National Geographic January-June 1971. [antikvár]

January igyi GEOGW^K national geographic society, washington, JAVA Edei^ !9 Jrai^sitioi) By KENNETH MacLEISH SENIOR ASSISTANT EDITOR Photographs by DEAN CONGER NATIONAL OEOORAPHiC PHOTOGRAPHER 1 1 /e HAD COME to the kampong III after dark and in the rain, stained \KJ with the red mud of the traiL The lurah—the village chief—welcomed us to his earth-floored house, lent me a sarong to replace my soaked shirt and trousers, and fed us rice and salt fish and manioc greens. Only then did he ask us our business. I answered through my companion, Kumar, an Indonesian of Indian descent. "We have come to begin a journey down the length of Java. I wish to start here in the west, where Java begins. And I hope to meet the Badui, in the hills beyond your lands, who still live as men lived centuries ago. Are they not an ancient tribe, with ancient ways?" The lurah snorted. "Their ways are ancient, indeed. They are not like us. We here, we work hard and serve God. But they are not Moslems. They grow little, and move when the land is tired. They have no science, and accomplish nothing. "Even so, they have magic powers. They perceive distant doings, even future happenings. I will find a man to take you to them. But be careful. They cast spells." In the humid darkness the villagers slept, as still as jungle creatures. No human sob or sigh or dreaming cry disturbed the insect voices of the night, joined in a chorus more soothing than silence. No flame dimmed the fireflies' cold sparks. No sound or sight or smell proclaimed the presence of people. The bamboo houses huddled under the tall coconuts could have been empty. Then the night song stopped. The dancing sparks went out. The darkness became translucent and the blaze of stars began to dim. The people woke as easily as they had slept, suddenly, in the manner of roused animals. Bare feet moved silently toward the river. Bright batiks protected sleep-warmed skins from the mist of morning. Then, cooled and cleansed, the people of Tji Semak (Jungle Essence of an island: A farmer of Central Java reshapes a dike around his tiny rice field near the white-plumed volcano Gunung Merapi. Though blessed by vast oil deposits and rich volcanic soil, Java suffers from one of the world's lowest standards of living, and does not grow enough food for its burgeoning millions. kodachrome (following pages, © n.g.s. 1 .1.