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His name is Sekarpandan. He is short, with a huge behind. In Cirebon style wayang kulit, he is one of the nine clown-retainers who accompany the five Pandawa.
Sekarpandan got his bodily form after taunting Semar, who wanted to marry Sekarpandan's older sister Sudiragen. In the fight that ensued, Sekarpandan lost and was thrown into a clump of pandanus, immediately changing form: he became a replica of the person he had been taunting. Also in character.
One day in 1968 I visited Lempad, the genius artist, at his home in Ubud. He met me standing among the stone statues he had arranged haphazardly on the veranda. He was already around 100 years old then. Bare-chested, his wrinkled skin was clear to see. On his almost-bald head were tufts of thin white hair.
He showed me a bundle of pictures. And I was fascinated.
The throne looks glittering, but power is a dilemma. Probably the oldest comments on this can be found in the story of the Judge Samuel.
The Old Testament story tells how the aged Samuel saw his followers the Israelites attempt to choose a different political system after dishonesty had occurred.
In November 1918, the Volksraad was established. The Dutch colonial government proclaimed its promise to its colonized subjects that with this 'people's council', the process of democratization would take place. But this 'November promise' was not fulfilled: the Volksraad turned out to be incapable of accommodating or representing the voice of the people. The council members busied themselves with debate, but without much effect on the lives of the volk, the people outside the building. Haji Agus Salim, with clever sarcasm, mocked it as a 'chat comedy'.
This was only partly true. A 'comedy' has humor, whereas the words spouted in the Volksraad, on the whole, only seemed to be funny-and people laughed bitterly-because what they heard was just the noise of the beating of an empty drum.
On a tiny asteroid, a king sat alone on a throne. His huge robes spread out over the mini planet. There was no room for anyone else. In the famous tale The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupry, the prince visits this asteroid of the lonely king. The king, seeing the little prince coming, exclaims, "Ah! Here is a subject."
He is longing for subjects, it seems. We don't know for how long. What we do know from the story (which is probably a parable) is that authority can only be called authority when there are others over whom to wield authority. Further, a ruler, whether he likes it or not, always has to give legitimacy to his authority in front of others, also when those others are merely in the position of subjects. "Accepted authority rests first of all on reason," the king says. "If you ordered your people to go and throw themselves into the sea, they would rise up in revolution. I have the right to require obedience because my orders are reasonable."
Bandits and heroes sometimes fuse in evolution.
In Indonesia, we are familiar with the story of Ken Arok. In Australia, people know the tale of Ned Kelly. In the Javanese Pararaton, written in 1481, Ken Arok is depicted as a man who started out with his life derided: "of bad behavior, severing the ties of morality, disturbing the mystical Divine, lumaku tan rahayu amegati apusira pinakapamacananing hyan Suksma." With his ruthless ambition for power, he killed anyone in his way. And he did indeed rule, becoming the founder of the Singasari Kingdom in the 14th century.
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