On an elevated plateau, near the centre of the island, on the back of Mount Prahu, there exists a group of some five or six small temples. They are not remarkable either for the size or the beauty of their details, when compared with those of the buildings we have just been describing; but they are interesting to the Indian antiquary, because they are Indian temples pure and simple and dedicated to Indian gods. So far, we feel at home again; but what these temples tell us further is, that if Java got her Buddhism from Gujerat and the mouths of the Indus, she got her Hinduism from Telingana and the mouths of the Kistnah. These Djeing temples do not show a trace of the curved-lined sikras of Orissa or of the Indo-Aryan style. Had the Hindus gone to Java from the valley of the Ganges, it is almost impossible they should not have carried with them some examples of this favourite form. It is found in Burmah and Siam, but no trace of it is found anywhere in Java.
Nor are these temples Dravidian in any proper sense of the word. They are in storeys, but not with cells, nor any reminiscences of such; but they are Chalukyan, in a clear and direct meaning of the term. The building most like these Javan temples illustrated in the preceding pages is that at Buchropully ([Woodcut No. 216]), which would pass without remark in Java if deprived of its portico. It, however, like all the Chalukyan temples we know of in India, especially in the Nizam’s territory, is subsequent to the 10th century. Most of them belong to the 13th century, and pillars may probably have been less frequently used at the time of Deva Kosuma’s visit in A.D. 816. Be this as it may, it is a remarkable fact that there is not a single pillar in Java: at least no book I have had access to, no drawing, and no photograph gives a hint of the existence of even one pillar in the island. When we think of the thousands that were employed by the Dravidians in the south of India, and the Jains in the north-west, it is curious they escaped being introduced here. The early style of Orissa, as mentioned above, is nearly astylar; but in Java this is absolutely so, and, so far as I know, is the only important style in the world of which this can be predicated. What is not so curious, but is also interesting, is, that there is not a true arch in the whole island. In the previous pages, the Hindu horror of an arch has often been alluded to; but then they frequently got out of the difficulty by the use of wood or iron. There is no trace of the use of these materials in the island, and no peculiarly Javan feature can be traced to a wooden original. All is in stone, but without either the pillars or the arches which make up nine-tenths of the constructive expedients of the mediæval architects, and figure so largely in all the western styles of architectural art.
It may also be mentioned here, while describing the negative characteristics of Javan art, that no mortar is ever used as a cement in these temples. It is not that they were ignorant of the use of lime, for many of their buildings are plastered and painted on the plaster, but it was never employed to give strength to construction. It is owing to this that so many of their buildings are in so ruinous a state. In an island where earthquakes are frequent, a very little shake reduces a tall temple to a formless heap in a few seconds. If cemented, they might have been cracked, but not so utterly ruined as they now are.[628]
Be this as it may, the Javan style of architecture is probably the only one of which it can be said that it reached a high degree of perfection without using either pillars, or arches, or mortar in any of its buildings.
Suku.
At a place called Suku, not far from Mount Lawu near the centre of the island, there is a group of temples, which, when properly illustrated, promises to be of great importance to the history of architecture in Java.[629] They are among the most modern examples of the style, having dates upon them of A.D. 1435 and A.D. 1440,[630] or less than forty years before the destruction of Majapahit and the abolition of the Hindu religion of Java. So far as can be made out, they are coarser and more vulgar in execution than any of those hitherto described, and belonged to a degraded form of the Vaishnava religion. Garuda is the most prominent figure among the sculptures; but there is also the tortoise, the boar, and other figures that belong to that religion. The sculptures, too, are said, many of them, to be indecent, which is only too characteristic a feature of Vishnuism.[631]
The most interesting feature connected with the remains at Suku, as well as of all the later buildings in Java, is their extraordinary likeness to the contemporary edifices in Yucatan, and Mexico. It may be only accidental, but it is unmistakable. No one, probably, who is at all familiar with the remains found in the two provinces, can fail to observe it, though no one has yet suggested any hypothesis to account for it. When we look at the vast expanse of ocean that stretches between Java and Central America, it seems impossible to conceive that any migration can have taken place eastward—say after the 10th century—that could have influenced the arts of the Americans; or, if it had taken place, that the Javans would not have taught them the use of alphabetical writing, and of many arts they cultivated, but of which the Americans were ignorant when discovered by the Spaniards. It seems equally improbable or impossible that any colonists from America could have planted themselves in Java so as to influence the arts of the people. But there is a third supposition that may be possible, and, if so, may account for the observed facts. It is possible that the building races of Central America are of the same family as the native inhabitants of Java. Many circumstances lead to the belief that the inhabitants of Easter Island belong to the same stock,[632] and, if this is so, it is evident that distance is no bar to the connexion. If this hypothesis may be admitted, the history of the connexion would be this:—The Javans were first taught to build monumental edifices by immigrants from India, and we know that their first were their finest and also the most purely Indian. During the next five centuries (A.D. 650-1150) we can watch the Indian influence dying out; and during the next three (A.D. 1150-1450) a native local style developing itself, which resulted at last in the quasi-American examples at Panataram and Suku. It may have been that it was the blood and the old faith and feelings of these two long dissevered branches of one original race that came again to the surface, and produced like effects in far distant lands. If this or something like it were not the cause of the similarity, it must have been accidental, and, if so, is almost the only instance of its class known to exist anywhere; and, strangely enough, the only other example that occurs is in respect to the likeness that is unmistakable between certain Peruvian buildings and the Pelasgic remains of Italy and Greece. These, however, are even more remote in date and locality, so the subject must remain in its present uncertainty till some fresh discovery throws new light upon it.
This, however, is not the place, even if space were available, to attempt to investigate and settle such questions; but it is well to broach them even here, for, unless attention is directed to the subject, the phænomena are not observed with that intelligent care which is indispensable for the elucidation of so difficult a problem.
The above is, it must be confessed, only a meagre outline of what might be made one of the most interesting and important chapters in the History of Indian Architecture. To do it justice, however, it would require at least 100 illustrations and 200 pages of text, which would swell this work beyond the dimensions within which it seems at present expedient to restrict it. Even, however, were it determined to attempt this, the materials do not exist in Europe for performing it in a satisfactory manner. We know all we want, or are ever likely to know, about Boro Buddor and one or two other monuments, but with regard to most of the others our information is most fragmentary, and in respect to some, absolutely deficient. Any qualified person might, by a six months’ tour in the island, so co-ordinate all this as to supply the deficiencies to such an extent as to be able to write a full and satisfactory History of Architecture in Java. But it is not probable that the necessary information for this purpose will be available in Europe for some years to come, and it may be many—very many—unless the work is undertaken on a more systematic plan than has hitherto been the case. Both in this island and in Ceylon the intentions have been good, but the performance disappointing and unsatisfactory. The Dutch have, however, far outstripped our colonial authorities, not only in the care of their monuments, but in the extent to which they have published them. It is only to be hoped that a wholesome rivalry will, before long, render the architectural productions of both islands available for the purposes of scientific research.