The stories of the eruption and Mbah Maridjan are bound together by links to local modes of Muslim piety.

In the 30 years that I have been visiting Yogyakarta, I have never seen Gunung Merapi (mount of fire) without a plume of smoke rising from the summit. Almost no one can remember anything like the past four weeks.

Clouds of superheated gas, ash and rock have devastated some areas. At least 250 people have died and more than 300,000 have been evacuated. It is impossible to predict how long the eruptions will continue or how serious the humanitarian crisis will be.

As is true everywhere, many in Yogyakarta understand natural disasters in religious ways. Some say the eruption is a natural phenomenon, some a mystical event. Others say it is both.

Merapi holds a special place in the mystical variant of Islam that is common in the province.
Here local Islam is tied with notions of royal authority and sacred geography.

Yogyakarta is often described as a “kingdom within a republic”. Sultan Hamengkubuwono X is the governor.

According to Javanese-Islamic notions of authority the Sultan is the Shadow of God on Earth. The well-being of the kingdom depends on his relationships with powerful spiritual beings as well as with
God.

It is widely believed that there is an invisible North-South Axis beginning at Merapi’s summit, passing through the city and ending on the coast to the south.

Merapi is the abode of Sunan Merapi, the southern coast is home to Ratu Kidul, the Queen of the Southern Ocean. Both are powerful Muslim spirits.

“
Many now wonder what will become of Yogyakarta because he is no longer here to protect them.
    ”

Offerings are sent to both of them on the Sultan’s birthday and as need arise. Many believe that on the Day of Judgment lava from Merapi will flow through Yogyakarta, destroy the palace and end in Ratu Kidul’s domain. Here, a major eruption is both a religious crisis and a natural disaster.

Palace officials known as juru kunci (guardians) are responsible for relationships with these spiritual beings. Mbah Maridjan, juru kunci of Merapi, was among the victims of the recent eruptions.

Appointed by Hamnegkubuwono IX in 1970, Mbah Maridjan was also a local leader of Nahdlatul Ulama, Indonesia’s largest Muslim organization.

I met Mbah Maridjan only once, less than two months ago. He was a deeply religious man in a very Javanese way. He was a pious Muslim and deeply attached to Javanese tradition.

He felt that his fate was tied to the mountain, and that he had to stay there no matter what the risk. His house was filled with Muslim and Muslim-Javanese artworks and ritual objects.

Posters of the Grand Mosque in Mecca, portraits of past Sultans and a palace calendar hung on the walls. He used much of what he earned from sports drink ads to build a mosque near his house. He also built a church for local Christians.

Mbah Maridjan described himself as a simple village man with little education. He denied that he had any special powers.

He could speak Indonesian but usually chose to speak only Javanese because it was appropriate for his position and because he did not wish to be a national figure or tourist attraction.

In his final conversation with Indonesian reporters Mbah Maridjan reaffirmed these beliefs. He asked reporters he would not leave but encouraged residents to take necessary precautions, pray for salvation and for Merapi not to “cough.”

Merapi coughed. Mbah Maridjan’s body was found prostrate in prayer. Many people say that this is how he wanted to die and that it was a good way for a Muslim to die. Many other stories now circulate about his death.

One is that hot gases entered his house while he was praying but could not enter his room until he finished. Others say he knew he would die but chose to stay on the mountain to pray for others.

Many now wonder what will become of Yogyakarta because he is no longer here to protect them. Some say the natural disasters that have struck Indonesia in recent years are signs that the Day of Judgment is near.

Others mention dreams in which victims ask for prayers. Some survivors tell of being warned by spiritual beings of coming danger and being told to pray and recite the Koran.

Mbah Maridjan was described as a simple, pious man who did the best he could for the people and who was very different from local and national politicians.

The chief of the village of Umbulharjo, close to Mbah Maridjan’s compound stated: “We have lost
the figure who has been a ‘role model’, who we could always ask for advice.”

These sentiments have been echoed in television testimonials. The message is that Indonesia can learn from his dedication and simplicity.

This is contrasted with elite extravagance and corruption. Even Islamist groups who normally denounce beliefs like Mbah Maridjan’s as “unbelief” rushed to embrace his memory.

Mbah Maridjan’s Islam was local. Few Muslims outside Yogyakarta share his concern with Merapi. There are many, including some in Yogyakarta, who regard his interpretation of Islam as heretical.

But there are hundreds of millions of Muslims for whom Islam is as much a local as it is a universal faith and for whom devotion to God and concern with local modes of spiritual and religious practice are inextricably linked.


The writer is associate professor of religious studies, Arizona State University and visiting professor, Center for Religious and Cross-Cultural Studies, Gadjah Mada University.

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