boy with heart could perform here

The Straits Times
July 20, 2003

Correspondent's Notebook

Debus: suffering for their art

By Devi Asmarani

JAKARTA - I had just finished dinner by the beach at a secluded resort
on
the
western tip of Java, watching a man willingly getting his stomach bashed
by
another man.

This man had placed a giant steel tack, a sharp spike with a large flat
woodenhead, on his bellybutton and was encouraging members of the
audience
to whack
at the woodenhead with a sledgehammer.

When someone from the audience picked up the sledgehammer and began
hitting,
timidly at first then strongly, every one of us, who had just shared a
delectable barbecue meal, cringed.

I looked around and realised that more than half of the audience, who
early
on pulled up their chairs from the scattering dinner tables to get a
closer
look at the performance, had gone.

A couple of jumpy Japanese expatriates next to me, who kept screaming
and
covering their eyes earlier, had slipped away with their male partners
after
it
was clear that the performance was not getting any less grisly.

Others took their children away when realising the unsuitable content of
the
show.

The rest of us remained, watching with a mixed feeling of awe, fright
and
repulsion the act of self-immolation called debus performed in front of
us.

Indonesia has a range of traditional cultural performances, many
involving
mysticism and dancers in trance, but debus is about the most macabre of
all.

It is from Banten, an industrial region rich in history that three years
ago
broke away from West Java to become its own province.

Until the end of 17th century, Banten was one of the world's major
capitals.
Strategically located on the Sunda Strait, it drew its wealth from the
lucrative sugar and pepper trade.

With an international seaport and surrounded by fortified ramparts, the
Banten Sultanate was also known as a strong military power.

Not much of the kingdom and its glorious history remains visible today,
except for its Great Mosque, which signifies Banten's place in the
spread of
the
Islamic faith in Java decades ago.

In fact, locals say that debus was originally performed by palace guards
to
attract new followers to Islam. The ilmu (mystical power) of the debus
performers was credited to Islam, striking fears in foes and inspiring
them
to turn to
the new religion.

To this day, strict adherence to the faith is a must for young men and
women
who want to join a debus troupe.

Banten is now a home to steel plants and petrochemical refineries that
tower
against beach resorts and fishing villages. Debus has left palace courts
for
the streets and hotel courtyards. But its supernatural aura remains.

After all, the province is notorious for its jawaras, tough guys whose
ilmu
allegedly makes them invincible. Magic is reputedly the staple of people

here.

But debus is hardly a David Copperfield show; it is not the squeaky
clean
cut-me-apart-in-a-box kind of performance. In the distance of merely a
metre, you
will see blood gushing, skin pierced, and tongue sliced. And you will
see
all
the wounds healed in one swipe of a hand.

The performance normally takes place outdoors, and the only recurring
'aide'
you will notice is the glass of water that all performers sip before
they
execute the gruesome feat. This water has been blessed by the troupe's
leader.

Unlike martial arts, debus does not require strenuous physical skills.
In a
debus troupe, the leader 'transfers' his 'inner power' to his pupils,
who in
turn have to fast and conduct ascetic exercises for days.

The music, played by a small ensemble of traditional musical
instruments,
produces a haunting sound that is said to play a major role in a
performance.

It builds up to an intense, almost feverish, pitch that puts the dancers
in
a
trance.

The man whose stomach was bashed in the latter part of the show was the
leader of the troupe, and he only performed, it seemed, the most
challenging
feats.

This is not to say that the other feats were for the fainthearted.

Early in the night, a young man lay face down on a bed of sharp pointed
nails
with a pile of bricks on his back. His companion smashed the bricks to
pieces
with a sledgehammer. The young men stood up showing no signs of pain.

Then, several men strolled back and forth on a tray of burning wood and
hot
coals about 2m in length. They removed the burning splinters of wood
from
the
fire and placed them into their open mouths.

Another got his cheek pierced with a skewer, while a teenage boy had his

whole arms pierced with skewers. The boy walked around as people stuck
rupiah
bills on the tip of the skewers jutting out of his arms.

At some point, the leader drew a machete and let the audience test its
razor-sharp edge, before slashing his forearm. When his flesh parted and

blood
gushed out, he ran his other hand over the wound, instantly closing and
healing it.

Near the show's end, the leader took out the giant tack from his stomach
and
knelt down. His face contorted. Suddenly, he spat out something -
something
small and black that flew into the darkness.

It was a bat - followed by five more.

Debus is fantastic entertainment if you can deal with the gory parts. At
a
time when the making of a high-tech action film is a show in itself, its

charm
lies in the fact that it cannot be explained in a rational way, and
therefore
remains a mystery.

Sadly, however, like other traditional art forms unable to compete with
pop
acts and Hollywood films, it may be a dying breed.

-- -Kraig Grady
North American Embassy of Anaphoria Island
http://www.anaphoria.com
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