Witnessing Krakatau

Composed only months after the disaster in the form of a syair, a classical Malay rhymed poem, Krakatau provides the only eyewitness account of the event. The visceral narrative conveys the terror and tragedy of people struggling to survive the grip of violent natural forces. Of particular note was the relentless force of the tsunami, which “left the land slick, a boiled egg with no shell / Like an open plain, no life to tell” (stanza 63). Others buckled under the direct force of the volcano, finding death in a “firestorm”: “Between the falling ash and the windstorm, / Was no difference in heat, just in form” (stanza 208). Similar scenes of destruction fill virtually every page, with heartbreaking accounts of entire villages erased in an instant, of families torn, of individuals trying to survive after having lost all property and loved ones. The poem quickly moves from village to village, island to island, to survey the eruption’s impact throughout the area.

Beyond documenting the profound tragedy and trauma spurred by the volcano, Saleh’s poem also includes moral lessons and meditations about God. A tension between earthly and spiritual realms runs throughout the text. While moral and spiritual purity does not preclude individuals from hardship and death, wretched are the lives of those who violate religious and moral codes. Many passages of poem record incidents of theft, parsimony, and exploitation in the aftermath of the disaster, but these crimes will not pass unseen: “Bet not that the profit will for you intercede, / If you do not on this Earth as God has decreed” (stanza 259). As Saleh’s account illustrates, it takes faith, charity, and hard work to overcome this disaster and make possible a life that is “forever tranquil”.

Saleh’s Krakatau also provides practical lessons by raising awareness of the various environmental hazards that threaten Indonesia today. By acknowledging disasters of the past, it becomes possible to improve planning for the future, whether it means learning to recognize the early warning signs of catastrophic geological events or developing plans for mobilizing resources and establishing emergency orders not only to minimize a disaster’s impact but also to prevent crime and exploitation in its aftermath. That Saleh adopts the syair as his narrative form illustrates these practical concerns. A short chapter about the history of the syair that follows Saleh’s poem explains that the syair is particularly effective for instruction due to its appealing, “digestible” rhyme structure.

While most readers will appreciate these practical and moral lessons, it is important to avoid overlooking the aesthetic quality of Saleh’s poem, which is skillfully translated by John McGlynn from a romanized transliteration of the fourth edition of the Jawi text by Suraydi. As noted in McGlynn and Suryadi’s introduction, this fourth edition (published in 1888) illustrates the best crafting of all the editions. This craftsmanship shows throughout the text, like in a description of finding objects in the wreckage of homes:

            As to all this scavenging, I do declare,

            ‘Twas like digging potatoes, without fanfare.

            It was in this way that rewards were found,

            From many goods buried in the ground. (260)

This description eloquently conveys trauma, sadness, and simple hope. Cruelly, however, the following passages depict looters stealing these goods.

There is some mystery about the biographical details of Muhammad Saleh. In Krakatau, he declares himself a simple tradesman, but there are unsubstantiated rumors that he was a famous religious leader of the same name who migrated to Lampung from Sulawesi. Regardless of these biographical details, the 375 four-line stanzas were written and published in Singapore, and will appeal to a broad audience, from readers with a casual interest in Indonesia’s environmental history to scholars concerned with the ways people understand and respond to disasters.

Interestingly, the final sections of the Saleh’s poem focus on efforts to flee Lampung and begin life again in Batavia. As Saleh and others struggle to make arrangements with boats and administrative officials, Batavia lingers as a utopian dreamscape, “For Batavia, the capital, was the fount, of course, / Of rice, oil, sugar, and most all resources” (stanza 246). Overlooked in this retreat to civilization are the looming environmental threats of the city, particularly flooding and disease. Given the history of urban development throughout the world, this exchange of environmental vulnerabilities – from “wild” nature to “urban” nature – offers no guarantee of a more stable and equitable life.

Phillip Drake, University of Kansas (pdrake@ku.edu)