A Celebration that Beat Them All

Travel Story by Chriswan Sungkono

Semarang, Indonesia

Through the flooding crowd and their loud babbles, I work my way to the bridge. Its sides are bedecked with huge banners and colorful lamps. At the end of the narrow walkway that leads from the bridge is Tay Kak Sie, one of the oldest Confucian temples in Semarang; gladly welcoming its visitors that come by in the thousands. This, I think, is far too festive an evening to be brushed off as a common one. The 600th year of China's admiral Zheng He's voyage to Asia, is all this hysteria, this majestic celebration, is about.

We enter this smoke-filled, chock-full house of prayer. Tall, hefty candles (some even reach up to 6 meters in height) are everywhere. They sport flames that seem to dance in unison. On the river in front of the temple, a wooden ship has been constructed and is used as the grand stage. Behind the ship stands a huge poster of a Chinese pagoda– a lustrous backdrop, with all those lights. While some folks engage themselves in a bustling activity of praying, a great deal of others, myself included, just sit down and watch whatever is happening on stage.

All of a sudden, the stage becomes quiet, and with it, we do, too. Slowly a song builds up, a movie is projected on that giant screen across the river, and a solemn voice starts a narrative. Finally, a loud shriek, and boom! A rainbow of lightning blasts in the vast darkness of night: the first fireworks have exploded. What happens for the next fifteen minutes is an unforgettable fireworks show, heralding the historic bravery of Zheng He and his armada as they journeyed to lands unknown, centuries ago, in search for knowledge.

Zheng He's peace-bearing, 30,000-strong armada is said to have reached as far as the west coast of Africa, and did that with no less than 300 ships– a feat so impressive that even Magellan's, Columbus's, and Vasco da Gama's voyages summed together look like child's play. His legacy undoubtedly was planted throughout the lands bordering the blue Indian Ocean. During several of their seven voyages, he also visited the islands now lumped together as Indonesia. It is in this respect that Semarang stands out from other big cities in Java (or Indonesia): one simply needs to throw their first glance to see how the city's Chinese community is so alive and kicking, safeguarding Zheng He's legacy from the forgetfulness and ignorance that time inescapably brings.

He is preserved in the form of a small statue, kept and being worshipped (amongst other gods and goddesses) in Tay Kak Sie. In terms of superiority, Zheng He is probably not the one, but in terms of popularity, in Semarang, he's just like Elvis in Memphis. Imagine this: every single year, usually in August, there is a peculiar festival, held mostly (though not exclusively) by the Chinese in Semarang, in which the following happens.

Starting from midnight, Tay Kak Sie Temple is unusually bright and loud. Groups of people come flowing in; they bring barongsai (lion-faced costume characteristic to the Chinese lion dance), dragons, and a lot of trumpets, drums, gongs and the like. Many of these groups come not from within: they're emissaries of other temples in other cities. Man-made dragons and lions aside, the only kind of living animal seen in the vicinity are horses. They are regally adorned and harnessed, and the people walking beside them, when you see their faces, look both funny and unreal. Each one of them is called bhe-kun: royal guardian of the horses.

Before dawn breaks, the drums, gongs and cymbals start a deafening percussive choir, accompanied by the trumpets constantly blowing high notes, signifying that the long march is about to start. An instant later, all the people within the temple complex–the barongsais, the dragons, the bhekuns, countless others with equally funny make-ups and costumes, everyone–come pouring out of the temple gates. The parade thus begins.

On the streets, a great deal of other people, from five-year-olds to the elderly, have already been waiting. Not only in that area do they gather to stand, to look and wait. They crowd the streets, all the way, several kilometers away, up to the other, bigger temple: Sam Po Kong. On that special day, traffic in the inner city of Semarang is always in a partial standstill, from dawn to dusk, and even much later. From Tay Kak Sie to Sam Po Kong and back again, this parade is never devoid of its devotees and onlookers.

Central to the parade is a palanquin; in it are those revered statues of Zheng He and his two comrades. Now here comes the most interesting thing to observe in this parade: this is the reason people have been waiting on the streets for. What they want to do in front of this palanquin, as it pass them through, is pray quickly and then touch it, however brief or trivial the touch is. When this happens (it is indeed happening all the time), shoulders are pressed against other shoulders, and no empty space near the palanquin is left uncontested.

That is what actually happens during the day following tonight's fireworks. And as I sit here tonight, I can clearly see that preparations are underway. Some of those not involved in the preparations walk back to their homes to sleep, to gather strength for tomorrow's big bustle, while others, like me and my companions, choose to stay. Now, when most people are gone and some lamps are turned off, the temple feels much quieter.

We are thinking of going back to the hotel when my sight fall upon several bhekuns sitting idly on the chairs. I am sure they have just done their make-up: the blood-red paint in their face is still fresh, waiting to dry in the night air. We walked to them with a faint hope of sparking off a conversation before we left.

The bhekun's name is Sie Wei Wang, a local resident. "I have taken the role of bhekun in the previous four years," he proudly claims, "I've got three more ahead to fulfill my oath, my nazar, and hopefully God grants me enough strength and health to do it." He tells us that, when you have taken an oath to become bhekun seven times–that means for seven consecutive years–and done all that, according to ancient tradition your dream will be fulfilled.

"My brother is on his second time now, and for my good son here," he stops abruptly to introduce us to them, "it's his debut!" We all smile at the adolescent son, congratulating him and giving him encouragement. Wang continues to elaborate on this dream-fulfilment thing, "I have known many people get cured of their diseases or become rich or successful in their businesses or get married, whatever... because they have completed their seven," he then names a few relatives and friends he knows of who have accomplished that challenging task.

In his tone of voice I feel his conviction towards getting his dreams fulfilled; an ambition he shares with numerous others that take part in this yearly celebration. It is exactly the same reason that drives people to flood the streets, so desperately wanting to carry, or just touch, the palanquin of Zheng He's statue. For the act of touching the holy palanquin, it is believed, will endow you with neverending stream of luck (and to the Chinese, few things matter more than luck) and make your good prayers come true.

Is all this miraculous? Not by a long shot. If Wang's story has taught me anything, it is that patience, constancy, and more importantly, self-discipline, are the recipes for the fulfilment of your dreams. And as we leave the temple, I can't help but look at the bhekuns, and everybody else realizing their personal ambitions, with deeper respect than I ever had before.

Illustration by Bob Veon
(Bob Veon's Website)

Read more about the author of this story:
Chriswan Sungkono