Indonesian Temples

Walking east toward the massive stupa mound I notice what seems like millions of gently pointed little bells blooming from the surface of the uncannily symmetrical mountain, each point silently and humbly beaming its energy up into the cosmos. I step up through a gate resembling the gaping open-mouth of a Hindu kala, or guardian monster, and onto the broad stone path covering the hidden messages in the foot of this cosmic stupa. This platform represents the Buddhist earthly realm of desire called the Kamadhatu, as well as the “foot” of the Buddha in this body mapped onto the Javanese land. The relief panels that are hidden beneath my own feet depict scenes from the Buddhist Mahakarmavibhangga Sutra, or the karmic law of cause and effect, which portrays common people in acts of both good and evil, followed by the divine results of those actions in the next life. These earthbound reliefs secure both a physical and conceptual foundation for the Buddhist teachings explored throughout the candi. They develop a spiritual foundation of morality and responsibility for ones’ own actions, a concept which is fundamental to the aspiration of reaching nirvana through acceptance of the paradox of impermanence in order to escape human suffering. 

I climb through yet another gaping kala’s mouth, and up the steps from the foot of the stupa to the body of this mountainous structure, which is comprised of the four tiers of right-angled galleries referred to as the Rapudhatu, or realm of forms. Stepping into the static space between the heavy stone walls, my senses are immediately honed inwards and intensified as the thick walls mute the sounds of the outside world. My heartbeat reverberates across the surface of a stone carving that upon closer observation, seems to depict the arrival of a huge ship with billowing sails to a lively harbor, a scene from the Rudrayana story in the avadana series. I meander along the east wall, watching as I pass by the many Buddha sculptures meditating in their niches, first, touching the ground in bhumisparsa mudra, then progressing through the mudras as I circumambulate this cosmic mandala. 

After meditating on the lessons of the jatakas, avadanas and lalitavistara throughout the “body” of the Buddha, and passing through yet another kala gateway aligned with a cardinal point, I step out into the magnificent open “head” of the Buddha. This vast circular realm of formlessness, the Arupadhatu, contains Buddha statues with the dharmacakra mudra, meaning “the turning of the wheel of the doctrine.” The walls that had been framing the blue sky during my meditative walk through the Buddha’s body suddenly fell away in a moment of raw exhilaration as the heavens opened up above me and thriving earth unfolded in every direction around me. For a moment I accept my impermanence, and feel relief in understanding my place in the universe. But soon my mind returns again to my body, which is gingerly weaving through the 72 stone Buddhas enclosed in their delicately carved stupas, trying to see their faces through the ancient carved stone. I take in the images of the Gandavyuha, the story of the bodhisattva Sudhana’s path to enlightenment by means of many supernatural teachers. Standing here, atop the highest of the three circular platforms that make up the Arupadhatu, I feel a deep resonance with Sudhana’s ascetic journey after my own pradaksina to reach an empty central stupa.

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The global-local movement of religion at the time of Candi Borobudur and Goa Gaja’s constructions made it possible for these unique, site-specific combinations of preexisting indigenous animism, icons of Hindu deities, and images of the Buddha to manifest in both Java and Bali. Kerlogue states that “the Buddhist monuments from this period existed alongside a flourishing Shivaite tradition,” solidifying the practice of layered iconography and dual implications among Southeast Asian religious monumental art and architecture. In the wake of the Hindu court’s displacement to Bali, Buddhism grew popular Java after its introduction in the 9th century by the Sriwijayan Sailendra dynasty. Kerlogue argues that Hinduism’s success in Bali is mostly owed to the way local ruler’s used their new knowledge of the religion to their advantage; due to the preexisting belief that high ranking ancestors became deified as their spirits travel to the land of the dead, “many local rulers came to be seen, and perhaps promoted themselves, as manifestations or descendants of Hindu deities.” Indigenous beliefs permeate the design and iconography seen in enigmatic strictures like Borobudur and Goa Gajah, resulting in manifestations of Buddhism and Hinduism, respectively, which depart from those seen in India.

Goa Gajah, meaning “Elephant Cave,” is another spectacular manifestation of the synthesis of local animist beliefs with global religious influences of Hinduism and Buddhism. This meditative cavern was carved into a rock face located in a village named Bedulu, toward the south tip of Bali during the 11th century, and “stands witness to the syncretism or at least the affinity of the two beliefs since hundreds of years ago”. The texture of the rock surface is augmented with human representations of rock in the form of the curling, organic rock and scroll motifs found in indigenous Indonesian art. On the cave’s façade, these motif’s threaten to engulf the grotesquely exaggerated face of a kala demon.  The inside of the cave acts as a yoni, or womb space within the earth, and houses two Hindu icons. Three erect stones representing Shiva’s lingga, tri puruse, the three layers of the cosmos, sit in a yoni niche at one end of the “T” shaped cave. The other end houses a sculpture of the Hindi elephant god Ganesha, who is associated with liminal spaces. These Hindu icons are set in a religious dialogue with the Buddha, who is represented by a relief of a stupa, a symbol of his sacred burial mound, located across the river near Goa Gajah, called the Penatu river. The rock and scroll motifs carved into the literal rock face of the mountain are characteristic of Balinese depictions of sacred mountains and rocky earth. Through this layering of concepts, the natural rock of the mountain as a material is also set into an intimate iconographic dialogue with the carved, semiotic representation of itself by Balinese artists. This synthesis of natural rock and carved form speaks to the inherent dualism that underlies local spiritual belief, in addition to differentiating this uniquely Balinese cave temple from earlier Indian versions. 

The mountain’s significance as a sacred home of deified ancestor spirits among Indonesian islands from before India’s influence is evident, but its combination with both Buddhist and Hindu icons is what is truly Southeast Asian. Both Borobudur and Goa Gajah evade traditional boundaries of religious architecture by combining seemingly opposing elements into a harmonious composite. Borobudur uses the teachings of Buddhism to unify strong regional ties to the mountain as a preexisting mediator between planes of existence.  While Goa Gaja’s symbolic layering of indigenous and foreign iconography is a prime example of early Balinese religious art and architecture. One that can be seen through the transient mountain form that is fundamental to both of these meditative monuments immortalizes the synthesis dual forces of local and global influences.

Works Cited

Dumarçay Jacques. Borobudur. Oxford University Press, 1991.

Indonesia Departemen Pendidikan, Pengadjaran dan Kebudajaan. A Short Guide to the     Borobudur.Ministry of P.P.K., 1950.

Joesoef, Daoed. Borobudur, Human Heritage. Penerbit Buku Kompas, 2016.

Kerlogue, Fiona. Arts of Southeast Asia. Thames & Hudson, 2004.

Miksic, John. The Mysteries of Borobudur. Periplus, 1999.

Morrell, Elizabeth. Securing a Place: Small-Scale Artisans in Modern Indonesia.

Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University, 2004.

“Pura Goa Gajah.” The Temple of Bali the First Comprehensive Guide Book through All the Major Sacred Places in Bali, by Sagemüller Ernst and I. Gde Semadi Astra, Talisman Indonesia, 2010.