Pelabuhan Ratu and My Encounter with the Queen of the South Java Sea

In my now five months of living on Java, I have found it to be a place of both strict religious observation but also a land haunted by superstition. Alongside earnest adherence to the Muslim faith and it's rites, there exists stories of ghosts and semi-deities that must also be appeased in their own way. In my time here as an English teacher, my students often recant the legends of Pocong, the Indonesian hopping ghost trapped in its burial shroud or Kuntilanak, the spirit of a woman who died while pregnant, looking much like the typical Asian spirit with long black hair over the face and a white dress. At first, I thought these stories were considered just that, stories, with no one giving them any real consideration. Like vampire folklore in the west. While this is true for many modern people here, it does not seem so for the majority. These spirits, and others like them, are very firmly believed in, often accompanied by ritualistic practices of sorts to appease them or honour them. Nowhere has this mindset been  made more clear to me, than on my last trip to the coastal town of Pelabuhan Ratu on southern Java, a town which still honours and lays claim to the origin of a famous sea spirit. It was a glimpse into Java's ancient past, a past that remains deep in the minds of it's people today.

A Surfer's Paradise
My journey there began like many others I've had now on Java, crammed into the back of an overcrowded minivan on the road for about eight hours. Escaping Jakartan traffic was an adventure in itself as we slowly made our way south, on through Bogor and into the mountains, past still-active volcanoes and the jungle lined landscape beyond. Again I noticed that on Java, you are never far from people as houses and buildings seemed to continuously drift past our windows.

Arriving at the reasonable time of 8pm, we eagerly exited our vehicle which had been our uncomfortable home for the last eight hours and made our way into the hotel lobby. On the long journey, our Indonesian friend Danny, had been explaining a little about what the area was famous for. Many people come here for the beautiful white beaches with signs of volcanic sediment still in its grains, for surfing, he said. By all accounts, it was a popular spot for weekend travellers from all over, especially those seeking to escape the hectic urban life in Jakarta. But it was also famous for something else. We had all heard the stories from our students (all of us being teachers) of the Queen of the South Sea. "You cannot wear green", they said, "or she will take you away". This seemed like such an amusing eccentricity to most of us, just another legend. Dani informed us that most of the hotels here even keep a room vacant for the mysterious spirit queen, in case she may ever return. We found this hard to believe of course, and I dismissed it as just a joke.

Entering the lobby of our hotel we were greeted by a strange surprise. There, in the corner, hung a large painting of a woman with black hair and in a dark green dress, surrounded by ocean waves which seemed to engulf her. Her eyes staring out lustfully as she held in her hand, close to her breast, a small white flower. At first it shocked me a little. It seemed so unusual. It was clear then who this was. But was it all just a way to cash in on the tourists, like they do with Dracula in Transylvania? Or was this a sign of a peoples earnest belief, indeed fear, of a supernatural deity from a time in their distant past?

Nyai Roro Kidul
After a quick check in, we made our way to the hotel restaurant which overlooked the beach and bay, dimly lit by the full silver moon. This was why we came, you see. It was the summer solstice and the moon was at its biggest, like the eye of some mystical giant staring down at us from the night sky, only momentarily obstructed now and then by the gently swaying leaves of the surrounding coconut trees. Paradise? Yes. But it was watching us. As we sat down to eat (being famished after the long journey) our host, the hotel owner, came over to chat. He was Canadian and had lived here for the past twenty seven years, eager to speak to someone in his own tongue. In his many years here, he had gained much knowledge of local traditions and legends. Sitting back, admiring the view, I asked him if he knew much about this Sea Queen. "Oh yes", he replied, "I certainly do".

She goes by many names, he told me. The most common one is Nyai Roro Kidul. His Javanese wife and locals here often speak of her. There are many legends surrounding the mysterious queen. The local legend is that Nyai Roro Kidul was once a mistress of the Sultan of the 16th C. Muslim Mataram kingdom, with its seat in Yogyakarta. One day, in a fit of jealous despair or perhaps rejection (stories vary), she came to the very shore we sat on, and rode her chariot into the sea to drown. "Over there", said our host, pointing to a section of the bay visible only by the moonlight, with waves crashing against the rocks and sand, "That's where she went in".

Fig. 1 The part of the bay Nyai Roro Kidul allegedly rode her chariot into the sea to drown 

The legend tells of how after her death, she returned as a powerful spirit imbued with mystical powers or dark magic, sometimes even depicted as a mermaid. Those who wear green (usually men), she comes for to take them away into the depths of the ocean as she cannot bear anyone to wear her sacred colour. An element of man hating seems to accompany her. Many stories of such kidnappings or attempted ones by the spirit abound. Since our return I have encountered many others. Indonesian blogs and local folklore tell of close encounters with the Queen. One man speaks of how on one occasion, while swimming in the sea in green trunks (uh-oh), he heard a beautiful voice calling him. He claimed to then see this beautiful dark haired woman floating in the sea in front of him, beckoning him to come with her. Though enticed by the apparition momentarily, he regained his senses and swam back to shore unscathed. Another story, tells of how a local woman, eager to gain black magic powers from the Queen, often tried to trick men and sacrifice them to the deity, sometimes succeeding."This place", our host continued after a silence, "It sure has a lot of strange goings on".

The spirit is so venerated, even to this day, that sacrifices to her are still made by many. In the beginning of the Javanese year (around April), animal sacrifices can be seen down on the very shore we overlooked. Festivals in her honour are held across various towns and cities on the southern coast every year, particularly in Yogyakarta. The Sultan of Yogyakarta even claims a special connection and spiritual link with her. All of this, in an effort to appease the vengeful sea spirit. As the night rolled on, the stories continued until the sun gradually began to rise over that beautiful and indeed mysterious bay they call Pelabuhan Ratu.

Sun soaked sand
The following morning we arose to another Javanese scorcher. Our hotel, being right by the beach, was conveniently located for an early morning swim. It was holiday season in Indonesia, which meant that bus loads of tourists (mostly domestic, a high number of which came from Jakarta) were going to be flooding the tiny town over the next few days. Already, along the curve of the shoreline, we could see a significant amount of people enjoying the early morning sunshine and water. Muslim women, dressed from head to toe in full Muslim fashion, including hijab head covers, ran in and out of the wave bearing waters, who knows how they learned to deal with such temperatures in these clothes, I remember thinking. Perhaps it was just centuries of tradition.

With a sore head on me (our host had magically produced a bottle of Johnny Walker Black label the night before, a rarity in this country), I made for the ocean waves which crashed and broke against the sandy beach, in the hope they might cure me of my morning ailment. After about twenty minutes of enjoying the refreshing water I noticed my hotel room key had disappeared from my shorts pocket. My sunglasses, I suddenly realised (remember my "condition"), were also missing from my face. Lost to the sea. In retrospect, I of course realise the foolishness of jumping into the beach pounding waves with a key in my pocket and sporting a nice pair of sunglasses. However, at that particular moment in time, I was not in my best senses. After a quick but fruitless search I walked, defeated, to the hotel reception.

Fig. 2. A portrait of the Queen of the Sea

The receptionist was a young Indonesian man and spoke a little English. Mostly just a few token phrases and sentences required of his position. "Hello, Mister", "Welcome" and "Can I help you, Mister". The last one got my attention. "Yes, you can", I jumped in. After a few moments of explaining to him in English (at this point I assumed he was fluent for some reason), I began to realise the smile now transfixed on his face was a cover. He had no idea what I was saying. He never did. In desperation and using as many random Indonesian words as I could muster, I began miming. Key (turning a key). Missing (shrugging shoulders). Still nothing. Then I spotted the portrait of the Sea Queen. Hastily and accusingly I pointed to her picture and shouted "mengambil (taken)"! It was the sea queen, yes I decided, she took my key. It was not my recklessness at all. Suddenly, the glassy eyed smile of obliviousness was washed from his face and replaced by something more like astonishment, then recognition. This he understood completely. It was obviously a common occurrence or, at any rate, a common explanation. Who knows how many keys or other trinkets the Sea Queen had swiped. He then disappeared into a back room to find me a replacement.


Outro
The experience in Pelabuhan Ratu got me thinking. Who was this Nyai Roro Kidul, really? It seems so out of place on an island of predominantly Muslim people. Many of her origin stories come from the early Muslim era on Java, but there appears to be more to it than that. Also, could the strong outgoing rip currents present all along the shoreline add to the legend of a sea spirit pulling people under to their deaths? I looked into the history later. Pre-Islamic and Christian Java welcomed and embraced much of the Hindu and Buddhist religions. These older religions reached Java and spread throughout most of Indonesia from about the 8^th century. The particular derivation of Buddhism known as Hinayana, dedicated to the salvation of the individual though monastic self-discipline, was adopted by the Sailendra kings of Srivujaya. This is marked by a date inscribed on a shrine of the new religion in 778. The famous Borobudur stupa followed soon after. However, these new religions did not spread everywhere. Large parts of Borneo and some eastern Indonesian islands show this. Prior to the spread of Islam and Christianity into the archipelago after the 13^th century, these somewhat more isolated areas held onto their ancient belief systems, belief systems rooted in primitive animism surrounded by stories of ghosts and spirits connected with nature and its phenomena (Cotterell  1979, 97), such as sea spirits. Some of these animistic societies continue even to this day, such as in the jungles of Borneo and Papua.  While most of the stories of Nyai Roro Kidul date to the 16^th century Javanese Mataram Sultanate, the curious nature of her story, and the continued practice of animal sacrifice and other such practices in dedication to her, suggest a much older history. Perhaps it is just another dim flame remaining of an ancient animistic belief system that was never fully extinguished by its successors, nor ever fully absorbed. 

My fascination with her story, and others like it, was now increasing. After a peaceful day on this beautiful beach of Pelabuhan Ratu, we gathered once more in the little wooden hut on the beach as the sun began to sink. To the east, a dark-clouded, rough storm was rolling in, rising the tireless waves still further. But in the west lay yet another peaceful, deep red sunset sky, the low mountains on the far side of the bay now silhouetted against its glow. We sat quietly watching the scene unfold. Two completely different faces of nature, co-existing in the same space, fighting for dominance of our attentions. But which one would win...  

Fig.3. Another Javanese sunset.