For me, Karel was a window on the world. He helped me, a village girl in her twenties, awaken to the wider world when he was teaching at the State Islamic Institute (IAIN) – now the State Islamic University (UIN) – in Jakarta in the early 1980s. He taught comparative religion and Christian theology.

I and many of his students, particularly the lecturers at IAIN Jakarta and IAIN Yogyakarta, knew much about his contributions. From the time he served in Indonesia until several years later after he returned to Utrecht, the Netherlands, many Muslim scholars owed a great debt of gratitude to Karel and his wife Paule Maas.

I was one of the students who maintained a friendship with the couple.

Last April, I sent my latest book, Merebut Tafsir (New Perspectives) (Amongkarta, 2021) to him, and he wrote a lengthy review of it on his blog. Karel told me he was so delighted with the themes I discussed in the compilation of essays that he read them aloud to Paule, in Dutch of course. And this was how Karel opened a window on Indonesia for Paule.

Three years ago, in September 2018, when I attended a seminar on child marriage at Leiden University, I visited them. As always, they picked me up at the Utrecht train station and invited me to stay a few days at their new home, an apartment in the center of Utrecht. They said they needed to live in the center of the city so they wouldn’t have to drive or spend a lot of time taking care of a large house.

In previous years, whenever I had a chance to visit the Netherlands, especially from 1999 to 2000 when I was studying medical anthropology in Amsterdam, I used to visit their lovely home with its large garden on the city’s outskirts.

In Utrecht we usually walked deep into the countryside or to a museum, as we did the last time I visited them. It was winter, and Paule had pain in her legs, so we only walked a bit to visit the Turkish part of the city and see the newly built Turkish mosque and the old Turkish baths. We also went to a museum and an old church.

The museum was built on a site where an ancient wooden boat had been discovered. Karel explained that in the past, people had come to Utrecht on wooden boats. This was another example of how my window on the world shared his knowledge and experience with me.

Two months ago, I fell ill and was treated at a hospital in Bogor. Once I was discharged and recovering at home, I wrote a short email to Karel. As usual, he replied immediately. He sent a photo of a statue of the Virgin Mary made of Jepara teakwood with small candles burning. He said he and Paule sent their prayers for my speedy recovery.

As intellectuals, Karel and Paule were devout Catholics. When I was in Amsterdam, if they visited me on a Sunday, I would ask their permission to accompany them to a mass service before we went for lunch or to a café.

As a student of comparative religion, I was in the habit of doing this – going to churches, Buddhist monasteries or Chinese temples – since I was in Ciputat in the 1980s. Karel introduced me to this way of directly observing religious phenomena, and this is a very important experience for Muslim students to understand others.

Another thing I remember about Karel is his love for classical music. We would always listen to music on the radio from morning to evening. Pak Karel enjoyed classical music and played it on the piano.

Forty years ago, Pak Karel introduced me to classical music – but even more importantly, to books and libraries, spurring my enthusiasm for the world of research, particularly on Sufism. I then chose to do research for my thesis on the Tarikat Idrisiyah in Tasikmalaya, West Java. Many times, when he introduced me to his guests, he would tell them about my seriousness when working in the field, and how I got a chronic ear infection after bathing in the pool used by female santri (students).

Karel’s home in Ciputat was always open to me as well to other students. Often, he would leave me the key to his house if he and Paule were going away for the weekend to their rented villa in Puncak. I would freely roam his library until they came home late on Sunday. Other times he would took me to the National Museum or to libraries in the city. Or we went to bookstores, along with his children Floris and Stijn, in Blok M or to the British Council library at the Widjoyo Center.

Toward the end of my university studies in 1984, Karel introduced me to Martin van Bruinessen, who was looking for an assistant for his research on the “culture” of poverty in Bandung. Martin then became a second window on the world to me. He ushered me to the world of anthropological field research. True, Karel and Martin did not introduce me to feminism, which later became the focus of my activism and research, but through them I learned what it meant to be a researcher.

Karel was like an intellectual father who was always there for me, even in the toughest times. Once, when I was studying in Amsterdam, I cried as I showed him my assignments that I felt were difficult due to my limited ability in English. Karel read them to me and explained the content, even writing out summaries of the readings.

Karel was also there when things were hard in my private life. In 2004, when I underwent eye surgery in Singapore, he sent some money for me through his colleague even though he knew my medical expenses would be covered by insurance. He also helped me find a research scholarship.

Now, my window on the world has gone. I wish I could be with Paule and their two beloved sons, Floris and Stijn. I lit a little candle and incense to accompany his soul in its journey into the eternal. He was cremated on the day this was written.

I bear witness that Pak Karel was truly a great person throughout his life. May his love for his students be accepted by God the All Merciful, Amen. Sugeng tindak [farewell], Pak Karel. Rest in peace.

 ***

The writer is a researcher at Rumah Kita Bersama.

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