one another
as well as the horsemen. The latter in their turn try to
strike them with their horses or their fists. Kala Srenggi
occasionally dances outside the circle, now dragging
the puppet’s snout low along the ground, as though
he is making it track someone down, now holding it
behind his back with both hands, to lash out fiercely
with it as soon as Singabarong or one of the horsemen
approaches. His dance is very graceful at times. When Choreography 32
Kala Srenggi is attacked by a group of horsemen once
more, he goes running into the audience with one of the helpers on his heels.
One of the horsemen appears to be in trance and wildly waves his horse in the air.
(Toh Bagus is no longer anywhere to be seen. I have not noticed where he has gone.)
Singabarong now and then goes running after one of his attackers, holding his mask
in both hands. (The horsemen have meanwhile all had their horses untied.) Suddenly
Singabarong falls to the ground; he appears to be in trance. He is surrounded by a
number of helpers, as though to stand guard over him. One of them tries to take his
mask off him. After a brief scuffle he seems to give in, but then appears to remain lying
on top of his mask. Kala Srenggi has returned and is provocatively dancing from one
horseman to the other with his puppet. There are five horsemen still mounted, while
one has lost his horse, though I have not noticed how. In all probability Singabarong
has succeeded in knocking his horse out of his hands.
Singabarong has finally lost his mask after all. He moves towards the table with offer-
ings, where Pak Sajèn takes him to task. While the preparations for the slametan are
being made elsewhere in the performance area, Singabarong comes to stand in the
gamelan. His eyes are turned upwards. He does not appear to react to the music.
Then he seems to be wandering around in a daze. Meanwhile all the horsemen have
lost their horses. They are just haphazardly dancing on their own.
Comments
Up to the point where Singabarong was announced, the opening dance of

the six horsemen was virtually identical to that in act one. Toh Bagus’ move-
ments, always in the direction opposite to that in which the horsemen were
dancing, did, however, lend the dance greater tension.
The tantangan formation of the six horsemen did not culminate in a series
of man-to-man fights as in the first three acts, but was interrupted by the
arrival of Singabarong. The horsemen even withdrew temporarily to give Toh
Bagus and Singabarong room, as it were. The encounter between these two
‘rivals’ was restricted to a dance in which they challenged each other, circling
around one another, without actually coming to blows. Hence there was no
such thing as a victory by Toh Bagus over Singabarong, as this encounter is
represented in some versions of the legend. As soon as the horsemen entered
the fray, Toh Bagus even cleared out. The challenges and fights between the
horsemen, Singabarong and Kala Srenggi remained undecided as well, with
the performers going into a trance one after the other. What was striking was
that Singabarong’s ‘recovery’ took place almost unnoticed, without any violent
physical reactions like spasms or rolling on the ground frothing at the mouth,
and even without the intervention of a gambuh. As in the case of Singakumbang,
his trance this time seemed to be simulated rather than genuine. He refused to
say anything later about how he felt during the trance, however.
In Samboyo Putro’s performances it was not always Toh Bagus who
took up arms against Singabarong. In the performances on the occasion of
the ‘Anniversary of the Mobile Police Squad’ in Mojoroto and the ‘National
Independence Day’ celebration in Menang, Pujangga-Anom and his cavalry
opposed Singabarong and Kala Srenggi. In the ‘Police Day’ performance in
Mojoroto, the two knights entered the arena. In all three cases the knights
continued to take an active part in the action for the whole of the act. In
Menang, Singabarong moreover kept his mask to the very end. His fights with
the horsemen regularly alternated with lunges at the audience, what is more.
The two gambuh and the helpers had the greatest of difficulty in keeping him
under control while he was in this state. Whereas in Menang Singabarong’s
trance was very much foregrounded and he seemed to be hardly aware of his
surroundings, in Pulihrejo his actions were marked by deep involvement in
the activities initiated by Pak Samboyo in cooperation with Pak Gambuh, Pak
Sajèn, and the helpers. How Singabarong reacted in this case will be described
in the next chapter.
chapter x
The element of play in the performance

in Pulihrejo
Introduction
In the foregoing I pointed out that during the trance the performances often
lacked a clear focus of interest. In order to hold the attention of the audi-
ence during the numerous moments when the dancers were just wandering
around aimlessly or sitting near the table with offerings in a daze, or simply
remained invisible for a while (hiding among the audience or in the dressing
room), all kinds of games were played, for which usually a few persons, most-
ly young boys, were chosen from among the audience. Although of course in
actual fact the whole performance was one big game, I would like to use the
term ‘game’ particularly with reference to the antics of the dancers after they
became more or less conscious of their surroundings again, but before they
became completely their normal selves. Because these games were so closely
interwoven with the trance, some repetitions in what follows are unavoid-
able. Far from being a drawback, this on the contrary offers an illustration of
how the games were integrated into the performance, in my view.
During the trance of the six and the four horsemen in acts one and two
(jaranan nem and jaranan pat), little actually happened to bring the audience
into action. In act one, only the horseman with the number four (papat) on his
back, Si Papat, concerned himself directly with the spectators. He occupied
himself in handing out sacrificial flowers all the time. These were very popu-
lar with the audience, eager to take them home as jimat, ‘good luck charm,
amulet’. This character struck a comic note by handing out only one petal at a
time with a grand gesture, which did not fail to have its effect and provoked
great hilarity. Every time one of the women (the flowers were handed out
chiefly to mothers with young children) tried to grab more, Si Papat would
give her a corrective rap on the knuckles. One of the musicians who was
watching Si Papat’s actions with keen interest reacted to this with a laugh and
the words kanugrahan siji okèh padha waé, ‘it isn’t the quantity that’s important
for the blessing’.
234 Jaranan
The way in which the element of play was integrated into the second act
(jaranan pat) was described in the chapter on the trance. There we saw how
the audience became more actively involved in the performance in this act.
In this connection I would remind the reader of the behaviour of Si Ijo, the
tranced ‘troublemaker’ from the audience, and his attempts at playing some
kind of game (what game remained unclear) with a number of children, to
send them off with a 500-Rupiah note each in the end.
In the third act (jaranan ro) the action, inspired by the wayang theatre,
acquired a wider dimension, in the sense that all those present – actors, audi-
ence and guests – became involved. It started with the imitation of Cakil, the
one-toothed demon. This well-known character normally appears in the mid-
dle act, the pathet sanga, in wayang plays, where he is invariably worsted in
the duel with the hero or heroine. In Pulihrejo his entrance marked the begin-
ning of the wayang performance, of which the horseman with the number
fourteen (patbelas) on his back, Si Patbelas, turned out to be the puppeteer
(dhalang). The latter was continually thwarted here by his opposite number,
identified by the number ten (sepuluh) on his back, Si Sepuluh. The fragment
following below starts at the point where Si Patbelas and Si Sepuluh are both
in trance.
The wayang play (jaranan ro)

Si Patbelas has been dancing around for a while, imitating the one-toothed demon
from the wayang theatre, Cakil, to the great amusement of the audience. Si Sepuluh
causes a great commotion by banging his head hard against the framework of the
gong. He now re-enters the performance area and starts dancing, like Cakil, scattering
around handfuls of soil, to the hilarity of the audience (at least that part of it that is
out of the range of fire). The musicians, who, aghast at Si Sepuluh’s sudden fit of rage,
stopped playing a while ago, have meanwhile struck up a new melody, and peace
seems to have been restored to some extent.
A mat is spread on the ground and Si Patbelas signals to one of the helpers to come
and dance with him. After a while the helper is told to lie down on the mat on his
stomach, and at Pak Samboyo’s directions Si Patbelas fetches two small boys from
among the audience. They are told to ‘stand guard’ over the helper. An incense burner
is placed nearby. Then Si Patbelas starts doing all kinds of gymnastics, telling the boys
to repeat them after him. The children at first are very reluctant, but eventually do as
they are told. After a while (the helper has meanwhile disappeared) Si Patbelas directs
them to ‘mount’ the mat by taking it between their legs. The smaller of the two fails
to ‘ride’ the mat, though he does his best. His legs are too short and he is replaced by
another boy. This boy is so shy, however, that he just stands shaking his head with an
unhappy look on his face, despite the repeated urgings of Pak Sajèn and Pak Gambuh,
This and the following quotes are taken from the notes I took during the performance.
who have approached. Finally he in turn is replaced by another boy, and the children
are directed to the centre of the performance area with the mat.
The ‘riding’ act appeared to mark the introduction to a genuine wayang per-
formance, with Si Patbelas as puppeteer. Because the latter was in a trance,
and so was unable to speak, Pak Slomprèt acted as his mouthpiece and took
care of the introductory song (ada-ada) and the story (kanda). Pak Dhalang
did the voices of the wayang characters and provided the comments. The
audience and the musicians, finally, tried to guess with Pak Dhalang which
particular wayang characters the dhalang had brought on.
Si Patbelas has walked off. He comes back with a bamboo fan (tépas) belonging to Pak
Sajèn and a mallet (gandhèn) belonging to the slenthem player, and handles them as if
they were wayang puppets. Pak Samboyo, who has joined him, has a third boy fetched
from the audience, who is to play the kecèr that has been taken from the gamelan. He
does so with gusto. It looks as if a real wayang play is going to be performed. The
two little boys are now told to hold the mat upright, as if it were a wayang screen.
Si Patbelas is sitting crossed-legged (in the sila position) on the ground in front of it,
holding a ‘puppet’ in each hand. Bu Swarawati, sitting in the gamelan, starts singing,
while next to her Pak Slomprèt is intoning the introduction. While Si Patbelas lets his
puppets dance in front of the screen, Pak Dhalang tries to guess, with the help of the
musicians and the spectators, which characters are represented by the fan and the
mallet. There is loud yelling and cheering.
Si Sepuluh, who initially took no notice of all these goings-on, now also comes to the
fore. Accompanied by screechings mimicked by Pak Dhalang, he acts like a monkey.
He alternately sits scratching himself and disrupts Si Patbelas’ performance. The latter
thereat tries to tap him on the head with his mallet, but Si Sepuluh evades him neatly
every time. All this provokes bursts of laughter especially from the young members
of the audience.
It looks as if the performance has ended. The children who have had to hold up the
screen disappear among the spectators. Si Patbelas, the dhalang, simply carries on
with his performance, however. The children reappear with their arms full of leaves,
which they are told to hold in a vertical position beside the screen. The leaves repre-
sent trees (gunungan) in which Anuman (the tépas) is leaping from branch to branch.
Pak Dhalang in turns provides comments on the performance with great verve and
spurs on the actors with a range of sounds representing the screeching of the monkey
Anuman and the howling of the latter’s adversary, now identified as the demon Buta
Telèk (the gandhèn). When finally Pak Dhalang announces that Buta Telèk is defeated,
the performance ends. The boys are chased away and go running into the audience
amid loud laughter from the spectators. The helpers pick up the mat and the other
props. Si Sepuluh, who after Anuman’s entrance started dancing around aimlessly on
his own, approaches the gamelan and points to the slomprèt. Pak Slomprèt plays a tune
and the entire gamelan joins in.
236 Jaranan
The wayang performance in Sumberagung. Photograph by author.
Comments
For the first time this evening there was some sort of interaction between the
trance dancers, the musicians and the audience as a whole. Although it looked
as if Si Patbelas spontaneously improvised the wayang performance, it was
actually integrated into the performance at the explicit request of Pak Begja.
The trance phases provide pre-eminently suitable opportunities for
responding to the specific wishes of sponsors. We shall see a few examples of
this presently. How such a request is met is usually left up to the particular
group to decide. Pak Samboyo’s way of complying with Pak Begja’s wishes
was at the same time a gesture to Pak Slomprèt, who occasionally acted as
puppeteer, as well as being a musician. By getting him to intone the introduc-
tion to the play, he was giving Pak Slomprèt an opportunity of showing off
his special skills once more, Pak Samboyo explained.
Si Sepuluh’s interference in the wayang performance up the point where
the ‘monkey’ Anuman came on represented an unmistakable hint to Si
Patbelas to bring on this popular wayang character. Once Pak Dhalang identi-
fied the gandhèn as Anuman, Si Sepuluh lost interest in the performance and
went away.
The moment at which the wayang play was introduced was not randomly
chosen, but was connected with the rules of procedure for that evening. It was
in the course of this third act that the guests had a meal offered them, at the
end of which they were supposed to take their leave. A meal invariably marks
the end of the official part of the festivities at family or community celebra-
tions like this. It is customary for the host’s request to the group to entertain
his guests in some special way to be granted at that point. The circumstance
that this third act was the least chaotic of all should also be understood in
terms of the rules of procedure for the festivities.
Although in Pulihrejo I did not have an opportunity of keeping an eye
on what went on in the part of the house where the guests were seated, it is
reasonable to assume that the pattern of events there differed hardly, if at all,
from what is customary on this kind of occasion. That is to say that most of
the guests probably arrived in the middle of the first act. This at the same time
explains why the second, more elaborate speech of welcome to the guests
was not delivered till the second act. The usual exchange of greetings and of
the latest gossip, whereby the guests continually move around so as to get
a chance to chat to as many relatives, friends and acquaintances as possible,
normally takes place at the beginning of the evening, while refreshments are
being handed out to the guests by way of welcome. Only during the meal,
when the talking stops, is attention given to the performance, for which the
host often has a special surprise in store.
The end of the wayang play appeared to coincide more or less with the
end of act three. Si Patbelas, the dhalang, then moved towards Pak Sajèn,
who gave him a drink from a bowl that he slurped empty half-lying on the
ground. Si Sepuluh, after asking the gamelan for another number, continued
dancing around for a short while, but then suddenly disappeared, to reap-
pear no more. Meanwhile another three children and a few youths from the
Samboyo Putro family had been mustered up on Pak Samboyo’s instructions
for a bridhèn dance (break-dance) demonstration in the interlude before act
four.
In the second part of the ‘performance’, after the children had gone and got the branches,
the tépas appeared to represent Anuman, and the gandhèn the demon Buta Telèk.
A wayang play was likewise incorporated in Samboyo Putro’s performance in Sumberagung
in 1992, but here took place towards the end of the performance. Because, except for a few rela-
tives and close neighbours, there were no invited guests here, let alone official guests, few for-
malities were observed that day.
238 Jaranan
Interlude: a bridhèn dance led by youths from Samboyo Putro

The angklung players strike up a new melody again and Pak Gambuh assembles a
few youngsters from the Samboyo Putro family, who are to choose three little boys
from among the audience to dance with them. Pak Samboyo instructs them to give
a demonstration of the popular bridhèn dance with the children. The Samboyo Putro
youths do not seem to be very much in the mood for this and make repeated attempts
to run away whenever the helpers so much as turn away from them. They are liter-
ally dragged back by the hair, however. Eventually they seem to take pleasure in their
role as instructors after all. First they dance with all three children together and then
with each individually, amid shouts of encouragement from the musicians and the
audience. Pak Samboyo looks on laughing, with Kyai Samandiman in his hand, and
occasionally joins in for a few steps. Because of his heavy build and rather stiff limbs,
this has a somewhat comic effect. The bridhèn dancers, on the other hand, look as if
they don’t have a single bone in their body and twist around and over each other like
eels. Suddenly the gamelan falls silent, though it is not clear why. The three children
are chased away and the Samboyo Putro youths withdraw.
Comments
The bridhèn dance, like the wayang performance, was not a part of Samboyo
Putro’s regular repertoire, let alone of the rigorously choreographed opening
dances. Obviously the decision to let the young stars take part in the perform-
ance this time was taken impromptu by Pak Samboyo. This also explains the
youths’ reluctance. The enthusiasm of the children, who obviously looked up
to them, flattered their vanity, however, and made them give up their initial
resistance.
Very occasionally a bridhèn dance was included in the programme before
the show. This gave the young people an opportunity to prepare for their
act, for instance by dressing up for it. In the performances for ‘Police Day’
in Mojoroto and ‘National Independence Day’ in Menang this dance was
included in the fourth act (kucingan), where the dancers were challenged by
Macan, Kethèk, and Singakumbang in turns. Their dance on those occasions
was very elaborate.
While the audience was being treated to a bridhèn dance, the preparations
for the next act were in full swing. Pak Sajèn held the Singakumbang, Kethèk
and Macan masks over the incense once more (a renewed invitation to the
spirits to descend into the masks) and then took them to the dressing room.
Meanwhile Pak Gambuh sat near the table with offerings calmly peeling a
basket of sweet potatoes (ketéla). When Pak Sajèn returned, he put a few more
pieces of incense on the burner. As soon as dense clouds of smoke started
curling up, as a sign that the ‘stage’ was set for the entrance of the actors,
Pak Dhalang announced act four (kucingan). During the trance there was no
longer any such thing as a performance of a single big play taking place, but
The bridhèn dancers challenged by Macan (forground) and Kethèk.

rather, as in acts one and two, a whole series of separate activities scattered
all over the compound, some of them in the middle of the audience, in which
now this now that dancer took part. The following fragment begins at the
point where Toh Bagus’ and Pujangga-Anom’s dance with Singakumbang
changed into a wild chase.
The action in act four (kucingan)

Singakumbang, holding his mask high above his head with both hands, runs in all
directions all over the performance area, chasing now Toh Bagus, now Pujangga-
Anom. To the great amusement of the audience, every time Singakumbang
approaches Toh Bagus tries to hide behind Pujangga-Anom, whereupon the
former quickly runs off again amid loud cheering from the onlookers. The helpers
240 Jaranan
have gone to stand at their posts to stop Singakumbang from hurling himself at the
spectators. Suddenly excited cries of ‘The barong is in trance. Watch out, the barong
is in trance!’ (Barong ndadi. Awas, barong ndadi!) are to be heard from the audience.
Singakumbang heads for the gamelan at full pelt and falls on top of the drummer,
throwing him to the ground. The player of the small kendhang immediately sets
a different rhythm. Singakumbang rushes away headlong again without paying
attention to anything, however. He knocks into one of the performers with a loud
bang and then dives into the dressing room, with Pak Samboyo and a few helpers
in pursuit.
This seemed to be the end of Singakumbang’s appearance. For a while Toh

Bagus and Pujangga-Anom, who were dancing around rather stiffly on either
side of the performance area, had the compound all to themselves. When the
gamelan struck up another tune, Kethèk and Macan emerged from the dress-
ing room one immediately after the other.
Kethèk enters the performance area turning somersaults, soon followed by Macan.
Toh Bagus makes as if to ensnare Macan. Kethèk, meanwhile, tries to climb onto
Pujangga-Anom’s shoulders or to ride him piggyback, but the latter continually
shakes him off. These and other acrobatics continue for quite some time.
Macan has now actually been snared and is placed in front of the gamelan with the
words Macané mati (‘The tiger is dead’). Two helpers take charge of him and carry
him off to the dressing room. Kethèk disappears behind the curtain. Toh Bagus
and Pujangga-Anom, who have joined in with Macan and Kethèk with great verve
and abandon all this time, without apparently having gone into a trance, leave the
performance area together as the gamelan falls silent.
For a moment it looked as if this act was finished. But then Pak Samboyo, of
whom I had lost sight for a while, reappeared and walked to the centre of
the performance area carrying a coconut from the table with offerings. There
he signalled to one of the helpers to set the coconut on fire. At the same time
Macan and Kethèk emerged from the dressing room and were both assigned
a task by Pak Sajèn.
While Pak Samboyo has a fire lit in the centre of the performance area, Macan reap-
pears, this time without his mask, with Kethèk at his heels, also without a mask.
Pak Sajèn thrusts a pile of sweet potatoes (ketéla) into their arms and sends them
off into the audience with these. Kethèk just wanders around aimlessly with them.
Eventually he hands out a few among the children, at Pak Samboyo’s repeated
urgings, and then approaches the gamelan. After some hesitation he gives me one
as well. Then he goes to look at the fire. It appears to be a burning coconut. He
dances around it a few times, like an inquisitive monkey, repeatedly sitting down
to scratch himself. Finally he picks up the burning coconut and walks off with it.
Macan has been invisible for a while. I don’t know what has become of him.
Macan, as it turned out, had gone entirely his own way. Sometimes he would
come to the table with offerings and ask to be given a drink or be rubbed
down and sprinkled with aromatic oil. Then he would disappear among the
spectators again. Judging from the cheers to be heard now here now there, he
was keeping his audience well entertained. From where I was sitting in the
gamelan I could not see what he was up to exactly, however. In the perform-
ance area, on the other hand, Kethèk was stealing the show up to the point
where one of the musicians went into a trance.
Kethèk is standing near the gamelan and gives Bu Swarawati a sign that he wants
to hear another tune. She starts singing, but he angrily rejects her choice. Nervously
flicking through her exercise book, she repeatedly tries a new song, with the musi-
cians and the audience shouting all kinds of suggestions at her. She still can’t find
the right song. To help her, Pak Beja blows his slomprèt. Finally Kethèk begins to
dance again and everyone heaves a sigh of relief.
But then the musicians suddenly scatter in all directions with cries of excitement,
and people all around me warn me to move aside. Before I fully realize what
exactly is happening, Pak Slomprèt, who is sitting right next to me, is slumping
over the slenthem he has been playing till now. He has gone into a trance and lies
with legs and arms wildly flailing in the air. Pak Samboyo and two helpers come
running along. They half carry half drag him off to the dressing room.
The commotion has evidently made Kethèk lose interest in the music. He climbs
onto Macan’s back with the still burning coconut in his hand. They disappear
among the audience together.
At the very moment when the performance area was lying empty and aban-
doned, the tranced Pak Slomprèt reappeared from the dressing room. He was
led by Pak Samboyo to the table with offerings. With a blow on the penthul
mask he indicated that he wanted to play the part of Penthul, the clown who
is so popular in East Java.
Pak Slomprèt emerges from the dressing room. At the table with offerings the
penthul mask is tied before his face and Pak Sajèn scatters incense fumes over him.
A bowl of kenanga flowers is thrust into his arms and he is sent into the audience
with it. Kethèk and Macan are now also standing near the table with offerings.
Kethèk is given a bunch of bananas to distribute among the audience. He obeys
without demur, but stuffs his mouth with the fruit, peel and all. He is also still
carrying the coconut, which has meanwhile burned out. A little later I see him
digging a pit with his bare hands. After plucking the burnt fibres off the coconut,
he puts it in the pit. Then he gives one of the helpers a sign to fill in the pit, while
he himself goes and dances around a little. (Pak Gambuh has come and joined us
in the gamelan. He seems to be completely his old self again now that his part as
Singakumbang is played out.)
Kethèk has fetched two persons (from the audience?), who are told to dig up the
coconut again. When they have finished doing so, Kethèk comes to the gamelan
with the nut, asks for the slenthem player’s mallet, and cracks the nut in two. He
allows the juice to run away.
Singabarong with sacrificial chicken. Photograph by author.
The musicians continued playing indefatigably while all this is going on,
and Bu Swarawati and Pak Dhalang sang one song after another, this time
without being pestered with all kinds of requests by the dancers. When sud-
denly there was a great hullabaloo somewhere at the back of the performance
area, the gamelan fell silent and Bu Swarawati and Pak Dhalang momentarily
stopped singing. It did not become clear what was wrong. Whatever it was, it
did not appear to have anything to do with the performance, for the two gam-
buh and Pak Sajèn showed no reaction. After a little while calm was restored.
Penthul had meanwhile fetched a child from the audience.
Penthul has seized a little boy from the audience. Totally at a loss and constantly
looking around at his playmates, he is told to imitate various silly movements
demonstrated to him by Penthul. The latter meanwhile keeps making all kinds of
grimaces in the direction of the gamelan, evidently with the intention of getting
it to play a particular melody. Bu Swarawati starts singing and Penthul demon-
strates an exercise from the popular self-defence (pencak silat) repertoire. The little
boy really does his best and is clearly enjoying himself now. After this exercise
he is sent off. Pak Sajèn is invited to give a solo pencak silat demonstration. Next
a child is fetched from the audience to dance with one of the helpers. Urged on
by the young members of the audience, they engage in a pencak-silat-style fight.
(Macan and Kethèk have disappeared among the audience again with a bunch of
bananas.) It appears to be a very unequal fight, for the helper is exceptionally tall,
whereas the child is extremely small. He defends himself bravely, however, but
eventually is worsted and is chased away amid loud cheering.
Suddenly it is very quiet again. At a sign from Pak Dhalang the musicians have
stopped playing. One of the helpers whispers something into Penthul’s ear. The lat-
ter dives into the audience and a moment later returns with a violently struggling
boy. He leads the boy to the table with offerings, where Pak Sajèn takes him in
hand. The boy’s face is blackened all over, after which he is sent off amid laughter
and teasing remarks from the onlookers. While all this is going on, the musicians
hesitantly try out a new melody, though without receiving a request from any of
the performers. After several false starts, the entire gamelan strikes up.
For a moment it was unclear if the performance had ended with the departure
of the ‘blackamoor’, which was why the musicians only started playing again
hesitantly. Penthul, Macan and Kethèk just danced or wandered aimlessly
around the performance area, apparently still in some sort of trance, until
they were seized soon after each other by other members of the company.
A crowd has gathered at the table with offerings. Kethèk has been caught by Pak
Sajèn and Macan is lying in Pak Samboyo’s arms. Penthul is wandering around in
a daze, but when one of the helpers makes a move to take hold of him, he hides
behind Pak Samboyo. He is caught in the end. His mask is removed and he falls to
the ground in a spasm. Then Pak Samboyo approaches him and raps him on the
head with his big whip a few times. Without any further resistance, he rises to his
feet and walks off.
244 Jaranan
Comments
It was interesting to note that not only Singakumbang but also Toh Bagus
and Pujangga-Anom made only a relatively short appearance this time, in
contrast to most other performances by the group which I attended. Usually
Singakumbang, Toh Bagus and Pujangga-Anom continued to take an active
part in the performance together with Macan and Kethèk throughout the
trance phase, with only short breaks to recover somewhat near the table with
offerings. Here too, as in Pulihrejo, the actions of the two knights consisted
chiefly of a kind of cat-and-mouse game with Macan and Kethèk (who both
retained their masks) and all sorts of acrobatics, tumbling acts and gags. No
explanation was given for the briefness of their appearance.
Because circumstances prevented me from discussing the performance
afterwards, as I indicated above, the reason for this brief appearance remains
a matter of conjecture. It is not improbable, however, that the preference of
Pak Begja, the host, for a performance that was more in tune with modern
times and in which there was not really any room for spirit possession, was
responsible for this. At the same time, this may explain why Singakumbang
did not really go into a trance. Pak Begja’s stamp on this particular production
was unmistakable. It was evident not only from the wayang play incorpo-
rated at his request, for which he had even made a few musical instruments
available, but also from the prank played on the boy fetched by Penthul. This
boy was a real little rascal, people said, whom Pak Begja wanted to teach a les-
son in this playful way. Hence the joke had an educational purpose as well.
Kethèk’s aim in burying the burnt-up coconut and having it dug up again a
little later was also not clear. It was explained, like the ‘guard’ kept over one of
the helpers by two boys from the audience in the preceding act, or the actors’
sudden exit after first having thrown the musicians into a panic – actions that
did not seem to lead anywhere – by referring to the unpredictable behaviour
of the bangsa alus, the invisible guests. These actions reinforced the improvi-
sational, ambiguous character of the performance in the trance phase.
Although Macan and Kethèk continually made the audience laugh with
their jokes, Penthul was the pivot of the performance as soon as he came
on. As in the wayang performance, here too the audience and the musicians
enthusiastically entered into the spirit of the thing as the performers went
through their act, particularly during the pencak silat exercises.
The last of the five acts was the most chaotic of all, as usual. The confused
character of the end was reinforced by the fact that it stood in such stark con-
trast to the very elaborate, rigorously choreographed dance opening this act.
During the dance, Pak Sajèn again was busy fanning the fire in the incense
burner and rearranging the leftover sacrificial food. The barong mask was
brought out and addressed and was taken with the wild boar puppet to the
dressing room, where Singabarong, Kala Srenggi and the six horsemen were
getting ready for their final appearance. When dense clouds of incense started
curling up, this was a sign that the preparations were finished. As soon as Pak
Dhalang sang Singabarong’s signature tune, the audience, which had thinned
out considerably during the interlude, crowded around the performance area
again en masse. The tension became palpable.
The next fragment begins at the moment when Singabarong’s mask was
taken away from him.
The final act (barongan-cèlèngan)

Singabarong has lost his mask and is now aimlessly dancing around. Kala Srenggi
is dancing among the four remaining horsemen (the other two are in trance) and
is provoking them by furiously lashing out at them with his wild boar puppet.
Meanwhile the preparations for the slametan are also in full swing.
Suddenly Singabarong flashes past, pursued by one of the helpers. A moment later
he is standing in front of the gamelan again. Kala Srenggi approaches, still carry-
ing his puppet. They both want to hear a new melody. Bu Swarawati, Pak Slomprèt
and Pak Pangendhang, the drummer, simultaneously strike up a new tune, a dif-
ferent one each. Singabarong becomes angry and strikes a blow at the kendhang.
Pak Pangendhang immediately beats another roll, but again Singabarong wildly
shakes his head. Then the slenthem enters, but before the other musicians are able
to join in, Kala Srenggi has seized hold of an angklung. There is dead silence for
a moment, and then the angklung players and other musicians start playing in
unison. After several beats the gamelan falls silent, however, because Kala Srenggi
refuses to dance. When the musicians resume playing, it is the same melody again.
Singabarong and Kala Srenggi simply walk off together.
Kala Srenggi has lost his boar puppet and is now carrying a burning incense
burner instead. He goes and takes a look at the small group that has meanwhile
gathered for the slametan and dances around it several times. The ceremony is
in full swing. Pak Dhalang has reappeared and is just commencing his speech.
Singabarong is meanwhile given a large tray with the leftovers of the sacrificial
food, which he is to share out among the spectators. The crowd presses around
him. Singabarong continually makes as if to give someone some of the food, but
then quickly puts it in his own mouth. In the meantime he deals bystanders trying
to snatch something from the tray some smart slaps. Back at the table with offer-
ings, he signals to Pak Sajèn to give him the chicken that has stood tied to the table
by one of its legs all night. Fondling the chicken, he dances around the compound
with it in his arms. Now and then he pushes it into the face of someone in the audi-
ence. Bu Swarawati has sung her parting song, takes off her microphone and goes
to the dressing room. The musicians continue, however, so that the performance
does not seem to have ended yet.
This was the song ‘Ketawang Subakastawa’ (ketawang, ‘a particular group of gamelan melo-
dies’, subakastawa, roughly synonymous with nyembah, ‘to pay deference’; Pigeaud 1982). It was
often played as a farewell tune in wayang performances in the area surrounding Solo (Central
Java).
The horse dance competition for young people in Sumberagung. Photograph by
Marije Duijker.
While in one part of the compound the slametan is in full swing and in another part
Kala Srenggi and the horsemen are chasing one another again, a song contest is
staged beside the gamelan. The helpers have brought on five little boys from the
audience, who are lined up in a row. They are each in turn to sing a song under
Pak Samboyo’s direction. The musicians join in with great gusto, enthusiastically
accompanying one ‘pop star’ after the other. But Singabarong repeatedly disrupts
the contest. He gives the boys a scolding and chases them away one by one, so
that a new group has to be formed each time. Now for the first time a little girl is
fetched and lined up with the boys. The song contest begins all over again from
the start for the umpteenth time. (A few of the musicians have had enough, gather
up their things and leave the gamelan.) The competition is finally won, after much
squabbling, by the only girl taking part, though not till after the top hit ‘Honey
and poison’ (‘Madu dan racun’) has been sung extremely loudly many times over.
Singabarong thrusts the chicken in the arms of the lucky, but very shy winner with-
out further ado, and she quickly walks off with it. The other children are chased
away. The remaining musicians now also leave, to join the other members of the
group in the dressing room. The performance is unexpectedly over after all.
Comments
The organization of contests was a regular practice with Samboyo Putro. The
form of the contest differed each time. In Menang, as we saw, a number of
little boys had to gulp down as much food in as short a time as possible with-
out cheating. During the ‘Police Day’ performance in Mojoroto a bridhèn com-
petition was staged for the young people. And for the ‘Mobile Police Squad
Celebration’, also in Mojoroto, and the circumcision party in Sumberagung,
a varying number of children aged between six and ten had to dance along
with the regular horsemen ‘mounted’ on extra small kuda képang. The mem-
bers of Samboyo Putro generally judged such an interposed contest posi-
tively. Precisely because it was a concession to the national contest cult, it was
proof once more to them that the company was keeping up with the times.
The performance in Pulihrejo was the sole occasion on which I saw a lit-
tle girl participate in the games staged by Samboyo Putro. Because I had no
opportunity for a chat with the host at the end of the performance, as was
indicated above, I was unable to find out who she was. I would not be sur-
prised, however, if she and the young rascal from the preceding act were the
twins mentioned in the welcoming speech. The more so as Pak Begja had had
an obvious say in the production.
The performance of the horsemen, Singabarong and Kala Srenggi, which
initially consisted of a kind of cat-and-mouse game without winners or los-
Admittedly three children, including two little girls, were fetched from the audience in the
Police Day performance in Mojoroto, but after being asked a few questions, which were unintel-
ligible to the bystanders, they were sent off again and so did not take part.
248 Jaranan
ers, fizzled out as soon as Singabarong went his own way and took no more
notice of the horsemen and Kala Srenggi. His act comprised first of all an
encounter with the audience, which he continually put on the wrong track by
putting the food he was offering them in his own mouth, or by quickly with-
drawing the sacrificial chicken as soon as someone tried to snatch it. Then he
made a nuisance of himself by repeatedly upsetting the arrangement of the
singers. It was difficult to decide which of the performers took the audience’s
fancy most, the young singers or Singabarong.
In contrast with Singabarong, who after he had his mask removed con-
cerned himself with the spectators and with the action in the performance
area, Kala Srenggi and the horsemen kept mostly to themselves, at least when
they were not chasing each other. They reacted to the audience hardly, if at all,
and although they danced around the slametan group or the group of singers
now and then, they had nothing to do with them, as far as I could tell.
This time there was no such thing as a spectacular ‘recovery’ of the danc-
ers of the type we witnessed when, for instance, Si Ijo was brought to in act
two, as far as I was able to see. This itself already indicates that the performers
were in a glow of euphoria rather than in a deep trance. There was no con-
cluding ritual, either. In fact, the performance went out like a candle.
The absence of the final communal ritual, as a result of which it remained
unclear for a long time whether or not the performance had ended, was not
unusual. But generally it was precisely the fact that the ‘recovery’ was extreme-
ly difficult that in such cases was to blame for this. Every time it looked as if
an actor had come to from his trance, he would go running back into the per-
formance area, and the chase and recovery would begin again from the start
– sometimes even when the musicians had withdrawn with the other perform-
ers and the majority of the audience had disappeared as well. Kala Srenggi,
who seemed to be the most susceptible to the trance, generally resisted most
fiercely. He repeatedly managed to run away with his wild boar puppet.
Difficulty in coming round from the trance was generally attributed to
reluctance on the part of the spirits to leave the actors. In the Pulihrejo per-
formance, however, it looked as if the majority of the performers were not
really ‘possessed’ but were, in their words, only ‘touched’ by spirits. Pak
Gambuh’s complaint that the ‘trance’ had not really taken hold also seems to
be an indication in this direction.
Although the performance in Pulihrejo was no less lively than those in
Mojoroto, Menang and Sumberagung, the trance here looked to me to be less
spontaneous. It was as if the performers were slightly inhibited and dared not
abandon themselves totally to the trance. In retrospect, most of the members
of the group were satisfied with the way the performance had gone, however,
and, judging from the enthusiastic, sympathetic reaction of the audience, the
spectators highly appreciated it, too.
The character of the performance in Pulihrejo
The performance in Pulihrejo is an illustration of the fact that the character of

a performance is more dependent on the wishes of an individual sponsor than
on the category of sponsors – a family, a community or an organization – for
which it is intended. For example, the two performances given by Samboyo
Putro on the initiative of a government organization – the Mojoroto police
– which one would expect to be ‘modern’ or in conformity with contemporary
norms, struck me as being much more ‘traditional’ in many respects than Pak
Begja’s family performance. They were traditional in the sense that the trance
of the horsemen as well as of Singakumbang, Singabarong, Kala Srenggi,
Macan and Kethèk was foregrounded much more, most of the ‘recoveries’
were extraordinarily spectacular, and the dancers’ actions displayed all kinds
of ‘folksy’ or ‘primitive’ elements that in Pulihrejo had been considerably
watered down or had disappeared altogether. Such acts as, for instance,
Kethèk’s pelting the audience with coconuts, bananas or even roof tiles from
a height (a tree or a roof) – which was not altogether without danger – in the
‘Police Day’ performance, in Pulihrejo had been modified to the throwing of
handfuls of soil (by Cakil). Stunts like eating ‘food’ that is unfit for human
consumption, like glass light globes (Singakumbang) or charcoal (Penthul),
or stuffing oneself with oats (some of the horsemen), and actions betraying
childish behaviour, such as rubbing chewed food all over oneself (Kethèk and
a few of the horsemen at the ‘Feast of the Mobile Police Squad’ in Mojoroto)
were omitted altogether in Pulihrejo.
A reason for the greater liberties Samboyo Putro was able to permit itself in
the performances in Mojoroto was the fact that the two sponsors – the police
force in both cases – wanted to make an explicit gesture to the community for
the sake of strengthening the communal bond. Both times, the official guests
departed before the beginning of the performance. The continually changing
audience subsequently was mostly made up of neighbours, schoolchildren,
casual passers-by and, in the case of the Police Day performance, which took
place in the police station compound on the edge of the marketplace, some
market-goers and vendors. This means that Samboyo Putro, despite its image
as a modern, progressive group, accommodated itself first and foremost to
the wishes of the sponsor, whom it was anxious to please, partly with an eye
to potential future commissions.
Of all of Samboyo Putro’s performances that I attended, either in their
entirety or only in part, that in Pulihrejo approximated to the official idea of
In this book I have only discussed the performances by Samboyo Putro that I attended in
their entirety. Several times I stayed to watch a performance – sometimes by chance, sometimes
intentionally, when I knew a show was being staged in the neighbourhood – for only a while
250 Jaranan
a sound, contemporary ‘traditional’ performance most closely, in my view,

in the sense that it excluded outdated, so-called ‘folksy’ or ‘primitive’ ele-
ments connected with the trance for the greater part. The trance dancers here,
instead of letting themselves go completely, were continually urged with
gentle pressure from the two trance masters or the helpers to engage in all
kinds of games, in which they had to get a few, mostly young, children in the
audience to participate. The performance thus turned into one big communal
game, in fact, whereby the trance dancers became constantly involved in the
here and now. This way Pak Samboyo subtly transmuted the trance danc-
ers’ role of mediums through which to communicate with the world of the
dead, or the ancestors (as in the case of Haswo Usodo), into that of mediums
through which to involve the audience actively in the performance. Where
Pak Usodo had opted for the traditional role of healer by primarily empha-
sizing the sacral aspect of the horse dance, besides its entertainment aspect,
and Harjono had developed the Jaranan Képang into a modern, aesthetically
pleasing, but to a large extent superficial show, Pak Samboyo had succeeded
in binding both old and young audiences to his group by accommodating
both the need for the familiar (kekrasanan) and the desire for change and new
challenges (hasrat bertualang).
That the aura of a performance is partly determined by the personal-
ity of the director, in addition to the influence of the sponsor, was clearly
demonstrated once more by Samboyo Putro’s performance in Sumberagung.
When, after Pak Samboyo’s death, the company struck out on a different
course under the direction of Pak Gambuh, it lost its image as a ‘mod-
ern’, ‘progressive’ group, according to Pak Dhalang, as witness the ritu-
al of the ‘blessing of the penis’. As a consequence of this development,
Samboyo Putro, once the most popular horse dance company in the town
of Kediri, slid into a steady decline and eventually had to be disbanded.
when actually on my way to some other event. Because I took only very summary notes, which
moreover add little to the general picture of Samboyo Putro, during these brief attendances, I
have left them out of consideration here.
chapter xi
Conclusion
When, in the 1980s, economic, social and intellectual developments rapidly

changed the face of Indonesian society as a consequence of the successive
five-year plans of the New Order, the traditional dramatic genre of the horse
dance (jaranan) appeared to be the most popular dramatic genre but one in
the town of Kediri. The nucleus of this folk genre was formed by the trance
of possession. This is a trance form in which the dancers temporarily believe
themselves to lose their own personality and to be possessed by otherworldly
powers such as (local) guardian spirits and/or ancestor spirits (bangsa alus).
These are invoked by the trance master for consultation about problems that
are impossible to solve for human beings. Underlying the belief in the mate-
rialization of these supernatural powers in the bodies of the trance dancers is
the conviction that man owes his physical and moral existence to his ances-
tors. After their death, the ancestors continue to interfere in the lives of their
descendants, it is believed, and may be approached through the medium
of the trance. This conviction forms the basis for Agama Jawa, or ‘Javanese
religion’, in which the ancestors play a key role. Under the New Order this
faith was called into question. Particular practices connected with it, like the
trance of possession, were considered superstitious and no longer relevant
in a modern society built on a rational foundation. To preserve the genre
of the horse dance, one of the most characteristic cultural manifestations of
East Java, for future generations, the administration of Kediri made various
attempts at modernization of this genre. Hereby the younger generation
became the focus of attention, as they are expected to carry on the cultural
tradition in the future.
One response to the government’s question as to how to modernize the
dramatic folk genre of the horse dance came from Harjono, an official with
the Cultural Affairs Bureau of the sub-district of Mojoroto (Kediri), in the
form of a specially formed Jaranan Képang company. This was an all-girl
group adapted to the dominant aesthetic ideal on the points of both cos-
tumes, properties and performance. That is to say, it was modelled for the
greater part on the wayang, a traditional dramatic genre regarded nationally
as well as internationally as one of the high points of the Javanese dramatic
252 Jaranan
tradition. Obviously there was no room in it for the trance, so that the ancient
relation between the horse dance and the ancestor cult was severed.
Another response came from the Cultural Affairs Bureau of Kediri town.
On its initiative, horse dance competitions were organized for children in the
school holidays, in which the trance was likewise lacking and the aesthetic
aspect was dominant. These two local-government-initiated horse dance
forms drew little reaction from the Kediri community beyond the narrow
circle of participants and their relatives.
Besides these activities, directed specifically at the younger generation, the
Kediri administration also involved existing companies in its modernization
programme. Thus the horse dance groups Haswo Usodo and Samboyo Putro
were selected once to represent Kediri in the annual national competition for
the title of ‘artist or artist group of the year’. To be eligible for participation
in this stepped competition, the first round of which is held at the local level
and the final one in Jakarta, contestants were required to convey the essence
of the relevant genre in a performance of no more than ten minutes for a
non-Javanese audience. In their preparations, the contestants had to comply
with the guidelines set by the government. In the case of Haswo Usodo and
Samboyo Putro, these guidelines translated into so-called ‘demonstrations’ of
the genre by a few horse dancers and mask dancers which lacked the trance.
These rigorously choreographed performances offered no scope for improvi-
sation or ambiguity – the very aspects that appear to be characteristic of so-
called ‘regular’ performances in this genre, as they reinforce the suggestion
that there is more to them than meets the eye, and hence refer to a deeper
level of meaning.
Such ‘demonstrations’ are an illustration of the problem with which
regional cultural manifestations have to cope when they have to function on
the national level. Sedyawati, who has drawn attention to this problem, points
out, for example, that regional traditional dramatic genres, often possessing
an ethnic tie, need to be ‘translated’ in order to be understood on the national
stage, as the obvious meaning such a genre possesses in its region of origin
is to some extent lost elsewhere. In the case of Haswo Usodo and Samboyo
Putro, this ‘translation’ for the purpose of their participation in the national
competition culminated in a demonstration of mere form without content.
Like the Jaranan Képang and other government-organized theatrical forms in
Kediri, the genre lost its very essence, contrary to the original intention.
Although Haswo Usodo and Samboyo Putro both took part in the national
competition, and as a result made a certain name for themselves, their regular
performances were seen to differ greatly from each other. This was clearly a
function of the different personalities of the trance masters of the two groups.
Pak Usodo, the trance master of Haswo Usodo, was not interested in mod-
ernization of the genre. He regarded himself first and foremost as a tradi-
XI Conclusion 253
tional healer, who with the help of his trance dancers sought solutions from
the ancestor spirits for the mostly psychosomatic problems of his clients. In
practice this translated into performances in which the trance master played
a key role as the interpreter of messages from the immaterial world. Haswo
Usodo played mainly to the audience, which might ask the trance master for
help either during or outside a performance, but whose role otherwise was
chiefly that of spectators. In this connection it was significant that only the
performers themselves took part in the slametan which were a fixed feature of
the performances of this group.
Despite the fact that Haswo Usodo had a reputation as being old-fashioned
(kuna) – a qualification with generally rather negative connotations – the com-
pany obviously met with some appreciation from the local government on
account of its clear-cut specialization. This was in fact the reason why Haswo
Usodo was chosen to take part in the national competition. The irony is that
the demonstration offered no scope for precisely this specialization.
Pak Usodo regarded his participation in the demonstration/competition as
confirmation of his ability to adapt to any situation, but did not allow this to
influence his regular performances. The Kediri authorities, on the other hand,
considered the demonstrations as proof that the traditional genre of the horse
dance was capable of modernization. They regarded this as a first step in the
direction of revaluation (revaluasi) of the genre.
Pak Samboyo, the founder, trance master and leader of Samboyo Putro,
contrary to Pak Usodo, had a positive attitude to the government-propagated
adaptations that were supposed to bring the traditional genre of the horse
dance into line with the trend of social developments. Because of his position
as commanding officer of the Mobile Police Squad of Mojoroto and as a mem-
ber of the government party, Golkar, he felt he had the duty to be a role model
in society. He played his part as such in a way all his own. Modernization of
the genre of the horse dance to him implied, among other things, bringing
his group as much as possible into conformity with the prevailing aesthetic
norms (nilai keindahan) as far as props, costumes and presentation were con-
cerned in order to lift it above the image of coarseness and vulgarity (kasar).
The inclusion of a narrator/singer (dhalang) and a female singer (swarawati)
in the group to introduce the Javanese literary tradition in its performances,
as well as the attention bestowed on the aesthetic quality of the opening
dances, executed in perfect harmony with the gamelan, are examples of this.
To this extent Pak Samboyo was prepared to meet the government’s wishes
with regard to the development of the genre. He deviated from the official
guidelines, however, by also giving the trance and associated rituals a place
in his performances. As a result of the way in which the trance dancers were
continually called on to play all kinds of popular games with children from
the audience or to get the audience involved in the performance in other ways
254 Jaranan
as well, these performances did take on a wholly new meaning, however.

Thus they no longer functioned as mediums through which contact with
the supernatural powers (bangsa alus) was sought in order to find solutions
for pressing problems, but as mediums through which the audience’s active
participation in the performance was secured. This way the sacral aspect of
the genre, namely communication with otherworldly powers, was subtly
transmuted into a social aspect, communication with the audience.
So, in spite of the fact that Pak Samboyo liked to pride himself on the
modern, progressive image of his company, he had not turned his back on the
more traditional facets, as had happened in the case of the Jaranan Képang.
Instead, he had integrated these with the more contemporary aspects in a
way that was acceptable to everyone. In so doing, he had clearly considered
the preferences, wishes and expectations of all those involved: the fellow-
members of his group, his sponsor(s), the latter’s guests, and the audience.
Except for the ‘demonstrations’, Samboyo Putro’s performances, as a result of
their largely improvisational character, offered everyone an opportunity for
personal interpretation. The uncertainty about the true nature of the trance,
the vagueness about the dancers’ intentions, as a result of which the specta-
tors were again and again put on the wrong track, and the toying with the
audience’s expectations, which were continually challenged, so that accepted
norms and values were put into a different perspective, gave not only the per-
formers but also the spectators a sense of liberation. The mixture of tradition
and innovation served to meet the need for change and adventure (hasrat ber-
tualang) on the one hand, and the desire to retain the familiar (kekrasanan) on
the other. In Samboyo Putro’s case there was no sign of any conflict between
the two, as a consequence of the modernization of society, also on the local
level, of the kind to which Sedyawati points. Pak Samboyo seemed to be well
aware that a large section of the population of Kediri, like the majority of the
members of his group – the relatively uneducated wong cilik on whom he was
dependent for his commissions – had not yet embraced the modern way of
life, or had done so only very partially.
Accordingly Pak Samboyo did not introduce the said innovations in his
performances with the intention of freeing himself from tradition by seek-
ing to conform to a government-advocated, mainly Western ideal of an aes-
thetically pleasing performance. On the contrary, his aim was to guard the
generally highly respected traditional values and customs, such as mutual
cooperation (gotong royong), peaceful coexistence (rukun), and the Agama
Jawa core ritual, the slametan, against erosion. This was also his main reason
for integrating a ‘slametan for young people’ into performances, for example,
for which repeatedly a number of young children were selected from among
the audience.
Samboyo Putro’s performances in point of fact clearly also possessed an
XI Conclusion 255
educational aspect, meant especially to stem the tide of all kinds of foreign,
mostly Western influences. The best way for regional dramatic genres like
the horse dance to contribute to the development (pembangunan) of a modern
Indonesian society with its own identity – an ideal about which government
leaders felt especially strongly – was not, according to Samboyo Putro, by
abandoning tradition, as the younger generation was only too easily tempted
to do, but on the contrary, by making this generation aware of their cultural
roots. This was in fact the chief reason why the younger generation was invar-
iably assigned such a prominent role in Samboyo Putro’s performances.
The ideal that Pak Samboyo strove after in his attempts at modernizing the
genre was not the same as that of Jakarta, grafted as this was onto the global,
mostly Western, idea of a modern dramatic genre, which he even condemned
as being superficial. Rather, it was that of the Central Javanese wayang thea-
tre, which he and many others with him regarded as the apex of the Javanese
dramatic culture. Thus he unequivocally opted for the Javanese identity, in
other words, for the component of diversity in the Indonesian national motto,
‘Bhinneka Tunggal Ika’ – ‘Unity in Diversity’.
Pak Samboyo and the author in Mojoroto
appendix
Transcription of the CD recording
Words given in square brackets are interjections by the musicians or by the

audience.
Three dashes - - - indicate exclamations by Pak Dhalang intended to spur
on the dancers.
Three dots … indicate a short break in Pak Dhalang’s speech.
Three dots enclosed in square brackets […] indicate that a portion of the
wayang play has been deleted from this CD.

001
Opening music followed by Sun puji
Ngaturi dhateng Pangéran
mugi kadang mitra sami
kalisa ing sambékala
anebihna ing bilai.
Acelakna ing panunggil

ngrungkebi kersa njunjung,
budaya Jawi asli
traping tatakrama.
Para kadang mitra sami

mirsani kuda képang,
Rt. pitu dunungipun
Balong padhépokané.
Bandar-lor dhusunipun
budaya Jawi asli,
naluri leluhur kita
ingkang sampun sampurna.
Bapa Sambaya pandhégané

Sambaya Putra Sambaya Putra
kalisa ing sambékala,
mugi Gusti paring pangayoman
kawula tansah ngabekti.
258 Appendix
Mula sinaua basa

rakitané gendhing Jawi,
iku ngemu surasa
anuntun lakuning budi.
Nadyan ta sira tan wasis

wajibé kudu angrungu,
sakecap wanda pada
suku pelik menyang legena.
Binarung larasé pradangga

kempul kendhang terompèt munya
surak-surak para niyaga
gumuruh ambata rubuh.
Ya suraka-surak horé!
002
Greetings and introduction of Samboyo Putro
Nuwun para pamriksa angaturi salem pambagya pasugengan lumebèring para
kadang mitra sami. Kuda képang ingkang dipunpandhégani déning Bapa Sambaya
ingkang madhépok wonten ing dhusun Bandar-lèr, kecamatan Mojoroto, kotamadya
Kadhiri kanti alamat Polisi Wilayah Kediri. Bapa Samboyo sabrayat mbotem kesu-
pen ugi angaturaken salam pambagya kasugengan dhumateng panjenenganipun
Bapak Camat Kepala Wilayah saha Bapak DanRaMil, Bapak DanSek, Bapak Kepala
Dhusun ing Pulihrejo saandhanipun kulawarga Sambaya Putra nyuwun tambahing
pangèstu. Ing dalu menika badhé andamel sukur lan penggalih panjenengan sami.
Para pamriksa kados pundi babaring pagelaran ing dalu menika ingkang arupi
pasugatan sendratari Jawi asli. Kuda képang ingkang naluri leluhur kita ingkang
sampun sampurna tansah kita uri-uri sampun ngantos ical ing lacak. Sepindhah
malih Bapa Sambaya mboten kesupen angaturaken sugeng dalu sugeng amirsani
ngantos paripurna.
Paraga Sambaya Putraaaa! (kendhang, gong) Siyagaaa! Ya!
003
Cheering sounds during a musical intermission
004
Request to audience to sit down
Para pamriksa ingkang wonten ing ngajeng supados pinarak kémawon, ingkang
wonten ing ngajeng kawula suwun supados pinarak dados ingkang wingking saged
katingal.
005
Introduction of Pak Samboyo
Para pamriksa ing dhusun Pulihreja lan sakitaripun ngaturaken tetepangan, mbok
Transcription of the CD recording 259
bilih kuda képang Sambaya Putra taksih sepindhah menika sowan wonten ing dhu-
sun Pulihreja wonten ing dalemipun Bapak Begja.
Mbok bilih panjenengan sami dèrèng tepang kaliyan Bapa Sambaya, menika wuju-
dipun Bapak Sambaya, ingkang ngasta kenong. Njih menika Bapak Serma polisi
wilayah Kediri utawi Bapa Sambaya ingkang ngasta kenong menika. Piyantunipun
alit, sanès menika, sakalangan menika. Mbok bilih bénjing sanès dinten kulawarga
Sambaya Putra badhé sowan mriki malih. Nuwun. Ya!
006
Poma-poma
Poma-poma wekas mami
mring anak putuku
aja katungkul uripé
lan aja karem mring pepaès donya;
siyang dalu dènémut
yèn urip manggih antaka.
Putra kadang kula sami [sami]

sumangga ta kita samya [samya]
tansah atut ing buriné
mring pitedah kang prayoga
nuju mrih karaharjan;
datan kongsi kalimput
kedah kanthi kawaspadan.
Yen tindak kudu tumulih

mring kanan lan kirinira
awya kongsi katalumpèn;
iku araning waspada
yèn ta ana bebaya
sumadya sadèrèngipun
bakal manggih karaharjan.
Sampun kathah ingkang bukti [bukti]

sinten ta ingkang sembrana [sembrana]
mesthi nampi ganjarané,
awit menika senidya
datan nuruti pitedah
saking para pinisepuh
nuruti karsa priyangga.
Wit kasmaran mardi siwi [siwi]

timbang samya darbé rasa,
sumrambah andhap asor;
tandang-tanduk solah bawan
witira lan renga amrih,
datan kari utangku
260 Appendix
tinggal duga lan prayoga.

Prayogané wong urip
kudu ngerti empan-papan
mapakaké ragané;
anengganana kalumrahan
nèng jagat sesrawungan
ja gagé déning payempuh
mundhak samya ingéwanan.
007
Request from the host
Para rawuh ingkang minulya, para rawuh ingkang minulya, kawula matur gung-
ing panuwun ingkang tanpa upami dhumateng Gusti ingkang Mahaagung sampun
amarengi kanugrahan arupi menapa kémawon ingkang sampun kawula tampi.
Amin.
(At this point, in a largely incomprehensible portion of the recording, the host inter-
rupts Pak Dhalang to explain to him the reasons for the feast. His words are not
transcribed here.)
Nuwun sèwu menika taksih ngemban dhawuh saking ingkang kagungan dalem. Kula
ngembani malih. Lan kawula ngaturaken pambagya kasugengan lumèbèring dhateng
para kadang mitra sami; kagem para pinisepuh ingkang mengkoni dhusun Pulihreja,
lan cikal-bakal, lan kagem panjenenganipun Bapak Kepala Dhusun sakandhanipun,
lan para Ibu-Ibu PKK, saha kagem para taruna LKMD, keluarga Sambaya Putra
nyuwun tambahing pangèstu. Mboten kalépyan kagem panjenenganipun Bapak
Camat, saha Bapak DanRaMil, saha Bapak KaPolSek, lan bagian kebudayaan sakand-
hanipun keluarga Sambaya Putra nyuwun tambahing pangèstu. Para rawuh ingkang
minulya ngaturaken salam pitepangan kuda képang ingkang dipunpandhégani Bapa
Sambaya kanthi alamat ingkang gamblang dhusun Bandar-lèr, kidulipun rumahsakit
Gambiran, menika wonten pasaréan Plething-kuning, dalemipun ngajengipun persis,
utawi kanthi alamat Polisi Wilayah … (?) Kadhiri.
Para rawuh ingkang minulya sowanipun paraga Sambaya Putra ing dhusun Pulihreja
ing dalemipun Bapak Begja saperlu mèngeti tanggap warsa utawi selapanipun putra-
nipun ingkang khitanan. Kaping kalihipun inggih menika ngiras … menapa menika
tanggap warsa putranipun ingkang, nuwun sèwu, medal sakembaran, kakung utawi
putri. Mugi-mugi lumantar pasugatan sonten menika, ingkang khitanan sageda
waluya temah ing jati. Mugi-mugi putranipun ingkang kembar kalawau sageda
widada nir ing sambékala. Mugi Gusti paring pangayoman.
Para rawuh ingkang minulya kuda képang ingkang badhé kawula pamentasan ing
dhusun ngriki menika wonten sejarahipun, inggih menika sejarah kitha Kadhiri asli.’
008
Introduction of the second act
Menika cariyosipun mekaten. Mangké adegan ingkang angka kalih menika medal
kuda képang sekawan minangka, minangka prajurit lan badhé nglebeti patembaya.
Njih menika ngasta kuda képang menika anggambaraken duk ing nguni. Wusana
kanthia pinarak ingkang sekéca. Mbok bilih wonten paraga saha niyaga ingkang mbo-
ten nuju prana ing penggalih panjenengan, kawula sagugupan titah ingkang limrah
tamtu kadunungan sih penjenengan kersa maring gunging samudra pangaksami.

Wusana mugi-mugi ingkang kagungan dalem minangka ing karaharjan, mugi Gusti
pareng pangayoman kawula ingkang tansah ngabekti. Kalisa nir ing sambékala.
009
Bengawan Solo
Bengawan Solo, riwayatmu éhé,
Sedari dulu jadi perhatian insani.
Musim penghujan tak berapa airmu,
Musim kemarau air meluap sampai jauh
Wa wa wa wa - - -
010
Cheering
Hoi hoi hoi hoi - - - ya! la la la la wa. wa wa - - -
Paraga Sambaya Putraaa! Kalisaa ing sambékala. La la la la - - -
011
Prayer
Para rawuh ingang minulya menika adegan ingkang angka kalih. Kuda képang
sekawan menika anggambaraken ingkang badhé sowan dhateng kitha Kadhiri badhé
nglebeti patembaya. Para rawuh ingkang maluya sakdèrèngipun pasugatan kawula
wiwiti sumangga sesarengan ngeremaken panggalih minta dhateng Gusti ingkang
Mahaagung: ‘Sun puji mring Pangéran mugi kadang mitra sami kalisa ing sambékala,
anebihna ing bilai acelakna ing panunggil. Mugi Gusti paring pangayoman kawula
tansah ngabekti. Amin.’
Para tamtama magita-gita lumaksana baris. Paraga Sambaya Putraaa! (slomprèt, kend-
hang) Siyagaaa!
Ya! Ha ho hi - - -
012
Kangkung
(interspersed with exclamations)
Ya!
Lénggang-lénggang kangkung
Kangkung di kana-kana.
Lénggang, lénggang-lénggang kangkung
Kangkung di kana-kana.
Pulang sama tambung
Jiwa manis terbayang-bayang.
Pulang sama tambung
Jiwa manis terbayang-bayang.
Hé! Hé!
013
Bunga rampai
Heeee! (kenong, angklung)
262 Appendix
Bunga rampai, tari Bali,

bunga cempaka, mawar suci, melati,
indah permai, suci murni,
tanda mata yang kubawa darimu.
O Sarinah tak kandhani nak

aja ngguya-ngguyu. [Hé Hé]
Sarinah ayu, klambiné biru,
ngguya-ngguyu nak [brr! brr!] arep mèlu aku. [brr! brr!]
O! O! Sarinah ayu [brr! brr!], hi hi!
014
Njajah désa milang kori
Ya! Njajah désa milang kori
Solo, Bojonegoro, Résiden Rembang loré Blora [hé hé]
étan Tuban, Babad, Lamongan, Sedayu, Pasuruan,
Besuki, Besuki, Bondowoso, Banyuwangi,
(all together:) Pulihrejo!
Lalala - - -
015
Kembang jagung
Ya!
1 Kembang jagung omah kampung
2 pinggir lurung, jèjèr telu,
3 sing tengah bakal omahku.
4 Gempa munggah guwa,
5 medhun nèng kebon raja
6 methik kembang soka,
7 dicaoské kanjeng rama.
8 mundur kowé ajur,
10 jokna sabalamu,
11 ora wedi sudukanmu.
12 Iki lho dhadha satriya.
15 Hahoha hi hi! - - -
016
Ayo ngguyu
Ayo ngguyu [ha, ha, ha ha]
Ayo ngguyu [ha, ha, ha ha]
Olèhmu ngguyu,
Aja seru-seru.
Ésuk-ésuk jagoné padha keluruk

pratandhané yèn bangun ésuk.
Ayo kanca padha suka-suka,
sajroning suka éling karo waspada.

Ngguyu menèh, [ha,ha,ha ha]
ngguyu menèh, [ha, ha, ha ha]
olèhmu ngguyu, [ha, ha, ha]
Aja seru-seru.
Hahoha hi hi - - -
017
Madu dan racun
Ya! Madu dan racun! [Ha ha ha hi hi]
Engkau yang cantik,

engkau yang manis,
engkau yang manja,
selalu tersipu.
Rawan sikapmu
di balik kemelutmu,
di remang kalbumu,
dikabuti méga-mégamu.
Ku melihat dua tangan
di atas punggungmu.
(choir:)
Madu di tangan kananmu, [hi hi]
racun di tangan kirimu.
Aku tak tahu
mana yang kan kauberikan kepadaku.
018
Introduction of the four horse dancers
Sinten ta ingkang nitih kuda képang sekawan menika? Para prajurit utawi tamtama
ingkang badhé nglebeti patembaya ing kitha Kedhiri, saperlu dhèrèkaken Pangéran
Toh Bagus kinanthèn Patih Pujangga-Anom ingkang ngrasuk busananing kaprajuri-
tan ingkang ngasta pusakaning pecut Kyai Samandiman. Lampahnya para tamtama
galiyak-galiyak kados gajah kélangan srati. Ya! Hoi hoi hoi - - -
019
Tumrap kawula
Tumrap kawula gesang puniki
tansah èngeta mring Gustinira
ingkang tansah nedahaké
sedaya marginipun
kajujuran kalawaning ngerti
kudu tumindak prasaja
ngudia kautaman;
déné srananipun
datan ana penggalih nuju ing pamrih
264 Appendix
lan tumindak angkara.

Punapa ta ingkang dènnaluri
kagungan Jawi kita sadaya;
sampun wonten ingkang supé
kinarya buktinipun
bilih kita trahing Jawi,
punika kinarya tanda
dèn tuhonana kesenianipun;
datan ana penggalih
nuju ing pamrih
lan tumindak angkara.
Pra miyarsa kadang mitra sami

sumangga ta dimidhangetaké
macapat ing wanci dalu
datan kilap sutrisna macapat;
malem mangkat haririrèki
malem tirakatan.
Mugi Hyang Mahaagung
peparinga mring kawula
ingkang tansah ngabekti
paringa pangayoman.
020
Musical intermezzo
021
Summons of the Siskamling (neighbourhood security organization)
Wis. …Matur panyuwara wonten para petugas Siskamling ing dhusun Trisula-satu
ing dalu menika ingkang wajib, wajibipun tugas jagi setunggal sedhèrèk [ha…!];
nomor kalih sedhèrèk Akhir; nomor tiga sedhèrèk Syukur, Sakur (?); nomor sekawan
sedhèrèk Sukiman; nomor gangsal sedhèrèk Sambi; nomor nem sedhèrèk Padi. Dados
menika supados dhateng wonten ing pos Siskamling. Matur nuwun.
Para rawuh petugas Siskamling ingkang sampun dipunaken kala wau supados
siyaga ing posipun piyambak-piyambak. Sepindhah malih, ingkang kagungan kuwa-
jiban Siskamling kula aturi ngepos wonten ing posipun piyambak-piyambak. Matur
nuwun.
022
Introduction of the third act
Para rawuh ingkang, … Para rawuh ingkang minulya menika badhé medal ingkang
angka tiga minangka sénapatining praja. Para rawuh, menika taksih kirang sekawan
adegan dados panjenengan sampun kersa kondhur. Malam Minggu, malam santai,
malam tirakatan.
023
Introduction of the two horse dancers
Para rawuh ingkang minulya kuda képang kalih menika anggambaraken sénapat-
ining praja ingkang badhé mriksani ing babakan wewangunan menapa kémawon
kadosta kala wau saking Bandar sowan dhateng Pulihreja, griya-griya sampun saé,
néon-néon sampun padhang njingglang, andamel reseping para kadang mitra sami.
Tamtama magita-gita lumaksana baris. (kendhang, kenong) Paraga Sambaya Putraaa…!
(saron centhé, gong, kendhang) Telué. Siyagaaa! Ha ho hi - - -
024
Lolobis kuntul baris
Ya! Lolobis kuntul baris.
1 Baris terik témpé
2 Ri dhong dhelé gosong.
3 Bèbèk adus kali
4 Gosokan sabun wangi.
5 Kembang èntèng-èntèng,
6 Kembangé suradhadhu.
7 Biyèn rèntèng-rèntèng,
8 Saiki ngajak satru.
9 Embuh, ora weruh,
10 Satrumu ngajak wawuh.
11 Wawuh dina iki
12 Tak paringi roti mari.
13 Aja dhi, aja dhi,
14 Sedulur tuwa malati.
15 Bener-bener.
16 Rujak nanas énak seger,
17 Jaran képang mangan pari
18 Klambi abang manasi.
19 Hahuha hi hi! - - -
025
Cempa ya rowa
Ya! (slomprèt) Cempa ya rowa
Pakananmu apa, ya rowa.
Pupu gendhing ndhing, ndhing, ndhing
Rowang-rawing wing, wing, wing.
Bung kecibung.
Jarané jaran buntung,
Sing numpaki Pak Tumenggung,
Jèjèg kenong jèjèg gung
Jèjèg kenong jèjèg gung
Jaran képang mangan pari
Klambi abang sing marahi, ya ta?
266 Appendix
026
Second introduction of the two horse dancers
(the gamelan plays softly)
Sinten ta! Para tamtama kalih menika anggambaraken sénapatining praja ing-
kang ngrasuk busananing kaprajuritan, nitih kuda, ngasta pusakaning pecut Kyai
Samandiman.
Binarung larasing pradangga, kempul kendhang trompèt munya, surak-surak para
niyaga gumuruh ambata rubuh. Lampahnya para sénapati galiyak-galiyak kados
gajah kélangan srati. Hoi, hoi, hoi … (slomprèt)
Para sénapati mriksani para tamtama ingkang wajib wonten ing palagan. Swantenipun
pecut Kyai Samandiman amecahna ing langit. Hooo! - - -
027
Wayang play
(Pak Poyo [PP] recites the ada-ada in the Yogyakarta style, sléndro pathet sanga, chang-
ing to kandha of the gara-gara in the Yogyakarta style, followed by Pak Dhalang’s [PD]
comments, with contributions by Bu Swarawati [BS] and a number of musicians and
members of the audience [PN]. Because all kinds of people were shouting at the same
time, it was often difficult to distinguish who said what. This section is not transcribed
here.)
(gamelan)
PN: Sigeg ing …
PD: Para rawuh gandhèn menika anggambaraken wayang Gathutkaca
PN: (?)
PD: Baladéwa, Baladéwa. Anoman … Anoman. Dados gandhèn menika Anoman
PN: Mungsuhé Anoman.
PD: Lha tépas menika Dasamuka. Lho Dasamuka? … Mungsuhé dhéwé.
PN: Sugriwa, Sugriwa
PD: Sugriwa.
PN: Cangik
PD: Cangik. Cangik, Cangik, Cangik …
PN: Petruk. (…?).
PD: (…?) sapa?
PN: Baladewa, Baladewa …. Buta Térong
PD: Buta Térong
PN: (…?)
PD: Pétruk
PN: Buta Térong. Buta Térong.
PD: Ha iya Buta Térong … sing lungané…
PN: Buta Telèk
PD: O Buta Telèk, ha ha ha ha ha
PN: (Peals of laughter)
PD: Para rawuh apa tumon Anoman perang karo Buta Telèk? Ha iya, ha ha ha.
Anomen. Anoman perang karo Buta Telèk … Bagus! hua ha ha ha ha ha.
PD: Lho Bagus, butané mbengok
BS: Nangis ira
PD: O nganti nangis barang butané kalah nangis.

BS: Buta nangis lho!
PD: Perang tandhingipun Anoman kaliyan Buta Telèk
PD: Hueé hé hé …. Anoman khué kok. Anoman ki kruèk, ha ya Anoman hé khuíeh
khuieh hué hué.
Héééé aku ngati(?) akang … aku ngati(?) akang…Aaah … aaah. Nangisé iki nangis,
butané nangis kalah, Buta Telèk ha ha ha … uaaahéééé
PD: Hééé Lha dalah bojlèng (…?) Anoman saiki, khuèh ii, Khué ii - - -
(PD imitates all kinds of animal sounds mingled with peals of laughter from the audi-
ence)
PD: Saiki Anoman karo Buta Telèk perangan saiki.Wis, nèng sandhing klèwèr (?) waé,
hayo!
(gamelan)
[…]
P D: Haaaa. Anoman kalah.
BS: (…?)
(gamelan)
PD: Goleka godhong dadi gunungan.
(gamelan)
PD: Godhong sembarang hè.
( gamelan)
[…]
PD: Khuééé. Ha! Ha! Ha! - - - .Buta Telèk kalah. Ayo, Buta Telèk kalah. Diajar nganti
mumet.
BS: Buta Telèk.
PD: Iya Buta Telèk kalah.
PD: Ajur mumur.
(This is the end of the wayang performance.)
028
Dengar seruan massa
Dengar seruan massa,
bergelora di udara.
Memanggil para putra,
berjuang gagah perwira.
Rela berkorban jiwa,
bagi negara merdeka.
029
Kecik-kecik isiné sawo
1. Kecik-kecik isiné sawo
2. Kadhung becik ja kaya ngono [kaya ngono]
3. Ali-ali ilangan matané
4. Aja lali karo kancané.
268 Appendix
5. Esuk-ésuk jagoné keluruk (imitating the crowing of a cock)

6. Mratandhani yèn bangun ésuk.
7. Ayo kanca padha suka-suka,
8. Élinga kelawan waspada.
030
Introduction of the fourth act
Para rawuh ingkang minulya adegan salajengipun menika medalipun Pangéran Toh
Bagus kinanthèn Patih Pujangga-Anom. Menika ingkang badhé ngayahi wajib wonten
ing palagan, saperlu nglebeti patembaya, dipunselingi laup-laup kridha jiwa.
031
Kacarita Ngurawan nagri
(the gamelan falls silent)
Kacarita Ngurawan nagri
jumeneng nata gung binathara,
Lembu Amiséna juluké
kinasih déwa agung,
darbé putra putri sawiji
Dèwi Sanggalangit asmanya
ayunya linangkung
tinantun ing palakrama,
gya ngemban dhawuh ing sang rama aji
ning darbé patembaya.
Wus sinebar wartaning sang Dèwi

pra kawula jro jaba nagara
wus kathah kang mirengaké.
Wau ta Pangéran Toh Bagus
Pujangga-Anom tan kèri
arsa nunggu patembaya
kang nuju prana sang ayu,
angasta kèpèl sekawan,
Singabarong Patih Singakumbang wus nglunasi
laju sowan mring praja
032
Nèng karang
Nèng karang dhong pelik lédhang
Kyai Lurah Semar sapranakané miyat kebon
sami ngundhuh taru pala
sesuka sesindhènan samya njogèd genti-genti. Hé, ˙hé!
033
Urging on a companion
Ayo kang, saiki tindak sowang-sowang ing kutha Panaraga! Oooo! Ha! ha! ha! - - -
034
Task of Pangéran Toh Bagus
Ho! Ho! Ho! - - - Pangéran Toh Bagus ingkang badhé ngayahi wajib, tindak dhateng
kitha Kadhiri, prang tandhingipun kaliyan Patih Singakumbang. Ho! ho! ho! - - -
035
Klana Séwandana
Klana Séwandana
raja mudha ing Panaraga,
siyaga ing yuda nglawan
ratu rai singa.
Ngasta pusakaning pecut

Kyai Samandiman;
perangé sangsaya ramé
kekaroné padha sektiné.
Pujangga-Anom nglawan pepatihé

Ratu rai singa.
Swaraning pecut Samandiman
Mecahna ing angkasa.
Biyung rina wengi

tansah uyang-uyung,
nggéndhong aku nganti aku
bisa lumaku.
Ayo kanca padha bekti

maring yayah réna.
Binarung larasé pradangga

kempul kendhang trompèt munya.
Surak-surak para niyaga
gumuruh ambata rubuh.
Ya suraka-surak horé! Iya!

036
Duel between Toh Bagus, Pujangga-Anom and Singakumbang
Pangéran Toh Bagus kinanthèn (slomprèt) Patih Pujangga-Anom wajib ngayahi, wajib
wonten ing palagan. Prang tandhing kaliyan Patih Singabarong katungka galiyak sato
galak.
037
Duel between Pujangga-Anom and Singakumbang
Prangipun Patih Pujangga-Anom kaliyan Singakumbang anggegirisi, katungka sato
galak sadulur kaliyan wanara.
270 Appendix
038
Death of Singakumbang
Haui, aui grrr - - -
Prang tandhing Pangéran Toh Bagus kaliyan Pujangga-Anom. Lampahnya Patih
Singakumbang sampun nglunasi, katungka lampahnya sadulur kaliyan wanara.
Kueh! kueh! ha - - -
039
Death of Macan
Haw, haw, grrr- - -
Macané mati.
040
Introduction of the fifth act
Para rawuh ingkang minulya, ingkang nitih kuda menika anggambaraken baring
prang tandhing kaliyan Singabarong. Kadospundi babaring cariyos. Para tamtama
magita-gita lumaksana baris … (kendhang, kempul) Paraga Sambaya Putraaa! (slomprèt,
kendhang) Siyagaaa…! Hia hé hé ˙hé- - -
041
Lur kilir
Lur kilir kilur kombang
kombangé janur.
Bocah cilik turu kasur
embahé nyusul.
Thit thuwit timan mati muliha.
Kintel lingguh dhingkling.
Sabuk nèkel ra dhuwé dhuwit.
Dhuwit dhuwit sethèng
ditukokké téla bongkèng
Ayo!
042
General combat with Singabarong
(the gamelan plays softly)
Para tamtama ingkang ngrasuk busananing kaprajuritan, ingkang nitih kuda ngasta
pusakaning pecut Kyai Samandiman, ingkang badhé siyaga ing yuda prang tandh-
ing kaliyan Singabarong. Swaraning pecut Kyai Samandiman amecahna ing angkasa.
Lampahnya para tamtama galiyak-galiyak kados gajah ngoling. Ya!
043
Ana kidung
Ana kidung kang rumeksa ing wengi,
teguh ayu luputa ing lara,
luputa bilai kabèh;
jim sétan datan purun
pan rowang tan ana wani
miwah panggawé ala;

gunané wong luput;
geni atemahan tirta,
maling adoh tan ngarah mring wak mami,
guna duduk pan sirna.
Sakèh lara pan samya bali,

sakèh ngama pan samya miruda,
welas asih panduluné,
kadi kapuk tibaning wesi;
tibaning wesi tawa,
sato galak lutut,
sakèhing braja luput;
kayu aèng lemah sangar
songing landhak, guwaning wong, lemah miring,
kadi pakipaning merak.
044
General combat of the horse dancers with Singabarong
Prang tandhingipun Singabarong kaliyan para prajurit. Swaraning pecut Kyai
Samandiman amecahna ing angkasa. Lho! Lho! Lho! - - -
045
Combat with Cèlèng Gèmbèl
Cèlèng gèmbèl, katindakaken gèmbèl subekti. Medalipun cèlèng gèmbèl menika
minangka purnaning pasugatan. Kados pundi prang tandhingipun pra tamtama
kaliyan cèlèng gèmbèl?
046
Parting words by Pak Dhalang
Samboyo Putro matur panyuwun ingkang tanpa upami dhumateng keluarga Bapak
Begja ingkang sampun maringi kanugrahan arupi menapa kémawon. Mugi-mugi
pinaringana berkah asesanti: “Sura dira jaya ning rat lebur déning pangastuti sumèh-
ing wadana mahanani padhang ing bawana”. Nuwun. Nuwun.
047
Song contest between children from among the audience
Madu dan racun - - -
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Index
Entries like ‘Ana kidung…' denote songs translated and/or discussed in the main text
and included in the Appendix
ad-hoc groups 77, 107-9 barikan ritual 110

adat ceremony 92, 97 ‘Baris terik témpé…’ 204-5, 265
Agama Jawa 30 see also Javanese cultural barisan dance formation 216-7, 219
tradition baritan ritual 109-10
– ruwat ritual 31 barong 21
alas-alasan 83 – aggression 159
aliran kepercayaan 30 – appeased 174, 182-3
Alun-alun Lor 88 – dancer(s) 25
alus art complex 32-3 – jaranan jawa 68
'Ana kidung…' 202-3, 270-1 – mask 50-1, 74
ancestors 30 – offerings 117, 126-7
– influence 30-1, 106 – Rajawana 173-4
Angkara Kasih 83 – source of blessings 159, 183, 202-3
angklung group 56-7 barongan 82
– role 59 – barongan Banyuwangi 72-4, 159
Anuman 23 – barongan-cèlèngan act 93-4, 187, 196-
artist 27, 80 8, 217, 229, 231
Arjuna 226-7 – barongan-sempritan 159
Asmaradana 200-1 Bathara Kala 31
audience baureksa 21, 108
– entertainment preferences 18 bedhug 69-70
– evaluation of the trance 151, 167 'Bengawan Solo…' 203, 261
– familiarity with the songs 203 bersih désa 80
– interaction with the trance dancers – Balowerti 90
165-6 – Bendo 97
– social status 38 – Menang 101
– touched by the trance 160 – Mlorah 96-7
'Ayo ngguyu…' 205, 262 – slametan 92-3
Bhinneka Tunggal Ika 9, 255
babad 10 biduan 15-6
Balowerti 68, 90 bilingualism 35
bamboo black magic 92
– invested by the spirit 116 'Blessing of the penis' ritual 102-4
– jaran képang 4 Boedi Oetomo 30
– magical potency 14 bridhèn 46
bamboo fan tépas 235 – costume 62
bango-thonthong/bango-tontong 81-2 – dancer 239
Bapparda 71 – performance 238-9
Bu Dhukun (host) 99-101
286 Index
– social position 29, 80 Deddy Dance Company 35

Bu Swarawati 46, 65 Delische Kunstkring/ Deli Art Society 48
– costume 62, 65 demonic characters 21, 31, 51, 82-3, 124,
– repertoire 190 160, 234
– request from trance dancer 139, 241 demonstration performance 97-8
– social position 47 demung 57
Budi Utomo see Boedi Oetomo 'Dengar seruan massa…' 207, 267
Bujangganong 14, 173, see also Pujangga- designations of 'horse dance' 14-5
Anom Dèwi Kili Suci/ Kilisuci 177
'Bunga rampai…' 207, 261-2 Dèwi Sanggalangit 169-71, 179, 181
Buta Locaya see Kyai Buta Locaya Dèwi Sekar Taji /Sekartaji 170, 175
Buta Telèk 235, 267 Dèwi Sri 31
Buta Térong 266 dhalang/dalang (puppeteer) 11, 106
– dhalang ruwat 31, 28-9
Cakil 160, 234 – dhalang school 47
cèlèng 48, see also Kala Srenggi – dhalang tenun 32
– disguised as Singakumbang 172 – trance master 27-8
– offerings 126-7 Dhandhanggula 169, 190, 201-2
cèlèng gèmbèl 187, 197 dhanyang 108, 117, see also spirits
– food offerings 126-7 – guest at performances 123
cèlèngan 46 – legitimate spirit 31
'Cempa ya rowa…' 205, 265 – source of blessings 183
centhé 57 – spiritual protector 177, 184
charm (jimat) 119, 202, 233 Dhanyang Mojoroto 123-4, 182
Chinese gong 70 (dhe)dhemit 21, 24
Chinese pilgrims 177 dhukun/dukun (trance master) 25, 27
choral singing (gérongan) 189 – social status 28
choreography 220-31 dhukun bayi 30
– development 37 dhukun préwangan 27-8
– symbols 218-9 Directorate of Tourism (Bapparda) 71, 73
circumcision 79, 83, 101, 104 divine blessing (wahyu) 83
civil society 36 divine inspiration (wangsit) 29, 43
classification of Javanese art 32-3, 35 Dongko 70-1, 108
closing ceremony 131 dream (mimpi) 19-20
community celebrations 81 dressing room 5-6, 136-7
crossroad scenes 83 drum group (kendhang) 56
Cultural Affairs Bureau (Kantor dukun see dhukun
Kebudayaan) 36-7
– cultural policy 36, 215, 218, 251-2 èlmu gaib 20, 27, 92
eroticism 22
dalang/dhalang ruat/ruwat 28-9 esoteric science (èlmu gaib) 20, 27, 92
dance 215-32
– Arjuna style 226 family celebrations 79
– choreography 217-9 'Feast of the Livestock' (Pesta Ternak) 70,
– 'frozen' stand 226 79, 108-9, 111
– gandrung/kiprahan 228 'Feast of the Mobile Police Squad' (HUT
– invitation to the spirits 147, 224 Mobrig) 81
– kembangan 215 feeding the props (nyaosi dhahar) 25, 117,
– Klana style 224 122-4
– movements 223 fertility 22-4, 116, 176
– showpiece of Samboyo Putro 216 festivals see horse dance competitions
deified ancestors 20-1, 30, 37 Five-Year Development Plan (Pelita/
– continued influence 30-1, 78 Repelita) 8-9, 41-2
Index 287
folk art genres 33 – demise 37

– denomination 15
gambuh 27, see also trance master – door to the spirit world 38
– social standing 31 – earliest description 13
– therapeutic role 32 – legends 169-71, 173, 175-6, 179, 181
games 133, 161, 234-5, 238, 243, 247 – popularity 15-6, 67-8, 75
gandarwa 13, 82, 84 – prestige 32
gandhèn 235 – public event 77
gandrung dance 228 – ritual preparations 118-20
Geirnaert-Martin, Danielle (informant) – sideline occupation 17
107 – significance 111-3
gemblak 23 – structure of performances 187-8
– lending out for wedding nights 24 – theories concerning the trance 21-2
general elections 43 – vessel for the spirit 24, 27
gérongan 189 horse dance companies 3, 8
ghost (cèpètan) 175 – categories 33, 77
Go Tik Swan (alias R. Tmg. Harjonagoro) – competitions 36, 109, 132, 252
14, 25, 55, 59 – genres 14, 42, 67-71
Goenoreso (hermit) see Kyai Gunaresa – names 15, 22
Golkar (Golongan Karya) 43 – popularity 75
gong group (gong) 56 – reassessment 36, 75
gongsèng 61 – relation with trance 21
gotong royong 97 – supporters 17-8, 38, see also sponsors
guardian spirits 251 horse dancer 3, 49
guests at performances 97 – feeding 129
– contributions 3-4, 130 – in trance 138, 148, 153
– spirits (bangsa alus) 111 – recovery from the trance 86, 163
– treatment 237 – social status 24
Gunung Kelud 3 host/hostess 3, 99, 121, 125
Guwa Sélamangleng 177-9 – choice of entertainment 18
– influence on the performance 101-2,
handbook (pakem) 190 236, 247
Hari Kemerdekaan 47, 80, see also – requests 209-10, 260
National Independence Day – significance of the performance 113
Hari Kepolisian 81, see also Police Day HUT Mobrig see Mobile Police Squad
Harjono (civil servant) 36
– aesthetic ideal 251 Iger Karas 118
– horse dance legend 170-1 importance of the youth 95, 97, 252
– reassessment of the horse dance 36- Indonesian identity 8-9, 34-8
8, 75 – and performing arts 35-8
Hardjonegoro, K.R.T., see Go Tik Swan – Javanese influence 34-5
Haswo Usodo company 20 Indonesian Nationalist Party (PNI) 109
– difference with Samboyo Putro 69 informants 14, 22, 33, 68-9, 71, 73, 107-9,
– jaranan jawa genre 67-9 203
– national competitions 37-8, 252 initiation ritual 133, 155
– old fashioned (kuna) image 75 introduction to the acts 191-6
– outfit and props 67-9 – act one (jaranan nem) 220-3
– ritual preparations 118 – act two (jaranan pat) 135-41, 191-2,
– sedentary type of group 77 224-5
– slametan 91 – act three (jaranan ro) 192-63, 226-7
holy days 83, 117 – act four (kucingan) 193, 227-8
homosexuality 23 – act five (barongan-cèlèngan) 196-7,
horse dances 3 229-31
288 Index
introduction of Samboyo Putro company kenanga flowers 5, 103

208-9 – healing quality 129-30
itinerant groups (jaranan barangan) 33, kendhang group 55-6
61, 77-8, 84-90 kendhang gendhing 168
Jaka Sedana 176 kendhang panaraga 56-7, 60
jaranan 8, 14 kenong 55-6, 68, 85
– popularity (laris) 75 képang 13-4
jaranan genres 14, 42 keplokan 189
– brèng 69-70 keprak 57
– buta/buto 70-3, 108-10 Kèthèk 52-3, 69, 98, 100
– jawa 55, 67-9, 75, 223 – in performance 99, 157-8, 228, 240-4
– képang 70 kethoprak 15
– pégon 69-70 – and jaranan barangan 84
– sénthéréwé 45, 48-9, 59-70, 73, 75 – source for verbal contributions 190
Jaranan Képang company 36-8, 75, 81, kethuk 55-6
251 ketipung 55-6
jathilan 15, 22, 81-2 Ki Ageng Mangir 176
– dancers 23 Ki Gunawan (dhalang wayang kulit) 106
– at Sekaten 88 Kili Suci see Dèwi Kili Suci
– in Mangir 17 kirab pusaka 108
– in Yogyakarta 88-9 kitiran dance formation 217, 219
Javanese cultural tradition Klana 224
– collective responsibility 161, 199 – kiprahan dance 228
– cultural supremacy 30 Klana Séwandanan (alias Toh Bagus) 68,
– literary tradition 180 173-4
– religion (Agama Jawa) 30, 36, 91 'Klana Séwandana…' 194-5, 269
– traditional artist 8 konduran performance 105
– weddings 79, 82, 176 Kotamadya Kediri 15
– prophesy see Ratu Adil kroncong 88
jidhor/jidhur 70 Kucingan (alias Singakumbang) 52
jimat 55, 233 kucingan
Juma’at Kliwon 83 – act four of Samboyo Putro 187-8
juru kunci 119 – performance 193-6, 227-9, 239-45
kuda képang 36
kabupaten 15 – performance at Jombor 84-7, 116
‘Kacarita ing Ngurawan nagri...’ 169-70, kuda-kudaan 63-4
268 kupat luwar ritual 90
Kala Srenggi 53, 156, 231, 245 Kyai Buta Locaya (alias Kyai Daha) 24,
– in performance 94, 98, 230, 245, 247 177-8 181-2
Kangjeng Kyai Tunggul Wulung 108 Kyai Daha see Kyai Buta Locaya
Kantor Kebudayaan see Cultural Affairs Kyai Gunaresa (Goenoreso) 173
Bureau – appeasing the barong 174
kasar art complex 32-3 Kyai Samandiman 53-5, 98, 229
kaul 78, 87, 99
kebudayaan daerah 35 laris 75
kecèr 59 lawé menang 61
– player 235 Lembu Amiluhur/Amiséna 169, 175, 180
‘Kecik-kecik…’ 205, 267-8 'Lenggang-lenggang kangkung…’ 203, 261
Kediri 12 Lodoyo 171
kelebihan 42 ludrug/ludruk 15
'Kembang jagung…' 206, 262 Lüem, Barbara (informant) 14
kembangan see dance ‘Lur kilir kilur kombang…’ 206, 270
kempul 56
Index 289
Macan 49, 52, 63, 244, 196 occasional performers 47-8

– in performance 98, 240-1, 243 occasions for performances 78
‘Madu dan racun…' 207, 247, 263 offerings (sajèn) 5, 121-2, 126-8
magic circle 85, 87, 108, 125, 143 – redistribution of the food 130
Majapahit 23 – symbolism 128
malam Juma'at Kliwon 83, 117 ontang-anting 106
malam Selasa Kliwon 83, 117 opening ceremony 120-3
maracas 57 – dances 215-7
market days 83 Old Order (Orde Lama) 8
masks 4, 49-53 Orde Baru see New Order
– invested by the spirit (ènthèng) 115 Orde Lama see Old Order
– 'feeding' (nyaosi dhahar) 25, 117, 122-
4 Pak Arintoko (informant) 108
– makers 116 Pak Begja (host ) 3, 142, 210
mbéla 89 – influence on the performance 236,
meditation (semèdi) 19 247
Menang performance 47, 101 – message to the audience 209
– description 80, 94, 99-101 – social position 210
Mendoeng 198 – treatment of the guests 237
mimpi 19 – treatment of the audience 142
Mobile Police Squad (HUT Mobrig) 81, Pak Beja (musician) 58-9
120-3 – opinion 159, 229
Mojoroto performances 81 Pak Dhalang 41, 46, 98, 189
– description 97-8, 122-3 – horse dance legend 67, 81, 181, 192
Mulud 88 – master of ceremonies 101, 209-13,
music 245
– accompaniment 189 – message to the audience 199, 207
– entrance song of Singabarong 155 – role in the wayang play 235
– instruments 56-9 – task at performances 213
– pélog-sléndro ambiguity 57 Pak Gambuh (trance master) 45, 161, 234
musicians 44, 58-60, 65, 189 – as Singakumbang 66, 227-8
– as musician 58, 141
National Independence Day (Hari – at Sumberagung performance 101
Kemerdekaan) 47, 80 – at Pulihrejo performance 137, 220,
– performances 49, 101, 207 226, 234, 238
'Nèng karang dhong pelik…' 204, 268 Pak Hadi (informant) 68
New Order (Orde Baru) 8-9, 13, 30, 36, Pak Murdjiran (informant) 109
108 Pak Pangendhang 137, 141, 245
– campaigns 33 Pak Probohardjono (informant) 33
– centralization of power 34, 97 Pak Sajèn 5, 45, 129
– cultural policy 34-8, 97, 110-1 – speech at slametan Menang 94-5
– feudal attitude 34 – role in Pulihrejo performance 140,
– general elections 43 230, 233-4, 237-8, 241
– ideology 91 Pak Samboyo (leader, trance master) 3,
– Javanese influence 33-4 17, 45, 256
– problems 8 – as role model 253
– Unity and Diversity 9, 255 – cultural policy 92-3, 95, 161-2, 180,
– wayang as model 33, 37 199
'Njajah désa milang kori…' 204, 262 – divine inspiration 43
Nyai Lara Kidul 31 – handling of the fight 137, 142, 165
nyaosi dhahar 25, 117, 122-4 – horse dance legend 179
– ideal musical accompaniment 59
'O Sarinah…' 207, 262 – in performance 137, 139-41, 224
290 Index
– member of Golkar 43 Plethik Kuning 118

– New Order ideology 91 PNI see Partai Nasional Indonesia
– social position 17, 41, 43, 47 Police Day (Hari Kepolisian) 81
– spiritual leader 47 'Poma-poma wekas mami…’ 200-1, 259-60
– trance policy 149, 161-2, 254 Ponorogo type of horse dance 21, 173,
– wayang wong as model 33 see also réyog panaraga
Pak Sardjono (informant) 71, 73 prang kembang 83
Pak Slomprèt 59, 137 prapatan 83
– as master of ceremonies 190, 208-9 prayer 125, 131
– as dhalang 235 – for rain 107
– as Penthul 46, 62, 241, 243 President Habibi 8
– experience of the trance 149, 224 President Soekarno/Sukarno 8
Pak Soetrisno (host) 101 – Pancasila speech 9
Pak Sorip 71 President Suharto 8, see also New Order
Pak Supandi see Samboyo Putro II policy
Pak Suwuk (trance master) 85-6, 116 préwangan 27
Pak Tjokromihardjo (informant) 203 – social status 28
Pak Usodo (trance master) 20, 68, 104-6, priyayi attitude 34
118 processions 22-3, 79, 81-4
– contact with the spirit world 90, 145 Prophet Muhammed 31
– financial reward 106 Proyek Pengembangan Kesenian Jawa
– traditional healer 118, 252-3 Timur 42
– slametan 91 Pujanggan-Anom/Bujangganong 49-50,
– trance of possession 46 93, 157
pakem 190 – in the legend 171, 173
Pamenang Jayabaya 43-4, 101, 118-9, 177 – in the performance 227-8
Pancasila 9 Pulihrejo performance 135-41, 187-250
– religious article 10 – evaluation 244-5
Panji Asmara Bangun 82 – preparations 3-5
– Panji legend 170, 175 Putri Kediri 177
Partai Nasional Indonesia 109
Pelita see Five-Year Development Plan Ratu Adil prophesy 43
pencak silat 243 reassessment of the tradition 36-7, 75
Penthul 50-1, 69, 81-2, 86, 174-5 rebutan 130
– Pak Slomprèt 62, 241, 243 regional art (kebudayaan daerah) 35
performance Régol-Patrajaya 174
– ambiguous character 154 religious ideology (aliran kepercayaan) 30
– area 136 Repelita see Five-Year Development Plan
– at crossroads 83 réog 14
– closing ceremony 131 réyog panaraga 14, 21, 23-6, 57, 68
– formal parts 188, 215 – legend 22
– joining in (mbéla) 89 – music 57
– occasions 78-81 – performance 25
– opening ceremony 120-3 – trance 25
– ritual preparations 118-120 rite de passage 83
– structure 187-8 ritual 115-32
– surveys 42 – Feast of the Livestock 75, 78-9, 108-9
Pesta Ternak see Feast of the Livestock – healing 103, 105-6
Pétruk 82 – rain 55, 107
pilgrimage 43, 118, 177 – kupat luwar 90
Pitulas Augustusan see National – tiban 55
Independence Day Rouget, Gilbert 18-20, 28, 133-4, 143, 147,
places of pilgrimage 43, 118, 177 150, 155
Index 291
Rukun Santoso 22, 71, 73, 77 Si Sepuluh 234-5

ruwat massal 31 Singabarong 50, 52, 93-4, 123, 154, 161
– dancer 242
sacrificial chicken 7, 88, 90, 242, 245 – entrance song 155, 202-3, 270-1
– as prize 132, 247 – identity 181-2
sajèn see offerings – in performance 229-31, 245-8
Samboyo Putro 3 – in the legend 171, 173-5, 177, 179-81,
– origin of the name 45 242
– youth 46, 237-8 – symbolism 182-3
Samboyo Putro II 41 Singakumbang 50-2, 98, 123, 170-8
Samboyo Putro company 3, 38-67, 77, – in performance 239-40
90-1 – in the legend 171-2, 181
– banner 5, 7, 122 Siskamling 211-2, 264
– competitions 37-8 slametan 80
– costumes and props 59-67 – adat event 92, 97
– decline 250 – change of emphasis 97
– differences with the survey 63-7 – for the young 93-7
– demonstrations 81, 97-8 – religious event 91-3
– educational role 92, 94-5, 168, 199, – system of invitation 92
254-5 sléndro 57
– history 43-5 slenthem 57
– jaranan sénthéréwé genre 42, 45, 63 slomprèt 8, 56, 68
– marginal role in celebration 101 – pélog-sléndro ambiguity 57
– members 5, 45-8 – players 58-9
– modern (maju) image 167-8 somnambulism 133, 150, 153
– narrator-singer 11, see Pak Dhalang song contest 207, 263
– popularity (laris) 17 songs
– publicity 4-5, 7, 199, 210-2 – disconnected statements 203
– role specialization 158 – in performance 194-5, 189-207
– sedentary type of group 77 – Indonesian element 206-7
– slametan for the young 93-4 – public property 203, 208
– treatment of the audience 99, 101, spirits 159
233-5, 237-8, 240 – ancestor 20, 251
saron group 56-7 – blessing 159, 183, 202-3
sato galak 51-2, 82-3 – contact 19-20, 27
sedentary groups 77, 90-106 – deified ancestors 20-1
sekatèn Yogyakarta 88 – demands 105
Selasa Kliwon 83 – entry 147-50
Semar 204 – evil spirits 32
semèdi 19 – feeding (nyaosi dhahar) 25, 117, 122-5
seniman 27 – forest spirits (gendruwon) 175
sénthéréwé 45 – free spirits 160
sétan (harassing spirit) 21, 124, 146 – guardians (dhanyang) 31, 123-4, 182-
Si Ijo (the troublemakers) 139-41 3, 210
Si Kuning 141 – harassing 21, 124, 105-6
Si Lurik 137, 139 – hidden by the 164-5
Si Papat 233 – hierarchy 21, 31
Si Patbelas 234-7 – identity 89, 160
– as Cakil 234 – illegitimate spirits 32
– as puppeteer 234-6 – invitation 238
Si Pecut 139-40 – kinds of spirits 31
Si Pincang 135, 137-41, 224-5 – reluctance to depart 163
Si Sampur 137 – sending home 131
292 Index
– spirit food 87 – music 142-3, 155-6

– spirit medium 27 – of possession 18, 21, 251
– tutelary spirits 124 – performance 135-41
sponsors see also host – phases 19, 133-4, 146-7
– categories 77-8, 80-1 – real fighting 137
– influence on the performances 249 – real or simulated 19, 151, 166-7
– offerings 117 – religious framework 133, 155, 167
Sri see Dèwi Sri – role specialization 158
Sri Sedana 176 – significance 166-8
state philosophy (Pancasila) 9-10 – social event 19
Sumberagung performance 101-3, 236 – socializing role 155, 167
'Sun puji dateng pangéran…' 198-9, 257-8 – somnambulant 150, 153
Supersemar 8 – theories 21-5
Suprapto (dancer) 35 – triggering 142-5
symbol of fertility 23-4, 116, 176 trance dancers 129, 136, 148, 151-3, 163
– addicted 144-5
tantangan dance formation 217 – audience contact 250, 254
Tantu Panggelaran 172 – audience perception 151, 167
Tatit 198 – experience 224
teater tradisi 35 – genuineness of the trance 19, 151,
tembang majapat 169 166-7
– Asmaradana 200 – interaction with the audience 233,
– Dhandanggula 169-202 240-1, 245, 247-8, 250, 254
Tembem 69, 86, 174 – loss of shame 19, 149, 254
tépas 235 – loss of speech 27, 150
theory of praxis 36 – recovery from trance 141, 162-4, 231,
Thèthèk -melèk (alias Pujangga-Anom) 243, 248
63-4, 68 – role specialization 158
Thithit-thuwit 72-3, 82, 175, 206, see also – sense of liberation 134, 150, 160
bango-thonthong – unpredictable behaviour 158-9, 165
tirakatan 212 trance master 11, 25-33, 162
Toh Bagus (alias Klana Séwandana) 49- – no women 29
50, 68 Tresno Budoyo 159
– in performance 93, 98, 170, 219, 227, Tuhan Yang Maha Esa 10
31 Tulungagung 22, 69
topèng 10 – mask makers 116
Touwen-Bouwsma, Elly (informant) 14 – type of horse dance 21
traditional artist 8 'Tumrap kawula gesang puniki…’ 201-2,
– role 8-9 263-4
traditional performing art genres 9 turangga 15
– changing attitude 34-8 Turonggo Yakso 15, 70, 75, 78-9, 108-9
– New Order problem 8 – ad hoc type of group 77
– surveys 42 – ritual 110
trance 18
– ambiguity 166 Unity in Diversity 9, 255
– changing role 250, 254 upacara tradisional 111
– characteristics 19, 147, 154-5
– contagious 134, 159-60 vow (kaul) 78, 87, 99
– dangers 164-6
– definition 18, 134, 147 wahyu 83
– door to the spirit world 38 Wahyu Turonggo Budoyo 15, 22, 69
– initiation ritual 155 – sedentary type of group 77
– mock fights 21-2 Wali Sanga 31, 172
Index 293
waringin kurung 107, 111 – request from the host 236

warok-gemblak relation 23 wedding 79, 176
wayang characters 31, 46, 69, 82, 160, – customs on wedding night 24
170, 174-6, 226-7, 234-5 – procession 22, 82-4, 175
wayang genres 10-1, 16, 19, 33, 35, 59, welcome speeches 208-10
61-2, 227 whips (pecut) 48, 53-5
Wayang Jépré 174 wild boar (Kala Srènggi) 4, 48
wayang model 33, 37 wong cilik 47, 254
– similarities with horse dance wong osing 73
performance 83, 204 wong seni 80
wayang scenes 83, 234-7 wong tuwa 27

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Jaranan-1 Nodrm PDF

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JARANAN

victoria m. clara van groenendael

Translated by Maria J.L. van Yperen

KITLV is an institute of the Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences

Cover: Creja ontwerpen, Leiderdorp

ISBN 978 90 6718 306 2

© 2008 Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any

Printed in the Netherlands

I The horse dance (jaranan) 3

II The horse dance under the Orde Baru 13

III Samboyo Putro and other genres of horse dance groups 41

The jaranan buta 70

IV Performances by horse dance groups 77

V Rituals surrounding horse dance performances 115

The offerings 125

VI The trance 133

VII The significance of the horse dance legend 169

VIII Pak Dhalang’s verbal contribution in Pulihrejo 187

IX The character of the opening dances in Pulihrejo 215

X The element of play in the performance in Pulihrejo 233

Appendix: Transcription of the CD recording 257

This book is dedicated to the memory of Constanzo Italo Prospero Camilo

1 DKI Jakarta 14 Tulungagung (Karanganyar, 26 Besuki

Map 1. Kabupaten and Daerah Istimewa of the island of Java

Kecamatan Semen Pesantren

Map 2. The neighbourhoods of the Kotamadya (kodya) Kediri

Map 3. Kecamatan in Kabupaten Kediri

The dramatic genre of the horse dance (jaranan)

The horse dance (jaranan)

Prelude in Pulihrejo and introduction to Samboyo Putro

On the morning of Saturday, 12 April 1986, the village of Pulihrejo (Plosoklaten),

The group Samboyo Putro ready for departure. Photograph by author.

See the drawing of the compound in Pulihrejo, Chapter VI, p. 136.

Samboyo Putro’s banner. Photograph by author.

The aim of this book

The above description of the preparations for a performance by the horse

Rencana Pembangunan Lima Tahun, ‘Five-Year Development Plan’). To make

Arrangement of the book

The horse dance under the Orde Baru

The horse dance in Java

Horse dances, according to this fragment, are performances by dancers

The popularity of the horse dance in Kediri

An official survey of the different dramatic genres in East Java conducted in

registered there having given an average of well over 23 performances in this

The supporters of the horse dance

ance, and are often addressed accordingly.

The trance in the horse dance

Contacts with the immaterial world

In the introduction I have already indicated that horse dancing is frequently

immaterial world, for reasons to be explained later. He said that he had

original inhabitant of a place (baureksa).

Some theories about the trance in the horse dance

26 Serat Centhini, Canto 291, line 14 (Kamajaya 1988, IV:160).

The trance master (gambuh)

29 Alias Gotekswan, Hardjono Gotekswan, and K.R.Tmg. Hardjanegara.

according to my informants is often more important than these histrionics, is

The relation between the gambuh and the dhalang ruwat

46 That is to say, until about the Second World War.

This orientation to ‘high Javanese culture’ and the compulsory nature

no longer is the expression of a particular community and is determined by

55 Personal communication, Kediri, August 1985.

Aspects of the genre of the horse dance

Cèlèng Kala Srenggi puppet.