A 14th Century Malay Code of Laws: The Nitisarasamuccaya 9789814459754

Table of contents :
Contents
List of Tables
List of Figures
Abbreviations
Abbreviations
about the contributors
1. Pusaka: Kerinci Manuscripts
2. Kerinci and the Ancient History of Jambi
3. Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214
4. Script and Language of the Tanjung Tanah Manuscript
5. Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 215
6. Sanskrit in a Distant Land: The Sanskritized Sections
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

A 14th Century Malay Code of Laws

The Nalanda-Sriwijaya Centre (NSC) at the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, Singapore, pursues research on historical interactions among Asian societies and civilizations. It serves as a forum for comprehensive study of the ways in which Asian polities and societies have interacted over time through religious, cultural, and economic exchanges and diasporic networks. The Research Series provides scholars with an avenue to present the outcome of their research and allows an opportunity to develop new or innovative approaches in the sphere of intra-Asian interactions. The Institute of Southeast Asian Studies (ISEAS) was established as an autonomous organization in 1968. It is a regional centre dedicated to the study of socio-political, security and economic trends and developments in Southeast Asia and its wider geostrategic and economic environment. The Institute’s research programmes are the Regional Economic Studies (RES, including ASEAN and APEC), Regional Strategic and Political Studies (RSPS), and Regional Social and Cultural Studies (RSCS). ISEAS Publishing, an established academic press, has issued more than 2,000 books and journals. It is the largest scholarly publisher of research about Southeast Asia from within the region. ISEAS Publishing works with many other academic and trade publishers and distributors to disseminate important research and analyses from and about Southeast Asia to the rest of the world.

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A 14th Century Malay Code of Laws The Nītisārasamuccaya

Uli Kozok With Contributions by

Thomas Hunter Wa r u n o M a h d i J oh n M i k s i c

INSTITUTE OF SOUTHEAST ASIAN STUDIES Singapore

First published in Singapore in 2015 by ISEAS Publishing Institute of Southeast Asian Studies 30 Heng Mui Keng Terrace, Pasir Panjang Singapore 119614 E-mail : [email protected]   •  Website: bookshop.iseas.edu.sg All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. © 2015 Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, Singapore The responsibility for facts and opinions in this publication rests exclusively with the authors and their interpretations do not necessarily reflect the views or the policy of the publisher or its supporters. ISEAS Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data Kozok, Uli. A 14th century Malay Code of Laws : The Nı¯tisa¯rasamuccaya / with contributions by Thomas M. Hunter, Waruno Mahdi and John Miksic. 1. Nı¯tisa¯rasamuccaya. 2. Manuscripts, Malay—Indonesia—Sumatera Barat. 3. Law—Indonesia—Sumatera Barat. 4. Sumatera Barat (Indonesia)—History. 3. Sumatera Barat (Indonesia)—Civilization. I. Hunter, Thomas. II. Mahdi, Waruno. III. Miksic, John N. IV. Title. V. Title: Nı¯tisa¯rasamuccaya. Z106.5 I52S81K89      2015 ISBN 978-981-4459-74-7 (hard cover) ISBN 978-981-4459-75-4 (E-book PDF) Cover photo: Kenduri Sko (Public Display of Sacred Heirlooms) in Tanjung Tanah, 5 June 2008. Photo taken by Uli Kozok. All photos in this book were taken by the respective chapter authors themselves. Typeset by International Typesetters Pte Ltd Printed in Singapore by Mainland Press Pte Ltd

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Contents

List of Tables

vii

List of Figures

viii

Abbreviations

ix

Preface

xi

About the Contributors

xv

1.

2.

3.

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Pusaka: Kerinci Manuscripts   Uli Kozok Conservation Script and Writing Media Correspondence between Script, Text, and Writing Medium

1 4 6 9

Kerinci and the Ancient History of Jambi   John Miksic Archaeological Remains in Jambi

17

Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214   Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Mahdi Discovery Dating the manuscript Title of the Document Physical Properties of the Manuscript Transliteration and Normalized Transcription Translation Commentary Wordlist The Kerinci Text Conclusions

50

43

50 52 57 58 64 74 79 110 129 143

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vi

4.

5.

6.

Contents

Script and Language of the Tanjung Tanah Manuscript   Waruno Mahdi The Script Post-consonantal Vowels TTMs Phonology Particular Features of the Morphophonology Some Aspects of the Morphosyntax Some Particularities of the Vocabulary Conclusions

162

Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 215   Uli Kozok, with contributions by Eric van Reijn Diplomatic Transliteration of TK 215 Critical Transliteration Concordance of TK 214 and TK 215 and a Translation   of TK 215

221

Sanskrit in a Distant Land: The Sanskritized Sections   Thomas M. Hunter A Note on Methodology: Tatsama and Tadbhava Chronological Setting: The Aspect of Form Setting of the Convocation; Eulogy of the Reigning Monarch Introduction to the Code of Law: Exhortation to the District Officials Closing of the Convocation; Role of the Scribe; Location of the Convocation Mantra Praising the Reigning Monarch The Saluka Dipati, or S´loka of the Dipati Malay Gloss of the Saluka Dipati The Author, His Cohort and His Royal Patron Conclusions Directions for Further Study

281

163 167 175 187 197 210 214

236 242 245

283 288 300 311 321 323 333 336 342 353 359

Bibliography

380

Index

397

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List of Tables

1.1 Script and Writing Media

9

3.1 Accelerator Mass Spectrometry Result

53

3.2 Javanese Weights

107

3.3 Monetary Fines and Replacement in Multiple Quantities

109

3.4 The Diacritic ‘i’ in Two Scripts

140

4.1 Comparison of the Script of the Tanjung Tanah Manuscript with that of Other Early Malay Sources

165

4.2 Distribution of Variant Spellings of Tahil “Tael” in Pages of TTms

178

4.3 Words Spelled with a Keret (ṛ) in TTms

185

4.4 The Morphology of the Verb in the Malay of the Tanjung Tanah Manuscript compared with that in Old Malay (OM) and modern Standard Malay (SM)

199

4.5 Cardinal Numbers in Old Malay, in the Tanjung Tanah Manuscript, and in Modern Indonesian Malay

207

5.1 Fines for the Theft of a Chicken in TK 214 and TK 215

264

vii

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List of Figures

1

Kenduri Sko — Receiving the guests, Tanjung Tanah, May 2008

1.1 Medium in Trance

xviii 3

2.1 Jambi — The Batang Hari and Its Tributaries

18

2.2 Archaeological Sites in West Sumatra and Jambi

46

3.1 Radiocarbon Calibration Report

54

3.2 Pages 21 and 22 showing the Binding Threads

59

5.1 TK 214 (bottom left), TK 215 (top left) and some Javanese Lontar Manuscripts

222

6.1 Line 4 of TTms 02

298

6.2 Enlarged Section of Line 4

299

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Abbreviations

AN

Austronesian language

KBBI

Kamus Besar Bahasa Indonesia (Alwi; Sugono 2001)

Kec.

Kecamatan (district)

Mal

Malay

OJ

Old Javanese

OJED

Old Javanese-English Dictionary (Zoetmulder; Robson 1982)

OM

Old Malay

SM

Standard Malay

Skt

Sanskrit

UUM

Undang-Undang Melaka (Liaw 1976)

ix

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Preface

This book is dedicated to a manuscript of a Malay legal code, the Nı¯tisa¯rasamuccaya (Compendium of the Essence of Policy), that I saw for the first time in 2002 in a village on the shore of Lake Kerinci, and which later turned out to be the oldest extant Malay manuscript dating back to the fourteenth century. I still fondly remember my first visit to Kerinci in 1999. My colleague from the University of Auckland, Drs Eric van Reijn, introduced me to Sutan Kari, a prominent figure and member of the local parliament of the regency of Kerinci. Upon my arrival at the bus station of Sungai Penuh, a small town, which is also the capital of the Kerinci regency, 260 kilometres south of Padang, I was picked up by the late Sutan Kari who, on the same morning, introduced me to Fauzi Siin, the bupati (regent) of Kerinci. When I explained to the bupati that I was planning to research the indigenous Kerinci script, he instantly offered me assistance by providing me with a car, and by taking care of my accommodation during my two-week stay in Kerinci. Sutan Kari and his close friend Amir Gusti continued to assist me during my four subsequent visits to Kerinci between 2000 and 2004. As respected community leaders they were of invaluable help, and it was through them that I was able to gain access to the sacred heirlooms (pusaka) of Kerinci that until today continue to play an important part in the spiritual life of the people. Iskandar Zakaria is one of the few people of Kerinci who is able to read manuscripts in both the Arabic-Malay as well as in the Kerinci script. The local artist, renowned for creating a monumental piece of religious art — the Koran written on one huge piece of cloth almost two kilometres long that took eight years to complete — became another member of our small team and regularly accompanied us on our journeys to the villages to document the sacred heirlooms of Kerinci. xi

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xii

Preface

At the end of my visit in 2002 during which I had seen quite a few manuscripts on paper, horn, and bamboo, I wondered whether the people of Kerinci ever had utilized tree bark as a writing material. This is something I expected as both the Batak in the North as well as the people of Rejang, Bengkulu, Serawai, Lampung etc. in the South have a tradition of using the inner bark (bast) of a certain tree, which they then cut into smaller size and fold accordion-wise to be placed between two wooden covers. As it later turned out, bark books of this kind are extremely rare in Kerinci, but Sutan Kari told me that he knew of at least one book written on bark paper in a collection in the village of Tanjung Tanah. In the afternoon of the same day, we arrived in Tanjung Tanah and luckily the caretaker of the manuscript was at home and allowed me to take a few photographs. It was only a few weeks later that I had time to study the photographs and compare them with the notes of the Dutch scholar Petrus Voorhoeve, who in 1942 visited Kerinci in his position as the taalambtenaar (language official) for Sumatra where he was able to document a large number of manuscripts kept by the people as “sacred heirlooms”. The Tanjung Tanah manuscript was listed as no. 214 in his unpublished Tambo Kerintji (Voorhoeve 1941), and in a later publication, Voorhoeve (1970, p. 384) correctly identifies the text as “a Malay version of the book of laws Sa¯rasamuccaya”. I soon realized that TK 214 must be of considerable age, most likely the thirteenth or fourteenth century as the kingdom of Dharmasraya mentioned in the manuscript only seems to have existed for roughly 200 years. In late 2002 for the first time, I publicly announced in an email to several colleagues my assumption that TK 214 may be the oldest extant Malay manuscript, and the only Malay manuscript in a pre-Arab-Malay script. The response was mixed and my arguments were apparently not strong enough to convince most of my colleagues. I then decided to re-visit Tanjung Tanah to ask the owners to allow me to further study the manuscript and to provide me with a small sample for radiocarbon dating which they generously allowed. During my second visit, the owners also showed me another manuscript (listed in Voorhoeve’s Tambo Kerintji as TK 215) written in Jawi (ArabMalay) letters. Apparently this was also a legal code, but at first sight it did not bear any resemblance to the legal code of the fourteenth century as the introductory sections were completely different. Once beyond the introduction it turned out that, to our surprise, this manuscript, which probably dates to the seventeenth century, is essentially a copy of the fourteenth-century legal code. TK 215 is discussed in Chapter 5.

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Preface

xiii

The result from the Rafter Radiocarbon Laboratory in Wellington that I received in late 2003 confirmed that the age of the manuscript indeed exceeded 600 years. I then contacted colleagues in the field of Indonesian and Malay philology and linguistics, and together we agreed that the manuscript should be translated as a group effort as no single individual would have the capability to translate a manuscript written in an ancient Malay dialect for which no other sources exist. Subsequently, a one-week translation workshop in December 2004 was organized by the Yayasan Pernaskahan Nusantara with financial support from the Ambassador’s Fund for Cultural Presentation that we received from the U.S. Embassy in Jakarta. The workshop was attended by Dr Achadiati Ikram, Drs Hasan Djafar, Karl Anderbeck, Dr Ninie Susanti Y., Dr Romo Kuntara Wiryamartana, Dr Thomas Hunter, Waruno Mahdi, and myself. The translation team was assisted by Amyrna Leandra, Dra. Dwi Woro Mastuti, Professor Dr Edi Sedyawati, Made Suparta, Dra. Mujizah, Munawar Holil, Yamin, and Dr Titik Pudjiastuti. Dr K.A. Adelaar was unable to attend the workshop but assisted us via email in our attempt to translate the manuscript. Two participants of the workshop, the linguist Waruno Mahdi and the Sanskritist and Old Javanist Dr Thomas Hunter continued to work on the manuscript and eventually contributed several chapters to this volume. We were also fortunate to secure the agreement of Dr John Miksic from the National University of Singapore to contribute a chapter about the early history of the wider Jambi area. I am indebted to Jan van der Putten from the National University of Singapore, and Drs Eric van Reijn (Auckland) for their contributions to the chapter on TK 215. We would also like to extend our gratitude to a number of institutions and individuals who assisted us in several aspects of our project, including Isamu Sakamoto (Tokyo Restoration and Conservation Center), John McGlynn (Jakarta), Dr Stephen O’Harrow (Honolulu), Dr Sean O’Harrow (Cambridge), Dr Timothy Behrend (Auckland), Dr Henri Chambertloir (Paris), Dr Annabel Teh Gallop (London), Dr Edmund Edwards McKinnon (Singapore), and the late Dr Ian Proudfoot (Canberra). Uli Kozok

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about the contributors

Thomas M. Hunter: born in Pottsville, Pennsylvania, 1947; studied at the University of Michigan (MA 1980, Ph.D. 1988). He has been a Fellow of the National Endowment for the Humanities (1996), the Institute for Advanced Study at the Hebrew. He is a Lecturer in Sanskrit and South-Southeast Asian Studies at the University of British Columbia. His research focuses on the ancient literature of India and Indonesia, especially works in the Kawi, or Old Javanese, language. Uli Kozok: born in Hildesheim, Germany, 1959; studied at the University of Hamburg (MA 1989, Ph.D. 1994), Universitas Sumatra Utara (Indonesia) and Leiden University (the Netherlands). He was a Senior Lecturer at the University of Auckland (New Zealand) during 1994–2001, and Professor in Indonesian Studies at the University of Hawai‘i at Ma¯noa from 2001–present. His research interests include insular Southeast Asian paleography, Sumatran philology, and the early history of Indonesia. John N. Miksic: born in Rochester, New York, 1946. He graduated from Honeoye Central School, New York, obtained his BA from Dartmouth College, MA at Ohio University, and Ph.D. at Cornell University for archaeological research in north Sumatra. He worked as a rural development advisor in Bengkulu and taught archaeology at Gadjah Mada University, then moved to Singapore in 1987. He has received awards from Singapore and Indonesia for his contributions to the

xv

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xvi

About the Contributors

study of Southeast Asian culture. He serves on the board of the Center for Khmer Studies. He has published books on ancient Javanese gold artifacts and the Buddhist monument of Borobudur. His current research includes a translation of a Malay manuscript from Maluku, and the archaeology of ancient ports and cities in Southeast Asia. Currently, he is Associate Professor in Southeast Asian Studies, National University of Singapore. Waruno Mahdi: born in Bogor, Indonesia, 1943; joined his father, a diplomat, stationed in Singapore (1946–48), Bangkok (1948–50), Beijing (1951–54), Bogor (1954–56), Moscow (1956–60); completed middle school in Russia (1960), and studied chemical engineering in Moscow (1960–65). After the 1965 military coup in Indonesia, he joined the opposition and his passport was declared non-valid. He was banned by the Soviet government to Voronezh, where he was employed as a post-graduate assistant at the Chemical Faculty, Voronezh University (1969–70), and as a chemical engineer at a Voronezh synthetic rubber factory (1970–76). He did autodidactic study of linguistics and worked on Malagasy morphophonology (1972–76). In February 1977, he managed to move legally to West Berlin without valid passport. Here, he worked part-time as a technical assistant at the Fritz Haber Institute (1978–present). He published his work on Malagasy (1988), and continued independent linguistic research on Austronesian historical linguistics, Southeast Asian comparative linguistics, history of Indonesian Malay in culture-historical perspective, published another book and numerous peer-reviewed articles. Eric van Reijn: born in Jakarta, Indonesia, 1940 — just before the War reached Java. He moved to the Netherlands in 1946 and came back to Indonesia in 1948, before finally settling in the Netherlands in 1953. After finishing secondary school in Tilburg, he studied General History and then Indonesian Studies (including Arabic and Sanskrit) at Leiden University, the Netherlands (1959–69). He took up a lecturing position at the Universiti Kebangsaan in Kuala Lumpur from 1971 to 1974, and taught as a Senior Lecturer in the Department of Asian Languages at the University of Auckland (New Zealand) from 1974

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About the Contributors

xvii

to 2002. His fieldwork was mainly in Kerinci, Sumatra (1972 and 1976) recording and translating a folktale, the Sijaro Panta. He also studied Islamic Thought and published a translation of five epistles of the Sincere Brethren of Basra in 1995.

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figure 1 Kenduri sko — receiving the guests, tanjung tanah, May 2008 Source: Photo taken by Uli Kozok.

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1 Pusaka Kerinci Manuscripts Uli Kozok One can safely say that the Tanjung Tanah manuscript TK 214, originally written in Dharmasraya, some 250 kilometres from Kerinci, owes its existence to the people of Kerinci who safeguarded the manuscript for almost 700 years as one of their sacred heirlooms. It is for this very reason that we find it not only appropriate but necessary to discuss the circumstances that led to the survival of the manuscript and to introduce the amazing collection of manuscripts spread over dozens of villages in the residency of Kerinci. The tradition of keeping sacred heirlooms is not limited to the people of Kerinci but is widespread in the Indonesian archipelago. Although Islam is now universally embraced as the only religion of the Kerinci people, preIslamic customs often survived or were reshaped or reinterpreted to be coherent with Islamic beliefs. A unique blend of adat (customs) and agama (religion) is indeed characteristic of the Indonesian society as a whole. The pre-Islamic religion of at least most parts of western Indonesia was characterized by a syncretism of ancestor worshipping with Hindu-Buddhist and animist elements. This set of beliefs did not automatically vanish with the introduction of Islam, and is especially evident in the veneration for the forefathers that still holds a high place among many Muslim Indonesians. The sacred heirlooms called pusaka are a living manifestation of the glory of the ancestors, and were especially important for the traditional ruling elite for whom they served as a concrete symbol of authority, legitimacy, lineage, and succession. 

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Uli Kozok

In Kerinci, pusaka are mainly found within the traditional ruling lineages and are in the possession of the depati. Although leadership is always a matter of the male domain, the title itself is, together with the pusaka items that are innately linked with the depati-ship, inherited through the female line from mother to daughter. Ideally, it is the eldest daughter of the present depati who inherits the pusaka, and whose husband succeeds his father-in-law as the new depati. There are, however, also other considerations such as the capability of the candidate for the depati-ship, and it is not uncommon that the pusaka are entrusted to a younger daughter, or another member of the lineage. The pusaka play a major role in the inaugural ceremony for a new depati. The ceremony where a new chief is sworn in is known as kenduri sko, literally a “feast for the pusaka”. The kenduri sko is a major event and lasts for several days. This is the only opportunity when the pusaka are taken down from the attic and are publicly displayed. The process wherein the box containing the pusaka is carefully lifted from the attic is sometimes supervised by a female medium called dayang-dayang. She can communicate directly with the ancestors and has the power to call off the ceremony in the event that the ancestors feel that the ceremony has not been properly conducted. I experienced this personally when during a kenduri sko in 2003, the medium suddenly fell into trance. The ceremony had to be called off because, as the ancestors revealed to the medium in trance, certain requirements relating to the ceremony had not been properly fulfilled. As a result, I had to cancel my plans to read the manuscripts that were part of the pusaka that we had hoped to retrieve from the loft of the house. Manuscripts are commonly, but not always, included in the collections of sacred heirlooms, although there is no pusaka collection that consists of manuscripts only. The range of pusaka items kept by the people of Kerinci is almost unlimited. The most common items are those that relate to power, including flags, swords, daggers, lances, kris, and shields, while others, such as Chinese porcelain, pieces of cloth and other textiles, and handwritten copies of the Al-Qur’an might display the wealth and authority of the ancestral owner. A complete tusk that I saw in one collection might also have constituted an item displaying the wealth and authority of the owner. There is, however, no standard for what kind of item may become a sacred heirloom. Pusaka collection often also include seemingly profane items such as ancient wigs and even relatively modern items such as French language newspaper clippings, or a t-shirt with a printed text in English that must have had some sort of symbolic or sentimental value for its original owners.

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Source: Photo taken by Uli Kozok.

Figure 1.1 Medium in trance



Uli Kozok

While some pusaka items such as calabashes, shields, swords and daggers, or bamboo and buffalo- and goat-horn manuscripts incised with the Kerinci incung script were likely to be produced locally, many other artefacts were clearly of foreign origin. The majority of paper manuscripts were written in the Jawi script, and most of those were originally produced outside of Kerinci, in Jambi or Indrapura. These were typically letters written on behalf of the rulers with certain messages intended for the depati, the rulers of Kerinci. The foreign provenance is in most cases evident by the use of the ruler’s seal and, of course, the name or title of the ruler or his representative. In almost every collection, one can find at least some pieces of European, usually Dutch, ceramics, and occasionally also Chinese ceramics and other objects of foreign provenance. The apparent preference for foreign products can partly be explained by the particular status of Kerinci whose leaders, the depati, received gifts from the lowland rulers, the Sultans of Jambi or Indrapura, comprising pieces of cloth, daggers, and other royal regalia. Some of the foreign objects may have come to Kerinci as gifts of such kind while others may have been obtained by ways of trade and barter. The relative abundance of foreign products in pusaka collections may also be explained by the reverence paid to foreign objects in general. Items associated with civilizations that were held in high esteem were commonly believed to possess great spiritual qualities. During several visits to Kerinci between 1999 and 2010, I found to my surprise that most of the manuscripts that were documented by Voorhoeve in 1941 are still held in the possession of the original owners though some manuscripts had vanished as a result of fire, or were destroyed in the frequent earthquakes that hit the region. The last severe earthquake took place in October 1995 when more than 4,000 houses were destroyed and another 5,000 damaged. Because the pusaka manuscripts are not in the possession of a single person, and especially since they are regarded as sacred, the number of manuscripts and other pusaka items that have been sold or stolen is relatively few.

Conservation The hitherto known oldest extant Malay manuscripts, two letters in Jawi script from Sultan Abu Hayat of Ternate to the King of Portugal, bearing the dates 1521 and 1522,1 survived almost five centuries. This was because they were kept in the secure environment of the Torre do Tombo National

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Pusaka: Kerinci Manuscripts



Archive, Lisbon, well protected against hazards such as fires, floods, or volcanic eruptions, and were not exposed to the tropical environment, where heat and humidity can cause organic materials to decay rapidly, and where insects and micro-organisms can destroy organic substances easily. Human beings must also be counted as potential enemies as manuscripts can be stolen or damaged by improper treatment. The fact that there are very few manuscripts predating the seventeenth century is usually explained by the tropical climate where manuscripts are “essentially disposable items to be preserved more by copying than by physical conservation” (Feinstein 1996). Manuscripts were at times even intentionally destroyed when they were perceived as a threat to the teachings of Christianity or Islam. During the Padri War in the Mandailing region of northern Sumatra, large numbers of manuscripts became victims of religious zealots in the first half of the nineteenth century. Shortly after the Padri War, a German missionary society set up a base in Mandailing spreading the gospel into the neighbouring districts of Toba and Silindung. Here the German missionaries continued the campaign of the Wahhabi Padri warriors to target books “that were ripe […] to be doomed to fire” (Meerwaldt 1922, p. 295). How then is it possible that the TK 214 could survive for almost 700 years in a small village in the interior of Sumatra? The people of the Sumatran regency Kerinci in the province of Jambi are renowned for having fine collections of sacred heirlooms that are passed down from generation to generation. These pusaka are kept in the loft of their houses and seldom see the light of day. Not more than once or twice in a generation are these pusaka items publicly displayed during kenduri sko. As heirlooms from their ancestors, these items continue to play an important role in the lives of the people. They are inalienable objects of immense spiritual wealth and eagerly guarded because they are believed to protect the community. These items are not owned by an individual, but are the possession of the whole lineage, and are passed down the maternal line. The special treatment these objects are given as sacred heirloom can at least partly explain why the Tanjung Tanah manuscript has survived the centuries. Kahlenberg gives a plausible explanation for the surprisingly long survival of textiles from Sulawesi: “The large equatorial island of Sulawesi may have the world’s least suitable climate for the preservation of textiles, but due to their customary placement above a hearth, these cloths have been smoked, sometimes for centuries, and thus preserved from the ravages

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Uli Kozok

of insects, rodents and high humidity” (Kahlenberg 2003, p. 86). She adds that these pusaka textiles — some of them radiocarbon dated to the thirteenth century — were “displayed mainly at the funeral of clan leaders. They may have seen the light of day only a few times in a century” (ibid.). The textiles from Sulawesi show that pusaka items can indeed survive for centuries as long as they are sufficiently protected. It is interesting to note that the pusaka of the Toraja and the Kerinci were stored under very similar conditions. Kerinci pusaka are typically wrapped in cloth and kept in large wooden chests. These chests are then stored in the attic of the house. TK 214 was wrapped in cloth and stored in a relatively small wooden box. It was placed together with some other pusaka items comprising an ancient poncho-like shirt, a long piece of cloth, and another relatively similar legal code written on paper in Jawi script (TK 215) that will be discussed in detail in Chapter 5. This wooden box was then stored in an earthenware pot and a similar earthenware bowl was used as the lid. The pot was kept in a cardboard box and stored in the loft of the owner’s house. The various layers effectively protected the contents of the pot from the damaging effects of light and the abrupt changes in temperature, while the loft with its relatively high temperature during daytime ensured a relatively low level of humidity. Tanjung Tanah is located at an altitude of approximately 800 metres with relatively low temperatures averaging 20°C at night and 27°C at daytime. Apart from these relative positive factors, the material of the book, daluang, is also known to possess relatively good conservational properties. The bark paper when not been treated with rice starch, which is likely to attract insects, can last for several hundred years (Timothy Behrend, personal communication).

Script and Writing Media The Tambo Kerintji contains a total number of 261 Kerinci manuscripts of which 258 belong to 83 private collections in Kerinci. The three remaining transliterated manuscripts (TK 259, 260, and 261) belonged to the museum of the Koninklijk Bataviaasch Genootschap van Kunsten en Wetenschappen, which has now become the National Museum of Indonesia, before they were transferred to the manuscript collection of the National Library. For the purpose of the following analysis, I have excluded 21 of the 261 manuscripts for several reasons: some of the manuscripts listed in the Tambo Kerintji were not actually seen by Voorhoeve so no data of these exists (TK 76, 253); other manuscripts comprise sheets of paper that only contain the imprint of a seal without

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Pusaka: Kerinci Manuscripts



actual handwriting (TK 46, 83, 210, 233, 247); some are almost completely illegible (TK 47, 48, 51, 52, 53, 71, 72, 255, 256); while others only contain magical drawings (TK 166). When Voorhoeve catalogued the Kerinci manuscripts, he used a fairly general definition of what constitutes a manuscript — namely any item containing any kind of writing. Thus he included a silver seal (TK 29), a piece of cloth with “Javanese” writing that could no longer be deciphered (TK 225), French language newspaper clippings (TK 82), and even a shirt with an English language imprint (TK 89)! These “manuscripts” are obviously not relevant for our purpose here and have not been taken into consideration. The total number of relevant manuscripts is hence 240. The manuscripts are, regardless of their actual provenance, referred to as “Kerinci manuscripts” since this is the place where they are presently held. The majority of the Kerinci manuscripts are written on five kinds of writing media, namely bamboo, bark, palm leaf, paper, and horn, and using three different scripts, i.e. the Kerinci surat incung script, the Arabic-Malay Jawi script, and a script that Voorhoeve not always quite accurately called “Old Javanese”. Voorhoeve sometimes refers to the Arabic-Malay Jawi script as “Arabic characters” (Voorhoeve 1970), but in the Tambo Kerintji (Voorhoeve 1941), ten manuscripts are said to be in “Arabic script” (TK 33, 61, 91, 209, 239, 240, 241, 244, 245, 258). These ten manuscripts that usually consist of a short prayer, or a religious formula in Arabic language, are often accompanied by magical drawings. I assume that these documents are said to be in “Arabic script” because the language used is Arabic, and not Malay. Especially in short manuscripts, it can be difficult differentiating between the two closely related scripts. For this reason I have subsumed all references to “Arabic script” under Jawi. Four manuscripts are atypical since they were written on uncommon media in the Kerinci manuscript tradition. These are our Tanjung Tanah manuscript on daluang paper (TK 214), a genealogy of the depati of Saliman written on bone (TK 119), an apparently recent, but unspecified, Jawi text written with ink on leather (TK 178), and a very short, and not quite clear text written in Kerinci script on “tapak gajah” (TK 191). Tapak Gajah (Merremia [=Convolvulus] nymphaeifolia Hall.f.) is a medicinal plant, but it is unclear how it can be used as a writing medium. Unfortunately I did not have the opportunity to see this manuscript myself. Daluang manuscripts are well known in Java, and bone manuscripts are frequently found in collections of Batak manuscripts, but leather is rarely used as a writing medium.2

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Uli Kozok

The most commonly used scripts are the Kerinci surat incung script and the Arab-Malay Jawi script. A much smaller number of texts exclusively written on palm leaf and daluang are written in a script that in the TK is consistently called “Jawa Lama” (Old Javanese). However, in a later article Voorhoeve is more cautious about this assumption: I was wrong in calling all the Javanese scripts in Kerintji documents “Old Javanese”. Schrieke had already remarked in 1929 that the Javanese writing found in Kerintji belongs to two different types. An older type is used in the Tanjung Tanah Code of Laws (no. 160) and in the Hiang Book of Incantations (no. 136), both clearly preIslamic texts; the script may be a link between Old Javanese and rèntjong writing (Voorhoeve 1970, p. 389).

Voorhoeve also distanced himself from his previous assumption that all these manuscripts are “Old Javanese”. Some are apparently of much younger age: The lontar letters sent by the Jambi court to the depati-s in Kerintji are rare specimens of ancient Javanese royal letters written on narrow strip of lontar leaf that was rolled when it was still supple and sealed with a clay seal. […] Dr Poerbatjaraka deciphered some sentences and found that some of the texts are in Javanese, and some in a mixture of Malay and Javanese, though the script is Javanese. […] Dr Th. Pigeaud estimates that the date of the Javanese script at mid-18th century or somewhat later, i.e. the same period in which most of the piagams in Arabic characters were written (ibid., pp. 388–89).

Although Voorhoeve does not specify which lontar manuscripts he refers to, there is little doubt that the manuscripts in question are TK 217–222 — only briefly described in the Tambo Kerintji as “six letters on Old Javanese script on lontar leaf, some are in Malay, others in Javanese. The transliteration has not yet been completed (Dr Poerbatjarakan in Batavia is working on them).”3 These manuscripts show that some manuscripts are bilingual, and there are also three manuscripts containing text in two different scripts. Two paper manuscripts written in surat incung begin with the Arabic prayer bismi-lla¯ hi r-rahma¯ni r-rah¯ım (in the name of God, the merciful ˙ ˙ and compassionate) written in Jawi script (TK 61 and 258).4 The only other manuscript that contains texts in two different scripts is TK 214.

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Pusaka: Kerinci Manuscripts

Correspondence between script, text, and writing medium As is evident from Table 1.1 (where the Tanjung Tanah manuscript TK 214 is excluded), there is a strong correspondence between script and writing medium. All bamboo and the overwhelming majority of horn manuscripts are inscribed with the incung script, while the majority of bark and paper manuscripts are written in Jawi script, and most palm-leaf manuscripts use the Javanese script.5 Similar to the Batak manuscript tradition of North Sumatra (Kozok 2000), the Kerinci manuscripts also show a strong correspondence between the message and the medium. This is most evident as far as the bamboo manuscripts are concerned and there are surprising parallels between Batak and Kerinci bamboo manuscripts.

Bamboo Bamboo is the writing medium for only about 15 per cent of Kerinci manuscripts, but if those manuscripts that were not produced in Kerinci (i.e. most paper manuscripts) are excluded, the percentage is considerably higher. All 34 Kerinci manuscripts written on bamboo internodes are inscribed with the Kerinci script and in most cases, the text is a kind of love lament. Table 1.1 Script and Writing Media Surat Incung

Jawi

Javanese

Total Media

Bamboo Horn Paper Bark Palm leaf Bone Other

  34   81   10    3    3    1    1

 0  1 89  8  0  0  1

 0  0  0  0 10  0  0

  34   82   97   11   13    1    2

Total

133

92

10

240

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Before the invention of paper, the Chinese already used bamboo as a writing media as early as the fifth century BC. We do not know when bamboo was first used in Sumatra, but it may have been from the time of the earliest written records. Creese also argues for a very early date for the use of lontar — another popular writing medium before the introduction of paper. An eleventh-century inscription from North Bali, for example, “explicitly states that the villagers wished to have their charter transferred from palm leaf to copper inscription in order to preserve it for posterity” (Creese 1996). Compared with the other writing materials, bamboo has a number of advantages in that it is readily available, easy to write on, and does not require any kind of complicated processing. The main disadvantage of bamboo is that it is relatively heavy and not easy to handle especially for composing long documents. It is likely for this reason that bamboo was never a popular writing medium in Java and Bali where lontar (Borassus flabellifer), which prefers a slightly arid climate unlike that of equatorial Sumatra, was available. Once paper became available, the use of bamboo and palm leaves declined, but did not cease immediately: “Although paper was apparently known in Bali, palm leaves were used for both lengthy creative works and day to day administration” (ibid. 39). In the more remote parts of the archipelago, notably in the Sumatran highlands and in parts of the Philippines, bamboo was extensively used as a writing medium well into the twentieth century. One reason for the persistence of bamboo might be that in some areas, paper only became readily available after the penetration of European colonial rule and in other places, this only happened in the first decade of the twentieth century. That argument is, however, not entirely convincing given that bamboo was still used at a time when paper was already available, especially for the composition of love poetry by several ethnic groups, including the Karo Batak of North Sumatra, the Mangyans of the Philippines, and the Lampung of southern Sumatra (Kozok 2000; Postma 1972). Many Kerinci bamboo manuscripts use the Arabic opening formula bismi-lla¯ hi r-rahma¯ni r-rah¯ım, commonly shortened to basamilah or basumamilah. ˙ ˙ Islam became widespread in Kerinci during the nineteenth century when paper was commonly available. Love poetry, which apparently played an important part in courtship rituals, is known by the Mandailing as andung, and by the Lampung as bandung. The similar terminology is most likely not a coincidence but strengthens the hypotheses of an ancient cultural strain of love poetry

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written on bamboo that reaches all the way from the highlands of North Sumatra to the Kerinci and Lampung of southern Sumatra, and the Mangyan of Mindanao in the Philippines. Among all these people, bamboo was the preferred medium for writing love poetry — and the Kerinci apparently used bamboo just for composing love laments only! A closer comparison with the Batak laments shows more parallels between the courtship poetry of the two people. Both Kerinci and Mandailing Batak bamboo manuscripts can vary in length between one and five internodes and are often ornamented, especially around the nodes. The ornaments and also the letters are engraved into the bamboo with the point of a knife and blackened with soot. The Mandailing love lament tradition also gives us a clue why bamboo is the preferred medium. Mandailing laments usually begin with an opening formula where the bamboo is personified and where the writer apologizes that he has to end the life of the bamboo. The following example is from a lament on a kind of bamboo called riman or leman from the collection of the Museum for Anthropology in Leiden, catalogue No. 370–2824 (Kozok 2000). I pe da anggi bulu aor riman ulang ko mardabu-dabu holso di badan simanare on dibaen na sundat ko magodang maginjang ko dioloi ama inamu sirumondop udan dohot alogo simarangin-angin. Ia mardabu-dabu siluluton pe ho anggi bulu aor riman tu Toba Silindung Julu ho mardabu-dabu silungunon di Na Mora Pande Bosi i do ho mardabu-dabu silungunon i do na pajadi-jadi situlison This is why, brother riman Bamboo, you should not curse me. You will not grow lush and tall because your mother and your father, the rain and the wind, did not love you. If you want to curse, brother leman bamboo, direct your curse to the Toba land, the upper Silindung valley swear at King Blacksmith for he is the one that turned you into a writing bamboo.

In animist societies every living object is believed to be animated. This is especially true for bamboo that has human-like qualities in that it produces a creaky, moaning sound when the stems rub each other. The personified bamboo that is killed by the knife (King Blacksmith) becomes

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the place where “I can leave behind, bequeath my suffering” (Hupatompang hupaihut do ma jolo na dangol ni simanarengku i). The writer hence uses the bamboo — the animated writing media — to ward off his own pain and suffering and to transfer his misery to the bamboo through the magic power of the script. This excursus to the related Batak tradition of love laments written on bamboo might help us to understand the apparent correlation between the message and the media in the Kerinci manuscript tradition. The media (bamboo) is so closely connected with the message (love poetry) that the writers of Kerinci love laments continued to use bamboo even at a time when paper was widely available. Some pieces of love poetry on bamboo segments end abruptly, for which I had no explanation until I found out later that in some cases only the beginning of the love lament was incised on the bamboo and that the text was then continued on a piece of paper. In the collections these two pieces that belong together have usually become separated, but originally the continuation of the lament was rolled up and the sheet, or sheets, of paper were kept within the bamboo node. However often the bamboo had vanished and only the paper part, inscribed with a love lament without beginning, was kept in the collection (see further down under “Paper”).

Horn Marshall McLuhan’s (1964) famous expression that the medium is the message also holds true for the Kerinci horn manuscripts. Manuscripts on buffalo, occasionally also on goat horn, are most representative of the Kerinci manuscript tradition, where horn constitutes the most frequent writing media for manuscripts in incung script — the only exception is TK 211, a piagam (charter) of the collection of depati Sirah Bumi Putih of the Dusun Cupak, which is inscribed with a text in Jawi script on buffalo horn. In the case of horn manuscripts, the relation between the (writing) medium and the message is most evident. The overwhelming majority of horn manuscripts are genealogical texts (tambo). The genealogies typically begin with the opening formula “Ini surat tutur tamba ninik…” (This is the story of the genealogy of ancestor… [followed by the name]). It is interesting to note that frequently the origin of the ancestor is traced back to Bumi Minangkabau, sometimes also spelled Banang Kabau (TK 11, 25, 38) or Binang Kabau (TK 35). Only about 10 per cent of the horn inscriptions show Islamic influence so it can be concluded that most horn manuscripts were written before the mid-nineteenth century. On the other hand, if

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there are a considerable number of horn inscriptions showing Islamic influence (typically by using the opening formula bismi-lla¯ h “in the name of God”), why then are they written on horn and not on paper since paper is intrinsically connected with the arrival of Islam? It is, of course, possible that at the time when the manuscripts were written, paper was still rare and expensive. However, there is also another possible, and much more likely, interpretation. Westenenk reports that when in former times a dispute broke out between districts, a ritual meal was held on top of the Bukit Tinjau Laut (Sea View Mountain) to settle the dispute by means of a written agreement inscribed into both horns of the buffalo slaughtered for the feast. Each party received one horn, where also the district borders were determined (Westenenk 1922, p. 96).6

Here, the relationship between the medium (a pair of buffalo horns) and the message (two copies of a contract) is all too obvious. Many tambo make ample reference to topographical details including forests and rivers, and the borders of the district founded by the ancestors are often described in detail. Thus it can be concluded that these horns symbolized agreements reached by the ancestors concerning territorial boundaries. The symbolic character of the horns is also evident from the fact that horn by itself is not a very suitable writing medium when compared to bamboo. Bamboo is certainly easier to obtain, and the script, which is usually blackened with soot, is much more easily read than the script incised on the already dark horns.

Paper Although paper manuscripts are usually written in Jawi script, there are also ten paper manuscripts written in incung script (TK 36, 61, 64, 65, 95, 96, 186, 238, 250, 258). TK 36 is an unusual case in that it actually consists of two manuscripts, a bamboo and a paper manuscripts, that apparently belong together. The paper manuscript was rolled up and inserted into the bamboo segment. As both manuscripts belong to the same genre, i.e. love poetry, it is likely that the paper manuscript is a continuation of the incomplete text on the bamboo. The paper scroll is unfortunately in poor condition and in most parts illegible, but it seems evident that the writer ran out of space and decided to continue to write on paper. If we accept the proposition that the paper manuscript is a continuation of the text on the bamboo, then we have clear evidence that the horn was

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used as the primary writing medium because of its symbolic character. Our theory is also supported by the other paper manuscripts. With the exception of TK 96 where it is impossible to ascertain the genre because the letters have become illegible, all the other paper manuscripts in incung script are paper scrolls inscribed with love laments, and it is quite evident that they, as in the case with TK 36, were associated with a bamboo manuscript. The vast majority of paper manuscripts are written in Jawi script, and most of them were not written in Kerinci, but sent by the lowland (ilir) rulers, usually the Sultan of Jambi, to their subjects in Kerinci. These letters are important historical documents as they fall into the period between 1727 and 1833 when there was little Dutch involvement in Jambi, and hence very few Dutch sources exist during this period. As is evident from the many letters sent to Kerinci in the second half of the eighteen century, this was apparently a time when Jambi tried to exercise strong influence in Kerinci. Besides letters and royal charters ( piagam) dealing mainly with territorial disputes, the Tambo Kerintji also contains two legal codes (undang-undang) (TK 165, 215), a few genealogies (tambo) (TK 8, 41, 50, 133,7 143, 223), one text of religious nature (TK 144), a letter from the Sultan of Indrapura with a request to the depati of Simpan Bumi to trade ivory, bee’s wax, ropes, and “plenty of gold”, in exchange for a variety of cloths (TK 183) and some texts of protective magic with magical drawings (TK 239–241). The oldest of the sixteen dated manuscripts is TK 23, a royal charter issued by Pangeran Suria Karta Negara to the depati Payung Negari in Sungai Penuh, which dates to AH 1100 (1689 CE), followed by a similar charter (TK 22) by the same sender and to the same addressee dating to AH 1116 (AD 1704). The most recent dated paper manuscript is TK 44, a piagam issued by Pangeran Citra Puspa Jaya to depati Sungai Laga in AH 1234 (1819 CE). The majority of dated manuscripts fall into the eighteen century, their number reaching a peak after the departure of the Dutch from Jambi in 1770 during the reign of Pangeran Temenggung Mangku Negara, Sultan of Jambi. Nine dated manuscripts date to the eighteenth century with the majority of those (seven) dating into the latter half of the century (1776–1794 CE), while five dated manuscripts date to the nineteenth century. Although the remaining paper manuscripts do not bear any date, many of them can still be dated by corroborating the names that occur in these manuscripts with those in dated manuscripts. Pangeran Temenggung Mangku Negara, for instance, who has issued three

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manuscripts dated between 1792 and 1776, is also mentioned in seventeen other manuscripts.8

Bark Unfortunately I was unable to personally view a bark manuscript, and the notes in the Tambo Kerintji are not very exhaustive as far as the physical appearance of the bark manuscripts is concerned. Eight of the twelve bark manuscripts are in Jawi script, two of them, TK 75 and 77, are religious texts of considerable length (about 1,000 words), while TK 100 and 101 are relatively short texts. No transliteration is available for TK 78, and TK 157, 158, and 209 were in such poor condition when Voorhoeve saw them that he did not attempt to transliterate them. TK 76 is a divinatory text (ketika), but the script in which it was written is not mentioned and the manuscript was also not transliterated. TK 120, 164, and 236 are written in surat incung but it is almost impossible to make sense of the text.

Palm Leaf It is interesting to note that the ten manuscripts written in “Old Javanese” are all written on palm leaf — with TK 214 being the only exception. The palm-leaf manuscripts that I saw were written in a script that appears to be considerably younger than Old Javanese. They were written on the leaves of the lontar palm (Borassus flabellifer), which does not grow in Central Sumatra, and not on the much thinner leaves of the nipah palm which is available in abundance along the lowland rivers of Sumatra. The lontar palm grows best in warm and dry areas with 500–900 mm average annual rainfall. In Sumatra it only occurs in the drier parts of Aceh. Central Sumatra is either too wet or, in the dryer highlands, too cold for the plant to grow. As the Acehnese usually did not write on lontar, which, however, was the most prominent writing medium in Java and Bali, it can be concluded that leaves of the Borassus palm were imported from Java. Although the material may be Javanese in origin, and some of the manuscripts, notably TK 217–222 also contain some text in Javanese language, the main language used in these manuscripts is usually Malay. Sumatran provenance is also evident from the fact that two palm-leaf manuscripts are incised with text in a variant of the Kerinci surat incung script (TK 226, 260, 261).

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Notes

1



2



3



4 5



6



7



8

In 1988, Muhammad Naguib Al-Attas claimed to have encountered what he called “the oldest extant Malay manuscript”, which, however, only dates to 1590 AD. In the chapter “Previous accounts of some of the oldest Malay manuscripts”, he gave a comprehensive account of previous known oldest manuscripts without, however, making any reference to the two letters from the Sultan of Ternate 12. Ms A 30819 of the Linden-Museum (Stuttgart) collection was written on a leather bag. Cf. Figure 115 in Sibeth 15 (1991). Enam helai soerat bertoelisan Djawa Lama pada daoen lontar, ada jang berbahasa Melajoe, ada jang berbahasa Djawa. Salinannja beloem siap (lagi diperiksa oleh toean Dr Poerbatjarakan di Betawi). In other manuscripts, the bismi-lla¯ h formula was written in surat incung. The fact that the script is in Javanese does not mean, however, that it was originated from Java. The Jambi court has already a strong Javanese influence in the seventeenth century that “the pangeran gedé (crown prince) was heard many times to say that he found the Javanese language and attire the most attractive in the world, and an edict was even passed declaring that the interior people must lay aside their Malay clothes and dress in the Javanese style if they appeared at court” (Andaya 1993a, pp. 66–67). Ook wist men, dat, was vroeger een veete tusschen landschappen uitgevochten, een kandoeri gehouden werd op den Boekit Tindjau Laoet (=Zeezichtberg), waarbij op de beide hoorns van een geslachten karbouw de gesloten overeenkomst werd gegrift, één exemplar voor elk der partijen; en dat daarbij ook de landsgrenzen werden vastgelegd. Voorhoeve erroneously titled TK 133 a legal text (seboeah kitab oendangoendang), although in the next paragraph he correctly describes it as a genealogy (tambo). This method is, however, not always a sound way of dating, as some of the same titles were in use by different individuals, e.g. Pangeran Suta Wijaya, over a long period of time.

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2 Kerinci and the Ancient History of Jambi John Miksic The manuscript known as TK 214 found at the village of Tanjung Tanah, Kabupaten (Regency) Kerinci, Jambi Province, has been convincingly dated to the second half of the fourteenth century. The manuscript provides a new and extremely important type of information about ancient Indonesian civilization in general. It is equally significant for efforts to reconstruct the cultural history of the region from which it originates. Kerinci is rather remote from most of Sumatra’s twenty-first century centres of population, cultural development, and political power, which are mainly situated along major rivers in the lowland plains, but in ancient times (i.e. before 1500) the distribution of these centres was reversed: most of them were located in fertile highland valleys near mountain lakes. Kerinci was one of them. Other important early historic cultural centres flourished at Lake Ranau in Lampung, on the Pasemah plateau of South Sumatra, in the Rejang Lebong valley of Bengkulu, in the three valleys or Luak nan Tigo of the Minangkabau highlands, and in the vicinity of Lake Toba. Kerinci’s environment is propitious for farming: resources include plentiful water including a large lake (the surface of Lake Kerinci is 783 metres above sea level), rich volcanic soil provided by Mt. Kerinci, minerals, and a healthy cool climate free from lowland tropical diseases such as malaria. Kerinci is connected via the lake’s outlet the Merangin River to the Batang Hari river system, the eastern lowlands of Jambi, and the Straits of Melaka. The Batang Hari is the second largest river system in Sumatra, 17

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Dhar~~raya

~R•"'"•"•" ~ s., '-l"~'a•

.

,~

..... ...... ~.

Central Highlands

~

II •o~••"

lil"'aktl>

~ ~· 11/26/14 3:23:26 PM

Figure 2.1 Jambi — The Batang Hari and Its Tributaries Source: Drawn by Goh Geok Yian. Reproduce with permission.

J

Source: Drawn by Goh Geok Yian. Reproduce with permission.

Kerinci and the Ancient History of Jambi

19

covering 40,000 square kilometres (the Musi River’s drainage in South Sumatra covers 61,000 square kilometres) (Bezermer 1921, pp. 528–30). Kerinci’s volcano provides rich soil for the Batang Hari’s upper tributaries, but the benefits of these do not reach the lowlands of Jambi Province; “the lands of Lower Djambi are poor or bad” (Mohr 1944, p. 437). Kerinci has long been connected to both the east and west coasts, and to northern and southern mountain valleys, by footpaths (Hoop 1938, p. 200). One of the main sources of Kerinci’s importance was its gold, the exploitation of which has traditionally been supervised by local chiefs. In the seventeenth century, Kerinci gold was exported to the British station in Bengkulu, several hundred kilometres to the south. Dutch geologists prospecting southeast of Lake Kerinci in the early twentieth century found 42 ancient mine shafts as deep as 60 metres (Tobler 1911, pp. 461–62), indicating that a high level of mining expertise developed there. Danau Gadang (“Big Lake”), 9 kilometres south of Lake Kerinci, connected via footpaths to the Minangkabau region, yielded a wide range of archaeological finds, both locally-made such as stone adzes, obsidian blades, numerous fragments of earthenware pottery, bronze slag, and a bronze arm-protector, as well as imported items such as a fragment of a Dongson drum from North Vietnam and carnelian beads of double-hexagonal shape from India. At Lologedang, one kilometre from the lakeshore, were found a bronze urn of prehistoric style, and numerous megalithic sites (Bonatz et al. 2006, 2012). The Jambi Monuments Preservation Board (Balai Pelestarian Peninggalan Purbakala/BP3) reported a wide range of other artefacts, from obsidian flakes and stone axes to Chinese porcelain of the Song-Yuan period, in superficial association with the megaliths (Soekmono 1995). Little research has been performed on overland transport in pre-modern Sumatra, leading many to assume that the only channel for communication was by river. This is untrue, as a number of references shows. In the early nineteenth century, the English explorer S.C. Crooke mentioned that The mode of communication between villages, as well as distant parts of the country, is almost exclusively by water, there being few habitations that are not situated on the rivers or near them; and such routes as do exist, are mere footpaths through the woods. They, however, extend to Padang, Bencoolen, and other places on the western coast of the island, with which they are the means of commercial intercourse.

Crooke was told that it was possible to go from the upper Batang Hari tributary of the Tembesi River to the Musi River in one day, from whence

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John Miksic

it was an easy two-day trip downriver to Palembang. A journey from Bengkulu to Jambi via the highlands south of Kerinci took 24 days to complete in 1825 (Anderson 1971, p. 399). Van der Ploeg, a Dutch administrator, in 1881 also recorded that the Kerinci area was connected to other regions by various footpaths. Van der Ploeg recorded that Kerinci people were working on a gold mine called Tambangdalam, near the Batang Indango on a path from Sinamat which crossed the Sungei Awul, thence to Rantau Panjang, in one direction, and across the Batang Tantan via Kampong Sungei Ulak to Merangin, where the indigenous official, Pangeran Tumanggung, had his residence. Merangin was strategically located; from there one could either go via Bangko to Palembang, or to Pangkalan Jambu and Kerinci (Ploeg 1901). The name Malayu first appeared in a Chinese record of 644–645 as the name of a country which sent a diplomatic mission to the court of the Tang Dynasty. A Chinese Buddhist pilgrim, Yijing, in 671 stopped in the zhōu or geographical region of Malayu on his way to India. On his return in 689 he said that Malayu had become part of Srivijaya. He did not mention Jambi. The oldest known reference to the place named Jambi (Zhānbēi) appeared in 840, in another Chinese source (the Yǒuyáng zázǔ). The oldest written source in Jambi was a stone inscription set up in 686 at Karang Berahi, probably as a token of subordination to Srivijaya. This site is situated near the junction of the Batang Merangin and several smaller tributaries. The distance from the coast is great, but near this point, the Batang Asai tributary of the Batang Hari and the Air Kelumpang tributary of the Musi are only 15 kilometres apart. This fact may explain why the Maharaja of Srivijaya chose this site to erect an important oath of loyalty to his newly-expanded kingdom of Srivijaya: Malayu and Srivijaya may have communicated via this route as well as the water trail down the Musi, up the Straits of Melaka, and then up the Batang Hari. Few other written sources of the first millennium CE have survived, and these are extremely brief. From the important sites in the highlands, including Kerinci, one has to travel nearly 300 kilometres downstream to reach the next series of important archaeological sites, which lies in the lowest 100-kilometre stretch of the Batang Hari, between the modern capital and the sea. We are fortunate to have Chinese records of ancient Sumatra, since few Indonesian documents have survived. Was ninth-century Jambi the same place as seventh-century Malayu? Circumstantial evidence suggests that they were closely related, but we cannot assume that they were alternative names for the same kingdom in the lower Batang Hari. The name Malayu

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has long borne several meanings, depending on who is talking. In recent times Malayu has become the name of an ethno-linguistic identity. Although those who claim membership in this group have changed the criteria for eligibility over time, the Chinese, starting with Yijing, seem to have used Malayu frequently as a general designation for people living along the coasts of the Straits of Melaka. Historical research depends on interpreting words, and language is a slippery entity. Archaeology has begun to augment historical information, but archaeology cannot resolve all the questions about Jambi which history poses. Between 680 and 840, the population living along the Batang Hari may have been politically subordinate to Srivijaya, the capital of which lay at Palembang. This period of 160 years was marked by diplomatic isolation during which we have no records of either Jambi or Malayu. This period ended when missions from the kingdom of Jambi reached China in 852/53 and 871. In addition to official histories of the Tang court, two other Chinese sources of the ninth century, the Táng huìyāo and Tàipíng huányǔ jì, also mention Jambi (Wolters 1966, p. 226, note 7). Chinese sources mention no missions from Srivijaya between 704 and 904; thus Jambi, not Palembang, was the only East Sumatran kingdom to forge diplomatic relations with China during the late Tang Dynasty. In 904, however, the chief of the foreign quarter in Fujian was said to be an ambassador from Srivijaya (Wolters 1966, p. 226, note 11). Archaeological data such as Chinese ceramics imply that Srivijaya maintained commercial, if not diplomatic, relations with China during the eighth and ninth centuries. At Solok Sipin, in the modern capital of Jambi, important finds include four makara images, one of which bears the date 986 in the Śaka calendar (equivalent to 1064 CE) and the Sanskrit word dharmmavira. Quite possibly, Solok Sipin was an important ceremonial centre, perhaps even a capital, of Jambi by this time. Chinese court scribes used the transcription Shīlìfóshì (or Shìlìfóshì) for Srivijaya until the end of the Tang Dynasty in 906, no doubt in reference to a polity centred at Palembang. Beginning in the early tenth century, Chinese records drop Shīlìfóshì, and a new name appears to refer to an entity of some type in southeast Sumatra: Sānfóqí. Ma Guan, who sailed with a Chinese fleet which visited Southeast Asia in the fifteenth century, thought that Sānfóqí was synonymous with Palembang, and also with Gùgǎng (“Old Harbour”, a term first used in 1349 by a merchant named Wang Dayuan) (Hirth; Rockhill 1911, pp. 135–36).

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The eminent historian of Sumatra, O.W. Wolters (1975, p. 4) suggested that Ma was wrong in thinking that Gùgǎng always denoted a country. Wolters argued that the term was first coined to refer to a waterway or navigable channel, the Musi estuary (1975, p. 9). Wolters concluded that “Ma Huan’s evidence about the equivalence of San-fo-ch’i [Wolters uses the Wade-Giles system for Romanising Chinese; this is the same as Sānfóqí in Hanyu Pinyin Romanization] and the Palembang Old Channel cannot, therefore, be cited to prove that San-fo-ch’i […] had its centre in the Palembang area” (Wolters 1975, p. 34). Wolters speculated that Jambi was the capital of Sānfóqí from around 1080 until 1377, when it was devastated by a Javanese attack (Wolters 1975, p. 35). Some versions of a Chinese document known as the Mao Kun map, based on information gathered during the early fifteenth century, bear the place name Běibì north of Palembang; others have the characters Zhānbì, which is no doubt correct. (On the Mao Kun map, see Mills 1970.) The map lists five gǎng in the east coast of southern Sumatra, which are, in order from north to south: southern Gǎng, Old Gǎng (a), northwestern Gǎng, another Old Gǎng (b), and Jambi Gǎng. Wolters was struck by the fact that the northwestern gùgǎng is “improbably shown as lying some distance inland” (Wolters 1975, p. 24). On some copies of the map the characters for the northwestern gùgǎng are enclosed in a rectangle, whereas those of the southern gùgǎng near Palembang are not. Chinese map-makers enclosed characters on a map in a rectangle to show that the name applied to a kingdom or country (rather than a geographic feature). This means that the northwestern gùgǎng denoted not a waterway or estuary, but a political entity. The upstream location of the rectangle may not be an error; much data supports the conclusion that the political centre of the realm in the late fourteenth or early fifteenth century, when the compiler(s) of the map acquired their information, may well have lain far up the Batang Hari, the lower stretch of which probably was still known as Jambi. Zhao Rugua, harbour master of Guangzhou, in 1225 listed Palembang as one of Sānfóqí’s fifteen tributary kingdoms. Since Zhao wrote 200 years earlier than Ma, his report probably is a more accurate reflection of the political situation which evolved in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. The fact that neither Jambi nor Malayu is listed as Sānfóqí’s tributaries strongly suggests that Sānfóqí’s overlord lived in the lower Batang Hari, not at Palembang (Coedès 1968, p. 184).

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Ma may have drawn his conclusion regarding the meaning of Gùgǎng from a source used by the Chinese who compiled the Míng Shǐ or “Ming Annals” (Pelliot 1933, pp. 274, 372–74, 379), which said that around 1376 Majapahit reacted strongly to a Chinese investiture of a Sānfóqí ruler by capturing and murdering the Chinese envoys sent to Sumatra to deliver tokens of Chinese recognition (Coedès 1968, p. 343). Thereupon Java is said to have changed Sānfóqí ’s name to Gùgǎng. On Zheng He’s first voyage, under the entry for October 1407, Ma Guan reported that “[Zheng] He presented [to the emperor] the chief of Gùgǎng [Palembang (Pelliot’s insertion)] who had been captured. The emperor was very pleased, and awarded titles and rewards to each according to his rank. Gùgǎng is the ancient capital of San-fo-qi” (Pelliot 1933, pp. 274–75). Fóqí is probably just an alternative character meant to express phonetically in Chinese the Sanskrit word Vijaya (“victory”). The motive which caused the Chinese court scribes to replace the characters shī and lì with the single character sān is critical, but unknowable. Obviously sān did not serve as a phonetic means of rendering the Sanskrit word śrī (“glorious”). The literal meaning of the character pronounced sān is “three”. Historians, notably Wolters, long persisted in translating Sānfóqí as “Srivijaya”, despite the possibility that a kingdom by this name no longer existed. Eventually Wolters granted the possibility that after 1082 “‘Sriwijaya’ may not be the appropriate name of the overlord’s center” (Wolters 1983, p. 51). The character san actually might have been meant in its literal sense, “the Three Vijayas”, denoting a new and more accurate Chinese perception of the multi-centric nature of the political pattern of southeast Sumatra. Shīlìfóshì last communicated with China in 742, when the last known embassy sent by that kingdom arrived in China. The name Śrī Vijaya disappeared from Southeast Asian sources after 775, when Face A of an inscription at Wat Sema Muang was carved at Ligor/Nakhon Si Thammarat in South Thailand. An important Indian source, the Nalanda charter from Bengal (dated 860) uses the old Sanskrit term Suvarnadvipa (Golden Island/Peninsula), not Srivijaya, to refer to southeast Sumatra. The name Srivijayapura is found in a Nepalese manuscript of the late tenth or early eleventh century in connection with an important Buddhist statue there (Sastri 1949, pp. 77–78). Perhaps the last appearance of the name Srivijaya in any primary source is found in the Leiden Charter, composed in the Chola kingdom of South India in 1030–31 (Coedès 1968, p. 142). Quite possibly the Chinese changed the name from Sri Vijaya to “Three Vijaya(s)” as their understanding of the political relationship between

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Palembang and Jambi evolved. The fact that China accepted missions from Jambi in 852 and 871 indicates that China considered Jambi to be an independent kingdom, not a vassal of Srivijaya/Palembang. It also proves that Jambi was able to demonstrate its status as an independent kingdom by exercising the prerogative of conducting its own foreign relations, an act which kingdoms such as Srivijaya and Java violently prevented or punish if they could. The Sòng Shǐ, “History of the Song Dynasty”, composed in 1342–45, has been described as “full of omissions, hastily compiled, and stylistically inferior” (W. Franke, cited by Wolters 1966, p. 229, note 23 and passim). It cannot be used uncritically as a source on Southeast Asian history, but if sufficient care is exercised, some of its data are potentially accurate and invaluable. The Sòng Shǐ uses Sānfóqí to refer to a kingdom “situated between Cambodja and Java” which could be reached in twenty days if the wind was fair. The people were reported to use Sanskrit script, but were also literate enough in Chinese to write diplomatic letters in that language. Their capital was surrounded by a brick wall “several tens of li in circumference” (a li is about 500 metres). The ruler Xīlì Húdàxiálǐtán (Sri Udayadityavarman) sent tribute in 960. Embassies from Sānfóqí arrived twice in 961, and in 962, 971, and 974, but the name of the king who sent them is not mentioned. A ruler identified by the ancient Indonesian title “Haji” (Xia-chi) sent more ambassadors in 980 and 983. A Sānfóqí merchant arrived in the port of Zhao-zhou (Swatow) in 980 with perfume, medicine, rhinoceros horn, and ivory. Another “master of a ship” from Sānfóqí brought a cargo in 985. In 988 another ambassador arrived; in 992, he set off to return to Sānfóqí but only got as far as Champa (South Vietnam) where he heard that his country had been invaded by Java; he returned to China, and asked for Chinese support. What became of his request is not noted; probably this means his plea was not successful. In 1003 envoys from a king named Sīlí Zhūluōwúnífómádiàohuá (Sri Chula…Dewa) reported that Sānfóqí had built a Buddhist temple to pray for the emperor, and asked for temple bells, which they received. In 1008 Sānfóqí had another king, Sīlí Málópí (“Seri Merapi”?) who sent tribute. In 1017 Sānfóqí’s king was Xiáchí Sūwùzhàpúmí; he sent tribute including a letter written in gold Chinese characters and Sanskrit palm-leaf books (Groeneveldt 1960, pp. 62–65). During this period a Chinese priest, Fa-yü, returning from India, stopped off at Sānfóqí, where he met an Indian priest (Coedès 1968, pp. 131–32).

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Where was Sānfóqí’s capital during the period from 905 to 1017? The Sòng Shǐ section (Book 489) which deals with Sānfóqí states that “The king is styled Zhānbì” (Jambi). What does this mean? As we have seen, Jambi began sending envoys to China in the late Tang Dynasty, whereas Srivijaya was not mentioned in Chinese records of that time. Archaeologists have found late Tang artefacts in the Palembang region, but not (yet) in the Batang Hari valley. It is not possible to conclude that the change of name from Srivijaya to Three Vijayas denoted the decline of Palembang. Sānfóqí may still have been a polity controlled by Palembang, which would explain why we do not hear of any further missions from Jambi for these years. The reference to Jambi as the title of the king of Sānfóqí probably reflects confusion on the part of Chinese annalists trying to make sense of 400-year-old records in the 1340s while under pressure to complete their work as quickly as possible. The Tanjor Inscription of South India written in 1030–31 claimed that the Chola king had conquered both Srivijaya and Malaiyur in 1025, but a mission from Sānfóqí reached China in 1028. From the point of view of South India, Srivijaya still existed in 1025, and another southeastern Sumatran kingdom was named Malayu, not Jambi. The ability to dispatch a mission so soon after the devastating raid of 1025 demonstrated that southeast Sumatra rapidly recovered its independence from Tamil control; the Cholas set up trading centres at the north end of the Straits of Melaka (in Kedah and possibly Aceh, as well as in Barus, northwest Sumatra), but did not concern themselves with southeast Sumatra. Another mission from Sānfóqí reached China in 1067. Next the Sòng Shǐ vaguely refers to two sets of envoys who arrived during the Yuánfēng period (1078–85), with rich tribute, in return for which the Chinese gave 64,000 strings of cash, 15,000 taels of silver, and permission to purchase golden belts, silver items, robes for Buddhist monks, and “official tablets” (precise nature of these objects unknown) (Groeneveldt 1960, p. 66; Miksic 2013). Something strange seems to have been occurring in South Sumatra in 1079. Wolters thought that both Sānfóqí (Palembang) and Jambi sent missions at the same time. He based this conclusion on Xu Zi Zhi Tong Jian Chang Bian, written by a man named Li Tao in 1115–84, which is both more detailed and more likely to be accurate on this point than the Sòng Shǐ. According to Wolters’ translation, Li Tao noted that “on 26 August and 19 September the emperor rewarded Srivijaya [in fact the text

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reads Sānfóqí ] with presents but did not (i.e. on these dates) reward Jambi” (Wolters 1966, p. 232). How could a joint mission have included different sets of envoys who received tokens of differing esteem? No precedent for such a procedure is known. Another source, the Song hui yao qi gao, says the mission came from “Srivijaya-Jambi country”. Almost a century later, in 1178, another Chinese author, Zhou Qufei, gave another account of what transpired in a text known as Lǐngwài Dàidā. Written in 1178, this text only survives in fragments quoted by later writers, principally Zhao Rugua in 1225. Zhou Qufei came from Zhejiang, but when he wrote his book he was an assistant sub-prefect, a rather minor official, in the capital of Guangxi. He may have acquired his data in Guangzhou while en route to take up that position. According to him, in 1079 Sānfóqí sent an envoy from the kingdom of Zhānbì to China with tribute. Pelliot (1904, p. 346) concluded that both the Song Shi and Zhou Qufei meant to state that Jambi was the name of a specific polity in Sānfóqí , a geographical entity. Although it is impossible to sort out the details, in general we can presume that in 1078/79 southeast Sumatra witnessed a contest for overlordship of the region known to China as Sānfóqí , and that Palembang and Jambi were somehow able to reach a compromise which resulted in a joint mission to China. In 1082 the Trade Superintendent in Canton reported receiving two letters written in Chinese from “the ruler of Sānfóqí -Jambi” and the daughter of that country’s ruler, along with camphor and cloth. This record contains no reference to separate envoys from Sānfóqí and Jambi, unlike 1079. This means that in 1082 Jambi had become dominant. Jambi sent more missions in 1084, 1088 (we do not know whether this mission came from Jambi or Sānfóqí ; Wolters 1966, p. 225, note 4), 1090, 1094, and 1095 (Wolters 1966, p. 235; 1983, p. 60). Chinese sources however disagree on the dates of some missions; the Sòng Shǐ mentions one in 1083, but other sources give different dates: 1084, 1090, 1091–92 (Wolters 1966, p. 236). Jambi sent various envoys of this period, all with Sanskrit names (Diwakara, Sri Samanta, Satavarman). This period of the eleventh century coincides with the development of rich archaeological sites in the lower Batang Hari. By 1082 Jambi had clearly supplanted Palembang as the political centre of gravity in southeast Sumatra. For the twelfth century, the main source of historical data on Sumatra is Zhou Qufei’s Lǐngwài Dàidā. He described Sānfóqí as the third wealthiest foreign land, after Arabia and Java, as “an important thoroughfare on the sea-routes of the Foreigners on the way to and from (China)” (Hirth; Rockhill

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1911, p. 23), and “the most important port-of-call on the sea-routes of the foreigners from the countries of Java in the east and from the countries of the Arabs and Quilon in the west; they all pass through it on their way to China” (Hirth; Rockhill 1911, p. 23, note 2). Twenty-one years before he wrote this text, in 1157, a mission from Sānfóqí had arrived in China. The ruler, whose title was Sri Maharaja, was installed by China as a “king”. Before this time, Sānfóqí’s ruler had only been designated as a “chief” by the Chinese court. In 1178, the new ruler, who was the son of the old king, obtained similar recognition (Wolters 1983, pp. 60–61). At the same time, according to the Sòng Shǐ, Sānfóqí was told that its future missions should be content with visiting the main port of Quanzhou in Fujian, rather than coming to the capital. Thereafter we have no further records of missions from Jambi. They may have come, but since they did not visit the capital, they may not have been recorded. The Sòng huìyào jígǎo recorded that Sānfóqí tribute brought to China by the missions of 1156–57 and 1178 included copious amounts of Arab products as well as Indonesian items (Wolters 1966, p. 234, note 62; 1983, p. 61). Where were Sānfóqí ’s commercial and political centres at this time? Neither historical nor archaeological data which might answer this question has been found, but several important archaeological sites appeared in the highlands at this time. Recent explorations by the Balai Pelestarian Peninggalan Purbakala (BP3) Sumatra Bagian Selatan in Jambi, the local authority in charge of antiquities, has collected valuable data from surveys in the region of the Batang Merangin (Lake Kerinci’s outlet). Their discoveries include a set of four bronze images once covered with gold leaf at Rantau Limaumanis, Kec. Tabir, Sarolangun-Bangko Regency; these depict a Maha¯ya¯na Buddhist group of a seated Buddha, standing Buddha, Padmapani, and Avalokiteswara. The BP3 also discovered in the Merangin region evidence of much large-scale ancient gold mining, and Chinese ceramics of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries at Pamenang Village, Kec. Bangko, Kabupaten Sarolangun-Bangko on the bank of the Batang Hari opposite the point where the tributaries of Sungai Belango and Pasdu join the main stream. A large (1.73 metres tall) unfinished stone statue of Ganesha found at an unknown location in Kec. Sarolangun is now kept in the Museum Baddarudin Palembang. More classic-period sites have been recorded along the Batang Tebo, another major tributary of the Batang Hari. Ruined brick structures, probably Buddhist temples, were found at Dusuntuo Sumai and Sungai Alai Villages.

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Buddha statues have also been discovered at Sungai Alai, Teluk Kuali, and Betung Berdara, and a standing bronze Buddha 25 centimetres high was found at Tanah Periuk. Sānfóqí continued to be a prosperous trading country in the twelfth century, according to numerous sources such as a Chinese note or bi-ji which says that a Quanzhou trader wanted to sail to Sānfóqí, but was shipwrecked soon after leaving China (Wolters 1983, p. 61). Zhao Rugua recorded that in 1225 Sānfóqí had fifteen vassals, spread over a vast area from Palembang to Sunda to Langkasuka, Lamuri, and even Si-lan (Sri Lanka?). Although this report of Sānfóqí’s power may be inflated, evidence that this description of Sānfóqí’s extent is not a complete exaggeration is forthcoming in the form of an inscription on a statue of Buddha from Grahi (otherwise known as Chaiya, Thai pronunciation for [Sriwi]Jaya), South Thailand, which bears the date 1183 and a note that it was sponsored by King Trailokyaraja Maulibhushanawarmadewa. Historian G. Coedès (1968, p. 179) suspected that he was the king of Malayu, because the inscription of 1286 on the base of the Amoghapasa statue from Padang Roco,1 upper Jambi (discussed further below) says that the statue was the joy of all the subjects of the country of Malayu, beginning with the king, whose name was almost the same: Maharaja Srimat Tribhuwanaraja Mauliwarmadewa (Coedès 1968, p. 201). Zhao Rugua wrote Zhūfán Zhì (“Records of Foreign Nations”) when he was the harbour master of Guangzhou in 1225. Though Zhao Rugua relied on Zhou Qufei for some information, he adds much more data not found in the Lǐngwài Dàidā. He listed Bālínféng (Palembang) among Sānfóqí’s vassals, but not Jambi or Malayu. Friedrich Hirth and William Woodville Rockhill (1911) thought that Jambi only superseded Palembang in or after 1377, when Palembang was attacked and defeated by Java, but Paul Pelliot realized that Jambi must have gained the upper hand in the Song period in the eleventh or twelfth century (Pelliot 1933, pp. 376–77). The absence of either of these names related to the Batang Hari strongly suggests that Sānfóqí’s centre lay there (somewhere). During the Yuan Dynasty, beginning in 1260, the old name Malayu reappeared, together with Palembang. In 1281, the Mongols sent envoys with Muslim names to Malayu. It is not known whether Islam had already made converts there. The Mongols had a predilection for using Muslims in diplomatic posts. On the other hand, according to Marco Polo, Islam was already implanted in Perlak, Aceh by 1292.

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Marco Polo visited Malayur in 1292. He thought the name referred both to an island with its own ruler and language, and also “a large and splendid city, … which plies a flourishing trade especially in spices, of which there is great abundance” (Latham 1958, p. 252). In 1293, the next year, “Malayu and other small kingdoms” were visited by a Mongol official who demanded that they send sons or brothers to symbolize their submission to the Yuan, and Chinese records claim that they complied (Coedès 1968, p. 202; Pelliot 1904; Groeneveldt 1960, p. 30). The Yuán Shǐ, a history of the dynasty, recorded that in 1295 “the people of Sien (i.e. Siam) and of Malayur have long been killing each other” (Coedès 1968, p. 202). Perhaps this information came from a Malayu embassy to China in response to the command of 1293. Malayu’s diplomatic situation in the late thirteenth century was delicate. Both the Mongols and the Javanese demanded its submission. According to one possible scenario, in around 1275 an expedition called the Pamalayu launched by King Kertanagara of Singasari succeeded in establishing Javanese suzerainty over Malayu. Whether this was achieved through violence or as a peaceful alliance has long been in dispute among historians. The base of a statue of the esoteric Buddhist deity Amoghapasalokeshwara has been found at Rambahan, several hundred kilometres up the Batang Hari, north of Kerinci. The base bears an inscription dated 1286 stating that the statue had been brought from Java to Suvarnabhumi by Javanese officials, one of whom was named Sri Wiswakumara, and erected at Dharmasraya at the behest of Maharaja Kertanagara. The inscription gives the name of Malayu’s king at the time as Maharaja Shrimat Tribhuwanaraja Mauliwarmadewa, who along with all his subjects was said to be gladdened by the gift. (On this Amoghapasa statue, see Krom 1916; Ferrand 1922, pp. 179–81; Pleyte 1907, pp. 171, 177; Krom 1923, pp. 131–33; Schnitger 1937; 1939). It was common for sovereigns to send images to conquered provinces; for example the king of Angkor, Jayavarman VII, performed similar acts in the late twelfth century. The most likely conclusion is that Singasari indeed sent a military expedition to Sumatra and forcibly compelled Malayu to acknowledge Java as its political overlord. Numerous archaeological remains discovered in the Rambahan area indicate that this region became a significant power centre by 1200 at the latest. The Pararaton, a sixteenth-century Javanese text of uncertain reliability, says that Kertanagara sent an expedition to attack Malayu. The Pararaton however says the victorious expedition returned only after the death of Kertanagara, who is known from other sources to have died in 1292. This

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does not make sense in view of the fact that the statue had been dispatched in 1286. It is unlikely that the expedition remained in Sumatra for seventeen years. Thomas Hunter however agrees with de Caspairs’ inference that the expedition was indeed sent to form an alliance against the Mongols. Another Javanese literary source the Kidung Rangga Lawe, says that Kertanagara was assassinated when his army was away. The soldiers could have remained in Sumatra for six years (Hunter 2007a). The kingdom calling itself Malayu sent ambassadors to China in 1280, 1293, 1299, and 1301, a fact which suggests that Malayu retained political autonomy despite Javanese incursion. In 1281 the Yuan sent two Muslim envoys to Malayu. The name Sānfóqí was still used by Wang Dayuan, a Chinese merchant who voyaged to various parts of Southeast Asia in the 1330s, and in 1349 wrote a memoir called Dǎoyí Zhìlüè (“Description of the Barbarians of the Isles”). He said that Sānfóqí was reached in five days from Lóngyá mén, a strait on the south shore of Singapore. He described the country as being densely populated and fertile. The people lived on piledwellings and gathered oysters. It produced some valuable commodities: camphor, laka wood, betel nut, cotton, and fine carved wood. Imports in demand included coloured taffeta, red beads, cotton cloth, and copper and iron pots. Wang ends the Sānfóqí section with a note about a local legend involving a magical cave from which thousands of cattle appeared. Buffaloes play significant roles in other Sumatran tales, as legendary beings in early Malay texts such as the Sejarah Melayu; especially the legend of the origin of the Minangkabau people (Hirth; Rockhill 1911, pp. 134–35). The next section of the “Description of the Barbarians of the Isles” deals with Gùgǎng. This section opens with another local tradition: a garbled version of the story that this country was so rich that farmers only had to plant for one year out of three. He may have mixed this up with another motif, the grain which turns to gold, which appears in the story of the descent of the three Malay princes on Mount Seguntang, though some scholars speculate that such agricultural practices as cultivation of root crops may have inspired this description. He then discusses the trading situation: the country yielded local forest products, and “cotton superior to that of any other foreign country”, which the Chinese acquired in exchange for beads, porcelain, copper cauldrons, coloured cotton cloth, water jars, and pots (Hirth; Rockhill 1911, pp. 135–36).

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By the mid-fourteenth century, the Javanese may have succeeded in re-imposing effective dominance over the Batang Hari. The Deśavarṇana (“Description of the Country”, also known as the Nāgarakṛtāgama), a poem written in 1365, is considered a highly reliable source in comparison to the Pararaton. Canto 12 of the Deśavarṇana describes the relationship of Majapahit’s capital to the rest of the kingdom, comparable to that of the sun to stars and planets. The poem’s author, a Buddhist official at the East Javanese capital of Majapahit named Prapanca, gave a list of Majapahit’s overseas vassals. Majapahit’s most important dependencies were the twenty-four “Malay lands” of which the most important were Jambi and Palembang, then Teba (Coedès 1968, p. 244 mistakenly interpreted Teba as “i.e., Toba, upper Jambi”; it probably corresponds to the Batang Tebo on the upper Batang Hari where significant early Buddhist remains have been discovered) and Dharmasraya (the Rambahan area in hinterland Jambi), followed by Karitang (location unknown). Next in order are Kandis (lower Batang Hari), Kahwas (?), and Manangkabwa (Minangkabau, the people of Tanah Datar and vicinity). Next come four rivers in East Sumatra (Siak, Rokan, Kampar, and Pane) (Mpu Prapanca 1995, p. 33). Thus the highlands of west-central Sumatra were at the forefront of the areas beyond which the East Javanese court liked to think were its subjects. The name Dharmasraya in 1365 seems to have denoted a kingdom or court which sought to govern the population of a significant portion of the Batang Hari. The Amoghapasa inscription of 1286 equates Dharmasraya with “all the subjects of the pura (capital, palace; see further below) of Malayu”. As Marco Polo suggested around the same time, Malayu seems to have been a term for the area ruled by a king, whereas Dharmasraya was a specific place, probably the ceremonial centre of the kingdom. It was normal in ancient Indonesia for capitals and their territories to have the same name, and several different names could be used for the same capital, as a literary device. For instance Majapahit was also called Wilwatikta, which is a synonym meaning “bitter gourd” in Javanese. Ancient Indonesians were fond of literary allusions and plays on words, and found repetition of the same name boring. This practice produced pleasure for the population of the time, but headaches for future historians. Dharmasraya was probably in the immediate vicinity of the find spot of the statue, on the upper Batang Hari. Archaeology has yielded much evidence for the importance of this locality in ancient times.

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The Pararaton says that the victorious Javanese Pamalayu expedition returned “about ten days” after the Chinese army which invaded Java in 1292 was expelled. They were said to have brought back two princesses from Malayu. One, Dara Petak, married the new king of Majapahit, Raden Wijaya, and became his queen. The other, Dara Jingga, the elder of the two, married “Dewa” (either denoting a god, a king, or a prince), and had a son, Tuan Janaka, “who was to become the king of Malayu. He was given the title Sri Marmadewa [possibly from (Mauli) Warmadewa]. He was crowned with the title of king Mantrolot” (Pararaton, translated by Phalgunadi 1996, pp. 113, 115). A text from Aceh, the Hikayat Raja-Raja Pasai, supports the argument that a Javanese army invaded southeast Sumatra, even supplying the detail that the troops sent by the Prime Minister Gajah Mada disembarked from their transport ships at Priangan in Jambi (Hill 1960, p. 162). This may however refer to an attempt to re-impose Javanese suzerainty in Malayu after the fall of the kingdom of Singasari and the rise of Majapahit. It may also be connected with the arrival of a viceroy of half-Sumatran, half-Javanese parentage, known to history as Ādityavarman. Ādityavarman is one of the most intriguing characters in ancient Indonesian history. The Pararaton’s account of his ancestry cannot be confirmed, but circumstantial evidence suggests that it may be accurate. We first hear of Ādityavarman in an inscription carved on the back of a statue of the bodhisattva Manjuśri, a Mahayana deity who had been popular in Java since the ninth century. The statue was worshipped at Candi Jago, an important monument in East Java erected in the Singasari period of the late thirteenth century and altered in the fourteenth century. The image bears two inscriptions. One, on the front, says that the statue was erected in a Jinalaya or Buddhist temple by an official bearing the title Aryyawangsadhiraja. More writing on the back says that a minister named Adityawarmadewa built a beautiful temple in 1343 in the kingdom of the Rajapatni or queen (the head of state of Majapahit at this time was a woman) in order to earn merit for his family. Ādityavarman was obviously responsible for the inscription on the rear of the statue of Manjushri, but scholars are not sure whether Ādityavarman is also the official mentioned on the front. Both inscriptions are in Sanskrit, a language which Ādityavarman used in numerous inscriptions in Sumatra. The inscriptions were translated into Dutch by Hendrik Kern (cf. Stutterheim 1936, p. 282, note 2; also in Krom 1921, p. 194): (front side): The king of the Aryya family has ordered (this Manjushri image) to be erected in the year five, six, two, one, [i.e., 1265 in the

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Śaka era, which corresponds to 1343 CE] for the benefit of the dharma in this Jinalaye. (rear side): He, Ādityavarman, in the kingdom ruled by Her Majesty the Queen, descended from her line, with pure sense [Kern adds the gloss “pious, devout”; see Krom 1921, p. 194] (endowed) with exceptional qualities, a very important official, in the Jinalayapure [sic; the word pura can mean “town”, “palace”, or “sanctuary”. Bosch (1921, p. 195) preferred the translation “the walled space which enclosed the temple and its grounds”, by analogy with the Balinese pura.] built a wonderously beautiful prasāda, in order to send his ancestors and relatives from this subhuman existence to the joy of Nirwana. Śaka 1265 [=1343 CE].

Bosch (1921) wondered why the date was given twice, why the name of the sanctuary was expressed in two different ways, and why there is so much repetition in the section which can be rephrased as “By the king in a Jinalaya sanctuary a statue is erected. Also Ādityavarman had a temple built in the Jinalaya sanctuary.” Bosch believed that the two sides were carved by two different people, based on the style of the script and the differences in the spelling; for instance wangśa is spelled normally on the front, but as bangśa, a “Malayism”, on the rear. (Although H. Kulke informs me that it could also be a “Bengalism”, there is no other sign of a Bengali connection with Sumatra at this time. Bengal’s previous position as a centre of Mahayana Buddhism had declined due to the Muslim conquest of Bengal.) Ādityavarman’s status is expressed as mantri praudhatara, a circum­ locution made necessary by the requirement of the poetic metre for a more common title, wrddhamantri, of East Java. Another inscription from Nglawang, East Java, dated between 1332 and 1348, says that the first mantriwrddha is sang aryya Dewaraja pu Aditya, probably the same Ādityavarman. The Nglawang inscription mentions sang aryya Wangshadhiraja, a noble bearing the additional title pamget i Tirwan. The inscription of Bendosari, dated between 1250 and 1358, also mentions pamget i Tirwan and adds the detail that he was also called dang acaryya Shiwanatha (Bosch 1921, p. 199). Bosch concluded that Wangshadhiraja caused the statue to be carved. Ādityavarman may have built the temple to hold the Manjushri image. Bosch concluded that the two inscriptions commemorated different donations to the same sanctuary (Bosch 1921, p. 198). Stutterheim (1936, p. 93) also concluded that the two inscriptions were both carved for Ādityavarman, but Krom (1926, p. 389) came to the opposite conclusion. Krom (1923, p. 134) believed that the script was related to

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Sumatran writing, and that the inscriptions were carved by a Sumatran, but could not decide whether the statue itself was made in Java or Sumatra. There is another case in which Ādityavarman had his own inscription incised on a statue carved for an earlier king: the Amoghapasa from Rambahan, Sumatra. An inscription identifies the statue as “Bharala AryyAmoghapasa Lokeshwara”; the same name is also found on the main statue at Candi Jago. In 1347 Ādityavarman was in Sumatra, far up the Batang Hari at the site of the Amoghapasa image sent by Singasari in 1286, known as Dharmasraya. Ādityavarman probably arrived in Malayu between 1343 and 1347 as a Javanese viceroy; if his mother had been of Sumatran ancestry, as the Pararaton states, this would have given him some legitimacy. The Pararaton also claims that Majapahit’s Prime Minister Gajah Mada had sworn in 1333 to conquer all the areas of Nusantara, from New Guinea to Pahang (the southern Malay Peninsula). His list of targets includes Palembang, but omits Malayu (Phalgunadi 1996, p. 125). There is no evidence that the Javanese launched another military expedition against Malayu around 1340, but the dispatch of Ādityavarman between 1343 and 1347 would be consistent with such a reassertion of suzerainty. The inscribed base of the statue was found at a different site: Padang Roco (“Sculpture Field”), with the inscription in “Kawi-influenced Malay” (Stutterheim 1936, p. 286) stating that the image of Amoghapasa was set up in 1286, having been sent from Java in order to be set up at Dharmasraya in Malayu, as a gift. What happened? How did the statue and its base become separate by a distance of seven kilometres? Did Ādityavarman move the Amoghapasa statue from its base to Rambahan and rededicate it? He had his own inscription carved on the back of the Amoghapasa statue, in which he used the grandiloquent titles of Srimat Sri Udayadityawarmma Pratapaparakramrajendra Maulimaliwarmmadewa and Maharajadiraja. He uses Malayupura, rather than Dharmasraya, to refer to his palace. Ādityavarman’s inscription on the Amoghapasa dated 1347 (translated from the Dutch of Kern 1917d; cf. Stutterheim 1936, pp. 283–84) was occasioned by This erection (dedication) of a Buddha image named Gaganaganja [a specific epithet for Amoghapasa] was performed by Acaryya Dharmashekhara, a Manjushri as it were, in friendliness. This image of Amoghapasa, (a gift) of His Majesty Adityawarman, was erected (dedicated) by Dewa as a source of welfare for all creatures. This

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image, standing in the midst of the Adamantine confines of the Jina sanctuary, is the Gleaming Amoghapasa, bright as the rising sun.

“The rest of the inscription contains heroic expressions about Ādityavarman and his patih, full of hidden meanings” (Kern 1917a, pp. 164, 169). We now know that Amoghapasa and Manjushri are closely associated. Some schools depict Amoghapasa as a double god, half Avalokiteshwara and half Manjushri (Moens 1924, p. 538). Gaganaganja is a form of Amoghapasa in which the deity is conceived of as an amalgamation of two halves, the half normally consisting of Maitreya replaced by Manjushri (Moens 1924, p. 568; but cf. Reichle 2007, p. 202). The inscription is difficult to translate, but some tentative conclusions can be drawn from it. Interestingly, Ādityavarman at this early point in his Sumatran career already styled himself maharajadhiraja, “great king”, rather than as an official of the Majapahit kingdom. The official with the title Dewa Tuhan Prapatih, who possessed riches and gold, seems to have played a major role in the ritual which the inscription was designed to commemorate. This title combines Javanese Dewa and Malay Tuhan, while the word Prapatih seems to be a localized version of the Javanese patih. Ādityavarman’s inscriptions also mention other high functionaries, including a tumanggung and an army commandant, mahasenapati pamanan (Krom 1931, p. 415). Line 15 of the inscription has occasioned some dispute. It reads çrimat çri-Udayadityavarmma pratapaparakrama rajendra maulimali warmmadeva maharajadhiraja. Based on this line, it has been suggested by some (e.g. Machi Suhadi 1990, p. 229) that when Ādityavarman arrived, there was already a king here named Rajendra Maulimali Warmmadewa who was maharajadhiraja. Kern (1917a, p. 172) and other scholars however have concluded that the line should be translated “Illustrious Majesty Udayadityawarman, the mighty, an Indra [lord] among kings, wreathed with the crown, great king of kings protected by the heavenly beings.” A metaphorical reference to male and female elephants suggests that Ādityavarman engaged in esoteric rituals connected with his female consort, and that he restored a temple (Machi Suhadi 1990, p. 223). This suggestion is based on the phrase jimair udharita, found in line 12, which can be translated as “the old was rebuilt, restored”. “This restoration — perhaps improperly said of a new foundation — took place on the aforementioned date by ‘pious people, desirous of the path of spiritual enlightenment’” (Kern 1917a, p. 171). Archaeologists have found evidence that at least

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one religious structure in Dharmasraya was expanded in ancient times (see further below). Epigraphers trained in Indology have tended to look askance at the language used in this and other inscriptions of Ādityavarman. For instance the Indian scholar Nilakanta Sastri (1949, p. 136) said of the 1347 Amoghapasa inscription: “It is impossible to give a regular translation of this gibberish which has been reproduced to give the reader an idea of the corrupt Sanskrit employed in Sumatra in the middle of the fourteenth century.” Further advances in linguistics, anthropology, and the study of religion have begun to alter the earlier rather patronizing characterization of the level of culture in Ādityavarman’s court. Rather than becoming a faithful viceroy, Ādityavarman quickly broke away from Java and asserted independence. His court did not remain long in the upper Batang Hari, a centre which was at least seventy years old but was exposed to possible punitive expeditions from Java. Ādityavarman moved his court north into the Minangkabau highlands by the mid-fourteenth century, possibly as the result of Javanese pressure, perhaps also due to the lure of the gold mines in the Minangkabau mountains (Dobbin 1983, p. 61 ff.; Kulke 2009). Most of Ādityavarman’s inscriptions are found in the area of Batu Sangkar, in the Tanah Datar Regency. Twenty-two are found in four kecamatan: Pariangan, Rambatan, Tanjung Emas, and Lima Kaum. Eight inscriptions found at the site of Bukit Gombak were moved at some time to a location about two kilometres away from what is now known as the Ādityavarman Inscription Complex, Pagaruyung, situated in Desa Gudam, Kelurahan Kampung Tengah, Kec. Tanjung Emas. Inscription Pagaruyung I (also known as Prasasti Bukit Gombak I; Hasan Djafar 1992, p. 65; Budi Istiawan 2006, pp. 3–8) contains twenty-one lines, beginning with praise of Buddha, then mentions King Ādityavarman and compares him to the descendants of the Amararyya royal line, the Supreme Buddha who protects all creatures, in conformity with the duties of a rightful king, and calls him the supreme King, who radiates bravery like Indra (who bears the title) Mauliwarmadewa, the ancestor of Dharmaraja. He is said to have built the “seven feet” (?) of Suvarna Bhumi, and a monastery (vihāra) for the needs of all, decorated with a copper Kala. The inscription is dated 1278 Śaka (1356 CE), and concludes by mentioning the name of the inscription’s author, the teacher Dharmaddwaja. In this inscription, Ādityavarman seems to be trying to connect himself with Tribhuwanaraja Mauliwarmadewa, the earlier ruler of Jambi.

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Pagaruyung II (Budi Istiawan 2006, pp. 9–11) is badly damaged. It mentions another official, but neither his name nor title can be reconstructed. The date is incomplete, but can be reconstructed as 1295 Śaka, or 1373 CE. Pagaruyung III (also known as Prasasti Kapalo Bukit Gombak; Budi Istiawan 2006, pp. 12–13) bears the date 1269 Śaka (1347) and the yoga of Vajra and Indra. The date is given in a chronogram, which literally reads dware rasa bhuje rupe. These words literally mean doorway/ intention/arm/form. Sometimes such chronograms were metaphorically related to the events they were dating. In this case the sense may be that a religious structure was built on this date. Pagaruyung IV (Budi Istiawan 2006, p. 14) is difficult to read and the surviving bits are impossible to decipher. Important words which can be made out include Ādityavarman and Sarawasa, probably the ancient place name for the location of his palace. An area near Bukit Gombak today is known as Saruaso. Pagaruyung V (Budi Istiawan 2006, pp. 15–16) bears five lines. This stone is broken both above and below the remaining text, and is obviously a fragment of a longer inscription. It mentions agricultural land in its first line. The second line says that the person who is prepared to care for it is named Si Satra, son of (the next part is missing). The next line mentions beautiful flowers from a mountain, and an oath. The last line mentions the seat (asana) of Ādityavarman. The language of this stone, unlike the others which are in Sanskrit, is Old Javanese. It seems to refer to a garden, probably within the confines of Ādityavarman’s palace. Pagaruyung VI (Budi Istiawan 2006, pp. 17–18) bears two lines. The lettering seems to have been carved by someone who was not very skilled. Its contents are simple: “Hail [Om] This is the fruit of the labour of Tumenggung Kudawira.” Inscriptions Five and Six may both refer to Javanese of the middle to lower ranks who worked for Ādityavarman. Budi Istiawan (2006, p. 17) however speculates that the inscription may predate Ādityavarman’s advent, and hypothesizes that Kudawira may have been an officer in the Pamalayu expedition of the late thirteenth century. Machi Suhadi gives a different translation: “Congratulations on the appointment of Tumenggung Kudiwira” (Machi Suhadi 1990, cited in Budi Istiawan 2006, p. 8, notes 2, 17). More recently, Arlo Griffiths (2012, pp. 198–201) has shown that the inscription actually commemorates the fact that the ashes of this official were deposited at the place where the inscription was originally erected.

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Pagaruyung VII (Budi Istiawan 2006, pp. 19–22; Casparis 1989, pp. 922–24) is engraved on a broken and rather worn stone, of which Arlo Griffiths has recently identified as an additional fragment which he will publish as part of his forthcoming monograph on the inscriptions of Ādityavarman. The text refers to “the king of all kings, His Majesty Sri Akarendrawarman” and other officials such as Tuhan Parpatih. De Casparis also read the word parhyangan, which he connected with the modern village of Pariangan where a rock inscription of Ādityavarman can still be found today. He concluded that the inscription Pagarruyung VII described the transfer of the capital of the kingdom from Jambi to West Sumatra, but Griffiths and I agree that this does not appear to be supported by any evidence. De Casparis also concluded that Akarendrawarman was Ādityavarman’s predecessor, but on this point too there seems to be contradictory evidence, which will be published by Griffiths. It is probable that he will introduce new interpretations of many of these inscriptions. Pagaruyung VIII (Budi Istiawan 2006, pp. 23–24; Casparis 1989, pp. 926–27) is carved on three sides of the upper surface of a square stone around a depression hollowed out to serve as a mortar for pounding rice (or some other material). The text says that in 1368 (according to Budi Istiawan’s reading; Budi Istiawan 2006, p. 23), a king was always generous with gold and served as an example like a god who smelled sweetly, was disciplined and always happy. The chronogram is ratu ganato hadadi or king, a gaṇa or semi-divine being, incarnation. The use of Sanskrit is typical of Ādityavarman’s inscriptions. De Casparis read the inscription differently, dating it to 1238 Śaka (1316 CE), and thus proof of the existence of a King Akarendrawarman at this early date. Pagaruyung IX (Budi Istiawan 2006, pp. 9–11) is the upper portion of a larger inscription, of which only a few letters have survived. The script is typical of Ādityavarman’s other inscriptions. It begins with a chronogram, satwa guna sa(trs)ne [last word illegible]. These words correspond to the numbers 1 and 9. Since Indonesian chronograms were written in reverse order and Śaka era, this means the last two digits of the date were 91. Adding 78 to the Śaka era to obtain the equivalent Common Era date, this probably corresponds to 1369. Other than the date, no other information can be retrieved from this fragment. Inscription Saruaso I (Budi Istiawan 2006, pp. 26–28) is found in the village of the same name, in Kec. Tanjung Emas, beside the main road which leads to Batu Sangkar. It is found on two sides of a stone shaped like a rough cube 75 cm high, 133 cm long, and 110 cm wide. It bears the date

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1375, and states that in this year King Ādityavarman conducted a sacrifice at the burial ground at Surawasan (probably an alternative spelling of the ancient name for Saruaso). He had a throne-like palace with a thousand fragrant flowers. It has been speculated that this sacrifice on a cremation ground took the form of an esoteric ritual in which he was consecrated as Wisesa Dharani, a terrifying manifestation of Buddha (Moens 1924). This ritual has been connected with the huge Bhairawa image found at Padang Roco (Sungai Langsat, Kec. Sitiung, Dharmasraya Regency), now in the National Museum in Jakarta. Inscription Saruaso II (Budi Istiawan 2006, pp. 29–32) at one time was displayed in front of the Indo Jolito Building, the residence of the Regent of Tanah Datar, built during the Dutch colonial period where the famous scholar L.C. Westenenk once resided. It has since been moved to the courtyard of the old office of the Monuments Preservation Department (Kantor Suaka PSP; in the old Balai Adat, across the street from Indo Jolito). The inscription begins with a line which has not yet been translated, then praises His Majesty the crown prince Ananggawarman, son of Ādityavarman, who is faithful to his father, mother, and teacher. The Lubuk Layang inscription has been found in the northern part of West Sumatra Province, at Desa Pancahan, Kec. Rao Mapatunggul, Pasaman Regency. It is written in a mixture of Old Malay and Old Javanese language. It is undated, but palaeographically thought to date from Ādityavarman’s reign. It mentions another crown prince, this time named Bijayendrawarman, who set up a stupa at Parwatapuri. Budi Istiawan (Budi Istiawan 2006, p. 14) speculates that the presence of two crown princes (yuvarāja), possibly at the same time, may indicate a Majapahit-style system of administration in which younger sons of the king were sent to remote areas as governors. Another possibility is that Bijayendrawarman was related to Akarendrawarman rather than Ādityavarman. The Kuborajo I inscription (Bosch 1930; Casparis 1985; Budi Istiawan 2006, pp. 33–34; Krom 1912, p. 47; Machi Suhadi 1990, p. 226) is found at Desa Lima Kaum, Kec. Lima Kaum, beside the main road from Batu Sangkar to Padang. This inscription was stolen in 1987, but later recovered. It is written in Sanskrit and bears fifteen lines. It begins by mentioning His Majesty Ādwayavarman, father of Kanakamedindra (Gold Land Lord, i.e. Ādityavarman). He is compared to a Wishing Tree (Kalpataru), and said to give continual donations to Ādityavarman, king of the Kulisadhara vaṅśa, a manifestation of Lokeswara and “Mai” (possibly Maitreya).

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Inscription Kuburajo II (Budi Istiawan 1993, p. 16; 2006, pp. 35–36) is written on a large stone, one of three in a line which probably were originally set up as seats and backrests for nobles to use during village councils, similar to the wooden pepadon and sesako used in Lampung until recent times (Miksic 1987). The stone also bears decorations of a solar motif and four vajras. These were probably added during Ādityavarman’s time as part of an endeavour to gain legitimacy by identifying himself with sites already important in Minangkabau culture. The inscription consists of eight lines written in a mixture of Sanskrit and Old Javanese. It is difficult to understand the contents, but they include the words puri and sthāna, probably referring to a royal palace. Of the other two large stones, one bears illustrations of a sun, seven leaves, and three blossoms; these may represent a chronogram for 1351 CE. The Rambatan inscription (Budi Istiawan 2006, pp. 37–38; Machi Suhadi 1990, p. 221) is found in Desa Empat Suku Kapalo Koto, Kec. Rambatan, about six kilometres from Batu Sangkar. It bears six lines in Old Malay. A chronogram gives a date of 1369 CE. The contents are not completely understood, but mention Ādityavarman and the village of “Rambata” which many people visit to see a footprint of Buddha. Ādityavarman established a shrine for them. The Ombilin inscription (Casparis 1992, p. 248; Budi Istiawan 2006, p. 206) is found in front of the local health centre near Lake Singkarak, Kec. Rambatan. Part of the stone has been lost. The remaining fragment bears writing in Sanskrit mixed with Old Malay. Many lines cannot be read at all, but the name Ādityavarman is visible; he is mentioned as one who can distinguish between dharma and non-dharma, and is compared to the sun who burns evil-doers, but helps the good. A second inscription on another face of the stone reads svahasta likhitaṁ, literally “written by his own hand”, probably implying that he composed the text. The Bandar Bapahat inscription (Krom 1912, p. 24; Sastri 1932, pp. 314–27; Pitono 1966, pp. 21–23; Casparis 1989, p. 925; Machi Suhadi 1990, pp. 227–28) has been lost, though a copy of it was made. It was written in two languages on two faces of an irrigation canal carved into a cliff face above a river. Part one, on the left, consisted of ten lines in Sanskrit and Old Malay. It mentioned Ādityavarman and the village of Sri Surawasa. The inscription on the right was written in Grantha script and Tamil language. It has not been translated, but according to epigraphers, the two inscriptions seem to have had similar contents.

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The Pariangan inscription (Budi Istiawan 2006, p. 42; Machi Suhadi 1990, p. 222) stands in its original position on a hill overlooking the Mengkaweh River. It is so badly eroded that little can be deciphered, but the lettering is similar to that of other Ādityavarman inscriptions. Ādityavarman disappears from the historical record after 1375. At this period a new dynasty, the Ming, had just taken control of China, and was in the process of implementing new policies regarding the form of relations with its Southeast Asian neighbours. The new policies resulted in a considerable restriction in foreign trade and communication. As a result, Chinese sources of the late fourteenth century provide less information about Sumatra than those of the Song and Yuan. According to one interpretation, “after Ādityavarman’s death the royal family was unable to provide a ruler of his ability, and its members were pushed into the background by more powerful rulers” (Dobbin 1983, p. 62). Minangkabau oral tradition describes a struggle between two chiefs, Datuk Perpatih nan Sebatang and Datuk Ketumanggungan. It seems possible that these two archetypes in fact stand for two philosophies of government: an aristocratic pattern associated with Datuk Ketumanggungan, resembling the Javanese system (temenggong is a modern title used in Java and was also used for one of the principal officials of fifteenth-century Melaka), and a more traditional egalitarian system associated with Datuk Perpatih Nan Sebatang. Sānfóqí (referring to a polity centred in the Batang Hari basin) sent six missions to China between 1370 and 1377 (Wolters 1970, p. 57), the last years of Ādityavarman’s known reign. What type of relations existed between his kingdom and the rulers of Palembang is unknown. Despite the rise of Dharmasraya and Bukit Gombak, Palembang continued to maintain diplomatic and commercial links with China in the early fourteenth century. China may have sent a mission to Palembang in 1309 (Wolters 1970, p. 47). Wang Dayuan paid some attention to Palembang, though he depicted it as less significant than Malayu. The ruler of the newly-founded Ming dynasty sent an envoy, Zhao Shu, to South Sumatra in late 1370. He stayed there for about a year, probably somewhere in Malayu-Jambi. When he returned to China, the Sumatran ruler, Maharaja Perabhu, sent tribute and ambassadors with him. Wolters thought that this was probably Ādityavarman himself (Wolters 1970, pp. 57–58). In 1375 the Sānfóqí ruler who sent a mission to China was known as Dànmáshānǎ’ā, which is probably Dharmasraya Haji, possibly also referring

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to Ādityavarman. The Míng Shílù says that the old ruler of Sānfóqí died in 1376 (Wolters 1970, p. 58), which would give Ādityavarman a reign of about thirty years. His successor seems to have asserted his authority quite quickly, sending a mission to China the very next year, and was sufficiently powerful to organize this mission. Thus Sānfóqí (probably Malayu-Jambi, or the court at Saruaso) sent missions in 1371, 1374, 1375, and 1377. (For a slightly different interpretation of events in East Sumatra in the late fourteenth century, see Reid 2010, pp. 317–21). The Míng Shílù, compiled at the end of the dynasty in the seventeenth century, also recorded a mission from the “king of Sānfóqí, the Maharaja of Palembang” in 1374 (Wolters 1970, p. 58). Wolters was convinced that the term Sānfóqí here was used in the sense of a geographical region, i.e. southeast Sumatra, rather than a political entity, and that the king had his centre in Palembang; Wolters thus thought that this might have betokened Palembang’s revival as a rival to Jambi. The Javanese were also actively communicating with China, sending four missions between 1371 and 1377, while Sānfóqí sent seven. According to Wolters (1970, pp. 62–63; 1975, p. 4), however, the Javanese put an end to the period of autonomy which Ādityavarman had enjoyed for thirty years by killing the Chinese envoys sent to Sumatra in 1377. This may account for the lack of any further epigraphic record from Ananggawarman or other rulers of highland Sumatra. Probably the early Ming records which describe Sānfóqí as an impoverished vassal of Java in the late fourteenth century reflect the nadir of ancient Malayu, which ensued from this attack. A Siamese law book, the Kot Mandirapala of Ayutthaya, dated 1358 but probably really written in the fifteenth century, also claimed Malayu as a vassal [along with Melaka and Uyong (Ujung) Tanah]. This may have been an anachronism, but one can propose two possibilities on this basis. First, the Siamese of the fifteenth century probably remembered Malayu as an important kingdom of the mid-fourteenth century, one worth fighting for. Second, the fledgling kingdom of Ayutthaya may well have launched a raid or exerted more sustained pressure in an attempt to gain some power in southeast Sumatra at this time, which may have weakened Malayu sufficiently to render it unable to resist the Javanese onslaught when it came. The Javanese invaded some polity in East Sumatra in 1377, but where precisely was the site of the attack? Was it Palembang, or somewhere in the Batang Hari basin? There is no a priori reason to assume that it was Palembang. The Amoghapasa statue from Rambahan shows that the

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Javanese kingdom of Singasari was probably able to project its power all the way to the headwaters of the Batang Hari in the thirteenth century, so probably Majapahit, a stronger kingdom, could have found its way to the Batu Sangkar area, and dealt firmly with the young king.

Archaeological Remains in Jambi No fewer than 61 brick ruins are found along a 7.5-kilometre long portion of the left (north) bank of the Batang Hari River in Jambi province, East Sumatra, 26 kilometres downstream from the modern provincial capital. It is probably the site of an important religious and political centre of a kingdom during the eleventh through thirteenth centuries. It may be the site recorded in the Tanjor inscription of 1030–31 as Malaiyur. The structures here with functions, which can be identified with reasonable certainty, are Buddhist shines. Some can be identified as stupas. No tall towers are discernible; some of the foundations probably served as bases for wooden upper structures. Construction at the site may have begun as early as the ninth century. A large rectangular pool called Telaga Raja (“king’s well”) measuring 120 × 100 metres (400 by 330 feet) was probably a facility for storing water, and probably played a symbolic role as well. Few written materials have been discovered here. Those which have been recovered include Kawi script letters found incised on bricks from Candi Gumpung. Palaeographically they can be dated to the ninth century. Gold foil found in ritual deposit boxes in Candi Gumpung bear other inscriptions: the names of the five Tathagata (“thus-come ones”, esoteric Buddhist deities), the sixteen Vajrabodhisattva, and the sixteen Vajratara, all deities of the esoteric Buddhist Vajradhatu mandala. Another gold foil piece found at Candi Gedong bears the word vajra (“thunderbolt/diamond”). The most impressive piece of statuary found in Muara Jambi is a Prajnaparamita in a style similar to thirteenth-century East Java found in 1978 at Candi Gumpung. Other Buddhist statuary found here and in other nearby sites including Solok Sipin and Rantaukapastuo includes ten Buddha images and seven Avalokitesvaras. Six makara (mythical beasts often found at the entrances to temples) have been found in the lower Batang Hari, including two at Candi Gumpung and four at Solok Sipin, one of which bears the date 1064 CE and the word dharmmavira. Solok Sipin must have been an important religious and perhaps political centre, perhaps established

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John Miksic

before Muara Jambi was founded. The move from Solok Sipin may have taken place shortly after 1064, when Jambi surpassed Palembang as the most powerful political entity in the Straits of Melaka. Remains from Muara Jambi include a small number of Hindu sculptures, including a Nandi. A temple lamp in the form of Dipalaksmi has been found further downstream, at Koto Kandis. No major inscriptions have been found there, but a bronze gong found at one of the temples, Candi Kembar Batu, is inscribed with Chinese characters giving the date 1231 CE and mentioning an official named Hung (Wolters 1983, p. 61; Salmon 2003). Bronze was very scarce during this period in China, which makes the discovery of this item in Sumatra especially surprising. Most bronze items in China were melted down at this period to make coins (Ch’en 1965). The inscription mentions two “big military bronze gongs” which Hung, a prefect (zhìjūn), put into an armory (Salmon 2003, p. 109). It stands to reason that this is one of those two gongs. Thus the gong was probably not manufactured as a gift for a foreign nation, nor as an item of trade. Salmon speculates that the gong was captured in a piratical raid on Quanzhou (presumably by brigands allied to Malayu), or that it was made in Sumatra by expatriate Chinese bronze workers (Salmon 2003, p. 111). It is quite likely that overseas Chinese communities began to form in Sumatra around this time (Miksic 1979), but since ingots of silver with Chinese characters on them found on shipwrecks in Southeast Asia show that Southeast Asia was able to extract all kinds of metal, including previous varieties, from China, presumably through smuggling. In 1189 China banned the export of silver and bronze coins (Glahn 2004, p. 175). Nevertheless Chinese silver ingots, some with official stamps on them, have been found on Southeast Asian shipwrecks of this period. Metal objects found on the thirteenth-century Pulau Buaya wreck in the Riau Archipelago, near Jambi, include eight gongs which resemble the Jambi gong in that they lack a raised striking knob (Ridho; McKinnon 1998). Thus the Jambi gong may have been smuggled out of China by Chinese traders (see also Salmon 2003, p. 112). The role played by the population of the central highlands of Sumatra in the evolution of complex society has been neglected compared to those of the lowlands. This differential emphasis is out of proportion in comparison to the relative importance of the highlands. Jambi’s central geographic feature, the Batang Hari, originates from sources in the Kerinci and Minangkabau highlands. Archaeological sites, including those with monumental remains and inscriptions, are as common in the hinterland of Jambi as in the

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lowlands. All important prehistoric centres lay in the highlands. One of the most technologically advanced societies in prehistoric Sumatra lay near Lake Kerinci, as indicated by the sites of Lologedang (Tjoa-Bonatz 2012, pp. 24–26), and the megalithic remains in Kerinci Regency. A team from the Indonesian department of antiquities (Balai Pelestarian Peninggalan Purbakala/BP3) reported that the megaliths were associated with artefacts ranging from stone tools from the pre-metallic age up to Chinese porcelain of the Song-Yuan period. Few of these sites have been dated; they probably represent a Kerinci cultural complex which began in prehistory, and persisted for many centuries (Lukas Partando Koestoro 1999). Archaeological discoveries during the twentieth century, particularly in the 1990s, have yielded much evidence that a seven-kilometre-long stretch of the Batang Hari from Rambahan, where the statue of the esoteric Buddhist deity Amoghapasa was found in the late nineteenth century, to Padang Roco (literally “Sculpture Field”, otherwise known as Sungai Langsat) was the centre of the thirteenth-century kingdom of Malayu Dharmasraya (Marsis Sutopo 1992). At Rambahan, a tributary, the Pingian, joins the Batang Hari; another tributary, the Batang Lalo, joins the main river nearby. Thus Rambahan forms an important node of river communication. The base of the Amoghapasa statue was discovered not at Rambahan (Padang Candi), but at Padang Roco (Sungai Langsat). Why it was moved, a difficult feat in view of its size and weight, is unknown, but probably it was connected with the arrival of Ādityavarman. Either Ādityavarman moved the statue base to Padang Roco, or took the statue upriver to Rambahan. In any case, he had his own inscription in “localized Malay Sanskrit” carved on the back of the image dated 1347 CE, commemorating himself as protector and source of welfare to the people of the “capital of Malaya” (Malaya-pura-hitarthah) and his power as an embodiment of Amoghapasa. The largest free-standing stone statue ever found in Indonesia, and one of the largest in ancient Asia, has been found at Padang Roco. It depicts a demonic deity known as Bhairawa, with whom Ādityavarman seems to have identified himself. Archaeological research in the 1990s revealed the existence of numerous architectural remains around Padang Roco. The site was protected by an ancient moat fed by the river. Chinese ceramics from the Song and Ming period (twelfth to sixteenth centuries) prove that the local population was well-connected with international trade despite their distance from the sea lanes. Obviously the river transport network was well developed at this time. A complex of brick sanctuaries has also been discovered and excavated there.

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J/

eMahat

WEST SUMATRA

0

INDIAN OCIAN

Figure 2.2 Archaeological Sites in West Sumatra and Jambi Source: Drawn by Goh Geok Yian. Reproduce with permission.

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One of the subsidiary temples in the Sungai Langsat complex has a staircase and entrance which had been added after the first stage of construction. This may be the structure alluded to in Ādityavarman’s inscription of 1347. Padang Candi/Rambahan constituted a significant and long-lasting centre of human activity. Other archaeological sites in this stretch of river include Siguntur, Pulau Sawah (where archaeologists have located nine mounds which probably represent ancient ceremonial structures) and Bukik Awang Maombiak, where brick ruins and a stone makara, a typical decoration for the entrance to a temple in Sumatra in the eleventh to thirteenth centuries, was found. From Padang Roco, Ādityavarman transferred his ceremonial centre 120 kilometres north, to Tanah Datar (“Flat Land”), still within the catch­ment area of the Straits of Melaka, but much closer to the Indian Ocean (300 kilometres vs. 50 kilometres). Some (Dobbin 1983, p. 61; Meulen 1974, pp. 12–13) have speculated that Indian traders preferred the west coast to the Melaka Straits at this period. Dutch historians (Krom 1923, pp. 422–23; Krom 1931, pp. 83, 303; Westenenk 1916, pp. 241–42) believed that south Indians even established an enclave at the village of Pariangan, a name which literally means “place of the ancestors”. The Rambatan inscription, located in the Nagari Empat Suku Kapalo Koto, 6 kilometres west of the modern town of Tanah Datar, or 15 kilometres from Ādityavarman’s capital. The inscription bears six lines of Ādityavarman-type script and is dated 1369 by a chronogram candra dvāra bhuja ratu (1921, which according to convention was meant to be read in reverse, yielding the date 1291 in the Śaka era). Not all of the inscription can be read, but the legible portion describes Ādityavarman as the “lord of men, striving after the people’s prosperity” (Casparis 1997a). De Casparis thought it referred to the arrival of a Dipankara and the construction of a platform (probably for a statue). According to another reading, however, the object of adoration is actually a set of Buddha footprints which many people come to worship (Budi Istiawan 2006, pp. 37–38). No archaeological excavation was conducted at fourteenth-century sites in the Tanah Datar region until 2010. Before that time, inscriptions were the only source of data with which to reconstruct the atmosphere of the court during Ādityavarman’s reign there. The first excavations in the area were conducted at Bukit Gombak, which was believed to have been the site of Ādityavarman’s palace, based on circumstantial evidence. Research succeeded in discovering several sites on this hill, which yielded Chinese, Vietnamese, and Thai ceramics from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.

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The finds confirm that the site was occupied by people of elite social status during this period (Tjoa-Bonatz 2013). What then do the archaeological and historical data tell us about the Tanjung Tanah manuscript TK 214? From general principles, we may make several deductions. It seems likely that the manuscript was written around the time of Ādityavarman’s reign. It may well have been written during that precise period between about 1347 and 1374. It may have been written in or for Kerinci, but it is possible that the laws in it were meant to apply to a wider area. The legal code described in the manuscript may have been compiled by Ādityavarman’s court, and disseminated throughout his kingdom. It seems likely that Kerinci would have been an area of interest to the court of Saruaso. Other copies, more or less identical, may have been sent to other parts of the kingdom. We may therefore be able to use the manuscript to study aspects of Ādityavarman’s kingdom in general. The situations and conditions described or implied in the legal code may not have been unique to Kerinci; in fact, not all these types of cases may even have existed in Kerinci. The manuscript may therefore give us a window into the society of the kingdom as a whole. The text contains a reference to Kuja Ali, who may have been a minister (dipati ) in an audience hall in “the land of Palimbang” where he was in the presence of the Paduka Sri Maharaja Drammasraya (pages 29–30 of the manuscript). The word khoja in the sixteenth century referred to Muslims from southwest Asia. This reference suggests that foreign Muslims were present in the polity of which Kerinci formed a part. Where was “the land of Palimbang (bumi palimbang)? The name Palimbang was perhaps here used to refer to an area wider than a single settlement; see further Kozok (p. 95). The origin of the paper (daluang) used for this manuscript is another clue worthy of comment. This may be the first known example of this type of writing medium found in Sumatra, but it is known to have been commonly used in ancient Java; this raises the distinct possibility that the paper was brought from Java while still in a blank state. We do not know whether Javanese paper was much used in ancient Sumatra, but it is also possible that it was brought in by Ādityavarman when he moved to Dharmasraya from Majapahit. If this is the case, it would be more likely to date from earlier than later part of his reign. The reference in the manuscript to Dharmasraya suggests that the capital of the polity to

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which Kerinci probably belonged at the time when this manuscript was written still lay in the upper Batang Hari, rather than further north in the Tanah Datar area, evidence which also points to a date in the first half of the fourteenth century rather than later. Further inferences can be drawn from the nature of crimes described. Crimes include falsification of weights, theft of goats, pigs, dogs, chickens, cloth, rice, sugar cane, pots, taro, eggs (punishment for which includes the possibility of having one’s face rubbed with chicken dung), alcoholic palm wine, fishing nets, tin, the contents of a trap, iron; borrowing someone’s boat (biduk) and not returning it; burning someone’s garden shed; making uncorroborated accusations; disobedience to authority; fighting and killing; repayment of debts; and sexual offences. The text implies the existence of at least four social levels: slaves, commoners, officials, and royalty. These characteristics seem to fit a society with a fairly complex social structure but a relatively rural lifestyle. There is no mention of specialized occupations. The legal code therefore may have been compiled at a court, but designed specifically for the needs of an agrarian society.

Notes

1



2

The site where dozens of archaeological remains were scattered around was known by the locals as Padang Roco (Sculpture Field). Padang Roco is located in the village of Sungai Langsat in the residency of Dharmasraya. The two Saruaso inscriptions are also often referred to as “Suruaso I” and “Suruaso II” (Hasan Djafar 1992; Machi Suhadi 1990). We follow the current spelling of the name of this village in the Tanah Datar Regency, West Sumatra.

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3 Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214 Uli Kozok with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

Discovery In his function as taalambtenaar (language official) for Sumatra, the Dutch scholar, Petrus Voorhoeve, visited the Sumatran regency of Kerinci in April, and again in July 1941 to survey the Kerinci documents held by the people as sacred heirlooms in private collections. During the first visit, he made a list of 183 items — published only in 1970 — and during the second visit, he copied and transliterated a large amount of manuscripts while others were photographed to be transliterated later. The primary school teacher Abdul Hamid from the school Kota Payang 1 accompanied Voorhoeve to Kabanjahe where he helped to complete and type the transliterations. In the middle of August 1941, he returned to Kerinci, taking with him the new list, which now comprised 252 items, and completed transliterations of about half the texts. By the time Voorhoeve was called up for military service on 8 December 1941, he had completed nearly all transliterations. His secretary made six copies, two of which were sent to Kerinci, one for the Controleur’s office in Kerinci, and one for the owners of the manuscripts. “I do not know whether these copies ever reached their destination before the Japanese invasion; those sent to Batavia certainly did not arrive there. Not a single of the transliterations was found after the war”, he wrote in 50

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an article entitled “Kerintji Documents” (Voorhoeve 1970, p. 371). A small number of photographs and a few copies made by hand are all that survived; these are now kept in the library of the KITLV in Leiden. Five years after Voorhoeve wrote his “Kerintji Documents”, the British anthropologist C.W. Watson conducted fieldwork in Kerinci. Armed with Voorhoeve’s list of 183 items, he went to a number of villages and tried to persuade the clan or lineage heads to let him see the documents. As a result he was able to transliterate a number of manuscripts with the assistance of Iskandar Zakariah — the same person who now, more than thirty years later, assists me in documenting the sacred heirloom of the people of Kerinci.1 In his article “Historical Documents from Sungai Tutung”, Watson wrote: During my few weeks in Kerinci I had heard a number of reports and stories which led me to think that perhaps one of the copies of Dr Voorhoeve’s transcriptions […] might in fact have reached its destination. I made numerous enquiries and my belief grew stronger that this indeed was the case. Unfortunately all the people who knew of the existence of the document said that it was subsequently lost and all my efforts seemed doomed to frustration. However, three days before I was due to leave Kerinci a copy of Dr Voorhoeve’s transcriptions was casually presented to me while I was having breakfast (Watson 1976, p. 40).2

While documenting the Kerinci documents in 1941, Voorhoeve encoun­tered a manuscript in the village of Tanjung Tanah that was exceptional in that it was not, as with most of the other manuscripts, written on paper or buffalo horn, but on a kind of paper manufactured from the bark of the Paper Mulberry tree, which was a common writing media in Java but hitherto unattested for Sumatra. Thirty years after having seen the manuscript in Kerinci, Voorhoeve briefly described the manuscript, relying on memory and a few notes that survived the war, as a small booklet, written on deluwang, sewn at the back with thread. Two pages of rèntjong writing, the other pages Old Javanese writing. […] The text is a Malay version of the books of laws Sarasamucchaya […] As far as I remember most of the text consists of lists of fines. One thing I recollect quite clearly is that the name Dharmasraya is mentioned in the text. This is the place where in Saka 1208 (A.D. 1286) a statue of Amoghapasa, sent to its king by his Javanese suzerain, was erected (Voorhoeve 1970, p. 385).

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Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

He calls the manuscript “clearly pre-Islamic” (ibid., p. 389), but does not speculate further about its age. He did, however, contact Dr Raden Mas Ngabehi Poerbatjaraka, curator for Javanese manuscripts, at the Museum Gadjah, which now has become the National Museum of the Republic of Indonesia, with the request to transliterate, and, if possible, date the manuscript on palaeographic grounds. When I visited Tanjung Tanah in 2002, together with Sutan Kari and Amir Gusti, we met Sofyan Ibrahim who at that time was appointed as the caretaker of the pusaka of his wife’s clan. Mr Sofyan was so kind to grant me ad hoc permission to see the manuscript and to take some photographs. After having seen the manuscript myself and after having studied the transliteration in Voorhoeve’s Tambo Kerintji (1941), I came to the conclusion that the manuscript most likely dates back to the time when Dharmasraya existed as a polity, which, according to historical sources, was limited to the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. In 2003, I returned to Tanjung Tanah to ask Sofyan Ibrahim for permission to take a sample of the manuscript for radiocarbon dating purposes.

Dating the manuscript To prove the correctness of Voorhoeve’s assumption that the manuscript indeed predates the coming of Islam into this part of the Malay world, a sample of the bark paper taken from a blank page was radiocarbon dated. The owners of the manuscript were so kind to grant me permission to take a small sample for accelerator mass spectrometry (AMS) radiocarbon dating, which was conducted at the Rafter Radiocarbon Laboratory in Wellington, New Zealand. AMS, first introduced in 1977, has major advantages compared to the standard radiometric method as it allows highly reduced sample sizes. The sample of the Tanjung Tanah manuscript TK 214, taken from one of the empty pages, yielded a radiocarbon age of 553 ± 40 years before present (BP), which is the standard way to represent C-14 ages where, for the sake of convenience, the year 1950 is used as the “present”.3 This conventional C-14 age of 553 ± 40 does not, however, correspond to the actual calendar age because the currently accepted half life value of radiocarbon is 5,730 years and not the original measured value of 5,568 years, and also because the ratio of radiocarbon in the atmosphere has varied by a few per cent naturally over time. The actual calendar age of the sample was determined by calibrating the conventional age using the

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214

Table 3.1 Accelerator Mass Spectrometry Result Sample Sample ID Submitter Laboratory Code Date measured δ13C Radiocarbon Date δ14C Δ14C Per cent modern

R 28352 Kerinci01 Uli Kozok NZA 18645 18-Nov-03 –24.5‰ 553 ± 40 BP –71.6 ± 4.7‰ –72.5 ± 4.7‰ 92.75 ± 0.47

calibration dataset INTCAL98 (Stuiver et al. 1998). The sample of the TK 214 lead to two different solutions for its calendar age: with a probability of 95.4 per cent the TK 214 dates either between 1304 and 1370 AD (44.3 per cent of area), or 1380 and 1436 AD (51.7 per cent of area). Percentiles in brackets indicate the probability distributions, i.e. the most likely age range of the sample within the overall age range. There is a slightly higher probability for the later end of the range although the percentiles of the probability distributions for the two ranges are so similar that they are virtually insignificant. CALIBRATED AGE in terms of confidence intervals (Smoothing parameter: 1, Offset: 0) 2 sigma interval is plus 1 sigma interval is plus

1304 AD 1380 AD 1329 AD 1395 AD

to to to to

1370 AD 1436 AD 1346 AD 1422 AD

646 570 621 555

BP BP BP BP

to to to to

580 514 604 528

BP BP BP BP

(44.3% (51.7% (18.9% (36.7%

of of of of

area) area) area) area)

The radiocarbon data hence indicate that the manuscript was most likely produced during the fourteenth century, but an early fifteenth century date is also possible (see pp. 294–96 for dating information contained within the manuscript). It thus predates the hitherto known oldest extant manuscripts published by Blagden (1930, pp. 87–100), two letters in Jawi script from Sultan Abu Hayat of Ternate to the King of Portugal bearing the dates 1521 and 1522, by more than one century.

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Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

Figure 3.1 Radiocarbon Calibration Report

54

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214

55

In 1988 Muhammad Naguib Al-Attas claimed to have encountered what he called “the oldest extant Malay manuscript”, which, however, only dates to 1590 AD. In the chapter “Previous accounts of some of the oldest Malay manuscripts”, he gives a comprehensive account of previous known oldest manuscripts without making any reference to the two letters from the Sultan of Ternate in that chapter or anywhere else in his book (Muhammad Naguib Al-Attas 1988). TK 214 is not only the oldest extant Malay manuscript, but also the only Malay manuscript written in a pre-Islamic script. The manuscript hence provides firm evidence that a written literary tradition in Malay existed before the profound impact of Islam in Southeast Asian maritime societies. Islam brought the Malays a new script, the Arab-Malay Jawi script, and paper became the most prominent, and almost exclusive writing medium. It was after the establishment of Melaka, which became the successor of the great Malay states of southern Sumatra, when the Islamic influenced writing tradition of the Malay began to flourish. Inspired by the great Islamic manuscript culture, the Malays developed their own distinct manuscript tradition, which continued for centuries before the chirographic tradition transitioned to the printing press. At the beginning of the seventeenth century, the Malay culture was dominant in Southeast Asia, and the Malay language also became associated with Christianity after Malay had been chosen as the language of the mission with the arrival of the Europeans in the archipelago. The Europeans used Malay as the language of communication and administration not only in the Malay homelands, Sumatra, the Malay Peninsula, and Borneo, but also in Java, Bali, and in eastern Indonesia. This language, which has become the national language of Brunei Darussalam, Indonesia, Malaysia, and Singapore, and is now spoken by approximately 250 million people, is also one of the oldest known languages in Island Southeast Asia. The stone inscriptions of the Buddhist kingdom of Srivijaya testify that an ancient form of Malay already existed by the seventh century, but little is known about the development of the Malay language in Srivijayan times and thereafter due to the scarcity of later inscriptions, and the relatively late occurrence of Malay manuscripts. This had led some scholars to believe that there was no tradition in the Malay world of writing on palm leaf or similar materials before the arrival of Islam (Jones 1986, p. 139). This theory — already proposed by Friedrich (1854, pp. 470–79) and again, more recently,

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Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

by Abdul Rahman Abdullah (2000, p. 405) — is, of course, meaningful only if one accepts the premise that the Malay language manuscripts in the indigenous surat ulu scripts of southern Sumatra (Kerinci, Bengkulu, Pasemah, Ogan, Komering, Serawai, and Lampung) do not constitute Malay writing. These people in the highlands of central and southern Sumatra (Kerinci, Bengkulu, Pasemah, Ogan, Komering, Serawai, and Lampung) used the Malay language almost exclusively to write their “literature”, mainly consisting of genealogies, love poems, and texts of religious connotation. Many of the religious texts show significant influence of Islam, but often they are not considered as Islamic writing considering the strong influence of pre-Islamic beliefs. Furthermore, the people of central-southern Sumatra mainly used their own script — variants of the surat ulu scripts — and not the mainstream Arabic-Malay Jawi script, which by the sixteenth century has become the standard script of the Malay people. Nevertheless, given that the people of central and southern Sumatra possessed their own writing system, and wrote almost exclusively in the Malay language, there is no good reason not to consider the writings of these people as a branch of the Malay manuscript tradition. Other scholars have challenged the theory that there was no preIslamic Malay manuscript tradition. A. Teeuw, for instance, brought to our attention that “particularities [in the Jawi script] can only be explained as a continuation of a similar spelling in Indian writing” (Teeuw 1959, p. 152).4 The Jawi script was therefore not merely borrowed from the Persian-Arabic script, but underwent a process of adaptation. For the Malay scribes Jawi was not the first alphabet that they mastered, which is also confirmed by Ulrich Kratz: “One can assume that those developing the Jawi script for use with Malay had been familiar with the Pallava script and some of its South-East Asian variants” (Kratz 2002, p. 23). TK 214 corroborates the assumptions of Teeuw and Kratz, and also of de Casparis (1975, p. 73) who argued for continuity in the history of writing in the Malay world from the Hindu-Buddhist to the Islamic era. It is indeed difficult to accept the supposition that the Malays never developed a pre-Islamic manuscript tradition or lost it in the course of history. The maritime empires Srivijaya and Malayu were strategically located on the strait of Melaka, enabling them to control the trade between India and China for many centuries. It is difficult to imagine that these

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coastal trading states did not possess a manuscript tradition in Indic scripts prior to the arrival of Islam, but until recently there was no evidence to support the theory of a pre-Islamic manuscript tradition in the Malay world. With the discovery of the Tanjung Tanah manuscript (TK 214), we have now for the first time definite evidence that the Malay already possessed a manuscript tradition that goes back to at least the fourteenth century, and there is nothing that keeps us from assuming that the Malay already wrote on palm leaves, bark, bark paper, bamboo or similar materials from at least the seventh century onwards. The discovery of the fourteenth-century manuscript is hence an important milestone in the reconstruction of literacy in the Malay world.

TITLE OF THE DOCUMENT Voorhoeve (1970, p. 384) was the first to identify the Tanjung Tanah manuscript TK 214 as “a Malay version of the book of laws Sārasamuccaya”. The Javanese and Balinese sārasamuccaya texts (Vira 1962; Pudja 1979) are, however, not codes of law but rather moral treatises. By adding nīti (polity) to the title, Kuja Ali, the author of the Tanjung Tanah manuscript, distinguishes his work from these “compendiums of high ideals” (Vira 1962) and marks it as a book of law. Griffith (2010, p. 34) observes that “the title is preserved in rather corrupt form, as Nitrisatrasamukṣaya, which must most likely be restored as Nītisārasamuccaya ‘Compendium of the Essence of Policy’”. He further postulates that “the text should be republished under this and no other title.” Nītisāra can be translated as “essence of policy” or “essence of governance” and samuccaya as “compendium” or “codex”. Nītisārasamuccaya can hence be translated as “codex on which governance is based” or simply “code of law” (Uwe Groth, personal communication, 2 September 2014), which aptly describes the nature of the book and which was also used in the title Kitab Undang-Undang Tanjung Tanah (The Tanjung Tanah Code of Law) of an earlier publication (Kozok 2006). Griffith finds the title “inappropriate” as it suggests “a connection with Malay works bearing similar titles, all transmitted in Jawi script and standing under clear Islamic influence”. Griffith’s reservation seems to be mainly directed towards the use of the term kitab. The Arabic loanword kitab is in

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Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

contemporary Indonesian exclusively used for holy books of all religions and for legal codes, regardless of their provenance. The word kitab is commonly used in the titles of editions of pre-Islamic legal codes and does not imply Islamic influence.

Physical Properties of the manuscript It has commonly been assumed that the introduction of the codex form in Indonesia is linked to the coming of Islam to this part of the world, and M. Plomp (1993, p. 586) has suggested that Indonesian bookbinding has received its strongest influences from Persia. Even though the Tanjung Tanah manuscript is pre-Islamic, it was composed at a time when a number of coastal kingdoms of Sumatra had long converted to Islam. Furthermore, as has been convincingly demonstrated by Waruno Mahdi and by Thomas Hunter in Chapters 4 and 6 of this book, the title Khoja, used by the scribe of TK 214, originates from Persian, and was in Malay literature practically restricted to translations from Persian. Because of the presence of this Persian affinity in TK 214, it is indeed possible that the codex form was a Persian introduction although one should not hastily exclude the possibility that codexes were already present in the Indonesian-Malay archipelago well before the arrival of Islam.

Binding A manuscript book is made up of a number of folios or leaves, each yielding two pages of writing (with the first page termed the recto, and the second page the verso, of the folio). Each folio normally represents half of a bifolio, a sheet of paper which has been folded over to give two folios of equal size. Stacks of bifolios are grouped together to form a section of a book called a quire: thus ten bifolios will make a quire of twenty folios, with forty pages. Many books are made up of a series of quires which are then sewn together. The Tanjung Tanah manuscript, however, consists of only one quire made up of ten bifolios. These bifolios were stacked together and then folded in half, with six holes down the centre fold enabling the book to be sewn together, using a thread which was probably made of cotton. The Tanjung Tanah manuscript would thus originally have had 20 folios, but it currently has only 19 folios, as one

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59

folio has been torn and lost. The book does not currently have, and most likely never had, an outer binding. Each folio measures 13 × 20 cm and contains seven, or occasionally eight, lines of text. When Poerbatjaraka transliterated the text on the request of P. Voorhoeve, he numbered the pages of the main text (the legal code) from 2 to 32, and the second text (in Kerinci script) was given the page numbers 33 and 34. We have used the page numbering as was used in the Tambo Kerintji throughout this book. It must be emphasized though, that the original codex does not contain any page numbering, and that in the Tambo Kerintji only those pages that actually contain text were numbered. Voorhoeve’s page numbering is correct, at least as far as the main text is concerned. As the book consists of ten bifolios, the lowest bifolio consists of two folios, one to the left, and the other to the right of the fold. The underside of the left folio is page 1, the upper side of the left folio is page 2, the underside of the right folio is page 40, and the upper side of Figure 3.2 Pages 21 and 22 showing the Binding Threads

Source: Photo taken by Uli Kozok.

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the right folio is page 39. The top bifolio of the stack is the middle page of the stack where the binding threads are visible (see Figure 3.2). The left folio of the top bifolio contains pages 19 and 20, and the right folio contains pages 21 and 22. Pages 39 and 40, the pages of the right folio of the lowest bifolio and hence the last two pages of the book, have disappeared. The left folio of the lowest bifolio, the first two pages of the book, still do exist, but have become separated from the book. Page 1 is blank whereas page 2 contains, as mentioned, the beginning of the main text, which ends in the middle of page 32. Page 33 does not contain any text at all. There are, however, some traces of ink, mirror images of some characters from page 32 that probably occurred when the book was damp (the manuscript shows water damages and was probably exposed to dampness more than once in its lifespan of 700 years). Page 34 is completely blank. Page 35 contains two lines of some sort of script or symbols. The lower line may well be the beginning of the “text” but as these signs are indecipherable, we do not even know what is considered top and what is bottom. Some of the symbols remind us vaguely of letters from the pre-Islamic kawi script while others show a vague resemblance to Arabic letters. Is it possible that this was an attempt by someone with a knowledge of the Arabic script to imitate the kawi script? Page 36 is the opposite side of the folio which also contains page 35. This page is completely blank. Currently it appears as if this is the final page of the book, but the ink imprints on page 36 clearly match the text on page 37 proving that these are without doubt successive pages. Page 37 contains the first page of the Kerinci text (numbered as page 33 by Voorhoeve who apparently skipped the preceding empty pages in numbering the text). The opposite side of this folio is page 38 (Voorhoeve’s page 34) containing the second page of the Kerinci text. Pages 39 and 40 are, as mentioned above, missing.

Material An analysis undertaken by the Tokyo Restoration & Conservation Center in October 2004 verified Voorhoeve’s assumption that the manuscript was written on a kind of paper made from the Paper Mulberry tree

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(Broussonetia papyrifera), known as daluang (also spelled dluwang). This tree is native to China and Japan where the inner bark has been used in making paper, but in prehistoric times, Paper Mulberry had already spread widely over the tropical regions of Asia, Africa, America, and Oceania. Paper Mulberry is a medium large, fast growing tree, reaching heights between 7 and 15 metres. It is very flexible in its growth requirements, and although it grows best in moist, but well-drained areas and in rich soils, it has a wide ecological tolerance with respect to the climate (temperate to tropical), soil range (mostly sand to some clay), pH range (5.5 to 9), and water range (wet to dry), and can survive prolonged droughts. In pre-modern times, Paper Mulberry was used in many parts of the world to manufacture cloth. In 1646, a Dutch travel journal mentions that Javanese wear clothes made of “white paper made from tree bark” (Teygeler 1995b, p. 5). Bark cloth were also produced by some ethnic groups of Kalimantan and Sulawesi. While no longer being used for garments, paper made of Paper Mulberry continued to be used in Java until the nineteenth century. Daluang paper was a welcome substitute in times of paper shortage, which occurred frequently during the reign of the Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie (Dutch East India Company), but it was also used on a daily basis as a cheap wrapping paper. In the twentieth century, the production of bark cloth revived for a short moment at a time of despair during the Japanese occupation when trade cloth became unavailable (Teygeler 1995b, p. 8). The Javanese and Sundanese were, to our knowledge, the only people in Indonesia that used Paper Mulberry as a writing material. In four different collections of Javanese manuscripts, Teygeler found that between 1.8 and 12.7 per cent of all manuscripts were written on daluang. According to Teygeler, Paper Mulberry manuscripts became popular with the arrival of Islam: The oldest known manuscript on dluwang is a Javanese Islamic text from the end of the 16th century, the so-called ‘Boek van Bonang’. The first Javanese Islamic works in the 16th century were written on palm-leaf. Soon the scriptoria were looking for other material as the palm-leaves were unsuitable for the typical Islamic bookform: the codex. Palm-leaf will break easily when folded, besides which the Arabic script

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is not easily engraved on the leaves. As all paper had to be imported, and thus was extremely expensive, the scribes had to resort to other material (Teygeler 1995a).

However, Teygeler also reported that daluang was already mentioned in the tenth-century epic work Ramayana, and again on several inscriptions from the twelfth-century Singasari kingdom. In many cases the reference to daluang referred certainly to bark cloth, but it could be ruled out that early Javanese manuscripts were not only written on the leaves of the lontar palm but also on daluang. The Tokyo Restoration & Conservation Center examined the electronmicroscopical qualities of the manuscript and came to the conclusion that compared to later daluang manuscripts, the material of TK 214 is of relative low quality. According to Teygeler, the East Javanese distinguished three different qualities of daluang: The finest quality is used for the better manuscripts and letter writing; the medium quality for writing paper, simple books, account books, wayang beber and bookbinding material; the rough quality for wrapping paper, kites, wrappers and folders. For the best quality the youngest branches are selected. The bast will be fermented for as long as two weeks and finally both sides of the beaten bast are sanded with different leaves and polished extensively with a cowrie shell. For the medium sort the fermentation time is much shorter and only one side is sanded and polished. The other side is already more or less smooth because it has been pressed on a banana trunk to dry. The rough quality does not need much attention, the bast is not fermented and polished at all and usually it is ready within less than half an hour. (Teygeler 1995a).

The production process of daluang bark paper is not much different from that of producing bark cloth, but it is more refined and elaborate. Usually only young trees with a height of about 6 metres (m) and a diameter of 20 centimetres (cm) are chosen. A tree of that size is typically about two years old. Younger or older trees are deemed unsuitable for high quality paper. After the tree has been felled the bark is removed and cut into pieces that are about 5–6 cm wide. The outer bark is then removed leaving only the inner bark or bast — the fibres in the phloem of the tree. These strips are then placed on the trunk of a tree and beaten with a trapezoid-shaped

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cast brass tool measuring 10 × 4 cm which has a grooved bottom. The beaten strips, now double in width, are then soaked in water for about 30 minutes, and then wrung and beaten again until they reach a width of about 50 cm. These strips are then dried in the sun, soaked in water again and then wrapped in banana leaves for five days to ferment. After that they are laid flat on a board, pressed first with a rough, then with a fine coconut shell, and finally with dry Jackfruit leaves before being transferred to a banana trunk to dry in the sun. Rough edges in the surface are then taken out by smoothing the surface with a sea shell (Teygeler 1995a; Tedi Permadi 2003). The Tokyo Restoration & Conservation Center compared the fibre structure of the manuscript with that of cloth made from the bast (the inner bark) of the breadfruit tree originating from Bondosowo in Java and with a sample of Ficus Benjamina bast cloth from Toraja (Sulawesi). The fibre structure clearly revealed that the manuscript is indeed made of the bast of the Paper Mulberry tree. Once the bast has been fermented, beaten, and cut to the right size, the writing surface is further prepared by applying a thin layer of rice starch to create a smoother surface, and also as a dispersing agent for the ink which is applied to the paper by means of a pen made of the ribs of the sugar palm leaves. The examination by the Tokyo Restoration & Conservation Center revealed that in the case of TK 214 no starch was used, and that the fibres still contained pectin and hemicellulose. Hemicelluloses are embedded in the cell walls of plants and bind with pectin to cellulose to form a network of cross-linked fibres. As hemicelluloses are easily hydrolyzed in any chemical process such as fermentation, the existence of pectin and hemicelluloses indicates that the production process of the daluang paper of the manuscript was probably limited to mechanical treatment only, and did not undergo the usual process of fermentation. Compared to other daluang manuscripts, TK 214 also has a slightly rough surface — another indication that the production process was relative simple. As TK 214 is the only Sumatran manuscript written on daluang, it can be assumed that the material was imported from Java. On the other hand, if Javanese daluang manuscripts are known to have been produced using superior material, then this may be indicative of a local Sumatran provenance. Then again, as it is problematic to compare seventeenth-century manuscripts

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with one of the fourteenth century, the question of the provenance must remain unresolved. Considering that Ādityavarman spent some time of his life in Majapahit where he held the position of a mantrı̄ prauḍhataro, it cannot be ruled out that he introduced daluang to Sumatra. As mentioned earlier on pp. 9–15, there is a strong correspondence between script, text and writing medium and it may well have been the case that manuscripts using Kawi script and daluang as writing medium were exclusively used by the court whereas the common people used variants of the indigenous ulu script to compose their love poetry, genealogies, and piagam-s. The introduction of daluang may have been as short-lived as the East Javanese experiment in the Minangkabau highlands, and the return to traditional writing media may have coincided with the return to a less hierarchically organized society.

Transliteration and normalized transcription This is a revised and re-edited transliteration by Waruno Mahdi, following elaborate preliminary work by Hasan Djafar and Ninie Susanti Y., and benefiting from numerous contributions and suggestions by Achadiati Ikram, I. Kuntara Wiryamartana, Thomas Hunter, Uli Kozok, Arlo Griffiths, and others. The column headers indicate: P/L

— manuscript page number (highlighted) / line number (small, not highlighted); Diplomatic transliteration — a line-for-line rendering of the Later Pallavo-Nusantaric script text with Latinscript and some additional phonetic symbols, with distinct singular render­­ ing of each individual element of the original; Normalized transcription — a normalized transcription that proposes a straight forward Latin script rendering of each manuscript page, that reflects particular features of the phonology and morphophonology, so too of the punctuation.

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The diplomatic transliteration employs the following markations and conventions: ° — precedes a vowel that is spelled as syllable-initial vowel-aks.ara; : — stands for Jav. danda (normally indicates lengthening of the default vowel a, but it occurs in the manuscript “unorthodoxically” after other vowels as well); ~ — stands for Jav. cecak, indicates syllable-final velar nasal (corresponds to Skt. anusvāra that indicates nasalized articulation of the preceding vowel); ¬ — stands for Jav. patèn, or Skt. virāma (suppresses the default vowel); ḥ — stands for Jav. wignyan, indicates syllable-final h (corresponds to Skt. visarga); r. — stands for Jav. keret, indicates -re- in Old Javanese; the precursor feature spelled a syllabic rhotic in Sanskrit, -ri- in Hindi, and -er- in Old Malay; ŋx — a preconsonantal superscript ŋ transliterates the superimposed simplified ŋa in ŋ-ligatures; rx — a preconsonantal superscript r transliterates the superimposed simplified ra in r-ligatures; xr — a postconsonantal superscript r transliterates a Jav. cakra (inserts -r- between the aks.ara-consonant and the following vowel in Old Javanese); xy — a postconsonantal superscript y transliterates a Jav. pèngkal (inserts -y- between the aks.ara-consonant and the following vowel in Old Javanese); xx — a postconsonantal subscript consonant (e.g. x) transliterates the simplified second aks.ara (below or behind the first) in a ligature (Jav. pasangan). The range of five simple punctuation marks used in the manuscript (of which the first and fifth resemble Jav. pada-lungsi and padabab respectively) will be distinctively transliterated as comma (,), semicolon (;), mid-dot (·), slash (/), and double slash (//), while some combinations of the latter with other symbols (e.g. // · // and // ∞ // · // etc.) will be used to match correspondingly complex punctuation mark groups in the original (appearing to represent more significant textual demarcations, apparently with similar function as Jav. purwa-, madya-, and wasana-pada).

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A sublinear textual insertion xxx will be indicated as /xxx\; a supralinear one as \xxx/. A feature, appearing to be a scribal error, that was scratched out by the scribe himself, will be indicated with one or more hashes (# … #####); an unidentifiable character, often appearing likewise to be a scribal error, will also be indicated with a hash (#). In the normalized transliteration, the following conventions will be used: – only characters of the Latin-script Malay and Indonesian standard spelling are used, so that ŋ and ñ are replaced by ng and ny respectively; – it is assumed that all consonant clusters of the spelling, that do not begin with a nasal, or involve an s, or end in the k of the suffix -kan, were read with an intervening (anaptytic) schwa (e), except post-consonantal y and w that were read as i and u respectively; – an a before a geminated consonant not before the prefix -an or -i is rendered as schwa; – an .r is rendered pragmatically as either er[e] or eri, based on comparativistic considerations; – a post-consonantal r of the diplomatic transliteration, spelled by a cakra, will be rendered pragmatically as either -era- or -are-. P/

L Diplomatic Transliteration

Normalized Transcription

2/

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

[au#] [bé?] #### [swasti] śri [śa]ka #### [tita] ### ma:sa wèsa:ka //··// ##### # ## °u //··// j yasta: ma:sa titi kr.snapaksa //··// di wasè…n.¬ pduka sri ma:ha:raja karta##bèssa sri gandawa~śa mradana , ma:ga#pra sè[n.a] … kartabès¬sa …..

[Aum] [bé?] […] suasti seri saka-[war-sa]tita […] masa wèsaka5 ·· […] [om6]. Jiasta7 masa titi keresnapaksa. Di wasè[ba]n peduka seri maharaja Kareta-bèssa seri Gandawangsa Maredana, ma-ga[t] perasèna … Karetabèssa …..

3/

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

°anugraha: °atña sa~ [h]ya kammatta8 n¬ pda ma:ndalika: di bumi kurinci silu:ñjur¬ kurinci: ma:ka ma: ## ha: sèn.apa:ti prapatih. sama[h. re|ga]9 tprabala~ bala~ŋan. ¬ di sa:pra[kara] dis#i da~ŋa##dèsa: ha:llat¬ ma: hallatdi dèsa pradèsa ba: nwa saha:ya , ja:ŋantida °i[da]

Anugeraha atnya sang hya[ng] Kemmat-tan10 peda mandalika di bumi Kurinci si-lunjur Kurinci maka mahasènapati pera-patih sama[ga]t parebalang-balangngan di sa-pera[kara] disi dengnga[n] dèsa hellat-mahellat di dèsa peradèsa be[n]nua11 saha-ya, jangan tida ida

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214 P/

L Diplomatic Transliteration

4/

1 2 3 4 5 6 7

5/

1 2 3 4 5 6

6/

7/

Normalized Transcription

pda dipatiña ya~ su ra~ su ra~ ####12 bara~ tida °ida pda dipati , dwa ta: hil¬ sapaha: dandaña // sada~ pa~huluña baha:wumman¬ tyada ya ma:nurunni , tyada ya ma:nu/ru\n.i pa:ha:wumman¬ , ma:ŋada rakah. ka lahi: , didanda sata:hi:l¬ sa:[pa]

peda dipati-nya yang s[a]urang s[a]-urang […] Barang tida ida peda dipati, dua tahil sa-paha danda-nya. Sadang panghulu-nya bahawumman tiada ia manurunni, tiada ia manurun[n]i pahawumman, mangada rakah kalahi, didanda sa-tahil sa-pa-

ha: // jaka balawannan.ka:dwa sama: kadanda ka:dwa // punara:pi jaka ma ŋannakan. judi ja:hi: , ya~ °adu m¬#13 ## danda satahilsa:paha: ya~ ba judi kadanda satahi:lsa:paha:: su ra~ sura~ , gaggah. rabuttirampassi ma: 7 la:wan¬ ma:ŋunuskarris¬ #### tu 8 mbakbunu:h. / ma:ti balaña [da:] ka

-ha. Jaka balawannan kadua sama kadanda kadua. Punarapi jaka mangennakan judi jahi, yang adu m[aka] danda sa-tahil sa-paha, yang bajudi kadanda sa-tahil sa-paha s[a]-urang s[a]-urang, geggah rabutti rampassi ma-lawan mangunus kerris […] tumbak bunuh; mati bala-nya […]

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

da dusunnura~ dunu~ŋan¬ [b]rati mali~ mañamun¬ , dya~ka/tka\n.nura~ mana:gih. marusak¬ ruman.# °u ra~ mali~ rusuh. ca~ŋkal¬ °itu pa[ŋ] banwakan.¬ , sa~ŋgabumikan¬ bunah. °ana[kña]14 tr.ñata panji~ ka dalam¬ saparu lawandipati , ya~ dunu~ŋanña didanda dwa tahi:lsa:paha: // · // pu

[…] dusun-n-urang dunungngan [b]erati maling manyamun, diangkatkan-n-urang managih marusak rumah urang maling rusuh cengngkal itu pab[e]nuakan,15 sengnggabumikan bun[u]h anak-nya terenyata panjing ka dalam saparu lawan dipati, yang dunungngan-nya didanda dua tahil sa-paha. Pu-

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

narapi jaka °ura~ ma:magat¬ pa°u cap¬ wura~ dipirak¬ña °ulih. °ura~ °ura~ ya~ mamagat¬ , didanda satahi l¬ pa:ha: // · // punarapi bara~ maŋu bah. sukattan¬ ganta~ cupak¬ , ka: tiyan. ¬ , kundr. buŋka/l¬\piha:yu didanda satahil¬ sa ha: // bara~ ma:nuŋgu °ura~ tida ta °amit¬

-narapi jaka urang mamagat pa’ucap urang16 dipirak-nya ulih urang urang yang mamagat, didanda sa-tahil [sa-]17paha. Punarapi barang mangubah sukattan gantang cupak, katian, kund[i]r bungkal pihayu didanda sa-tahil sa-[pa]ha.18 Barang manunggu urang tida ta’amit

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P/

L Diplomatic Transliteration

Normalized Transcription

8/

# pda pa~huluña °ura~ ya~ di:tu~gu ma~°adakan.¬ ran¬/ñah.\ baribin¬ di danda satahil¬ sapaha: , ya~ ma:ñuruh. pwan¬ samadanda [ña?]##19 ra~ ma:maga~ °ura~ tanda~ bartah. ma:hu: 6 lukanjudi jadi sabu~ ma:li~ , ba 7 ra~ ma:ma:ga~ didanda satahil¬ sa

peda panghulunya urang yang ditunggu mangadakan rennyah baribin didanda sa-tahil sa-paha, yang manyuruh puan sama danda[-nya.] [Ba]rang mamagang urang tandang bartah mahulukan judi jahi20 sabung maling, ba-rang mamagang didanda sa-tahil sa-

9/

1 2 3 4 5 6 7

paha: // · // bara~ °ura~ na:yikka: rumah. °ura~ tida ya barsarru barku wat¬ barsuluh. , bun.uh. sa~ŋga~bu mi:kan.¬ , salah. ta °ulih. ma:mu: nuh. sa~ŋgabumikan¬ °ulih. dipa: ti barampat¬ suku , sa:busu: kma mamunuh. sabus:uktida

paha. Barang urang nayik ka rumah urang tida ia barserru barekuat barsuluh, bunuh sengnggabumikan,21 salah ta’ulih mamunuh sengnggabumikan ulih dipati barampat suku, sabusuk ma-22 mamunuh sabusuk tida

10/ 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

ma:mun.uh. // · // mali~ kambi~ , ma li~ babi danda sapuluh. mas¬ // ma: li~ ## °anji~ lima # mas¬ °anji~ ba saja , mali~ °anji~ ma:wu sapuluh. mas¬ °anji~ dipati pwan¬ sakya n¬ // °anji~ ra:ja sata:hil¬ sapa:ha: // ma: # li~ ha:yam¬ sa:

mamunuh. Maling kambing, maling babi danda sa-puluh mas. Maling anjing lima mas, anjing basaja, maling anjing mawu sapuluh mas[,]23 anjing dipati puan sa-kian. Anjing raja sa-tahil sa-paha. Maling hayam sa-

1 2 3 4 5

haya °ura~ , bagi °aspula~ duwa // ha:yam¬ ban¬nwa sikurpula~ tiga // ha:yamkutra bagi sikurpula~ lima // ha:yamdipati , °ayam¬ °anak¬ cucu dipa:ti bagi si/ku\ pula~ tujuh. // # ha:yam¬ ra:ja ba ## gi sa pula~ dwa 7 kali tujuh. // ha:/ya\m¬ banwa lim¬24

11/ 1 2 3 4 5 6

03 TTCL 8thPrf.indd 68

-haya urang, bagi es[a]25 pulang dua. Hayam bennua s[a]-ikur pulang tiga. Hayam kutera26 bagi s[a]-ikur pulang lima. Hayam dipati, ayam anak cucu dipati bagi s[a]-iku[r] pulang tujuh. Hayam raja bagi [e]sa27 pulang dua kali tu-juh. Hayam be[n]nua lim[a]

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L Diplomatic Transliteration

Normalized Transcription

12/ 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

~ kupa~ , hayam pu\la /manikal¬ // ha:yamgutra ta~ŋah. tig:a mas¬ // ha:yamhnak¬ cucu dipati , ha: yamdipa:ti lima: mas¬ // ha:ya m¬ ra:ja sapuluh. mas¬ // bara~ ma ŋiwat¬ °ura~ , da28 dandaña satahi lsa:paha: , °ura~ pula~ sarupa:ña //

13/ 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

ja:ka °ura~ tanda~ baja:lan.basaja: , bawa minam29 makan¬ la:lukan.¬ // ba ra~ syapa °ura~ mambawa °at¬ña pa: njalak¬ pasuguh.hi ha:ntar tati dusun¬ , pakamitkan¬ °ulih °ura~ pu ña dusun¬ // mali~ tuwak¬ di data sdi bawah. , didanda lima: ma:s¬ //

Jaka urang tandang bajalan basaja, bawa min[u]m makan lalukan. Barang siapa urang mambawa atnya pan-jalak pasuguhhi hantar tati dusun, paka-mitkan ulih urang punya dusun. Maling tuak di datas30 di bawah, didanda lima mas.

14/ 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

ma:li~ bu:bu , bubu ditimbunni #31 pa di sipanuh. ña , jaka tida tarisi #32 lima: masdandaña // bara~ ma:#uba# pañcawida , didanda lima ta:hil¬ sapaha: // bara~ bahila~ °ura~ ma:ta karja ya~ purwa , sa:kati lima danda ña // .. // barbu33 // bara~ syapa: ba

Maling bubu, bubu ditimbunni [..] padi si-panuh-nya, jaka tida tarisi [..] lima mas danda-nya. Barang ma[ng]uba[h] pañcawida, didanda lima tahil sapaha. Barang bahilang urang mata kareja yang purewa, sa-kati lima danda-nya. Barang siapa ba-

rbuñi dusa sa~kita, dan a d a ta: d w hil¬ sapaha: // ma:li~ tapbu34 dipi kul¬ dijuju~ diga:las¬ , lima ku pa~ dandaña // ja:ka: dimakandi paha/lu\35 5 ñña tanamanña tanamkan/#\#36 saba 6 ta~ di kiri sabata~ dika[n.]an.dikapi 7 t¬ , diga~ŋgam¬ sabata~ di kiri

15/ 1 2 3 4

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kupang, hayam pulang manikal. Hayam gutera tengngah tiga mas. Hayam hanak cucu dipati hayam dipati li-ma mas. Hayam raja sa-puluh mas. Barang mangiwat urang, dandanya sa-tahil sa-paha, urang pulang sa-rupa-nya.

-rebunyi dusa sangkita, danda dua tahil sa-paha Maling te[b]bu dipikul dijujung digalas, li-ma kupang danda-nya. Jaka dimakan dipahalu[?]-nya tanaman-nya tanamkan[…] sabatang di kiri sa-batang di kanan dikapit, digengnggam sa-batang di kiri

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70 P/

Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi L Diplomatic Transliteration

Normalized Transcription

sa:bata~ di ka:n.an¬ #37 dibawa pula~ tida dusa: ña ma:kantabu °ita38 ma:li~ birah. , kala:di , hubi , tuba dipaha:mba dwa puluh. dwa la:pan.ha: ri, 5 tida handakdipaha:mba , lima: mas¬ 6 danda ña // ma:li~ buŋa sirih. pina~ °ura~ 7 °atawa sasaŋiña , dwa puluh. dwa la:pan.na:

sa-batang di kanan dibawa pulang tida dusa-nya makan t[e]bu it[u] [.] Maling birah, kaladi, hubi, tuba dipahamba dua puluh dualapan hari, tida handak dipahamba, lima mas danda-nya. Maling bunga sirih pinang urang atawa sasangi-nya, dua puluh dualapan [h]a-

17/ 1 ri dapaha:mba39 , tida ha:ndakdipa:ha: 2 [m]ba lima: masdandaña // ma:li~ pa: di sata: 3 hil¬ sapa:ha: dandaña // mali~ hubi 4 bajunju~ŋan¬ lima: kupa~ , ya~ tida bajunju~ 5 ŋan¬ lima: mas¬ dandaña // ma:li[~]40 tallu 6 r¬ ha:yam¬ , °itik¬ prapati ditambu41 7 ktujuh. tumbuk¬ , lima tumbuk¬ °ura~ ma:

-ri dapahamba, tida handak dipahamba lima mas danda-nya. Maling padi sa-tahil sa-paha danda-nya. Maling hubi bajunjungngan lima kupang, yang tida bajunjungngan lima mas danda-nya. Mali[ng] tellur hayam, itik perapati di-t[u]mbuk tujuh tumbuk, lima tumbuk urang ma-

18/ 1 na:ŋah. °i , dwa tumbuktuha:nña#mukaña42 2 dihusap¬ daŋantahi ha:yam¬ [] ti[da]43 ta 3 risi sakyanta~ŋah. tiga mas¬ dandaña // 4 ma:li~ °isi jarrat , °anji~ sikurya piso 5 ra:wut¬ saha:lay , dandaña // ma:li~ 6 pulut¬ °isi pulut¬ , la~ŋa sata:pay 7 yan¬ dandaña , tida tarisi , ta~ŋah. tiga:

-n[e]ngah[h]i,44 dua tumbuk tuhan-nya muka-nya dihusap d[e]ngan45 tahi hayam tida tarisi sakian tengngah tiga mas danda-nya. Maling isi jerrat, anjing s[a]-ikur ya piso rawut sa-halay, danda-nya. Maling pulut isi pulut, lengnga sa-tapay-yan danda-nya, tida tarisi, tengngah tiga

19/ 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

mas danda-nya. Maling kayin, babat baju distar pari rupa-nya, sa-puluh mas danda-nya. Maling basi babajan lima mas danda-nya. Maling kuraysani lima mas. Mali[ng..] baja tupang, sa-puluh mas dan-da-nya[,] tida tarisi dibunuh. Urang maru-

16/ 1 2 3 4

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mas¬ dandaña // ma:li~ ka:yin¬ , ba bat¬ ba:ju , distar¬ pa:ri rupaña, sapuluh. ma:sdandaña // mali~ basi baba:jan¬ lima: masdandaña // mali~ kuraysa:ni lima mas¬ // mali la,46 baja tupa~ , sapuluh. masdandaña ti da tarisi dibunuh. // °ura~ maru

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20/ 1 gul¬ /si\dandaña // °ura~ mara:ga~ dwa ta 2 hi:l¬ sapaha: , tida tarisi sakya 3 n¬ dibunuh. // ma:li~ ha:mpa~ŋan¬ 4 tuwak¬ sapa:rah. °uda~ sadula~ ti/ha~\ su 5 ku47 sikur¬ babi hu:tan¬ sikuñ[ñ]a48 , 6 tida tarisi sakyan¬ /sa\puluh. mas¬ 7 dandaña // ma:li~ ta:ka:lakpa:ñali

-gul si-danda-nya. Urang maragang dua tahil sapaha, tida tarisi sa-kian dibunuh. Maling hampangngan tuak sa-parah udang sa-dulang biyuku s[a]-ikur babi hutan s[a]-iku[rny]a, tida tarisi sa-kian sa-puluh mas danda-nya. Maling takalak panyali-

21/ 1 2 3 4 5 6

n¬ hijuk¬ , lima # kupa~ // 49 pañalin¬ ma:no , rutan¬ lima: mas¬ // paña lin.hakarsapuluh. ma:s¬ // ma:li~ °a ntili~ŋan¬ lima mas¬ // ma:li~ puka t¬ ja:la , ta~ŋkul¬ , pa:sap¬ ; tall[u] y¬50 , gitra~ , lima masdandaña ,51 ma:mba52 7 kardaŋo , babina:sa daŋu: paka:

-n hijuk, lima kupang[,] panyalin mano, ru-tan lima mas[,] panyalin hakar sa-puluh mas. Maling antilingngan lima mas. Maling pukat jala, tengngkul, pasap, tel-l[a]y, giterang, lima mas danda-nya[.] Mambakar dango, babinasa dangu paka-

22/ 1 ra~ŋan °ura~ , babina:sa taltalo 2 # y¬ , pan.a:loy¬ yan.nura~ , ha: 3 tapdindi~ lantay ra: ŋo, lima masdanda 4 ña // pun.ara:pi jaka bahu:ta~ mas¬ 5 pirak¬ riti ra:ncu~ ka~śa tambaga , si 6 la:maña batiga puhu:n¬ // 53 siŋgan.¬ 7 sapa:ha n.a:yik¬ mas¬ manikal¬ // 8 ja:ka bahu:ta~ barraspa:di , ja:wa , ja:

-rangngan urang, babinasa taltaloy, pana-loyyan-n-urang, hatap dinding lantay ra-ngo, lima mas danda-nya. Punarapi jaka bahutang mas pirak riti ran-cung kangsa tambaga, si-lama-nya batiga puhun[,] singgan sa-paha nayik mas ma-nikal. Jaka bahutang berras padi, jawa, ja-

gu~ , ha:njalay, dwa tahu:n.katiga ja mba barruk , labih. dwa ta:hunkatiga hiŋgan.¬ ña ma:nikal¬ // pu:nara:pi ja # ka °ura~ mamba:wa para:hu: ra~54, ti 5 da disalla~ña , hi:la~ pacah. binasa , 6 dwa masdandaña // jaka ya disalla~ [pa]s#a ,55 7 hila~ ta # ya pa:cah. bina:sa saraga

23/ 1 2 3 4

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-gung, hanjalay, dua tahun katiga jamba berruk, labih dua tahun katiga hinggan-nya manikal. Punarapi jaka urang mambawa parahu [u]rang, tida disellangnya, hilang pacah binasa, dua mas dandanya. Jaka ia disellang [pasang?], hilang ta-ia-pacah binasa s[a]araga-

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24/ 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

ña bayirbali , jaka tida sili[h.]hi sa:rupa:ña // tida [?si?]ya~### liwatdari janja~ , tuwaksatapay¬pa56 n¬ ha:yamsikur¬ kapula~ŋan¬ña // bidukpa:ŋayuh. galah. , ka:ja~ la: ntay pula~ŋan¬ , °itu pwan.¬ sakyan.¬ rakn.aña // pun.arapi /ja\ka °ura~

Normalized Transcription nya bayir bali, jaka tida silihhi sa-rupa-nya. Tida […] yang […]liwat dari57 janjang, tuak sa-tapay[ya]n hayam s[a]-ikur kapulang-ngan-nya. Biduk pangayuh galah, kajang lantay pu-langngan, itu puan sakian rakna-nya. Punarapi jaka urang

25/ 1 2 3 4 5

tuduh-manuduh, tida saksi-nya, tida cina tanda-nya, adu sabung, barang tida handak sabung dialahkan. Punarapi jaka urang mabuk penning salah langkah salah kata salah kakappan, mam-bayir sapat si-cara purewa. Punarapi jaka urang ba-

26/ 1 dusa: sa~kita hi:ram¬ tallih.ña , 2 ballumta suda pda dati59 , dapattan.¬ 3 ta °ulih. jaja:na~ , kan¬/na\ danda samu# 4 wan.dwa60 ## ka:li sapaha , sapa:ha # 5 ka dalam¬ , sapa:ha: pda jaja:na~ # 6 lawan.dipa:ti // dipagat¬ °ulih. ma 7 nt r. muda di luwar¬ hiŋgan.ta~ŋah tiga:

-dusa sangkita hiram tellihnya, bellum ta-suda peda d[ip]ati, dapattan ta’ulih jaja-nang, kenna danda samu[ ]wan dua kali sapaha, sa-paha ka dalam, sa-paha peda jaja-nang lawan dipati. Dipagat ulih manteri muda di luar hinggan tengngah tiga

27/ 1 ma:s¬ tida jaja: n.a~ dipa:ti barulih. 2 // jaka baralah. ha:nlima massa:mas¬ pa 3 rulih.ha:n.dipa:ti // hi ŋgan.sa:puluh. ma: 4 ska: datas¬ batahi:#llan.¬ , dwa ma 5 spa:rulih.handipa:ti // pun.#arapi61 pda 6 ban¬n.wa # // pda saha[:]ya62 , sapuluh.63 ta:~ 7 ŋah. ti#ga: mas¬ sipattañña , sapu

mas tida jajanang dipati barulih. Jaka baralahhan lima mas samas parulih-han dipati. Hinggan sa-puluh mas ka datas batahillan, dua mas parulihhan dipati. Punarapi peda bennua. …64 peda sahaya, sa-puluh tengngah tiga mas si-pettanynya, sa-pu-

tuduh. manuduh. , tida saksiña, ti da cina tandaña , °adu sabu~ , bara~ tida ha:ndaksabu~ diyalah. kan¬ // pu:nara:pi jaka °ura~ ma:bukpa:n¬ ni~ salah. la~kah. salah. kata salah. ka:58 6 ka:kappan¬ , ma:mbayirsapat¬ sica: 7 ra purwa // pun.ara:pi ja:ka °ura~ ba

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luh. maspda:65 ### di[ ] #ti ta~ŋah. tiga maspda °ura~ puña [°a]nak¬66 // ban¬ nwa ja:ka ya bapuŋu[ ]67 #nhan.ak¬ ña , dipa:ti dipa:~ŋgil¬ , dahulu bakarja pda di/pati\###: , jaka dipa:ti ku 6 diyan¬ °ulih. bakajakan.hana 7 k¬ didusakan.¬ // sakyantabuñi

-luh mas peda di[pa]ti tengngah tiga mas peda urang punya anak. [Bennua.]68 Jaka ia bapungu[tka]n hanak-nya, dipati dipengnggil, dahulu bakareja peda dipati, jaka dipati kudian ulih bakajakan hanak didusakan. Sa-kian tabunyi-

28/ 1 2 3 4 5

29/ 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

ña atña titah. ma:ha:ra:ja dra mmasara:ya // yatna yatna sida~ ma: ha:t¬ mya sa°isi bumi kurin.ci , si lunju kurin.ci //·· samasta li kita~ ## kuja °ali dipa:ti , di wasè/bah¬\ di bumi palimba~ , di ha: . dappanpa:duka sri ma:/ha:\raja dra

mmasraya // ∞ // ·· // bara~71 salah. siliña , suwasta °ulih. sida~ ma: ha:t¬mya sa:mapta // ∞ // // pra #namya diwa~ śrisa: maléswara~ // # 5 °au // pranamya śrisa diwa#m¬ , tr.lu: 6 kya dipa:ti stutim¬ , n.a:n.asattru

nya atnya titah maharaja Daremmaseraya.69 Yatna-yatna sidang mahatmia sa-isi bumi Kurinci, si-lunju[r] Kurinci. Samasta likitang Kuja Ali dipati, di wasèb-an di bumi Palimbang, di hadappan pedu-ka70 seri maharaja Dare-

30/ 1 2 3 4

mmaseraya. ~ Barang salah sili[h]-nya, suasta ulih sidang mahatmia samapta. ~ Peran[e]mia72 diwang73 siresa74 [A]malés-warang.75 “Aum”.76 Peran[e]mia siresa diwam, Terilukiadipati77 stutim, nana-setteru78 …

31/ 1 dr.ta~ wakitnitri satra samuksaya 2 m¬ // ·· // ∞ // //# pranam¬mya 3 n.a:ma , tundukra79 ma:ñambah. , sirsa na ka: 4 pa:la , diwa nama di/wa\ta , tr. na:ma su 5 rga madya prata:la , dipati n.a:ma la: 6 bih. dr. ripa:da sa:kal¬#liyan. ¬ , 7 nan.a n.a:ma: bañak¬ , dr. ta~ n.a:

… deretang wakit niteri satera-samuksayam.80 ~ Peranemmia nama, tunduk manyambah, si-resa na[ma] kapala, diwa nama diwata, teri nama surega madia peratala,81 dipati nama labih derripeda82 sa-kellian, nana nama banyak, deretang na-

32/ 1 2 3 4

-ma yang dikatakan, satera nama yang sa-tera, samuksayam nama sarba sa-kellian. ~ Ini saluka dipati.

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ma: ya~ dika:takan.¬ , satra n.a: ma ya~ satra , sa:muk¬sayamnama sarba sakalliyan. ¬ // ∞ // · // °i # ni saluka dipa:ti //

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Translation The following translation is the result of a concerted effort of a group of specialists in Malay, Sanskrit, and Old Javanese linguistics and philology, who met during 12–18 December 2004 at a workshop organized under the auspices of the Yayasan Pernaskahan Nusantara in cooperation with the Indonesian Language Program of the University of Hawai’i, and funded by the U.S. Ambassador’s Fund for Cultural Preservation. The members of the translation team were Achadiati Ikram, Uli Kozok, Waruno Mahdi, Thomas Hunter, Romo Kuntara Wiryamartana, Karl Anderbeck, Hasan Djafar, and Ninie Susanti Y. The team was assisted by Dwi Woro Mastuti, Mujizah, Edi Sedyawati, Amyrna Leandra, Munawar Holil, Yamin, Made Suparta, and Titik Pudjiastuti who also chaired the organizing committee of the workshop. We are also indebted to K.A. Adelaar for his valuable contributions. The translation was subsequently revised by Waruno Mahdi, Thomas Hunter, and Uli Kozok.

Introductory Framing Sections with Passages in Assimilated Sanskrit 1. [01] [illegible] 2. [02] Aum. Hail, in the Śaka year …, … the month Vaiśākha … 3. Om. In the month of Jyais.t. hā, during the waning cycle of the moon. In the audience hall of His Highness the illustrious emperor Kartabèsa of the Gandawangsa lineage, chief official and army commander … Kartabèsa … 4. [03] This is the gracious command of Sang Hyang Kemattan83 to the governor of the land of Kerinci, the whole stretch of Kerinci, together with the grand commanders, the ministers, religious officials, officers, …, foreigner’s quarters, communities, and dependencies. Do not fail to obey [04] your chief any one of you.

The Legal Code   1. Whoever does not obey his chief, two taels and a quarter shall be the fine.

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  2. When the head of the community calls a community meeting, and the person does not come down, does not come down to the meeting, causes a commotion, he shall be fined one tael and a quar[05]ter.   3. When two are fighting, both shall be fined equally.   4. Furthermore, with regard to a game of hazard, the instigator … shall be fined one tael and a quarter, the gamblers shall be fined one tael and a quarter each, [if there is] violent unrest, resistance, a creese is drawn, …… spear, kill, dead … … [06] … village of settlers … [when] a robbing thief assigned by a claimant destroys the house of a person, the thief who causes the disturbance shall be exiled, kills a child, is caught for committing adultery … resists the chief of the place, where the one who accommodated the settler shall be fined two taels and a quarter.   5. Fur[07]thermore, if people interrupt another’s speech, and they are pirak-ed by those who interrupt, the fine shall be one tael and [a] quarter.   6. Furthermore, whoever changes the measures of gantang, cupak, katian, kundir, bungkal, pihayu, shall be fined one tael and a quarter.   7. Whoever hosts a person without the permission [08] of the head of the community, and the hosted person causes a disturbance, he [=the guest] shall be fined one tael and a quarter, the person who incited [=the host] too shall be fined the same amount.   8. Whoever organizes some wanderers to hold a game of hazard, [or] a clandestine cockfight, the one who organizes this shall be fined one tael and a [09] quarter.   9. Whoever enters a person’s house without announcing himself, without waving a torch, whether one kills … … … the chief of the four tribes, to kill is just as bad as not to [10] kill. 10. The thief of a goat or a pig is fined ten mace. 11. The thief of a dog [is fined] five mace if it is an ordinary dog, the thief of a mawu dog [is fined] ten mace, and for the dog of the chief likewise that amount. 12. For the king’s dog one tael and a quarter. 13. The thief of a chicken of someone’s sl[11]ave shall return two for each one stolen. 14. For the chicken of a commoner, return three for each one. 15. For the chicken of a nobleman, return five for each one.

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16. For the chicken of the chief and of the chief’s children and grandchildren, return seven for each one. 17. For the chicken of the king, return for each one twice seven. 18. For a commoner’s chicken, five [12] kupang and return the chicken in double quantity. 19. For the chicken of a nobleman, two-and-a-half mace. 20. For the chicken of the chief’s children and grandchildren, and of the chief himself, five mace. 21. For the king’s chicken, ten mace. 22. Whoever elopes with someone shall be fined one tael and a quarter, and he must return the equivalent. 23. [13] If there is a traveller or simple wanderer, bring him drink and food, and allow him on his way. 24. Whoever carries orders ….. shall be provided with food by ….. of the community, and be protected by the people of the community. 25. The thief of toddy in the tree or below is fined five mace. 26. [14] The fish trap thief shall heap the fish trap with harvested rice; if this is not fulfilled, the fine is five mace. 27. Whoever alters the sacred writings (“the five Vedas”) is fined five taels and a quarter. 28. Whoever deprives a person of a sacred heirloom shall be fined a catty and five [tael]. 29. Whoever in[15]cites unrest with sin and dispute shall be fined two taels and a quarter. 30. The thief of sugar cane, whether [it is] carried on the shoulder, on the head, or on a pole, shall be fined five kupang. 31. If eaten at the ……. [place where] the plants were planted, or carried one under the left arm and one under the right, or held in the hand one on the left [16] one on the right, and brought home, it is not wrong to eat that sugar cane[.] 32. The thief of giant taro, taro, yam, or derris root shall be enslaved 28 days, if he does not want to be enslaved, he shall be fined five mace. 33. The thief of someone’s betel flower and areca nut, or its ……., shall be enslaved 28 da[17]ys, or if he does not want to be enslaved, he shall be fined five mace.

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34. The thief of rice in the field shall be fined one tael and a quarter. 35. The thief of yam with the plant [shall be fined] five kupang, without the plant shall be fined five mace. 36. The thief of chicken, duck, or pigeon eggs shall undergo seven strokes, five strokes by the ar[18]biter, two strokes by his master, and have his face smeared with chicken dung; if this is not fulfilled the fine shall be two-and-a-half mace. 37. The thief of the contents of a snare shall be fined one dog or84 one whittling knife. 38. The thief of a birdlime trap with its contents [shall be fined] a jar of sesame; if this is not fulfilled he shall be fined two-and-a-half [19] mace. 39. The thief of cloth, waist cloths, shirts, and head cloths of all kinds shall be fined ten mace. 40. The thief of iron and steel shall be fined five mace. 41. The thief of Khorasan iron [shall be fined] five mace. 42. The thief of […]tupang steel shall be fined ten mace; [if] the amount is not fulfilled, [he] shall be killed. 43. The person who rap[20]es shall be fined correspondingly. 44. The person who assaults [shall be fined] two taels; [if] not fulfilled, [he] shall be killed. 45. The thief of a hampangan fish trap, a measure of toddy, a tray of shrimps, one wild pig; [if] not fulfilled he shall be fined ten mace. 46. The thief of a takalak fish trap [shall pay as a] replaceme[21]nt of the palm fibre five kupang, as replacement of the manau cane [and] rattan cane five mace, of the root [material] ten mace.85 47. The thief of an antilingan fishing net [shall be fined] five mace. 48. The thief of a dragnet, casting net, lifting net, scoop net, telai, or a gitrang shall be fined five mace[.] 49. Burning a field hut, destroying people’s hut and [22] yard, destroying tal-taloy, people’s panaloyan, the roof, wall, and floor of a hut, shall be fined five mace. 50. Furthermore, if one owes a debt of gold, silver, brass, rancung, bronze, copper, for which repayment has been demanded three times[,]86 up to a quarter … gold in twofold.

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51. If one owes a debt of husked or unhusked rice, foxtail millet, sor[23]ghum, or Job’s tears, then up to two harvest years and into the third, the equal measure shall be returned; more than two years into a third, repay twofold. 52. Furthermore, if someone takes another’s boat without permission, and it is wrecked and lost, two mace shall be the fine. 53. If it was taken with permission, then wrecked and lost, according to its value [24] it shall be repaid. If not, replace with the same kind [of boat]. 54. No/not … [repaid] … past the promised time, a jar of toddy and a chicken shall be the replacement. 55. For a biduk small-boat, paddle, punting pole, a woven floor mat shall serve as replacement equivalent to the value [of the lost items]. 56. Furthermore, if people [25] accuse each other, and there is no witness, there is no evidence, [then] a match [shall be organized]; the one who refuses the match shall be [declared] the loser. 57. Furthermore, if someone is drunk and dizzy, and misbehaves in word and deed, misleads, then he shall pay … 58. Furthermore, if someone is in[26]volved in a conflict … …, and it was not resolved by the chief, [but] could be by the deputy, shall be fined …. twice a quarter, one quarter to the treasury, and a quarter to the deputy of the chief (?). 59. [If] caught by the vice minister outside, [then the fine is] at the most two-and-a-half [27] mace; [and] the deputy and the chief do not receive [anything]. 60. If one loses [the case, and must pay] five mace, one mace goes to the chief. 61. [If the settlement] reaches ten mace till several tael, two mace go to the chief. 62. Furthermore, the country.87 For a slave, the measure shall be twelveand-a-half mace; te[28]n mace for the chief, two-and-a-half mace for the sire of the child. 63. Country.88—If one adopts the child, the chief shall be approached to perform a ceremony, if the chief then carries out the ceremony, the child is … [.]

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Closing Sections with Passages in Assimilated Sanskrit   1. This is the proclamation [29] of the royal order and decree of the Emperor of Dharmasraya.   2. Most attentive was the assembly of the magnanimous of the entire land of Kerinci, the whole stretch of Kerinci.   3. It was completely written down by Kuja Ali, the chief, in the assembly hall in Palimbang, in the presence of His Majesty the illustrious Emperor of Dhar[30]masraya.   4. Whatever was wrong (of the contents of the law book) was changed, amended by the great convocation, finished and complete.   5. A bow of the head in homage to the god, the [A]maléswara.89   6. Aum, a bow of the head in homage to the god,   7. A hymn of praise to the lord of the three worlds,   8. Who restrains many enemies, [31] is firm in speech,   9. And is the leader of the entire assembly of nobles. 10. Peranemya means “to bow the head making the sembah gesture of respect”; siresa means “head”; deva means “a divinity”; teri90 means “heaven, earth and the underworld”; dipati91 means “superior to all others”; nana means “many”; deretang me[32]ans “that which is spoken”; satra means “those who are satra”;92 samuksayam means “all and everything”. 11. This is the sloka of the chief.

Commentary The title of the Tanjung Tanah manuscript, which can be reconstructed as Nītisārasamuccaya (“compendium of the essence of polity”), reminds us of Kāmandaka’s Nītisāra, an influential political treatise composed in India at the advent of the early medieval. That Kāmandaka’s work must have been known in the archipelago is testified by a popular historical folk tale from West Java where a certain Prince Kamandaka was featured as the hero (Knebbel 1900; Hardjana 1979). His name also appears prominently in the Old Javanese prose Tantri Kamandaka (Hooykaas 1931), which is based on Indian Pañcatantra texts. Whether the Tanjung Tanah code of law, as its title suggests, was influenced by Sanskrit legal codes either directly, or indirectly via

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Javanese adaptation of Indian laws such as the Kuṭāramānawa or the Swara Jambu, is not the subject of this work and shall only be discussed briefly here. In his Ph.D. thesis titled, “An Old Javanese law book compared with Indian legal sources”, Jonker (1885, p. 20) comes to the conclusion that “in the case of regulations that were not directly transmitted, it is not always easy, but in many cases impossible to distinguish what is Hindu and what is indigenous” (Jonker 1885, pp. 21–22). Furthermore, regulations, which were originally taken from Indian sources, have the tendency to be replaced by indigenous elements over the course of time. Jonker sees a fundamental difference between the legal systems of India and that of the Malay archipelago. Criminal law on the subcontinent is always public law where the misconduct is seen as an offence against the ruler, and where the penalty consists of fines payable to the court. In the archipelago, the law is principally concerned with the compensation of the victim for the losses occurred. In the case of theft, the thief has to return (pulang) the stolen item in multiple quantities (manikal). When a man is wounded or killed, a pampas (compensation for wounding) or a bangun (compensation for homicide) has to be paid. Many of the indigenous elements listed by Jonker can be found in TK 214 and also in TK 215. The term pulang for the return of stolen goods is mentioned in both TK 214 and TK 215, but pampas and bangun only occur in TK 215 as offenses relating to bodily injury or death are not included in TK 214. In many cases, only compensation is required, but in some cases the offender has to pay a fine (danda or denda), in addition to the compensation. It is not specified who the receiving party of the additional fine is, but it can be assumed that this is divided between the Raja and a number of involved officials. Yet, it appears that in some cases the denda is used to compensate the victim as in the regulation in TK 214, where the fish trap thief has to heap the fish trap with harvested rice. It can be assumed that the rice is used as a compensation to the victim for the losses he occurred. Alternative fines either in kind or in money occur frequently in TK 214 and TK 215. In the above regulation, the non-monetary fine (rice) can be substituted with a monetary fine of five mace. This system of offering alternative fines is listed by Jonker (1885, p. 24) as another typical indigenous practice not known in Indian law. It does not only provide an alternative

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between paying a fine in kind or in money, but it also gives the offender an exemption from punishment by paying a fine. In TK 214 and TK 215, we find regulations that the thief of certain crops shall be enslaved 28 days unless he pays a fine of five mace. This recht van afkoop van straf (right of being exempted from punishment) is, according to Jonker (1885, p. 24), another feature of indigenous legal practice. In conclusion, it can be said that while it is likely that some degree of Indian influence exists, it is difficult — at least without conducting a more thorough study — to fathom the extent of Indian influence in TK 214. Our preliminary conclusion is that Kuja Ali’s Nītisārasamuccaya is strongly rooted in the Malay legal tradition. The Tanjung Tanah manuscript TK 214 differs from the commonly known Malay manuscripts in several aspects. It is not written in Jawi script, but in a Pallavo-Nusantaric script93 closely related to the Malayu script of the Ādityavarman inscriptions in West Sumatra, and the “Old Sumatran” script of the Minye Tujuh inscription in Aceh. The manuscript is also unique in that it is not written on Arabic or European paper as is normally the case with Malay manuscripts, but on daluang, which is a common writing material mainly in Java and Madura. These are the most obvious differences that set our manuscript physically apart from other Malay manuscripts. While the Tanjung Tanah code of law is undeniably unique, it is by no means atypical to Malay textual traditions, and a close examination reveals that on a textual and structural basis, it is quite similar to legal texts written a few hundred years later. In his study on Islam and Malay kingship, Milner suggests that the prime impetus for the Islamization of large parts of Island Southeast Asia lay in the Muslim domination of the Indian Ocean trade in the years preceding Islamization. While in the pre-Islamic period the ruler was seen as an incarnation and manifestation of the sacred world, the notion of divine kingship is incompatible with an Islamic state as a community of the faithful governed by Islamic law. While the latter was also a political ideal in the medieval Islamic world, “another and important ideal was the Persian-inspired vision of a society articulated round the institution of kingship” (Milner 1981, p. 53). By the time Islam arrived in the Malay lands, a Persian-influenced notion of kingship was widespread in the Muslim world, and the Malay raja-s who converted to Islam were especially attracted by two strands of Islamic thinking: Persianized kingship and the mystical concept of the “Perfect Man” (Arabic: al-insan

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al-kamil) (Milner 1983, p. 42). The medieval Persian concept of kingship permitted and assisted the monarch to fulfil the central role in the spiritual life of his subjects, and allowing a smooth transition in the development of the Malay polities to Muslim sultanates where the raja as the “shadow of God” remained the primary object of loyalty (Milner 1981, p. 56). The power of the ruler was defined in absolute terms and unconditional loyalty from the ruler’s subject was expected. This concept of kingship, while justified with reference to the Al-Qur’an, essentially originated in Hindu religion theory, which was integrated in a remarkable painless way to a Muslim context. As absolute rulers the raja not only owned the land, but also “owned” the law. Law texts were commissioned by, and produced for, the Muslim rulers, and they were “not only emanations from sovereign rulers, but were themselves an affirmation of sovereignty. They were, in a real sense, part of the regalia of the ruler and to commission and publish a law text was one of the functions of a ruler” (Hooker 1986, p. 350). It is therefore not surprising that the laws of the new Muslim rulers tend to be conservative and based on pre-existing models. Indonesia, where more than 80 per cent of the population embraces the religion of Islam, emphasizes that it is a Muslim, but not an Islamic country. The same can be said of the early Malay states and their laws. The laws were designed for Muslim states, but Islamic Law (sharia) failed to attract widespread adherence in most aspects of life (Milner 1981, p. 48). If Islam only slightly penetrated Malay law, except in the field of matrimonial laws where the sharia rules were almost universally accepted, then we must assume that any extant pre-Islamic legal text must be fairly similar to the known Malay undang-undang texts. TK 214 confirms this fully. Hooker gives the following synopsis of the Undang-Undang Aceh: The text itself is without division, there is no chapter heading or number(s), and there is no consistent treatment of the same subject in the same place. In form, the text is a fine and punishment list for a variety of offenses. […] Punishments in the text are of two sorts — fines and flogging. The former is given in gold common in the Malay world (tahil, bongkal) and varies according to the severity of the offence. Over certain amounts, the ruler was entitled to a share.

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Flogging was at the discretion of the four great officials. Punishable offenses included theft, violence, murder, absconding (of debt bondmen), adultery and other sexual offenses and slander. The amount and type of punishment depended on whether the person wronged was part of the royal or great officers household. If so, the penalty was correspondingly greater. Attempted suicide was also punished. In short, the Undang-undang Acheh is a simple ‘public order’ text, of a type common in the Malay speaking world. Its aim was the preservation of public order and this was accomplished by stating the source of authority in the country and prescribing punishments for offenses against both the ruler and those others (Hooker 1986, p. 406).

In almost all aspects the above also adequately describes the Tanjung Tanah law text. This is not surprising because the arrival of Islam had no substantial impact on the pre-existing legal system, nor did it alter the function of the laws as a tool to maintain public order and as an affirmation of the sovereignty of the ruler. Besides the striking similarities in form, function, and content, there are also apparent differences. Whereas legal codes of the Islamic period usually follow the literary convention of praising God in the opening formula bismi-llā hi r-raḥmā ni r-raḥı̄ m (in the Name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful), and normally also include a similar closing formula, TK 214 opens with several lines in a Sanskritized idiom praising the king, and also uses a closing formula containing a praise verse to the ruler. While the use of Arabic and Sanskrit in the opening and closing formula is obviously part of the existing convention, the use of foreign language also provides the text with authority, elevates it beyond the local context, and gives it a more universal significance: The reference to a foreign source, to a source absolute in nature and powerful in political expression, itself tended to validate the contents of the texts. This is a validation by association, a form of justification common in South-East Asia where genealogy and descent have traditionally been used to legitimize rulers and kingdoms. In these cases, the fact of reference is of itself decisive; this was often misunderstood, especially by nineteenth-century commentators, who sought an explanation in that which was referred to rather than in

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the act of reference itself. The selective use of Islamic referents […] is part of the same cultural response (Hooker 1986, p. 427).

The same can be said with regards to the Tanjung Tanah text where one can assume that the use of Sanskrit, a language which was restricted to the royal court, has given the text considerable authority despite the fact that the Sanskrit passages were not understood by the recipients of the law, the chiefs of Kerinci. In this context the final Sanskrit language passage in TK 214 stands out as interesting. The Malay language part (the actual legal code) concludes with the words: “Complete and finished” (another convention that we also find in Muslim Malay law texts, where the Arabic loan word tamat “The End” is used) followed by a praise verse (sloka) in Sanskrit to the reigning king. Probably because the compiler of the manuscript was aware that the recipients of the legal code were not well versed in Sanskrit, he added a list of some of the keywords of the sloka together with a Malay language translation. While the character of TK 214 is undeniably very different from that of the Muslim Malay tradition, on a structural basis the similarities are obvious. In both the Islamic and the pre-Islamic tradition we find opening and closing passages (usually partly written in foreign languages — Arab and Sanskrit), which are designed to give the text a religious as well as a “secular” authority by referring to the ruler for whom the laws have been written. In the Undang-Undang Malaka the ruler is even said “to own custom and the laws” (ialah yang mempunyai adat dan hukum), and in the Hikayat Keturunan Raja Deli it is mentioned that customs and laws are “in the hands” of the Raja (Milner 1981, p. 49). The overall pattern of TK 214 is hence quite similar to the pattern that we find in Muslim Malay texts: 1. A foreign language opening passage with strong religious con­notation. 2. A brief general introduction with reference to the ruler. 3. The main body of the law text, which is essentially a list of fines. 4. A brief phrase indicating the end of the law text. 5. A closing passage with religious connotation.

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datuk-s of those commons (nagari).

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The Opening Section The Sanskrit language part of the opening and closing passages were translated by I. Kuntara Wiryamartana and Thomas Hunter, and will be discussed in detail in Chapter 6 by Dr Hunter. The Malay language part of the opening passage states that the manuscript constitutes a “gracious command of Sang Hyang Kemattan to the governor of the land of Kerinci, the whole stretch of Kerinci, together with the grand commanders, the ministers, religious officials, officers, … , foreigner’s quarters, communities, and dependencies” and orders them to obey their respective Dipati. Although it is not entirely clear who “Sang Hyang of Kemattan” (or Kemittan as the passage is unclear) is, Hunter has reconstructed this phrase as “the revered deity of the place of protection” where the deity (sang hyang) seems to identify the reigning monarch, the maharaja of Dharmasraya, as the incarnation of the deified ancestor of the ruling lineage. As Hunter has convincingly argued in his chapter, there is a possibility that this ruler who also carried the epithet as a descendent from a “fragrant line” may indeed be Ādityavarman, the illustrious king who ruled from the Minangkabau highlands, but whose influence certainly extended to the wider Jambi area including Kerinci. On the other hand, if we follow Hunter’s arguments in his discussion of the date of TK 214 (of which only two ciphers are barely legible), then there is also the possibility that the manuscript was written shortly after Ādityavarman’s death. In this case the “Sang Hyang Kemattan” was Ādityavarman’s successor whose name is mentioned in a Chinese source as Ma-na-chih-wu-li, and who, on 13 September 1377, roughly a year after Ādityavarman’s death, sent an envoy with gifts with the request for investiture as the new ruler (Wolters 1970, p. 58), and who is possibly the same person as either Ananggavarman or Bijayendravarman, both of whom are mentioned in inscriptions as crown princes. The reference to the emperor (sri maharaja), grand commanders (mahasènapati), the ministers (perapatih), officials (sameget), and officers (parebalang-balangngan), together with the chiefs (dipati), the deputy chiefs (jajanang), and the vice minister (mantri muda) mentioned towards the end of the legal code, suggest a rather stratified society based on an Indian model not unlike that of contemporary Majapahit in East Java where Ādityavarman served as a high-ranking court officer before becoming the king of Malayu. Almost the entire terminology is, with the exception of parebalang-balangngan where we assume that this word is based

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on bala ‘troops’ and has a similar meaning as Malay hulubalang and Minangkabau dubalang ‘commander’, perhaps derived from Sanskrit and Old Javanese. Mahā rā ja (great king), mahasènapati (great commander), and prapatih (foremost minister) are all derived from Sanskrit but most likely via the Old Javanese language. Another official title, sameget, is derived from Old Javanese. It is unknown how long these foreign titles survived in the area, but there is ample evidence that after the period of centralized kingdom, the Minangkabau returned to their traditional concept of government which was far more egalitarian, communal, and decentralized than that of the Javanese. Although the Javanese and Minangkabau social organizations both featured “village common” type communities (Jav. désa, Mkb. nagari) subordinated to a political hierarchy with a monarch at the head, the nature of the hierarchy in the two ethnic groups was fundamentally different. In Java, it was a many-tiered feudal hierarchy formed as a central monarchy, to which the village commons (désa) owed absolute obeisance. The Minangkabau commons were more loosely subordinated under the king at Pagaruyung, whose principle and immediately subordinated officers were the datuk-s of those commons (nagari). Notionally Minangkabau remained a kingdom headed by two kings, and the Sanskrit and Old Javanese titles were, with the exception of the raja title, discontinued and replaced with indigenous titles. It is well remembered in the legends of the Minangkabau people that they possessed a centralized, hierarchical political structure over 700 years ago, and that at some time in the past a struggle apparently broke out between those who wanted to continue an aristocratic system of the East Javanese style and those who preferred the more egalitarian kinship-based governance of traditional society. The story of the origins of the Minangkabau society has been passed down orally from generation to generation, and although there are numerous versions, the basic elements are fairly consistent. The story is about a battle between two heroes called Datuk Ketumanggungan and Datuk Perpatih Nan Sebatang, about the right way of ruling.94 The followers of Ketumanggungan, who supported the aristocratic system, prevailed in the village federation (laras) Koto Piliang (Tanah Datar), whereas Perpatih Nan Sebatang formed the laras Bodi Caniago (Lima Kaum) based on egalitarian principles. Two facts are of interest

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here: first, the location of the laras Koto Piliang, which is precisely in the area where Ādityavarman had his palace. The exact location of his keraton is unknown but it is almost certain that it was in the area between Saruaso (Ādityavarman is named in one inscription as being from Saruaso) and Pagaruyung, the place where the palaces of all subsequent kings and Sultans was located, and which even today is the administrative capital of Tanah Datar. The second element of the story that matters to us is the name of Datuk Ketumanggungan’s half-brother and rival Datuk Perpatih Nan Sebatang. The name, Perpatih, also frequently spelled Prapatih, is of course the title prapatih, which, as TK 214 reveals, was already used in fourteenth-century Malayu-Minangkabau. As mentioned above, the legend has many variants, and the one, which is written down in the Tambo Minangkabau, but also circulates widely in oral form has it that the legendary forefather (niniak moyang) named Suri Maharajo Dirajo descended from Gunung Merapi, a very active volcano of almost 3,000 metres in the vicinity of Bukittinggi. He established two villages (nagari) Pariangan and Padang Panjang laying the foundation for the Minangkabau civilization to develop. Suri Maharajo Dirajo married Puti Indo Jalito who gave birth to a boy named Sutan Maharajo Basa (the great emperor) who later was bestowed with the title Datuk Ketumanggungan. While Maharajo Basa was still young, Suri Maharajo Dirajo died, and Puti Indo Jalito married Cati Bilang Pandai, one of his advisors. This second marriage resulted in the birth of another boy named Sutan Balun who later became known by his title Datuk Prapatih Nan Sebatang. The legendary ancestor and founder of the Minangkabau civi­lization bears the Sanskrit title Suri Maharajo Dirajo (Śrı̄ Mahā rā jā dhirā ja ‘king of all kings’). This title was already used by Akārendravarman, who around 1316 ruled Malayu as the predecessor of Ādityavarman, and later also by Ādityavarman himself in at least one of his inscriptions. In his recent publication Leaves of the Same Tree, L. Andaya has pointed out that the process of Minangkabau ethnicization occurred, at least partly as a response to the ongoing Javanization of the Malay courts of Jambi, while the existence of a court at Pagaruyung, in the immediate vicinity of Saruaso, where the “aura of the spiritual powers associated with Ādityavarman” were retained, “made the new Minangkabau identity a credible and increasingly effective one” (Andaya 2008, p. 91).

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The Legal Code The main body of the text between the opening and the closing passages contains the legal code, which is written entirely in Malay. It is not only the oldest extant Malay manuscript, but with approximately 950 words it is also the longest text of the era covering the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, where all other known texts generally do not exceed 70 words. The few known Malay texts from this era are all from stone inscriptions erected during the reigns of the Malayu kings Mauliwarmadewa, Akārendravarman, and Ādityavarman within the borders of the Malayu kingdom, the Terengganu inscription (CE 1303), and the Minye Tujuh tombstone (CE 1380) from Aceh recently re-examined by van der Molen (2007). Generally the text consists of a list of fines an offender has to pay. The first offence mentioned in Par. 1 is disobedience to the Dipati. The fine of 2¼ tael (tahil) is, with the exception of offences against the religious order, one of the highest fines mentioned in the manuscript. Treason (derhaka) was considered one of the most serious offences in many Malay legal codes, and the punishment in TK 214 is relatively mild compared to the punishment as laid out, for example, in the Pahang laws: The punishment for treason is 360 tortures, confiscation of property, and servitude of the family to the ruler. If the traitor dies, he shall be quartered and the quarters cast to the four points of the compass. So, too, any collaborators. Failure to report treason entails cutting of the tongue and driving nails into the ears and plucking out of the eyes and casting away in a lonely spot (Kempe; Winstedt 1948, p. 40).

Par. 2–9 regulate violations against the public order; interspersed in this list one also finds a commercial offence — the falsification of weights (Par. 6). Par. 2 emphasizes an individual’s obligation to engage in communal activities. This section is reminiscent of the following passage of a legal code from Palembang: “Siapa-siapa yang tidak turun waktu sampai gilirannya kemit dusun ‘putus gawe’ namanya, kena hukuman di muka rapat Marga.” (Oendang-oendang Simboertjahaja 1939, p. 17) Par. 3 seems to indicate that the parties involved in a fight are invariably fined regardless of who instigated the hostility.

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Par. 4 is a rather lengthy paragraph and contains several regulations that, however, are not separated by a pada-lungsi (equivalent to a period). This paragraph also contains a number of illegible passages and a number of words where the meaning is not entirely clear. Jahi, for instance, may be related to Basemah ja’ih and Serawai ja’i’ah “game of hazard”, and as it occurs in combination with judi “gamble” it is probable, but not certain, whether judi jahi is indeed a game of hazard (cf. W. Mahdi’s remarks on page 211). It is also not entirely clear whether gambling is declared illegal here, or whether this sentence must be read in combination with the following passage, which, unfortunately, is barely legible and could only be fragmentarily reconstructed: “violent unrest, resistance, a creese is drawn, … spear, kill, dead”. It is hence possible that this regulation was not intended to ban gambling, but rather to prevent unrest following such a game by imposing fines for the players as well as for the organizers if such a game results in disorderly behaviour and violence. This passage is reminiscent of the following passage from the UndangUndang Melaka (UUM): “If a man engages in gambling [… and] afterwards becomes involved in a dispute or fight, and then (he) lodges a complaint with the judge, the sentence is that everything has to be confiscated” (Liaw 1976, p. 167). The rest of this paragraph is equally unclear. Grammatically, dunungngan seems out of place here and also does not occur in Standard Malay. The same is true for cengkal ‘disturbance’ — the translation here is based on the context. While the passage does, literally, translates as “a robbing thief assigned by a claimant (lit: ‘claiming person’), destroys the house of a person, the thief who causes a disturbance shall be exiled”, it must be noted that this is only a tentative translation. Furthermore, diangkatkan may indeed mean ‘assigned’, but it is only the figurative meaning whereas the literal meaning is ‘raised, lifted up’. Finally pabenuakan, which we tentatively translated as ‘to exile’, is derived from benua ‘country, land, settlement’, and may possibly mean something entirely different in the context of this particular sentence. Senggabumikan, the first word of the last passage of this paragraph, is discussed in detail on page 261 where we noted that it always occurs in combination with bunuh ‘kill’, but the meaning remains obscure. It is quite common in Malay legal texts that a violator is punished in that he, usually temporarily, becomes the domestic servant of his ruler. In Palembang such a person is known as a panjing with the passive verbal

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form dipanjing that is attested in the Undang-Undang Simbur Cahaya from upper Palembang: Jika orang punya rumah ditunu orang jahat atau pencuri masuk dusun tiada dengan ketahuan kemit dusun, itu kemit dipanjing dari 1 sampai 3 bulan lamanya oleh yang berkuasa. (Oendang-oendang Simboertjahaja 1939) If a person’s house is burned down by an evil doer, or a thief enters the village and the nightwatchman fails to notice it, then the nightwatchman shall be enslaved by his ruler for 1 to 3 months.

Panjing is preceded by terenyata, which most likely is SM ternyata ‘apparently’, and followed by ka dalam ‘to go inside’. The relationship between these words is not entirely clear, and the following word sa-paru ‘one-?’ is unknown. Lawan dipati can, depending on the context, mean ‘resist the chief’ or ‘contester/enemy of the chief’, this is followed by the relative pronoun yang, and, again, dunungngan. It goes without saying that the translation of the second part of Paragraph 4 is as tentative as that of the first part. Par. 5 does not pose, at least grammatically, any difficulties, but there are two words that are problematic. Mamagat is quite likely memegat listed in Wilkinson’s dictionary as “(Batav.) To catch up or intercept (a walker)”, but it cannot be said for certain whether we can extend the interception of a walker to the interruption of a speaker. However, given that other law books also contain similar regulations one can assume that our translation is correct. The Kedah code of law also advises that those who speak shall not be interrupted, especially if they are nobles (Sham and Salim 1995, p. 172). The second problematic word is the passive verb dipirak that we are unable to translate. Par. 6: Regulations of weights and measures are commonly found in Malay law books and sometimes referred to as hukum gantang dan cupak. In the Kedah laws it is stipulated that it is the duty of each village head to inform the people that they have to adhere to the established standards (Sham and Salim 1995, p. 124). This regulation is the first indication of a standardized measurement system in pre-modern Sumatra, which points to the importance of trade in gold as well as precious forest products such as benzoin resin and camphor. From the context of the sentence it is quite obvious that pihayu is another, albeit unidentified, unit of measurement. Gantang and cupak are measures of capacity where one gantang contains

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four cupak. Depending on time and place one gantang was equivalent to roughly 2–3 litres. Katian, more commonly known as kati, is a measure of weight equivalent to 16 tahil (620 grams), although at the time when the manuscript was written it may still had its original value of 20 tahil, which, according to Christie (1996, p. 258), was reduced to 16 tahil in the sixteenth century. The kati was the largest unit in the early currency system and in early Java, it weighed approximately 750–768 grams (Christie 1996, p. 257). The measure of kunderi, also known as kenderi, keneri, kundi or kundir, is derived from the Tamil word kunri ‘crab’s eye, or saga tree’. The bright red-coloured seeds of the saga tree (Abrus precatorius), a native of Indonesia where it is known as saga or kunderi, are very consistent in weight and hence the kunderi unit of about 0.1 gram was based upon the average weight of the seed of the saga tree. The term kenderi was predominantly used in Sumatra and on the Malay peninsula, whereas in Java and Bali the weight unit was known as the saga. A bungkal or bongkal is a measure of weight, equivalent to 16 mayam or approximately 830 gram. Par. 7: As strangers were looked at with suspicion, villagers were required to report any guest to the pengulu ‘village head’. In contemporary Malay menunggu has the meaning ‘to wait’, and also ‘to watch, guard, occupy a house for a short time’. Baribin is not a known Malay word, but occurs in Old Javanese with the meaning of ‘disturbance’. In Malay, rĕnnyah is translated as “rĕnnyah I. ‘to bestir oneself, to busy oneself …’, II ‘[Riau] to be sulky’” (Wilkinson 1901, p. 345) and in Minangkabau one finds “rénjèh = rénjè, ‘latig, hinderlijk, dwingerig’, merénjè’ ‘lastig vallen’” (annoying, hindering) (Toorn 1891, p. 191). Par. 8: This is a revised translation replacing the one presented in the Indonesian edition (Kozok 2006, p. 109). The following interlinear gloss shows the relationship between the text and its translation: barang ma=magang urang tandang bartah ma=hulu=kan judi jahi whoever organize person travel unknown ? be head of gamble hazard Whoever organizes wanderers to hold a game of hazard. sabung maling barang ma=magang di=danda sa=tahil sa=paha cockfight thief whoever organize be fined one tael a quarter A clandestine cockfight, the one who organizes this shall be fined one tael and a quarter.

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Bartah has been tentatively reconstructed as bar=antah where antah could be the Minangkabau variant of SM entah ‘I do not know’. Ma=hulu=kan, derived from hulu ‘head’, does not have a SM equivalent, which, however, may be due to the fact that the original Malay hulu was later largely replaced by the Sanskrit loanword kepala. Mahulukan may hence be an ancient form of SM mengepalakan ‘be head of’. The translation of sabung maling as ‘clandestine cockfight’ is tentative. Par. 9: The original cannot be interpreted with certainty, but what is meant here is presumably that the killing of an intruder — a person who fails to announce himself when entering a house at night time — is not considered a crime, and is legalized under the authority of the chief of the four tribes. That trespasser on house property at night may be killed is a regulation commonly found in Malay law books (cf. Kempe; Winstedt 1948, p. 5 and 1952, p. 5). In the Undang-Undang Kedah, there are even two sections dealing with this matter, which is here extended to the village: section 11 states that a person who enters a village at night time without announcing himself (the word used here is bersuara ‘to make a sound’) may be killed, and in section 13 people are advised to carry a lamp or a torch when they go outside at night time. If a person runs away, he may be killed (Sham and Salim 1995, pp. 124–25). The meaning of the remaining sentence following the first bunuh remains opaque. The meanings of ta’ulih and senggabumiken are unclear, but we know that something is done ‘by the chief of the four tribes’. Barekuat is probably related to Besemah [me]ngkuatkan suluh, and Serawai [me]ngkuatkan suloah ‘wave a torch to make the flames flare up’ (Helfrich 1904, p. 83). Barekuat barsulu is a parallel construction: “without lighting up or carrying a burning torch”. Par. 10–21 list the fines for stealing goats, pigs, dogs, and chickens. The fine for stealing dogs and chickens depends on the social status of the animal’s owner: the higher the rank, the greater is the fine, but for goats and pigs there is only one universal fine of ten mace. A similar system where the fine or compensation is based on the social status of the victim is reported by Marsden (1811, p. 222) for Rejang and by Saleeby (1905, p. 90) for the Sulu Code. In the first three paragraphs the fines are given in gold weight, for the latter the fine is to return the stolen chickens in multiple quantities — the Malay concept of compensation known as pulang or lipat. These paragraphs are discussed further down on page 263.

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The words gutera and kutera in Par. 15 and Par. 19 remained untranslated in the Indonesian edition (Kozok 2006). Kutera is apparently a misspelling of gutera, which, as we now believe, is derived from Sanskrit gotra ‘lineage’. Given that the fine for stealing the chicken of such a gutera is greater than that of a commoner, but lesser than that of a chief, one can conclude that the gutera constituted a class of nobles. Par. 22 punishes a violation called mangiwat with a fine of 1.5 tael. According to Zoedmulder’s Old Javanese dictionary, the meaning of OJ angiwat is ‘to elope’ [OJED 708]. In Sundanese ngiwat is used in the same meaning (Hardjadibrata 2003, p. 338). This offence is punishable with a fine of 1.25 tael, and “he must return the equivalent”. This may refer to the bride price that still must be paid. In the Balinese law book Purwa Agama, angiwat is defined as “carrying away a woman for subsequent sale” (Hooker 1986, p. 337). An alternative translation is hence possible: “Whoever carries away a woman [for subse­ quent sale] shall be fined one and a quarter tael, and the compensation [given to the woman or her owner] is the ‘equivalent’”. What is meant here as ‘equivalent’ (sarupanya, lit. ‘the same’) may refer to the price for which he has sold the woman, or may be also to the woman herself — he has to purchase another woman and give it to the person who owned the sold woman. Par. 23: Basaja is most certainly the modern bersahaja. Sahaja often occurs in the shorter form as saja. In contemporary Malay, sahaja and saja mean ‘only’ and bersahaja ‘simple, modest (esp. of living conditions)’. Hence our translation of bajalan basaja as ‘simple wanderer’, and what is meant could be a ‘wanderer with no official rank’ as opposed to those who travel in official mission. Wilkinson writes that “in Bazar Malay sahaja means ‘only’; the older meaning (intentionally) is lost sight of ”. Bajalan basaja could hence also be translated as ‘traveling with a clear intention’. Wilkinson writes about the word tandang, that the word is common in the literature as tandang desa ‘wandering in foreign lands’, and that it has “bad associations as the ancient Malay did not travel for pleasure and looked with suspicion on gentlemen of the road” (Wilkinson 1959, pp. 1163–64). Such a traveller, be it a ‘simple’ or a ‘purposeful’ wanderer, has to be provided with food and granted passage. The Kedah book of laws also emphasizes the importance of hospitality where villagers have the duty to provide lodging and food to travellers (Sham and Salim 1995, p. 162). From the Minangkabau highlands, it is reported that a road network with resting places existed from at least the seventeenth century on, but the conditions in fourteenth-century Jambi were likely much more simple.

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Lodging places for travellers may have existed along the major trade routes but in most cases travellers would have to rely on the hospitality of the local population. Par. 24 poses some difficulties as the meaning of panjalak and tati is not known. It states that people carrying orders (presumably from the king) have to be “protected by the people of the community”. Par. 25–26 and 30–36 relate to the theft of agricultural produce (the numbers following the Malay name relate to the amount of fine in mace — one mace is 2.4 gram of gold): palm wine (tuak-5), fish from a fish trap (5), sugar cane (tebu-1.25), giant taro (birah-5), taro (kaladi5), yam (hubi-5), derris root (tuba-5), betel flower (bunga sirih-5) and areca nut (pinang-5), rice (padi-20), chicken-, duck-, and pigeon eggs (telur-2.5). Par. 25: Indonesian toddy (tuak) is an alcoholic beverage made from the fermented sap of the sugar palm (Arenga saccharifera), occasionally also from the coconut palm. The sugar palm’s male flower stalks are cut at their bases and the sap is collected in bamboo cylinders that can be stolen when still “in the tree”, or after having been taken down “below”. Par. 26: The fine for stealing fish from a trap — implied here is obviously theft of the contents of a (stationary) fish trap, i.e. of the fish — is the same as that for stealing palm wine, taro or yam, and only a quarter of the fine for stealing rice. The relative low fine may be indicative of a relative abundance of fish. We cannot explain why within this list of thefts of agricultural produce we find three paragraphs inserted (Par. 27–29) that appear to be completely out of context. Par. 27 concerns the alteration of the “five Vedas” — this may refer to the four books of the Vedas, Rig, Sama, Yajur and Atharva, and to the fifth Veda, the Natya Veda, that is believed to be the creation of Brahma who composed this “Book of Drama” by taking elements from the other four Vedas to save humanity from deterioration of moral values. This must have been regarded as a serious offence punishable by 5.25 tael (84 mace). Pancawida is presumably derived from Sanskrit pañca ‘five’, and veda ‘the Veda’. Par. 28 is unfortunately unclear. A literal translation is “whoever deprives a person of the original object of karja”. This offence is fined a catty and five tael (400 mace) — by far the most severe of all fines. The translation workshop came to the preliminary conclusion that karja may

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refer here to a religious ceremony. In contemporary Malay-Indonesian kerja has the meaning of ‘work’ but the original meaning ‘ceremonial work’ has been maintained in idiomatic expressions such as kerja kawin ‘marriage ceremony’ and also in many regional languages. Later, however, Waruno Mahdi suggested that mata kareja yang purewa (lit. ‘original/ancient object of kareja’) could be a circumscription of a pusaka ‘sacred heirloom’. If this is correct, it would not only explain the extraordinarily high fine, but also why this pusaka manuscript has survived for almost 700 years. Par. 29 deals with “unrest with sin and dispute” which is fined 2.25 tael (36 mace). The reference to ‘sin’ in this, and to sacred texts and a religious ceremony in the two proceeding paragraphs suggests that the three paragraphs are related to the desecration of religion. It is also interesting to note the severity of the fines. The lightest of the three violations carries a fine of 2.25 tael (86 gram) — the same amount that is applicable for two other infringements only — for disobeying and resisting the Dipati. The two other fines are 5.25 tahil (201.6 gram) and 1 kati 5 tahil or 868 gram of gold. Barbunyi ‘to make a noise/sound’ has been translated here rather freely as ‘to incite’. Par. 30: Sugar cane must have been a relatively inexpensive crop as the fine is only 5 kupang (1.25 mace), and this only applies when it is stolen in larger quantity carried away “on the shoulder, on the head, or on a pole”. It is not considered an offence to take sugar cane home in small quantity or to consume it in the field. The low fine is consistent with the Sungai Ujong code of law where the theft of sugar cane or bananas is fined only 1 kupang, 1 piak, 4 kĕndĕri (Winstedt; Jong 1954, p. 17). Par. 31 is a continuation of the above. The passage di pahalu-nya tanaman-nya tanamkan is not entirely clear as the meaning of pahalu is unclear, and also because the passive prefix di- would have been expected before tanamkan. The translation is hence tentative. The structure of the remainder of this paragraph is somehow unusual as in the first part the patience sabatang precedes the passive verb di=kapit ‘be carried under the arm’: sa-batang one-stick

di at/on/in

kiri left

sa-batang one-stick

di at/on/in

kanan right

di=kapit be carried

whereas in the second part the passive verb precedes the patience: di=genggam held in hand

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sa-batang one-stick

di at/on/in

kiri left

sa-batang one-stick

di at/on/in

kanan right

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Both constructions are possible in Malay, but in the case of parallel passive constructions of two and more passive verbs cum patience, the relative position of patience to passive verbs is usually the same. When the passive verbs precedes the patience, it normally does it for each parallel item. Par. 32: Birah (Alocasia) and keladi (Colocasia esculenta) are grown for their edible corm (a short, vertical, swollen underground plant stem that serves as a storage organ), but keladi ‘taro’ is far more common because birah ‘giant taro’ requires prolonged boiling before it can be consumed. Because of this birah is rarely served unless in times of food shortage. The advantage of birah is that its harvest can be delayed for up to four years during which the corms can reach a weight of over 18 kg. It is hence an ideal ‘emergency’ crop. Taro is a good source of vitamin E, vitamin B6, potassium and manganese, and foremostly of carbon hydrates — 100 gram cooked taro provides 142 calories. Hubi (Dioscorea alata) is a tuberous herbaceous perennial liana native of Southeast Asia. 100 gram cooked yam provides 116 calories, and is a good source of vitamin C, potassium and manganese. Tuba is a climbing leguminous plant of Southeast Asia. Its roots contain rotenone, a strong insecticide and fish poison. The root is crushed and thrown into the water. The stunned or killed fish float to the surface where they can be easily reached. Par. 33: The theft of betel is also mentioned in a law book from Pasemah (Marsden 1811, p. 233), and in the Minangkabau law book of Sungai Ujong where the fine is 5 busok, 1 piak, 4 kĕndĕri. Par. 34: The relative worth of the agricultural produce is reflected in the fines. Although taro and yam compare well with rice in nutritional value, rice appears to have been a much more valued and prestigious staple like it is still today. In the Minangkabau law book of Sungai Ujong (Negeri Sembilan), the fine for stealing rice is even greater than that for the theft of buffaloes, cows, and other quadruped: “The stealer of rice lives, if he has money; if he has not he dies. For rice is the staff of life for everyone. The fine is 1 tael, 1 paha, 12½ mas, 5 kupang, 5 busok, 1 piak, 4 kĕndĕri” (Winstedt; Jong 1954, p. 17). In the Sungai Lemau laws from Bengkulu (Moyer 1975, p. 141), the fine for stealing rice is almost twice that of stealing a buffalo. Par. 35: Interesting is that yam is listed twice in the list of fines. It is first listed together with taro, giant taro, and derris root (Par. 32), and then again in Par. 35. The fine for the theft of yam “without the plant” (yang tida bajunjungan) is 5 mace, and the theft of yam “with the plant” (bajunjungan)95

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is 5 kupang (1.25 mace). The addition that [the theft of yam] “without the plant”, that is harvested yam, is redundant as it had already been listed in Par. 32, but apparently it was repeated to provide a contrast to the theft of yams “with the plant”, that is the theft of unharvested yam straight from the field for which the fine is only a quarter of that of harvested yam. This division is understandable as with harvested products the offender does not only steal the product itself, but also the labour invested in harvesting the plants. Yet, this alone does not explain the remarkable difference between fines for the two offences. The relative low fine is probably also due to the fact that the thief most likely acted out of poverty. Par. 36: Smearing an offender’s face is a common penalty for theft and other offences in the Malay world. The UUM gives a vivid example of such a punishment: “the offender will be placed on a white-spotted cow, adorned with hibiscus flowers and a dish-cover on his head; his face shall be smeared with lime, charcoal and turmeric, and thus he will be carried around the country while a gong is being beaten (to announce his crime). If the (stolen) property is discovered, it shall be hung around his neck” (Liaw 1976, p. 81). Another instance of face-smearing (with an undisclosed material) is mentioned on page 90 of Liaw’s edition of the UUM. The following interlinear gloss shows the relationship between the text and its translation: Mali[ng] telur hayam itik perapati ditumbuk tujuh Thief egg chicken duck pigeon be beaten seven The thief of chicken, duck, or pigeon eggs shall undergo seven strokes. lima tumbuk urang five beat(s) person five strokes by the arbiter

manangahi arbitrate

tumbuk beat(s)

dua tumbuk tuhan-nya two beat(s) his master two strokes by his master

Par. 37: Related to the above offences is the theft of the content of a snare (isi jerat), where the fine is a dog and a whittling knife. Par. 38 relates to the theft of a birdlime trap and its contents. Birdlime is an adhesive substance made of tree resin that is applied to one (or more) about one metre long piece of bamboo upon which a bird, lured by another bird in a cage, may land and be caught. The fine is either a jar of sesame or 2.5 mace. The theft of textiles is dealt with in Par. 39. Mentioned are kain, a generic term for all kinds of woven material, as well as pieces of cloth that can be used as sarongs, shoulder cloths etc. More specifically mentioned are further “babat”, which seems to be bebat ‘waist cloth’, baju ‘shirt’ —

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a word of uncertain Persian provenance, and distar pari rupanya ‘head cloths of all kinds’. The fine is 10 mace, twice that for most agrarian products. Par. 40–42 are concerned with the theft of iron and steel. Par. 40 mentions that the “theft of iron and steel shall carry a fine of five mace”. Par. 41 refers to the theft of Khorasan iron, which, despite its foreign provenance, carries the same fine of five mace. Khorasan iron from the Khorasan region in northeastern Iran, southern Turkmenistan, and northern Afghanistan was held in high esteem in Indonesia due to its excellent quality. Par. 42 imposes a fine of 10 mace for the theft of smelted iron and a particular tupang steel. These are all relatively light fines equivalent to those for the theft of agrarian produce or cloth. Puzzling is that the text mentions here that the thief who is unable to pay the fine of 10 mace for the theft of smelted iron or tupang steel shall be killed! We believe that the explanation for this harsh punishment lies in Par. 43 where it is stated that “a person who rapes shall be fined correspondingly” — the somewhat laconic formulation apparently means that the severity of the punishment depends on the gravity of the case. In our opinion, the writer erroneously inserted the capital punishment in the preceding paragraph. In the context of rape it makes much more sense that the offender who is not able to pay the appropriate fine — to be determined on a case-by-case basis — has to face the death penalty, which is also prescribed in the UUM: “If a man rapes someone’s daughter or sister, the penalty is death for the individual (concerned)” (Liaw 1976, p. 167). Capital punishment is mentioned, once again as a punishment for offenders unable to pay the fine, in Par. 44. Here the crime is maragang ‘to attack, assault’. Par. 45–48 are concerned with the theft of various fishing devices. The trap in Par. 45 is called hampangan. The word is most certainly derived from the root ampang, which is either ‘a body of water confined by a dam’ or ‘a large basket’. As hampangan is preceded by bubu in TK 215, we can assume that hampangan is a basket-shaped fish trap (see the annotations on page 269). The thief of such a fish trap has to replace it with a vessel of palm wine, a tray of shrimps,96 a tortoise, and one wild pig. Alternatively the thief may pay 10 mace. The meaning of se=parah (one=parah) is contextually reconstructed as it is likely that a parah must be a kind of vessel. A dulang is, in Standard Malay, a wooden tray with raised edges and often with attached legs, but in the

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99

Rejang language a dulang-tray is usually made from plaited bamboo. The tortoise is the Malayan flat-shelled turtle (Notochelys platynota) known as biuku inhabiting streams and shallow water bodies in freshwater swamp forest habitats. Par. 46: The thief of a takalak, known in Standard Malay as tengkalak — a long, conical fish trap with spikes turning inward permitting ingress but not exit — can be punished with a fine of either 5 kupang, 5 mace, or 10 mace, depending on whether the trap was made of hijuk (palm fibre), manau or rattan cane, or root. According to Thorburn, most Indonesian fish traps “are made of bamboo strips plaited with rattan or cord. Some are also made of ranan or from the needle-like sticks found in the ijuk fibre from the Aren palm” (Thorburn 1982, p. 38). The Batak used fish traps made from the veins (Mal. lidi, Batak tarugi) of the frond of the Aren palm. The translation is tentative as the meaning of panyalin, most likely derived from salin ‘to replace’, cannot be ascertained. Unexplainable remains also show how roots can serve as material for fish traps. Par. 47: The only reference to antilingan that we were able to find is from the Kendayan language, a Malayic dialect from Borneo, where this word refers to a kind of fishing net, Indonesian tangguk (Adelaar 2005, p. 229). This perfectly matches the text as the following paragraph refers to the theft of a variety of other fishing nets. Par. 48: A pukat can refer to many kinds of different fishing nets, but what they all share in common is that they are relatively large, and are used to catch larger species of fish. Jala are round toss nets of a diameter of 2–3 metres to catch fish in shallow waters such as swamps and rivers. “A rope tied to the centre of the net is used to pull the net back out of the water. The jala is tossed with a twisting motion so that it spreads out flat before hitting the water. It sinks to the bottom and with luck it traps a few fish. As it is pulled out by the rope, the edges draw together, entangling the fish inside” (Thorburn 1982, p. 39). A tangkul is a large rectangular fishing net of 10 × 8 metres operated by two fishermen, but in the KBBI it is defined as a net fish trap with a handle that can be held at the bottom of the river and lifted up. The latter is also known as pukat tangkul. Hasselt (1881, p. 54) mentions a pasap in Lebong but without further specification; in Minangkabau a pasap has been reported to be similar to a tangkul net fish trap that also has a handle, whereas

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in Jambi small nets are known as pesap.97 From the various sources, it appears that a pesap is a scoop net. In Kerinci, a telai is known as a kind of fishing line (Sutan Kari, personal communication, 16 December 2004). A gitrang is presumably also a kind of net or other fishing device. Par. 49 is related to the burning (mambakar) of huts (spelled first dango, then dangu, and finally rango) and the destruction (babinasa) of someone’s tal-taloy, panaloyyan (?), huts and yards (pakarangan), a hut’s roof, wall, or floor. This carries a punishment of five mace. The meaning of the base word taloy is unclear; the semi-duplicated tal-taloy possibly refers to “taloy-ing” works, grounds, or instruments, while panaloyan (a paN-…-an derivation of taloy) may perhaps refer to the carrying out of “taloy”, or the fruits/produce of “taloy-ing”. Par. 50–51 relate to the repayment of debts. Two kinds of debt are mentioned, that of precious metals, namely gold (mas), silver ( pirak), a copper alloy (riti-rancung), brass (kangsa), and copper (tembaga), and debts in the form of staple food (rice, foxtail millet, sorghum and job’s tears). Par. 50: Riti, from Sanskrit riti ‘brass’, had apparently already disappeared during the classical Malay period — searching the Malay Concordance Project did not yield any results — whereas kangsa, from Sanskrit kamsa, is still occasionally used as a synonym to perunggu ‘bronze’, and as the name of a metallophone. Silamanya–batiga–puhun has been reconstructed as “at the longest–three times–request”, and singgan– sapaha–naik–mas–manikal as “until–a quarter–increase–gold–twofold”. The reference to “until a quarter” is not quite clear in this context, but naik mas manikal certainly translates as “gold in twofold”. Although this sentence cannot be completely reconstructed, it appears that if someone owes a debt of the above-mentioned precious metals, and it is not repaid after the third attempt to collect the debt, then the debt must be paid in twofold. Par. 51: We have chosen ‘equal measure’ as the translation of the original jamba barruk. Malay jemba is a measure of length (approx. 3.5 metres). Javanese beruk is a coconut shell used as a measure of volume for grain. Presumably, an equivalent amount is what is meant here: Jaka ba=hutang beras padi jawa jagung anjalai if to owe husked rice unhusked rice foxtail millet sorghum job’s tear If [one] owes [a debt of] husked [or] unhusked rice, foxtail millet, sorghum, [or] Job’s tears, dua tahun ka=tiga jamba beruk two years the third [a linear measure] [measure of volume] [then up to] two [harvest] years [and into] the third, the equal measure [shall be returned];

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101

Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214 labih dua tahun katiga hinggan=nya more two year the third it reaches more [than] two years into a third, [repay] twofold.

manikal twofold

Debts in staple food shall be returned in kind for up to two harvest years and into the third, and for later than that, repayment shall be twofold. A similar passage is found in an Old Javanese law book where it states that debt owed for rice increases fivefold every year. After five years, the limit is reached where the fivefold increase comes to an end (Jonker 1885, p. 97). That husked rice (beras), and unhusked rice (padi) are mentioned first is likely reflective of the dominant position of rice as the staple food par excellence. Foxtail millet ( jawa), sorghum ( jagung), and job’s tears (anjalai)98 were among the first cereals of Southeast Asia, and were once important staple foods. Today, they have completely disappeared from the diet of the average Indonesians, but they still must have played an important role in the fourteenth century. It is interesting to note that TK 215 has copied this passage almost verbatim, but left out the reference to jawa. This could indicate that by the eighteenth century, foxtail millet had ceased to be an important food crop in the Jambi area. According to Zoetmulder’s Old Javanese dictionary (OJED), the meaning of jagung is sorghum — possibly a contraction of jawa agung (Mahdi, personal communication, 12 March 2011).99 According to Mahdi (1999, p. 220), the establishment of regular maritime communication between India and West Indonesia seems to have facilitated the introduction of sorghum as staple cereal into the latter region just before foxtail millet was introduced there from China through the Philippines. The section regulating debts owned in precious metals and food crops is followed by a section regulating the replacement of wrecked or vanished boats (Par. 52–55). Par. 52: If the wrecked or vanished boat (parahu) was borrowed without permission, the person who borrowed it is fined two mace. We can assume that he also has to replace the boat, however, this is not explicitly mentioned. The meaning of diselang is ‘alternated by’; its translation ‘ask permission for [using someone else’s property]’ is a contextually deduced interpretation. Par. 53: If the boat was borrowed with permission, it has to be replaced or repaid, but there is no fine. Whereas the preceding paragraph uses the simple phrase hilang pacah binasa ‘vanished, broken, destroyed’, Par. 53 adds the stative passive prefix ta- and ia ‘it’, resulting in the so far unprecedented form ta’ia-pacah ‘it is broken’. The form [sa-]araga, which

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in SM is [se-]harga, still reflects the original Sanskrit form argha whereas bayir and bali are probably local variants of SM bayar and balik. Par. 54: If it is not replaced or paid in time then the owner is entitled to a jar of toddy and a chicken. Liwat dari janjang was rendered in TK 215 as lewat daripada janji. During the 2004 translation workshop we settled for the preliminary translation of liwat dari janjang as “past the stairs (to the house)”, and this translation was also used in the Indonesian edition (Kozok 2006, p. 119). Janjang (or jenjang) has either the meaning of “stairs” or, usually in the combination with waktu (time), the figurative meaning “time span”. The latter is similar to the meaning of janji “promise, agreement”, but which also means “delay”, “postponement”, “deferral”, and “predetermined time”. It is hence likely that janjang here refers to the passing of a promised period of time, most likely for the replacement of the boat. It is also possible that janjang is simply a misspelling of janji — a cecak was placed instead of a wulu over the na: janjang

    

janji

Par. 55: The replacement for biduk boats, paddles, and punting poles is a woven floor mat equivalent to the value of the lost item. A biduk is a small perahu used for fishing and river transport. From TK 215 we can conclude that the meaning of rak, which we were unable to translate during the translation workshop, is equivalent to harga “value”. Par. 56 prescribes a match (adu sabung), probably in the form of an ordeal, to solve a dispute where people accuse each other without witnesses (tida saksinya), and without any evidence (tida cina tandanya). If one party refuses the match that party shall be declared the loser. This paragraph is reminiscent of Chapter 14.1 of the UUM: “If a person accuses (another person) and the latter denies (the accusation), they (both parties) will be examined by the judge.” The judge will then order them to prove their case by immersing their hands in (boiling) water, oil or tin. A verse of the Quran will be written on a potsherd. This is what is being written: ‘And Allah has created you and that which you made’. O my God, with the blessing of Jabra’il and Israfil and Izra’il, show us who is right and who is wrong (in this case) of so and so’. The potsherd is then thrown into a (boiling) cauldron or a pot. The two contesting parties are then ordered to (immerse their hands and) take the potsherd out in one attempt. He who fails shall be punished according to the (prevailing) law of the country and the villages (Liaw 1976, p. 89).

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214

Less savage ordeals are described by Kempe and Winstedt: “a text is tied to the wrist of each party and both are ordered to dive. The text on the wrist of the first to emerge is thrown away; the last to emerge is the winner and his text is read”, and “two letters are written and folded to look identical. But one invokes the Prophet and the other Iblis. The man who takes the former wins” (Kempe; Winstedt 1952, p. 8). Par. 57 states that drunkenness is a punishable offence when the intoxicated person “misbehaves in action and word”. The fine for this offence is to pay “sapat sicara purewa”, a phrase that we were not able to translate. Intoxication with alcoholic drinks — fermented palm sap (tuak) and distilled palm sap (arak) are cited as common alcoholic beverages — apparently continued to be a problem even after the introduction of Islam. The UUM states for instance that it is invalid to trade with an intoxicated person (Liaw 1976, p. 135) and that the offender shall be scourged forty strokes (ibid. 163) which is the same amount prescribed by the Pahang laws for free men whereas slaves receive only twenty strokes (Kempe; Winstedt 1948, p. 17). The final section of the code of law (Par. 58–62) deals with the distribution of collected fines establishing the appropriate share for the various officials. Among the officials are the chiefs (dipati), the deputy chiefs (jajanang), and the vice minister (mantri muda). The translation here is more an attempt to reconstruct the original text as the text is not always clear. Par. 58: Besides two unknown words, hiram and telih, this paragraph also contains a few other uncertain words: Punarapi jaka urang ba=dusa sangkita Furthermore if person do=sin feud Furthermore, if a person sins [by being involved in] a feud belum ta=suda peda dipati not yet done at chief [and it was] not resolved by the chief kena undergo is fined

danda fine

samu[…]wan everyone?

sa-paha ka dalam one quarter to inside one quarter to the treasury (?)

hiram ?

telih-nya ?

dapattan ta’ulih succeed be done? [but] by the deputy dua kali two times twice a quarter

jajanang deputy sa-paha one quarter

sa-paha peda jajanang lawan one quarter to deputy against one quarter to the deputy of (?) the chief.

dipati chief

The translation is hence a rather free interpretation of what the text could have meant. Ka dalam, literally ‘to the inside’, which was translated

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here as ‘to the treasury’ could also mean ‘to the court’, but in the present context seems to refer to transactions at the local community level. Par. 59: Di=pagat is most likely related to pegat ‘catch up, inter­cept (a walker)’ which we interpret as ‘to catch’. Hence, if caught by the manteri muda (lit.: junior minister) outside, [the fine is] at most (hinggan) 2.5 mace, [and] the deputy [and] the chief do not receive [anything]. Unclear remains the reference to ‘outside’. Par. 60: One cannot say for certain that the following translation is correct, but the probability is relatively high: Jaka bar=alah=an lima mas If lost five mace If [a case] is lost [and the party has to pay] 5 mace

sa=mas par=ulih=an one mace win, share 1 mace goes to the chief.

dipati chief

Par. 61: This paragraph is a continuation of the preceding paragraph. Hinggan sa=puluh mas Up to 10 mace For [a settlement of] ten taels and more dua mas par=ulih=an 2 mace win, share two mace go to the chief.

ka to

datas up

ba=tahil=an in the taels

dipati chief

Par. 62: Apart from si=petan=nya where a translation as ‘measure’ was suggested, this paragraph is relatively easy to translate, but the meaning remains rather opaque. Pada sahaya sa=puluh tengah tiga For slave ten half three For a slave, twelve-and-a-half mace is the measure. tengah tiga mas peda urang half three mace for person two-and-a-half mace for the person owning the child.

mas mace

si=petan=nya measure? punya own

anak child

Par. 63: The last paragraph of the legal code is preceded by the word “country” (benua) that seems to be out of context, and may be a scribal error. This paragraph seems to be a continuation of the preceding one that also deals with a child. Jaka If

ia he

ba=pungut=kan adopts

anak=nya the child

dipati di=panggil dahulu ba=kareja chief be called first do ceremony the chief shall be called to perform a ceremony

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pada for

dipati chief

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105

Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214 jaka dipati kudi=an ulih ba=kaja=kan if chief then by do ceremony if the chief then carries out the ceremony, the child is …

di=dusa=kan be done wrong to

The Closing Section The closing section has been sufficiently described by Thomas Hunter in Chapter 6 with an annotated translation on page 321, and in the following pages I will hence restrict myself to two aspects of this section: 1. In the Indonesian language edition (Kozok 2006), we wrongly interpreted the last two words of 30/1 as bari salah due to the poor legibility of the diacritic attached to the letter ra. Griffith (2010) has pointed out that bari should be read barang and added that “we clearly have here a vernacular variant of the typically Sanskritic scribal disclaimer ‘if there be any error, please correct it’”. It seems to be more likely, however, that this passage is not a disclaimer but an affirmation of the correctness of the text. Hence we suggest the translation: “Whatever was wrong (of the contents of the law-book) was changed, amended by the great convocation.” 2. The Malay language part of the closing section mentions that the text is a proclamation of the royal order and decree of the maharaja of Dharmasraya, and that it was written by Kuja Ali in the assembly hall in the “land of palimbang” (bumi palimbang) in the presence of His Majesty the King of Dharmasraya. My first impression was that bumi palimbang refers to the present city of Palembang, where the capital of Srivijaya was located, and which in former times was indeed spelled Palimbang (Kozok 2004). During the translation workshop doubts were raised against this interpretation, and two alternative meaning of palimbang, namely “gold land” and “low lands” were proposed. The first meaning is based on the following evidence. The root word of palimbang is limbang, which means “to wash”, and this also refers to the washing (panning) of alluvial gold: The name Palembang is perhaps derived from the word limbang. This means panning for alluvial gold and, according to Van Rijn van Alkemade, during the latter half of the nineteenth century people still dived for gold in the Musi (sungai). However, the quantities found did not amount to much (Van Rijn van Alkemade 1883, p. 66) (Nas 1995).

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106

Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

Palimbang hence does not have to be a toponym, but can be a general reference to a gold-producing region. In Malayu-Jambi, the main goldproducing regions were Kerinci and Minangkabau.100 One could hence assume that the assembly hall where the laws were formulated were located either in Kerinci or in Minangkabau. In the case of the latter, the most likely place would have been Saruaso-Pagaruyung where the capital of Malayu was located, and that the maharaja of Dharmasraya attended the ceremony since Kerinci was lying under his jurisdiction. The only problem with this interpretation is that gold was produced in Minangkabau and Kerinci predominantly by mining, and only to a lesser extent by panning. It is hence not very likely that palimbang as “gold panning land” refers to the mountainous regions, but on the contrary it would refer to the lowlands where gold was panned. Apart from “gold panning”, limbang also has the meaning of “lowlying land”, according to Wilkinson’s Malay-English dictionary (Wilkinson 1959, p. 693). Wilkinson refers to a passage in the Malay Annals where the original name of Palembang is given as Perlembang, and comes to the conclusion that perlembang or perlimbang refers to the low-lying ground as opposed to mahameru. Here now is the story of a city called Perlembang in the land of Sumatra. It was ruled by Demang Lebar Daun, a descendant of Raja Shulan, and its river was the Muara Tatang. This city of Perlembang is what is now called Palembang. In the upper reaches of the Muara Tatang was a river called Melayu, and on that river was a hill called Si-Guntang. Further upstream was the Mahameru Mountain, and in the interior was a field called Penjaringan (Shellabear 1967, p. 20).101

Mahameru (Skt. mahā meru ‘great mountain’), the centre of the universe, and the place where the Gods live, is, in the Sumatran context, Mount Marapi. In TK 214, the reference to Palimbang occurs following the sentence where Kerinci is mentioned. Just as Palimbang can refer to the low lands in general, Kerinci, in the manuscript written in its ancient form Kurinci, may also refer to the highlands creating a juxtaposition of “high land” (ulu) and “low land” (ilir) similar to the juxtaposition of Perlembang and Mahameru in the Malay Annals. The toponym Kurinci is derived from the Tamil word kurinji (Strobilanthes kunthiana), a flowering shrub that grows in South India above 1,800 metres that represents one of the five physiographic divisions of the Tamil lands, according to ancient Sangam literature (produced c. 300 BCE–300 CE).

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107

Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214

These are kurinji or kurinchi (mountainous region), palai (wastelands), mullai (forests), marutam (cropland) and neital (seashore). In the context of the manuscript it seems most likely that palimbang refers to Dharmasraya because it is difficult to imagine that the maharaja of Dharmasraya attended the composition of the manuscript at any other place but the capital of his own kingdom. The “low lands” could, of course, also refer to the Batang Hari region in general, and more specifically to the old capital of Muara Jambi, which, at the time the manuscript was written, may still have played a role as an important economic, administrative, and religious centre. Finally the possibility that palimbang does indeed refer to the locality of Palembang can also be included, although it is doubtful whether Palembang has played any major role in the political affairs of Malayu in the fourteenth century, and it is rather unlikely that the law text was written in a place as remote from Dharmasraya and Kerinci.

The Fines Although the usual punishment is given in tahil, mas and kupang, there are, apart from the capital punishment mentioned above, also alternative and additional punishments. The most common is the payment of a compensation (pulang) of the stolen item in multiple quantities or by similar means of compensation. In some cases, an alternative punishment is recommended for those unable to pay the fine; most commonly this takes the form of temporary enslavement of twenty-eight days and flagellation. The fines are usually given in weight, and one can assume that the weight refers to gold. Until about the fourteenth century, there were 20 tahil (tael) in 1 kati (catty), 16 masa (mace) in 1 tahil, 4 kupang in 1 masa,

Table 3.2 Javanese Weights

1 1 1 1

Kupang Mas Tahil Kati

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Gram

Kupang

  0.6   2.4 38.4 768

    4    64 1,280

Mas

Tahil

Kati

  ¼

1/64 1/16

1/1280 1/320 1/20

  16 320

20

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Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

and 6 saga in 1 kupang. During that period, a catty weighed 768 grams, a tael 38.4 grams, a mace 2.4 grams, a kupang 0.6 gram and a saga 0.1 gram (Jan Christie, personal communication, 24 May 2004). Christie’s weight system was valid for Java in the period before the fifteenth century, but we cannot be certain whether the same system also applied to Sumatra. The scale of fines varies from 5 kupang, which is equivalent to three grams of gold, to one catty and five tael — just short of one kilogram of gold. The lightest fine is reserved for the theft of sugar cane and “yam with the plant” indicating that the thief harvests the tuber himself, while the theft of yams without the plant — that is already harvested yam — carries a fine that is four times higher. A fine of two mace applies if one borrows a boat without the owner’s approval, and the boat is lost, whereas borrowing a boat with the owner’s approval is not a punishable offence, and the borrower only has to replace the lost boat. The fine for stealing a birdlime trap with its contents is 2.5 mace; the same amount is also the fine for stealing chickens, ducks, or pigeon eggs. In the latter case, however, the fine of 2.5 mace is intended as an alternative fine if the offender wants to avoid the punishment that is prescribed for egg thieves where the offender shall undergo seven strokes — five strokes by the arbiter, two strokes by his master — and have his face smeared with chicken dung (cf. pp. 93–94). A fine of five mace has to be paid by a person who burns down or destroys a field hut, but otherwise this sum is reserved for various thefts including the theft of yams which are already harvested, toddy, domestic animals (goats, pigs, common dogs, a Dipati’s chickens), fish traps, fish nets, iron and steel. Theft of birah tuber, taro, yam, derris root, betel flower, and areca nut is punished by 28 days of enslavement or five mace. An alternative punishment is also possible in the case of theft of the contents of a fish trap where the thief shall only pay the fine if he cannot fulfil the prescribed compensation, which is to heap the fish trap with harvested rice. Other non-monetary fines apply for the theft of the contents of a snare ( jerat) and for the theft of a biduk boat. For the former the fine is to replace the contents of the snare with a dog and a knife, and for the latter a paddle, or a punting pole, a woven floor mat shall serve as replacement. Non-monetary fines in the form of a piece of cloth and a blouse are also mentioned in the UUM (Liaw 1976, p. 93). Pages 10–12 are concerned with the theft of animals such as goats, pigs and dogs. Here, the fines are monetary. Stolen chicken shall be replaced in multiple quantities depending on the status of the owner, and no

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109

Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214

fine has to be paid if the owner of the chicken is a slave. The same status-bound fine system can also be detected in later texts. According to the UUM, “a man who steals a goat (belonging to a dignitary) is to be fined one paha and has to pay the value of the goat. If the goat (stolen) belongs to an ordinary subject, he (the thief) only has to pay the value (of the animal) to the owner. No further fine shall be inflicted on him” (Liaw 1976, p. 115). Besides the theft of animals as mentioned in Table 3.3, a fine of 10 mace also applies to the theft “of cloth, waist cloths, shirts, and head cloths of all kinds”, smelted iron and tupang steel. There are only two property offences that carry a fine of 1¼ tael, the equivalent of 20 mace, namely the theft of a dog that belongs to the raja, and the theft of rice in the field. These are the highest fines applicable for property offences. A fine of 1¼ tael has also to be paid for the falsification of weights, and for a number of offences that can be subsumed in the category of offences against the public order. This includes organizing clandestine cockfights and other games of hazard, abduction, and other cases where the offender disturbs the public order, but without the involvement of violence. Fines of 2¼ tael have to be paid for a number of offences involving disobedience to the dipati, violence and manslaughter. Unfortunately the passages where these offences are mentioned could not be coherently translated because some of the words were illegible. Table 3.3 Monetary Fines and Replacement in Multiple Quantities

Goat, Pig Ordinary Dog Dog of a Mawu102 Dog of a Chief (Dipati) Dog of the King (Raja) Chicken of a Slave Chicken of a Commoner Chicken of a Noble (Gutra) Chicken of a Dipati, his children and grandchildren Chicken of a Raja

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Fine

Alternative Fine

10 mace   5 mace 10 mace 10 mace 1¼ tael ×2 ×3 ×5 ×7 ×7×2

× 2 + 5 kupang 2½ mace   5 mace 10 mace

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Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

Offences against the religious order occur the highest of all fines. These and the two references to capital punishment have already been discussed above.

Wordlist Abbreviations that will be used: AmLok — Amoghapāśa Lokéśvara statue text (Krom 1916) Arb — Arabic Bsm — Besemah (Helfrich 1904) CM — Classical Malay (language of classical Malay literature) dCasp — de Casparis (1997b) dial. — dialect, in dialects HJb — Hulu (upstream) Jambi dialects (Anderbeck 2004) Jv — Javanese Mkb — Minangkabau n. — noun OJ — Old Javanese OM — Old Malay SKN — Sabokingking (Telaga Batu) Naga stone Skt — Sanskrit Snd — Sundanese SM — Standard Malay (Indonesian and Malaysian) Srw — Serawai (Helfrich 1904) TTuwo — the Talang Tuwo inscription (Coedès 1930, pp. 39–40) v. — verb Wilk. — Wilkinson (1901), followed by page number

A adu — ‘have fighting contest’ 5/3, 25/2 (SM adu) akar — ‘root (vine?)’ 21/3 (SM akar ‘root’) ali — ‘Ali (Arabic proper name)’ 29/5 (SM Ali, Arb ‘Alī) [a]maléswarang — proper name 30/4 (Skt amaleśvara, lit. ‘blemishless lord’) amit — 7/8 as ta’amit ‘be allowed to’ anak — ‘child’ 6/6, 11/4, 28/2 (SM anak), see also hanak anjing — ‘dog’ 10/3, 10/4, 10/5, 10/6, 18/4 (SM anjing)

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214

111

antilingngan — ‘k.o. fishing net’ 21/3–4 (Kendayan antilikng, Adelaar 2005, p. 229) anugeraha — ‘royal favour’ 3/1 (SM anugerah; Skt anugraha) araga — ‘price, value’, in s[a]-araga-nya 23/7 (SM harga; Skt argha) as — see under esa atawa — ‘or’ 16/7 (Mly atau, dial. also atawa; Skt athavā) atnya — ‘command, decree’ 3/1, 13/3, 29/1 (Skt ājñā) aum — ‘hail, salute’ 2/1, 30/5 (Skt aum ‘sacred syllable om of the Sudras’), see also om ayam — ‘chicken’ 11/4 (SM ayam), see also hayam

B babajan — ‘with steel’ 19/4 (SM berbaja), see baja babat (read: bebat?) — ‘waist cloth’ 19/1–2 (SM bebat) babi — ‘pig’ 10/2, 20/5 (SM babi) babinasa — ‘destroy’ 21/7,103 22/1 (CM berbinasa[kan]), see binasa badusa — ‘be guilty’ 25/7—26/1 (SM berdosa ‘commit sin’), see dusa, also didusakan bagi — ‘for’ 11/1, 11/3, 11/5, 11/6 (SM bagi ‘for, share, divide’, Skt bhāgī [kr.] ‘divide’) bahaumman — ‘call for a community meeting’ 4/4, see also pahaumman bahilang — ‘make lost, ruin, destroy’14/5 (CM berhilangkan) bahutang — ‘have debt, be in debt’ 22/4, 22/8 (SM berhutang) baja — ‘steel’ 19/6 (SM baja), see also babajan bajalan — ‘walk, wander’ 13/1 (SM berjalan) baju — ‘clothing’ 19/2104 (SM baju; uncertain relationship to Persian bāzū ‘[upper] arm’) bajudi — ‘to gamble’ 5/4–5 (SM berjudi), see judi bajunjungngan — ‘with growing plant’ 17/4, 17/4–5 (Mkb junjuang ‘pole for climbing plants’) bakajakan — ‘perform a ceremony [for somebody]’ 28/6, see kareja, also bakareja bakareja — ‘have a ceremony performed’ (SM bekerja ‘work [v.]’) 28/5, see kareja, also bakajakan bala — ‘?’ 5/8 (SM bala ‘1. misfortune, 2. army’) balawannan — ‘fight against each other’ 5/1 (SM berlawanan ‘be opposed to one another’)

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112

Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

bali — ‘return, [give] back’ 24/1 (SM balik, kembali) banyak — ‘much, many’ 31/7 (SM banyak) bapungutkan — ‘adopt (child)’ 28/3 (CM berpungutkan) baralahhan — ‘lose’ 27/2 (CM beralahan), see also dialahkan barampat — ‘four in number, as a foursome’ 9/6 (SM berempat) barang — ‘whoever, what-/which-ever’ 4/1, 7/4, 7/7, 8/4–5, 8/6–7, 9/1, 12/5, 13/2–3, 14/3, 14/5, 14/7, 25/2, 30/1 (CM barang, SM barang[siapa, -mana]) barebunyi — ‘make a noise’ 14/7–15/1 (SM berbunyi ‘sound [v.]’) barekuat — in barekuat barsuluh ‘light up a torch’ 9/2-3 (SM berkuat ‘be strong’; Bsm [me]ngkuatka[n] suluh, Srw [me]ngkuatka[n] suloah ‘wave a torch to make the flames flare up’) baribin — ‘disturbance’ 8/2 (OJ baribin) barseru — ‘call out’ 9/2 (CM, SM berseru) barsuluh — ‘carry/have a torch’ 9/3 (CM, SM bersuluh) bartah — ‘?’ 8/5 barulih — ‘receive’ 27/1 (SM beroléh), see ulih, also parulihhan, ta’ulih basaja — ‘simple, ordinary’ 10/3-4, 13/1 (SM bersahaja) basi — ‘iron’ 19/3 (SM besi) batahillan — ‘several tael’ 27/4 (SM bertahilan, bertahil-tahil), see also tahil batang — ‘stick, piece’ (sa-batang ‘one [piece]’) 15/5–6, 15/6, 15/7, 16/1 (SM batang) batiga — ‘three in number, as a threesome’ 22/6 (SM bertiga), see tiga, also katiga bawa — ‘carry, bring’ 13/2 (SM bawa), see also dibawa, mambawa bawah — ‘under, below’ 13/7 (SM bawah) bayir — ‘pay’ 24/1 (SM bayar, Bsm, Srw baix, HJb bayir), cf. mambayir bellum — ‘not yet’ 26/1 (SM belum) bennua — ‘country, land’ 3/7–8, 11/2, 11/7, 27/6, 28/2–3 (SM benua), cf. pab[e]nuakan berras — ‘rice grain’ 22/8 (CM, SM beras) [b]erati — ‘?’, reading uncertain, 6/1 berruk — see under jamba berruk biduk — ‘k.o. small boat’ 24/5 (SM biduk) binasa — ‘destroyed’ 23/5, 23/7 (SM binasa), see also babinasa birah — ‘k.o. tuber, Alocasia Indica’ 16/3 (SM birah)

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214

113

biyuku — ‘k.o. tortoise’ 20/4 (SM biuku), see also under tihang bubu — ‘fish trap’ 14/1, 14/1 (SM bubu) bumi — ‘land, country’ 3/2, 29/3, 29/6 (SM bumi, Skt. bhūmi), see also senggabumikan bunuh — ‘kill’ 5/8, 6/5, 9/3 (SM bunuh), see also dibunuh, mamunuh bunga — ‘flower, blossom’ 16/6 (SM bunga) bungkal — ‘unit of weight, ½ catty’ 7/6 (SM bungkal) busuk — in sa-busuk ‘as bad as’ 9/6–7, 9/7 (SM se-busuk ‘as rotten as, as evil as’)

C cara — ‘way, manner’ (SM cara ‘id.’; Skt ācāra ‘conduct’), in si-cara — ‘in the way/manner of’ 25/6–7 (SM se-cara) cengngkal — ‘disturbance’ 6/4 cina — ‘mark, evidence’ 25/2 (SM céna ‘id.’; Skt chinna ‘cut, notched, marked’) cucu — ‘grandchild’ 11/5, 12/3 (SM cucu) cupak — ‘unit of volume, ¼ gantang’ 7/5 (SM cupak)

D dahulu — ‘before, at first, ahead of’ 28/4 (SM dahulu), cf. panghulu, mahulukan dalam — ‘inside’ 6/6, 26/5 (SM dalam) danda — ‘fine, penalty’ 4/3, 5/4, 8/4, 10/2, 12/6, 14/3, 14/6, 15/1, 15/4, 16/6, 17/2, 17/3, 17/5, 18/3, 18/5, 18/7, 19/1, 19/3, 19/4, 19/6, 20/7, 21/6, 22/3, 23/6, 26/3 (SM denda, Skt dan.d.a ‘punishment’), in si-danda-nya 20/1, cf. didanda, kadanda dangan — see under dengngan dango — ‘field hut’ 21/7, also spelled dangu 21/7 (SM dangau), cf. rango dangu — see dango dapattan — ‘succeed, manage to’ 26/2 (SM dapat ‘can, be able to’) daremmaseraya — ‘Dharmasraya (place name)’ 29/1–2, 29/7–30/1 dari — ‘from’, possibly to be read deri, 24/3 (SM dari) datas — ‘top, above’ 13/6, 27/4 (SM atas, HJb datas) dengngan — ‘with’ 3/6, 18/2105 (SM dengan) . deretang — ‘hold [firmly]’ 31/1, 31/7 (Skt dhr.tam)

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Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

derripeda — ‘than’ 31/6 (SM daripada) dèsa — ‘common, village community’ 3/6, 3/7 (Jv désa ‘id.’; Skt deśa ‘kingdom, country’), cf. peradèsa di — ‘at, in’ 2/5, 3/2, 3/7, 13/6, 13/7, 15/4, 15/6, 15/6, 15/7, 16/1, 26/7, 29/5, 29/6, 29/6 (SM di) dialahkan — ‘be declared as loser’ 25/3 (SM dialahkan ‘be defeated, be set back to second place’), cf. baralahhan diangkatkan — ‘be assigned’ 6/2 (SM diangkat[kan] ‘be lifted, raised, assigned, comissioned, put into office’) dibawa — ‘be carried, be brought’ 16/1 (SM dibawa), passive voice of bawa, mambawa, see there dibunuh — ‘be killed’ 19/7, 20/3 (SM dibunuh), passive voice of bunuh, mamunuh, see there didanda — ‘be fined’ 4/7, 6/8, 7/3, 7/7, 8/2–3, 8/7, 13/7, 14/4 (SM didenda), see danda didusakan — ‘be done wrong to’ 28/7, cf. dusa, badusa digalas — ‘be carried on a pole’ 15/3 (SM digalas) digengnggam — ‘be held in the hand’ 15/7 (SM digenggam) dihusap — ‘be smeared’ 18/2 (SM di[h]usap) dijujung — ‘carry on the head’ 15/3 (SM dijunjung) dikapit — ‘be carried under the arm’ 15/6–7 (SM dikepit) dikatakan — ‘be said, be mentioned’ 32/1 (SM dikatakan), see kata dimakan — ‘be eaten’ 15/4 (SM dimakan), see makan dinding — ‘wall’ 22/3 (SM dinding) dipagat — ‘be caught, arrested, interrupted’ 26/6 (SM dipegat), cf. mamagat dipahamba — ‘be enslaved, be made a serf’ 16/4, 16/5, 17/1,106 17/1–2 (SM diperhamba) dipati — ‘governor’ 4/1, 4/2, 6/7, 9/5–6, 10/5, 11/4, 11/5, 12/3, 12/4, 26/2,107 26/6, 27/1, 27/3, 27/5, 28/1,108 28/4, 28/5, 28/5, 29/5, 30/6, 31/5, 32/4 (SM dipati, Skt adhipati ‘ruler’, lit. ‘supreme master’), see also under perapatih dipengnggil — ‘be called’ 28/4 (SM dipanggil) dipikul — ‘be carried on shoulders, be carried with a shoulder-balance carrier’ 15/2–3 (SM dipikul) dipirak — ‘?’ 7/2 (perhaps a derivation of pirak ‘silver’?) disellang — ‘ask permission for [using someone else´s property]?’ 23/5, 23/6 (SM diselang ‘be alternated by’) disi — ‘direction’ 3/6 (Skt diśi)

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214

115

distar — ‘headcloth’ 19/2 (SM destar) ditimbunni — ‘be heaped [with]’ 14/1 (SM ditimbuni) ditumbuk — ‘be struck [as punishment]’, misspelled ditambuk, 17/6–7 (SM ditumbuk ‘be pounded’), see tumbuk ditunggu — ‘be hosted [by]’ 8/1 (SM ditunggu ‘be waited for’), see manunggu diwa — ‘god’ 31/4 (SM déwa, Skt deva), cf. diwam, diwang, diwata diwam — variant rendering of diwang, see there . diwang — ‘god’, 30/4, 30/5109 (Skt dewam ‘god’), cf. diwa, diwata diwata — ‘god, deity’ 31/4 (SM déwata, Skt devatā), cf. diwa, diwang dua — ‘two’ 4/2, 6/8, 11/1,110 11/6, 15/1, 16/4, 16/7, 18/1, 20/1, 23/1, 23/2, 23/6, 26/4, 27/4 (SM dua), cf. dualapan, kadua dualapan — ‘eight’ 16/4, 16/7 (SM delapan) dulang — ‘tray’ 20/4 (SM dulang) dunungngan — ‘settler (person who has been provided with lodging?)’ 6/1, 6/7 (OJ dunung ‘direction’, dunungan ‘alloted/proper place, accomodation’) dusa — ‘guilt, wrong doing’ 15/1, 16/2 (SM dosa ‘sin’; Skt dos.a ‘fault, sin, guilt’), cf. badusa, didusakan dusun — ‘village, village common, community’ 6/1, 13/4–5, 13/6 (SM dusun)

E esa — ‘one’ 11/1, 11/6, where it is spelled as and sa respectively (SM esa), see also sa-

G geggah — ‘violent unrest’ 5/6 galah — ‘punting pole (for boats)’ 24/5 (SM galah) gandawangsa — epithet referring to the royal lineage of the ruler as . ‘fragrant lineage’ 2/7 (Skt gandhavamśa ‘fragrant clan/lineage’), cf. p. 78 gantang — ‘unit of volume’ 7/5 (SM gantang) giterang — ‘k.o. fishing net(?)’ 21/6 gutera — ‘[person] of noble lineage’ 12/2, and misspelled as kutera 11/3 (Skt. gotra ‘lineage’)

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116

Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

H hadappan — ‘before, front of’ 29/6–7 (SM hadapan) hakar — ‘root (vine?)’ 21/3 (SM akar ‘root’) halay — ‘sheet, blade’ 18/5 (SM helai) hampangngan — ‘kind of fish trap’ 20/3 (SM ampang ‘large basket’) hanak — ‘child’ 12/3, 28/3, 28/6–7 (SM anak), see also anak handak — ‘want, be prepared to’ 16/5, 17/1, 25/3 (SM hendak) hanjalay — ‘Job’s tears’ 23/1 (SM enjelai) hantar — ‘bring’ 13/4 (SM antar) hari — ‘day’ 16/4, 16/7–17/1111 (SM hari) hatap — ‘roof, thatch from leaves of nipah palm’ 22/2–3 (SM atap) hayam — ‘chicken’ 10/7, 11/2, 11/3, 11/4, 11/6, 11/7, 12/1, 12/2, 12/3, 12/3–4, 12/4–5, 17/6, 18/2, 24/4 (SM ayam), see also ayam hellat-mahellat — ‘foreigners’ 3/6–7, possibly a reference to merchants and travellers, for which particular foreigner’s quarters are reserved, and that enjoy special rights to hospitality under the authority and protection of the king (CM, SM helat ‘non-relative, outsider, foreigner, guest’) hijuk — ‘arenga/gomuti-palm fibres’ 21/1 (SM ijuk) hilang — ‘lost, damaged’ 23/5, 23/7 (SM hilang) hinggan — up to, reaching’ 23/3, 26/7, 27/3 (SM hingga, Trengganu inscription hinggan), cf. s[a]-inggan hiram — ‘?’ 26/1 hubi — ‘yam’ 16/3, 17/3 (SM ubi) hutan — ‘forest, wild’ 20/5 (SM hutan) hya[ng] — see under sang hya[ng]

I ia — spelled ya ‘he, it’ 4/5, 4/5, 9/2, 23/6, 28/3 (SM ia), also in ta-iapacah 23/7 ida — ‘obey, respect’ 3/8, 4/2 (SM indah as in mengindahkan) ikur — in s[a]-ikur ‘one [animal]’ 11/2, 11/3, 11/5,112 18/4, 20/5, 20/5, 24.4 (SM se-ékor) ini — ‘this’ 32/4 (SM ini) isi — ‘contents’ 18/4, 18/6 (SM isi); in sa-isi ‘all the contents of, everything that is in’ 29/3 (SM se-isi); see also tarisi itik — ‘duck’ 17/6 (SM itik) itu — ‘that’ 6/4, 16/2, 24/6 (SM itu)

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J jagung — ‘sorghum’ 22/8–23/1 (OJ jagung ‘sorghum’) jahi — ‘game of hazard’ 5/3, 8/6 (Bsm ja’ih, Srw ja’i’ah ‘id.’, cf. Arb jā’ih. ‘disastrous’) jajanang — ‘deputy (of the chief)’ 26/3, 26/5, 27/1 (SM [je-]jenang ‘foreman, supervisor’, also ‘local head under the traditional chief [penghulu adat]’) jaka — ‘if’ 5/1, 5/2, 7/1, 13/1, 14/2, 15/4, 22/4, 22/8, 23/4, 23/6, 24/1, 24/7, 25/4, 25/7, 27/2, 28/3, 28/5 (SM jika; CM jaka ~ jika ‘if’ Wilk. 227 sub jika; from CM jaka ~ jaŋka ‘time’ Wilk. 215 sub jakaI, 224 sub jangkaII) jala — ‘net’ 21/5 (SM jala) jamba berruk — ‘measure for measure, in equivalent quantity’ 23/1–2 (SM jemba ‘measure of length, c. 3.5 metres’; Jv beruk ‘coconut shell as a measure of volume for grain’) janjang — ‘ladder, stairs’ 24/3 (Mkb janjang), possibly a misspelling of janji ‘promise’ (SM janji) jangan — ‘do not’ 3/7 (SM jangan) jawa — ‘foxtail millet’ 22/8 (SM jawa-wut ‘id.’; Prakrit java ‘barley’) jerrat — ‘snare, loop’ 18/4 (SM jerat) jiasta — ‘name of a month’ 2/4 (Skt jyais..tha ‘the eleventh month of the Śaka year’) judi — ‘gamble, gambling’ 5/3, 8/6 (SM judi), cf. bajudi

K ka — 6/6, 9/1, 26/5, 27/4 ‘to, towards’ (SM ke) kadanda — ‘be fined’ 5/2, 5/5, see danda kadua — ‘both’ 5/1, 5/2 (SM kedua[-dua]), see dua kajang — ‘wickerwork screen or partition’ 24/5 (SM kajang) kakappan — ‘conduct [behavior]’ 25/5–6 (Mkb kako’ < *kakap ‘hold, be busy with’) kaladi — ‘taro’ 16/3 (SM keladi) kalahi — ‘a fight, brawl’ 4/6–7 (SM kelahi) kali — ‘times’ 11/7, 26/4 (SM kali) kambing — ‘goat’ 10/1 (SM kambing) kanan — ‘right [side]’15/6, 16/1 (SM kanan)

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Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

kangsa — ‘bronze, brass’ 22/5 (SM kangsa, SM & OJ gangsa; Skt . kamsa ‘brass’) kapala — ‘head’ 31/3–4 (SM kepala ‘id.’; Skt kapāla ‘cup, skull’) kapulangngan — ‘that which is given in return, substitute’ 24/4 (SM kepulangan ‘the return home’), see pulang, pulangngan kareja — ‘k.o. ritual ceremony’ 14/6 (SM kerja ‘work’, OM [SKN] makāryya ‘perform transactions’, Skt kārya ‘doing, transaction, duty’), cf. bakajakan, bakareja karetabèssa — part of royal title or personal name 2/6 (possibly Skt kartabhais.aj ‘one who accomplishes the healing of (all) poisons’) kata — ‘word, say’ 25/5 (SM kata ‘id.’; Skt kathā ‘story’), cf. dikatakan kati — ‘catty’ 14/6 (SM kati ‘unit of weight = 16 tahil’), cf. katian katian — ‘[one catty] weights’ 7/5–6 (SM katian), see kati katiga — ‘third’, but possibly ka tiga ‘to/towards three’, 23/1, 23/2 (SM ketiga, or ke tiga), see tiga, batiga kayin — ‘cloth’ 19/1 (SM kain) kellian — in sa-kellian ‘all of the’ 31/6, 32/3 (SM se-kalian) kemmattan — name of deity or deified ancestor, possibly kemmittan, 3/1–2 kenna — ‘undergo, be hit’ 26/3 (SM kena), cf. mangennakan keresnapaksa — ‘half month of the waning moon’ 2/5 (Skt kr.s.n.apaks.a) kerris — ‘creese’ 5/7 (SM keris) kiri — ‘left’ 15/6, 15/7 (SM kiri) kudian — ‘then, after that’ 28/5-6 (SM kemudian) kuja — ‘reference to respected person of Indian or Persian origin’ 29/5 (CM koja, Hindi khvājā ~ khojā, Persian khwāja ‘person of distinction’), cf. p. 179. kundir — ‘unit of weight, 1/16 mace’ 7/6 (SM kundir) kupang — ‘k.o. coin’ 12/1, 15/3–4, 17/4, 21/1 (SM kupang) kuraysani — ‘[steel] of/from Khorasan’ 19/5 (CM khersānī, SM kurasani, Persian khurāsānī) kurinci — ‘Kerinci (place name)’ 3/2, 3/3, 29/3, 29/4 kutera — misspelling of gutera, see there kian — in sa-kian ‘this/that much, as much as this/that’ 10/5–6, 18/3, 20/2–3, 20/6, 24/6–7, 28/7 (SM se-kian)

L labih — ‘more [than]’ 23/2, 31/5–6 (SM lebih) lalukan — ‘let pass’ 13/2 (SM lalukan)

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lama — ‘long time’ (SM lama), in si-lama-nya ‘as long as, at the longest?’ 22/6 lantay — 22/3, 24/5–6 ‘floor’ (SM lantai) langkah — ‘step’ 25/5 (SM langkah) lengnga — ‘sesame’ 18/6 (SM lenga) lawan — ‘resist [against]’ 6/7, 26/6 (SM lawan), see also balawannan, malawan likitang — ‘write down?’ 29/4–5 lima — ‘five’ 10/3, 11/3, 11/7, 12/4, 13/7, 14/3, 14/4, 14/6, 15/3, 16/5, 17/2, 17/4, 17/5, 17/7, 19/4, 19/5, 21/1, 21/2, 21/4, 21/6, 22/3, 27/2 (SM lima) liwat — ‘pass[ed], beyond’ 24/3 (SM léwat) lunjur — ‘in the length’ (SM lunjur), in si-lunjur ‘over the entire length of’ 3/3, 29/4 luar — ‘outside’ (SM luar) 26/7

M mabuk — ‘drunk’ 25/4 (SM mabuk) madia — ‘middle(-world)’ 31/5 (SM madya, Skt. mādhya) maga[t] — ‘an official’ 2/7 (perhaps the base word of the title samagat, see there) maharaja — ‘emperor’ 2/6, 29/1, 29/7 (SM maharaja, Skt. mahārāja) mahasènapati — ‘grand commander’ 3/4 (Skt mahā ‘great’, senāpati ‘war commander’) mahatmia — ‘the magnanimous’, in sidang mahatmia ‘assembly of the magnanimous’ 29/2–3, 30/2–3 (Skt. māhātmya ‘magnanimity’, lit. ‘big-souled’) mahulukan — ‘to be head of, to serve as head of’ 8/5–6, see also dahulu, panghulu maka — ‘well, then’ 3/3 (SM maka) makan — ‘eat’ 13/2, 16/2 (SM makan), see also dimakan malawan — ‘to give resistance’ 5/6–7 (SM melawan) maléswarang — see [a]maléswarang (the initial a is fused together with the final a of the preceding word) maling — ‘thief’ 6/2, 6/4, 8/6, 10/1, 10/1-2, 10/2-3, 10/4, 10/7, 13/6, 14/1, 15/2, 16/3, 16/6, 17/2, 17/3, 17/5, 18/4, 18/5, 19/1, 19/3, 19/4, 19/5, 20/3, 20/7, 21/3, 21/4 (SM maling)

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Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

mamagang — ‘to hold [e.g. a meeting, competition, etc.], organize’ 8/5, 8/7 (SM memegang) mamagat — ‘interrupt, arrest’ 7/1, 7/3 (SM memegat), see also dipagat mambakar — ‘burn, set fire to’ 21/6–7 (SM membakar) mambawa — ‘carry, take along’ 13/3, 23/4 (SM membawa), see bawa, also dibawa mambayir — ‘pay’ 25/6 (SM membayar), see bayir mamunuh — ‘kill’ 9/4–5, 9/7, 10/1 (SM membunuh, CM memunuh ~ membunuh), see bunuh, also dibunuh managih — ‘claim for [repayment of debt]’ 6/3 (SM menagih) man[e]ngah[h]i — ‘arbitrate’ 17/7–18/1 (SM menengahi ‘mediate between’), see tengngah mandalika — ‘territorial governor’ 3/2 (SM mandalika ‘traditional governor’, Skt mān. d.alika ‘ruler of a province, governor’) mangada — ‘make be, cause’ 4/6, cf. mangadakan mangadakan — ‘make be, cause’ 8/2 (SM mengadakan), cf. mangada mangennakan — ‘cause to undergo?’ 5/2–3 (SM mengenakan ‘cause to hit/touch’), see kenna mangiwat — ‘elope’ 12/5–6 (OJ angiwat, Snd ngiwat ‘elope’) mangubah — ‘change’ 7/4–5, 14/3 (SM mengubah) mangunus — ‘draw [dagger, sword]’ 5/7 (SM menghunus) manikal — ‘in double quantity, in twofold’ 12/1, 22/7, 23/3 mano — ‘manau rattan (Calamus manan Miq.)’ (SM manau) 21/2 manteri — ‘minister’ 26/6–7 (SM menteri ‘minister’, mantri ‘low-ranking official, medical aide’, Skt mantrin ‘counselor, minister, magus, shaman’) manunggu — ‘act as host, provide lodging’ 7/8 (SM menunggu ‘wait’), cf. ditunggu manurunni — ‘come down’ 4/5, 4/5 (SM menuruni ‘bring down, lower [v.]’) manyambah — ‘bow as sign of respect and obeisance, worship’ 31/3 (SM menyembah) manyamun — ‘commit robbery’ 6/2 (SM menyamun) manyuruh — ‘give an order, let do, incite’ 8/4 (SM menyuruh) maragang — ‘assault’ 20/1 (SM meragang ‘to attack’) maredana — ‘foremost, chief’ 2/7 (Skt pradhāna ‘foremost [leader, ruler]’) marugul — ‘commit rape’ 19/7–20/1 (SM merogol ~ merugul) marusak — ‘destruct’ 6/3 (SM merusak) mas — ‘mace (gold coin)’ 10/2, 10/3, 10/5, 12/2, 12/4, 12/5, 13/7, 14/3, 16/5, 17/2, 17/5, 18/3, 19/1, 19/3, 19/4, 19/5, 19/6, 20/6, 21/2, 21/3,

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21/4, 21/6, 22/3, 22/4, 22/7, 23/6, 27/1, 27/2, 27/2, 27/3-4, 27/4–5, 27/7, 28/1, 28/2 (SM emas ~ mas ‘gold’, traditionally also ‘gold coin’) masa — ‘month’ 2/3, 2/4 (Skt māsa ‘month’) mata — ‘eye’, fig. ‘piece/object of (work, study, ceremony)’ 14/5 (SM mata ‘eye’, mata pencaharian ‘means of livelihood’, mata pelajaran ‘subject of study’) mati — ‘die, dead’ 5/8 (SM mati) mawu — ‘?’, in anjing mawu, lit. ‘a mawu dog’, 10/4 min[u]m — spelled minam, obviously a misspelling of minum ‘drink’ 13/2 (SM minum) muda — ‘young, junior’ (SM muda), in manteri muda ‘vice minister’ 26/7 (SM menteri muda) muka — ‘face’ 18/1 (SM muka ‘face, front’; Skt mukha ‘front’)

N nama — ‘name’ 31/3, 31/3,113 31/4, 31/4, 31/5, 31/7, 31/7–32/1, 32/1–2, 32/2 (SM nama, Skt nāma) nana — ‘many’ 30/6, 31/7 (Skt nānā ‘multifarious’) nayik — ‘ascend, mount, rise, move upwards’ 9/1, 22/7 (SM naik) niteri — ‘leader’ 31/1 (Skt netr.)

Ny -nya — ‘his/her, its, the’ 4/1, 4/3, 4/4. [5/8 ?], 6/6, 6/7, 7/2, 8/1, 12/6, 14/2, 14/3, 14/7, 15/4, 15/5, 15/5, 16/2, 16/6, 16/7, 17/2, 17/3, 18/1, 18/1, 18/3, 18/5, 18/7, 19/1, 19/2, 19/3, 19/4, 19/6, 20/1, 20/7, 21/6, 22/4, 22/6, 23/3, 23/5, 23/6, 24/1, 24/2, 24/4, 24/7, 25/2, 26/1, 27/7, 28/4, 29/1, 30/5 (SM -nya)

12/7, 17/5, 20/5, 25/1,

O om — ‘hail, salute’ 2/4 (Skt om ‘sacred syllable’), see aum

P pab[e]nuakan — ‘be exiled?’ 6/4–5, see bennua pacah — see under ta-ia-pacah

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122

Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

padi — ‘rice (in husk)’ 14/1–2, 17/2, 22/8 (SM padi) paha — ‘thigh, quarter/fourth part’ 4/3, 4/7–5/1, 5/4, 5/5, 6/8, 7/4, [7/7],114 8/3, 9/1, 10/7, 12/7, 14/5, 15/2, 17/3, 20/2, 22/7, 26/4, 26/4, 26/5 (SM paha ‘thigh’, Wilk. 452: paha ‘thigh of a man, ham of an animal, a quarter or fourth part’) pahalu — ‘field? place?’ in di pahalu-nya 15/4-5 pahawumman — ‘community-meeting summons’ 4/6, cf. bahawumman pakamitkan — ‘be protected by’ 13/5 pakarangngan — ‘yard, premises’ 21/7–22/1 (SM pekarangan) palimbang — place name, lit. ‘lowland’ 29/6, cf. p. 95 panaloyyan — ‘?’ (the carrying out of “taloy”, the place where “taloy-ing” is carried out, or the fruits or results of “taloy-ing”) 22/2, cf. tal-taloy pañcawida — ‘scriptures’, lit. ‘the five Vedas’ 14/4 (Skt pañca ‘five’, veda ‘the Veda’) pangayuh — ‘[for] rowing, oar’ 24/5 (SM pengayuh) panghulu — ‘community chief’ 4/4, 8/1 (SM penghulu), cf. dahulu, mahulukan panjalak — ‘?’ (certain service to be accorded to official messengers in transit, besides providing food) 13/3–4 panjing — ‘to become a domestic slave of the ruler’ 6/6 (SM panjing) panuh — ‘full’ 14/2 (SM penuh), in si-panuh-nya ‘till it is full, fully’ (SM se-penuh-nya), panyalin — ‘replacement?’ 20/7–21/1, 21/1, 21/2–3 (SM penyalin ‘copier, copyist’) parah — count-word for toddy receptacles 20/4 parahu — ‘boat’ 23/4 (SM perahu) parebalang-balangngan — ‘headmen’ 3/5 (cf. SM bala ‘troops’, hulu-balang ‘commander, lit. head/chief of troops’, in Achehnese the cognate of the latter compound word is a reference to the class of nobility) pari — ‘all kinds of, various’ 19/2 (Skt pari ‘on all sides, all around, altogether’) paru — ‘?’ 6/7 parulihhan — ‘that which is received by, [somebody]’s share’ 27/2–3, 27/5 (SM peroléhan) see ulih, barulih, ta’ulih [pasang] — ‘high tide’, reading uncertain, 23/6 (SM pasang) pasap — ‘scoop net’ 21/5 (Lebong, Rawas pesap) pasuguhhi — ‘provide/offer/serve food and drink’ 13/4 (SM suguhi) pa’ucap — ‘that which is said/articulated, speech’ 7/1–2 (SM ucapan)

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peda — ‘to, at’ 3/2, 4/1, 4/2, 8/1, 26/2, 26/5, 27/5, 27/6, 28/1, 28/2, 28/5 (SM pada), cf. derripeda peduka — ‘title of royalty, highness’ 2/6, 29/7 (SM paduka) pening — ‘dizzy’ 25/4–5 (SM pening) peradèsa — ‘principal village community’ 3/6, see dèsa pera[ka]ra — ‘instance, manner, way of [doing]’ 3/5 (SM perkara ‘matter, case’; Skt prakāra ‘manner, way of doing’) peranemia (or pranemya) — ‘bow of the head (as gesture of respect and obeissance)’ 30/4, 30/5, 31/2 (Skt pran.āma ‘respectful salutation, prostration, obeisance’, pran.āmayya ‘bowing’) perapati — ‘pigeon’ 17/6 (SM merpati, Skt [dCasp] parapati) perapatih — ‘foremost minister, vizier’ 3/4 (OJ prapatih; Skt pra- ‘foremost’, pati ‘master’), cf. dipati perasèna — ‘army commander’ 2/8 (Skt pra- ‘foremost’, senā ‘army’) peratala — ‘lower or under-world’ 31/5 (Skt pātāla ‘underworld, hell’) pettan — ‘measure’, in si-pettan-nya 27/7 pihayu — ‘some unit of measure’ 7/6 pinang — ‘areca’ 16/6 (SM pinang) pirak — ‘silver’ 22/5 (SM pérak), cf. dipirak piso — ‘knife’ 18/4 (SM pisau) puan — ‘too, as well’ 8/4, 10/5, 24/6 (SM pun) puhun — ‘demand [e.g. repayment of a debt]’ 22/6 (SM mohon ‘request’ < pohon + infix ) pukat — ‘dragnet’ 21/4-5 (SM pukat) pulang — ‘return, give back’ 11/1, 11/2, 11/3, 11/5, 11/6, 12/1, 12/7, 16/1–2 (SM pulang ‘go home, return, give back’) see kapulangngan, pulangngan) pulangngan — ‘that which is given in return, substitute’ 24/6, see pulang, kapulangngan puluh — in sa-puluh ‘ten’ 10/2, 10/4, 12/5, 19/3, 19/6, 20/6, 21/3, 27/3, 27/6, 27/7–28/1 (SM se-puluh), 16/4, 16/7 in dua puluh ‘twenty’ (SM dua puluh) pulut — ‘birdlime trap’ 18/6, 18/6 (SM pulut ‘sticky; glutinous rice’) punarapi — ‘furthermore, moreover’ 5/2, 6/8–7/1, 7/4, 22/4, 23/3, 24/7, 25/4, 25/7, 27/5 (OM [TTuwo] punarapi; Skt punar api ‘ever again, on the other hand, moreover’) punya — ‘owner [of], [he/she] whose … it is’ 13/5–6, 28/2 (SM empunya, yang punya)

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124

Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

purewa — ‘ancient, original’ 14/6, 25/7 (SM purwa ~ purba ‘ancient, primeval’; Skt pūrva ‘fore, anterior, former, initial’)

R rabutti — ‘snatch away [from]’ 5/6 (SM rebuti) raja — ‘king’ 10/6, 11/6, 12/5 (SM raja, Skt rāja) rakah —in rakah kalahi ‘commotion [brawl]’ 4/6 (SM rakah ‘loud laughter’, rekah ‘burst, break in the length’) rakna — ‘?’, seemingly ‘value, price equivalent’ 24/7 rampassi — ‘snatch away from’ 5/6 (SM rampasi) rancung — ‘?’, in riti rancung, apparently a k.o. brass or other copper alloy, 22/5, see riti rennyah — ‘unrest’ 8/2 (SM renyah) rango — 22/3, apparently a misspelling or a variant (doublet) form of daŋo ‘field hut’ raut — ‘whittle, slice’ 18/5 (SM raut), see also rutan riti — ‘brass, copper’ 22/5 (OJ riti ‘k.o. copper alloy’, Skt rīti ‘brass’; cf. a.o. Sulawesi: Muna riti; Nusa Tenggara: Bima riti, Timor niti, Roti liti; Maluku Tengah: Kaibobo riti, Piru liti, Paulohi riti; Maluku Tenggara: Fordata riti, Yamdena soriti ‘copper’) rumah — ‘house’ 6/3, 9/2 (SM rumah) rupa — ‘form, kind’ (SM rupa): in sa-rupa-nya ‘of the same kind, in kind’ 12/7, 24/2; in pari rupa-nya ‘of all/various kinds’ 19/2 rusuh — ‘cause a disturbance’ 6/4 (SM rusuh) rutan — ‘rattan’ 21/2 (SM rotan < raut-an), see also raut

S sa- ~ s[a]- — I. ‘one’ (SM se-), see also esa (a) in sa-tahil ‘one tael’ 4/7, 5/4, 5/5, 7/3, 7/7, 8/3, 8/7, 10/6, 12/6, 17/2; (b) in sa-paha ‘a/one quarter’ 4/3, 4/7-5/1, 5/4, 5/5, 6/8, [7/4],115 7/7, 8/3, 8/7, 10/7, 12/7,14/5, 15/2, 17/3, 20/2, 22/7, 26/4, 26/4, 26/5 (SM se-paha ‘one thigh’); (c) in sa-puluh ‘[one] ten’ 10/2, 10/4, 12/5, 19/3, 19/6, 20/6, 21/3, 27/3, 27/6, 27/7 (SM se-puluh); (d) in s[a]-ikur ‘one [animal]’ 11/2, 11/3, 11/5, 18/4, 20/5, 20/5, 20/5,116 24/4 (SM se-ékor);

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(e) in sa-batang ‘one [piece]’15 /5, 15/6, 15/7, 16/1 (SM se-batang); (f) in s[a]-urang—s[a]-urang ‘one person by one person [each one]’ 4/1, 5/5–6 (SM se-orang—se-orang); (g) in sa-tapayyan ‘one jar’ 18/6, 24/3; (h) other: in sa_paru 6/7, sa-kati ‘one catty’ 14/6, sa-halay ‘one sheet’ 18/5 (SM se-helai), sa-parah 20/4, sa-dulang ‘ one tray’ 20/4 (SM se-dulang), sa-mas ‘one mace’ 27/2; sa- — II. ‘just as … , so much as … , that is of the same …’ (SM se-), see also si(a) in sa-kian ‘this much’ 10/5, 18/3, 20/2, 20/6, 24/6, 28/7 (SM se-kian); (b) in sa-rupa-nya ‘the same, the equivalent’ 12/7, 24/2 (SM se-rupanya); (c) sa-busuk ‘equally bad’ 9/6–7, 9/7 (SM se-busuk); (d) in s[a]-araga-nya ‘of the same value’ 23/7 (SM se-harga-nya); (e) in s[a]-inggan ‘up to, as high/far/much as’ 22/6 (SM se-hingga ‘so that’), cf. hinggan sa- — III. ‘whole, entire’ (SM se-) (a) in sa-isi ‘all the inhabitants [of]’ 29/3 (SM se-isi); (b) in sa-kellian ‘all of … , [in its/their] entirety’ 31/6, 32/3 (SM se-kalian); (b) in sa-parekara ‘all kinds/cases/ways of’ 3/5. sabung — ‘fighting contest’ 8/6, 25/2, 25/3 (SM sabung ‘cockfighting’) sadang — ‘when, while’ 4/3 (SM sedang) sahaya — ‘serf, servant, slave’ 3/7, 10/7–11/1, 27/6 (SM sahaya; ‘id., I/me’; Skt sahāya ‘companion’) s[a]-inggan — is apparently a grouping of sa- (see there under IIe) with hinggan saka — ‘Hindu Śāka calendar’ 2/2, see under [war]satita saksi — ‘witness’ 25/1 (SM saksi; Skt sāks. in ‘spectator, witness’) salah — ‘wrong’ (SM salah) 9/4, 25/5, 25/5, 25/5, 30/1 saluka — ‘sloka rhyme’ 32/4 (SM sloka; Skt śloka) sama — ‘same, equal’ 5/1, 8/4 (SM sama) sama[ga]t — ‘title of certain official’ 3/4–5 (OJ sameget) samapta — ‘completed, finished’ 30/3 (Skt samāpta) samasta — ‘all’ 29/4 (SM semesta, Skt samasta ‘all’) samu[..]wan — ‘?’ 26/3–4, perhaps samua + x ‘each/every one of …’ (SM semua ‘all, every’) . samuksayam — ‘everything together’ 31/1–2, 32/2 (Skt samuccayam)

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sang hya[ng] — ‘the divine one (title)’ 3/1 (SM sang [hiang], OJ sang hyang) . sangkita — ‘quarrel, dispute’ 15/1, 26/1 (SM sengkéta ‘id.’; Skt samketa ‘meeting’) sapat — ‘?’ 25/6 sarba — ‘all, every’ 32/3 (SM serba; Skt sarva) sasangi — ‘?’ 16/7 satera — ‘warriors, nobility’ 31/1, 32/1, 32/2 (Skt ks.atra) satita — see [war]satita sènapati — see mahasènapati senggabumikan — ‘?’, stands in all occurrences beside a word for ‘kill’, 6/5, 9/3–4,117 9/5 seri — ‘illustrious’, a honorific, 2/2, 2/6, 2/7, 29/7 (SM sri ~ seri, Skt śrī) setteru — ‘enemy’ 30/6 (Skt śatru) si- — ‘same, just as’ (SM se-) (a) ‘so/as … as, correspondingly’ in si-cara ‘in the manner of, like’ 25/6–7 (SM se-cara), si-danda-nya ‘correspondingly punished’ 20/1 (see danda), si-pettan-nya ‘in the same measure’ 27/7 (see pettan); (b) ‘to the extent of’ in si-lunjur ‘the entire length of’ 3/3, 29/4 (see lunjur), si-panuh-nya ‘fully’ 14/2 (SM se-penuh-nya), si-lama-nya ‘as long as, at the longest?’ 22/5–6 (SM se-lama-nya ‘always, all the time’); siapa — ‘who’ 13/3, 14/7 (SM siapa) sidang — ‘council’ 29/2, 30/2 (SM sidang), see under mahatmia silih — ‘replace’ 30/2 (SM silih), cf. silihhi silihhi — ‘replace, [give] in stead’ 24/1, see silih sirih — ‘betel’ 16/6 (SM sirih) siresa — ‘head’ 30/4, 30/5, 31/3 (Skt śīrs. a ‘head’) stutim — ‘hymn of praise’ 30/6 (Skt stuti) suasta — ‘set right, correct’ 30/2 (Skt suhasta ‘adept, dexterous’) suasti — ‘hail!’ 2/1 (Skt svasti), see further under [war]satita suda — ‘already’ (SM sudah), see under tasuda sukattan — ‘measure’ 7/5 (SM sukatan) suku — ‘clan, phratry’ (lit. ‘leg [of a four-legged entity]’), in barampat suku ‘of the four clans’ 9/6 (SM suku ‘tribe’, Wilk. 422: suku ‘a leg or limb, a quarter, a section, a tribe’), see also tihang surega — ‘heaven, upper world’ 31/4–5 (SM surga; Skt svarga)

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127

T ta — apparently a prefix, see under ta’amit, tabunyi, ta-ia-pacah, tasuda, ta’ulih ta’amit — ‘get permission’ 7/8, perfective passive form of amit (SM amit ‘permit’) tabunyi — ‘be pronounced, be proclaimed’ 28/7 (SM terbunyi ‘be made heard [sound]’) tahi — ‘excrements’, in tahi hayam ‘chicken dung’ 18/2 (SM tahi ayam) tahil — ‘tael [coin]’ 4/2–3, 4/7, 5/4, 5/5, 6/8, 7/3–4, 7/7,118 8/3, 8/7, 10/6, 12/6–7, 14/4, 15/1–2, 17/2–3, 20/1–2 (SM tahil ‘weight unit, c. 37.8 gram’), cf. batahillan tahun — ‘year’ 23/1, 23/2 (SM tahun) ta-ia-pacah — ‘it is broken’ 23/7 (SM ia terpacah) takalak — ‘k.o. fish trap of plaited palm fiber’ 20/7 (SM tengkalak) tal-taloy — ‘?’ (perhaps place or instruments for carrying out “taloy-ing”) 22/1, cf. pana-loyyan tambaga — ‘copper’ 22/5 (SM tembaga) tanaman — ‘plant [n.]’ 15/5 (SM tanaman), cf. tanamkan tanamkan — ‘plant [v.] for [somebody]’ 15/5 (SM tanamkan) cf. tanaman tanda — ‘sign, evidence’ 25/2 (SM tanda) tandang — ‘be on a visit’ 8/5, 13/1 (SM tandang) tapayyan — ‘jar’ 18/6-7, 24/3-4 (SM tempayan) tarisi — ‘filled, fulfilled’ 14/2, 18/2–3, 18/7, 19/7, 20/2, 20/6, (SM terisi), see isi tasuda — ‘done, fulfilled’ 26/2 (SM tersudahkan) tati — ‘?’ 13/4 ta’ulih — ‘be done or fulfilled by [?]’ 9/4, 26/3, see ulih, barulih, parulihhan te[b]bu — ‘sugar cane’ 15/2, 16/2, spelled tapbu and tabu respectively (SM tebu) tell[a]y — ‘k.o. fishing line’ 21/5–6 (Kerinci telai) tellih — ‘?’ 26/1 tellur — ‘egg’ 17/5-6 (SM telur) tengngah — ‘half’ 12/2, 18/3, 18/7, 26/7, 27/6–7, 28/1 (SM tengah), cf. man[e]ngah[h]i tengngkul — ‘large lifting net’ 21/5 (SM tangkul) terenyata — ‘turn out to be’ 6/6 (SM ternyata; from nyata “evident’, Skt niyata ‘defined, definite, regular’)

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teri — ‘tri-, three’ 31/4 (Skt tri), apparently a short reference to terilukia (see there) terilukia — ‘the three [i.e. upper, middle, and lower] worlds’ 30/5–6 (Skt trilokya) tiada — ‘not’ 4/4, 4/5 (SM tiada), see also tida tida — ‘not’ 3/8, 4/2, 7/8, 9/2, 9/7, 14/2, 16/2, 16/5, 17/1, 17/4, 18/2, 18/7, 19/6–7, 20/2, 20/6, 23/4–5, 24/1, 24/2, 25/1, 25/1–2, 25/3, 27/1 (SM tidak), see also tiada tiga — ‘three’ 11/2, 12/2, 18/3, 18/7, 26/7, 27/7, 28/1 (SM tiga), cf. batiga, katiga tihang — ‘pillar’ in tihang suku 20/4–5 (SM tiang), a misreading of biyuku (see there) titah — ‘royal order, command’ 29/1 (SM titah) titi — ‘lunar day’ 2/4 (Skt tithi) tuak — ‘toddy’ 13/6, 20/4, 24/3 (SM tuak) tuba — ‘derris root’ 16/3 (SM tuba) tuduh-manuduh — ‘make mutual accusations, accuse one another’ 25/1 (SM tuduh-menuduh) tuhan — ‘master’ 18/1 (SM tuan) tujuh — ‘seven’ 11/5, 11/7, 17/7 (SM tujuh) tumbak — ‘spear’ 5/7–8 (SM tombak) tumbuk — ‘stroke, pounding’ 17/7, 17/7, 18/1 (SM tumbuk ‘pound [in a mortar]’), cf. ditum-buk tunduk — ‘bow, submit’ 31/3 (SM tunduk) tupang — in baja tupang ‘k.o. steel’ 19/6

U udang — ‘shrimp(s)’ 20/4 (SM udang) ulih — ‘by’, preposition before actor-object in passive constructions, 7/2, 9/5, 13/5, 26/6 (SM oléh); perhaps also ‘for, due to’ in 28/6 (SM oléh sebab), cf. barulih, parulihhan, ta’ulih urang — ‘person[s], others’ 6/1, 6/2, 6/3–4, 7/1, 7/2,119 7/8, 8/1, 8/5, 9/1, 9/2, 11/1, 12/6, 12/7, 13/1, 13/3, 13/5, 14/5, 16/6, 17/7, 19/7, 20/1, 22/1, 22/2, 23/4, 23/4, 24/7, 25/4, 25/7, 28/2, 30/2 (SM orang), also in s[a]-urang—s[a]-urang ‘one person by one person [each one]’ 4/1, 5/5-6 (SM se-orang—se-orang), cf. urang-urang urang-urang — ‘persons, people’ 7/2–3, (SM orang-orang), see urang

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129

W wakit — ‘speech’ 31/1 (Skt vakti) [war]satita — 2/2 in suasti seri saka-[war]satita ‘hail, in the illustrious Śaka year’ (AmLok swasti śakawars. ātīta; Skt., also TTuwo svasti śrī śāka-vars. ātīta). wasèban — ‘[royal] audience hall’ 2/5, 29/6 (Jv paséban, OJ pasabhan) wèsaka — ‘name of a month’ 2/3 (Skt. vaiśākha ‘the tenth month of the Śaka year’)

Y ya — see ia ya — ‘and, or, [well] then’ 18/4 (SM ya) yang — ‘the, that, which’ 4/1, 5/3, 5/4, 6/7, 7/3, 8/1, 8/3, 14/6, 17/4, 24/2, 32/1, 32/2 (SM yang ‘that, which’) yatna — in yatna-yatna ‘careful attentiveness’ 29/2 (Skt yatna ‘be attentive, strive’)

The Kerinci text Pages 33 and 34 of TK 214 contain a brief text which is written in a script that can best be described as an ancient variant of the southern Sumatran group of surat scripts. This script family consist of: (1) Surat Incung which is used in Kerinci and the adjacent areas of Serampas and Sungai Tenang in the province of Jambi; (2) Surat Ulu which is spread over large parts of the upper Musi river basins, the adjacent highlands, and the west coast of southern Sumatra in the provinces of Bengkulu and South Sumatra; and (3) Surat Lampung, which is used in the province of Lampung. The three groups of this family are so closely related that it is occasionally difficult, if not impossible, to clearly distinguish the local subgroups. As a rule of thumb, the larger the distance, the greater the differences, and it is not always possible to identify a particular manuscript with a certain subgroup. Kerinci and Lampung, representing the northernmost and southern­ most groups, share about 60 per cent of identical or near-identical letters,

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but they are linked by a scriptural continuum of a number of closely related surat ulu variants. The region in which these variants are used is linguistically and ethnically quite diverse. It is inhabited by about a dozen Malay ethnic groups speaking at least five Malay dialects, and the Rejang who speak their own language, but when writing they too use the Malay language. The term surat ulu means ‘upstream script’ or ‘script of the upstream people’ as opposed to the Arabic-Malay Jawi script of the ilir or lowland Malays. The term surat ulu is not widely known in academic circles where this script is still often referred to as rencong or, following the first three letters of the alphabet, ka-ga-nga script. The term “rencong script” was probably first coined by van Hasselt (1881, p. 5) for the script used by the Midden-Maleis (Middle Malay) speaking people,120 but later it was also used for virtually all southern Sumatran scripts, usually, but not always, including Kerinci, and typically excluding Lampung. The term surat rencong must have been used by some groups as van Hasselt observed, but apparently its use was limited to only a few districts. According to Voorhoeve (1940, p. 3), it was not used by the Rejang people, and it was also unknown in Lampung or in Kerinci. Jaspan, who studied Rejang manuscripts in the 1960s introduced the term Ka-Ga-Nga for the Rejang script, drawing it from the first three letters of the alphabet (Jaspan 1964). Later the term Ka-Ga-Nga continued to be used as a general term for all southern Sumatran scripts. Jaspan was apparently unaware that not only the southern Sumatran scripts, but almost all Indic scripts and their descendents have Ka, Ga, and Nga as the first three characters of their alphabets.121 Given that the terms rencong and ka-ga-nga are problematic, we will use the more commonly used indigenous terms to refer to the three main groups of the southern Sumatran scripts. In this work, surat incung thus refers to the script of the people of Kerinci, surat ulu to the script of Lebong, Lembak, Lintang, Pasemah, Rejang, and Serawai,122 and surat Lampung to the script of Lampung, Abung, and Komering. Like the related surat Batak of North Sumatra, the southern Sumatran scripts are simple, easy-to-learn, and almost perfectly suited to the local

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214

131

languages. The script consists of characters and diacritics. All consonant characters have an inherent syllabic vowel that usually has the value /a/: Ga, Pa, Ra, La. Characters are modified by diacritics that can change the inherent a-vowel to e, é, i, o, and u. These diacritics are typically small dots or dashes positioned above, under, or next to the character they modify so that the character pa becomes pi, pe, pé, po, and pu — although in Kerinci and some other regions there is only one diacritic mark representing both u and o — and another diacritic that marks both é and i. Other diacritics can add a nasal modifying pa to pang or pan, or an additional consonant modifying pa to pah or par. A special diacritic is used to suppress the inherent a-vowel. This diacritic is called the tanda bunuh (killer sign), known in India as the virā ma, and in Java as the patèn, and which is also used to form consonant clusters. In this respect, the Sumatran scripts differ from the Indian, and also from the scripts of Java and Bali where usually ligatures are used to form consonantic clusters. The omission of ligatures is by no means a defect, but it simply reflects the fact that Sumatran languages have a simple sound structure with relatively few possible consonant clusters. As the only consonant clusters are plosives (p, t, k, b, d, g) and affricatives (c, j) preceded by a nasal (resulting in mp, nt, ngk, mb, nd, ngg, nj and nc), and since these pre-nasalized consonants occur so frequently, some languages have introduced separate pre-nasalized characters such as Mba, Nta, Nda, Ngka, etc. These are in almost all cases simple variants of the base character — for instance Rejang Ga becomes Ngga , and Ja becomes Nja . The ulu scripts are thus much more suited to write Sumatran languages than the Pallavo-Nusantaric scripts or the Jawi script. From this point of view, the introduction of Jawi in many parts of Sumatra that previously used surat scripts was not an advancement in that the Jawi script is much less suited to rendering the sounds of Sumatran languages. The major advantage of the Jawi script was that it was standardized and hence facilitated communication across a broad geographical range of communities, whereas the surat scripts were essentially local scripts with a limited geographical reach. During the period of its introduction, the Jawi script carried with it the prestige of association with Islam, and

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so brought the writer in contact with a wider community of Arab-based literacy. No scripts of the surat type are known to have existed in the lowlands of the east coast, nor in the highlands of Minangkabau. It would be premature to infer that this means that these scripts never existed there. It is much more likely that writing systems similar to that of south-western Sumatra were also in use there, but were subsequently replaced by the Jawi script, which, together with Islam, arrived on the east coast and in West Sumatra considerably earlier than in the more southern regions of the Bukit Barisan mountain range. As mentioned above, the second text of TK 214 is written in an ancient form of script which has elements of both surat incung and surat ulu. The following analysis of the script of the surat text of TK 214 is based on: (1) Westenenk’s comparative table of southern Sumatran ulu scripts (Westenenk 1922); (2) an unpublished comparative table of 53 surat ulu manuscripts from the Museum Negeri Bengkulu compiled by Nunuk Juli Astuti; (3) the unpublished thesis from the Universitas Bengkulu (2001) “Tipologi huruf Ulu pada naskah-naskah Ulu di Museum Bengkulu” by Nafisah; and (4) my own materials covering roughly twenty manuscripts of Kerinci.

The Characters In the following we will give a detailed description of the second text of the Tanjung Tanah manuscript, beginning with an analysis of the characters (in alphabetical order) and diacritics, and followed by a discussion of each line of the text, and an overall appraisal of the text and its meaning.

Ka k is the standard form of the character Ka in the ulu and Lampung scripts. Serawai has a variant where the second vertical stroke is detached from the forward slash (Nafisah 2001). The standard Kerinci form is k. Note, however, that the horizontal line sometimes extends to the left. If it is then also slightly ascending to the right, as it sometimes does, the letter can be rather similar to . The character occurs fifteen times

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133

Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214

in the manuscript, although the reading of 33-6-8 is questionable as the character appears very faint.

33-4-6

33-6-8

Ga This is the standard form of the letter Ga in all southern Sumatran scripts: . This letter occurs only twice, namely in 34-7-1 and 34-7-5.

34-7-5

Nga There are two variants of Nga, and . The first is commonly used in Kerinci and all ulu scripts. The second is listed by Westenenk as “Old Lebong”, and by Nafisah as Rejang. The particular shape in the manuscript, which occurs three times (33-4-2, 33-8-1, and 33-811), shows distinct difference from the two above-mentioned variants. It is, however, clearly recognizable as belonging to the same type, and shows the greatest affinity with “Marsden’s Old Rejang” in Westenenk’s table.

33-8-11

Ta The letter Ta occurs ten times, but two occurrences are questionable. 33-5-8 is almost completely illegible, but from the context it is quite clear that it must be the letter Ta. In 33-6-2 the shape is still vaguely recognizable. Again, here too the context is helpful, and there is no question that the letter must be Ta (with attached ‘u’ — the vertical stroke beneath the letter). This

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character more closely resembles the ulu variant , whereas in Kerinci manuscripts the letter has the form of slash: . It is, however, identical with the “Old Lebong” shape in Westenenk’s table. Questionable

34-2-6

33-5-8

33-6-2

Da The letter Da occurs nine times in 33-4-1, 33-5-12, 33-7-13, 33-8-7, 33-8-10, 34-1-9, 34-1-12, 34-6-1, and 34-6-3. The letter is very faint in 33-5-12 (the vertical stroke beneath the letter is the diacritic U), and in 34-6-1 one could almost read the letter as /tu/ — assuming that the lower vertical stroke is the diacritic U. The letter Da shows a clearer affinity with ulu than with Kerinci . Questionable

34-1-12

33-5-12

34-6-1

Na The letter Na occurs ten times in 33-4-3, 33-8-2, 34-1-1, 34-1-13, 34-2-8, 34-3-13, 34-4-11, 34-5-9, 34-6-7, and 34-7-4. This letter has the same basic shape in all southern Sumatran scripts. In 33-8-2, however, it has an additional initial downward stroke, but from the context we must assume that this is indeed the letter Na. The element to the right of the character that roughly resembles the Arabic number 1 is the tanda bunuh. Questionable

34-5-9

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33-8-2

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135

Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214

Pa The letter Pa is equally uniform in all southern Sumatran scripts and always has the form of an italic v, where the right element tends to be longer than the left one: . This is the case in 34-5-11, but not in 34-5-8 where both elements are equally long. This character occurs only twice in the manuscript.

34-5-8

Ba The letter Ba has the variants and . The former seems to be the northern variant as it is found as the sole variant only in Kerinci and the northern part of Lembak (Lembak-Sindang), and, together with the second variant, also in Lebong. According to Westenenk, it is also found in “Old Rejang”. This is the form that occurs five times in 33-4-5, 33-5-10, 33-7-11, 34-4-5, and 34-5-4 in the manuscript. The southern regions Serawai and Pasemah use as the sole variant. There is, however, evidence that the “northern” form is also used by the Rambang people of Ogan in the vicinity of the town of Prabumulih.123

33-5-10

Ma The prevailing shape of the ulu character Ma is that of the letter x, which, according to Nafisah, is the sole variant in Serawai, Pasemah, Lintang, and Rejang. Westenenk’s table, however, shows a much greater diversity with two further variants, and . The former is the shape that is used seven times in this manuscript in 33-4-4, 33-5-1, 33-5-5, 33-6-1, 33-7-7, 33-7-9, and 34-4-3, although in 33-4-4 and 33-6-1 it is hardly legible.

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33-5-5

33-4-4

33-6-1

Ca The letter occurs seven times in 33-5-11, 33-7-12, 33-8-4, 34-1-4, 34-1-7, 34-1-8, and 34-2-5. The letter as shown in 34-1-4 is followed by the diacritic i in the form of a circle. The reading of 33-5-11 is questionable, but from the context it is clear that this must be the letter Ca. The letter in 33-8-4 also looks quite distorted and can only cautiously be regarded as the letter Ca. There are a number of Kerinci variants for the letter Ca, the most popular being , but none of them resembles the shape as it is used in this manuscript. The particular shape of the letter Ca in this manuscript is exactly the same as the forms listed in Nafisah for Serawai, Pasemah, Lintang, and Rejang, whereas Westenenk draws the letter slightly different, namely as . Nunuk Juli Astuti lists both variants as typically occurring in ulu manuscripts. questionable

34-1-4

33-5-11

33-8-4

Ja The letter Ja , which occurs three times as part of the word tujuh in 33-6-3, 33-6-7, and 33-7-4, is quite uniform in all southern Sumatran scripts, except that of Lampung.

33-6-3

Nya There is only a single occurrence of this letter in 34-6-2. It is based on the letter Ya but with an additional initial stroke: . This is the only known existing form in all southern Sumatran scripts.

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214

34-6-2

Sa The letter Sa occurs nine times in 33-6-10, 33-8-3, 33-8-6, 34-1-2, 34-2-10, 34-3-4, 34-3-9, 34-4-1, and 34-5-6. In all southern Sumatran scripts, except of Lampung, it has the shape of a double slash . The form of the letter as it occurs in this manuscript, is listed in Westenenk’s table as Old Lebong and Old Rejang, but also occurs in some ulu manuscripts from the collection of the Museum Negeri Bengkulu. The letter is almost illegible in 33-6-10 and in 34-3-9. In 33-6-10, there is an open circle on top of the letter, which Poerbatjaraka, who originally transliterated the text in 1941, interpreted as the diacritic ‘i’, thus arriving at the reading si as the first syllable of the word siang ‘day’, which makes sense as the word malam ‘night’ occurs in 34-7. However, Poerbatjaraka’s reading as si must be regarded as a contextual reconstruction.

34-3-4

33-6-10

34-3-9

Ra The letter Ra occurs eight times in 33-8-8, 34-1-10, 34-2-12, 34-4-4, 34-4-10, 34-5-5, 34-7-2, and 34-7-6. In Kerinci manuscripts, it typically con­sists of two elements, i.e. an inverted V followed by a regular V: . In TK 214, the second element is not separate from the first element but overlaps with the first element, and is written slightly below the first element. There is at least one Kerinci manuscript, a horn manuscript from Hiang Tinggi, where this form in a slightly different version also occurs, but here the two elements are written above each other. Again, the particular shape of this character resembles most closely a variant of the ulu character for Ra, although in the ulu script the two elements typically occur very close to each other: .

34-4-4

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Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

La The letter La, which occurs eight times in 33-4-10, 33-6-9, 33-7-6, 33-7-8, 33-8-5, 34-3-11, 34-7-9, and 34-7-10, has the same shape in all southern Sumatran scripts. It closely resembles a capital N rotated clockwise by 45 degrees.

33-7-8

Wa The letter Wa occurs four times in 33-4-8, 33-5-13, 34-6-5, and 34-8-2. In Kerinci, it typically has the shape of a simple cross: . There are a number of variants of the letter Wa in Rejang, Lembak, and Pasemah. One of the variants is , which is very similar to the shape found in this manuscript, but more typical are the cases where the letter has the form of a capital H rotated clockwise by 45 degrees. In some cases the left vertical line only continues up to the horizontal line that connects the two vertical lines. The shape is a variation of this theme where the connecting horizontal line extends beyond the right vertical line. The particular shape of the character in the manuscripts resembles most closely the variant listed by Westenenk as that of Old Rejang. The character in 33-4-8 may be a corrupt representation of the letter Wa, but it is also possible that this is a corrupt writing of Ba.

34-6-5

33-4-8

Ya The letter Ya, which occurs seven times in 33-4-11, 33-7-1, 34-3-6, 34-3-12, 34-4-6, 34-5-7, and 34-5-10, has the same basic shape in all southern Sumatran scripts. In 33-4-8, the letter Ya is almost impossible to decipher. Since the first downward stroke is almost completely faded, it almost looks like the letter la.

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214

34-4-6

33-4-11

Ha The letter Ha occurs six times in 4-2-7, 34-2-9, 34-3-5, 34-6-6, 34-7-3, and 34-7-11. Its standard shape in Kerinci is and rarely which is the standard form in all other southern Sumatran scripts.

34-7-3

The Diacritics Kerinci and most variants of the ulu scripts only have two vowel signs: i and u (the vowel a does not need to be rendered since it is an inherent component of the consonant characters). Most ethnic groups that make use of one or the other variant of the ulu script speak dialects of Middle Malay, but the languages of Kerinci and Rejang are considerably different. Kerinci is without doubt a Malay dialect, but generally unintelligible to speakers of Middle Malay dialects due to a particular phonetic structure that may be the result from the existence of an ancient Austro-Asiatic substratum (Eric van Reijn, personal communication, 18 February 2008). The Rejang language has not yet been sufficiently studied, but according to Sarwono (personal communication, 7 July 2002), it may also be a Malay dialect. Nearly all texts written by the Kerinci and Rejang people are not composed in the vernacular, but in standard Riau Malay. The particular Malay dialect that is used in Kerinci may be related to the Malay dialects of the piedmont zone of Jambi around the town of Bangko. The Malay dialect as it is spoken around Bangko is phonetically more complex and uses more than just three vowels, but the script of Kerinci may reflect an earlier stage when the Malay dialect of that region was phonetically more simple. According to Uri Tadmor (personal communication, 5 February 2008): The orthography of the manuscript exhibits only three vowels: a, i, and u. This can be interpreted as an archaism, since in standard

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Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

Malay (as in many modern dialects) /i/ has split into /i/ and /e/, and /u/ has split into /u/ and /o/. However, it should be noted that in some dialects the split did not occur. Another feature that can be interpreted as archaic is that where standard Malay and other modern dialects have /ə/, the manuscript has /a/. But again, there are dialects in which /ə/ was never phonemicised. Moreover, it is theoretically possible that the language of the manuscript had the phoneme /ə/, but since (unlike e and o) there was no symbol for it in the south Indian script on which its writing system was based, it was represented by the same symbol as /a/.

Tadmor is correct when he states that it is theoretically possible that the Kerinci script never developed a Schwa, however this is unlikely since various other ulu scripts have diacritics to render /ə/. In addition to the two vowel diacritics ‘i’ and ‘u’, the Kerinci script also uses the diacritics ‘ng’ and ‘h’, and the vowel killer.

I A large circle on top of the letter indicates the replacement of the inherent a-vowel of that character with ‘i’. The particular shape of the diacritic ‘i’ in TK 214, here shown in combination with the letters Da and Sa, is very similar to the diacritic ‘i’ in the first text written in Pallavo-Nusantaric script, where the circle is, however, open at the bottom. It can therefore be assumed that the diacritic ‘i’ resembles an ancient form, which now has become extinct. Table 3.4 The Diacritic ‘i’ in Two Scripts Text 1

Text 2

di 04-1

34-1-9

11-3

34-5-5

si

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141

Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214

The diacritic ‘i’ is typically represented in Kerinci by a short vertical stroke, occasionally it is also represented by a small circle to the right of the letter it modifies — but never above the consonantal character. In the ulu script the diacritic ‘i’ has the shape of a small forward slash positioned on the top left of a character, and there is also the additional variant where it has the shape of an inverted V in the same position. In Westenenk’s table, the diacritic ‘i’ as used in Rejang, Lembak, and Serawai has the form of a small dot placed above the letter and slightly to the left. However, not even one of the manuscripts of the collection of the Museum Negeri Bengkulu shows the diacritic ‘i’ in form of a dot, but rather as a very short line. In any case, none of the known ulu manuscripts has the diacritic ‘i’ as it is found in TK 214.

U The diacritic ‘u’, which has the form of a short vertical stroke, is placed below the character it modifies, as shown in the example below where it modifies /sa/ to become /su/. The shape of this diacritic is different from the one used by all other southern Sumatran manuscripts where it has the shape of a dot, or a short slash. The position is, however, always beneath the character it modifies.

34-1-2

Ng The diacritic ‘ng’ is typically placed on top of the character it modifies as shown where it changes ra to rang. The shape of the diacritic ‘ng’ is the same in all southern Sumatran scripts.

34-5-5

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Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

H The diacritic ‘h’, which has the shape of two short parallel horizontal lines, only occurs in syllable-final position. It is placed to the right of the character it modifies as shown in the example below where it changes /ma/ to /mah/. This is the standard shape for all southern Sumatran scripts.

33-5-1

Tanda bunuh The virā ma, in southern Sumatra typically called tanda bunuh ‘killer sign’ or bunuhan, is used to suppress the inherent a-vowel that occurs with every consonant character. The shape of the vowel killer in most southern Sumatran scripts is a small straight vertical line or a small circle that is placed to the right of the character whose inherent a is thus suppressed. The particular shape of the tanda bunuh in this manuscript is listed in Westenenk’s table as one of the three variants of Old Lebong and also as one of the three variants of Lampung as it is used in the district of Krui — the southernmost part of Bengkulu. The vowel killer in this manuscript shows a remarkable close affinity to its Pallavo-Nusantaric form. The tanda bunuh is here shown in combination with the letter Sa.

33-8-6

Punctuation Punctuation marks are largely unknown in the southern Sumatran scripts, but in the manuscript punctuation marks are regularly used. Poerbatjaraka only identified 34-3-3 as a punctuation mark which he marked as a comma in his transliteration, but there are in fact a total of six punctuation marks. There are slight differences in the shapes, especially in 33-7-2 and 34-1-1, which display an additional horizontal line, but no functional differences

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143

Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214

can be discerned among these uses. All six punctuation marks seem to function as commas, not full stops.

34-3-3

33-5-4

33-7-2

34-1-11

33-7-10

34-6-8

ConclusionS A total of twelve characters and diacritics used in the Tanjung Tanah text are commonly shared by the scripts of the people of Kerinci, the Rejang, and of the speakers of Middle Malay. Five characters (Ka, Ta, Da, Ca, and Ra) are not used in Kerinci but are common in the ulu script. Two characters closely resemble those of Old Rejang/Old Lebong but are also used as variants in the ulu script (Sa and Wa). The character Nga does not resemble any of the Kerinci and ulu scripts, but Old Rejang. The diacritic ‘i’ and the tanda bunuh are more closely related to the Pallavo-Nusantaric scripts than to any of the southern Sumatran scripts. The fact that the script of the second text is more closely related to the ulu script than to the script that is commonly found in Kerinci manuscripts may lead to the assumption that the text was written by someone from Rejang, or the Middle Malay speaking regions, but this would fail to explain the particular forms of the tanda bunuh and the diacritic ‘i’. Given that the Tanjung Tanah manuscript was sent from Dharmasraya to Kerinci, where it was also found some 600 years later, this scenario does not seem to be very plausible. It is much more likely that the second text was added, either shortly after the earlier text had been received, or at an unknown later point of time, using a script that at that time was commonly used in Kerinci. With this assumption as the starting point, which in our opinion is quite reasonable, one can further conclude that at the time when the second text was added to the Tanjung Tanah manuscript, the Kerinci script was still very similar to the ulu scripts, and that the incung script as it is known today, is the result of subsequent minor innovations. We can even go a small step further and postulate that the script of the second text of TK 214 is an ancient proto script, out of which the more modern forms of

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Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

the scripts of Kerinci, Lembak, Lebong, Pasemah, Rejang, and Serawai have developed.

Transliteration and Interpretation of the Text The following is Poerbatjaraka’s transliteration as printed in Voorhoeve’s Tambo Kerintji (1941):124 Line

Page 33

Page 34

1

……………………………

n soekatjita tjoetji diri dan

2

……………………………

soekatjitahan hastari

3

……………………………

kita, sahaja kita sakalijan

4

dangan maboeka ki(wa?)ka lajang …

sa … marabaja kita … ranak

5

mah … maka kita batja doewa …

kita barang sijapa najapa …

6

m toedjoeh … djoeh kali si (?)

danja doe … wa hini, …

7

jang toedjoeh kali malam batja da-

goeri hanoe gara ‘allah hoe-

8

ngan satjilas diri danga-

wa hoewa nallah &//

Page 33–L4

Poerbatjaraka’s reading dangan mabuka ki(wa?)ka layang can only cautiously be confirmed as the readings of the letters Wa, Ka, and Ya are weak. Unfortunately these fragments do not make much sense. The first word dangan is without doubt the standard Malay (SM) dengan, followed by the prefix ma- (SM me-) and the base buka ‘to open’ (SM membuka). The omission of the nasal [m] in ma(m)buka is a common occurrence in some Malay manuscripts. Dangan mabuka can hence be read as “in/by opening”. The meaning of kiwaka, which, as we suggested, can also be read kibaka, is unknown. The last word can be read as layang ‘being borne through the air’ although the reading is

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214

145

uncertain as the Ya is only vaguely decipherable, and could also be the letter La. There seem to be at least two characters that are no longer visible as this area was probably affected by water damage that caused the script to bleed. dangan mabuka ki wa ka (or ki ba da) layang …

Page 33–L5

Poerbatjaraka’s reading mah … maka kita baca duwa … ‘so we read two’ can be confirmed although he failed to transliterate a punctuation mark. The string /mah/, which is likely the end of a word starting with the final but undecipherable characters of the preceding line, is followed by a character that vaguely resembles Ka or Ca, possibly with a diacritic ‘i’ on top, so that it could also read /ki/ or /ci/. This is followed by another letter that is completely unrecognizable, and a small horizontal line that curves downwards towards the right. This looks very much like the punctuation mark used elsewhere in the manuscript. The string maka kita baca duwa is clearly readable. The letter Ta has been inserted underneath the line, and the place of insertion is indicated by a cross (another instance where a cross is used as an insertion marker is after 34-3-10). Poerbatjaraka did not transliterate the last character of this line, which is indeed very hard to recognize. It resembles the letter Ha, and there may even be a small circle on the top left of the letter rendering it as /hi/. However, the final downward stroke seems to be interrupted. Was this a mistake? Is it possible that the character had an initial stroke in the form of a slash that has now faded? If so, then we may indeed read it as /li/ rather than /hi/. Contextually this reading makes more sense as it is followed (in the next line) by /ma/ making it possible to read it as lima ‘five’. This number is preceded by duwa ‘two’ and, after the comma in line 6, followed by tujuh ‘seven’. mah … … , maka kita baca duwa hi/li

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146

Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

Page 33–L6

Poerbatjaraka reads this line as m tujuh … juh kali si(?). He hence interpreted the second element of the line as tanda bunuh. In our opinion this is probably not correct. This element appears to us as yet another punctuation mark. One can indeed see some kind of continuation of the downward stroke, which then would indeed mark it as the tanda bunuh, but it appears unlikely that the second part of the downward stroke had completely faded. If our interpretation is correct we would get a reading of “ma — comma” rather than /m/. The following character is difficult to read and one must be cautious whether it can be read as Ta, as Poerbatjaraka suggests. This letter is modified by the diacritic ‘u’ rendering it /tu/. To the right of the character there is one single stroke that Poerbatjaraka reads as the diacritic ‘h’, which, however, consists of two vertical strokes. Despite these uncertainties we accept Poerbatjaraka’s interpretation as tujuh ‘seven’. What follows is entirely blurred, but from the spacing one can assume that this space was occupied by two characters. The first is completely unrecognizable, and for the time being we name it X. The second, which is also illegible, we will call it Y, and then note the clearly recognizable diacritic ‘i’ written on top of the Y. The following letter is, again, illegible but this Z, as we name it, has the diacritic ‘u’ attached to it. Since the diacritics ‘i’ and ‘u’, which are both clearly readable, are omitted in Poerbatjaraka’s transliteration we can complete it to tujuh X Yi Zujuh. The next character is quite unclear but we accept Poerbatjaraka’s interpreta­tion that this is a Ka, which is followed by /li/ (La plus diacritic ‘i’) and a character that again is very unclear, and which has the diacritic ‘i’ attached to it. Poerbatjaraka’s cautiously interprets this character as /si/. ma, tujuh X Yi Zujuh kali si

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214

147

Page 33 – L7

Poerbatjaraka read this line yang tujuh kali malam baca da. The string /yang/ is clearly legible but is followed by an element that Poerbatjaraka ignored, and that we presume is a punctuation mark. The following passage tujuh kali malam is quite clearly legible and followed by yet another element unidentified by Poerbatjaraka. We presume that this is also a punctuation mark. This is followed by baca da. yang, tujuh kali malam, baca da

Page 33 – L8

According to Poerbatjaraka, this line reads ngan sacilas diri danga. The first character is unmistakably a Nga followed by a Na plus tanda bunuh. However, the shape of the Na is odd in that it carries an unusual initial stroke in the form of a slash. This next character has an odd shape as well, but Poerbatjaraka’s interpretation as Sa is probably correct. The rest of the line can be confirmed as the characters are all clearly legible. ngan sacilas diri danga

Page 34 – L1

Poerbatjaraka’s reading n sukacita cuci diri dan can be confirmed with one little remark: the letter Ta is followed by an erased character, and diri is

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Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

followed by a punctuation mark. We thus arrive at the following corrected reading: n sukacita … cuci diri, dan

Page 34 – L2

According to Poerbatjaraka, this line reads: sukacitahan hastari. The first two characters are erased, and there is nothing to add to Poerbatjaraka’s transliteration as all the characters can be read easily: … sukacitahan hastari

Page 34 – L3

Poerbatjaraka’s transliteration kita, sahaya kita sakaliyan can be confirmed, except for the very last element on the line, the little slightly curved line, which is yet another punctuation mark. It should also be noted that the string /li/ has been written under the line, and a cross is used to mark the place of insertion. kita, sahaya kita sakaliyan,

Page 34 – L4

Poerbatjaraka’s transliteration sa … marabaya kita … ranak can be confirmed, but we would like to comment on the element 34-4-2 following

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214

149

the Sa that was not transliterated by Poerbatjaraka. This actually consists of three elements, which, from top to bottom, are: (1) the letter Ta; (2) a slightly curved horizontal line where the left end curves upwards, and which has to remain unidentifiable; and (3) the diacritic ‘U’. The middle element remains a mystery, but if we ignore it then we have the combination /tu/: satu marabaya kita … ranak

Page 34 – L5

We can confirm the correctness of Poerbatjaraka’s transliteration kita barang sijapa najapa … and only add that kita is followed by a horizontal stroke that may be another punctuation mark, but this time not a comma but a full stop. The Ba is slightly unclear as the downward stroke is barely visible, but from the context we can clearly deduce that this is the correct reading. The last two characters of this line are illegible. This is probably due to water damage that has affected the edges of the document and caused the characters to bleed. The very last character may be the letter Ha but this is uncertain. kita. barang siyapa nayapa … ha

Page 34 – L6

Poerbatjaraka’s transliteration is correct: danya du … wa hini, … The combination of the character /da/ and diacritic ‘u’, resulting in /du/, is followed by a character that has most likely been erased. The string /hini/ is followed by a punctuation mark that is not reflected in Poerbatjaraka’s transliteration. The following three characters are illegible; the first may have been erased and the last two characters are indecipherable, probably due to water damage. danya du … wa hini, … … …

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Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

Page 34 – L7

Poerbatjaraka’s transliteration guri hanu gara ‘allah hu- can only be accepted by adding the following remarks: it is very doubtful whether the first character has the diacritic ‘u’ attached to it. One can only see a very light trace of what once may have been the ‘u’ but even that is uncertain. The string /gara/ is followed by a lacuna. Something may have been scribbled above that empty space, but it is in a different colour from the rest of the text. The lacuna is followed by the very unusual, if not impossible combination of the letter Ha and tanda bunuh. Why Poerbatjaraka transliterated this as ‘a’ is unknown to us. The tanda bunuh is rather short and could be interpreted as a punctuation mark, but this can be ruled out if the element following the letter La is indeed another tanda bunuh. This too is uncertain as, again, the downward stroke seems to be unusually short. The following letter is clearly a La followed by a rather faded diacritic ‘h’, and a Ha with an attached diacritic ‘u’. This character is also rather faint making it almost impossible to come to a conclusion. The string /hanugara/ may be the Sanskrit loanword anugerah ‘a gift from God’, whereas hallahhu may be Allahu ‘God’, but, as mentioned, this is a rather uncertain interpretation of the reading of the text. gari hanugara hallahhu

Page 34 – L8

As can be seen from the photo above, there is not much left that can be deciphered. Poerbatjaraka’s translation wa hoewa nallah &// starts in the middle of the line meaning that there was either nothing written to the left of it, or that the paper was damaged and broke away. The Wa is clearly visible, and the final string /lah/ can also be confirmed, but everything else is illegible. We do not know how Poerbatjaraka came to

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151

Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214

the transliteration he provides. It is possible that the edge of the book has deteriorated between 1941 and 2002 and that Poerbatjaraka was still able to read more than what can be read today.

Interpretation The following is the new transliteration except for page 34 line 8 where I rely on Poerbatjaraka’s transliteration: Line

Page 33

Page 34

1

n sukacita … cuci diri, dan

2

… sukacitahan hastari

3

kita, sahaya kita sakaliyan,

4

dangan mabuka ki wa/ba ka/da layang … satu marabaya kita … ranak

5

mah …, maka kita baca duwa hi/li

kita. barang siyapa nayapa … ha

6

ma, tujuh X Yi Zujuh kali si

danya du … wa hini, …

7

yang, tujuh kali malam, baca da

gari hanugara hallahhu

8

ngan sacilas diri danga

wa huwa nallah

Due to the punctuation marks we are able to structure the text into ten elements:   1. dangan mabuka ki wa/ba ka/da layang … mah …,   2. maka kita baca duwa hi/li ma,   3. tujuh X Yi Zujuh kali siyang,   4. tujuh kali malam,   5. baca dangan sacilas diri dangan sukacita … cuci diri,   6. dan … sukacitahan hastari kita,   7. sahaya kita sakaliyan,   8. satu marabaya kita … ranak kita.   9. barang siyapa nayapa … ha(?)danya du…wa hini, 10. … gari hanugara hallahhu wa huwa nallah. From this base we can embark on an interpretation of the text. If our rather speculative interpretation of the final character of Line 2 is correct, we can — again this is highly speculative — presume that X is the letter

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Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

Ka, Y the letter La, and Z the letter Ta. Having done this, we arrive at the reconstructed reading of Lines 1–4: Maka kita baca dua lima, tujuh kali(,) tujuh kali siang, tujuh kali malam. In Line 5, the meaning of sacilas is unclear, and in Line 6, hastari could be isteri ‘wife’, assuming that the diacritic ‘i’ was accidentally omitted.125 Line 7 can be translated but it is not quite clear whether syntactically it belongs to line 6 or 8. Line 8 is very unclear. The first word may read satu ‘one’, the following marabaya could be mara bahaya ‘danger, disaster, peril’, ranak may include the base anak ‘child’, possibly with a ber- prefix. Kita, the first person plural pronoun, occurs twice but it is not clear whether it must be read as ‘we’ or ‘our’. In Line 9 only the beginning is clear, napaya does not make sense, but the following syllables may be adanya ‘the existence (of)’ as the character Ha is also used for intial vowel a. This is followed by dua ini ‘these two’. For Line 10 we rely on Poerbatjaraka’s transliteration as we were not able to reconstruct the reading. The initial string /gari/ may be the end of a word as the characters before are missing, and the vowel ‘a’ can be read as a Schwa so that we have a possible reading of nagari/negeri ‘territorial unit, country’, which of course is not much more than a guess. The string /hanugara/ seems to be anugerah ‘gift of God’, /hallahu/ is then Allahu ‘God’ as the initial Ha can also be read ‘a’. The letter Wa could be the Arabic conjunction wa ‘and’ followed by the third person masculine singular pronoun huwa ‘he’, and then what one would expect to be God’s name, again, reads nallah, and not Allah. If we dismiss the initial Na as a scribal error for Ha, then we may arrive at the translation ‘a gift of God, and He is God’.126 However, the reader needs to be cautioned that, as the transliteration of this last passage is weak, the translation is not much more than an interpretation of what may have been intended by the writer of those lines.   1. In opening ? ?   2. So we read two-five,   3. seven times(,) seven times at daytime,   4. seven time at night-time,   5. reading with sacilas ourselves with pleasure cleansing ourselves,   6. and with pleasure our wife(wives),   7. (including) all our slaves,   8. one ? 1stPl … ? 1stPl.   9. Whoever ? the existence of these two, 10. ? a gift of God, and He is God.

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214

153

These fragments do not enable us to translate the text, which remains rather obscure, but it appears to be a kind of numerological text where one arrives at the auspicious number seven by reading the numbers two and five seven times at daytime and seven times at night-time. This apparently has a cleansing effect to the person performing as well as his entire household including his slaves. The number seven is highly significant in Abrahamic religions, especially in Islam, but its origins go back to the times of the ancient Sumerian and Babylonian civilizations. The writer Mehnaz Sahibzada, who wrote her M.A. thesis on Islamic numerology, writes that “early among Middle Eastern peoples, seven became known as a ‘perfect’ number, symbolic of completeness and goodness”. The number seven is a key symbol in many Muslim cultural productions, both secular and religious, including art, architecture, folklore, literature, and ritual practices. There are approximately twenty-five references made to the number seven in the Qur’an the sacred text of Muslims. These references usually concern the seven heavens, the seven periods of creation, seven groups of things, or seven individuals, such as the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus. An allusion made to the number seven in the Qur’an typically includes references to God as the all-powerful creator. Thus, the number seven is directly linked to the power of the divine and has great symbolic value as an expression of Muslim belief and the miracles of God (Sahibzada 2005).

The number seven is of great significance among the Batak of North Sumatra and it is also central to Javanese cosmology where the fetus is believed to have a soul once it is in the seventh month of pregnancy, and where purification ceremonies require bathing with water from seven wells that is perfumed with flower petals from seven gardens. Purification ceremonies, known among the Malays as langir, are well documented throughout the archipelago, and it is possible that our text has to be seen in the context of such a langir cleansing ritual. As this text has absolutely nothing to do with the first text, one can assume that the second text was added considerably later by a person who probably had no knowledge of the nature of the first text. As the main text of the manuscript was most likely written at the court of Dharmasraya, one can conclude that the second text was added at a later time in Kerinci. How much later is uncertain, but the last sentence of the text seems to make reference to Allah suggesting that the text was probably written in early Islamic times. Unfortunately, this is not very helpful as we already know that in the fourteenth century when

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154

Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

TK 214 was written, the Dharmasraya region already had contact with the Muslim world. The first tangible evidence for contact of Kerinci with the Muslim world is a letter (TK 205) from Pangeran Suta Wijaya sent from Jambi on 22 November 1704.127 From the letter, it is evident that the Sultan of Jambi exercised some kind of influence in Kerinci, but whether that had led to conversions is unclear, and it is also not known how far back this influence dates. By the late eighteenth century, the people of Kerinci were reminded by the Sultan to leave animistic customs behind and to adopt Islamic Law. In 1818, the Englishman Thomas Barnes visited Kerinci. From his report it is evident that Islam was already widely accepted. This sketchy picture is not at all helpful in determining the age of the text, but as the script appears to be quite ancient, it likely predates the script of all hitherto known manuscripts in surat incung or surat ulu. Unfortunately these manuscripts are never dated and all we know is that the script has not changed since Westenenk published the first account of the Kerinci manuscript in 1822. Determining the age of the second text of TK 214 is hence impossible, but it seems likely that it was written when Kerinci had not yet embraced Islam. The text itself does not appear to be Islamic in any nature, and the reference to Allah in the final line does not indicate that the writer had embraced the faith. From the Batak of North Sumatra, we know that at the time when the people of Kerinci had not yet converted to Islam or Christianity, they used both the Hindu sacred syllable Om as well as a rudimentary form of bismi-llā h, often rendered as basurmila, in their divinatory texts. These formulae were merely devices to infuse the text with a powerful element from the outside world. Given the antiquity of the script, I would tentatively date the text to the earliest contacts of Kerinci with the Islamic world, not long after Jambi converted to Islam, which is commonly believed to have happened during the reign of Jambi’s first Sultan Orang Kayo Hitam who ruled from 1500 to 1515.

Notes

1



2

A project supported by the Endangered Archives Programme of the British Library. This copy is presently in the library of the KITLV under the title “Tambo Kerintji” (Or. 415).

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214 3



6 7 8 9 4 5



10 11



12 13



14



15

18 19 20 16 17



21

24 22 23



25



26 27

30 28 29

155

1950 is the year that the calibration curves were established, and it also predates atmospheric testing of the atomic bomb, which significantly upset C-12/C-14 ratios in the following years. “Indian writing” seems to refer here to Pallavo-Nusantaric scripts. The month Vaiśākha The spelling of this ritual exclamation is not quite clear. The month Jyaiṣṭha The vowels is unclear, it could be i instead of a. The text is unclear, some of us read ḥ re, others read ga. Possible to be read kemmittan Schwa in the first syllable is assumed because the word is alternatively spelled ban¬nwa (pp. 11/ 2, 28/2–3) and ban¬ṇwa (p. 27/6), i.e. with doubled -nn-. Very faint and illegible text, about three aksara-s long The m¬ is perhaps a misspelled ma:, while the unclear subsequent feature is probably ka or ga. The pasangan for ñ in this apparent kñ ligature is practically identical with that for h on pp. 12/3, 28/3 and 28/6. Schwa in the second syllable is assumed because the base word is given as bennua (pp. 11/2, 28/2–3, 27/6). Spelled wurang Expected sa- is missing Expected pa is missing Very imprecisely and confusingly written. The context suggests -ña ba-. Previously misread as jadi (by Poerbatjaraka) and as jali (in Kozok 2006, p. 109), but a closer scrutiny showed that the spelling is jahi, just as on p. 5/3. Spelled sengnggangbumikan, but the cecak/anusvara (spelling a velar nasal) before the -bu- is probably a scribal error, because the same word on pp. 6/5 and 9/5 is spelled without it. Redundant (duplicate) ma- prefix, probably a scribal error Expected pada-lungsi (comma) missing in the original The patèn after the ma-aksara is probably a long danda, hence not lim¬ but lima: was implied. Spelled as, should probably be read esa ‘one’ (there were no means for writing word-initial schwa). Obviously a scribal error, and should be read gutera (as on p. 12/2) Spelled sa, should apparently be read esa, like as written on line 1 of the same page Redundant (duplicate) first syllable of following word — a scribal error Probably a scribal error, and should be read minum This datas with initial d-, corresponding to later Malay atas ‘top, upper side’, is attested once more on p. 27/4, so that the initial d- is evidently not a scribal error.

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156



31



32



33



34 35



36



37



38 39



40 41



42



43



44



45



46



47



48 49



50



51 52

Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

An unclear, possibly not completed, character that was nevertheless not explicitly crossed out by the scribe. Could be a carelessly written ga or ta, neither of which seems to fit the context Prematurely started word barbuñi (normalized barebunyi) straddling the following page-break Apparently a scribal error for tabbu (normalized tebbu) The sublinear lu lies under the -pa-, but there is an unusual V-like insertion place indicator (instead of the usual superscript × or + sign) behind the -ha. These are some unclear sublinear and in-line notations, including a looped stroke placed as if it were a pasangan to the n, that appear as the scribe’s hapless attempts to repair a bungled-up patèn. It could, however, also be a careless “repair” of a mishapped -lah, but as this imperative particle is not attested otherwise in the manuscript, such a reading seems very doubtful. An unfinished da-character, seems to have been absent-mindedly left lying, and the next word dibawa “restarted” anew. Read itu. The obviously missing suku under the -ta must be a scribal error. Read dipaha:mba. The obviously missing wulu above the da- must be a scribal error. The cecak (final-nasal mark) is very faint. Read ditumbuk. The obviously missing suku under the -ta must be a scribal error. The three last aksara-s, preceded by an unidentifiable feature, are very carelessly written and unclear. The -da is very faint and unclear; there is perhaps also some faint feature (punctuation?) between the ha:yam¬ and the ti[da]. Spelled manangah’i, but the base word is given six times as tengngah in the text. Spelled dangan, but the schwa is indicated by the spelling as dengngan on p. 3/6. An expected cecak after mali cannot be seen; instead, there are both a redundant la and a following punctuation mark (that makes no sense). Uncertain reading, and tiha~ suku could under circumstance be biyuku (normalized: biuku) Perhaps a scribal error for sikurña. s A pada-bab (//) is used for expected pada-lungsi (comma) two times on this page. The u is uncertain, and could mean a unique instance of -uy, so that one should probably read tellay. Unexpected pada-lungsi (comma) instead of pada-bab (//) The b-pasangan is somewhat unclear.

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214

55 53 54



56



57

60 61 58 59



62



63



64



65 66



67



68



69



70



71

157

Unexpected pada-bab (//) instead of pada-lungsi (comma) Should probably be read as para:hu °ura~ The pa is uncertain; the unidentified supralinear # is possibly a smudged cecak, suggesting the reading saŋ; the mark at the end of the line, read above as punctuation mark, could be a danda, leading to a reading sa:. The first of the two pa-aksara-s simultaneously carries the impossible combination of a taling to the left (indicating replacement of the default vowel -a by the diphthongue -ay), and a patèn to the right (indicating suppression of the default vowel); this is obviously a scribal error, and the word that was meant to be written is in all likelihood (sa-)tapayyan already attested on pp. 18/6–7. Should perhaps be read as deri, in view of the first component in derripeda on p. 31/6 Scribal error: redundant (duplicate) opening ka- of the following word Scribal error: written dati, the scribe presumably meant to write dipati A triconsonantal ligature ṇ + d + w. There is an unidentifiable pasangan under the ṇ of puṇarapi that looks somewhat like a ra. There is a hole in the page, exactly between the ha and the ya, leaving a blank space that is too narrow for an entire intervening aksara, but just enough space to accommodate a danda after the ha. Both the suku-s spelling of the u-s in sapuluḥ, as well as the word-final wignyan, are somewhat faint. There seems to be a text lacuna in the original. The scribe possibly bypassed a passage. A triconsonantal ligature s + p + d. The same is repeated in the next line. The right half of what is presumably word-initial °a- (without that right half, one would have °u-) is lost in the hole in the page (that is between the ha and the ya on the reverse side of the folio). The illegible segment, partially lost in the hole, partially too faint to be legible, has the approximate width of an in-line (i.e. horizontally rather than vertically ordered) consonant cluster (e.g. tk[a]). The word for ‘country’ seems to be quite out of place here, and is presumably a scribal error. The spelling as drammasaraya suggests an a between the s and the r, but the alternative spelling as drammasraya on pp. 29/7–30/1 shows that the actual vowel in that position is apparently schwa. The spelling suggests a reading as paduka, but the same word is spelled pduka on p. 2/6. In the Indonesian language edition (Kozok 2006), we wrongly assumed that the hardly legible cakra (diacritic-ng) in barang is a wulu (diacritic-i), and hence transliterated as bari instead of barang.

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158



72



73



74



75



76

79 80 77 78



81 82



83



84 85



86



87



88



89



90



91 92



93

Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

This word here and in the next line, is read with ne instead of na, because it is spelled with doubled -mm- on p. 31/2. It ultimately originates from Skt. praṇamayya ‘bowing’. Sanskrit dewaṁ ‘god’; in the next line, it is rendered diwam (note that it is the final nasal in diwang that correctly corresponds to the final anusvāra of the Sanskrit precursor). Sanskrit śīrṣa ‘head’; occurs once more in the next line; but in line 3 on p. 31, it is spelled . Presumably Sanskrit a-mala + īśvara ‘unblemished + lord’. The initial aapparently got fused with the final -a of the previous word. The spelling of this ritual exclamation is not quite clear. It is followed by a four-line sloka in “pidgin” Sanskrit. Sanskrit trilokyadhipati ‘lord of the three worlds’ Apparently Sanskrit nānā ‘many’ and śatru ‘enemy’ Read tunduk¬; the scribe exaggeratedly overdrew the patèn to a cakra Sanskrit dhṛtaṁ ‘firmly established’, vākit ‘one who has speech’, netṛ ‘leader’, kṣatra ‘warrior, knight’, samuccayaṁ ‘everything together’ Sanskrit svarga ‘heaven’, madhya ‘the middle, centre’, pātāla ‘underworld’ The second component of this composite is spelled pada, but should apparently be read peda, because everywhere else it is spelled pda. In the manuscript, the name is somewhat unclear and could possibly be read as Kemittan. The word in the manuscript could either mean ‘and’ or ‘or’. The commas in this sentence are represented in the original text of the manuscripts by the pada lungsi punctuation mark, which is equivalent to a period. Between these two words there is an inexplicable pada lungsi punctuation mark (meaning period). There seems to be a text lacuna in the original. The scribe possibly bypassed a passage. The word for ‘country’ seems to be quite out of place here, and is presumably a scribal error. Lit. ‘lord of the pure’. The sentence is a praise verse in assimilated (pidginized) Sanskrit to the reigning king. After this follows a four-line assimilated-Sanskrit sloka of the chief. This should have been terilukia (Skt. trilokya) ‘the three [i.e. upper, middle, and lower] worlds’. Dipati ‘chief’ Originally a reference to members of the caste of nobility, as contrasted with commoners on one side, and brahmans (clergymen) on the other. The first text is written in a Pallavo-Nusantaric script. We have chosen this term to avoid naming the script Old Javanese as it has so often been done before. The script differs from the contemporary Javanese script so much that

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214

159

it is not justifiable to call the script, apparently written in Sumatra by Malay people, “Javanese”. “Pallavo-Nusantaric” is an apt term as the script is ultimately derived from the South Indian Pallava script, which was widely used in the earliest inscriptions of Indonesia. By the second half of the eighth century, the Pallava script had developed into a distinctive Indonesian script known as Kawi. From this point on, an unbroken chain of development produced many minor innovations and local variations, but the basic characters remained similar for many centuries. Between the fourteenth and the sixteenth centuries, this script underwent significant changes. The increasing diversification led to the emergence of distinct scripts in the eastern Javanese Kingdom of Majapahit, the western Javanese Kingdom of Pajajaran, and the central Sumatran domain of the Minangkabau King Ādityavarman, and possibly even in Aceh.   I am indebted to Dr Timothy Behrend, Auckland, who suggested the term “Pallavo-Nusantaric” that emphasizes the strong indigenous Nusantara element of the script without denying its Pallava heritage. 94 Taufik Abdullah (1966) gives an interesting account on the profound impact the conflict between the two half-brothers has had on the Minangkabau society. 95 The word is discussed on page 266. 96 This is not the only fine ‘by the trayful’. Kempe and Winstedt (Kempe; Winstedt 1952) mention a “trayful of betel leaves” (sireh sa-cerana) as the fine for “quarrelling with the chief’s wife” . 97 . 98 In contemporary Indonesian, anjalai (also spelled enjelai or jelai) is more commonly known as jali or jali-jali and is used for the preparation of a sweet porridge, and also for making rosaries (tasbih). 99 In contemporary Malay, jagung means maize, but a pre-Columbian transmission of maize to Southeast Asia seems rather unlikely. 100 The gold mines were not located in the Kerinci valley but to the southeast of the valley in the present Kabupaten Merangin (especially in Pangkalan Jambu) and Sarolangun (along the Batang Asai and its tributary Batang Limun). 101 “Kata sahibu’l-hikayat, ada sabuah negeri di tanah Andelas, Perlembang namanya. Demang Lebar Daun nama rajanya, asalnya daripada anak cucu Raja Sulan, Muara Tatang nama sungainya. Ada pun Negeri Perlembang itu, Palembang yang ada sekarang inilah. Maka di hulu Muara Tatang itu ada sabuah sungai, Melayu namanya. Di dalam sungai itu ada satu bukit yang bernama Bukit Siguntang, di hulunya Gunong Mahameru, di daratnya ada satu padang yang bernama padang Penjaringan.” 102 The meaning of Mawu is unknown. 103 Originally misread as babinama

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160

Uli Kozok, with contributions by Waruno Wahdi

Originally misprinted as badjeo (for badjoe = baju). Malay baju is sometimes associated with Persian bāzū ‘arm, strength, waist cloth for bathing’, but the connection is uncertain. 105 In the latter instance, it is spelled dangan. 106 Unclear reading d[]pahamba 107 The vowel marker of the first syllable, and the consonant of the second syllable is missing (i.e. the word is actually spelled dati). 108 Unclear di( pa)ti 109 Misspelled diwam 110 Spelled duwa (otherwise spelled dwa) 111 Spelled with initial n- in assimilation to the nasal final of the previous word 112 Misspelled (s[]-)iku 113 The ma is missing. 114 The pa is missing. 115 The sa- is missing. 116 The second occurrence of this word on p. 20/5 is somewhat confusingly spelled. 117 Misspelled sengnggangbumikan 118 Misspelled sa-tahi (for sa-tahil) 119 Spelled wurang 120 Middle Malay comprises the Malay dialects that linguistically stand between Riau-Lingga Malay and Minangkabau. It is spoken on the upper reaches of the Musi river including the tributaries Rawas, Ogan, and Komering, in Pasemah and the entire province of Bengkulu, excluding the districts Rejang and Lebong as those are not Malay dialects. 121 Besides the scripts of southern Sumatra, the Sulawesi scripts too have Ka, Ga, and Nga as the first three characters of their alphabets. 122 The actual area where ulu scripts was used is much larger and includes most of the regions where the Malay dialects of Rawas, Musi, Lematang, Enim, Semendo, Oga, Belide, Penesak, Lengkayap, Ranau, Daya, Mulak, and Aji are spoken, but the database is very small and not always reliable. 123 A table of letters from a manuscript from Rambang in the Ogan region is depicted on the following website: (accessed 1 February 2008). 124 Here, I copy the text letter by letter, leaving it in the old spelling system used by Poerbatjaraka. Conversely, in the discussion of the transliteration, I use the modern spelling for Indonesian and Malay adopted in 1972. 125 I would like to thank Waruno Mahdi who suggested this possible reading to me. 126 I would like to thank Dr Michael Feener from the National University of Singapore for his valuable input in interpreting the last two lines. 104

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 214 127

161

The year is clearly spelled out as “seribu seratus enam belas tahun” which is 1116 AH or 1704 CE. In that year, the Sultan of Jambi was Kiai Gede, who reigned from 1687–1719, whereas Pangeran Suta Wijaya, also known as Sultan Anum, reigned from 1743 until approximately 1770 (Andaya 1993a, pp. 315–19). The Pangeran Suta Wijaya mentioned in this letter is certainly not the same person as Sultan Anum, but may have been a high court official in Jambi.

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4 Script and Language of the Tanjung Tanah Manuscript Waruno Mahdi With the exception of the last two written pages that employ an apparently early form of surat incung — referred to here as incung script — the Tanjung Tanah manuscript TK 214 (hereafter referred to as “TTms”) under inspection is written in what has been characterized as Later PallavoNusantaric script (Kozok 2004, p. 39). The present chapter will be con­cerned exclusively with the part of the manuscript written in this latter script, that has a certain resemblance to Kawi (the script used in Old Javanese).1 I must confess that I had practically no prior experience with Later Pallavo-Nusantaric scripts, and would have faced insurmountable difficulties reading TTms if not for the path breaking work of decipherment already done by Poerbatjaraka, published in Kozok (2004, pp. 46–53). Some surprise had initially been articulated in view of the circumstance that TTms was not written in the Arabic-based Jawi script of later Malay texts. However, for the early date that has been elicited, the late fourteenth century, use of an Indic script is not surprising. The con­temporaneous 1380 CE gravestone at Minye Tujuh, although Islamic, is in the so-called Old-Sumatran script (Marrison 1951; Molen 2007; Stutterheim 1936). 162

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Script and Language of the Tanjung Tanah Manuscript

163

The Script Out of practical considerations, I will introduce a standardized set of characters adapted from the variants appearing in the actual text of the manuscript. This font set is compared with the script used in some other inscriptions and documents in Table 4.1 (cf. also a.o. Holle 1882; Kridalaksana 1982, pp. xxi, xxiv–xv).

Consonants Like in other Indic scripts used in South and Southeast Asia, each basic character (akṣara) typically represents an open syllable consisting of an initial consonant and a default vowel. It may be safely assumed that this vowel is an -a, as it is in Sanskrit and in Old Javanese. Besides akṣara-s for consonant-initial syllables, there are also vowel-initial syllables that will be inspected separately below. The script in TTms encompasses the following twenty consonantal akṣara-s, accompanied here by a transliteration (with alternative transliter­ ations in parentheses): ba; da; pa; ta; ma; na ~ wa; sa ~ la;

ṇa;2 śa (ça);

ga; ka; ŋa (nga, ṅa); ha; ra.

ja; ca; ña (nya); ya; (see Table 4.1)

For a semi-diplomatic transliteration,3 I have chosen a one-characterper-phoneme presentation by replacing Poerbatjaraka’s ng and nj (i.e. ny) digraphs by ŋ and ñ respectively. The ç, commonly used in earlier transliter­ ations of Indic-based scripts, is replaced by the currently standard ś. As will be shown in the section on phonology below, written s and ś in TTms apparently represent one and the same phoneme, and this also seems to apply for the written n and ṇ. I will nevertheless retain the distinction in the transliterations to allow insight into usage in the original. On the other hand, the script in TTms does not distinguish between d and ḍ. For the undifferentiated d, the retained akṣara seems to correspond historically to that for ḍ (see Table 4.1, in which the script used in TTms is compared with that in other early Indic-script Malay texts). As the consonantal akṣara automatically implies a following default vowel, special means are required for the notation of a consonant cluster.

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164

Waruno Mahdi

There are, generally speaking, two procedures that are also implemented when two consonants meet at word junction, because the pause between two words is not indicated in the script. One of the procedures is to join two characters in a ligature, thereby indicating that the first of the two is to be read without vowel. The second component of a ligature is typically a simplified or modified variant of the akṣara, and is known in Javanese as pasangan (lit. ‘mate, partner’) (see the respective right column for each script in Table 4.1). In vertical ligatures, this is the lower component, e.g.:  

nta

 

sta

 

swa

 

mma

For clusters with ŋ and r as first element, however, it is the upper character that is simplified or modified, e.g.:  

 

ŋka

rka

In horizontal ligatures, the second character is typically simplified or modified, e.g.: +

ksa

→

+

→

ska

+

mpa

→

As we will see in the section on phonology, that which appears as a consonant cluster from the script, and would be read as such in analogical script applications in Old Javanese and other languages, seems not to really represent a consonant cluster in Tanjung Tanah. I will therefore speak of ‘nominal clusters’, and render them as such in the (semi-)diplomatic transliteration, but not necessarily in the normalized. For two particular second consonants of nominal clusters, r and y, there is a special diacritic and marker respectively,4 the cakra ( ) and pèngkal ( ), cf. +

→

kra   

+

→

kya

The transliterations of these combinations too are nominal, assuming analogy to the corresponding combinations in Old Javanese. The actual reading will be reviewed in the section on phonology. The other general way of indicating that two consonants are not interceded by a vowel (as in a consonant cluster or at word junction) is by using specific notations for syllable-final consonants.

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165

Script and Language of the Tanjung Tanah Manuscript

Table 4.1 Comparison of the Script of the Tanjung Tanah Manuscript with that of Other Early Malay Sources* Tanjung Tanah c. 1380

Såjåmertå before 680

Talang Tuwo 684

Banten f. 327 1619

(see under wa)

ba

ba §

ca da ḍa

Minye Tujuh 1380

ca da

†

, 

ḍa

ga

ga

ha

ha

ja

ja

ka

ka

la

la

ma

ma

na

na

ṇa

ṇa

ña

ña

ŋa

ŋa

pa

pa

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166

Waruno Mahdi

Table 4.1  (cont’d) Tanjung Tanah c. 1380

Såjåmertå before 680

Talang Tuwo 684

Minye Tujuh 1380

Banten f. 327 1619

ra

ra sa

sa

śa

śa

ta

ta ‡

wa

wa

ya

ya

The reduced (pasangan) variant is in the respective right column (the aks.ara, it is coupled with, is represented by a faint rectangle). * Sources: Såjåmertå inscr. — Boechari 1966: photo opposite p. 242; Talang Tuwo inscr. — Cœdès 1930: photo opposite p. 38, Hunter 1996, p. 6, Fig. 3; Minye Tujuh inscr. — Stutterheim 1936, van der Molen 2007, pp. 364–65; Banten folio 327 letter — Ricklefs 1976: facsimile, plate VI betw. pp. 130 and 131. § This character, not in fol. 327, is from fol. 328 that has the word kuciwa (modern kecéwa) twice. † This and some further Såjåmertå characters are uncertain, due to the limited resolution of the photo. ‡ In the Talang Tuwo inscription, this is nominally a “va” that could be spelled both ba and wa.

There is a diacritic for a syllable-final velar nasal, known in Javanese as cecak, that originates from the Pallava script and Devanagari anusvāra (dot in the upper right, that indicates nasalization of the syllabic vowel in Sanskrit), e.g.: da →

daŋ   

tra →

traŋ5

There is also a marker for syllable-final h, known in Javanese as wignyan, corresponding to the Devanagari visarga that spells a syllable-final spirant (-ḥ) in Sanskrit. It resembles a Latin script colon in appearance:

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167

Script and Language of the Tanjung Tanah Manuscript

kah   

lah   

ŋah

A more universal means of writing a syllable-final consonant is to employ the vowel-suppression diacritic, known as patèn in Javanese, or as virāma in Sanskrit, that cancels out the default vowel: -la →

-l   

-ra →

-r   

-ta →

-t

Post-consonantal Vowels For vowels other than the default a, there are special vowel-replacement diacritics and markers. In Sanskrit, the syllabic rhotic commonly transliterated into Latin script as ṛ, is treated as ‘vowel replacement’ on the same footing as the vowels i and u, and can likewise be made to replace the default vowel with the help of a corresponding diacritic. This is retained in the script used in TTms, just as in Kawi script, even though the supposed replacement-rhotic is not read as a syllabic rhotic. The actual reading will be discussed below in the section on phonology. For the present, I will provisionally treat it like the syllabic rhotic of Sanskrit. The default a is replaced by i, u or ṛ with one of three diacritics known respectively as wulu (lit. ‘feather’), suku (‘leg’), and keret (‘section, joint’) in Javanese, for example: ka  ⇒ 

ki  ; 

ku  ; 

kṛ

There is furthermore another apparent vowel-replacement diacritic that, however, only occurs in one reliable example in the entire manuscript. It was transliterated by Poerbatjaraka as e in the spelling of a name of apparent Sanskrit origin. As Sanskrit did not have a schwa (ə)6 and, as we will see below, there seems not to have been a particular diacritic or marker like Javanese pepet for schwa in TTms,7 this must have referred to the mid-low front vowel é, cf.8 p. 30/4:

= lé (cf.

[a]maléswaraŋ, implying that: = la);

Besides that there is still one unclear (uncertain) occurrence of this diacritic, that however also resembles the symbol for the sacred syllable aum to which I will return below: p. 2/1:

04 TTCL 8thPrf.indd 167

= bé (? cf.

= ba)

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168

Waruno Mahdi

Whichever the case, there is, as we will see below, another more frequently occurring notation for a mid front vowel in TTms script that I will transliterate as è to distinguish it from the above. The vowels a, i, and u also occur with a post-positioned marker resembling the Kawi script danda ( ) that is used in Old Javanese to indicate a long ā. In TTms, however, it occurs after the vowels i and u as well, so that I will provisionally treat it as the universal vowel-lengthening marker. I will discuss its probable real function in the section on phonology. kā  ; 

ka  ⇒ 

kī  ; 

kū

Replacement of the default vowel by è, o, ay (ai) or aw (au)9 in the Kawi script of Old Javanese is generally achieved by pre-posing a corresponding vowel-replacement marker or circumfixing a pair of such markers. In TTms, a representative number of examples to comfortably establish the marker of a given vowel replacement is only given for a mid front vowel è that is distinct, at least in the script, from the é that was described earlier above. There are quite some fluctuations in the form of the marker for è (from till ) that I will provisionally call semi-taling, because the actual taling, as the marker for ay is known in Javanese, appears in TTms to consist of two of them on top of each other (i.e. ). Like its correspondent in Sanskrit and Old Javanese, the marker is placed before the akṣara: ka  ⇒ 

  or 

kè

In text quotations, I will use the one or the other of the alternative representations of this è marker, depending upon which of the two more closely approaches the given concrete rendering in the manuscript. For ay, o, and aw, the situation is more complicated because of the limited number, or even absence, of occurrences in TTms, for which furthermore Poerbatjaraka’s readings at first appear somewhat puzzling. For the likewise pre-posed (full) taling ( ) that marks the replacement of the default vowel by ay, there are four simple and unproblematic instances: p. 18/5:



p. 23/1:



p. 19/5: p. 24/5–6:





sa + hā + lay = sa-hālay;

ku + ray + sā + ni = kuraysāni; hā + nja + lay = hānjalay; la + ntay = lantay.

Another example is on p. 18/6–7, but it features the complication of gemination of the base-final consonant upon suffixation. This feature will

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be discussed below in the section on morphophonology. For the present it needs only to be noted that, in TTms, the final consonant of a word base is geminated (doubled) when followed by a vowel-initial suffix (-an or -i): p. 18/6–7: tā + pay + ya + n = tāpayyan (< tapay + -an) Hence, the diphthong ay spelled with the taling is treated in TTms as a sequence of the syllabic vowel a and the semivowel y serving as syllablefinal consonant that needs to be doubled at suffixation (transliterating the diphthong spelled with a taling as ai would result here in a puzzling *tāpaiyan). By analogy to Kawi script Old Javanese, the pre-posed markers for è (semi-taling) and ay (full taling) would be expected to combine with a postfixed marker known in Javanese as tarung, whose combinations would spell o and aw respectively. However, in TTms, in which the tarung appears identical with the above-mentioned danda for nominally long vowels, there are no examples of the former expected combination ( … ). There are six examples with a full taling-tarung pair ( … ), but Poerbatjaraka proposes three different readings for the marker combination. In four relatively straightforward examples, Poerbatjaraka reads o in two and au (i.e. aw) in the other two: p. 18/4:



p. 21/7:



p. 21/2: p. 22/3:

read as piso by Poerbatjaraka;



read as mano by P. (i.e. māno);



read as dangau by P. (i.e. *daŋaw);

read as rangau by P. (i.e. *rāŋaw).

In the remaining two examples that occur in short succession, Poerbatjaraka transliterates the marker combination as e (that is è). The original text (p. 22/1–2) and Poerbatjaraka’s reading (that renders both n and ṇ as n) are as follows (a vertical line | indicates line break): facsimile: |   ta  lla   le  |   na y  pa  na le  y  ya  nn… = = talla lènay panalèyyan n… (this latter n belongs to the next word). I consider the ligature in the second position from the left to represent lta ( ) rather than lla ( ), and the small smudged item after line break, read by Poerbatjaraka as na ( ), to be a scratched out scribal error (#) that

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may be ignored, and read in first approximation, assuming that the talingtarung combination spells aw:   |#   ta  lta  law  |   y  , pa ṇā  law  y  ya  ṇn… = = *tal-talawy, paṇālawyyaṇ n…

Besides again featuring gemination of base-final y before the suffix -an, the trial decipherment reveals that the reading of taling-tarung as the diphthong aw cannot be correct, because it would imply a syllable-final semivowel cluster wy. But for è that Poerbatjaraka had read here we already have the semi-taling ( ), so that (full) taling-tarung ( … ) must apparently be read as o, as already suggested by Poerbatjaraka himself in the reading of piso and māno. We then have: p. 22/1–2: tal-taloy, paṇāloyyaṇ n… TTms Malay apparently had two virtual diphthongs, ay and oy, but no aw. In place of the latter in cognates of words with aw of other dialects (e.g. of modern Malay pisau ‘knife’), it seems to have had o as in piso ‘knife’. This actually confirms Poerbatjaraka’s reading of the latter that at first seemed puzzling. Consequently, instead of *daŋaw and *rāŋaw we must now read daŋo and rāŋo respectively. Curiously, the former appears once more on the same line 7 of p. 21, seemingly spelled daŋū, but the suku (the subscript u-diacritic) is below left instead of below right, and looks suspiciously like a misplaced variant semi-taling ( ), i.e. facsimile:

read as

ŋū (is it a misspelled

ŋo?)

One item, read by Poerbatjaraka as tal.ay, is spelled not with a taling for -ay, the final semivowel is spelled ya with vowel-suppressing patèn. At the same time, the character read as l.a should perhaps be read as llu, thus resulting in talluy. Cf.: p. 21/5–6 facsimile:

that perhaps reads:

|

ta  llu |  y = talluy.

But the suku under the ll-ligature is unclear, allowing for the alternative reading:

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p. 21/5–6:

|

ta lla | y = tallay.

The former reading as talluy is indeed improbable, because it would establish a diphthong -uy in parallel to -oy. The alternative reading is noteworthy, because it features an unusual spelling of the diphthong -ay that is otherwise spelled with a taling. It is a further piece of internal evidence that the second element of the diphthong is treated in TTms as the semivowel y, in that it is spelled here explicitly by the akṣara for ya ( ) with the default vowel suppressed by a patèn.

Syllable-Initial Vowels Besides akṣara-s for syllables with initial consonant (followed by the default vowel), scripts of Indic origin typically have akṣara-s for syllableinitial vowels. Only three are found in TTms: – a   

– i   

–u

The latter is read by Poerbatjaraka as o, i.e. in *paocap, *odaŋ, *olih, *oraŋ. However, this leads to inconsistencies (also noted by Anderbeck n.d.: #3.4) when compared with the reading in derivations and particular environments. To begin with, correcting *paocap (p. 7/1-2) for ‘that which is said (?)’ to pa’ucap, and *odaŋ (p. 20/4) for ‘shrimp’ to udaŋ, would be unproblematic, cf. standard Indonesian and Malaysian Malay (SM) ucap and udang respectively. But for *olih that occurs seven times,10 initial o would agree with the SM cognate oléh. Nevertheless, in all prefixed derivations, the base is spelled ulih. Curiously, these are all on one and the same page: p. 27/1:

p. 27/2–3: p. 27/7:



barulih;



parulihhāṇ di… (di belongs to next word); pārulihhan di… (id.).

The former apparently corresponds to SM beroléh ‘receive’, the two latter to peroléhan ‘that which is received by, [somebody]’s share’. For *oraŋ that appears twenty-four times, and once more reduplicated as *oraŋ-oraŋ, we find a similar situation: the initial vowel agrees with that in SM orang ‘person’, but the one relatively obvious “derivation” (actually proclitic + head) has u. It occurs reduplicated, and that two times,

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pp. 4/1, 5/5-6:

suraŋ–suraŋ,

apparently corresponding to SM seorang-seorang ‘one person by one person; each person individually’, where se- ‘one’ is a proclitic; compare also TTms sikur (seven times on pp. 11, 18, 20, 24) — SM seékor ‘one [animal]’. There is furthermore one word that might be a derivation, but it is more likely to be a misspelling: p. 23/4: parāhūraŋ (apparently *parāhu uraŋ ‘people’s boat’) In three examples we find what seems to be n-uraŋ, and each time the preceding word ends in a dental nasal spelled either n or ṇ, i.e.: p. 6/1: p. 6/2:

p. 22/2:



dusun-n-uraŋ;





dyaŋkatkaṇ-n-uraŋ;

paṇāloyyaṇ-n-uraŋ.

The impression one gets is that this is something similar to consonant doubling before a vowel-initial suffix, except that -uraŋ (i.e. *oraŋ), not a suffix, is perhaps being treated here as an enclitic. A similar example, except that it involves initial h instead of initial vowel, is provided by two passages that were both read by Poerbatjaraka as dwa lapan hari (SM delapan hari ‘eight days’). It shows two competing spellings for a word final dental nasal clustered with a following word-initial h, the second alternative being simply a gemination of the nasal: p. 16/4:

p. 16/7–17/1:





dwalāpaṇ hāri;

dwalāpaṇ-n-āri.

In all Sumatran incung scripts, the character for ha is used for syllableinitial “zero” consonant, i.e. when the syllable begins with a vowel (Uli Kozok, priv. comm.). In Old Javanese too, the Kawi character for ha is used in this way, as is also the case in the 1619 Bazaar-Malay letters from Banten published by Ricklefs (1976). The situation in TTms on this point should perhaps be seen as transitionary. Finally, there is one more possible instance of the same word as uraŋ discussed above, in which the scribe apparently decided to write wu for word-initial u: p. 7/1–2:

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pa’ucap wuraŋ;

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In my opinion, all these suggest that the character should indeed be read as u rather than as o. Alternatively, one would have to assume that positional allophony existed, i.e. that the vowel phoneme, when not in the ultimate syllable, is realized as o in initial position, and as u otherwise. Only in the ultimate syllable do we find base-final u (e.g. adu, bāju) as well as o (e.g. piso, rāŋo). But as the latter evidently reflects historical aw (au) that indeed only occurred in base-final position, it is not really surprising that it occurs in parallel to u here. On p. 8/4 there is one more instance, in which Poerbatjaraka reads o, and that is: facsimile:

looks more like:

read by Poerbatjaraka as kaowa,

ṇaŋswa [?].

but the context suggests a misspelled: leads to (highlighted):

-ña ; ba- that then

p. 8/4–5: … sama danda-ña ; baraŋ māmagaŋ … ‘… same is the fine. Whoever holds …’ Whatever the correct reading, there does not seem to be a vowel o involved here. A character that somewhat resembles those for word-initial vowels is that for the vowel-initial sacred syllable of the Sudras, read by Poerbatjaraka as aum Considering that TTms Malay did not seem to have an aw (au) diphthong, it is possible that this was actually pronounced om.

Punctuation Marks A number of punctuation marks and even some special relatively complex punctuation groups occur in TTms. There are, however, only two common and frequently used basic punctuation marks, corresponding somewhat in their function to our comma and period (dot). The “comma correspondent”, known in Javanese as pada-lungsi, has the form of a standing leftwards-bent hook ( ). It occurs just over 100 times in the thiry-one legible pages of the manuscript. The “period correspondent” is known in Javanese as pada-lingsa. In TTms, however, it is a pair of slashes ( ) that looks more like the Javanese pada-bab, see for example Kuiper and

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Ray 1996, p. 479. I will therefore refer to it as pada-bab. It occurs alone (i.e. not in complex punctuation-mark groups) sixty-five times. There are two more basic marks, but they are extremely rare, expressing some intermediate degree of punctuating finality between that of the two first mentioned: a “double-comma” ( ), perhaps functionally comparable to a semicolon, with one certain occurrence (21/5), and a rather uncertain one (8/4) just discussed in the previous section. One more simple punctuation mark has the form of a crooked nail ( ). As it only shows up once (5/8), there is no way of telling whether this represents its standard form, or is just a mishapped rendering of a single slash (half a pada-bab). There are a number of punctuating complexes, having a higher finalizing rank than the pada-bab “double-slash”. These are combinations of several pada-bab-s with other symbols in between. The lowest ranked, a mid-dot between two pada-bab-s ( · ), appears four times (6/8, 7/4, 9/1, and 10/1), and seems to indicate the end of a paragraph (the actual function of a pada-bab in Javanese), but its use is not consistent. The other complex groups seem to have a certain ceremonial function. A pair of mid-dots between two pada-bab-s ( ·· ) is only used in the ritual Śaka date formula where it occurs three times (2/3 & 4 & 5). Even more elaborate complexes involving three or four pada-bab-s occur in the final closing section: ··

p. 30/1

After the chief (Kuja Ali, the writer of TTms) declares having written down the foregoing codex in the royal assembly hall in the presence of the emperor/before the statement of its completion and approval by the great convocation; p. 30/3–4 | after that statement/before the “bow in homage” to the divine emperor (the vertical line here indicates a line break); Between the “bow in homage” and the subsequent sloka of the chief to the king, there is only a simple pada-bab ( ); p. 31/2 p. 32/3

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··

·

after the end of that sloka/before the wordlist with glosses of Sanskritisms used in the preceding address and sloka; after that wordlist/before the closing “This was the sloka of the chief”.

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These complexes are, perhaps, comparable to Javanese purwa-, madya-, and wasana-pada (cf. Kuiper and Ray 1996, p. 479), even if they are (unlike the pada-lungsi and pada- bab) graphically rather different.

TTms Phonology All that we can learn about TTms Malay phonology (and reflect in the normalized transcription) is restricted to that which can be inferred from the spelling. This refers to direct observations from TTms spelling itself, and to comparisons with whatever one has inferred about the phonology of the Old Malay of seventh till eleventh century inscriptions on the one hand, and to the Malay of fourteenth century and later Jawi script sources on the other. In the preceding discussion, we have already elicited from particularities of the spelling that TTms Malay apparently had the diphthongs ay and oy, but not aw, and some particularities in the occurrence of the vowels o and u.

“Exotic” Consonants The Later Pallava script of Old Malay epigraphy included akṣara-s for a number of Sanskrit consonants that do not normally occur in Malay. These “exotic” consonant characters as a rule only occurred in Sanskritisms. Two exceptions were characters for ḍ and ṇ that also appeared in some indigenous words with honorific meaning. In TTms, we only find ś and ṇ that might appear “exotic”, or at least redundant, besides ḍ that seems to have become “assimilated” to spell d. Comparable “exotic” consonant characters are also known for Thai, Khmer, and other related scripts of the mainland. Although the Indic originals from which they derive represented distinct individual consonants (e.g. in Sanskrit or Pali), they merely function as “exotic” variant notations of “nonexotic” consonants of the given Southeast Asian language, chiefly used in spelling Sanskritisms and some proper names. This is perhaps comparable in English with the use of ph in place of f in words of Greek origin, or spelling rhinoceros, rhythm, etc. with rh. For Old Malay ḍ and ṇ that at first only occurred in honorific words, de Casparis (1956, p. 208) suggested that they merely served to characterize a word as honorific, while being pronounced not differently from “nonexotic” d and n respectively (see also Vikør 1988, p. 73). In later Old Malay

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inscriptions, there seems to have been a certain “inflation” in the use of ḍ beyond only honorific words. The situation in TTms seems to document a further, even extreme, development of that “inflationary” process, resulting in a total “devaluation” of any honorific or other high-style connotation that might have once been associated with “exotic” consonant akṣara-s. Thus the ḍ seems to have completely displaced the d, remaining the sole character for writing the voiced dental stop. This is particularly noteworthy in view of the circumstance that loans from Malay in Javanese regularly have ḍ for precursor d (Dyen 1947, #2.4; Mahdi 1996, pp. 3, 6, 10). But whereas the phonology of Javanese indeed distinguishes between d and ḍ, that of Malay only features d. In the instances that Kawi script was used, however, the indicated Malay d was frequently spelled ḍ. This is, for example, the case in the 1619 Banten letters published by Ricklefs (1976). Nevertheless, in the Banten letters, there was one word that was consistently spelled with d rather than ḍ, i.e. walanda ‘Dutch’. The problem apparently continued to be a source of some confusion in Jawi script Malay as well, in that the character dal was used for d, and dal with one or three dots underneath for ḍ.11 This seems, however, to be conditioned by exposure to Javanese that indeed distinguishes the two phonemes, and Wieringa (2003, p. 513) points out that just about all Malay manuscript copies featuring the two types of dal were written in Banten (i.e. in Java). The script in TTms does not feature such a formal opposition in the notation, so that there is no reason to distinguish between d and ḍ in the transliteration. With regard to the use of the akṣara-s for n and ṇ, there seems to have been free interchangeability, so that one must evidently conclude that they represented one and the same phoneme in TTms Malay. They are even confused with one another in Sanskritisms, so that TTms has sèṇa for Sanskrit senā ‘army’ on pp. 2/8 and 3/4. The opposite correspondence (Sanskrit ṇ — TTms n) can be seen in the word danda ‘punishment, penalty, fine’ occurring thirty-six times with astonishingly consistent spelling. The Sanskrit precursor is daṇḍa ‘punishment’. In indigenous words, even the suffix -an is occasionally spelled with ṇ. On p. 4/5, one finds one and the same word spelled alternatingly as mānurunni and as mānuruṇi. Another example of such alternating spelling will be cited below for the spelling of Kurinci itself. More revealing of the identity of the two nasals in TTms is perhaps that a geminated dental nasal could be alternatively spelled nṇ (e.g. p. 27/6: banṇwa). It seems noteworthy,

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however, that all instances of the consonant cluster -nd- are spelled with n, never with ṇ, not even in Sanskritisms where it would have seemed to be called for (e.g. danda ‘punishment, etc.’ cited in the previous paragraph). The spelling of nasal+stop clusters in TTms is quite generally not as consistent as in Old Javanese, in which, for example, the nasal before a palatal stop is regularly spelled ñ. In TTms, the predominant spelling is nc- and -nj-. An exception with -ñj- occurs only once, and alternates with -nj- in an identical passage on another page, i.e. p. 3/3: silūñjur kurincī; but p. 29/4: silunju kuriṇci The two passages reveal other irregularities, i.e. alternation of n and ṇ in the spelling of the nasal+stop cluster in Kurinci, inconsistent vowel-length markation and even a missing r in the second occurrence of silunjur. The explicit spelling -ñc- likewise occurs only once, i.e. in: p. 14/4: pañcawida For ś and s, there similarly seems to be free interchangeability. Even the borrowed cognate of the Sanskrit honorific prefix śrī is alternatingly spelled śri and sri on one and the same page 3. Original spelling of a Sanskrit precursor seems to have had little influence on the choice of the character to spell the sibilant in TTms. Thus, for Sanskrit kaṁsa ‘brass’, one finds kaŋśa (p. 22/5). The use of apparently interchangeable alternative characters in TTms possibly reflects a more widespread phenomenon, it being also apparent in Jawi script Malay manuscripts with regard to d and ḍ (see above). Van Ronkel (1926, pp. 141–42) provides a statistical count of variant spellings of the same word in a 1704 text (a.o. 150 ḍaripada, 15 daripada, 2 daripaḍa, and 5 ḍaripaḍa), that makes it seem evident that the alternative characters spelled one and the same Malay /d/. Nevertheless, spelling with ḍ (dotted dal) may sometimes have implied explicit Javanese pronunciation of the word (Wieringa 2003, p. 514). For TTms, the impression is that the “exotic” akṣara-s had lost all of their former “exoticness”, and only represented last remnants of a complete set of special characters once employed in the spelling of Sanskritisms in Old Malay epigraphy. The reading of historical ṇ and ś in TTms was apparently quite “unexotic”, and not different from the reading of nominal n and s respectively, while historical ḍ had even fully displaced the original d as notation for d.

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Nominal Long and Short Vowel Notation Malay does not distinguish between long and short vowels, but as one could see above, there is frequent but irregular use of what seems to be a vowel length marker. The long/short spelling of vowels in a word is not consistent, and the distribution of alternative spellings too seems quite arbitrary. One (rare) example of a bisyllabic word with all four possible distributions of vowel-length notation is the Malay cognate for tael (name of the coin) shown in Table 4.2. The cognate of SM maling ‘thief’ appears altogether 26 times, spelled maliŋ 10 times, and māliŋ: 16 times. The i of the second syllable is spelled short throughout. On p. 10 where the word occurs 5 times, the a of the first syllable is short — short — long — short — long; in three occurrences on p. 17 it is long — short — long; and for the four on p. 19 long — short — short — short. The distribution is thus quite arbitrary. The word jaka ‘if’ appears altogether 17 times: one time spelled jākā (p. 15/4), four times jāka (pp. 13, 22, 25, 28), and the remaining 12 instances with both a-s short. In the Jawi script Trengganu inscription, it is spelled j·k· (i.e. both vowels short) that could be read as jaka, jeka, or jika. In Malay of the last two or so centuries, the prevalent pronunciation has been jika, but in earlier manuscripts it was apparently jaka (see Wilkinson 1901, p. 227 sub jika).12 In the 1619 Kawi script Banten letters, it is spelled jaka in fol. 325, and jika in folii 326 and 327, as reproduced by Ricklefs (1976, pp. 132–35). There does not seem to be any correlation between frequency of occurrence of a word and the number of variant spelling modes. As already Table 4.2 Distribution of Variant Spellings of Tahil “Tael” in Pages of TTms page:

4

7

8

2

2

1

tāhīl:

1

altogether:

2

10

12

14

15

17

20

1 1

1

tahīl:

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6

1

tahil: tāhil:

5

sum 6

1

1

1

1

5 1

3 1

2

1

2

2

1

1

1

1

1

1

15

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noted above, danda ‘punishment, penalty, fine’, occurring altogether up to 36 times, is spelled quite consistently with both vowels short, as is the spelling in the Sanskrit precursor (daṇḍa ‘punishment’), in spite of the “wrong” nasal being used (consistently). Curiously, the contemporaneous Jawi script Trengganu stone inscription features the word three times in a similar context, but spelled with two long ā-s (see Paterson 1924). On the other hand, the Old Malay Sanskritism punarapi ‘furthermore, moreover’, merely occurring nine times in TTms, is spelled in five different manners: punarapi on pp. 6/8–7/1, 7/4; puṇarapi on pp. 24/7, 27/5; punarāpi on p. 5/2; puṇarāpi on pp. 22/4, 25/7; and pūnarāpi on pp. 23/3, 25/4. Malay indeed, as noted above, does not distinguish between short and long vowels, and such a distinction has not been reconstructed for ProtoMalayic either. However, means for noting vowel length is implemented in Jawi script spelling for indicating place of stress. In the case of ā, it also rules out the reading as schwa. It is generally assumed that in Later Pallava script Old Malay too, long vowels indicated accentuation (see references in Mahdi 2005, p. 189). Not only did the long vowel, assumed to represent the stressed vowel, in indigenous words typically stand in the penultimate syllable, but spelled vowel length shifted to the following syllable upon suffixation or before an enclitic, e.g. dātu → kadatūan (Blagden 1913, p. 70), as expected for place of stress. In TTms, vowel length, when indicated, is often on the penultimate syllable too. However, as the above examples demonstrate, the rule is not followed consistently. Whether the place of the long vowel shifted upon suffixation or before an enclitic remains unclear. To begin with, when the same word base appears with and without postpositioned affix or clitic, the spelling is often without long vowel. A more systematic counter-indication would seem to be the gemination of the base-final consonant before a vowel-initial suffix. Consonant gemination may indicate that the preceding vowel is short, and this would seem to exclude shifting of a length-accentuation to precisely that position upon suffixation. Nevertheless, this is not supported by the data, and for example for tahil, that is attested with all four theoretically possible modes of short/long-vowel distribution (see above), the sole instance of a derivation with suffix has an explicit long vowel before the geminated base-final consonant: p. 27/4: batahīllaṇ.

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Occasional indication of vowel length in instances of word bases occurring without as well as with following affix or clitic is generally inconsistent. The borrowed cognate of Sanskrit doṣa ‘fault, sin, guilt, etc.’ occurs either with both vowels short, or with the second vowel long, regardless of whether followed by a suffix or enclitic: without suffix/enclitic short: long:

p. 15/1: pp. 25/7–26/1:

dusa Badusā

with suffix/enclitic p. 28/7: p. 16/2:

didusakaṇ dusā-ña

In another example, a basic word without long vowels appears from the spelling to undergo vowel-lengthening in the “wrong” syllable upon derivation: p. 25/5: kata; p. 32/1: dikātakaṇ. A similar situation we find for ulih, consistently spelled with both vowels short. The derivation with a suffix, appearing twice on p. 27 (cited above), is curiously spelled with one vowel long, a different one each time, both times in the “wrong” syllable: parulihhāṇ    pārulihhan. The impression one gathers of the use of the long-vowel marker in TTms is therefore not only that it is quite erratic, but also that it was probably not meant to indicate the place of word stress, much less actual vowel length, at all. Whatever function it might then have had, other than a purely decorative one, however, remains a mystery. Possibly, the inadequately trained scribe had seen the marker in prestigious documents without knowing their actual function. This might perhaps also explain the “dilettantism” of using the long-vowel marker reserved for ā (Javanese danda), also for ī and ū.

Alternative Notations of Schwa Although Indic scripts did not originally provide for notation of schwa (that does not occur in Sanskrit), the Kawi script for Old Javanese included a special diacritic for it, the so-called pepet. It is also implemented in the 1619 Bazaar Malay letters from Banten published by Ricklefs (1976). However, the script used in TTms does not feature a corresponding diacritic. If Tanjung Tanah Malay had relatively frequent schwa, it must obviously have been indicated in the spelling, if at all, by some other means.

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Indeed, although no specific diacritic or marker for schwa is provided for in either the Later Pallava script of Old Malay inscriptions, or the Jawi script of Malay classical literature, both versions of Malay are assumed to have featured schwa. For Old Malay inscriptions, de Casparis (1975, pp. 26–27) and Vikør (1988, p. 71) noted three correspondences to schwa if one assumes the same vocalization as in later Malay: (1) short a; (2) zero vowel (i.e. the flanking consonants are rendered as consonant cluster); (3) short a with doubling of the subsequent consonant. Adelaar (1992b, p. 400) noted a further mode: (4) zero vowel with doubling of the subsequent consonant. Lengthening (or gemination) of the consonant after schwa seems to have been quite widespread (Poerbatjaraka 1957). Occasionally, a Malayic isolect even lets a former schwa fall together with a, only retaining the gemination of the consonant that follows it. This has been reported for example for Berau Malay (East Kalimantan) by Collins (2006, pp. 39–40).13 The spelling method or notation mode (3) of doubling the consonant as indication that a preceding nominal a was to be read as schwa was thus probably inspired by the actual pronunciation. Nevertheless, if this had been the only way by which to spell schwa in historical written records, one would still not know for certain that the preceding vowel was schwa. It could theoretically just as well have subsequently (after gemination of the consonant) shifted to a as in Berau Malay or in some South Sulawesi languages. In TTms, there are a number of instances in which one may apparently assume a schwa implied by using method or notation mode (2), i.e. as zero vowel with grouping of the flanking consonants to a cluster. The most frequent example is pda that occurs altogether eleven times, on pp. 3, 4, 8, 26, 27, and 28, that should evidently be read *peda. The consistent spelling of the word as though it had a word-initial cluster of two stops — actually quite impossible in Malay — is, to me, amongst the most convincing indications that TTms Malay indeed had schwa. There is another word spelled with the same initial cluster, that however also occurs alternatively spelled with an intervening ā: p. 2/6: pduka;    p. 29/7: pāduka.

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Unless these were doublet forms *peduka ~ *paduka, the above would be alternative spellings of the same word that must thus indeed have had a vowel between the p and the d. In view of the former spelling variant, that vowel could only have been schwa. The consequence of this conclusion is, however, that schwa could be spelled not only as short a as in mode (1) of Old Malay inscriptions, but also as long ā. This is indeed not surprising if, as concluded above, the use of the long-vowel marker in TTms was arbitrary and did not really indicate either vowel length or stress. The spelling in such examples as sikur corresponding to SM se-ékor, and suraŋ where SM has se-orang, gives room for speculation, whether schwa was perhaps spelled as zero vowel when between a preceding consonant and following syllable-initial vowel. The spelled words would then read *se-ikur and *se-uraŋ respectively. I will return to the problem when discussing the numeral sa ‘one’ below. Provisionally, I will insert an “undefined” (blank) vowel between square brackets as notation of the suspected vowel, i.e. s[ ]-ikur and s[ ]-uraŋ. With regard to mode (3), the assessment of the implications of a double consonant is complicated by the circumstance that base-final consonants are automatically geminated before the suffixes -an and -i (see below). However, schwa in an ultimate syllable in Malay was as a rule (except a few coastal isolects, such as Jakarta Malay) shifted to a anyway, so that one does not expect a schwa in that syllable. One thus merely has to reformulate the rule following from mode (3) as follows: a nominal a or ā before a doubled consonant not at morph junction before suffix -an or -i, is assumed to represent schwa. TTms features a number of words with a or ā before doubled consonant not at morph junction, for which the reading as schwa is in agreement with the pronunciation of the modern Indonesian Malay cognate, cf.: p. p. p. p. p.

5/7: karris (SM keris ‘creese’); 17/5–6: tallur (SM telur ‘egg’); 18/4: jarrat (SM jerat ‘noose, snare’); 25/4–5: pānniŋ (SM pening ‘have a headache’); 26/3: k anna (SM kena ‘hit’) → p. 5/2–3: maŋannakaṇ (SM mengenakan).

When the word occurs more frequently, the spelling may vary, e.g.: taŋŋah (SM tengah ‘middle’) — 5 times on pp. 12/2, 18/3&7, 26/7, 28/1; but

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tāŋŋah (id.) — once on p. 27/6–7; and mānāŋah’i (SM menengahi ‘mediate’) — once on pp. 17/7–18/1. For the cognate of SM benua ‘continent’ (originally ‘country’), we find an even greater spelling variety, including alternation of the characters for n and ṇ to spell n: p. p. p. p.

11/2: bannwa; 27/6: banṇwa; 3/7-8: bānwa; 11/7: banwa.

There are only very few possible counter-indications to the assumptions made above with regard to the spelling of schwa. Thus, the following examples demonstrate three different spellings for a Sanskritism (cf. Sanskrit praṇāma ‘respectful salutation, obeisance’, praṇamayya ‘bowing’), of which the third has unexpected but quite explicit doubling of the consonant m: p. 30/4: pranamyā; p. 30/5: pranamya; p. 31/2: pranammya. It seems possible, however, that the word had indeed been pronounced *p[e]ranemia (see below) in TTms Malay. I have not found examples of mode (4) for writing schwa in TTms. Meanwhile, there may be a further virtual notation of schwa, insofar that an intervening (anaptyctic) schwa is possibly pronounced before a postconsonantal rhotic of the spelling.

Nominal Postconsonantal Rhotic This concerns the reading of two diacritics, the cakra that indicates a postconsonantal non-syllabic r in Old Javanese, and the keret that spelled the contemporaneous rendering of Sanskrit postconsonantal syllabic ṛ. The actual TTms reading of the cakra appears to involve a more sophisticated vocalization, as evident from the circumstance that the name Dharmasraya is consistently spelled with dra in the first syllable (see below). A hint to the actual reading is given by the circumstance, that Sanskrit honorific śrī, alternatingly spelled śri ( ) and sri ( ) in TTms (with cakra as well as wulu), is rendered seri in more recent Malay

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(Wilkinson 1901, p. 382). It seems likely that the actual pronunciation had already been seri in TTms Malay. This implies that the cakra involved the insertion of er between the initial consonant (in this case s) and the base vowel (in this case i). However, it does not seem likely that Dharmasraya was pronounced as *deramasraya in TTms Malay. A further hint to the solution is offered by the alternative spellings of the name in TTms: pp. 29/1–2:

pp. 29/7–30/1:





drammasarāya;

drammasraya.

Here, an anaptyctic schwa between s and r is given in the first rend­ering using mode (1), i.e. by a short a, and in the second one following mode (2), i.e. as zero vowel by employing the cakra (as in the spelling of seri above). The doubling of m in the TTms spelling (the Sanskrit precursor of the first component of the name is dharma ‘law, morale’ spelled with single m) actually indicates that the preceding vowel was schwa by spelling mode (3). The spelling with double m is already attested in the 1286 CE Amoghapāša Lokeśwara stone inscription14 on face 2, line c, where it occurs as dharmmāśraya (Krom 1916, p. 326), indicating a reading with anaptyctic schwa in the nominal cluster rm by the spelling mode (4) first suggested by Adelaar (1992b, p. 400). Apparently, from the point of view of a scribe at the court of Dharmasraya, that which we nominally transliterate as the vowel a only represented one of two possibilities, the other being schwa (e). It seems likely, therefore, that the use of a cakra was somewhat flexible with regard to the vocalization of the resultant akṣara+cakra combination when an a was the nominal base vowel. In my opinion, a nominal Xra of the spelling, where X stands for any consonant, could generally be read not only Xera, but under circumstances also Xara, Xare, or even Xere. The TTms Malay pronunciation of Dharmasraya, written in TTms with the two variant spellings cited above, therefore, probably was *daremaseraya, where the doubled m of the spelling served to make explicit that the directly preceding vowel was schwa. Another example with such variant vocalization can perhaps be seen in the word spelled prabalaŋ-balaŋŋan (3/5). It is obviously a derivation of balaŋ with reduplication and the circumfix paR-…-an, and should therefore probably be read *parebalaŋ-balaŋŋan (with anaptyctic schwa

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between the prefixal rhotic and the base-initial consonant). We will return to the morphophonology of the prefix paR- below. Similar sophistication and variation in the vocalization as in the reading of cakra seems to be possible in that of keret. The keret corresponds to the vowel-replacement diacritic for the syllabic rhotic ṛ in Sanskrit. But in Javanese, it is actually read as re, and Poerbatjaraka consequently transcribes it as re for TTms. Nevertheless, the regular rendering in Malay is er,15 and this seems to have already been the case in Old Malay (Mahdi 2005, p. 188). Indeed, the assumption that it is spelled er in TTms as well leads to more likely readings at least in some of the instances (see Table 4.3). In two instances of its use in non-Sanskritisms, reading the keret as er causes familiar Malay words to immediately acquire recognizable forms, i.e. *deripada (a pre-twentieth-century vernacular cognate of SM daripada)16 and *ternyata. In two Sanskritisms, the ṛ of the TTms spelling corresponds to an ṛ of the Sanskrit (Skt.) precursors, dhṛtam and kṛsnapakṣa. As the Sanskrit syllabic rhotic is generally rendered er in Malay, it seems probable that the same was true for TTms Malay, and that these Sanskritisms should be read with -er[e]- in TTms as well (*deretaŋ and *keresnapaksa respectively). In two other Sanskritisms in Table 4.3, however, the keret in TTms corresponds to ri of the Sanskrit precursors (mantrin and trilokya). We thus have here a somewhat surprising first appearance indicating that Table 4.3 Words Spelled with a Keret (r.) in TTms Location p. p. p. p. p. p. p. p.

31/6 31/1&7 2/5 7/6 26/6–7 30/5–6 31/4 6/6

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Spelling dṛripāda dṛtaŋ kṛsnapaksa kundṛ maṇtṛ tṛlūkya tṛ tṛñata

Interpreting -r.- as: re

dreripada dretang kresnapaksa kundre mantre trelukia tre trenyata

er

derripada dertang kersnapaksa kunder manter terlukia ter ternyata

Comparative Cognate vern. Malay deripada Sanskrit dhṛtam Sanskrit kṛsnapakṣa Malay kundir Sanskrit mantrin Sanskrit trilokya Sanskrit tri SM ternyata

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TTms keret could be read as eri. It seems, however, that this reflects a more widespread phenomenon. Indeed, in a number of Sanskritisms, the standard Malay cognate has eri instead of expected er for Sanskrit syllabic rhotic, e.g. berita ‘news’ (Skt. vṛtta ‘happening’; Gonda 1952, p. 44), serigala ‘wolf’ (Skt. sṛgāla ‘jackal’; ibid., p. 231). These are apparently rather late borrowings from the period in which, as already indicated by Gonda (1952, p. 243), Sanskrit ṛ was rendered ri17 all over North India, particularly in Old Bengalese. The same is also true for Hindi (see e.g. Kellogg 1938, p. 13). It is imaginable, therefore, that a Tanjung Tanah scribe gained the impression that keret could alternatively be spelled eri, not being aware of the original spelling of the precursors in Sanskrit. Hence we find maṇtṛ (read *manteri) for Skt. mantrin, and tṛlūkya (read *terilukia) for Skt. trilokya. In the remaining item in the table, the keret in TTms corresponds to ir of the attested cognate (kundir). Schwa in a final syllable is unlikely, thus excluding *kunder. We then have either *kunderi or, assuming a similar flexible vocalization as with cakra, thus allowing here for eri ~ ir[e], the indeed likely reading as *kundir.

Nominal Postconsonantal Semivowel Another “suspicious” feature of the nominal reading, if one takes TTms spelling at face value, is frequent occurrence of clusters with a semivowel as second element, e.g.: – kādwa (SM kedua ‘both’); – sakyan (SM sekian ‘this much’). It seems likely that here too, the spelled postconsonantal continuant actually represents a vowel+continuent sequence. In this case, the most likely combinations seem to be -uw- and -iy- respectively, so that the above examples should probably be read as *kaduwa and *sakiyan. For one frequent word, the interconsonantal high vowel is fully spelled out in one occurrence. Thus, besides the spelling with consonant cluster: dwa (4/2, 6/8, 11/6, 15/1, 16/4&7, 18/1, 20/1, 23/2&6, 27/4), there is: duwa (11/1) — SM dua ‘two’. For an analogical example with pèngkal, the alternative spelling with fully written-out high vowel only occurs in the incung script epilogue and thus

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does not directly bear upon the situation existing at the time of writing of the main text: syapa (13/3); syapā (14/7) — SM siapa ‘who’; besides siyapa (34/5 in incung script) However, in the following word, we obviously have a derivation with prefix di- that is spelled here with pèngkal instead of, as one would expect, with wulu and a following ya: p. 6/2:



dyaŋkatkaṇ nu… (SM diangkatkan ‘be raised’).

Compare the following example with the sequence -iya- spelled out in full: p. 25/3:



diyalahkan (SM dialahkan ‘be defeated’).

Therefore, I assume that the actual pronunciation of spelled post­ consonantal semivowel in TTms Malay had been with intervening high vowel before the semivowel. As the semivowel in this position is automatic, it is dropped in modern standard Malay spelling, and applying the same to TTms Malay, one can simply replace the nominal semivowel of the original by the respective high vowel in a normalized transliteration.

Particular Features of the Morphophonology Generally, well-known features of Malay morphophonology exhibit some particularities in the Malay of TTms. The most interesting of these is perhaps that of suffixation with vowel-initial suffixes (-an and -i):

Consonant Doubling Before Vowel-Initial Suffix One peculiar feature of the text in TTms, already mentioned above, is the doubling of a base-final consonant before the suffixes -an and -i. When not in base-final position, such a doubled consonant typically appears to indicate that the preceding vowel is schwa. This is apparently not the case at base-final position before a suffix, but what exactly does it imply then? For the suffix -an, compare:

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Without suffix

With suffix -an

lawan (p. 6/7), lawaṇ (26/6) mālāwan p. (5/6-7) pulaŋ ( 11/1, 11/2, 11/3, 11/5, 11/6, 12/1, 12/7, 16/1–2)

balawannaṇ (5/1) pulaŋŋan (24/6) kapulaŋŋan (24/4)

Cf. SM lawan ‘opposite’, melawan ‘oppose’, berlawanan ‘opposing, be the opposite’; pulang ‘go home, return’, pulangan ‘[that] which is returned’, kepulangan ‘the return’. For the suffix -i, I did not find non-suffixed counterparts to examples with doubled presuffixal base-final consonant, such as: p. 5/6: rampassi (SM rampasi ‘snatch away’); p. 13/4: pasuguhhi (SM [per-?]suguhi ‘serve/offer food or drink’); p. 14/1: ditimbunni (SM ditimbuni ‘be heaped upon’). For one word, we have alternative spellings on the same line. In the second occurrence, the scribe failed to double the base-final consonant: p. 4/5:

mānurunni ~

mānuruṇi (SM menuruni ‘bring down’).

But for the one derivation with -i, for which the unsuffixed base itself is represented by two different renderings (already cited above), the spelling is rather unique: Basic word: taŋŋah (12/2, 18/3 & 7, 26/7, 28/1), tāŋŋah (27/6–7); SM tengah ‘middle’. Derivation with suffix -i: pp. 17/7-18/1:

– mānāŋah’i; SM menengahi ‘mediate’.

I.e. the suffix is spelled with the character for syllable-initial i. The word is followed in the text by a punctuation mark, so that the i cannot be alternatively considered the initial of a following word (there not being one). This would seem to imply that the suffixal vowel is in syllable-initial position. There is, however, the fatal counter-evidence of insertion of -ybefore the -an suffix when the preceding word ends in -i. cf.: p. 14/6: kati p 7/5–6: kātiyaṇ

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Further similar instances are: p. 31/6: sākalliyaṇ (SM sekalian ‘all of [the]’); p. 32/3: sakalliyaṇ (id.); p. 28/5-6: kudiyan (SM kemudian ‘then, after that’) I am therefore inclined to believe that the doubled consonant before the suffixes -an and -i serves to indicate that the base-final consonant at the same time serves as the initial consonant of a new syllable, the rest of which is formed by the suffix. Possibly, this led to a lengthening of the consonant, which the doubled spelling was designed to express. The unique spelling of mānāŋah-i cited above should then perhaps be seen as a hint that the scribe tended to perceive syllable-initial zero-consonant as a close equal of syllable-initial h (and vice versa), and that the spelled word was meant to be read as *mānāŋahhi. Indeed, words with vowel initial were typically spelled with initial h in the 1619 Bazaar Malay letters from Banten (see facsimiles in Ricklefs 1976), as is also the spelling custom in Javanese. In TTms, however, initial h seems in the main to correctly reflect historical h < *q, *S (the h in Malay is generally rather unstable): p. 22/2-3: hātap < *qatep (SM atap ‘roof’); p. 13/4: hāntar < *Sa(n)teD (SM antar ‘bring’); p. 23/5: hīlaŋ ~ p. 23/7: hilaŋ < *qilaŋ (SM hilang ‘lost, disappeared’); pp. 16/3, 17/3: hubi < *qubi (SM ubi ‘yam’). While on the other hand, words with historically expected initial vowel are spelled without initial h, e.g.: pp. 5/3, 25/2: adu < *adu (SM adu ‘compete, provoke a fight’); p. 17/6: itik < *itik (SM itik ‘duck’); Nevertheless, there are instances where an historically expected initial h < *q is missing, or adversely when we find an unexpected initial h; e.g.: p. 20/4: udaŋ < *qudaŋ (SM udang ‘shrimp’); p. 21/3: hakar < *wakaR (expected for initial *w- is Ø;18 SM akar ‘root’); pp. 12/3, 28/6-7: hanak; p. 28/3 haṇak. < *aNak (SM anak ‘child’) For the latter recurrent item, however, one also finds instances with alternative spelling without initial h (likewise three times): pp. 6/6, 11/4, 28/2: anak.

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Particularly this latter case suggests once more that initial h and zero consonant were apparently regarded as almost just as interchangeable as n and ṇ (note particularly that three variant spellings with h ~ Ø and n ~ ṇ above occur on the same p. 28).

Morphophonological Particularities Involving Prefixes In Malay and most other Austronesian languages, prefixation involves various morphophonological features that are generally rather similar in the various languages, but also exhibit individual particularities. It is therefore interesting to observe the situation in TTms.

The Prefixes maN- and paNTwo questions will interest us here: identifying the actual realization of the prefixal vowel spelled a, and outlining the pattern of nasal sandhi at the junction with the word base. The former of the two prefixes can be identified in the following 30 instances: māhūlukan, mālāwan, māmagaŋ ~ māmāgaŋ, māmagat, māmbakar, mambawa ~ mambāwa, māmbayir, māmūnuh ~ mamunuh ~ māmunuh, manāgih, mānāŋah-i, mānuŋgu, mānurunni ~ mānuruṇ, māŋada, māŋadakaṇ, maŋannakaṇ, maŋiwat, maŋūbah ~ māŋubah, māŋunus, māñambah, mañamun, māñuruh, marāgaŋ, marugul, marusak. Of these, 19 have a long ā in the prefix, and the remaining 11 a short a. Bearing in mind that in alternative spellings of schwa by long and short a, the short variant tends to occur significantly more often than the long, this would seem to suggest that the prefix vowel was indeed a rather than schwa. But this must remain uncertain, considering the general inconsistency in the use of the vowel length marker in TTms. For the prefix paN-, we only have 9 instances: paṇāloyyaṇ, pānjalak, pāŋayuh, paŋhulu ~ pāŋhulu, pāñalin (2×) ~ pañalin (2×). Five have long ā, as against four with short, which is rather marginal, but still a majority for long ā. A doubling of the following consonant does not occur here either. In my opinion, one may probably assume at least

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tentatively, that the vowel in the nasal-final prefixes in TTms was a, and not schwa. With regard to the pattern of nasal sandhi, TTms generally seems to stand closer to the Malay of Jawi script manuscripts than to Old Malay. Before a base-initial stop, the nasal adopts homorganic articulation, while the stop is dropped when unvoiced (k, p, t; there are no examples with c). An initial voiced stop, only attested for b and j, not for d or g, is typically retained, with one attested exception in which b is consistently dropped (māmūnuh ~ mamunuh ~ māmunuh; the base is bunuh ‘kill’), rather than retained as elsewhere (māmbakar, mambawa ~ mambāwa, māmbayir). In Old Malay epigraphy, the treatment of initial b (spelled v) was likewise inconsistent (Mahdi 2005, p. 187), while in Jawi script literature memunuh is one of the rarer examples when an initial voiced stop is occasionally dropped. The following passage from Hikayat Seri Rama includes both modes (highlighted) in close succession: Maka titah maharaja Rawana, “Hai saudaraku apa daya kita akan memunuh kera kecil ini karena segala senjata suatu pun tiada dapat membunuh dia.” (Ikram 1980, p. 190) ‘Then spoke emperor Rahvana: “Well, my friend, to what avail are all our efforts to kill this little ape, for of all our weapons not one could kill him”.’

The most important divergence from the situation in Old Malay epigraphy we find in nasal sandhi before base-initial l- and r-. In Old Malay, the nasal was retained (cf. Sabokingking Naga stone: maṁlarī, maṁrakṣa; de Casparis 1956, pp. 347, 350; Mahdi 2005, p. 187), while in TTms it is dropped (mālāwan, marāgaŋ, marugul, marusak), just as in later periods (e.g. SM melawan, merusak). The situation with base-initial h is somewhat confusing. On the one hand, retention of the cluster -ŋh- (paŋhulu ~ pāŋhulu; pp. 4/4 & 8/1) is consistent with Old Malay (Talang Tuwo: maṁhidupi; Coedès 1930, p. 74) as well as with the modern language (e.g. SM penghulu). On the other hand, TTms also has both imaginable deviant treatments (deletion of the base initial: māŋunus; p. 5/7, or of the nasal: māhūlukan; p. 8/5–6). In case of the former (corresponding to SM menghunus ‘to draw [e.g. a sword]’), however, there is the possibility that the base word (SM hunus) had lost initial h in TTms Malay.

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The second example occurs in a somewhat carelessly written part of the text, and particularly the mā is rather imprecisely formed. Possibly, a cecak (anusvāra) was forgotten. I would not even exclude a more profound scribal error here, so that perhaps not *maŋhulukan, but *mandahulukan (SM mendahulukan) was meant to be written. But unfortunately, one cannot more than just speculate now.

The Prefixes ba[R]- and pa[R]The correspondent of Classical Malay and SM beR- in TTms appears to have two forms, spelled ba- and bar- respectively. In the earliest Old Malay inscriptions of Sumatra and Bangka, it was ma- and mar- (in later epigraphy outside Sumatra, it was bar-, also spelled var-). But whereas the appearance of the prefix alternants be- or ber- in SM, and of ma- or marin Old Malay, is or was generally predictable, so that one could speak of positional allomorphes, the situation in TTms is more complicated. One finds the form ba- 20 times: babājan, babināsa (2×), badusā, bahāwumman, bahilaŋ, bahūtaŋ (2×), bajālan, bajudi, bajunjuŋŋan (2×), bakajakan, bakarja, balawannaṇ, bapuŋutkan, basaja ~ basajā, batahīllan, batiga. An overt bar- appears in the following seven words: baralahhān, barampat, barbuñi, barkuwat, barsarru, barsuluh, bar-ulih; The apparent frequency ratio of 20:7 for ba-:bar- is considerably higher than that of be-:ber- in the Malay of later periods. This suggests that TTms Malay was branching off in its development, away from the precursor of later standard Malay. With regard to the treatment of original *bar-, it seems to have been undergoing a similar process as that in Minangkabau and Serawai (see Adelaar 1984, pp. 413–15). It seems likely that the loss of prefix-final r was conditioned by a tendency to avoid consonant clusters, because all the derivations with vowel-initial base have bar- (baralahhān, barampat, barulih). Otherwise, the corpus is not large enough to establish definitive rules about possible differences in the treatment of different base-initial consonants. One can merely note ambiguity before one voiced stop, the b (babināsa etc. versus barbuñi), and one voiceless fricative, s (basaja vs. barsarru).

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There are two words, bakajakan (apparently a misspelling for *bakarjakan) and bakarja, in which the loss of the prefixal r, conditioned by dissimilation to the r of the word base (karja), is in agreement with the treatment of the cognate in Old Malay makāryya (Sabokingking Naga stone, de Casparis 1956, pp. 347–48), and in SM bekerja ‘to work’. That the two prefix variants ba- and bar- were semantically and functionally identical follows, for example, from the circumstance that either one could be used with numerals: batiga ‘three in number’, besides barampat ‘four in number’. One furthermore finds both in the collective plural ba[r]-…-an forms (bahāwumman, bajunjuŋŋan, balawanna ṇ , batahīllan, as well as baralahhān). For the instrumental causative ba[r]…-kan, we only find ba-: bakajakan and bapuŋutkan, but the prefix in the former, as noted above, could just as well represent a positional allomorph of bar-. The form with ba[r]-…-an itself, meanwhile, serves as further evidence that TTms Malay is closer to classical literature and modern Malay that has beR-…-an than to Old Malay. The latter had marsi-… instead, that corresponds to non-productive forms with bersi- ~ berse- in modern Malay (see Adelaar 1992b, pp. 393–96). Curiously, the vowel in ba- and bar- is not spelled with long ā in even one single example, and it seems possible that the prefixal vowel was schwa rather than a. However, there is not one single example of barbeing spelled with keret (i.e. as *bṛ), that would have been possible if the vowel had been schwa, as demonstrated by the prefix taR- to be discussed further down. There are a number of derivations involving a prefixed pa- or paR(also with preceding prefix di-), that do not differ very much from forms with peR- of later classical Malay and Indonesian, except that they exhibit a similar tendency to lose the rhotic before a base-initial consonant as is the case with baR- ~ ba- above: dipahāmba (3×) ~ dipāhāmba, pāhāwumman, pakamitkan, pakāraŋŋan, parulihhāṇ ~ pārulihhan, pasuguhhi, prabalaŋbalaŋŋan. In the latter example, the spelling of the prefix as pra- probably implies that it was to be read as pare- or pere-, i.e. with an anaptyctic schwa inserted before the base-initial consonant, instead of loss of prefixal r. It seems likely, therefore, that nominal par- ~ pa- (also with “long” ā) was

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read per- ~ pe- respectively. Just for the record, the prefixal vowel is spelled short in seven examples (including one time zero), and long in three. In pakāraŋṇan, absence of a prefixal r agrees with SM pekarangan ‘[house]yard’, being apparently conditioned by dissimilation to the medial r of the base. I provisionally interpret the item spelled parāhūraŋ (23/4) as *parāhu uraŋ (SM perahu orang ‘[other] people’s boat’) with missing u through a scribal error, and thus not as a derivation with paR-.

Perfective Forms with taR- and taThe correspondent of SM teR- in TTms seems to fit the SM cognate quite closely. It occurs with the rhotic in two words: tarisi (14/2, 18/7, 19/7, 20/2, 20/6) ~ tārisi (18/2-3) — SM terisi ‘be filled [with]’; tṛñata (6/6; read tereñata) — SM ternyata ‘turn out/prove to be’. By analogy, one may probably assume that the former of the two was likewise read *terisi. But besides the above, one also finds examples in which the form, having apparently the same grammatical meaning, has the prefix ta- instead. This includes two instances of prefixation before baseinitial vowel, so that a loss of the prefixal rhotic conditioned by a following consonant can be excluded. Cf.: ta’amit ‘be permitted, get permission’ (7/8) — SM amit ‘permission’; ta’ulih ‘be [done, fulfilled] by’ (9/4, 26/3) — SM oléh ‘by [means of], get’. In two further examples, the absence of the rhotic could be due to deletion before base-initial consonant: tabunyi ‘ be pronounced, be proclaimed’ (7/8) — SM bunyi ‘sound’, terbunyi ‘be made heard’; tasudah ‘done, fulfilled’ (26/2) — SM sudah ‘[al]ready’. In one instance, the undergoer-subject expressed by the third person pronoun iya (read ia) is inserted between the prefix and the base pacah ‘break, broken’: p. 23/7: h ilaŋ ta’iya-pacah binasa ‘lost [in that] it is broken [and] destroyed’;

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For this reason, one could be tempted to consider the ta-, at least before base-initial vowel, to correspond to the later Malay negation tak (read ta’), rather than to the prefix teR-. But apart from the fact that the latter phrase would then be difficult to understand (the object then being lost, though “not” broken or destroyed), there is one decisive indication against such an alignment. In one instance, the item is actually negated, and that by means of the already familiar negation tida: pp. 7/7–8/1: baraŋ manuŋgu uraŋ tida ta’amit peda paŋhulu-ña ‘Whoever hosts a person without permission of his chief’, lit ‘… not getting-permitted …’;

Proclitical and Prefixal sa- ~ siIn SM there are a number of metonyms of the proclitic numeral se- ‘one’. Besides expressing unity (e.g. se-pasang ‘one pair’), there is also the expression of equality (se-besar ‘as big as’; besar ‘big’), and entirety (se-keluarga ‘the whole family’; keluarga ‘family’). Overtly, TTms seems to have two phonologically distinct correspondents to this SM se-: one is sa-, and the other si-. The numeral occurs very frequently in the following phrases, and is typically spelled sa or sā: sa-bataŋ (3×) ~ sā-bataŋ, sa-dulaŋ, sa-hālay, sā-kati, sā-mas, sa-paha ~ sa-pahā (7×) ~ sa-pāha (2×) ~ sa-pāhā (3×) ~ sā-pahā (5×), sa-parah, sa-paru, sa-puluh (9×) ~ sā-puluh, sa-tahil (6×) ~ sa-tahīl ~ sa-tāhil (2×) ~ sa-tāhīl, sa-ta[payya]n ~ sa-tāpayyan. That is 41 times sa, and 9 times sā. In one further occurrence, the numeral appears to be used without a following numerated noun, thus creating the impression that it is perhaps not a proclitic after all, as se- is in SM: p. 11/6:

bagi sa pulaŋ dwa ‘for one return two’.

In another practically identical passage at the beginning of the same page, we find it spelled as (instead of sa): p. 11/1:

bagi as pulaŋ duwa ‘id.’.

It seems likely, therefore, that these are two alternative spellings of the bisyllabic precursor form esa ‘one’. That the bisyllabic form is retained when not serving as quantitative attribute to a following nominal

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is not unlikely. In the construction with following numerated nominal, prosodic rules would lead to deletion of the initial vowel if the group of numeral+nominal were pronounced as one word. That the monosyllabic variant sa ‘one’ in TTms Malay could be used like any other numeral follows furthermore from the following passage: p. 17/2-3: jaka baralahhān lima mas sā-mas parulihhāṇ dipāti ‘when one loses five mace, one mace is the gain of the chief’ The occurrences of sa ~ sā with the meaning ‘one’ listed above all have in common that the following word does not begin with a vowel. In the only relatively certain instances, in which one might see a probable numeral sa followed by a vowel-initial word, the a of the numeral appears to be suppressed: sikur (11/2, 11/3, 11/5,19 18/4, 20/5, 24/4) — SM se-ékor ‘one [animal]’; suraŋ-suraŋ ( 4/1, 5/5–6) — SM se-orang–se-orang ‘one person by one person’; Assuming these to be numeral+nominal groups, i.e. s[ ]-ikur and s[ ]-uraŋ-s[ ]-uraŋ respectively, one must conclude that the vowel of the numeral was either indeed suppressed when the following word began with a vowel (also an h?), or the actual pronunciation of the numeral in Tanjung Tanah was se (i.e. it is *se-ikur, *se-uraŋ-se-uraŋ), or even sa (*sa-ikur, *sa-uraŋ-sa-uraŋ), and that the vowel was simply spelled as zero vowel in this environment. The cognate prefix sa- expresses comparative equality, similarity, or entirety (it is not always clear which of these is implied), and is similarly contracted in the spelling, when the subsequent word begins with a vowel. Putting these instances aside, in my opinion, the cognate prefix can be identified in the following examples: sa-busuk ~ sa-busūk, sa-kalliyaṇ ~ sā-kalliyaṇ, sa-kyan (4×) ~ sa-kyaṇ ~ sā-kyan, sarupā_ña ~ sārupā-ña. That is altogether 9 times sa-, and 3 times sā-. Then there are three occurrences before a base with vowel initial. Remarkably, in one of these three, the respective vowels remain individually spelled out: sa-isi (29/3) — SM se-isi ‘the entire contents [of]’.

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This makes it less likely that the prefix was pronounced with schwa. But perhaps this is just another example of the rampant spelling non-uniformity that characterizes TTms, and the reading here too should be with schwa, i.e. *se-isi. In the two remaining occurrences before a vowel-initial base, there is expected suppression of the vowel of the numeral: saraga-ña (p. 23/7) — SM se-harga-nya ‘of equal value or price’; siŋgaṇ (p. 22/6) — SM se-hingga. ‘up to’. The base in the latter example also occurs three times as basic word with a remarkably constant spelling as hiŋgaṇ (23/3, 26/7, 27/3), i.e. with initial h, suggesting that the suppression of the vowel in sa- also occurs in this environment. A cognate of the basic word occurs in the Trengganu inscription as hiŋgan ‘up to’ (face B, line 10; Paterson 1924, p. 255). In later times, only a cognate without final nasal is attested, i.e. hingga ‘border, limit, until, up to’ (Alwi and Sugono 2001, pp. 402–02; Wilkinson 1901, p. 686). Besides the above instances of sa-, there are also a number of examples in which we find si- instead, corresponding nevertheless to the same SM se-, i.e.: si-cāra (SM se-cara ‘in the manner of, like’), si-danda-ña, si-lāma-ña (SM se-lama-nya ‘all the time’), si-lūñjur ~ si-lunju[r], si-panuh-ña (SM se-penuh-nya ‘fully’), si-pattañ-ña.20 The sa- ~ si- alternation presents certain difficulty. It is possible that this si- represents the collective *si as reflected in the Old Malay marsiand modern Malay bersi- ~ berse- (see above and Adelaar 1992b, p. 395). At this point, however, one is just left to speculate: perhaps the prosodic tendency to neutralize any vowel in antepenultimate position to schwa had as consequence that sa- and si- before a bisyllabic word base were both pronounced sə- and hence confused with one another.

Some Aspects of the Morphosyntax Paradigm of Verb Forms The verb is the word class with the most comprehensive paradigm of forms in Malay. The corresponding paradigm of verbal forms in TTms

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Malay appears significantly closer to that in classical Malay, so too to that in Indonesian Malay, than to that in Old Malay (see Table 4.4A). It should be borne in mind that a in the spelling of at least some TTms prefixes may actually represent schwa, as the e does in the SM listing. The grammatical meaning and function of the respective forms in TTms (more so in OM) can only be deduced approximately, so that the form names in the right column of Table 4.4A should be understood as orientational, and being far from precisely descriptive. With regard to the stative and possessional forms involving the same prefix in TTms (as also in OM and SM), cf.: p. 9/2: barsarru (SM berseru ‘to call out, to shout’); p. 9/3: barsuluh (SM bersuluh ‘to have or carry a torch’). Strictly speaking, these are perhaps not really two different forms, because there seems to be a continuous range of intermediate grammatical meanings, of which “stative” and “possessional” are only the extremes. Sometimes, one and the same form can be interpreted more to the one or the other grammatical meaning. For example: p. 25/7–26/1: badusa (SM berdosa ‘to have a sin [fault], to sin’). With regard to the coincidental perfective, TTms forms with ka- (not unlike SM forms with ke-) only occur very occasionally and were possibly, like the SM correspondents, no longer productive. Cf.: p. 5/1–2: j a k a b a l a w a n n a n k a d w a s a m a k a d a n d a k a d w a ‘if both [of them] resist, both get punished equally’ The productive prefix for this form seems, instead, to have been ta- or taR- (similar to forms with teR- in SM), e.g.: p. 19/6–7: sapuluh mas dandaña, tida tarisi dibunuh ‘the penalty is ten mace, [if] not fulfilled[,] put to death’ TTms agrees with the later classical and modern Malay in not having a cognate of Old Malay maka-, that has apparently become displaced by maN-…-kan. TTms includes two examples of the reciprocal X-maN-X verbal form, corresponding to SM X-meN-X as in SM tuduh-menuduh ‘accuse each other’: hāllat-māhallat (3/6–7), tuduh-manuduh (25/1).

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Table 4.4 The Morphology of the Verb in the Malay of the Tanjung Tanah Manuscript compared with that in Old Malay (OM) and modern Standard Malay (SM) A.  The verbal forms OM maR-X

TTms ba[R]-X

SM stative

beR-X

applicative stative

maR-X-i maR-X

form

ba[R]-X

beR-X

possessional

ba[R]-X-kan

beR-X-kan

causative possessional

berse-X, bersi-X

collective

ba[R]-X-an

beR-X-an

stative reciprocal

maN-X

maN-X

meN-X

active

maN-X-i

maN-X-i

meN-X-i

applicative active

maka-X

maN-X-kan

meN-X-kan

causative active

mempeR-X

causative-II active

X-maN-X

X-meN-X

dynamic reciprocal

ni-X

di-X

di-X

passive

ni-X-i

di-X-i

di-X-i

applicative passive

ni-X-kan

di-X-kan

di-X-kan

causative passive

nipaR-X

dipa[R]-X

dipeR-X

causative-II passive

ka-X

ta[R]-X, (ka-X)

teR-X, (ke-X)

coincidental perfective

marsi-

B.  Nominal forms of the verb OM

TTms

SM

nominal form

X

X

X

action referent

X-a[n]

X-an

X-an

undergoer referent

ka-X-a[n]

ka-X-an

ke-X-an

happening referent

paN-X

peN-X

dynamic actor referent

paN-X-a[n]

paN-X-an

peN-X-an

process referent

paR-X

pa[R?]-X

pe[R]-X

stative actor referent

paR-X-a[n]

paR-X-an

peR-X-an

stative referent

(X stands for the single or reduplicated base, N and R respectively for the prefix-final nasal and rhotic morphophoneme).

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In the former, the mā- is in an unclear margin of the page so that a cecak (leading to the reading māŋ-) possibly remained obscure. The items are remarkable because the form is not attested in Old Malay epigraphy (Mahdi 2005, p. 197). With regard to the numerous nominalized forms of the verb listed in Table 4.4B, that are frequently converted into nouns, the terms given in the right column for the nominal forms are meant to be taken just as imprecisely as those in the preceding listing of verb forms (see Table 4.4A). TTms Malay agrees with classical and Indonesian Malay in not having forms with suffix -a recorded for Old Malay (X-a, ka-X-a, paN-X-a, paR-X-a). Note, nevertheless, that Blagden (1924, p. 262, sub A.6) calls attention to the same suffix in one item in the Trengganu inscription: penentua (probably ‘decree, prescription’; SM penentuan ‘the determining [of], decision’) in line 6 of face A. However, the difference between the suffix -a and -an (that likewise occurred in OM) remains unclear (see Mahdi 2005, pp. 189–99). In the listing in Table 4.4B, therefore, I provisionally group OM forms with the alternative suffixes together.

Word Groups with a Verb In Malay, the verb may appear in combination with a variety of auxiliary words, ranging from temporal-aspectual modifiers till adverbs, as well as negation. Data on the use of the modifiers in Old Malay is somewhat uncertain, and the situation in TTms is therefore of particular interest. As with the Old Malay texts, so too for TTms, it is difficult to ascertain that the cognates of present-day temporal-aspectual modifiers already were as grammaticalized as in the modern language. The matter is made all the more complicated when, for example, there is metonymy in the modern language, as for example between a continuous-aspect modifier sedang ‘is [being]’, an adverb sedang ‘while’, and an adjective sedang ‘average, medium’. The following examples involve cognates of modern-language temporal-aspectual modifiers and adverbs in TTms (the cognate in question is highlighted): p. 26/2: b allum tasuda pda dipati (SM belum ‘not yet’) ‘not yet resolved at the chief’s’; p. 4/3–4: s adaŋ paŋhulu-ña bahāwumman (SM sedang ‘while, is [being]’) ‘while his community chief calls a community meeting’;

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A cognate of SM akan (‘1. future-tense modifier, 2. dative preposition’), occurring in Old Malay, is not found in TTms. A cognate of the modern instrumental preposition oléh ‘by’, serving in classical and modern Malay as optional marker of the actor-object in the passive voice, not attested to in Old Malay, appears as ulih in TTms, e.g.: 26/6–7: d ipagat ulih mantṛ muda di luwar ‘is caught by the vice minister outside’. Just as in later periods, the use of the preposition is optional, and there are also examples in which the actor-object follows immediately after the passive verb, e.g.: p. 6/2–3: d yaŋkatkaṇn-uraŋ manāgih ‘is apprehended by the person who litigates’; p. 23/4–5 tida disallaŋ-ña ‘was not borrowed by him’. The latter example, at the same time, also demonstrates the use of the negation, a cognate of modern tidak ‘no, not’ (Jawi script tīdaq). Like the Later Pallava script used for Old Malay, the script employed in TTms did not provide for a means to write word-final glottal stop, for which one used a qāf in Jawi script spelling. In cases where a base-final glottal stop alternated before vowel-initial suffixes with the voiceless velar stop k (spelled with Jawi script kāf), TTms simply uses the akṣara for the velar stop, as was also the case in Old Malay. But when the final glottal does not alternate with a velar stop in any derived form, as in the case of tidak, the cognate in Old Malay was spelled without final consonant (i.e. OM tīda in Cœdès 1930, p. 70, de Casparis 1956, p. 352), and so too that in TTms, i.e. tida. Noteworthy, we then find the same happen again in the 1619 Kawi script letters from Banten, where the negation occurs in fol. 327 spelled tiḍa (Ricklefs 1976, p. 135). The answer to the question, whether the word indeed had no final glottal, or whether its absence was merely a spelling artefact, must not necessarily be identical for all three periods. In the simplest instances of negation in TTms, tida is placed directly before the verbal predicate, e.g. (see also example from p. 23/4–5 quoted above):

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p. 14/2: jaka tida tarisi ‘if not fulfilled’; p. 16/5: tida handak dipahāmba ‘[if he] does not want to be made a slave’; p. 17/4–5 yaŋ tida bajunjuŋŋan ‘that does not have the upper part of the plant’. There is also a more sophisticated construction, however, in which the negation is placed before the subject (in all available examples, it is the third person pronoun) that precedes the verbal predicate: p. 9/2: tida ya barsarru ‘[and] he does not call out’, lit. ‘not he calls-out’. The underlying structure seems to resemble that of a cleft sentence, i.e. ‘[it is] not [that] he calls out’, as if it were the result of elliptic omission of the actually negated verb ada ‘there is’ having the subsequent clause as complement, i.e. tida [ada] ia barsarru. And we indeed find a similar construction involving the contraction of ada with a preceding negation as tyada [read tiada] ‘there is not’ (SM tiada) — a frequent construction in classical Malay literature, for example, in the Hikayat Bayan Budiman (a fourteenth-century translation from Persian): terlalu amat kaya akan tetapi tiada ia beranak. (Winstedt 1920, p. 29; [Balai Pustaka] 1986, p. 13) ‘exceedingly prosperous, but he did not have a child.’ An example of the construction in TTms is: p. 4/4–5: tyada ya manurunni ‘he does not descend [to take part]’, lit. ‘there-is-not [that] he descends’. But already in TTms, as the examples considered above suggest, tyada tends to be interchangeable with tida, just as one can observe for the respective cognates tiada and tidak in later periods and in Indonesian Malay. In TTms, this even goes so far that tida appears also as negation for nouns, but not as equivalent for SM bukan ‘is not’ (not attested to in TTms, and in the spelling vukan still meaning ‘other’ in Old Malay), but for SM tidak ada ‘there is not’; cf.: p. 16/2: tida dusa-ña (SM tidak ada dosa-nya) ‘it is no wrong-doing’, lit. ‘[there-is] no sin his’;

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p. 25/1: tida saksi-ña (SM tidak ada saksi-nya) ‘there is no witness’.

Word Groups with One or More Nouns There are a number of constructions involving the noun that have undergone a certain development between Old Malay and modern Malay. To begin with, a sequence of two nouns may have a variety of structures in Malay. 1.  One of these is the combination of two nouns denoting different species of a common genus to form a collective term for the genus (e.g. OM mas mani ‘treasures’, lit. ‘gold gems’, SM suami-istri ‘[married] couple’, lit. ‘husband wife’). The same construction is attested in TTms: pp. 11/4–5, 12/3: anak-cucu ‘children [and] grandchildren’ = ‘descendants’. In one such example, the nominalized forms of two verbs are involved: p. 13/4–5 minum-makan ‘drink[s] eat[s]’ = ‘provisions’. But, just as in Old Malay epigraphy, one finds in TTms frequent paratactic listings of three or more nouns that name various species of a common genus, that however probably do not imply inclusion of other species of the genus. For example: p. 7/5–6: gantaŋ cupak kātiyaṇ kundṛ buŋkal (various units of weight); p. 16/3: birah kaladi hubi tuba ‘giant taro, taro, yams, fish-poison root’; p. 22/4–5: m  as pirak riti-rancuŋ kaŋśa tambaga ‘gold, silver, bronze, brass, copper’. Such listings also occur in classical Malay, but in the modern language, particularly in Indonesian Malay, the copulative conjunction dan ‘and’ intervenes at least between the two last items. The same, involving dŋan (the historical precursor of dan), was only sometimes the case in Old Malay. The conjunction does not occur in TTms (except on pp. 33–34 written in incung script). 2.  There are several means of expressing a possessive relationship between two nouns in Malay, of which two, the not-mediated (unmarked) possessive construction and that mediated by the third-person-singular possessive pronoun -nya acting as possessive copula, have played a particular role throughout the history of the language.

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The not-mediated, possessive construction has been the chiefly used one in Old Malay, classical Malay, as well as in standard modern Malay and Indonesian. In this, the two nouns follow directly after each other, the second of the two serving as possessive attribute. In TTms too, this seems to be the main possessive construction, e.g. p. 11/4: hāyam dipati ‘chicken of the chief’. The noun that is formally functioning as possessive attribute may express the target or undergoer, e.g.: p. 13/6: m  aliŋ tuwak ‘toddy thief, [a] thief of toddy, someone stealing toddy’. The manuscript also includes examples of a serial chain of possession: p. 11/4–5: ayam anak-cucu dipāti ‘chicken of descendants of the chief’; p. 18/4: māliŋ isi jarrat ‘thief of the contents of snares’. The possessive construction mediated by -nya, though very frequently used in the Bazaar Malay of Java, is relatively rare in Old Malay (see examples in Mahdi 2005, p. 194), classical Malay, and standard Indonesian Malay. There do not seem to be any examples of this construction in TTms. 3.  The second in a sequence of two nouns in Malay can also serve as qualitative or descriptive (non-possessive) attribute, and this is also attested in TTms: p. 17/5–6: tallur hāyam ‘chicken egg’; p. 20/5–6: babi hūtan ‘wild pig’, lit. ‘forest pig’. In the Malay of later periods, this construction acquires a particular function in connection with nouns denoting fish, snakes, birds (excluding farm fowls), trees, days of week, months, rivers, mountains, islands, and countries. Nouns of these particular semantic groups are defective in that they cannot normally appear in nominal function, but only either as qualitative or descriptive attribute, or as circumstantial complement. When one wishes to name the item in a nominal function, the noun has to be provided with an “empty” target of attribution, another noun that functions as a so-called “generic determinator”. For nouns of the semantic groups listed above, these are respectively SM ikan ‘fish’, ular ‘snake’, burung ‘bird’, pohon ‘tree’ (also pokok ‘stem’), hari ‘day’, bulan ‘month’, sungai ‘river’ (also kali, batang ‘id.’), pulau ‘island’, and negeri ‘country’ (also tanah, bumi ‘land’).

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In Old Malay, this seems to have only applied to names of the month (generic determinator: vulan ‘month’) and, with an occasional exception, to names of countries (gen. det.: bhūmi ‘land’). It did not apply to names of trees that could be used nominally without determinator. Examples of nouns of the other semantic groups named above did not occur in the available corpus. The situation in TTms seems to be similar to that in Old Malay. But for names of the month, the generic determinator is a Sanskritism (Skt. māsa ‘month’) that may be placed before the name (like vulan in OM), or after it (following Sanskrit syntax): p. 2/3: māsa Wèsāka ‘[the month of] Vaiśākha’; p. 2/4: Jyāstā masa ‘[the month of] Jyaiśṭha’. Country and place names are typically preceded by bumi, i.e.: p. 3/2: bumi Kurinci ~ p. 29/3: bumi Kuriṇci ‘[the land] Kurinci’; p. 29/3: bumi Palimbaŋ ‘[the land] Palimbang’. The name of Kurinci also occurs twice preceded by (si-)lunju[r] (already cited above), where lunjur apparently serves as target of attribution, making the insertion of the determinator superfluous. Another geopolitical name occurring in TTms is Dharmasraya, appearing twice (29/1–2 and 29/7–30/1) with variant spellings (already discussed above), both times with a preceding māhāraja ~ māhārāja ‘emperor’ as target of attribution. TTms does not include nouns of the other semantic groups listed above, except the name of one bird (besides the chicken and duck that count as farm fowl not requiring a generic determinator), that is prapati (17/6; read *perapati or *perepati) ‘pigeon’ (Skt. parapati, SM merpati). It is named in nominal function without generic determinator. But this also seems to have been the case for its cognate merpati ‘pigeon’ in classical Malay until relatively late, and should perhaps be seen as a marginal case between “fowl” and “non-fowl” birds. 4.  The Malay prepositions dari ‘from’, di ‘at, in’, and ke ‘to’ often combine with a localizer that is itself a nominal, and also mediates between the preposition and a target noun (cf. SM di dalam ‘inside’, besides di dalam rumah ‘in the house’, lit. ‘at interior [of] house’). Localizers already occurred in Old Malay, though not very frequently. In TTms, they are likewise used only occasionally, typically without a following noun, e.g.:

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p. 6/6: ka dalam ‘inwards, to the inside’, lit. ‘to interior’; p. 13/6–7: di datas di bawah ‘above and below’, lit ‘at top at bottom’. There is only one obvious example with a localizer in mediating function: p. 29/6–7: di hādappan pāduka sri maharaja ‘before his imperial majesty’, lit. ‘at front [of] H.I.M.’; More often, however, the prepositions are used directly with a following noun, without mediation of a localizer: p. 24/3: liwat dari janjaŋ ‘past the promised time’, lit. ‘pass from promise21’; p. 29/5–6: d i wasèbaṇ di bumi Palimbaŋ ‘in the audience hall in Palimbang’; p. 9/1–2: kā rumah ‘to the house’. The preposition pda (read peda) ‘at, to, towards’, like its cognate pada in later Malay (not recorded for Old Malay), is not used with a localizer: p. 4/2: tida ida pda dipati ‘does not heed/obey the chief’, lit. ‘not heedful to chief’; p. 28/5: bakarja pda dipati ‘let the ceremony be performed by the chief’, lit. ‘have-ceremony at chief’. An important morphosyntactic feature involving the noun is numeration that will now be treated separately below.

Numerals and Numeration The system of numerals represented in TTms appears closer to that in later classical and modern Malay than to that in Old Malay, but the lists are incomplete. Words for ‘4’, ‘6’, and ‘9’ do not occur in TTms, while the cardinal numbers from ‘4’ till ‘9’ are not recorded for Old Malay. The given items in the range from ‘one’ to ‘ten’, and ‘twelve’, are as shown in Table 4.5. In the word for ‘three’, TTms agrees with all later Malay versions, in contrast with Old Malay. The TTms word for ‘eight’, dwalapan (read dualapan, from dua alapan, lit. ‘two taken away [from ten]’), still attested

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Table 4.5 Cardinal Numbers in Old Malay, in the Tanjung Tanah Manuscript, and in Modern Indonesian Malay ‘n’

OM

TTms

SM

‘1’

sa

sa ~ sā

se-, satu

‘2’

dua

duwa ~ dwa

dua

‘3’

tlu [i.e. *təlu]

tiga

tiga

‘5’

lima ~ limā

lima

‘7’

tujuh

tujuh

‘8’

dwalāpaṇ

delapan

‘10’

sa-pulu ~ sa-puluh

sa-puluh

se-puluh

‘12’

sa-pulu dua

[sa-puluh dwa]

dua-belas

in the early classical Malay period, represents the precursor from which the later delapan evolved. OM had original Malay words for ‘100’ and ‘1,000’, and a Sanskritism for ‘10,000’, the former two in agreement with modern SM, but there are no correspondents in TTms. The largest number in the latter is: p. 16/4, 16/7 : dwa puluh dwalāpaṇ ‘28’ (SM dua puluh delapan). Numeration in TTms also includes halves, and in particular: p. 27/6–7 : sa-puluh tāŋah tiga ‘12½’ (lit. ‘10 half 3’). This is in agreement with classical Malay, while the modern expression is dua belas se-tengah, lit. ‘12 a-half’. The example is also the only one for the expression of teens in TTms, that was apparently formed by preposing sa-puluh ‘ten’ to the digit. The entry for ‘12’ in the TTms column in Table 4.5 is reconstructed on this basis, to demonstrate the agreement with the expression of teens in Old Malay, whereas SM places belas after the digit. In classical and modern Malay and Indonesian, numeration of count nouns is typically mediated by a quantifier (a.k.a. classifier), a feature that

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is widespread in isolating languages of Indochina and South China. It seems, however, not to have been an original feature of Malayo-Polynesian, and there were no quantifiers in Old Malay. The numeral was placed either immediately before, or after the count noun, without mediation of a quantifier (Ferrand 1932, p. 294; Mahdi 2005, p. 190). It therefore seems quite significant that TTms does feature sequences of numeral + quantifier, to which one may include: s a-bataŋ ~ sā-bataŋ (SM se-batang ‘one [plant, longish object]’), s[ ]-ikur (SM se-ékor ‘one [animal]’), s[ ]-uraŋ (SM se-orang ‘one [person]’). Nevertheless, the use of quantifiers in TTms is still rather narrowly restricted. Noteworthy seems to be that a quantifier only occurs with the numeral s[a] ‘one’. Thus, one finds passages like (11/3): bagi s[ ]-ikur pulaŋ lima ‘for one [animal] return five’; i.e., unlike in present-day Malay, it is never: *bagi s[ ]-ikur pulaŋ lima ikur. The quantifier in TTms only occurs in two constructions. One is in direct numeration of a count noun. Only one single quantifier is attested in this construction, i.e. ikur ‘quantifier for animals’, and the main attested word order is noun-numeral-quantifier (as was also frequent in Malay classical literature, and not numeral-quantifier-noun that is more common in SM), e.g.: p. 18/4: anjiŋ s[ ]-ikur ‘one dog’ (SM se-ékor anjing); p. 24/4: hāyam s[ ]-ikur ‘one chicken’ (SM se-ékor ayam). The other construction involving a quantifier is ‘one’ + quantifier not as numerical attribute, but as a kind of indefinite third person pronoun (cf. SM ambil se-batang se-orang ‘take one [plant] each’, lit. ‘take one plant-quantifier one person-quantifier’): p. 5/4-6: y aŋ bajudi kadanda sa-tahīl sā-pahā s[ ]-uraŋ–s[ ]-uraŋ ‘those that gamble get punished one tael and a quarter each one’; p.15/5-6: tanaman-ña tanamkan, sa-bataŋ di kiri sa-bataŋ di kanan ‘plant the plants, one on the left [,] one on the right’.

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Not a single means of forming ordinal numbers is recorded for Old Malay, all ordinals in the inscriptions being Sanskritisms. In classical and later Malay, the ordinals are formed with the prefix ke- (SM kedua ‘second’, ketiga ‘third’ etc.). In TTms, there is only one rather uncertain example of possible formation of an ordinal number with prefix ka-, that appears twice in close succession: p. 22/8–23/1: jaka bahutaŋ barras padi … dwa tahun katiga ‘if [he] owes rice-grain … two annual planting seasons going on the third [?]’; p. 23/2: labih dwa tahun katiga ‘more than two annual planting seasons going on the third [?]’. The interpretation is uncertain, because ka could technically also be the adlative preposition, and the translation would then be: ‘… two annual planting seasons going to three’. Quite apart from the above, prefixation with ke- in Malay is also one of the means for building the aggregative form of the numeral (SM kedua ‘both’, ketiga ‘all three’, etc.).22 This is also attested in TTms: p. 5/1–2: jaka balawannaṇ kādwa samā kadanda kādwa ‘if both resist, both get equally punished’;

The Relative Marker The cognate of the modern Malay and Indonesian relative marker yang in Old Malay, yaṁ ~ iyaṁ, occurred in three functions (Mahdi 2005, pp. 194–95, see also Kridalaksana 1991, p. 172): (a) as relative-pronoun subject of a relative clause with verbal predicate; (b) as article before a noun heading a clause with predicate; and (c) as article before a noun heading an NP group. In later Malay, function (a) also included relative clauses with adjectival or nominal predicate. The relative marker was used in all three functions in classical Malay, but in modern Indonesian primarily in function (a), more rarely in (b), and not at all in (c). With regard to function (a), on the other hand, the use of the marker was optional in Old Malay, but not in modern Indonesian. In TTms, the corresponding cognate yaŋ occurs twelve times, one of which (p. 24/2) the syntactical environment is unclear. In nine occurrences, it heads a relative clause in function (a): seven of these have a verbal

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predicate (pp. 5/3 & 4, 7/3, 8/1 & 3, 17/4, 32/1). It can be in the active as well as in the passive voice, e.g.: p. 7/3: [ uraŋ-uraŋ] yaŋ mamagat ‘[persons] who interrupt’; p. 32/1: [ṇāmā] yaŋ dikātakaṇ ‘[mean] that which is said’. In the two remaining examples for function (a), one predicate is adjectival, the other apparently nominal: p. 14/6: [ māta karja] yaŋ purwa ‘[ritual object] that is ancient (from former times)’; p. 32/2: [ṇāma] yaŋ satra ‘[denotes] he who is kṣatra (of the caste of nobility)’. Finally, there are two examples with the marker in function (c): p. 4/1: y aŋ s-uraŋ-s-uraŋ ‘the [each] individual one’; p. 6/7: y aŋ dunuŋŋan-ña [didanda dwa tahil] ‘the lodgings-provider [is fined two taels]’;

Some Particularities of the Vocabulary Words of Near-Eastern Origin It was already noted in the very beginning that TTms was apparently written in the late pre-Islamic period. Indeed, an inventory of its entire vocabulary reveals practically no obvious Arabisms except one proper name to which we will return below, and only very few borrowings from any language of the Near East at all. All the more reason to scrupulously account for every single example. The main text (besides the salutational prologue and epilogue) includes only one certain example of such a borrowing. It is in a list of penalties for theft of various kinds of iron and steel: p. 19/3–6: m  aliŋ basi babajan lima mas danda-ña; maliŋ kuraysāni lima mas; mali[ŋ] … baja tupaŋ sapuluh mas danda-ña ‘the thief of steeled iron, five mace is his penalty; the thief of kuraysani five mace; the thief … of tupang steel ten mace his penalty’;

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The highlighted word must be a cognate of classical Malay [besi] khersānī ‘Khorasan steel’ (Wilkinson 1901, p. 100 sub bĕsi, SM kurasani ‘id.’ Alwi and Sugono 2001, p. 617). It is a rendering of the Persian adjectival derivation khurāsānī of the name of the region of Khurāsān (Steingass 1892, p. 451) in the Northeast of present-day Iran. Steel (for swords) produced there enjoyed a particular reputation throughout the Near East and neighbouring regions. One word that could perhaps ultimately prove to be of Persian origin is baju ‘clothing’ on p. 19/2. Jones (1978) listed it as possible borrowing of Persian bāzū ‘[upper] arm’, but marked the alignment as “doubtful”. Indeed, there does not seem to be any historical or comparativistic traces of a gradual semantic shift from ‘arm, body part’ to ‘clothing’ (Mahdi 2007, p. 260). The cognate borrowing in Hindi means ‘arm, shoulder, flank, sleeve’ while the cognate in Kannada means ‘side, border, faction’. Within the main body of the text, there is one word that may be ultimately a borrowing from Arabic. It is the name of a gambling game referred to as judi jāhī on p. 5/3, and as judi jahi23 on p. 8/6. The first component in the expression is the common Malay judi ‘gamble’. But the second component, as pointed out by Sander Adelaar (priv. comm.), is evidently a cognate of Besemah ja’ih, Serawai ja’i’ăh,24 glossed by Helfrich (1904, p. 37) as ‘game of hazard’ (Dutch hazardspel), i.e. ‘game of dice’. From a purely phonological point of view, one possible precursor is Arabic jā‘iḥ ‘crushing, devastating, disastrous’ (Wehr 1976, p. 146 sub j·w·ḥ). However, I am not aware of independent evidence for the use of the Arabic word or borrowing as expression for ‘a game of dice’, so the alignment remains uncertain. In the epilogue, we find two certain acquisitions from the Near East, and that in the reference to the chief (dipati) himself, the person who wrote the manuscript, i.e. his title and his name: p. 29/4–5: s amasta likitaŋ kuja ali dipāti ‘all written down by Kuja Ali, the chief’. The title kuja must be a cognate of classical Malay khawājah ~ khojah ‘title for referring to an Indian merchant of distinction’ Wilkinson (1901, pp. 282, 281), SM (archaic) khoja ~ khojah ‘Persian or Indian merchant’ (Alwi and Sugono 2001, p. 564), from Persian khwāja ‘person of distinction, rich person, honorific title for a vizier, etc.’ (Steingass 1892, p. 479), possibly via Hindi khvājā ~ khojā [the latter now obsolete] ‘person of distinction or rank’ (McGregor 1995, pp. 247, 245). There

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is also Arabic khawāja ‘sir, Mr., etc.’ (Wehr 1976, p. 264) that seems more likely to be a borrowing from Persian than vice versa. Of the two Malay variants, the one typically found in sixteenth-tonineteenth century literature on the Peninsula and in Riau is khoja[h], and this seems likely to have been borrowed via India. It is indeed prevalently used as reference to a distinguished Indian person, also in vernaculars throughout the Archipelago, suggesting that the chief may have been either an Indian (either Indo-Aryan or Dravidian25) or of Indian extraction. Thus, Parkinson’s (1773, p. 186) wordlist of what the author referred to as “the Malayan Language, spoken at Batavia, called the Low-Malay” has: Orang Codja, or Codjo. — A Moor, Gentoo, Mogul, or Banyan. Moor referred to a Hindustani Muslim, and Gentoo (from Portuguese gentio ‘heathen’) to a person of Hindu faith (Yule and Burnell 1903). A Mogul was a subject of the Mughal empire that encompassed a major part of present-day Bangladesh, India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Turkmenistan, and the Northeast of Iran. The Banyan implied here is not the tree, but a Hindu merchant (from vāṇiya ‘member of the merchant caste’ < Sanskrit vaṇij ‘merchant’; Yule and Burnell 1903, pp. 63–64). Thus, all four glosses given by Parkinson in the eighteenth century practically refer to a person from the Indian subcontinent. But the word originates from Persian, and was used at an earlier date in reference to Persians.26 It is apparently the Malay variant rendering khoja[h] that we find represented as kuja in TTms. The other cited Malay variant, khawājah, is likely to be a rather late scholarly hyper-correction motivated by literary exposure to the Arabic cognate. The actual name of the chief titled kuja, i.e. Ali, is the relatively widespread Arabic name ‘Alī (lit. ‘high, tall, lofty, august’; Wehr 1976, p. 639), and actually the only certain Arabism in the entire manuscript. But the name is quite common amongst Muslims of all ethnicities, and cannot serve to identify the chief (dipati) as an Arab. Actually, if it were not for his name, one would never have even guessed that the chief had at all been a Muslim.27 He may perhaps have merely been a locally born descendant of an Indian or Persian Muslim. From the above, it seems that whatever Near-Eastern influence reached Dharmasraya insofar as to be reflected in the vocabulary of TTms apparently originated in Persia, having probably been transmitted via India.28 But the

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volume of the data is so meager that to me, all these, including the origin of the chief, can only be seen as a possible conjecture.

Regional Lexical Innovations A number of words in TTms have a relatively limited regional distri­bution. This point was indicated in his unpublished report to the 2004 workshop on the manuscript by Anderbeck (n.d.: #4) who has done dialectological fieldwork in the upstream Jambi area. One of these forms is bayir ‘pay’ on p. 24/1 (SM bayar), having the derivation māmbayir ‘to pay’ on p. 25/6 (SM membayar). The protoform, Proto-Malayic *bayar, has reflexes with unexpected i in the ultimate syllable in Minangkabau baiə and Serawai baix Adelaar (1992a, p. 58), and Anderbeck (2004, #4) notes a corresponding bayir (for expected *bayar) in 12 out of 12 sampled areas in upstream Jambi, including the highlands south of Kerinci. Thus, reflexes of a doublet protoform *bayir are restricted to a region of Sumatra encompassing Serawai, Minangkabau, and upstream Jambi with South Kerinci. Another seemingly anomalous form in TTms has an even smaller modern distribution, i.e. datas ‘top, above’ on pp. 13/6 and 27/4, that has an unexpected initial d, cf. Proto-Malayic *atas (Adelaar 1992a, p. 94; SM atas). Anderbeck (2004, #4.2) notes the same irregularity at a number of sites in upstream Jambi that have datas ~ dateh (Minangkabau has ateh, without initial d ). In the previous subsection, it was noted that the second component in the expression judi jāhī ~ judi jahi ‘game of hazard’ on pp. 5/3 and 8/6 is likely to be a cognate of Besemah ja’ih, Serawai ja’i’ăh. Regardless therefore of whether the suggested alignment with an Arabic precursor should prove to be correct or not, it is a further example of a locally distributed expression. Finally, there are two items in TTms, for which particularities of the distribution of cognates suggest a certain association with Minangkabau. One is in the expression: p. 17/3–4: hubi bajunjuŋŋan ‘yam with the plant’. The attribute is a derivation of junjuŋ, apparently cognate with Minangkabau junjuang ‘pole for climbing plants’ (Toorn 1891, p. 122 sub djoendjoeăng). The Malay cognate junjung means ‘carry or support on

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the head’, cf. Wilkinson (1901, p. 234 sub. junjong), Alwi and Sugono (2001, p. 481 sub junjung1). The latter also lists as separate entry a junjung2 ‘pole for climbing plants’ marked as Minangkabauism. Wilkinson (loc. cit.) notes a particular expression junjong sireh (mod. junjung sirih) ‘a stake or support for climbing plant, such as sirih [betel] or pepper vine’. This seems ultimately to be a Minangkabauism as well, being given for Minangkabau as junjuang sirieh ‘stake for betel plant’, figuratively ‘person serving as host’ by Toorn (loc. cit.). The other item is kakappan (p. 25/5–6) in: p. 25/4-6: jaka urang mabuk pening salah langkah salah kata salah kakappan ‘if someone is drunk and dizzy, and misbehaves in action and word’, lit. ‘… wrong step, wrong word, wrong behaviour’ It is apparently cognate with Minangkabau kako (Jawi script spelling k·k·p), with regular reflection of final *-ap as -o , that forms the verb mangako ‘take in the hand, hold, be busy with’ Toorn (1891, pp. 279–80).

Conclusions The above review of the script and language of the manuscript revealed that the latter is written in a Malay of a considerably later period than Old Malay epigraphy, having developed a number of features characteristic of the later classical Malay, that still persist to a considerable degree in the modern language in Malaysia as well as in Indonesia. In the morphophonology, particularities of the accommodation of the prefix-final nasal N to base-initial l and r in TTms resembles that in later classical and modern Malay, being in contrast to the situation in Old Malay. In the morphology too, TTms exhibits greater affinity to classical and modern Malay than to Old Malay. This is particularly evident from the paradigm of forms of the verb. That TTms features the prefixes ba[R]- and di-, instead of maR- and ni- respectively, is of course predictable, considering that Old Malay epigraphy of later periods too featured the first-mentioned alternative pair of prefixes. More significant is perhaps that TTms features the X-maN-X reciprocal form not attested for Old Malay, and that the coincidental perfective was preferably formed with the prefix ta[R]-, and only rarely with ka-.

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In the syntax, TTms likewise has a number of features, in common with later Malay, but were missing in Old Malay epigraphy. One such new feature was the optional insertion of the instrumental preposition ulih (modern oléh) ‘by’ between the passive-voice form of the verb and the actor-object. A noteworthy new feature is also the use of quantifiers (classifiers), particularly in numeration of the noun. Nevertheless, in TTms, these quantifiers seem only to be used with the numeral ‘one’. With regard to the numerals themselves, the available data for Old Malay and TTms only overlap for some few items. Amongst these, the word for ‘three’ in TTms coincides with that in later Malay (tiga) rather than with Old Malay (t[ə]lu). Predictably for an intermediate state B assumed to be somewhere between A and C, some features would group it with A even if it were actually very much closer to C. So there are also isolated features that TTms have in common with Old Malay, and not with modern Malay or Indonesian. Thus, numerals for teens seem to be formed with a pre-posed sapuluh (as in Old Malay) instead of with a postpositioned belas as in later-time Malay. Another feature that TTms seems to have in common with Old Malay is that generic determinators appear to have only been used for names of months and country or place names, but the limited volume of the data leaves many questions open. One common feature with Old Malay, the absent final glottal stop in the negation tida ‘no, not’, could be script-conditioned, so it cannot be excluded that the final glottal was present all the while, and merely not accounted for in the spelling. At the same time, some particularities in TTms suggest that its language reflects a development that is branching off from a direct development to classical and modern Malay. In particular, there are some regional features that it has in common with Minangkabau and Serawai. These include the cognates (possibly borrowed) of regional innovations mentioned above: bayir ‘pay’, datas ‘top’, and [judi] jāhī ~ jahi ‘game of hazard’. Another such feature is the tendency to drop the prefix-final rhotic, particularly in the prefix ba[R]-. In Serawai, the cognate prefix be- has the variants bex-, bel-, bu-, and b-; in Minangkabau, the form of the cognate is apparently a uniform ba- without remnants of the rhotic (Adelaar 1984, pp. 413, 415). However, similar developments also took place for example in Banjarese, Iban and Jakarta Malay (ibid., pp. 414–15). So,

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although diverging from the development to classical and modern Malay, this is strictly speaking not a local regional phenomenon. Particularly significant for characterizing the position of TTms within the wider sphere of the contemporaneous Malay linguistic and cultural environment are perhaps some individual or specific features of the language. One such feature is the inventory of word-final diphthongs — that includes -ay and -oy, but not -aw — by which TTms deviates from both Old Malay as well as from classical and modern Malay and Indonesian. This also does not seem to parallel a development in Minangkabau or Serawai. Another interesting feature of this kind is consonant gemination before vowel-initial suffix, that is likewise unique to TTms Malay. Both these TTms-specific features place Tanjung Tanah somehow aside of the development of Malay “standard” or “literary” language tradition, tending to characterize it as somewhat “peripheral” or “provincial”. This is all the more surprising, bearing in mind that the document is apparently a legal code handed down through official channels from the court of Dharmasraya. One gathers the impression that the retreat of the political centre from Muara Jambi into the hinterland of upstream Jambi also resulted in a certain linguistic and cultural isolation from mainstream development of Malay culture and tradition, for example, in Samudra, Pasai, Kedah, Trengganu, and later Melaka, Johor, Siak, Riau and Lingga. This impression is further strengthened by the rather haphazard spelling. Not very strictly uniform spelling was of course a rather widespread phenomenon in pre-industrial times in most literary languages and, as noted above, some confusion, for example, in the use of alternative characters for a single phoneme has also been reported for early Jawi script Malay. But some particularities in TTms spelling seem nevertheless quite unusual. The marker for long (or stressed) ā was used indiscriminately for ī and ū as well. In the Minye Tujuh inscription, apparently written by a person more accustomed to Arabic and Jawi script (as Kuja Ali who wrote TTms could have been), the marker for long ā was occasionally used for long ī too, though only in the spelling of Arabisms (see van der Molen 2007, p. 360). But in TTms, the marker was used in the spelling of one and the same word variable in quite arbitrary positions (parulihhāṇ ~ pārulihhan). Evidently, the TTms scribe did not know what the marker was for, and even allowed for a “long” vowel in the spelling of schwa (pduka ~ pāduka). In Old Malay and in classical Malay, explicit spelling as “long” vowel served to indicate place of stress

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(in indigenous words), or to rule out the reading as schwa that did not occur in a stressed syllable. Another “faux pas” when, for example, compared with Kawi script spelling is the use of the character for a non-homorganic nasal in a nasal + stop cluster, particularly before a palatal stop. Besides “correct” -ñc- and -ñj-, TTms features -nc- and -nj-, and even -ṇc-. Here too, one and the same word could be spelled differently (kurincī ~ kuriṇci, both “wrong”). In a first approach, one must perhaps consider two possible reasons for the somewhat extreme apparent dilettantism of the spelling in TTms. One is the apparent isolation from the mainstream development already suggested above. The other is that the scribe was a person of immigrant origin with perhaps limited knowledge of the language. That he was of Indian extraction does not necessarily qualify him to “correctly” spell the Sanskritisms. In India, even epigraphy written by Brahmans often have errors. Furthermore, a man named Ali could hardly have belonged to the caste of Brahmans, or at all to the Hindu religion. If he had a father of Indian or Persian extraction, and an indigenous mother, it would not have been uncommon if he spoke some pidgin or Bazaar variety of Malay as his original native language. Whatever the scribal qualifications of the chief, the text he delivered had to be accepted by the local community. And if the seemingly dilettante spelling was deemed sufficiently fitting to serve as officially decreed legal code in Kerinci, this in my opinion reveals something about the relative isolation of the area from contemporaneous mainstream Malay culture tradition. It was indeed a transitionary period when one political tradition embodied in the Hinduist Central-Javanese feudal state would gradually lose its grip over mercantile polities on the coast, that were increasingly identifying themselves with an alternative tradition, that of Islam. Here, cultural influence from the Near East was leading to fundamental changes in literary tradition, particularly in transition to Jawi script, and emergence of a style of often very ornately illuminated manuscripts and documents (see, for example, Proudfoot and Hooker 1996). A region so far upstream as Kerinci, or even only as Dharmasraya, would indeed have been apt to find itself somewhat aside from that development. Specifically for Kerinci, however, one has to furthermore consider transition not only from a Hinduist tradition, but also from a more ancient megalithist to Hinduist. Recent quite elaborate archaeological

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campaigns in the region have come up with convincing datings of 1200 CE for the end of major megalithist centres in the area (Bonatz et al. 2006, pp. 500, 502). However, remains of megalithism — at least as syncretist relicts — apparently continued to be an issue provoking official reaction from the court till many centuries later (see discussion in Bonatz et al. 2006, p. 511). The explicit emission of a legal code, the presently inspected TTms, was perhaps part of the political measures of Dharmasraya to advance that culture transition in Kerinci. The explicit punishment for falsifying the sacred Hinduist writings (five Vedas) on the one hand, but also protection of sacred heirlooms that in this region probably dated from a megalithist past on the other hand, both in TTms p. 14, should perhaps be seen in this perspective. For the rest, however, it is characteristic of the entire corpus of traditional Malay literature that has survived to our time, that it is exclusively from the period after the Hinduist-to-Islamic transition, even when the underlying literary work in some cases derives from the Hinduist period, as is the case for example with the Hikayat Seri Rama, the Malay version of Valmiki’s Rāmāyaṇa. From this one could infer that there must already have been a Malay literary tradition — amongst others featuring the pre-Islamic original of that Malay version (cf. Barrett 1963; Singaravelu 1983) — before the transition to Islam and Jawi script. This is further strengthened by the apparently pivotal role of Malay in the transmission of Sanskrit loanwords in the Archipelago (cf. Adelaar 1994, pp. 61–63; Mahdi 1994, pp. 483–84, note 199; Mahdi 1999, pp. 223–25). With the Tanjung Tanah manuscript, the assumption of a pre-Jawi script literary tradition (beyond occasional Old Malay stone inscriptions) now ceases to be a mere hypothesis, as it provides direct insight at least into remnants from the closing phase of that period. The principal message it has for us is thus, in my opinion, that there must indeed have been a Malay literary tradition before the transition to Islam and Jawi script.

Notes

1



2 3

The remaining two pages have been discussed by Uli Kozok in the previous chapter. In Poerbatjaraka’s transliteration, both n and ṇ were simply given as n. There is a diplomatic and a normalized transcription on pages 64–73.

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Script and Language of the Tanjung Tanah Manuscript 4



5



6





7



8



9



10

11



12



13



14



15



16



17

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I will call a markation above or below the basic character, or that is attached at one end to it, a diacritic, and any markation that stands on the same baseline before or after the character a marker. Following traditional convention for Latin-script renderings of Sanskrit, the examples would be transliterated as daṁ and traṁ, read dã and trã respectively. For practical reasons, I will simply write e for schwa, and avoid confusion with the corresponding front vowel by using é for the latter, also è where distinction from é seems relevant. Note, however, that in Poerbatjaraka’s transcript, the e is used ambiguously for schwa as well as for é or è. Note also that Sanskrit has no schwa, and e in Sanskrit citations always read as é. How TTms Malay schwa was indicated or implied in the script will be considered in the section on phonology. The line number is indicated behind a slash after the page number, e.g. p. 2/3 (line 3 on page 2). Traditional convention for Latin-script renderings of Sanskrit as well as Malay and Javanese typically spells the diphthongs as ai and au respectively, which leads to confusion of the diphthongs with bisyllabic sequences of corresponding vowels a+i and a+u. Specifically for ay (conventional ai), there is internal evidence in TTms that the second element in the diphthong is identical to the semivowel that is spelled by the ya-akṣara. On page 9.5, Poerbatjaraka reads oleh, but the vowel-diacritic for the second syllable is wulu. Cf. von Dewall (1862, pp. 205–10), Shellabear (1898, p. 112), van Ronkel (1926), Voorhoeve (1975, p. 272, note 5), Wieringa (2003, p. 511). The Malay word was taken up into the Batak Poda style, in which ritual manuscripts are written as jaka in Karo Batak, or jaha in Mandailing and Toba Batak (Uli Kozok, priv. comm.). Retention of consonant gemination after shift of the preceding schwa to a is also known for some South Sulawesi languages, i.e. Makassarese, Mamuju, Mandar, Sa’dan Toraja, a.o., but excluding Buginese (Mills 1975, pp. 262–63, 401, schwa is spelled ṫ). These are, however, not Malayic languages. Also known as the Dharmasraya inscription from Padang Roco (Sungai Langsat). Cf. merdu ‘melodious’ < Sanskrit. mṛdu ‘mild’, pertiwi ‘[mother] earth’ < Skt. pṛthivī ‘earth goddess’ (Gonda 1952, p. 65). Considering that the second component of this composite is otherwise spelled pda (read peda ) in TTms, the composite should probably be read *deripeda. Not in originally inherited reflexes, but in renewed borrowings from artificially conserved Sanskrit. Such secondary reflexes with ri, for example, led to the rendering of Sanskrit Saṁskṛta as Sanskrit in English, while the corresponding Malay Sangsekerta suggests an earlier borrowing of the name.

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220



18

21 19 20



22



23 24



25



26



27



28

Waruno Mahdi

See Dempwolff (1937, pp. 19 §69a, 20 §70), Nothofer (1975, p. 83), Adelaar (1992a, p. 56). In this one instance (p. 11/5), the final r is missing in the text. The latter is apparently to be read as: si-petan-ña. A comparison with the Jawi script TK 215 text shows that janjaŋ (lit. ‘ladder’) here is probably a misspelling of janji ‘promise’. The other is by reduplication (SM dua-dua[nya] ‘both [of them]’, tiga-tiga[nya] ‘all three [of them]’, etc). One also finds both means used simultaneously (kedua-dua[nya] etc.). But neither construction occurs in TTms. Previously this was mistakenly read as judi jadi and as judi jali. The correspondence of Besemah final -h to Serawai -’ăh when not after a preceding -a- is apparently regular, cf. Besemah didih ‘boil’, laboh ‘drop[anchor]’ versus Serawai didi’ăh, labo’ăh respectively (Helfrich 1904, pp. 36, 84). McPherson (1990, p. 44, note 2) differentiates between Hindu Tamils (called Keling by the Malays) and Muslim Tamils (Culia). Thomas Hunter demonstrates elsewhere in this volume that the early use of khoja[h] in Malay literature was practically restricted to translations from Persian. Note in particular the indifferent mention of pigs on pp. 10/2 and 20/5 of TTms. The fourteenth century saw the heyday of the Delhi Sultanate, and its eastward expansion to include Bengal.

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5 Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 215 Uli Kozok with contributions by Eric van Reijn The pusaka collection of Tanjung Tanah contains a total of ten manuscripts (TK 214–23, according to Voorhoeve’s Tambo Kerintji, 1941). Six of those are written in a Javanese type of script on lontar (palm leaf ) and are difficult to decipher. One of which is the Tanjung Tanah manuscript and the remaining three are documents written in Jawi script on paper. During my visits to Tanjung Tanah in 2002 and 2003, I found only one of the three Jawi script documents, namely TK 215, but at that time I did not pay much attention to this document since my study focused on the Kerinci script and I merely took a few photographs of the first few pages of the manuscript for documentary purposes. When I realized the importance of TK 215 to the study of TK 214, I revisited Tanjung Tanah in the hope that I would again be granted access to the manuscripts. This time, however, circumstances had changed. The woman who was entitled to keep the sacred heirlooms in her house had passed away. Before a successor was elected, her husband could only serve as the interim caretaker and was hence reluctant to let me see the pusaka collection without the explicit permission of the owners. Some of the owners apparently linked the premature death of the woman in whose house the collection was kept with the fact that I had seen the sacred heirlooms. Realizing that I would not be able to revisit the collection, I asked the caretaker to provide me with photocopies of the text that he took a few 221

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Source: Photo taken by Uli Kozok.

figure 5.1 TK 214 (bottom left), TK 215 (top left) and some javanese Lontar Manuscripts

Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 215

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years ago. In the meantime, the caretaker had worked on the text himself and had “enhanced” the original text by adding vowel signs. Fortunately these additions did not interfere too much with a clear reading of the text. Eric van Reijn, my former colleague from the University of Auckland, and I corrected Abdul Hamid’s transliteration in the Tambo Kerintji, which was later revised again by Jan van der Putten from the National University of Singapore. Regarding the circumstances as outlined above, we have to publish the following edition of TK 215, which in part is almost identical with TK 214, without being able to examine the paper for any possible watermarks or other signs that could reveal information about the age of the manuscript. Since most Jawi script manuscripts of Kerinci date to the eighteenth century, I assume that this manuscript could have been written at about the same time. Annabel Gallop from the British Library briefly examined the manuscript and agrees in a preliminary conclusion that on palaeographic grounds, the manuscript indeed dates to the seventeenth or eighteenth century. The similarities between the two manuscripts (TK 214 and TK 215) are striking and there is no doubt that TK 215 is based on TK 214. The exact relationship is unclear, but it appears as if TK 215 was written with either TK 214 at hand, or via another unknown intermediary text. Grammatically, lexographically, and also stylistically, TK 215 is not much different from contemporary Malay texts. Like most texts of that era, which tend to be linguistically quite uniform, TK 215 also shows a subtle local undertone with a few words from Minangkabau and Jambi Malay. The contrast to the fourteenth-century TK 214, however, is quite striking. The rather simple sentence constructions in TK 214 were replaced by stylistically and grammatically more elaborate sentences. Conditional conjunctions, for instance, are much less frequently used in TK 214 where jaka “if ” is the predominant conjunction that occurs 14 times. Jaka, which is still used in some regional languages such as Batak,1 has now changed to jika (also: jikalau), of which we find 90 occurrences in TK 215. The only other manuscript where I found the form jaka is the Hikayat Banjar dan Kota Waringin, whose text dates back to about 1663 (Ras 1968, p. 651).2 Jaka is often preceded by the Sanskrit loanword punarapi ‘furthermore, once again’, which does not occur at all in TK 215 simply because at that time the word was no longer in use. There are numerous other examples where phrases with words that had become obsolete were replaced by more modern words, including words of Arabic provenance such as musyawarat, hukum, and rakyat. But at the same time it is striking

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that precisely those passages from TK 214, which are most difficult to understand, have either been completely reinterpreted (e.g. Par. E and L) — the original texts were hence merely used as a source of inspiration — or omitted (e.g. Par. F, H, and AK). It can therefore be concluded that by the time TK 215 was written, some of the words contained in TK 214 were no longer understood. Not only lexically, but also with respect to phonology and morphology, the language of TK 215 appears quite modern compared to TK 214. Archaic features in TK 214 such as the deletion of the consonant /b/ in pre-nasalized forms (mamunuh), which is often found in manuscripts predating the eighteenth century,3 or the word mangannakan, which in modern Malay has become mengadakan, do not occur in TK 215.4 The only archaism that has been preserved in TK 215 is the word dua lapan (eight), which etymologically has its roots in dua alapan — literally: two taken away [from 10]. In modern Malay, the number 8 is now always written either in its contracted form delapan, or in the short form lapan, though this seems to be a rather recent development that probably only occurred during the seventeenth or eighteenth century, and even in some early nineteenth-century manuscripts, the archaic spelling can still be found. The passive prefix ka- as it appears in TK 214 kadanda (to be fined) is no longer used; instead, TK 215 uses the standard di- passive prefix. The verbal prefix pa- as in pahamba was changed to the modern prefix per-, and the nominal circumflex ka-…-an as in kapulangan was changed to peN-…-an (pemulangan). The prefix sa-, which in TK 214, when attached to a root word starting with a vowel (urang, ikor), assimilated to surang and sikur, was replaced with se- and no assimilation took place (seorang and seekor). TK 215 is by no means a verbatim transcription of TK 214. It contains a number of passages that are unrelated to TK 214, and the opening passage is, as one can expect, entirely different in that the scribe follows the convention for writing legal texts in the Muslim era. Hence the text begins with the opening formula bismi-lla¯ hi r-rahma¯ni r-rah¯ım (in the ˙ ˙ Name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful) and continues: This is the decree of His Royal Highness concerning the ordinances to the depati in the land of Kerinci, on the occasion of the Majesty dispatching Raden Temenggung to Kerinci to establish [the law] for His Majesty’s subjects. While Raden Temenggung was in Kerinci he resided in Sanggaran Agung where he issued this code of law. Whoever fails to obey the law will be dealt with by the Depati in the land of Kerinci. Here follows the text of the code.

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 215

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His Highness could either be the Sultan of Jambi, one of the crown princes, or a local ruler, but in the context of this law text, we must assume that the person who ordered Raden Temenggung to visit Kerinci was the Sultan of Jambi himself. According to TK 215, Raden Temenggung was ordered (dititahkan) by His Royal Highness (Duli Pangeran) to ascent to (naik) Kerinci […] and to reside (duduk) in Sanggaran Agung — one of the more important places of Kerinci located on the shore of Lake Kerinci at the point where the Merangin river flows out of the lake. It is unclear whether the Temenggung had a permanent or temporary residence in Sanggaran Agung (also known as Sandaran Agung), but from TK 42 we know that Sanggaran Agung played next to Muara Mesumai an important role in Jambi Kerinci relations: “The land of Jambi has two children: the first is Muara Mesumai, the second is the land of Sanggaran Agung.” We do not know for certain whether the Duli Pangeran, who issued the decree, was the Sultan of Jambi, nor is it possible to date the manuscript to the reign of a certain sultan. But a short survey of the history of Jambi, and of the other available manuscripts, does give us some valuable clues. Muara Mesumai, nowadays better known as Bangko, is strategically located at the junction of the Merangin and Mesumai rivers. Following the principal river, the district is generally called Merangin. The Batang Merangin is a tributary of the Batang Tembesi, which in turn is a tributary of the Batang Hari. The Merangin is navigable until Muara Mesumai, but from here to the Kerinci valley it is still a long and steep journey of approximately 80 kilometres, and then another 60 kilometres until one reaches the first substantial settlement, Sanggaran Agung, located at the point where the Merangin flows out of Lake Kerinci. Here, the surface water from the entire Kerinci valley drains eastward into the Merangin river. According to a well-known legend, the Sultan of Jambi commissioned a distinguished émigré of Majapahit descent to administer the interior of Jambi from Muara Mesumai. This administrator bears the title Pangeran (liege) Temenggung,5 and whose name is variously recorded as Kebul, Kebal, Kabul, Kebaru, and Kebaruh. His name is usually given in the long form as (Kebul) di Bukit. This senior minister acted as an intermediary between the ruler of Jambi and the chiefs (dipati ) of Kerinci. The temenggung appointed local chiefs and provided them with prestigious titles and sealed letters, while the chiefs of Kerinci had to pay tribute (jajah) to the ruler of Jambi in acknowledgement of his sovereignty, and were subject to corvée duties whenever the ruler required workers. The system mutually benefited the ilir (downstream Jambi) as well as ulu (upstream) districts such as Merangin or Kerinci as

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the prosperity of the coastal center depended largely on its ability to offer foreign traders the produce of the interior. The attempts by downstream kings to bring those upstream under their overlordship and the continuing effort of ulu dwellers to shape this relationship to their advantage dominate the history of Jambi and Palembang in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries (Andaya 1993a, p. 20).

The products that were traditionally traded from the interior to the coast consisted of commercially valuable forest products and, to a lesser extent, gold while the ulu population received essential items such as salt and iron, but also prestigious import objects. The trade was transformed by the arrival of the Europeans and their demand for black pepper. During the seventeenth century, Jambi had emerged as one of the principal pepper producing regions in the archipelago. The pepper growing districts were all located in the ulu along the tributaries of the upper Batang Hari. Andaya (1993a, p. 48) mentions “Tanjung and Kuamang, the federations of Kota Tujuh and Kota Sembilan”, which presumably refers to the districts Tujuah Koto in the Tebo regency in upper Jambi where Kuamang is located, and Sambilan Koto in the present regency Dharmasraya. Another important and very wealthy pepper growing district was further south along the shores of the Batang Merangin, and even in the fairly remote Kerinci valley, pepper was produced at least from the second half of the seventeenth century onwards (Colombijn 2003, p. 519). In 1616, Jambi was believed to be, after Aceh, the second most prosperous state in Sumatra, and enjoyed a long time of economic as well as political stability, especially under the long rule of Sultan Agung (1639–79). In the second half of the seventeenth century, pepper prices began to fall and by 1652, “Europe was glutted with pepper” (Glamann 1974, p. 485). In the final quarter of the seventeenth century, the prosperous years had come to an end, and the relationship between lowland Jambi (ilir) and the pepper producing regions in the ulu, which included Kerinci, became increasingly tense. In Jambi, […] the Europeans upset the balance between hilir king and hulu subjects. The ruler had always lured followers from the hinterland by creating attractive commercial conditions. The treaties with the VOC and the EIC gave the sultans the ill-founded idea that they could at last tip the balance of power between downstream and upstream in their favor. Lulled into a false sense of security, the sultans began to exert more pressure on the hulu pepper growers, for instance, during upstream hunting and fishing trips. This policy backfired because the people living in the peneplain and piedmont zone had, as

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 215

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always, alternative export routes at their disposal and simply eschewed the capital. When the upland pepper deliveries to Jambi diminished rather than increased, the European companies stepped up pressure on the ruler to fulfill his contractual obligations. The ruler now found himself caught in a downward spiral of increasing extortion of his hulu subjects and decreasing allegiance (Andaya 1993a; see also Reid 1993, pp. 220–26). The sultan’s fate was sealed when the EIC withdrew from Jambi for good in 1677, leaving him at the VOC’s mercy. Within two years, he had to permit the Dutch a contract with a fixed, very low price for pepper and a monopoly on the import of Indian cloth (Andaya 1993a, pp. 109–10) (Colombijn 2003).

Under the Painan contract of 1663, the VOC established a monopoly over the pepper trade resulting in lower pepper prices, and in the same year ulu-ilir antagonisms became more apparent when Pangeran Dipanegara, the son of the temenggung of Merangin, assumed the same rights as the ilir ruler and extended his authorities even into neighbouring Kerinci (Andaya 1993a, p. 89).6 Even though we know that pepper was already grown in Kerinci in Pangeran Dipanegara’s time (Colombijn 2003, p. 519), and that must have been in Jambi’s interest to maintain close relations with the dipati of Kerinci, this is unfortunately not reflected by the jawi-script manuscripts of Kerinci that, with the exception of TK 23, which was written in 1688 CE, all date into the eighteenth or the nineteenth century. Given that there is not a single known manuscript predating 1688, one should assume that TK 215 also dates to the eighteenth century. This is indeed a possibility, but there are also good reasons to question this assumption. Let us first examine the other dated manuscripts. Of the 91 manuscripts listed in the Tambo Kerintji, 20 are dated, but unfortunately 3 manuscripts (TK 59, 67, 231) are dated only to the day and month without reference to the year. From TK 231, we know however that it was written in 1192 AH/1778 CE. The oldest dated manuscript is TK 23, which dates to 1100 AH/ 1688 CE, but the year cannot be read clearly, and was likely added to the manuscript later as it is written in a different handwriting. If it were indeed written in 1688, it would fall into the year in which Sultan Anum Ingalaga (1679–87) was exiled. It is a royal decree (piagam) issued by a certain Pangeran Suria Karta Negara confirming the status of Dipati Payung of Sungai Penuh. It is rather surprising that there are no dated manuscripts from the mid-seventeenth century as some royal decrees are known to have reached

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neighbouring Serempas. Renah Kemumu MS A, for instance, was issued by “His Highness (Pangira)n Ratu” in Merangin. According to Gallop, the seal identifies “Pangiran Ratu” as Sultan Agung (r. 1639–70).7 Renah Kemumu MS B dates to 1086 AH or 1675/1676 CE, whereas Renah Kemumu MS C is undated but as it is issued by Sultan Ingalaga (Sultan Abdul Muhyi), it must fall into the years of his reign, 1679 to 1687 CE (Gallop 2009). TK 22, 174, and 205 all date to 1116 AH/1704 CE. These three piagam were issued by a certain Pangeran Suta Wijaya at the time when Jambi was divided into an upstream kingdom under Pringgabaya and a downstream kingdom under Kiai Gede. Suta Wijaya was Pringgabaya’s mangkubumi (first minister) and heir to the pepper-rich Merangin area (Andaya 1993a, p. 148). TK 22 also mentions Dipati Payung of Sungai Penuh in Kerinci. TK 174 and TK 205, which are essentially identical, are decrees confirming the status of Dipati Intan Gemala Bumi, and it is said that those who do not obey the dipati will be cursed (dimakan sumpah), their houses will turn upside down (bubungannya ke bawah dan tiangnya ke atas), and they will be killed by kawi poison (dimakan bisa kawi ) and by the thirty parts of the Al-Quran (dimakan Kur’an yang tiga puluh juz). Pangeran Suta Wijaya also issued a number of undated decrees that all bear his seal, including TK 210, 229, 242, and 243, and in 1120 AH/1709 CE, he sent a letter to Renah Kemumu in Serampas (Gallop 2009, p. 293). That Suta Wijaya at that time functioned as intermediary between the ruler of Jambi and the chiefs (dipati) of Kerinci is evident from TK 229, which is addressed to Dipati Sanggaran Agung Suka Beraja, and where he bears the title Pangeran Temenggung. Apparently Suta Wijaya was in a precarious situation. TK 243 is a relative long text reminding the addressee of the oath of allegiance (sumpah setia) which the people of Kerinci had sworn to the monarch residing in Tanah Merangin. In remembrance to the oath, he reminds them, they shall “never allow the people from Merangin or from the ulu to enter Merangin” and “if the people from Mangunjaya or ulu force their way with the intent to destroy Merangin, they shall chase them and fight them as good as they can.”8 The letter is undated, but as all other letters are dated to 1704 CE, we can assume that this letter too dates either to 1704 or to any time between 1704 and 1708, as it certainly relates to the conflict between Suta Wijaya in Merangin and Pangeran Pringgabaya in Mangunjaya.

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 215

229

Mangunjaya was founded by Pangeran Pringgabaya after the Dutch had exiled his father, Sultan Ingalaga, in 1688. The foundation of Mangunjaya marked the split of Jambi into an ulu and an ilir kingdom that lasted for thirty years. Suta Wijaya, the heir of Merangin and Pringgabaya’s brother-in-law, became his mangkubumi (first minister). By the end of the seventeenth century, the situation in Mangunjaya was not much better than in lowland Jambi, where Kiai Gede was only able to rule with the support of the Dutch. Pringgabaya first lost control over the interior districts settled by Minangkabau and then also of Merangin. Pringgabaya was no longer acknowledged in the rich pepper area of Merangin, where the son of the old Pangeran Dipanegara, aided by his economic links with Bengkulen and Kerinci, had reestablished control. To assert his position, Pringgabaya turned to force; in the ensuing raids and skirmishes, villages were burned and their occupants put to flight. The situation worsened as men of little experience favored by Pringgabaya were elevated to positions of considerable power (Andaya 1993a, p. 140).

In September 1708, the Dutch tried to re-conciliate Pringgabaya with the ilir Sultan Kiai Gede in Tanah Pilih (downstream Jambi), where a brotherly oath of friendship was sworn. Pringgabaya moved to Tanah Pilih to become the junior, but actual, sultan, but the agreement was not honoured by Kiai Gede who was reluctant to relinquish government. While Pringgabaya resided in downstream Jambi, the people of Tujuh Kota (presently known as VII Koto, Tebo) had openly declared that they would not accept his authority and were already building defenses in expectation of warfare. Pringgabaya had also alienated Pangeran Sutawijaya, the mangkubumi (first minister) and heir to the pepper-rich Merangin area. Betrothed to Sutawijaya’s sister for twelve years, Pringgabaya seemed reluctant to conclude the marriage, and he had attempted to install his favorite, a former Makassar slave, as Merangin’s head. The people of Merangin strongly resisted this move, and Pangeran Sutawijaya, understandably alienated, had promised Kiai Gedé that if good military leadership were available, he would take up arms against Pringgabaya (Andaya 1993a, p. 148).

It seems to be without doubt that Suta Wijaya’s letter relates to these events which occurred between 1708 and 1709, and which lead to the ultimate demise of Pringgabaya’s ulu kingdom.

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In 1710, a short-lived rebellion broke out in Mangunjaya, led by a man and a woman who said they planned to install the first minister, pangeran Sutawijaya, as king. When Kiai Gedé appeared upstream, however, support for the rebel; leaders collapsed. Pangeran Pringgabaya’s weapons, his mother, wives, concubines, and children, as well as several nobles who had remained in Mangunjaya, were all sent downstreams. Kiai Gedé himself continued up to Jujuhan and Tanjung, and in 1711 he felt sufficiently confident to inform the governor general that ‘all the people of Sembilan Lurah’ (a reference to Jambi’s ‘nine’ districts) were now under him (Andaya 1993a, p. 150).

The Dutch then decided to support Kiai Gede and sent troops to Jambi who arrested Pringgabaya. Five years later, Pringgabaya died in Banda where he had been in exile. While the economic situation in Jambi remained dire, the Minangkabau had flourished during this period mainly as a result of its access to the gold mines not only in the Minangkabau region itself, but also in upper Jambi where large numbers of Minangkabau had emigrated since the midseventeenth century (Andaya 1993a, p. 140). The Minangkabau migrants strongly opposed Kiai Gede and an open rebellion broke out in 1711. Assisted by the VOC, Kiai Gede sent a large expedition upstream to oppress the rebellion, and the rebel leaders were publicly hanged in 1712. The period between 1704 and 1718 in which Suta Wijaya held the power in Merangin and where Kiai Gede with Suta Wijaya’s support took repossession of the ulu by eliminating his competitor Pringgabaya, was apparently a period of close relations to Kerinci. This is testified by two further letters, TK 189, a piagam confirming the legal status of a certain Dipati Perbo Singa with two stamps dating to 1128 AH/1716 CE and TK 175, a piagam issued by Pangeran Temenggung [illegible], dating to the year 1131 AH/1718 CE. The former bears two stamps, one belongs to Sultan Kiai Gede (r.1687–1719 CE), and the other to Pangeran Depati Suria Negara. The purpose of TK 175, which mentions a certain Dipati Intan Maro Masume, is unfortunately not quite evident. The period between 1704 and 1718 is followed by fifty-eight years in which apparently not a single dated letter arrived in Kerinci. This is not surprising as this period is marked by a further deterioration of the state of affairs in Jambi culminating in civil war. Hopes of recovery after the reunification of Jambi under Kiai Gede were short-lived. As long as the economy of the ilir was in a shambles, there was little hope for an improvement of ulu-ilir relations.

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In 1718, even the ilir leaders were so dissatisfied with Kiai Gede that they decided to overthrow him, but the Dutch intervened and placed the royal residence under VOC guard. After a short illness, Kiai Gede died in 1719 and was replaced by Pangeran Pringgabaya’s son, Raden Astrawijaya, with the title of Sultan Astra Ingalaga. The new ruler soon became as unpopular as his predecessor, and Kiai Gede’s son, Pangeran Surianegara, was able to rally support against the ruler. In the following years, Jambi was torn by civil war, and on two occasions even without a ruler. Surianegara eventually became Sultan in 1726 but died after a few months of smallpox. Sultan Astra Ingalaga was then reinstated and ruled again from 1727 until 1745, but economically as well as politically, the situation remained precarious. The Minangkabau gained increasing foothold in the ulu, outnumbered the native population in many places, and were generally disloyal to the ilir ruler. Sultan Astra’s rule was also threatened by his brothers who increasingly gained influence. His youngest brother even took over Tujuh Kota in 1741 (Andaya 1993a, p. 167). Increasingly disapproving of Sultan Astra, the Dutch finally forced him to step aside, and in 1743 Pangeran Suta Wijaya was confirmed as Sultan Anum Sri Ingalaga. The new sultan, dressed in white cloth, was also supported by the Islamic teachers. During the reign of Sultan Anum, the economic situation of Jambi did not show any signs of improvement, and the VOC reported that their post in Jambi had not made any profit for the last fifty years. The Sultan was not favourably inclined towards the Dutch and the relations deteriorated to such an extent that the VOC finally decided to irrevocably close its post in 1768. After the departure of the Dutch, little is known about the future development of Jambi. We do know, however, that after the VOC abandoned its Jambi post, the ilir ruler once again tried to strengthen its influence in Kerinci. Six dated manuscripts arrived in Kerinci between 1776 and 1778: TK 148 and 230 announce that Pangeran Temenggung Mangku Negara died on 21 May 1776. TK 148 continues that “I am the successor of my father”, with a warning that the people shall conduct themselves as they did before and continue obeying the oath of allegiance (sumpah setia). It also advises the people to establish Islamic Law (mendirikan syara’ ). TK 230 is addressed to the dipati of Sanggaran Agung, the dipati of the district Empat Helai Kain, and to the dipati of the district Selapan Helai Kain, all located in the Kerinci highlands. The letter continues with a warning to abstain from consuming alcoholic beverages (tuak dan arak), worship rocks and other idols (menyembah batang batu segala berhala) and to [bury]

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a corpse with a procession of drums, oboes, and gun salutes (… jenazah dengan gendang serunai dan bedil ). Both letters clearly belong to a group of four other letters dating to 1192 AH/1778 CE that all originate from the same sender (TK 3, 4, 13, 231). By means of these letters Pangeran Sukarta Negara, presumably the successor of Pangeran Temenggung Mangku Negara, appoints a number of depati providing them with “laws and a seal”, and threatens that he will impose the death penalty not only to “insurgents, robbers, impostors, poisoners, nightly knife-fighters, and swindlers”,9 but also to those who commit “incest, fornication, and adultery”.10 He also urges the people of Kerinci to enforce Islamic Law: “Our Liege wants you all to adhere and uphold the Laws of the Prophet (pbuh). Confer with all your people in the lands of Kerinci to secure the faith or the Prophet (pbuh) and eradicate as far as possible whoever renounces it.”11 TK 231 dated 21 July 1778, ends with Pangeran Sukarta’s appeals to all the Depati in the land of Kerinci (alam Kerinci ) to “reach a consensus with everyone … in the land of Kerinci to embrace the religion of the Prophet and insofar possible discard all things that are contrary [to the believe] as good as you can. The end of the world is approaching. You should better embrace the right religion.”12 TK 13 is the longest of the four royal decrees issued by Pangeran Sukarta Negara where he appoints a number of depati, confirms the borders of their districts, and urges them to reinforce Islamic Law by obeying the following four matters: First, do not bury a person with a procession of drums, gongs, oboes, and gun salutes, second, men and women shall not dance and sing together and do not worship ghosts, the Satan, and images of stone or wood, or similar effigies, and third, do not marry a girl without a legal representative.13

The fourth matter was apparently forgotten, but appears in another decree (TK 4): Fourth, do not eat and drink anything that is not allowed according to the Islamic law. Make sure not to do these things!14

It is interesting to note that Pangeran Sukarta Negara emphasizes the importance of adopting the Islamic Law. Since the arrival of Islam in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, Shari’a aspects were largely ignored

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in the laws of the Malay sultanates. But the seventeenth century saw, with the arrival of a reformed Sufism, a stronger orientation towards the Shari’a. According to the Indian Islamic scholar and prominent member of the Naqshbandi Sufi order, Shaykh Ahmad al-Farooqi Sirhindi (1564– 1624 CE), it was “the task of kings to devote their energies towards a restoration of the pristine faith and a promotion of the teaching of the Prophet” (Andaya and Ishii 1999, p. 195). This period of apparently close relations to Kerinci is followed by occasional letters that were sent from Muara Mesumai: TK 212 is a simple decree issued by Pangeran Temenggung Kebal15 di Bukit where he appoints a number of depati by giving them a seal and a royal decree (cap serta piagam), and confirms the borders of their respective districts. It warns that “those who obey the content of the letter will receive the Pangeran’s blessing, those who do not follow it will be struck by his curse”.16 The manuscript dates to 1206 AH/1792 CE. The writer of the decree is Encik Lajim, and the place of issue is Muara Mesumai. TK 43 is dated to 1206 AH/1794 CE. It bears the “seal and signature of Pangeran (Suria) Kesuma and Pangeran Ratu as well as (the former?) Raja Sultan Ahmad Badruddin reigning in the country of Jambi, ruling over the nine districts,17 dispensing justice to the people using the law that has been passed down by God.” This rather lengthy manuscript is of particular interest as it frames the legitimation of the ruler in theological terms by referring to passages from the Al-Quran. Among others the author quotes Sūrat Al-Baqarah 2:30 ‘Innī Ja¯ `ilun Fī Al-’Ar đi Khalīfatan “I will create a viceregent on earth”, and Sūrat An-Nisā’ 4:58 Wa ‘Idha¯ Ĥakamtum Bayna An-Na¯si ‘An Taĥkumū Bil-`Adli “when you judge among mankind, that you judge with justice.” TK 44 dating to 1234 AH/1819 CE is a decree issued by Pangeran Citra Puspa (Kebul?) di Bukit. The content is simple. He appoints several dipati by giving them seals. This is followed by a curse that those who do not obey the decree shall be struck by calamity whereas those who follow it will be “blessed by the Raja with plentiful of gold and plentiful of rice”. This is the last dated manuscript that was issued in Jambi. In most cases, the manuscripts do not mention the place where they were issued; TK 212 and TK 43 are notable exceptions, but from the name of the author and from the seal, it is clear that most manuscripts were issued in Jambi, but whether the manuscript was issued in Muara Mesumai or in lowland Jambi is in most cases not evident. Unfortunately, TK 44 from 1819 CE does not give any reference to the place where it was issued, but the reference to Pangeran Citra Puspa (Kebul?) di Bukit

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and Pangeran Citra Jaya (Kebul?) di Bukit seems to indicate that it was issued in Muara Mesumai. After this date there is a break as all later dated manuscripts originate from Indrapura on the west coast. These are the manuscripts TK 140 and 141 (1246/1831), TK 88 (1290/1873), and TK 86 and 87 (1305/1888). Besides these five dated manuscripts, there are a number of undated manuscripts (TK 43, 49, 111 and 204) that also originate from Indrapura, and presumably also post-date 1819. TK 140 deserves closer attention as it seems to mark the year where Kerinci ceased to be under Jambi’s authority. The letter begins with the words: “This article is concerned with the relationship of the King of Indrapura with Kerinci”,18 but what follows is more a legendary account of the history of the relationship where initially Indrapura was not aware of the existence of Kerinci until a messenger arrived at the court of Indrapura. The Majesty asked “who are you and where are you from?” He answered: “I am from across the mountain range, from a place called Kurinci, my name is Raja Berkilat […].” The Majesty replied: “Is there a land across the mountain range?” Raja Berkilat said: “Yes, Majesty”. So the Majesty said: “If that is the case, let us take the oath of allegiance so that your land becomes one with my land. […] Who was the one who designed the oath of allegiance? It was Pangeran Kebaru di Bukit who came from Jambi. So there were four people who took the oath: The first was The Majesty Berdarah Putih, the second one was Raja Muda, the third Dipati Rantau Talang, and the fourth Pangeran Kebaru di Bukit. So Kerinci became the winning land, it became the land that is the meeting place between the Sultan of Jambi and the Sultan of Indrapura. If she faces downstreams, Jambi is her suzerain, if she faces west, then the land of Indrapura (shall be her suzerain).19

Based on the manuscripts transliterated by Voorhoeve (1941) in his Tambo Kerintji, it is evident that there were phases of stronger and weaker relations between Jambi and Kerinci, but it is hard to explain that no manuscripts exist that predate the final years of the seventeenth century. This century is remembered in Jambi as its Golden Age when Jambi experienced a period of wealth due to the prospering pepper trade under the long rule of Sultan Agung (1639–79). Economic reasons are unlikely as we know that Kerinci was also involved in the pepper trade (Colombijn 2003, p. 519). Preservational factors are possible, but do not explain the sudden relative abundance of letters dating to the early eighteenth century. Whatever the reason, the silence itself is an indicator that TK 215 was

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probably not written earlier than 1688 CE, which is the date of the first dated manuscript. We can hence cautiously conclude that there is a greater likelihood that TK 215 was written in the late seventeenth or the early eighteenth century. The letters by Kiai Gede, the Sultan of Jambi, and Suta Wijaya, the temenggung of Merangin, testify that the years between 1704 and 1718 fell into a period of intense relations between Jambi and Kerinci. The second period of a stronger involvement of Jambi in the affairs of Kerinci was seen in the 1770s when Pangeran Sukarta Negara tried to regain a foothold in Kerinci. The pangeran (prince), who was likely not the Sultan himself, but another member of the royal family, did not seem to have economic, legal, or diplomatic relationships on his mind. Instead, he urges the Depati of Kerinci to adhere to the Islamic Law. He appeals to the Depati not to solemnize marriages without the approval of the bride’s wali (guardian), and to abandon other traditional customs such as cock fighting, funeral processions accompanied with gun shots and music, mixed-sex dance performances and the consumption of haram food and beverages. The haram beverages the Pangeran had in mind were tuak and arak. Tuak is tapped from different kinds of palm trees and the best comes from the flowers of the sugar palm (arenga pinnata) abundant in Kerinci. The sap is fermented to become an alcoholic beverage which in its distilled form is known as arak. While converting to Islam meant to give up the consumption of pork, which is considered haram (forbidden), the moderate consumption of alcoholic beverages was, and still is, seen by many Muslims as an acceptable practice. The reference to the theft of tuak in TK 215 indicates that the production, and hence the consumption, of palm wine was regarded as a permissible activity. It is thus unlikely that TK 215 dates into Pangeran Sukarta Negara’s reign at the end of the eighteenth century when Islam in Jambi was strongly oriented towards the Sharia. It was at around the midseventeenth century when Europeans began to discern in the Jambi court a greater attention to Islam. The Sultan of Jambi requested from Batavia in 1649 “two or three ‘clean and unbound books with gold margins on which to write his new laws and daily sermons,’ and according to the Dutch ‘these people are presently so religious that the ordinary man is half like a pope and the nobles wholly, like priests’” (Andaya 1993a, p. 67). For said reasons I am inclined to believe that TK 215 is more likely to be contemporaneous with the early eighteenth century letters signed by Suta Wijaya and Kiai Gede.

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Even though there are no letters known to predate the eighteenth century — with the exception of the 1688 letter where the date is questionable, one should, however, not rule out an earlier date. Although it is impossible to determine how much time has passed between the dates when TK 214 and TK 215 were written, the clear differences in the language of the two manuscripts suggest that at least three if not four centuries separate the two manuscripts. We do not know whether an unknown intermediary text linking TK 214 and TK 215 existed. If there were no such intermediary text, then scholars of the eighteenth century must have been able to read the pre-Islamic Malay script. As it is unlikely that a society preserves the knowledge of a script just in order to be able to read one single manuscript, it is likely that more pre-Islamic manuscripts existed in the seventeenth century that were preserved as important sources of knowledge. It is furthermore possible that with the introduction of an Islamic revivalist movement in the late eighteenth century, pre-Islamic texts were no longer regarded as sources of inspiration and hence disappeared with the sole exception of the Tanjung Tanah manuscript TK 214, which was preserved as a sacred heirloom for over 600 years.

Diplomatic Transliteration of tk 215 The text was transliterated for the first time in Tambo Kerintji. The transliteration was then revised first by Eric van Reijn and Uli Kozok, and ultimately by Jan van der Putten from the Malay Studies Department of the National University of Singapore. The transliteration is based on photographic reproductions of the first four pages, and on photocopies for the remaining pages. Unfortunately, the owners “enhanced” the photocopy of the manuscript by adding diacritic vowel signs to the text. These were of course omitted by Dr van der Putten who furnished us with a transliteration which is far more accurate than the one by Abdul Hamid that is included in the Tambo Kerintji. Page 1 Bismillah al-rahman al-rahim ini surat titah pangeran /di/ dalam udang2 kepada segala depati di dalam tanah Kerinci tatkala Raden Temenggung di titahkan duli Pengeran [na’]ik20 Kerinci menatapkan hamba[?] r ra‘yat21 duli pengeran hina dahina maka datang ke Kerinci maka raden temenggung duduk di dalam Sanggaran22 Agung tatkala itulah raden temenggung menyuratkan udang2 ini barang siapa tida mengikut23 seperti kata24 surat25 yang di dalam udang2 akan pakaian segala depati yang di tanah Kerinci ini

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Page 2 inilah bunyinya di dalam udang2 jikalau tiada menurut26 hukum depati /di dalam/27 dendanya dua tahil sepaha /akan dendanya/28 liat terrupanya29 denda itu jika orang berbantah mengamun memaki tiada dilawaninya30 oleh orang31 yang dipemaki32 itu hukum kan tengah tiga amas memeri kepada yang dipemaki itu maka dendanya lima amas jikalau balas dibalas33 datang kepada membayar keras 34 sebelah menyembelah sama jahatnya jikalau sama seorang maka yang melukai35 memeri papas liat ter rupanya36 luka itu didendanya setahil sepaha jikalau Page 3 sudah disapih37 maka ia mulai38 perbantahan atawa ia menda/ta/ng ke rumah maka yang ampunya39 rumah tiada mulai wa/n/40 maka membayari ia pesumangar41 kepada yang ampunya rumah itu jika sedikit orang jika didatangi mengikut kepada yang sedikit jika sedikit orang yang menda/ta/ngi mengikut kepada yang segala kita42 itu hukumnya sepuluh amas kepada seorang adapun akan dendanya setahil sepaha walih43 kepada orang yang menda tangi itu jikalau seorang luka44 seorang mati Page 4 maka luka itu xxxkan bangunnya akan papas orang yang luka itu sekira2 luka itu jika tersapih menda/ta/ngi pula ke rumahnya atau45 memarang tanam-tanaman atau menyiar membakar rumahnya maka dilawaninya46 oleh orang yang ampunya jika mati yang menda/ta/ngi tiadalah47 berbangun jikalau48 [luka?]49 tiada beroleh papas jikalau50 yang dida[ta]ngi itu [mati]51 beroleh baroleh52 bangun jikalau53 luka bero[leh?]54 papas adapun55 dendanya dua tahil56 sepaha jikalau tiada ia mati tiada ia luka57 Page 5 hukumkan separo58 yang dahulu itu jikalau orang disapih orang luka yang menyapih itu beroleh papas jika mati orang yang menyapih beroleh bangun akan dendanya dua tahil sepaha akan dendanya orang yang melukai jikalau orang berbantah dengan perempuan orang hukumnya

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sepuluh amas dendanya setahil59 sepaha /gerak janggal dengan perempuan orang bunuh oleh depati60 karena orang itu ulat bumi kepada Allah tiada diperlakukan/61 jikalau orang berhutang maka digagahnya oleh orang yang ampunya hutang tiada hendak membayar maka ia memeri ta hu kepada depatinya minta62 hukum kepada depatinya Page 6 akan mengeluarkan harta orang itu jikalau tiada ia menurut hukum depati depati yang menarik sekira2 usang63 banyak utangnya itu tahan oleh depati gada amas depati itu adapun sudah terbit amas itu kembalikan kepada orang ampunya amas itu karena orang itu akan dendanya dua ta hil sepaha orang itu melawan hutang jikalau orang dagang diam di rumah orang jika ia kemalingan tiada orang yang ampunnya64 rumah sama kemalingan arta65 Page 7 dindingnya66 pun tiada x terbuka jikalau /ada/ tiada67 terbuka atau lantai terbuka atawa hartanya ada sama hilang jikalau tiada kehilangan dendanya dua68 tahil sepaha jikalau hukum orang berhuma atawa bersawah dalam negeri x-h-p-r negeri69 itu kadang seperti ‘adat70 kadang kerbau itu jika tia/da/ hendak mengxng71 /mengadang/ padinya tiada berbeli jika ada kadangnya itu dimakannya padi /itu/ oleh kerbau di bayar beli72 padi orang itu jika /dimakan/73 yang dimakan/nya/ padi orang itu kembali kepada orang yang ampunya amas jikalau orang Page 8 jika depatinya musyawarat jika tiada ia mau74 berhimpun dendanya setahil sepaha jika ia melawan mengunus senjatanya rampas alah75 segala depati dengan menterinya jika orang maling menycuri76 atawa menyamun himpunkan orang dalam negeri dengan depati yang tujuh jika tia da ia77 hendak mau78 dihukumkan79 oleh segala depati yang tujuh bunuh rampas o leh depati itulah orang sangga bumi jika

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Page 9 menunggu menagih orang berhutang tanyakan pada penghulunya dalam negeri itu jika ia berbantah atau ia mengamun memaki orang itu yang menunggu p-r? p-s-?80 denda nya setahil sepaha amas manakala81 jika orang tandang atawa ber-tah82 orang siang ciwi83 pemaling datang ke negeri kita jika janggal budinya84 suruh ia kembali jika xxx85 tiada hendak kembali bunuh oleh depati Page 10 jika orang datang malam tiada ia berseru atau tiada bersuluh86 bunuh orang itu sangga bumi namanya himpunkan orang dalam negeri sama dengan orang memitan/s memanggil dengan ora/ng/ petanah bunuh oleh depati yang tujuh jika memaling kambing atawa memaling anjing dendanya87 besaja dendanya sepuluh amas harganya kembali kepada yang ampunya jika anjing raja atawa anjing dipa/ti/? Page 11 dendanya setahil sepaha jika tiada ber cina88 atau tiada bertanda digagahinya89 hadu sabung oleh depati akan denda nya dua tahil sepaha akan dendanya jika memaling hayam90 sahaya orang tengah tiga amas akan denda ayam pulang manakala91 jika memaling hayam92 orang baik93 lima amas akan denda tu?94 nya ayam pulang manakala jika memaling ayam raja setahil h95 sepuluh amas akan dendanya ayam pulang Page 12 manakala jika ayam depati anak cucu depati denda sepuluh amas ayam pulang manakala jika memaling terlur96 ayam adendanya97 sepuluh /amas/ akan dendanya jika amemagil98 orang minum makan tiada ia memohon pulang jika l-k ia luka mati tiada berbangun jika luka tiada berpapas jika mahu99 hantar pulang ke rumahnya jika orang memaling tuak di atas atawa bawah akan denda lima amas akan dendanya jika haus minum

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Page 13 serukan tujuh kali sebatah2 berseru jika orang memaling padi sepuluh amas akan dendanya barang siapa pohon sangkat100 akan denda nya /d/ua tahil sepaha jika memaling tebu dipikul101 atawa digalasnya atawa dijujungnya102 lima kupang?103 akan dendanya jika tiada ia mahu104 menebang105 maka hambil daun tebu itu dua puluh helai suruh kapit106 kepadanya helakan?107 oleh orang yang tujuh jika orang memaling hubi Page 14 merah108 kaladi di pohonnya empat puluh hari /empat hari/109 kita perhamba jika /tiada/ ia hendak kita perhamba lima amas akan dendanya jika orang memaling bunga atawa siri pinang dua lapan puluh hari kita perhamba jika tiada mahu110 diperhamba lima amas lima kupang111 akan dendannya112 jika orang memaling padi setahil sepaha akan anda113 jika ma /orng/ /orang?/114 memaling tuba berjujung115 utawa116 hubi lima kupang117 akan dendannya jika tiada Page 15 berjunjung lima amas akan dendannya jika orang memaling telur hitik118 depati tumbuk tujuh tumbuk lima tumbuk orang yang banyak dua tumbuk mukanya dihusab?119 dengan tahi ayam jika tiada ia hendak sepuluh amas akan dendanya jika memaling jerat anjing pisau raut120 sehelai akan dendannya121 lenga setepayan122 akan dendannya jika tiada terhisi123 tengah tiga amas akan dendannya jika orang memaling kain bebat Page 16 baju destar124 kita liat ter/ru/panya sepuluh amas akan dendannya jika memaling besi /bebayah/125 lima amas akan dendannya jika kersani lima amas akan dendannya jika besi meléla baja t-m-p-ng setahil sepaha akan dendannya jika tiada terhisi dibunuh akan dendannya dua tahil sepaha jika orang memaling bubu hampangan tuak sepa rah hudang sedulang pituku seekor ambang126 seekor jikalau tiada terisi?127 sekaliannya

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Page 17 itu sepuluh amas akan dendannya jika memaling takalak128 penjalinnya hiju manau atau rotan lima amas akan dendannya jika penjalinnya akar129 sepuluh amas akan dendannya jika memaling manti langan lima amas akan dendannya jika memaling pukat jala tagala130 segala peka rangan sekaliannya itu lima amas akan de ndannya jika memaling timah akan dendannya Page 18 liat terarupanya131 akan dendannya sepuluh amas akan dendannya jika memakar132 dangau pekarangan atawa da ngan peratun atawa diperusak lima akan dendannya jika berhutang beras padi jagung hanjali dua tahun ketiga jamba beruk jika lebih dua [ta]hun ketiga yang laga lagalannya itu gada jika ora ng menyelang perahu utawa hilang atau pecah Page 19 tiada dipulangkannya133 bayar beli seha rganya jika tiada diselangnya perahu itu liat terrupanya akan dendannya jika lewat daripada janjinya tuak seta payan ayam seekor pemulangannya sebermula barang yang diselang yang menyalang menyalang jika berbatah sebermulau134 lagi biduk pengayuh galah jala135 kajang lantai pelangan itu pun demikian juga harganya Page 20 jika orang tuduh menuduh tiada ber syaqsyi dan? tiada bertanda dan tiada bercina136 maka hadu sabung oleh depa ti jika ia? tiada mahu137 menyabung di?alahkan o leh depati orang itu jika orang mabuk pening memaki mengamun membayar sepat jika ora ng bakarjakan anaknya kawin panggil depati dahulu beserta dengan orang banyak jika dipanggil kemudian depati itu karena /de/pati

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Page 21 akan xx sepat raja dalam negeri membayar sepat kepada depati tuak dua ayam dua kain sehelai yang perolehannya segala menteri yang banyak kepada anak mudanya amas belahan lima amas perolehannya segala menteri dan pemangku yang di bawah depati kemudian daripada itu ada pun hukum yang ditinggal radandan temegung138 di dalam surat undang2 di dalam sagaran agung kepada depati yang banyak jika tiada hendak Page 22 menurut hukum depati dendannya setahil sepaha liat terrupanya jika ia menengahkan139 kawi sengketa barang syuatu hukum depati tiada ia /hendak/ menengar hukum dialah/kan/ oleh depati jika orang memaling tikar140 atawa periuk kita ter? tararupanya karena periuk dangan tikar akan perhia san rumah akan dendannya lima amas jika orang141 sumbang salah mengupas marajang142 memitas143 memagang karena ia /itu/ larangan raja Page 23 dengan depati yang banyak bunuh karena orang itu ulat bumi separti144 orang menyembah berhala a[da]pun kepala yang /mas/145 yang sepaha di dalam undang2 ingatkan /oleh/146 depati seper[ti?] di dalam aw undang itu depati maku bumi wa Allah

Critical Transliteration While van der Putten’s diplomatic transliteration will serve as the base for the comparison of TK 214 and TK 215, some different readings by Abdul Hamid, as well as the clues that TK 214 can provide us with, are also taken into consideration to arrive at the following interpretive or critical transliteration. The spelling system that we adopted for the critical transliteration is based on the standard spelling for Malay. However, in order to make the two manuscripts more comparable, we decided to leave the initial h in the words hubi (13–9, 14–8), and hijuk (17–2), and we also did not correct mengunus (8–3) to menghunus, dua lapan (14–4) to delapan, or kaladi (14–1) to keladi. Some particularities of the spelling were also left

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as they are. They include the fourteen occurrences of atawa ‘or’ that appear besides the standard spelling atau. Other particularities of the spelling were amended to facilitate reading of the text. These include: 1. Schwa is in TK 215 often rendered as a. Standard spelling has been applied for the following words in the critical transliteration: Page and Line

TK 215

Standard Spelling

1–4

menatapkan

menetapkan

19–6

menyalang

menyelang

20–7

bakarjakan

bekerjakan

22–6

dangan

dengan

23–4

separti

seperti

23–5

makubumi

me(ng)kubumi



Initial schwa in the words emas and empunya is in TK 215 always rendered a. All occurrences of amas and ampunya were changed to the standard spelling emas and empunya. 2. Words with initial vowel are often preceded by h. In most cases, we have used the standard spelling omitting the preceding aspirant: udang (16–8), adu (11–3, 20–3), ayam (11–5, 11–7), ambil (13–7), itik (15–2), ter=isi (15–8, 16–5), and anjalai (18–6). 3. Occasionally medial nasals are not written in TK 215. This occurred consistently in the word pampas, and less consistently in the word undang (as in undang-undang). All occurrences of papas and udang were changed to the standard spelling pampas and undang. Medial nasals were also missing in the following words: kandang (7–5, 7–6, 7–7), berantah (9–6), memanggil (12–4), bantah (13–1, 19–6), junjung (13–5, 14-8), ganda (18–8), tempayan (19–4), temenggung (21–7), sanggaran (21–9), and mangkubumi (23–5). 4. Word reduplication (undang-undang) and partial reduplication (sekirakira) are in TK 215 indicated by the number 2. This has been changed to the standard spelling convention where the words are reduplicated using a hyphen linking the two words.

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5. The frequent occurring word dendanya, consisting of the base denda and enclitic -nya, is from page 14, line 6 onwards, and without any apparent reason, consistently spelled with a redundant n: dendannya. The redundant consonant has been deleted in the critical transliteration. 6. All occurrences of manakala were changed to menikal. Although this may seem far-fetched, one has to consider that in the Jawi script, manakala is written with four letters only: m-n-k-l. In the diplomatic transliteration this has to be spelled as manakala. However, a comparison with TK 214 shows that wherever the string m-n-k-l is used in TK 215, we have a parallel reading in TK 214 as either manikal or pulang dua, both meaning ‘to return twofold’. It is hence beyond any doubt that m-n-k-l has to be transliterated as menikal in the critical transliteration. 7. All occurrences of terrupanya, consisting of the prefix ter-, the base rupa, and the suffix -nya, were changed to terupanya (2–2, 16–1, 18–1, 19–3, 22–1, 22–6). 8. Some instances of ancient spellings were also updated, including bersyaqsyi (bersaksi 20–1), na’ik (naik 1–4), and ra’yat (rakyat 1–5), where the hamzah was replaced by k, but most importantly in the following case: with the prefix meN- (where N stands for the nasal that depends on the initial consonant of the base), initial consonants are usually dropped when they are unvoiced (/p/, /t/, /s/, /k/), e.g. menulis/tulis, memilih/pilih. In a few manuscripts, an earlier archaic spelling is preserved where even some initial voiced consonants are dropped. This is found especially often, yet inconsistently, in the Hikayat Aceh (early seventeenth century) and the Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiah (fifteenth century) in words such as memeri (beri), memaca (baca), memunuh (bunuh), and menengar (dengar). In TK 214, we find this ancient spelling in memeri (2–5, 2–8, 5–8), memakar (18–3), and in menengar (22–4). It is interesting to note that, although this ancient spelling is also used in TK 214, there is one instance where TK 214 uses a more “modern” spelling than TK 215, namely in memakar, which in TK 214 is spelled membakar. Besides the changes as outlined above, the text also contains a fairly large number of words where there is either a clear spelling mistake or the word is difficult to read and had to be reconstructed. This concerns the following words:

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1–5 hamba[?] r 1–8 tida 2–7 menyembelah 3–3 m-l-a-y-w-a-/n/ 3–6 k-t 6–3 usang 6–4 gada 8–5 menycuri 9–6 ber-tah 9–8 x-a-x-l 12–3 terlur 12–3 adendanya 12–4 amemagil 14–1 merah 14–4 siri 14–7 anda 14–9 utawa 15–4 dihusab

hamba tiada147 menyebelah melawan kita148 … 149 gadai mencuri berantah ia150 telur dendanya memanggil birah sirih denda atawa dihusap

16–2 16–4 16–8 17–2 17–2 17–7 18–3 18–6 18–8 18–9 19–6 19–6 19–8 21–7 22–3 22–6 23–2

bebayah151 t-m-p-ng pituku takalak hiju mantilangan dangan hanjali laga lagalannya utawa menyalang sebermulau pelangan radandan syuatu dangan separti

bebajan tumpang piuku tengkalak hijuk antilingan dangau anjalai gala-galanya atawa menyelang sebermula pulangan Raden suatu dengan seperti

Concordance of tk 214 and tk 215 and a translation of tk 215152 The following is both a concordance of TK 214 and TK 215, and an attempt to translate TK 215 as much as possible. TK 214 A

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Opening Passage [deleted]

TK 215 (critical transliteration) Opening Passage [1] (p. 1) Bismillah al-rahman al-rahim. Ini surat titah Pangeran di dalam undang-undang kepada segala depati di dalam tanah Kerinci tatkala Raden Temenggung dititahkan duli Pangeran naik Kerinci menetapkan hamba rakyat duli Pangeran hina dahina. Maka datang ke Kerinci maka Raden Temenggung duduk di dalam Sanggaran Agung. Tatkala itulah Raden Temenggung menyuratkan undang-

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TK 214

Jangan tida ida [04] peda dipatinya yang s[a]urang s[a]urang

B

[…] Barang tida ida peda dipati, dua tahil sapaha dandanya.

C

sadang panghulunya bahauman tiada ia manuruni, tiada ia manuruni pahauman, mangada rakah kalahi, didanda satahil sapaha.

D

TK 215 (critical transliteration) undang ini. Barang siapa tiada mengikut seperti kata surat yang di dalam undangundang akan pakaian segala depati yang di tanah Kerinci ini. (p. 2) Inilah bunyinya di dalam undang-undang. [2] Jikalau tiada menurut hukum depati di dalam dendanya dua tahil sepaha akan dendanya liat terupanya denda itu. The corresponding paragraph is [13]

[05] Jaka balawanan kadua sama kadanda kadua. [3] Jika orang berbantah mengamun memaki tiada dilawaninya oleh orang yang dipemaki itu, hukumkan tengah tiga emas memeri kepada yang dipemaki itu, maka dendanya lima emas. [4] Jikalau balas dibalas datang kepada membayar keras sebelah menyebelah sama jahatnya jikalau sama seorang maka yang melukai memeri pampas liat terupanya luka itu didendanya setahil sepaha. [5] Jikalau (p. 3) sudah disapih maka ia mulai perbantahan atawa ia mendatang ke rumah maka yang empunya rumah tiada melawan maka membayari ia pesumangar kepada yang empunya rumah itu. Jika sedikit orang jika didatangi mengikut kepada yang sedikit jika sedikit orang yang mendatangi mengikut kepada yang segala kita itu hukumnya sepuluh emas kepada seorang adapun akan dendanya setahil sepaha walih kepada orang yang mendatangi itu.

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TK 214

TK 215 (critical transliteration) [6] Jikalau seorang luka seorang mati (p. 4) maka luka itu bangunnya akan pampas orang yang luka itu sekira-kira luka itu. [7] Jika tersapih mendatangi pula ke rumahnya atau memarang tanam-tanaman atau menyiar membakar rumahnya, maka dilawaninya oleh orang yang empunya jika mati yang mendatangi tiadalah berbangun jikalau (luka) tiada beroleh pampas: jikalau yang didatangi itu (mati) beroleh bangun jikalau luka beroleh pampas, adapun dendanya dua tahil sepaha; jikalau tiada ia mati tiada ia luka (p. 5) hukumkan separo yang dahulu itu. [8] Jikalau orang disapih orang, luka yang menyapih itu, beroleh pampas, jika mati orang yang menyapih beroleh bangun, akan dendanya dua tahil sepaha akan dendanya orang yang melukai. [9] Jikalau orang berbantah dengan perempuan orang hukumnya sepuluh emas dendanya setahil sepaha. Gerak janggal dengan perempuan orang bunuh oleh depati karena orang itu ulat bumi kepada Allah tiada diperlakukan. [10] Jikalau orang berhutang maka digagahnya oleh orang yang empunya hutang tiada hendak membayar maka ia memeri tahu kepada depatinya minta hukum kepada depatinya (p. 6) akan mengeluarkan harta orang itu; jikalau tiada ia menurut hukum depati, depati yang menarik sekira-kira banyak utangnya itu tahan oleh depati gadai emas depati itu, adapun sudah terbit emas itu kembalikan kepada orang empunya emas itu karena orang itu akan dendanya dua tahil sepaha orang itu melawan hutang.

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TK 214

TK 215 (critical transliteration) [11] Jikalau orang dagang diam di rumah orang jika ia kemalingan tiada orang empunya rumah sama kemalingan (p. 7) dindingnya pun tiada terbuka, jikalau ada terbuka atau lantainya terbuka atawa hartanya ada sama hilang jikalau tiada kehilangan dendanya dua tahil sepaha. [12] Jikalau hukum orang berhuma atawa bersawah dalam negeri itu kandang seperti adat kandang kerbau itu jika tiada hendak mengandang padinya tiada berbeli jika ada kandangnya itu dimakannya padi itu oleh kerbau dibayar beli padi orang itu jika yang dimakannya padi orang itu kembali kepada orang yang empunya emas.

E

Punarapi jaka mangenakan judi jahi, yang adu m[aka] danda satahil sapaha, yang bajudi kadanda satahil sapaha s[a]urang s[a]urang, gegah rabuti rampasi malawan mangunus keris […] tumbak bunuh; mati bala[nya] […] [06] dusun urang dunungan [b]erati maling manyamun diangkatkan urang managih marusak rumah urang maling rusuh cengkal itu pabenuakan, senggabumikan bunuh anaknya terenyata panjing ka dalam saparu lawan dipati, yang dunungannya didanda dua tahil sapaha.

[13] Jikalau orang (p. 8) jika depatinya musyawarat jika tiada ia mau berhimpun dendanya setahil sepaha; jika ia melawan mengunus senjatanya rampas alah segala depati dengan menterinya. [14] Jika orang maling mencuri atawa menyamun himpunkan orang di dalam negeri dengan depati yang tujuh; jika tiada ia hendak mau dihukumkan oleh segala depati yang tujuh bunuh rampas oleh depati itulah orang sanggabumi.

[15] Jika (p. 9) menunggu managih orang berhutang tanyakan pada penghulunya dalam negeri itu; jika ia berbantah atau ia mengamun memaki orang itu yang menunggu … dendanya setahil sepaha emas menikal.

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TK 214

TK 215 (critical transliteration) [16] Jika orang tandang atawa berantah orang siang juko pemaling datang ke negeri kita jika janggal budinya suruh ia kembali, jika ia tiada hendak kembali bunuh oleh depati.

F

[07] Punarapi jaka urang mamagat paucap urang dipiraknya ulih urang-urang yang mamagat, didanda satahil [sa]paha.

G

Punarapi barang mangubah sukatan gantang cupak, katian, kundir bungkal pihayu didanda satahil sa[pa]ha.

H

Barang manunggu urang tida ta amit [08] peda panghulunya urang yang ditunggu mangadakan renyah baribin didanda satahil sapaha, yang manyuruh puan sama danda … [ba]rang mamagang urang tandang bartah mahulukan judi jadi sabung maling, barang mamagang didanda satahil sa[09]paha.

I

Barang urang naik ka rumah urang tida ia barseru barekuat barsuluh, bunuh senggabumikan salah ta ulih mamunuh senggabumikan ulih dipati barampat suku, sabusuk mamunuh sabusuk tida [10] mamunuh.

[17] (p. 10) Jika orang datang malam tiada ia berseru atau tiada bersuluh bunuh orang itu sanggabumi namanya himpunkan orang dalam negeri sama dengan orang memitas memanggil dengan orang petanah bunuh oleh depati yang tujuh.

J

Maling kambing, maling babi danda sapuluh mas. Maling anjing lima mas, anjing basaja, maling anjing

[18] Jika memaling kambing atawa memaling anjing besaja dendanya sepuluh emas harganya kembali kepada yang empunya; jika anjing raja atawa anjing

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TK 214

TK 215 (critical transliteration)

mau sapuluh mas anjing dipati puan sakian. Anjing raja satahil sapaha.

depati (p. 11) dendanya setahil sepaha; jika tiada bercina atau tiada bertanda digagahinya adu sabung oleh depati akan dendanya dua tahil sepaha akan dendanya.

K

Maling hayam sahaya urang, [11] bagi [esa] pulang dua. Hayam benua s[a]ikur pulang tiga. Hayam kutera bagi s[a]ikur pulang lima. Hayam dipati, ayam anak cucu dipati bagi saiku[r] pulang tujuh. Hayam raja bagi [e]sa pulang dua kali tujuh. Hayam benua lim[a] [12] kupang, hayam pulang manikal. Hayam gutera tengah tiga mas. Hayam anak cucu dipati hayam dipati lima mas. Hayam raja sapuluh mas.

[19] Jika memaling ayam sahaya orang tengah tiga emas akan denda ayam pulang menikal. [20] Jika memaling ayam orang banyak lima emas akan dendanya ayam pulang menikal. [21] Jika memaling ayam raja setahil sepuluh emas akan dendanya ayam pulang (p. 12) menikal. [22] Jika ayam depati anak cucu depati denda sepuluh emas ayam pulang menikal. [23] Jika memaling telur ayam dendanya sepuluh emas akan dendanya.

L

Barang mangiwat urang, dandanya satahil sapaha, urang pulang sarupanya. [13] Jaka urang tandang bajalan basaja bawa minum makan lalukan. Barang siapa urang mambawa atnya panjalak pasuguhi hantar tati dusun, pakamitkan ulih urang punya dusun.

[24] Jika memanggil orang minum makan tiada ia memohon pulang jika ia luka mati tiada berbangun luka tiada berpampas; jika mahu hantar pulang ke rumahnya.

M

Maling tuak di datas di bawah, didanda lima mas.

[25] Jika orang memaling tuak di atas atawa bawah akan denda lima emas akan dendanya; jika haus minum (p. 13) serukan tujuh kali sebantah-bantah berseru.

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TK 214

TK 215 (critical transliteration) [26] see [31] [27] Barang siapa pohon sangkat akan dendanya dua tahil sepaha.

N

[14] Maling bubu, bubu ditimbuni [..] padi sipanuhnya, jaka tida tarisi [..] lima mas dandanya.

O

Barang ma[ng]uba[h] pancawida, didanda lima tahil sapaha.

P

Barang bahilang urang mata kareja yang purewa, sakati lima dandanya.

Q

Barang siapa ba[15]rebunyi dusa sangkita, danda dua tahil sapaha.

R

Maling tebu dipikul dijujung digalas, lima kupang dandanya. Jaka dimakan dipahalunya tanamannya tanamkan […] sabatang di kiri sabatang di kanan dikapit, digenggam sabatang di kiri [16] sabatang di kanan dibawa pulang tida dusanya makan tebu itu[.]

[28] Jika memaling tebu dipikul atau digalasnya atawa dijunjungnya lima kupang akan dendanya; jika tiada ia mahu menebang maka ambil daun tebu itu dua puluh helai suruh kapit kepadanya helakan oleh orang yang tujuh.

S

Maling birah, kaladi, hubi, tuba dipahamba dua puluh dua lapan hari, tida handak dipahamba, lima mas dandanya.

[29] Jika orang memaling hubi (p. 14) birah kaladi di pohonnya empat puluh hari kita perhamba; jika tiada ia hendak kita perhamba lima emas akan dendanya.

T

Maling bunga sirih pinang urang atawa sasanginya, dua puluh dua lapan [h]a[17]ri dipahamba, tida handak dipahamba lima mas dandanya.

[30] Jika orang memaling bunga atawa sirih pinang dua lapan puluh hari kita perhamba jika tiada mahu diperhamba lima emas lima kupang akan dendannya.

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TK 214

TK 215 (critical transliteration)

U

Maling padi satahil sapaha dandanya.

[26] Jika orang memaling padi sepuluh emas akan dendanya. [31] Jika orang memaling padi setahil sepaha akan dendanya.

V

Maling hubi bajunjungan lima kupang, yang tida bajunjungan lima mas dandanya.

[32] Jika orang memaling tuba berjunjung atawa hubi lima kupang akan dendanya jika tiada (p. 15) berjunjung lima emas akan dendanya.

W

Mali[ng] telur hayam, itik perapati ditumbuk tujuh tumbuk lima tumbuk urang ma[18]nangahi, dua tumbuk tuhannya mukanya dihusap dangan tahi hayam tida tarisi sakian tengah tiga mas dandanya.

[33] Jika orang memaling telur itik depati tumbuk tujuh tumbuk, lima tumbuk orang yang banyak, dua tumbuk, mukanya dihusap dengan tahi ayam, jika tiada ia hendak, sepuluh emas akan dendanya.

X

Maling isi jerat, anjing s[a]ikur ia piso raut sahalai, dandanya.

[34] Jika memaling jerat anjing pisau raut sehelai akan dendanya,

Y

Maling pulut isi pulut, lenga satapayan dandanya, tida tarisi, tengah tiga [19] mas dandanya.

[35] lenga setepayan akan dendanya, jika tiada terhisi tengah tiga emas akan dendanya.

Z

Maling kain, babat baju distar pari rupanya, sapuluh mas dandanya.

[36] Jika orang memaling kain bebat (p. 16) baju destar kita liat terupanya sepuluh emas akan dendanya.

AA

Maling basi babajan lima mas dandanya.

[37] Jika memaling besi bebajan lima emas akan dendanya.

AB

Maling kuraysani lima mas,

[38] Jika kersani lima emas akan dendanya.

AC

malila, baja tupang, sapuluh mas dandanya, tida tarisi dibunuh.

[39] Jika besi meléla baja tumpang setahil sepaha akan dendanya. Jika tiada terhisi dibunuh akan dendanya dua tahil sepaha.

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TK 214

TK 215 (critical transliteration)

AD

Urang maru[20]gul sidandanya.

AE

Urang maragang dua tahil sapaha, tida tarisi sakian dibunuh.

AF

Maling hampangan tuak saparah udang sadulang biyuku s[a]ikur babi hutan s[a]ikurnya, tida tarisi sakian sapuluh mas dandanya.

[40] Jika orang memaling bubu hampangan, tuak separah, udang sedulang, piuku seekor, ambang seekor, jikalau tiada terisi sekaliannya (p. 17) itu, sepuluh emas akan dendanya.

AG

Maling takalak panyali[21]n hijuk, lima kupang, panyalin mano, rutan lima mas, panyalin akar sapuluh mas.

[41] Jika memaling takalak penjalinnya hijuk manau atau rotan, lima emas akan dendanya, jika penjalinnya akar sepuluh emas akan dendanya.

AH

Maling antilingan lima mas.

[42] Jika memaling antilingan, lima emas akan dendanya.

AI

Maling pukat jala, tengkul, pasap, telai, giterang, lima mas dandanya[.]

[43] Jika memaling pukat jala tengkul segala pekarangan, sekaliannya itu lima emas akan dendanya. [44] Jika memaling timah akan dendanya (p. 18) liat terupanya akan dendanya sepuluh emas akan dendanya.

AJ

Mambakar dango, babinasa dangu paka[22]rangan urang, babinasa tal-taloy, panaloyan urang, hatap dinding lantai rango, lima mas dandanya.

AK

Punarapi jaka bahutang mas pirak riti rancung kangsa tambaga, si-lamanya batiga puhun[,] singgan sapaha naik mas manikal.

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[45] Jika membakar dangau pekarangan atawa dangan peratun atawa diperusak, lima akan dendanya.

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TK 215 (critical transliteration)

AL

Jaka bahutang beras padi, jawa, ja[23]gung, hanjalai, dua tahun katiga jamba beruk, labih dua tahun katiga hinggannya manikal.

[46] Jika berhutang beras padi jagung hanjalai, dua tahun ketiga jamba beruk, jika lebih dua (ta)hun ketiga yang galagalanya itu ganda.

AM

Punarapi jaka urang mambawa parahu [u]rang, tida diselangnya, hilang pacah binasa, dua mas dandanya. Jaka ia diselang [pasang?], hilang ta ia pacah binasa saraga[24]nya bayir bali, jaka tida silihi sarupanya. Tida […] yang […] liwat dari janjang, tuak satapayan hayam s[a]ikur kapulangannya.

[47] Jika orang menyelang perahu atawa hilang atawa pecah (p. 19) tiada di­pulang­ kannya bayar beli seharganya, jika tiada diselangnya perahu itu liat terupanya akan dendanya, jika lewat daripada janjinya, tuak setempayan, ayam seekor pemulang­ an­nya.

AN

Biduk pangayuh galah, kajang lantay pulangan, itu puan sakian raknanya.

[48] Sebermula barang yang diselang yang menyelang menyelang jika berbantah seber­mula lagi biduk pengayuh galah jala kajang lantai pulangan, itu pun demikian juga harga­nya.

AO

Punarapi jaka urang [25] tuduh-manuduh, tida saksinya, tida cina tandanya, adu sabung, barang tida handak sabung dialahkan.

[49] (p. 20) Jika orang tuduh-menuduh tiada bersaksi dan tiada bertanda dan tiada bercina maka adu sabung oleh depati jika ia tiada mahu menyabung dialahkan oleh depati orang itu.

AP

Punarapi jaka urang mabuk pening salah langkah salah kata salah kakapan, mambayir sapat sicara purewa.

[50] Jika orang mabuk pening memaki mengamun membayar sepat.

AQ

Punarapi jaka urang ba[26]dusa sangkita hiram telihnya, belum ta suda peda d[ip]ati, dapatan ta ulih jajanang, kena danda samu

[51] Jika orang bakarjakan anaknya kawin panggil depati dahulu beserta dengan orang banyak jika dipanggil kemudian depati itu karena depati (p. 21) akan sepat raja dalam negeri membayar

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 215

TK 214 […] wan dua kali sapaha, sapaha ka dalam, sapaha peda jajanang lawan dipati.

TK 215 (critical transliteration) sepat kepada depati tuak dua ayam dua kain sehelai. Yang perolehannya segala menteri yang banyak kepada anak mudanya emas belahan lima emas perolehannya segala menteri dan pemangku yang di bawah depati. [52] Kemudian daripada itu adapun hukum yang ditinggal Raden Temenggung di dalam surat undang-undang di dalam Sanggaran Agung kepada depati yang banyak jika tiada hendak (p. 22) menurut hukum depati dendanya setahil sepaha liat terupanya. Jika ia menengahkan kawi sengketa barang suatu hukum depati, tiada ia hendak mendengar hukum, dialahkan oleh depati. [53] Jika orang memaling tikar atawa periuk kancah153 terupanya karena periuk dengan tikar akan perhiasan rumah akan dendanya lima emas. [54] Jika orang sumbang salah mengupas merajang memitas memagang karena ia itu larangan raja (p. 23) dengan depati yang banyak bunuh karena orang itu ulat bumi seperti orang menyembah berhala. Adapun kepala yang mas yang sepaha di dalam undang-undang ingatkan oleh depati seperti di dalam undangundang itu depati mangkubumi wa Allah.

AR

Dipagat ulih manteri muda di luar hinggan tengah tiga [27] mas tida jajanang dipati barulih.

AS

Jaka baralahan lima mas samas parulihan dipati.

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TK 214 AT

Hinggan sapuluh mas ka datas batahilan, dua mas parulihan dipati.

AU

Punarapi peda benua. Peda sahaya, sapuluh tengah tiga mas sipatannya, sapu[28]luh mas peda di[pa]ti tengah tiga mas peda urang punya anak.

AV

Benua[.] Jaka ia bapungu[tka]n hanaknya, dipati dipenggil dahulu bakareja peda dipati, jaka dipati kudian ulih bakajakan hanak didusakan[.]

TK 215 (critical transliteration)

[deleted]

After the short introductory passage, TK 215 states in Paragraph 2 that “those who do not obey the laws of the Depati shall be fined 2.25 tael.” This corresponds with Paragraph B of TK 214, which postulates the same fine for disobedience to the Depati. The following paragraphs (3–12) deal with a variety of offences, many of them including acts of violence. These ten paragraphs are new additions and show no correspondence with any passage in TK 214. Some of them are so obscure that we made no attempt to provide a translation. Paragraph 3: “When a person quarrels, curses and insults, and is not challenged by the person reviled, then (the offender) has to compensate the latter by paying him 2.5 mace, and the fine shall be five mace.” Verbally abusing a person is a serious offence in the UUM: “If a slave abuses a free man, he shall be pummeled or have his teeth extracted” (Liaw 1976, pp. 249–51). In a South Sumatran law book, it is stated that “If a person curses, or uses offensive language, or ill-behaves, he shall be fined up to 12 ringgit”,154 and in the Magindanao Code of Laws Article XII, it states: “If a person curses or abuses another person without cause, he shall be fined not more than three cuspidors” (Saleeby 1905, p. 68). Paragraphs 4–8 are difficult to understand but they deal mainly with acts of violence. Paragraph 4 stipulates that a compensation (pampas) of

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1.25 tael shall be paid by the person who injures another in a “violent tit for tat (?)” (balas dibalas datang kepada membayar keras), where both parties are equally aggressive (?). Paragraphs 5–8 are concerned with fights where the opponents were separated but one of the two continues to assault the other or the person who separated them. Paragraph 5 stipulates that when one of the separated opponents starts a quarrel or goes to his rival’s house, but is not challenged by him, then the offender has to pay the owner of the house a pesumangar (the meaning of this word is entirely obscure). The rest of the paragraph is equally opaque apart from mentioning a hukum (in this context, hukum may relate to a compensation that has to be paid to the victim) of ten mace, and a fine of 1.25 tael. Paragraph 6 begins with “if a person is injured, a person is killed”. The remainder of this short paragraph deals with bangun (compensation for killing someone) and pampas (compensation for injuring a person), but the sentence seems to be incomplete. The last words akan pampas orang yang luka itu sekira-kira luka itu could mean: “the compensation for someone who has been injured shall be fixed in accordance with the severity of the injury”. Paragraph 7 deals again with a person who was involved in a fight where the opponents were separated. If one of the antagonists goes to his opponent’s house and slashes his plants or sets fire to his house, and is then killed by the owner of the house, then the latter does not have to pay a compensation (bangun) for the death of the attacker. If the attacker is injured, no compensation has to be paid either. When the person who is confronted (at his property) is injured or killed, a compensation (pampas, bangun) has to be paid with a fine of 2.25 tael. If he is not injured or killed, then the fine is only half of that amount. The translation as “half of that amount” is only correct if the word is indeed separo. Van der Putten has suggested that the word could also be read as seperti with an omitted t. In this case, the translation would be: “If he is not injured or killed, then the punishment shall be as it was before.” Paragraph 8: “When people are separated, and the person who separates [the opponents] is injured he is entitled to a compensation ( pampas). When the person who separates [the opponents] is killed a bangun has to be paid, and the person who injures him has to pay a fine of 2.25 tael.”

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Paragraph 9: “If a person quarrels with another person’s wife, he shall be fined 1.25 tael. If someone has illicit sexual intercourse (?) with another person’s wife, he shall be killed by the Depati because he is an abomination in the face of God.” Although the precise meaning is unclear it seems to be evident that gerak janggal,155 which may loosely be translated as ‘improper movement’, refers to some kind of inappropriate sexual behaviour, or an illicit sexual relationship (the same offence is also dealt with in Paragraph 54). Paragraph 10: The following is a tentative translation of this paragraph: If someone owes someone else a debt and the person who lent him the money commits acts of violence against the debtor because he (the debtor) fails to pay, then he (the debtor) shall inform the Depati expecting him to rule (minta hukum)156 that the attacker’s goods shall be taken from him. If he (the attacker) does not follow the Depati’s ruling, he (the Depati) shall take from him approximately the equivalent of the money owed to him (the lender) to be kept by the Depati as a pawn157 (security), but once the money is paid back, the Depati shall return the goods to the money lender. He shall be fined 2.25 because his altercation was caused by the outstanding debt (?).

We have translated gagahi here as ‘to commit an act of violence’. The basic meaning of gagahi is ‘to use force’, and in the UUM it is also used for ‘trespassing’ and ‘violating (the rights) of s.o.’ (Liaw 1976, pp. 878, 893). Paragraph 11: A fine of 2.25 tael shall be paid by someone who hosts a foreigner whose property is stolen although there is no evidence of burglary. This apparently implies that the host is guilty by either having committed the offence himself, or by facilitating the offence through negligence:158 When a stranger stays in someone’s house and his (the stranger’s) belongings are stolen, although the owner of the house did not loose anything, without there being any evidence of burglary either through the walls or floor. If there is a sign of burglary through the walls or floor, and both host and guest have lost property (then no fine is imposed), but if he has not lost anything, then he shall pay 2.25 tael.

Paragraph 12: This paragraph is very difficult to understand, but regulations regarding domesticated animals damaging crop are commonplace in Malay law books (cf. Wilkinson 1908, p. 35). In some law books it is stipulated that buffaloes, cattle, and goats have to be put into stalls and that those who fail to comply shall be fined.159 The Pahang laws

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determine that the animal owner must compensate the owner of the land for damaged crop if the damage occurs while the animals are driven out or dragged. If an animal destroys crop at night-time the owner of the animal has to pay compensation,160 but if the damage occurs during daytime, then no compensation is required. This is because it is the duty of the animal owner to ensure that animals are confined at night-time, whereas land owners shall fence their fields to prevent animals from causing damage to the crop (Kempe; Winstedt 1948, p. 18). Article 22.2 of the UUM also emphasizes the land owner’s obligation: Concerning a piece of land under cultivation: if other people have fenced (the land) except one person who fails to do so, and the rice-crops are eaten by pigs or buffaloes, he (the person who was negligent) has to restore the others’ rice-crops (damaged) through his negligence, as he did not fence his piece of land (Liaw 1976, pp. 972–75).161

Assuming that kandang ‘pen, stable’ in Par. 6 has the meaning of pagar ‘fence’, which is occasionally the case (Liaw Yock Fang, personal communication, 1 December 2007), one can arrive at the following tentative translation: Jikalau hukum orang berhuma atawa bersawah dalam negeri itu… ‘Concerning the regulation of people involved in wet- and dry-field farming…’ kandang seperti adat kandang kerbau itu… ‘fences, such as it is the custom with buffalo byres (here kandang seems not to mean ‘fence’)…’ jika tiada hendak mengandang padinya, tiada berbeli… ‘if someone fails to fence his paddy (field), no compensation has to be paid…’ jika ada kandangnya itu dimakannya padi itu oleh kerbau dibayar beli padi orang itu… ‘if (the paddy field) was fenced, and the rice eaten by a buffalo, compensation has to be paid to that person…’ jika yang dimakannya padi orang itu kembali kepada orang yang empunya emas ‘if the rice that was eaten belonged to that person, it (?) has to be returned (?) to the money-owner’. The first part of Paragraph 13 corresponds to Par. C of TK 214: Jikalau orang jika depatinya musyawarat jika tiada ia mau berhimpun dendanya setahil sepaha. “When the Depati calls a community meeting, and a person does not attend, he shall be fined one tael and a quarter.” The remaining sentence of Par. 13 can be tentatively translated as “When he resists by drawing a weapon it shall be seized and he shall be defeated by all the Depati and the Ministers.” This passage corresponds to Par. E malawan mangunus keris “(when he) resists by drawing a creese”, but seems to be out of place here. Like Paragraph 14 it contains elements of Par. E, but there is no semantic correspondence. The word rampas in

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Par. 13 corresponds to rampasi in Par. E, although the precise meaning of the word, which usually means “to seize, rob”, is not entirely clear in the particular contexts of these text passages. The corresponding elements in Paragraph 14 are limited to the words maling, rampas, and sanggabumi. It appears as if the writer of TK 215 was inspired by the text of Par. E, but was unable to make sense of the sentence. The tentative translation for Par. 14 is: “When someone steals or robs, then the people of the community shall convene with the seven Depati. If he resists the sentence, he shall be killed and (his goods) seized because he is a sanggabumi.” Sanggabumi, also written sangga bumi, consists of sangga (to support, prop, sustain, shield) and bumi (earth). It appears in several meanings: 1. Sangga Bumi is used as a Javanese title in the same way as the synonymous Sangga Buana (supporter of the earth). In his book about the power of the Javanese weapons, especially the kris, Darmosoegito (1989) mentions a genealogy of legendary kris makers forging daggers from steal with the heath of their breath and with their naked hands. Among them is a certain Kiai Sanggabumi. He is reported to have left Java to teach the art of kris making among the Minangkabau of West Sumatra. 2. In the Hikayat Amir Hamzah (1987) and the Surat al-Anbiya (Hamdan Hassan 1992),162 a persangga bumi or simply a persangga, is a unit of itinerant distance. In Mohd. Yusof ’s (1989) anthology of Malay legends, it appears as sangga bumi: Hatta maka beberapa sangga bumi jauhnya baginda itu berjalan ‘After he had wandered for several sangga bumi’. From this occurrence, it is evident that persangga is erroneously perceived as a derivative of sangga with nominal prefix per-. In fact it is not related to the Malay verb sangga (support), but is a loan word from Persian (parasang), a measure of distance which, in the Malay world, has a length of approximately 5.5 kilometres. 3. According to Purwadi’s “Encyclopedia of Javanese Customs” (2007, p. 72), sangga bumi is a euphemism for the Javanese word sikil (foot), and hence closely related to the first meaning. In TK 215, sanggabumi always occurs as a noun or adjective, and refers to a person: Par. 14 …  bunuh rampas oleh depati itulah orang sanggabumi. (He shall be) killed and seized by the Depati for he is a sanggabumi person.

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Par. 17 …  bunuh orang itu sanggabumi namanya. The person shall be killed for he is called a sanggabumi. From the context, it is evident that sanggabumi is not used here in the meaning “supporter of/supported by the world”, but more likely related to meaning No. 3 (foot) as the lowest of all body parts, and could have been used in a meaning similar to ulat bumi (earthworm) in TK 215, Par. 9. In TK 214, sanggabumi is always used as a verb with the causative suffix -kan in combination with bunuh (kill): senggabumikan bunuh anaknya (Par. E) and mamunuh senggabumikan ulih dipati barampat suku (Par. I). The only known reference to sanggabumi as a verb is in the Javanese tale entitled Serat Sastramiruda (Sudibyo and Kamajaya 1981, p. 57), where sangga appears as a passive verb with bumi as agent: “Meskipun banyak ciptaan Dewa yang disangga bumi, dinaungi angkasa, diapit samudera raya, banyaklah yang anggana raras, yang indah megah, namun tak ada yang seperti negeri Wiratha.” (Even though there are many [countries] created by the Gods that are supported by the earth, shaded by the heavens, wedged by oceans, many of them being anggana raras, beautiful and glorious, but none is like the country of Wiratha.) Yet again, the context of TK 214 does not allow for an interpretation as “supporter of the world”, and the meaning of senggabumiken must hence remain opaque. Paragraph 15: “If (someone) requests payment for a debt (menunggu menagih),163 he shall consult the community head (penghulu); when he (the debtor) quarrels or curses and insults the creditor …, then the fine is 1.25 tael, (and) mace/gold in twofold.” The last two words (emas menikal) are somewhat puzzling. Usually emas is used as a measurement of weight, but no amount has been given here so I assume that the meaning is “gold”. This may refer to the amount of money (gold) that the debtor owes. It appears as if he has to pay back twice the amount that he owes to the creditor. Paragraph 16 is difficult to understand mainly due to the uncertainties in the meaning of ber-tah, which we tentatively render as berantah “unknown”, siang ciwi, and janggal budinya. Abdul Hamid transliterated ciwi as juko. Juko could be joga in Minangkabau Malay “person of a disorderly behaviour, gambler, thief, robber”. Although the two words seem to be quite different, the spelling in Jawi script is almost the same except for one additional dot in juko. However, this does not explain siang “daylight”, and hence the translation of siang juko as “crook” is tentative. While tandang simply means “travel”, Wilkinson remarks that it has “bad associations as the ancient Malays did not travel for pleasure and

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looked with suspicion on gentlemen of the road (orang tandang desa)” (Wilkinson 1959, p. 1164). Janggal budinya also poses a problem as the two words, budi “qualities of mind and heart” and janggal 164 “inharmonious”, normally do not go together, but the translation as “improper behaviour” does fit the context: “When travellers, strangers, crooks or thieves comes to our community, when they behave improperly we order them to leave, if they refuses to leave, they shall be killed by the Depati.” The remaining paragraphs of TK 215 (17–51) show a very strong correspondence with TK 214, occasionally resulting in sentences that almost literally match a corresponding item in TK 214. Paragraph 17 corresponds with Par. I. In TK 214, it is only implied that the person who “enters a person’s house without announcing himself, without waving a torch” does this during night-time. This is made explicit in TK 215: “If a person comes at night-time without announcing himself, without waving a torch, he (may be) killed, which/he is called sanggabumi. Summon the people of the community and the memitas people, call them together with the land owners. (The offender) shall then be killed by the seven Depati.” From a grammatical point of view this appears to be a correct sentence, which is obscured by memitas (meaning unknown) and petanah. The latter is derived from tanah ‘land’, but usually does not take the prefix pe-. While the translation as “land owner” is possible, it could also translate as “a person who works the land; farmer”. Memitas appears to be a verb, possibly derived from pintas (memintas, to take a short cut), and hence it is unlikely that it is an adjective complementing orang. Furthermore, memanggil ‘to call’ is not usually followed by dengan. Considering that the phrase dengan orang appears twice, it is possible that the scribe started to write memitas memanggil, but then, rather than completing the sentence, continued with dengan orang. The sentence indeed makes more sense when the words memitas memanggil are omitted: “Summon the people of the community and the land owners/farmers.” In comparison with the corresponding Par. I of TK 214, the writer of TK 215 made one significant change in that he rendered dipati barampat suku (the depati of the four tribes) as depati yang tujuh (the seven Depati), which to him was apparently a known institution.165 The first part of Paragraph 18 corresponds clearly with paragraph J of TK 214. The three sentences in TK 214 were replaced by two sentences (in the transliteration separated by semicolons).

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“If (a person) steals a goat or a dog of a commoner the fine is ten mace and the owner of the stolen animal shall receive the equivalent value (of the stolen animal); the fine for a dog of the Raja or a Depati is 1.25 tael.” Besides goats and dogs, TK 214 also refers to the theft of pigs. The reference to the animal of the genus Sus has, for obvious reasons, been omitted in TK 215. Whereas TK 214 has a varied fine schedule for the theft of an anjing basaja “ordinary dog” (5 mace), a mawu dog or a Depati’s dog (10 mace), and a dog belonging to the Raja (1.25 tael), TK 215 only refers to the theft of an anjing besaja (10 mace) and a dog belonging either to a Depati or the Raja (1.25 tael). The status of the Depati versus the Raja has hence been elevated in that there is one equal fine (the theft of a chicken of a Raja and of a Depati also carried the same fine of 10 mace in Par. 21, but the fine for the theft of a chicken of the Raja was then raised to one tael). The term basaja (or besaja) “ordinary” is of particular interest since in combination with anjing “dog”, it can mean either “an ordinary dog” or “a dog of an ordinary person (commoner)”. The latter is, however, rather unlikely since one would expect anjing orang besaja to refer to “a dog of an ordinary person”. Furthermore, TK 215 refers to commoners not as orang besaja, but rather as orang banyak, and in TK 214 the term orang banua “people of the community” is used to denote commoners. In TK 215, however, anjing besaja seems to refer to dogs of commoners as opposed to the Depati and the King. Here, the scribe seems to have borrowed rather uncritically the form basaja from TK 214. The writer has also slightly changed the regulation in that he added that besides paying the fine, the offender has to also “return the equivalent value of the stolen animal to its owner” (harganya kembali kepada yang empunya). The second part of Par. 18 jika tiada bercina atau tiada bertanda digagahinya adu sabung oleh depati akan dendanya dua tahil sepaha akan dendanya “when there is no corpus delicti or evidence then the Depati will force him to a match, and the fine is 2.25 tael” is a new addition, containing elements that have been borrowed from Par. AO of TK 214 (tida cina tandanya, adu sabung). The combination of adu ‘match, contest’ and sabung ‘cock fight’ is unusual. It is likely that the accuser’s guilt or innocence is proven by an ordeal that takes the form of either a duel between two animals (adu) — typically doves, rams, or bulls — or of a cockfight (sabung), the result of which is regarded as a divine or preternatural judgment. Paragraphs 19–23 correspond with Par. K in TK 214. However, a true correspondence is only given in four cases: the theft of chicken of (a) a slave, (b) a commoner, (c) a raja, and (d) a depati, his children and

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grand­children. Here, the correspondence is almost perfect, but the system employed in TK 214 is more elaborate in that the punishment can consist of either returning the item in multiple quantities, or in paying a fine (for the theft of a commoner’s chicken, the alternative is either in returning three chickens for each stolen chicken, or returning two chickens plus a fine of 5 kupang). As shown in Table 5.1, the fines in TK 215 are much more severe, although a direct comparison is difficult for it does not take into account the possibility that the gold weight for one kupang (k), mace (m), or tael (t), may have changed from the fourteenth to the eighteenth century. It is also evident that the title of a gutra had disappeared when TK 215 was compiled. Par. 23 also mentions the theft of chicken eggs, which carries a fine of 10 mace. Paragraph 19: “The theft of the chicken of a slave carries a fine of 2½ tael. For each chicken (stolen) return two.” Paragraph 20: “The theft of the chicken of a commoner carries a fine of 5 mace. For each chicken (stolen) return two.” Paragraph 21: “The theft of the chicken of a Raja carries a fine of 1 tael. For each chicken (stolen) return two.” Paragraph 22: “The (theft of the) chicken of a Depati carries a fine of 10 mace. For each chicken (stolen) return two.” Paragraph 23: “The theft of chicken eggs carries a fine of 10 mace.” Table 5.1 Fines for the Theft of a Chicken in TK 214 and TK 215 TK 214 Theft of a Chicken of a 1. Slave 2. Commoner 3. Gutra (nobleman) 4. Dipati, his children and grandchildren 5. Raja

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TK 215

Return

Fine

Return

Fine

2× 3× 2× 5× ∅ 7× ∅ 2×7 ∅

∅ ∅ 5k ∅ 2½ m ∅  5 m ∅ 10 m

2×

2.5 m

—

—

2×

10 m

2×

1t

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Paragraph 24 corresponds vaguely with the second sentence of Par. L in that both paragraphs contain the verbs makan “eat” and minum “drink”, but the meaning is entirely different. One word of Par. 24 was apparently difficult to decipher and has been transliterated by Abdul Hamid as “luka (lari?)”, whereas van der Putten reads “luka mati”. It appears as if the scribe intended to write luka tiada berpampas, but then realized that the phrase beginning with luka should have come after the phrase mati tiada berbangun. If we treat luka as a mistakenly inserted word, then the sentence becomes grammatically correct: “When a person is invited to eat and drink, and he does not ask for permission to leave, when he is killed no blood money needs to be paid, when he is injured, no compensation has to be paid either. If he wishes so, escort him home.” The host cannot be held responsible for the well-being of his guest if the guest leaves his house without asking for permission to leave as it is customary prescribed. A similar regulation is found in the Undang-undang Sembilan Puluh Sembilan from Perak where article 19 states that the guest shall notify the host each time he leaves the house, and that if he does so, the host will be held responsible if the guest’s belongings are stolen or if he dies (Sham and Salim 1995, p. 157). Paragraph 25 corresponds with Par. M: “When a person steals toddy166 in the tree or below the fine is five mace.” The second part of the paragraph is a new addition: “When he is thirsty and drinks (the toddy), he has to call out seven times as strong as he can.” The last phrase “as strong as he can” is a rather free translation. Bantah means “altercation” but can also function as an adjective with the meaning “contentious”. The affixation se-…-nya with reduplicated base derives adverbs from adjectives meaning “as [base] as possible”. The purpose of this is presumably to alert the owner of the palm wine of his intention. Paragraph 26 corresponds to Par. U. See the notes under Par. 31. Paragraph 27: “Those who request … will be fined 2.25 tael.” Unfor­tunately what is requested is not quite clearly legible, and has been tentatively transliterated as sangkat, for which, however, there is no entry in the consulted dictionaries (van Reijn suggested that the scribe possibly intended to write singgah ‘to stop by’). This sentence has no corresponding match in TK 214. The first part of Paragraph 28 corresponds with the first sentence of Par. R: “When (a person) steals sugar cane carried on the shoulder, on a pole, or on the head, then he shall be fined five kupang.” The writer of TK 215 made a minor change in that he switched the positions of dijunjung and digalas.

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The beginning of the remaining part of Par. 28 begins with jika ‘if ’ introducing a clause of condition, where maka ‘then’ states the consequence. The translation is made complicated by three factors: (1) menebang ‘to chop down’ does not have an object, (2) the maka clause does not contain a subject, and (3) it is not clear whether the consequence introduced by maka is inevitable, in which case we have to translate ambil ‘to take’ as ‘has to take’. Assuming that the thief is the implied subject of the subordinate maka clause, that tebu ‘sugar cane’ is the implied object of menebang, and that the consequence is inevitable, we arrive at the translation: Jika tiada ia mahu menebang maka ambil daun tebu itu dua puluh helai… “When he does not want to chop down (the sugar cane), then (he) must take twenty leaves of the sugar cane…”. The rest of the sentence is obfuscated by three words — suruh167 “to order”, kapit “support on each side”, and helakan “to draw” — that are not clearly legible, and only the very end of the sentence oleh orang yang tujuh “by the seven people” is understandable. Apart from the word kapit, this paragraph does not show any correspondence to the second sentence of Par. R. We have the impression that the writer of TK 215 did not fully understand the corresponding Par. R, where it is stated that the theft of larger amounts of sugar cane — equal or more than the amount that can be “carried on the shoulder, on the head, or on a pole” — is fined, but that it is not an offence to consume the sugar palm in the field (“where the plants are planted”), or to take away small amounts not exceeding two canes. Paragraph 29 is a very close rendering of Par. S: “When a person steals yam, birah tuber, or taro in the field, he shall be enslaved for 40 days. If he does not want to be enslaved, he shall pay a fine of five mace.” This paragraph has to be seen in the context of Par. 32 which corresponds to Par. V of TK 214. TK 214 is unmistakable in that Par. S states that the thief of birah tuber (Alocasia indica), taro, yam, or derris root, shall be enslaved 28 days, or if he chooses not to be enslaved, the fine shall be five mace, whereas Par. V constitutes an elaboration of Par. S in that it adds that the theft of yam (maling hubi) with the plant (bajunjungan) carries a lesser fine of five kupang (lima kupang).168 The translation of bajunjungan or berjunjung as “with the plant” needs some explanation: the word consists of the prefix ba- which already in pre-modern Malay changed to ber-, the base junjung “supporting on the head”, and the suffix -an. A stake on which a vine is trailed is also called a junjung. The meaning of berjunjung is hence “trellised” or “on the trellis”,

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but in the context of our texts, the meaning is almost certainly “on the plant” or “in the field”, indicating that the theft occurred in situ. Both tuba (a root) and ubi (a tuber) are vines but yam farmers typically do not use stakes but let the plant crawl on the ground. In TK 215, we note the following changes: (1) the reference to the theft of derris root was moved from Par. 29 to Par. 32, (2) Par. 29 adds that the theft occurs while the products are di pohonnya “on the plant”, and (3) the punishment is much more severe in that the person shall be enslaved for 40 days (not 28 as in TK 214), whereas the amount of the fine, five mace, as an alternative punishment remains unchanged. It is unexplainable why the writer of TK 215 has added “on the plant” in Par. 29, which hence has become indistinguishable with Par. 32 as di pohonnya and berjunjung have the same meaning! Paragraph 30 corresponds with Par. T: “When a person steals betel flower or areca nut, we enslave him for 80 days, if he does not want to be enslaved the fine is five mace and five kupang.” The offences in paragraphs S and T are equally punishable with an enslavement of 28 days, whereas the punishment in Par. 30 is twice that in Par. 29 (both in terms of the length of the enslavement as well as the alternative fine), which may reflect a relative increase of the value of the commodities mentioned in Par. 30. Paragraph 31 corresponds with Par. U with a slight change in the structure of the sentence, but no change in meaning: “When a person steals rice, the fine is 1.25 tael.” Unexplainable is that the same offence, the theft of rice, was already mentioned in Par. 26 using exactly the same words except that the fine was only ten mace. Theft of paddy is also mentioned in article 35 of the Undang-Undang Sungai Ujung (Negeri Sembilan), where it is also stated that the thief shall be killed if he fails to pay the fine (Sham and Salim 1995, p. 253). Paragraph 32 corresponds with Par. V. It is here that the theft of tuba ‘derris root’, which was missing in Par. 29, has been added: “When a person steals derris root with the plant or yam, the fine is five kupang; if he steals it without the plant, the fine is five mace.” It appears as if berjunjung “with the plant” has been wrongly placed, and the passage should probably read: “When a person steals derris root or yam with the plant, the fine is five kupang.” Paragraph 33 corresponds closely with Par. W: “When a person steals duck eggs of a Depati he shall receive seven strokes, five strokes by the commoners, and two strokes…, his face shall be smeared with chicken dung (cf. p. 89); if he does not want this, the fine shall be ten mace.” The scribe apparently made a few mistakes: first, he misread or misinterpreted

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perapati 169 (pigeon) as depati and hence “corrected” the text erroneously to telur itik depati (duck eggs of a depati). Second, he omitted the passive prefix di-: Tumbuk tujuh tumbuk should read ditumbuk tujuh tumbuk. Third, he omitted tuhannya after dua tumbuk. Par. W of TK 214 also mentions the theft of chicken eggs, which in TK 215 is dealt with in Par. 23. Paragraph 34 corresponds with Par. X, but the writer of TK 215 omitted isi (content) so that the theft no longer refers to the content of the trap, but to the trap itself: “When (a person) steals a trap he shall pay a fine (consisting of ) a dog (and) a knife.” The scribe also omitted the quantifier seekor ‘one (of animals)’ rendering the sentence ambiguous as anjing now appears as being the possessive of jerat. The sentence as it stands can hence also be read: “When (a person) steals a dog trap he shall pay a fine (consisting of ) a knife.” To make things worse Paragraph 35, which corresponds with Par. Y, appears as if it were a continuation of Par. 34 in that the scribe omitted the core of the sentence, namely the offence, which is, as we know from Par. Y, the theft of the content of a bird glue trap. By omitting the offence, Par. 35 continues the sentence of the preceding paragraph so that the result becomes: “When (a person) steals a dog trap he shall pay a fine (consisting of ) a knife, (and) a fine of a jar of sesame; if this is not fulfilled, two and a half mace shall be the fine.” Paragraph 36 corresponds with Par. Z. Here again, we have an erroneous reading of TK 214, “The theft of cloth, waist cloths, shirts, and head cloths of all kinds shall carry a fine of ten mace.” The reference to “head cloths of all kinds” (distar pari rupanya) in TK 214 was apparently not understood by the writer of TK 215. It seems as if the Sanskrit loan word pari ‘on all sides, all around, altogether’ was no longer understood, and the phrase hence changed to kita liat terrupanya. The phrase liat terrupanya also occurs in Par. 2, 4, 42, 45, 50 and 52 usually in connection with denda “fine”. It consists of the elements liat and ter=rupa=nya. The first element may be related to lihat “to see”, and the second to rupanya “it seems, apparently”, but the prefix ter- is quite unusual. The phrase seems to be a rhetorical device without much meaning attached to it, and hence it has been disregarded in the following translation: “When a person steals cloth, waist cloths, shirts, and head cloths he shall be fined ten mace.” Paragraph 37 is a close rendering of Par. AA: “When [a person] steals steel, the fine shall be five mace.” The fourth word, tentatively rendered by van der Putten as bebayah, is not clearly legible. From Par. AA, we can

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assume that it is some kind of rendering of babajan derived from the base baja ‘tempered iron, steel’, the ancient prefix ba- (ber- in modern Malay), and the suffix -an. Besi babajan is most certainly besi baja “steel” where besi ‘iron’ serves as a generic term, but it is also possible yet less likely that we have to read it as “iron and steel”. Paragraph 38: “For Khorasan (iron) the fine is five mace” is a close rendering of Par. AB, the only difference being that the sentence is more elaborate in that it added akan dendanya “the fine is”. The spelling of kuraysani was changed to kersani. Iron from the eastern Persian region Khorasan was in the Malay world often regarded as a superior product of almost supernatural quality. Paragraph 39 is a close rendering of Par. AC: “For undamascened steel and tumpang steel the fine is 1.25 tael. If this is not fulfilled, he shall be killed [and/or?] the fine is 2.5 tael.” The sentence should have ended after the word dibunuh “killed” for the rest of the sentence seems to be out of place. Tupang steel was in Par. 39 rendered as tumpang steel, but both words are unknown to us. Apparently, the writer of TK 215 had uncritically copied this passage from TK 214 and continued to impose the death penalty for a relatively petty crime. As I argued before (cf. p. 89), I believe that the reference to the capital punishment was erroneously placed in Par. AC and should have followed Par. AD, which deals with rape. There are no corresponding paragraphs in TK 215 to paragraphs AD and AE of TK 214. Paragraph 40 corresponds with Par. AF and provides interesting clues regarding the translation of Par. AF. During the workshop, we settled on the following partial translation: “The theft of a vessel of toddy … a tray of shrimps … one wild pig …; if not fulfilled, ten mace shall be the fine.” One of the words we were unable to understand was tihang suku. This particular passage was difficult to decipher, and Poerbatjaraka, who originally transliterated TK 214, read this passage as biyuku. Since TK 215 renders this passage as piyuku, we must assume that Poerbatjaraka’s reading was correct. According to Wilkinson’s Malay dictionary, biuku is a watertortoise (Notochelys platynota). Another interesting clue TK 215 provides is regarding hampangan tuak separah. We translated this as “a vessel of toddy”. Interesting is that in TK 215, hampangan is preceded by bubu (fish trap). Hampangan is thus not a “vessel” as we have thought, but is a particular type of a fish trap. This makes perfect sense in the light of the succeeding paragraphs as they all relate to the theft of various kinds of fishing devices.

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It is remarkable that Par. 40 has structurally been rendered in the same way as Par. AF. As usual, the scribe replaced maling ‘theft’ with jika orang memaling ‘when a person steals’, which is followed by the stolen object bubu hampangan ‘a hampangan fish trap’. There is nothing remarkable with this conditional clause but in both manuscripts, the following clause consists of a string of nouns forming the predicate without the presence of a subject. The following translation is for Par. 40 which only differs from Par. AF in that sakian ‘so much’ was replaced by sekaliannya itu ‘altogether’, and babi hutan saikur ‘one wild pig’ by ambang seekor ‘one ambang’. Unfortunately there is no such animal of that name. One would expect an animal of about the same size as that of a pig but is acceptable to Muslims. The animal that immediately comes to mind is kambing ‘goat’, but it is rather unlikely that the scribe mistakenly rendered it as ambang. “When a person steals a hampangan fish trap (he has to replace it with) one parah (apparently a measure of quantity, or a kind of vessel) of toddy, a tray of shrimps, one ambang; if not fulfilled, ten mace shall be the fine.” Paragraph 41 is a close rendering of Par. AG with a simplified fine structure: “When (a person) steals a tengkalak (fish trap) the fine (for a trap) plaited with palm fibres or rattan shall be five mace, when it is plaited with roots/vines the fine shall be ten mace.” Paragraph 42 corresponds with Par. AH, with minor stylistic changes being made: “When (a person) steals an antilingan (fishing net) the fine is five mace.” Paragraph 43 corresponds with Par. AI. After jala there is a word, which was tentatively transliterated as tagala, and which is probably a corrupt rendering of tengkul. It appears that the list of various fishing nets in Par. AI was shortened to three items, namely pukat (dragnet), jala (toss net), and tagala, with the remaining items being subsumed under segala pekarangan sekaliannya ‘all pekarangan’. The meaning of pekarangan is ‘yard, garden land’, but it could also mean here as something like “property”. Paragraph 44 is a new addition that has no correspondence in TK 214: “The theft of tin carries a fine of ten mace.” Paragraph AK in TK 214, which has no corresponding item in TK 215, mentions debts in the form of precious metals, including gold, silver, copper, brass and bronze. Although there is no apparent relationship between Par. 44 and Par. AK, both paragraphs are concerned with metals. Paragraph 45 corresponds with Par. AJ. Abdul Hamid transliterated the sentence only partially, probably because the text was difficult to decipher. The tentative translation is: “When (a person) burns a garden shelter or a

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peratun shelter or destroys (them), (he has to pay) a fine of five (mace).” The last two words of the conditional clause are especially difficult: Jika memakar dangau pekarangan atawa dangan peratun ‘when (a person) burns a garden shelter or a dangan peratun’. We assume that the scribe started to write dangau, but then ended the word writing the letter n being misled by the common word dengan ‘with’. If that is the case, then the sentence refers to two different kinds of shelters or huts — a garden shelter, and a peratun (?) shelter. Paragraph 46 corresponds with Par. AL. The item jawa has been excluded in Par. 46, but otherwise the two passages are almost identical, except for the last few words in Par. 46 lagalagalannya and gada. The first word would make sense if we ignore the initial la and the reduplicated n before the enclitic -nya (which is a common occurrence in this manuscript), and hence come to a reading as gala-galanya ‘everything’. Gada can almost certainly be reconstructed as ganda ‘twofold, multiple’, and would hence be synonym to manikal in Par. AL. The reconstructed text hence reads: Jika berhutang beras padi jagung anjalai dua tahun ketiga jamba beruk jika lebih dua tahun ketiga yang gala-galanya itu ganda. ‘When (a person) owes a debt of husked or unhusked rice, maize, or Job’s tears, then up to two harvest years and into the third, it shall be returned in kind; later than that, everything (has to be repaid) twofold.” Paragraph 47 corresponds with Par. AM: If someone borrows a boat with permission and it is wrecked or lost (and) not returned, he has to replace it with one of the same value. If the boat was borrowed without permission, a fine shall be paid; if the promised time (for the replacement of the boat?) has elapsed, a jar of toddy and a chicken shall be the replacement.

The word meaning ‘replacement’ has pulang ‘return’ as its base. It is interesting to note that in Par. AM, the circumfix ka-…-an is used, but in Par. 47 peN-…-an. Both are noun-forming circumfixes where ke-…-an forms abstract nouns, and peN-…-an nouns that are based on active verbs that usually refer to the action expressed by the verb. In contemporary Malay and Indonesian, both nouns are virtually interchangeable and occur with about the same frequency. Paragraph 48 corresponds to Par. AN. It consists of two parts where the first part starts with the literary opening phrase sebermula ‘to begin with’, and the second part starts with sebermula lagi ‘to begin with again’. Sebermula lagi seems to function as a conjunction here, and could in this

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context be translated as ‘then’, but this is doubtful as sebermula lagi is not known to be used in this meaning. I hence leave the phrase untranslated: “Sebermula, goods that were borrowed, the person who borrows, if (he) disputes (the charge); sebermula lagi a small biduk boat, paddle, punting pole, a net, a woven floor mat shall serve as replacement, and that as much as its value.” Paragraph 49 corresponds very closely to Par. AO. In Par. 49, we find some minor stylistic changes and the reference that the match has to be organized by the Depati. Bertanda … bercina seems to correspond to tanda cema ‘incriminating circumstantial evidence’ (Wilkinson 1959, p. 1163): “If people accuse each other without witnesses, and without any evidence, then a match (shall be organized) by the Depati; if one party refuses the match, the Depati shall declare him as the loser.” Paragraph 50 is an abbreviated version of Par. AP, where salah langkah salah kata ‘wrong acts and wrong words’ was replaced with mengamun. Wilkinson’s description of hamun is very vivid: “cursing a man and all his family and connections in the vilest language possible”. The meaning of either sapat (TK 214) or sepat is unknown: “If a person is very drunk and insults and curses, then he shall pay a sepat.” Cf. the Magindanao Code of Laws: “If a man gets drunk and fights or kills another, he shall be liable to punishment” (Saleeby 1905, p. 75). The first part of Paragraph 51 corresponds vaguely to Par. AV: Although in modern Malay kerja commonly means ‘work’, its original meaning was more related to customary ceremonial. The phrase bekerjakan anaknya kawin ‘to arrange a marriage ceremony’ is quite common.170 This paragraph is better understood if the sentences are slightly rearranged: If a person wants to arrange a marriage ceremony for his child, the Depati and the commoners shall be notified first;

Jika orang bakarjakan anaknya kawin panggil depati dahulu beserta dengan orang banyak;

if the Depati is notified subsequently (after the marriage ceremony has ended)

jika dipanggil kemudian depati itu

(then the organizer of the wedding has to) pay a sepat to the Depati (consisting of ) two (jars of ) toddy, two chicken, and a piece of cloth

membayar sepat kepada depati tuak dua ayam dua kain sehelai

because the Depati is the sepat of the Raja in the country.

karena depati akan sepat raja dalam negeri.

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The word sepat remains a mystery. In the first occurrence, it seems to refer to a form of payment, but in the second occurrence, it could mean something like “deputy”. The second sentence of Paragraph 51 corresponds vaguely to the second part of Par. AQ and the following paragraphs AR-AU. It seems to relate to a bride price tax, where anak muda ‘young adult’ may refer to the bride whose family has received emas ‘gold’. Emas ‘gold’ most likely refers to emas kawin ‘bride price’, which is taxed five mace. The following translation is very tentative: “The revenue of all the many ministers to (?) the young adult (is) a portion (?) of the gold (bride price?), five mace is what all the ministers and the functionaries under the Depati receive.” Paragraphs 52–55 are additions that do not show any clear correspondence to any passages in TK 214. Paragraph 52: The second sentence of the paragraph shows a vague correspondence to Par. AQ as both paragraphs contain the word sengketa (quarrel, dispute, conflict, lawsuit). Furthermore, the law which was laid down by Raden Temenggung in this code of laws (that was written in) Sanggaran Agung to the Depati; if there is (a person) who does not want to follow the law of the Depati, he shall be fined 1.25 tael. If he is involved in a proceeding regarding one of the laws of the Depati, and he does not want to comply with the law, (then) he shall be declared the looser (of the proceedings).

This conclusion of the code of law is, for unknown reasons, followed by two further paragraphs: Paragraph 53: The part of the sentence which poses no difficulty in translating is Jika orang memaling tikar atawa periuk kancah … akan dendanya lima emas. “If a person steals a plaited mat or a cooking pot, … the fine is five mace.” Both periuk and kancah are pots used for cooking rice that only differ in shape. Periuk kancah is followed by terupanya. This is the only occurrence of terupanya without preceding liat. Its function is not quite clear, but there are two possibilities: (a) it means something like ‘all kinds of (cooking pots)’, or (b) it has the same meaning as the contemporary rupanya ‘apparently’, preceding the conjunction karena: terupanya karena periuk dengan tikar akan perhiasan rumah “apparently because plaited mats and cooking pots are furnishings of the house, the fine is five mace”. A free translation is: “The theft of plaited mats or cooking pots used as furnishings of the house carries a fine of five mace.” Paragraph 54 is difficult to understand because it contains a number of words that are either ambiguous, doubtful, uncertain, or unknown in meaning. Mengupas ‘to peel’ can also mean ‘to strip s.o.’. Merajang ‘to

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cut into small pieces’ is read by Abdul Hamid as merancang ‘to plan’. Memitas and memagang are words of an unknown meaning, although memitas could possibly be read memintas ‘to short cut, interrupt’. The paragraph is concerned with sumbang ‘incest’, which in a looser sense can relate to all kinds of serious sexual offences, including adultery: When a person commits a serious sexual offense, takes the clothes off (someone), … because this is forbidden by the Raja and the many Depati, he shall be killed because that person is an earthworm like those who worship idols. Concerning the … in these laws, they should be brought to attention by the Depati as in these laws the Depati (is the?) minister of property. By God!

Notes

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3



4 5



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7



8

In the Batak languages, jaka is only used in the northern dialects Karo and Pakpak. In the southern dialects, it changed to jaha. The original form jaka was, according to the database of the Malay Concordance Project (maintained by Ian Proudfoot, and available at ), apparently still used in the seventeenth-century text Hikayat Banjar. The search was conducted using the Malay Concordance Project website with its searchable database of over 1.7 million words of Malay text occurring in 60 proses and verse texts (Proudfoot 2004). According to a search on the Malay Concordance Project website, the only manuscript that consistently uses the form memunuh is the Hikayat Aceh that dates to the seventeenth century. Mangannakan could also be a borrowing from Old Javanese. According to Wilkinson (1959, p. 1195), a temenggung is “an official of very high rank in a Malayo-Javanese state”. The ilir court eventually managed to bring Merangin under control, but only because Dipanegara himself was vulnerable as he owed substantial amount of money to the ilir rulers. Financially, the lowland court was equally vulnerable. When the British abandoned their Jambi trading post in 1679, Sultan Ingalaga (i.e., Sultan Abdul Muhyi of Jambi, r. 1679–87) had to ask the VOC for permission to delay repayments of his debts and admitted that he lived in “great difficulties” (Andaya 1993a, p. 128). The title Pangeran Ratu (“Prince King”) also appears in TK 42 and 43, but here the title does not refer to Sultan Agung. Jangan kamu beri orang Mangunjaya atau anak ulu masuk ke dalam Merangin itu […] Jikalau bekeras juga orang Mangunjaya atau anak ulu hendak membinasakan Merangin itu melainkan kejarkan dengan seboleh-bolehnya kamu melawan dia itu.

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9



10 11



12



13



14



15



16



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18



19



20 21

275

Daga-dagi dan sanduk-samun, umuk-umbai, upas-racun, telum-tikam malam, kincung-kicuh, sekalian itu mati hukumnya (TK 3). Jikalau ada orang sumbang salah, berzina laki-laki dengan perempuan (TK 3). Pangeran minta kembangkan kepada kamu sekalian syara’ Rasul Allah salla llahu ‘alaihi wasallam. Mufakatlah kamu dengan segala … yang di dalam ‘alam Kerinci mendirikan agama Rasul Allah salla llahu ‘alaihi wasallam dan seboleh-bolehnya buangkan kamu barang yang mungkir (TK 231). Mufakatlah kamu dengan segala … yang di dalam alam Kerinci mendirikan agama Rasul Allah salla llahu ‘alaihi wasallam dan seboleh-bolehnya buangkan kamu barang yang mungkir. […] Adalah umur dunia ini tiadalah akan berapa lama lagi. Sebaik-baiknya kamu dirikan ugama yang sebenarnya. Pertama jikalau kematian jangan diarak dengan gendang, gong, serunai dan bedil dan kedua jangan laki-laki bercampur dengan perempuan bertauh nyanyi dan jangan bersalah dan memuja hantu dan syetan dan batu kayu dan barang sebagainya dan ketiga jangan menikahkan perempuan dengan tiada walinya (TK 13). Keempat jangan makan minum yang haram dan barang sebagainya daripada segala yang tiada diharuskan syarak. Hubaya-hubaya jangan dikerjakan!!” (TK 4). The name of the Temenggung is presumingly misspelled: in TK 69, 168, 169, 172 and 173, it is given as Temenggung Kebul di Bukit, but in TK 213, it is spelled ‘Kebal’. Barang siapa mengada manidakkannya, yang mengadakannya boleh rahmatlahnya, yang menidakkannya kena kutuk Pangeran Temenggung Kebal di Bukit. The nine districts are the nine tributaries of the Hari River: Tembesi, Merangin, Batang Asai, Tabir, Tebo, Bungo, Pelepat, Masumai, and Jujuhan. Fasal pada menyatakan patuturan dan pakaunan Yang Dipertuan Inderapura dengan Kerinci. Titah Yang dipertuan: “Apa namamu dan dari mana kamu dantang?” Jawabnya: “Aku datang dari sebelah Gunung Barisan nama Kurinci, nama aku Raja Berkilat, […].” Titah Yang Dipertuan: “Adakah negeri di sebelah Gunung Barisan ini?” Jawab Raja Berkilat: “Ada, Yang Dipertuan.” Titah Yang Dipertuan: “Kalau begitu, marilah kita membuat sumpah setio supaya negeri kamu itu dengan negeri aku ini menjadi satu.” […]Siapalah yang mengarang sumpah setio? Ialah Pangeran Kebaru di Bukit, datang dari Jambi. Jadi empatlah orang yang bersumpah: Pertama Yang Dipertuan Berdarah Putih, kedua Raja Muda, ketiga Dipati Rantau Telang, keempat Pangeran Kebaru di Bukit. Maka jadilah tanah Kerinci tanah menang, yaitu tanah pertemuan raja antara Sultan Jambi dengan Sultan Inderapura. Jika mengadap ia ke hilir jadilah beraja ke Jambi. Jika mengadap ia ke barat, ialah ke tanah Inderapura. hamza-y-k, the -n of pangeran is rather above the line. r-a- ‘-y-n/t?, on the previous line a loose ra is visible.

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s-gh (one dot?)-g (dot below)-a-r-n: saghgaran/sanggaran. m-ng-k-t k-t: kita/kata? s-r-t: serta/surat? m-n-w-r-t A sign is found at this point referring to the same sign on the top right-hand margin where di dalam is written. The same sign is found on the top left-hand margin where akan dendanya is written. l-y-t-y: the latter y has no vowel point, it could also be the letter t of which the two dots are a little to the right; t-r-r-f-a-ny: terrupanya? d-l-w-a-n-y-ny a-r-ng d-f-ma-ki: with added vowel signs b-a-l-s d-b-l-s Between membayar (m-m-b-y-a-r) and keras (k-r-s), there are three signs of which it is unclear whether they should be read in between and constitute one letter or more; a vague possibility is that it could be read as ‘dia’. m-l-k-y l-y-t t-r//r-w-p-a-ny: here the two dots of the t are clearly above the last letter, which has the same form as the earlier mentioned combination of these two words. di-sa-pi-h°: with added vowel signs m-l-a-y a-m-p-w-n/ny m-l-a-y w-a-/n/: Abdul Hamid’s transliteration has ‘melawani’ which would need a shift of the ya to the back, but ‘melawan’ does fit the context. p-s-w-m-ng-r?: a possible rendering could be pasemangan, which can refer to a certain relation of debtor and creditor. k-t: kata/kita? wa-li-h: walih(?) l-w-k: cf. other spelling above a-t-w d-l-a-w-n-y?-ny t-y-a-d-l-h: the –lah is above ber- of the next word. Uncertain reading: could read t-k-a-l or j-k-a-l, jikalau is normally spelled with -w. The writer has apparently forgotten to insert luka at this place. Spelled as in previous line The word mati was added in Abdul Hamid’s transliteration. b-r-w-l-a-? b-a-r-w-l-h: the first ‘beroleh’ may be scored through but that is quite hard to discern on the photocopy. Another possibility is that it should read ‘barulah beroleh’; the second was written with an alif.

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j-k-l-w b-r-w: The writer apparently forgot to write l-h. a-d-a-p?-p-w-n The waw of dua is a little awkward and the t of tahil is too long. It could be read as setahil. At the bottom of the page, someone wrote m-d-ng-y — m?dam. s-p-r:? Abdul Hamid’s transliteration has separo, but the word very much resembles seperti without the -t. Same spelling as in line 9 of page 4 Written in left-hand margin Written in the top margin m-n-t: the –t is a little awkward and the two dots are written too far to the right (cf. l-y-t above). a-w-s/r-ng: it may be that orang was scored through which would account for the elongated ‘r’. a-m-p-w-n-ny a-r-t: apparently scored through d-n-d-ng-ny a-d is written above the line, t-y-a-d seems to be scored through. Possibly scored through, or elongated waw? Brackets were inserted around these words, making them illegible. The second word resembles negeri, but is unclear. ‘-d?-a-t m-ng-?-ng: the third letter may be rendered illegible because it was scored through. Unclear, it may read b-l-h: belah. Above the line and scored through? m-w There is an alif between s and lah. m-ny-c-w-r-y a-y-a m-a-w d-h-w-m?-k-m-k-n: the h is not the ‘Arabic’ one and the inserted –m- is unclear. The first two letters seem to be scored through, while the rest are very unclear. m-n-k-l? b-r-n/t-h Very unclear but it seems to be j/c y-w-y? b-d-y-ny x-a-x-l? b-r-s-w-l-h Appears to be scored through

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c-n-a d-k-k-h-y-ny a-h-y-m m-n-k-a-l Same spelling as in line 5 b-a-y/ny?-q t-w/h at the end of the line, but the word denda- continues in the next line -nya. This seems to be added later on and has an –h as full stop(?), while sepuluh amas in the next line seems to be scored through. t-r-l-r; perhaps the –r- was meant as a waw, assimilating with vowel in the second syllable? There is a loose alif between ayam and denda. Another loose alif and there is no –ng- spelled. m-h-w s?-ng-k-t Unclear reading: d-x-p/ng?-k-l: before the p or ng, there may be another letter. d-j-j-ng-ny: although there seems to be a build up for an –n- between the two j’s, the dot is missing. This reading is unclear. It seems to read p/t-w-p-ng or if the first letter is read as q? then qupang would be the reading. m-h-w m-n-b-ng, although the reading of the –b- is not very clear. Unclear reading: s-w-r/s?-h? k-a-p?-t? h-y-l?-k-n: there does not seem to have enough space for the –l-, which is unclear anyway, so maybe ‘h-y-kan’? It could also read birah, depending on how many dots one counts: 2 for merah (which corresponds with the rounded shape of the first letter), 3 for b-y= birah. Above the line without any sign to fit it in the text m-a-h k-p-ng: the spelling of this word is very clear here. d-n-d-a-n-ny It probably should read denda or dendanya, but the initial d and final ny seem to be missing. The first attempt to write maling seems to be aborted and struck through. Above the line orang seems to be written but the strike through of ma made it less readable. Also, orang was written in the right-hand margin? (but the right-hand margin was cut off from the copy). Cf. J.L. van der Toorn’s Minangkabausche-Maleisch-Nederlandsch woordenboek, 1891: tebo junjuang: tall growing type of sugar cane. a-w-t-w

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Tanjung Tanah Manuscript TK 215

119 120 121 122 123 124 117 118



125 126

129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 127 128



146 147



148



149



150 151

279

l-m-k-w-p-ng: lima and kupang are written as one word. h-y-t-q Unclear reading: d-h-s-y/b? It could also read: pesuruan. d-n-d-a-n?-ny as also the next dendanya in the same line. The reading of the first word is uncertain: it seems to be l-ng-a, lenga. t-r-h-s-y The word reads rather like ditartar because above the first part of s there seem to be two dots, while the tail of the s is elongated resembling the r. Reading above the line is unclear: b-b-a-y?-h? The reading seems rather straightforward but the meaning is not; a-m-b-ng seekor was omitted in Abdul Hamid’s transliteration. Unclear reading: t-r-?-y-s Spelled: t-q-l-k; perhaps should read t-ng-l-k(?) Spelled with an initial hamza-x-k-r Uncertain, seems to be spelled: t-a-g?-l-a An alif was inserted maybe for the initial t-a-r? There is no sign of the b (membakar). d-p-w-l-ng-r?-a-k-n-ny The spelling is as per two lines above, except for the end waw. The initial g- in galah is uncertain and could be read as b-; jala, cf. page 17, line 7. b-r-c-n-a m-a-h r-a-d-n-d-n t-m-g-ng (cf. p. 1) The h is quite awkward. Ta marbuta/end-t-k-r: tikar The initial alif is connected to the waw resembling l-. Uncertain: m-a-r-a-j/c/y/ny?-ng Unclear reading: m-m-y (not connected to the left)- ṭ -s s-p-a-r-t Written above the line, an initial alif may have been written and converged with the tail of mim of bumi in the line above. a-l-h: no waw was spelled Presumably this is a spelling mistake for tiada, which is consistently used throughout the document, and not for tidak. May also be read kata. The passage is so obscure that the word cannot be reconstructed. Both the postulated usang and orang do not fit the context. This word was also not included in Abdul Hamid’s transliteration, likely because it appeared as scored through. Contextual reconstruction This word, where the last two letters are almost illegible, was only reconstruct­ able on the basis of TK 214.

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The transliteration in the left column differs slightly from the “normalized transcription” on pages 64–73 in that double consonants and some dashes were omitted. 153 Abdul Hamid was not able to decipher this word; van der Putten read it as kita ‘we’, and van der Reijn as kancah ‘narrow-mounted cooking pot’. 154 Jika orang maki-maki sebutkan perkataan yang tidak pantas atau tingkah laku yang tidak patut, maka ia dihukum denda sampai 12 ringgit (Oendang-oendang Simboertjahaja 1939, p. 38). 155 Abdul Hamid read this passage as gerak cangkal jago. 156 Abdul Hamid rendered this as menanti hukum. 157 Following Abdul Hamid who reads gadai and not gada. 158 A very similar stipulation is found in “The Ninety-Nine Laws of Perak” (Wilkinson 1908, p. 27). 159 “Kerbau, sapi dan kambing hendaklah malam hari dimasukkan dalam kandangnya, jika orang melanggar maka ia dihukum denda sampai 6 ringgit” (Oendang-oendang Simboertjahaja 1939, p. 45). At another section of the same law book, horses are also included. 160 See also Section 60 of the Undang-Undang Johor, where it is stipulated that the owner of the land invaded by a buffalo may capture or kill the beast (Sham and Salim 1995, p. 83). 161 Adapun pagar huma itu, jikalau orang sudah memagar, maka orang lain itu tiada memagar, maka dimakan babi atau dimakan kerbau, mengganti padi orang itu, karena taksirnya tiada terpagar olehnya itu. 162 According to a search in the Malay Concordance Project . 163 The meaning of menunggu in Minangkabau Malay is “to ask for something back”. 164 Abdul Hamid apparently misread this word as cangkal or jangka. 165 The institution barampat suku is also mentioned in inscription Pagaruyung VII, according to de Casparis’ reading of line 5 of the text. The Minangkabau area was traditionally called the “Land of the Four Tribes” (Casparis 1989, p. 924). 166 See page 94 for more information about this beverage. 167 Abdul Hamid reads suruh as sunsang ‘upside down’. 168 See page 96 for a more detailed discussion of this paragraph. 169 Listed in Wilkinson’s dictionary (1959, p. 892) as perpati, and mentioned in the Undang-undang Minangkabau (Umar Junus 1997, p. 178) as perpatih; the bird is nowadays more commonly known as merpati. 170 Cf. “sehingga ia bekerjakan puteranya nikah kahwin pun tiada diberinya orang-orang berjudi dan menyabung” (so that they no longer organize cockfights and games of hazards at wedding ceremonies [after converting to Islam]) (Hooker 1991, p. 423). 152

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6 Sanskrit in a Distant Land The Sanskritized Sections Thomas M. Hunter1 The purpose of this chapter is to explore in detail several sections of the Tanjung Tanah manuscript TK 214 (TTms) that are rich in Sanskritized vocabulary.2 I propose referring to these sections of the TTms as “framing sections” and understanding them as playing a role in indexing the TTms to a specific socio-political context, to a centre of power from which authority was transmitted to its geopolitical peripheries through epistolary and documentary means. In this view, the TTms has much in common with the surat cap whose dissemination dominated Minangkabau political discourses in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, but is composed in a form that reflects an older model of state organization like that described by Lieberman (2003) under the term “charter state”.3 The initial hypothesis of this chapter is that the framing sections of the TTms constitute an important means for conferring authority on the compiler of the manuscript, first in terms of his right to participate in the dissemination of a legal document and, following upon this, his right to exercise a degree of political power within a local domain. A major aim of this chapter is thus to elucidate the text-building elements of the TTms that appear to be employed to create a textual basis for a form of political authority, then to begin to understand the nature of this authority. Another aim of this chapter will be to demonstrate how a comparison of the framing and code of laws (TTms 4.2–28.7) sections of the manuscript 281

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brings to light the iconic nature of the TTms. This is to say that the order of parts in the manuscript recapitulates the step-wise order of the “great convocation” (sidang maha¯tmya) that drew up the code of laws, and in that sense represents a copy of the event that directly reflects its character and chronological sequence.4 Another important question to be examined in this chapter is the question of how and to what extent the framing sections of the TTms can be considered “Sanskritized”. From the start we should be clear that the framing sections do not reflect the use of Sanskrit as such, either in terms of its being one idiom within a larger configuration of “hyperglossia”, or in terms of a “correct” orthography preserving the spelling conventions of classical Sanskrit.5 While these forms of (linguistic) Sanskritization are reflected only obliquely in the TTms, they were hallmarks of Sanskrit as it was used in East Java during the same historical period, and indeed should be kept in mind when examining the TTms.6 This is first of all due to the fact that the author of the TTms emphasizes that the “great convocation” that drew up the code of laws was held at the court of Dharmāśraya. While there is some controversy around the political status of Dharmāśraya in the mid-fourteenth century, it appears to have been of continuing importance for Ādityavarman (1347–c.1375 CE), a scion of mixed Sumatran and Javanese parentage who can be seen as having been intent on founding a Javanized form of the “charter state” in Sumatra, stretching from the Batang Hari river basin to the Minangkabau highlands. The question of how thoroughly the framing sections of the TTms can be understood as Sanskritized also brings up the question of distance. In view of factors like the relatively high degree of orthographic irregularity described by Mahdi in this volume, we must ask the question of distance: should the imperfect quality of the Sanskritized sections of the TTms be understood in terms of the physical distance from a higher order centre of political power? Or we should we think rather in terms of temporal distance, that is in terms of a time lag between the first writing of the text and its present form? Or again, should we think in terms of a deviation from more conservative practices of Sanskritization in scribal tradition that could produce works like the TTms or the inscriptions of Ādityavarman? I believe that we begin to answer these questions by setting the diplomatic rendering of the TTms side-by-side with a hypothetical version that ‘restores’ the manuscript to a form that it might have taken had it been composed in terms of the phonological norms of classical Sanskrit. This should reveal to us the approach taken by the author of the TTms towards

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composition in a Sanskritized idiom, and can also be used as the basis for comparisons of the text-building elements of the framing sections of the TTms with similar textual schemata found elsewhere in the archipelago during the first half of the second millennium CE. The passages to be examined in this study of the framing portions of the TTms include the following: • an initial passage that gives information on the Śaka date of the inscription of the text (TTms 2.1–5); • a reference to the place of the convocation that will promulgate the code of laws and a brief panegyric (praśasti) of the reigning monarch (TTms 2.6–8);7 • an introduction to the code of laws in the form of an exhortation to the local officials who are to ensure that its regulations are observed (TTms 3.1–8, 4.1); • a section closing the code of laws, describing its ratification at a convocation of local officials held in Dharmāśraya and also identifying the writer of the manuscript (TTms 28.7–30.3); • a mantra praising the ruling monarch (TTms 30.4); • a verse in anuṣṭubh (or: śloka) metre that is referred to within the text as the saluka dipati, or “śloka of the dipati” (TTms 30.5–31.2); as Griffiths (2010, p. 137) has shown this verse clearly derives from “a scribal tradition inherited from India” and can be understood as the colophon of the TTms; we will discuss further below the question of whether the term colophon is completely apt in this case, and Griffiths’ claim that it should be understood as giving us the correct “title” for the TTms; • a series of glosses on “the śloka of the dipati” (TTms 31.2–7, 32.1–4). Each of these passages contains Sanskritized vocabulary which in some cases links the TTms with specific text-building elements found elsewhere in the archipelago or that are derived from the scribal traditions of India, and in other cases relates the TTms in a more general way to international contexts on the cusp of the transition between Sanskritized and Islamic modes of transcultural exchange.

A Note on Methodology: tatsama and tadbhava In undertaking a comparative rendering of the Sanskritized lexicon of the TTms based on the reconstruction of a hypothetical Sanskrit original,

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one can describe the process in emic terms as working backward from what the Sanskrit theorists would have termed a “natural language” (prākṛta), or a “corrupt language” (apabhraṃśa), to a more perfect state of language (saṃskṛta) that is assumed to have an ontological priority that makes it the measure of the ‘derived’ forms of ordinary languages. One does not have to accept the universal claims made by such a view of language to see its usefulness in dealing with a Sanskritized document like the TTms: we are not dealing here with a question of truth value, but rather a view of language that placed Sanskrit in a dominant position vis-à-vis local languages, which in turn were defined in terms of their relationship to Sanskrit. For insular Southeast Asia at least, this led to processes of modelling by which local vernaculars were “enriched” through the addition of lexical items, phrases and rhetorical strategies recognizable as originating in Sanskrit originals. These were the markers that helped a local idiom to acquire some of the status and charisma of Sanskrit, or produced a new idiom that could compete with Sanskrit as a vehicle of state and religious ideologies. Given the relationship of copy and model implicit in this view of language, it makes good sense to look to the Sanskrit terminology on comparative phonology for terms that may be useful in elucidating the relationship of lexical borrowings to their Sanskrit originals. Here we find two terms with a long history in the Sanskrit analytical tradition that are still made use of in comparative studies of the Indo-Aryan languages and can be extended for study of the Sanskritized vocabularies of Malay, Javanese, Balinese and other languages of the archipelago that came into close contact with Sanskrit at some point in their historical development. These two terms are: tadbhava, “having the nature of that” and tatsama, “being the same as that”. The former term (tadbhava) is used to refer to lexical items that were borrowed from Sanskrit at some point in the historical past, and since then have gone through normal processes of phonological and/or semantic change, thus yielding descendant lexemes that are often — but not always — recognizable as having an origin in a corresponding Sanskrit term. The latter term (tatsama) is used for words that have been directly borrowed from Sanskrit with their full phonological form intact, and retained in that form either due to the constraining effects of linguistic conservatism (whether in the domain of textuality or orality), or to their being recent borrowings which have yet to undergo the effects of what Sapir (1921) so aptly termed “linguistic drift”.

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Michael Shapiro’s study of the semantic and phonological develop­ments that lie behind the development of the verbal complex around Hindi lagna¯ (Shapiro 1987) provides us with a ready example for observing the productive use of the terminology of tatsama-tadbhava in a modern linguistic study. Shapiro shows that many of the tatsama borrowings “occur only in specialized or technical semantic spheres” that relate back to Sanskrit lag-, which “has many astronomical applications in Sanskrit, clustering around the notion of an intersection of the orbits of heavenly bodies” (Shapiro 1987, p. 404). On the other hand, the develop­ment of a wide variety of meanings relating to the inception of events, the first appearance of something, or the experience of a physical sensation are to be understood partly in terms of “tadbhava forms showing an unbroken path of development from OIA [Old Indo-Aryan]” […] partly in terms of regionalisms or derivations formed “in the New Indo-Aryan [NIA] period” (Shapiro 1987, p. 404). Similar developments can be observed in the development of the Sanskritized vocabulary of Old Javanese (OJ). To cite an example, we find from the earliest period of OJ literature in the Parwa form a tatsama borrowing of Sanskrit kṣa¯ma, “forgiveness” that was combined with the OJ transitivising suffix -akěn and the irrealis marker -a to form the hortative kṣa¯ma¯kěna, “may you forgive (me)” or “please forgive (me)”. This usage persisted throughout the long history of kakawin authorship on Java (c. 856 CE–1478 CE).8 At the same time, we find the tadbhava form sa¯ mak ě na appearing as early as the Smaradahana, composed c. 1185 CE by Mpu Dharmaja.9 Sa¯makěna has the same meaning and usage as kṣa¯ma¯kěna but appears to represent a court usage that was less self-consciously Sanskritic than its tatsama counterpart.10 One possible explanation for the appearance of tatsama and tadbhava forms at the same historical level is that the tadbhava forms record a locution of the spoken language of the court, while the tatsama form reflect the textual practice of learned hands that might be expected to retain “correct” Sanskrit spelling wherever possible. As Radicchi (1986) has shown, Malay regularly borrowed Sanskrit phrases like tatha¯ pi (“even so”) that eventually gave rise to tadbhava forms like tetapi (“but”). These tadbhava forms have remained an essential part of the current lexicon of functional morphemes in MalayIndonesian.11 We find a similar borrowing of a functional morpheme punarapi (< Sanskrit punar api, “furthermore”), which is used in TK 214

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to indicate the change to a new topic. In this it presages the ubiquitous use of discourse conjunctions like maka, jika, hatta and demikian in the later language. However, this particular tatsama borrowing died out in the later language, a point that comes out very clearly in a comparison of TK 214 with TK 215 in the “Tanjung Tanah pusaka” collection of heirloom manuscripts. This manuscript, transcribed and edited by Uli Kozok, Eric van Reijn and Jan van der Putten in Chapter 7, is in large part a copy of TK 214 and so provides an excellent source of comparative information. As Kozok has noted (personal communication, April 2008), Sanskrit-derived conjunctions like punarapi have completely disappeared from TK 215 and have been replaced by the Malay conditional conjunctions jika or jikalau.12 This shows us that not all tadbhava developments of lexical borrowings from Sanskrit shared the same fate in the later language, a fact perhaps to be understood in terms of the degree to which the tadbhava forms were phonetically similar to Malay forms, or were not perceived as connoting the vocabularies of Hindu and Buddhist religious communities when Islamized vocabulary began to dominate religious discourses in the Malay world. A tatsama form like punarapi is also important for this study in that it is found twice in the Gudam I inscription of Akārendravarman, whom de Casparis has suggested was the maternal uncle and predecessor of Ādityavarman. This suggests that the TTms and the inscriptions of the era of Ādityavarman come from closely related scriptoria of fourteenth-century Sumatra.13 A high incidence of tadbhava forms gives us strong evidence for an earlier historical stage of a language when lexical borrowing was a common feature of language contact. Tatsama formations provide another sort of information, since they reflect either recent loans that have not yet undergone normal processes of phonetic change, or a conservative attitude towards language that prevents the normal processes of change from having an effect on lexemes borrowed from a high status contact language. Old Javanese (OJ) is exactly the kind of language that exerts strong pressures to preserve tatsama forms borrowed from Sanskrit, very likely for reasons similar to the stress placed within the Indian tradition on accurate trans­mission of Vedic materials.14 The prevalence of tatsama forms in OJ highlights the fact that OJ lexical borrowings were made in learned contexts through interaction between bilingual speakers, largely in the context of religious institutions and interchanges, but including the court, which was never a domain

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separate from the religious institutions that shaped textual discourses during the era of the Sanskrit ecumene. The evidence of the TTms points to a different picture: the fact that the phonological system of Sanskrit is minimally reflected in the orthography of the TTms suggests a form of Sanskritization that either looks back to a period when Sanskrit was used in a manner similar to the more conservative idiom of the East Javanese courts, or looks toward a Sanskritized political centre from afar, that is from an area peripheral to the court. We will leave this question unresolved for the moment, at the same time pointing out that a perusal of the evidence of the framing sections of the TTms suggests that the means of transmission of the tadbhava forms found in the TTms was at least partly oral, that is based on aural perceptions of Sanskritized lexical and rhetorical materials that were committed to writing with varying degrees of ‘faithfulness’ to Sanskrit originals depending on the current state of pedagogy in Sanskrit, and the proficiency of individual practitioners of the scribal arts. Before moving on, it may be useful here to discuss the view of Kratz (2002) on the supposed “deficiencies” of Jawi spelling. While his comments relate to the linguistic situation several hundred years after the composition of the TTms, they help shed light on the question of the inconsistent orthography of the TTms. In commenting on the wide variation in spelling of Jawi (Arabic derived script used for Malay) and writing against the perception that Jawi was in some way ‘deficient’, Kratz (2002) has noted the importance of the earlier Pallava and Nagari scripts: One has to remember that Jawi did not come out of nothing and that prior to its introduction people were already familiar with the Pallava and Nagari scripts which, unlike Arabic script but similar to the Latin one, spelt out each phoneme, consonant and vowel … [It] stands to reason that Malay scribes adapting to the new writing system of Jawi would have wanted to continue to express the specific character of Malay … This they did, firstly by adding more letters to the alphabet, and secondly, by adhering to a way of spelling which was closer to the one they and their readers were used to from writing and reading forms of the Pallava script. Naturally, there was opposition from those who wanted to adopt and apply the new system in its totality in order to express their new faith ‘down to the letter’. It is in this that the lack of uniformity has its roots, and where one can observe the struggle between old and new, between Pallava principles and the ‘Arab way of things’, expressed in the spelling of Malay words, either indigenous, or borrowed from Sanskrit, or more recently introduced from Arabic and Persian. [emphasis mine]

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While internal variations in the orthography of the TTms are not of the type that would suggest the influence of a new kind of spelling that began to emerge as the presence of Arabic script began to have effects in the archipelago, the comments of Kratz are still germane to our case; for they illustrate the deeply rooted orthographic habits that had been ingrained through centuries of use of Pallava-derived scripts, including that of the TTms. Spelling variations within the TTms may thus be explained by the lingering presence of the kind of orthographic conservatism that continued to be a part of East Javanese textuality as late as the sixteenth century. The evidence of the TTms suggests that this kind of orthographic conservatism still played a part in scribal habit, but was beginning to give way to a tendency to bring spelling into conformity with Malay phonology. In this light, the inconsistent use of contrasts in the sibilant and vocalic series in the TTms reflects a partial attention to retaining the older, more complete system of writing needed to reproduce a fully Sanskritized idiom like that of Old Malay or Old Javanese. While the entire TTms (TK 214) bears witness to some degree of Sanskritization in that we find a number of Sanskrit loanwords that have been entirely assimilated into the Malay isolect exemplified in the text, there are several sections of the manuscript that give special place to lengthier formulations in an idiom that is clearly intended to be Sanskritic and thus can be linked to wider networks in which Sanskritization played some role in processes of state formation. The question for a work like the TTms is the degree to which the text is Sanskritized and what this can tell us about the political context in which it was produced.

Chronological setting: the aspect of form15 The first of the Sanskritized sections of the TTms is the chronological formula that opens the text by establishing the Śaka era date in a form ubiquitous to inscriptions of the archipelago wherever Sanskritization was an element of socio-political organization. This form of Sanskritization spread over the entire archipelago from as early as the eighth century CE, but did not uniformly take the auspicious, initial position until well into the tenth century CE. For example, in the period prior to the marriage of Mahendradattā and Udā yana (ca. 989 CE), inscriptions of Bali opened with an exhortation to the village elders to pay heed to the contents of the inscription ( yumuhu

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pakatahu, “may it be known to you”), but afterwards commenced with a typical dating in the Śaka era that was prominent in Javanese inscriptions, including that of Mahendradattā’s father, Siṇḍok (reigned 929–946 CE). This shows us that the initial character of the Balinese inscriptions, prior to the ca. 989 CE was altered after the marriage of Mahendradattā and Udāyana to fit the form most common in the inscriptions of Java. Since it is well known that the language of the Balinese inscriptions shifted from Old Balinese to Old Javanese after the marriage of Mahendradattā and Udāyana, we can conclude that the replacement of the original hortative opening of the OB inscriptions to a chronological form was also a result of Javanese influence. However, the practice of beginning inscription with an auspicious dating in the Śaka era was not initially exclusive to Java, but is also found in the early inscriptions of the great maritime empire of Śrīvijaya in an area stretching from the isthmus of Kra on the Thai-Malay peninsula to the Musi river basin of South, Central Sumatra. In these inscriptions, we find two forms of stating the chronological information, which I will term the “initial” and “chronogram” forms of dating. These two ways of presenting the chronological information aimed at fixing the point of dedication of a charter at an auspicious moment in the flow of astronomical time are both found in the inscriptions of Śrīvijaya. We can thus gain an appreciation of their similarities and differences by comparing the inscription of Talang Tuwo, dated 784 CE, which records the dedication of a garden in the area of Palembang by Śrī Jayanāśa, with Side A of the Chaiya, or Ligor stele, dated 775 CE, which commemorates the building of several stupas by a Śrīvijayan monarch at Wiang Sa, located just off the Isthmus of Kra on the Thai-Malay peninsula. The inscription of Talang Tuwo, which gives us one of the first instances of the placement of the auspicious dating in the Śaka era in the initial position of an inscription, reads as follows: • swasti śrī Śakawarṣātīta 606 diṃ dwitīya śukla-pakṣa wulan Caitra • Hail, in the auspicious Śaka year just past 606 [= 784 CE], on the second day of the bright half of the lunar cycle, in the month of Caitra […] This “initial” form of dating inscriptions is also commonly found in the earliest inscriptions of Java, including the “stone of Kañjuraha (Dinoyo)” dated 682 Śaka [= 760 CE], the “stone of Dieng” dated

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731 Śaka [= 809 CE], and the copper-plate of Garung (Pěngging), dated 741 Śaka [= 819 CE]. This suggests that from the point of view of the scriptoria that were an essential part of state formation among the charter states of Southeast Asia, contacts between the Malay-Sumatran empire of Śrīvijaya and Javanese “kraton-states” aligned with the Śailendra or Sañjaya lineages must have been intensive enough to support the emergence of a uniform style of providing chronological materials that remained dominant for many hundreds of years following its initial appearance.16 The Chaiya inscription also gives us a good example of an early use of the “chronogram” form of presenting chronological information that is set within an inscription renowned for the high level of skill in Sanskrit metres, tropes and grammatical construction displayed by its author. It is difficult to say whether the ciphers used in the chronogram phrase of this inscription had a particular meaning for the monarch issuing the inscription, who is generally believed to have been the father of Sāmārāgravīra of the Nalanda and Kelurak inscriptions. The main chronological information of lines 26–29 of the Chaiya inscription reads as follows: • śāka-rāje muni-nava-rasakair (m)Mādhavaikādāśahe śukle kolīra-lagne bhṛgu-suta-sahite cāryyamañ jyotir-ārrye dewendrābhena ca Śrīvijayanṛpati […] sthapitās sūpa • In the royal Śaka year just completed “sages (7) — nine (9) — flavours (6)” [= 697 Śaka], on the eleventh day of the light half of the month of Mādhava, when the sun had risen with Venus in the sign of Cancer, the king of Śrīvijaya, whose splendour is like that of the gods […] caused the erection of a stupa.17 Similar uses of the chronogram format for recording auspicious dates are found in important inscriptions like the Śivagṛha inscription of 856 CE, notable as the first evidence of composition in metrical Old Javanese (hence the first appearance of the kakawin genre in literature) and an important source of historical information on the reigns of Rakai Pikatan and Rakai Khumbayoni in Central Java.18 The chronogram format remained numerically secondary to the “initial” format throughout the following centuries, but appears regularly in inscriptions of the paramount political centres, and eventually became an important mode of historical text-building in works like the Deśawarṇana/Nāgarakṛtāgama and the Pararaton that led to an entire field of chronogram-based histories

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beginning with the Babad Candrasengkala, a work studied by Ricklefs as one of the oldest texts in the later Javanese historical tradition.19 As we will see following the form taken by the chronological materials of the TTms is precisely the “initial” format for fixing the auspicious of an event and its textual embodiment that by the tenth century CE was standard throughout the archipelago wherever Sanskritization played a role in cultural and political practices. In this the TTms stands in contrast to the inscriptions of Ādityavarman, which are mixed in character, at times appearing with the “initial” format, but more often presenting chronological material in the form of a chronogram. We will suggest that these differences may be traceable to differences of style and education within the scriptoria associated with the court of Ādityavarman and lesser political centres peripheral to this court. I refer the reader here to the Appendix at the end of this chapter, which contains a brief review of inscriptions dated in the Śaka era for southern India, mainland and insular Southeast Asia for a period covering 627–1375 CE. A number of points emerge from this list that are relevant to the dating of the TTms, which takes the “initial” format for dating in the Śaka era: • the origins of dating in the Śaka era are undoubtedly Indian, and appear first in Southeast Asia in the pre-Angkor inscriptions • the “inital” format for giving the auspicious Śaka date appear first in inscriptions of Java, Sumatra and the Malay peninsula and appear to have been a development among scriptoria of Śrīvijayan, Śailendra and other Javanese court centres • the “chronogram” format for giving the Śaka date appears most often in inscriptions associated with major court centres; in many cases, the sophisticated content of these inscriptions links them to the projection of what Pollock (1996) has termed the “poetics of polity” • the “initial” format was overwhelmingly popular, especially — though not uniquely — for inscriptions that have a documentary purpose • among the inscriptions of Ādityavarman, only the first inscription issued in his name (reverse of Amoghapāśa image at Rambahan) in 1347 CE takes the “initial” format I will argue in this chapter that the Sanskritized passages of the TTms play a large role in the author’s efforts to anchor his text in a “charter state” context, perhaps to be associated with the court of Ādityavarman or one of his successors, and to thus authorize the TTms in terms of a

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centre of political power; in this sense, they represent an earlier form of textual practices that are represented in later Sumatran history by the surat cap of Minangkabau rulers of the seventeenth through early eighteenth centuries.20 In order to initiate this discussion, I propose comparing a diplomatic transcription of the chronological section of the TTms with an als ob (“as if ”) reconstruction of a hypothetical Sanskrit original that represents how the text would appear if composed by an author with a more thorough understanding of the rules of Sanskrit orthography and spelling.21 Comparing the diplomatic and als ob renderings of the chronological setting of the TTms, one notices immediately a series of sound changes that reflect differences between the Indo-European phonological repertoire of the Sanskrit original and its reception within the matrix of an Austronesian language (AN) of the Malayic subgrouping. These changes can also be understood as the orthographic traces of a movement between tatsama and tadbhava forms of representation within the Malay idiom of the manuscript. First, let us list these changes, then move on to a discussion of what they have to tell us about textual practices, whether we are dealing here with a scribal tradition for which “correct” orthography was a key to preserving the link to Sanskrit originals, or one that was responding in some sense to a local, spoken idiom: Diplomatic Transcription

Als Ob Reconstruction of Sanskrit Original

2) [aum] [bé?] […] swasti sěri saka[warsa]tita […] masa wèsaka … […] om · jyasta masa titi kěrěsnapaksa

[auṃ] [bé?] … svasti śrī śakavarṣātīta māsa vaiśākha oṃ · jyaiṣṭhā-māsa tithi kṛṣna-pakṣa

(a)  List of Prominent Sound-Changes • • • • • • •

ś > sě/__C ś > s/__V ṣ>s ā>a ai > e ṛ > rě and a preceding C > Cě th > t

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The kinds of sound changes represented by this movement from a hypothetical Sanskrit original to the form reflected by the orthography of the TTms can be summarized as follows: • • • •

reduction of the 3-part Sanskrit sibilant series to a single member [s] dissimulation of initial consonant clusters containing [s] or [r] loss of the contrast of simple and geminate vowels loss of the contrast between non-aspirate and aspirated (“breathy-voice”) consonants • reduction of diphthongs to simple vowels

All of these changes are of the type we expect to find in conditions where the more complex phonological system of Sanskrit comes into contact with an phonological system of the Western Malayo-Polynesian (WMP) sub-grouping. This suggests the “magnetic pull” of a spoken Malay idiom exerting its influence on a form of text-building and orthography that is usually associated with the scribal traditions of charter states like those of East Java. A comparison of the chronological setting of TK 214 with information from roughly contemporaneous inscriptions of East Java and Sumatra may help to shed light on this question. I thus propose here to compare the chronological framing of the TTms with that of the Balawi inscription of East Java and the Saruaso I inscription of Ādityavarman.

(b)  Chronological Section of the Balawi Inscription (1305 CE) This inscription was issued by Śrī Kṛtarājasa, founder of the Majapahit dynasty. Kṛtarājasa succeeded to the throne of the house of SinghasariMajapahit in 1294 after restoring the line of his uncle Kṛtanagara, whose kraton had been overrun by the forces of Jayakatwang in 1292 CE. If the information on this period found in the Pararaton can be accepted as reliable, then Kṛtarājasa must have had a close relationship with Ādityavarman from the time of his birth. For Kṛtarājasa is said to have married Dara Pĕtak, one of two Sumatran princesses who had been brought back to East Java after the Pamalayu expedition, whose elder sister — Dara Jingga — is described in the Pararaton as the mother of Ādityavarman.22 As is usual throughout the widespread provenance of the charter states of Southeast Asia, the chronological section is initial to the text, serving there as the inscriptional equivalent of the “auspicious beginning” (manggala) that is almost invariably found at the beginning

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of literary texts of genres like the OJ kakawin. As Gomperts (1998) has shown, the number of chronological details that are given in Javanese inscriptions continued to grow all throughout the East Javanese period. The chronological information of the Balawi inscription thus includes reference to days of the Javano-Balinese five-day and six-day weeks, as well as the graha, nakṣatra, dewata, maṇḍala, yoga, muhurta, praweśa, karaṇa and rāśi of Indian astrology. In the citation below, we will give only the information as far as it parallels the usage of the TTms (and will discount for the time being the curious doubling of the month names found in the TTms). If we set this dating information alongside that of the TTms, we find a very close similarity between the two documents. Both open with the auspicious word swasti (“hail, good fortune”), followed by a reference to the Śaka year, the month (māsa), the ‘day’ (tithi), and the cycle of the moon, which in both cases is the “dark half of the lunar cycle” (kṛṣṇapakṣa): Balawi: // 0 // swasti śrī śakawarśā i śaka 1227 waiṣaka-māsa tithi pañcadasi kṛṣṇapakṣa Als-ob reconstruction of TTms: [auṃ] … swasti śrī śakawarṣātīta… māsa vaiśākha oṃ · jyaiṣṭhā-māsa tithi kṛṣnapakṣa See Chapter 6.2. (d) on a possible date following the phrase māsa vaiśākha. We should also remark on the curious lapse of the name of the tithi in the TTms. It is possible that the author of the TTms was not equipped with complete information on the Indian astrological termino­ logy, so could not supply the name of the tithi. Since a tithi is defined as 1/30th of a lunation (27+ days), there are 15 tithi in each cycle of the moon (waxing and waning); it is thus possible that the author of the TTms used the phrase tithi kṛṣnapakṣa to refer (rather loosely) to “a day in the waning cycle of the moon”. It should be more than clear from this comparison that the author of the TTms has followed the normal practice for published inscriptions of the East Javanese era, and may thus have been basing the “auspicious beginning” of his own text on a scribal tradition with widespread provenance throughout the archipelago. We will return anon to a discussion of what this may imply about the scriptoria represented by the author of the TTms.

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(c)  Chronological Information of Saruaso I Inscription (1375 CE) When we turn to an inscription issued by Ādityavarman from a time period that may have been contemporaneous with that of the TTms, we find a similar informational content, but in a consciously literary form of expression that can be read variously in terms of his pretensions to grandeur, or an insistence on his role as a monarch intent on bringing welfare to his people through the accumulation of (Buddhist) virtues: Saruaso I (=”Batu Běragung”)23 bhuh karṇṇe nava darśśane Saka-gate Jeṣṭhe śaśi Manggale ǀ sukle ṣaṣṭhi-tithir nṛpottama-gunair[r] ādityavarmma-nṛpaḥ ǀ In the Śaka year just past “earth=ears=nine=philosophical-schools”, in the month of Jeṣṭhe (Sanskrit Jyaiṣṭhā), on Tuesday, On the sixth day of the waxing cycle of the moon, through his good qualities as a supreme monarch, King Ādityavarman, […]

As Kern has shown in his discussion of this inscription (1917d, pp. 259–61), the date of the Saruaso I inscription is given initially in chronogram form in the phrase: “earth (1) — ears (2) — nine (9) — philosophical-schools (7)” [= 1297 Śaka, 1375 CE]. The fact that the numerical elements of this chronogram read forward, in the form known as suryasengkala, makes this chronogram somewhat unusual, although not unique in the history of chronogram dating in the archipelago. The inscriptions of Ādityavarman are not uniform on this point. While Kern (1917a, pp. 170–71) has shown that line 5.1 of the Padang Candi inscription24 can be read as containing a chronogram that reads forward as 1269 Śaka, the chronogram of the Rambatan inscription (candradwara-bhuja-ratu, “moon=doors=shoulders=lord/ruler”) reads in the more usual reverse, or candra­sengkala, order, yielding a date of 1291 Śaka [= 1369 CE].25 The words of the Saruaso I chronogram appear to be used largely for their numerical values, although — as in the case of chronograms elsewhere — it is always possible that there is some allusion to an historical event within the chronogram.26 It is typical of Ādityavarman’s inscriptions that dating information is woven into a Sanskrit metrical structure (in this case, the nineteensyllable metre Śārdūlavikrīḍita), whose major content is a panegyric on

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Ādityavarman and his concern for developing Buddhist virtues (paramitā), especially a set of four of these virtues (catur-paramitā) consisting of metrī (friendliness), karuṇā (compassion), muditā (joyfulness) and upekṣā (equanimity). While the stating of the auspicious date of the Saruaso I inscription is given in chronogram form, it is followed immediately by chronological phrases more typical of inscriptions elsewhere. This allows us to compare the chronological phrasing of the Saruaso I inscription (S1) and the Tanjung Tanah manuscript, and to note clear similarities in the elements chosen for representation: Saruaso I Inscription:

Tanjung Tanah Manuscript:

saka-gate jeṣṭhe śaśi sukle ṣaṣṭhi-tithir

saka[warsa]tita masa wèsaka… om · jyasta masa titi kěrěsnapaksa

In terms of content there are clear parallels, either directly or through synonyms. For example, both gate and -atita (Skt ātīta) mean “passed by” (in the sense of dating the present event in terms of the number of the year whose beginning has most recently passed by), while both śaśi and masa mean “(lunar) month”. It is also notable that the Saruaso I inscription retains the Sanskrit locative inflection -e at several points, while this is not the case for the TTms. A comparison of phonological material also yields striking parallels. First, we note that the reduction of the sibilant series (ś > s) is not confined to the TTms but is also found in the S1 inscription, so that the Śaka year is written in both sources as /saka/, while (Skt) śukle becomes /sukle/ in the S1. This suggests that reduction of the sibilant series was a common and well-established process among the scriptoria of fourteenthcentury Sumatra, at least in the area of the Batang Hari river basin and the adjacent Minangkabau highlands. In this the Sumatran evidence stands in contrast to contemporaneous inscriptions of East Java and Bali, where a strict adherence to written representations that retained the contrastive features of Sanskrit phonology was a general rule. In other respects, the inscription of the S1 is more conservative than that of the TTms. The S1 retains a more direct reflection of the Sanskrit sibilant series in ṣaṣṭhi (“sixth”) and in śaśi (“moon; month”), and is in

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general more attuned to correct Sanskrit phonology, for example, retaining -th- in tithi (vs. titi in the TTms) and rendering the Sanskrit month name Jyeṣṭha as Jeṣṭha rather than the more simplified form Jyasta found in the TTms. In comparing the chronological framing of the TTms with the dating information of the S1, it is clear that they derive from the same school or tradition of scribal practices, but that the movement towards a reduction of Sanskritized orthography and phonology and reformulation in terms of Malayic phonological norms has proceeded further in the TTms. The comparison of the dating sections of the S1 and TTms also serves to highlight the puzzling fact that the chronological section of the TTms gives two month names in succession. Let us reconsider the first phrases of the chronological framing of the TTms (in reconstructed form): [auṃ] [bé] … swasti śrī śakavarṣātīta … māsa vaiśākha … Aum … hail to the glorious Śaka year past, (in) the month of Vaiśākha … oṃ · jyaiṣṭhā-māsa tithi kṛṣna-pakṣa Om, (in) the month of Jyaiṣṭhā, a day in the dark half of the lunar month …

Since these two months are named in separate lines, and separated by the character for Oṃ, it seems possible that the first month named — Vaiśāka — refers to an important event that occurred in that month of the Śaka year. However, since there is no further mention of such an event, perhaps the month of the birth of the Buddha (Vaiśāka) was understood as the first month of the current Śaka year, while the convocation itself was held in the following month of Jyaiṣṭhā, another month among those considered auspicious for the inception of an important event like the promulgation of the code of laws of the TTms.27 While we can conclude that the chronological information of the S1 and TTms “come from the same workshop”, there are enough differences of orthography and lexical choice to show that the author of the TTms was not simply copying chronological information from a public document like the stone inscription of S1, but relied on the dating conventions of a scriptoria or scribal tradition for whom initiating a textual endeavour with an auspicious statement of chronological data in Sanskritized form was as natural as affixing a seal in the later tradition of the Minangkabau surat cap.

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(d)  Chronological Setting: Dating Information in the Manuscript It is unfortunate that the date of the TTms has not been presumed legible in the past, despite the fact that there are several points of question in the first lines of the manuscript at which the ciphers of the date may have been written. If we assume, as I think we must, that the “initial” format otherwise represented in the presentation of the dating information of the TTms implies that we must seek the ciphers of the date among the first lines of the manuscript, then it follows that we should investigate more carefully several lacunae among these lines of the manuscript that represent either tears in the daluang paper of the manuscript or points at which written characters appear to be present, but are barely legible. There are three points among the first three lines of the manuscript that meet the criteria for a reinspection of the dating material. In the first line of TTms 02 there is a tear after two characters that are visible as Oṃ and provisionally reconstructed as be-. The space where the tear has occurred is large enough to have contained the ciphers of a date, but the location prior to the usual phrase beginning swasti — which has been recognized as final to line 1 — would be unusual. In the second line, the characters follow­ing the more legible characters śri saka- are not at all clear in current photographic records, but have been reconstructed as -warṣātīta, which is completely plausible as it allows us to reconstruct the full phrase swasti śrī śakawarṣātīta which is uniform to a great majority of inscriptions in “initial” format. Following this we find what appear to be three characters that are now only partly legible. This is the first area in TTms page 02 where there is some possibility of recovering the ciphers of a date. However, the space here does not appear large enough to contain the four ciphers we would expect of a Śaka date sometime in the latter part of the fourteenth century. Line 4 of TTms 02 presents the most promising area for searching for the four ciphers of a date in the Śaka era. Following the completely legible Figure 6.1 Line 4 of TTms 02

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characters for the phrase māsa wesaka, we find the set of two double bars separated by two dots that ordinarily marks boundaries at significant points of meaning within the TTms (and indeed within related scribal traditions like that of the inscriptions of Ādityavarman). Following this, there appear to be four characters that may well represent ciphers. The first of these is shaped like the character for ba in the script of the TTms, but with an upward extension at the end of the character that reaches slightly above the top line of the character and may be completed with a small loop. This integer is somewhat mysterious in that, to my knowledge at least, it is unattested in other Sumatran evidence; however, it is identical in form to the cipher for “one” that is well-known from the Balinese system of orthography, and may have developed as a regional variation in East Java by the time of the TTms. Unfortunately, the following character is not legible in current photograph and needs further examination. However, the third character in the series is clearly a small circle that must represent the usual cipher for zero. The character following this (the fourth character) is barely legible in existing photographs, but does appear to be in a form that is not unlike the cipher for “two” in Majapahit era inscriptions, though of a more narrow profile. While we must await the possibility of a closer examination of TTms 02 that might allow the use of modern technical tools like those used by experts in the restoration of textiles or written materials, it seems likely that we can read here a series of ciphers for which at least two of four characters are legible, and can reconstruct the partial date: 1—x—0—x. If we then assume (based on the carbon-dating evidence of the TTms) that the second character must be a three (thus placing the manuscript in Figure 6.2 Enlarged Section of Line 4

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the fourteenth century CE), then we arrive at the Śaka date that must fall between 1300 and 1309. Even if we cannot assign a value to the fourth cipher, we now have a range of nine years between 1379 CE (1301 + 78) and 1387 CE (1309 + 78) when the TTms, may have been composed.28 If this is the correct reading of the date of the TTms, it has revolutionary implications for our understanding of the period following the rule of Ādityavarman as we know it from the inscriptions. Given that the last known date of inscription of Ādityavarman is Saruaso I, which records his initiation as a wiśeṣa-dhāraṇi in 1297 Śaka, or 1375 CE, then records like the TTms that maintain the textual format of a charter-state like that apparently envisioned by Ādityavarman for highland Sumatra can only refer to the polity of one of his successors. 29 We know that one of these may have been Ananggavarman, who is described in the undated Saruaso II inscription as the son of Ādityavarman (Anaṅgavarmma-tanaya Ādityavarmma-prabho) and the crown prince. Another possible candidate is Bijayendravarman, who is also described in the Kubu Sutan (Lubuk Layang) inscription as a crown prince, but without a clear reference to Ādityavarman. Previous to the dating of the TTms, they were assumed to have disappeared from history not long after the demise of Ādityavarman. The evidence of the TTms, however, suggests that the politico-economic system put in place by Ādityavarman was still alive and well for a score or more years after his death or abdication in 1375, and that the evidence of the Chinese annals (Wolters 1970, pp. 64–71) for the destruction of Malayu by a punitive expedition of the Majapahit may mean that Dharmāśraya and the Minangkabau highlands were cut off from the coastal areas of Jambi, but that the Majapahit expedition was not the direct cause of the disappearance of the empire of Ādityavarman and his successors. As we will note following, if the TTms was indeed composed following the reign of Ādityavarman, but within the horizon of the polity he envisioned for the future of the Minangkabau highlands, this will shed light on phrases like sang hyang kěmattan (TTms 4.1) that appear to refer to a deified king and/or ancestor, rather than to the reigning monarch.

Setting of the convocation; eulogy of the reigning monarch The passage following the chronological framing of the TTms carries forward the task of authorizing the text by placing the convocation in a

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geographical context — and perhaps more importantly — giving a short eulogy of the ruling monarch that presages the author’s further claims to proximity to this monarch and his court. While the chronological passage presents few philological difficulties, the same cannot be said for the second set of framing passages, so that many uncertainties remain. Before attempting an analysis of the lexical structure of the passage let us first compare diplomatic and reconstructed versions of the passage: Diplomatic transcription

Als ob reconstruction of Sanskrit original

di wasè[ba]n

di wasèban

peduka seri maharaja karetabèssa

pādukā Śrī Mahārāja Kārta-bhaiṣaj

seri gandawaŋsa maredana, maga-

Śrī Gandhawaṃśa Pradhāna-Měgat-Pra-

sèna … karetabèssa …

seṇa … Kārta-bhaiṣaj …

The first phrase “in Waseban” presents the first difficulty in that this place name is elsewhere unattested, either in the textual record or in toponyms of the Batang Hari river basin, where the code of laws section of the TTms appears to have been composed.30 However, given the relative similarity of the graphemes for /p/ and /w/ in the script of the TTms, and the lack of an aspirate/non-aspirate contrast like that of Sanskrit in Malay isolects we can reconstruct a hypothetical form *pa-sabhā-n, which is attested in OJ as pa-sabha-n, “public meeting-place, audience-place”.31 This reconstruction fits the context well, allowing us to see the entire phrase as referring to the “audience hall of his majesty… etc”. The title of the ruling monarch (Śri Mahārāja) is problematical in another sense, for here we must deal with the problem of the relative status of the terms mahārāja and mahārājādirāja. There remains some controversy among historians of the archipelago around the question of whether at certain point in the epigraphical record, the term mahārājādirāja came to be used as the sole term for a paramount monarch, and that at the same time mahārāja came to be used with reference to subordinate political actors who may have held power in a local domain, but always with reference to a superior overlord who held the title mahārājādirāja. I would argue that this usage is not uniform for the archipelago of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, but rather reflects the degree of influence of the terminology of the Pāṇḍya model from South India. The Tuhañaru

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inscription dated 1245 Śaka (1332 CE) and attributed to Jayanāgara (r. 1309–28 CE) is one inscription that reflects strong Pāṇḍya influences, for example, in the use of the title Śrī Sundara-Pāṇḍya-dewādhīśwara as the consecration name (nāmābhiṣeka) of the ruling monarch, in this mirroring the name of Sundara-Pāṇḍya IV, a prominent king in the Pāṇḍyan revival who ruled 1307–39, thus during a period almost identical with that of Jayanāgara. There is a decidedly Vaiṣṇava orientation detectable in the language of this inscription, for example, in the use of the word gopala (“cowherd”) in one of the epithets of the reigning monarch (Śrī Wirakaṇḍa-gopala) which invokes well-known associations with Viṣṇu/ Kṛṣṇa.32 Pāṇḍyan political terminology is also prominent in the Tuhañaru inscript­ion. This is reflected in the adumbration of regal terms introducing the reigning monarch as Śrī Mahārāja-Rājādhirāja [Parameśwara]. There is no time here to carry forward a further discussion of the Tuhañaru inscription. However, we should note at least in passing the extremely interesting reference here to one Rake Tuhan Mapatiḥ who is described in terms of his leadership of the “three foremost lords” (rakryan i Hino, rakryan i Sirikan, rakryan i Halu) and said to stand alongside Dyaḥ Halāyudha, the patiḥ (“prime minister”) of Majapahit in “providing the sacred (female) basis ( pranāla) that ensures the strength and longevity (sākṣāt prnālâmrati-subaddhakěn) of the sacred seat ( palinggih) of the king (śrī mahārāja). The term tuhan in the phrase Tuhan Mapatiḥ cannot be anything but a Malay term, and as such appears to be directly reflected in the phrase Deva Tūhan Apātih, a title of either Ādityavarman or an important official elsewhere in the area of his sovereignty found in line 11.4 of the Amoghapāśa inscription of 1269 Śaka, or 1347 CE.33 This reference in the Tuhañaru inscription appears to establish Ādityavarman’s presence at the Majapahit court eleven years prior to the moment in 1343 CE when he dedicated a statue of Mañjuśri at Candi Jago, referring to himself there as the “chief minister” (mantrī prauḍhataro) of the Majapahit dynasty, and having been born in the lineage of the regent, Rājapatnī, one of the most important figures in the Majapahit royal family in the mid-fourteenth century.34 The question now arises as to whether there was a tendency following Jayanagara for all kings of the Majapahit to adopt the paramount title of mahārāja-rājādhirāja or whether — as appears to be the case in the TTms — the simpler title mahārāja might suffice to establish a monarch in the paramount position in a circle of political power. One example of

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an inscription that shows that the term mahārāja-rājādhirāja was not a necessary part of the enunciation of royal power in the archipelago after 1323 CE can be found in the language of the Canggu inscription [Trowulan I], dated 1280 Śaka, or 1358 CE. Issued by the famous Rājasanagara/ Hayam Wuruk — who cannot have been anything else but the paramount monarch during his reign (1350–89) — the monarch is styled in this inscription simply as Śrī Mahārāja, once in line a.5 of plate E 36, once in line b.3 of the same plate.35 Unfortunately we do not have enough inscriptional or textual evidence from early 2nd millennium Sumatra to enable a comparative study of uses of the terms mahārāja and mahārājarājādhirāja. However, the Javanese case strongly suggests that when we study the history of fourteenth century Sumatra, we do not have to think in terms of a ranked hierarchy of ruling monarchs graded terminologically in ascending order from mahārāja to mahārāja-rājādhirāja. The evidence of the inscriptions of Ādityavarman and his predecessors is more complicated and indeed suggests a shifting between the terms mahārāja-rājādhirāja and mahārāja that may reflect changes in the relationship of the reigning monarch in Malayu and the Majapahit court. As de Casparis has noted in a set of handwritten documents available for study in the Kern Institute of Leiden, Akārendravarman is referred to as mahārājādhirāja twice in the Gudam I inscription (lines 3 and 12), thus using a title that it is attested on Java only in the fifth-century Tugu inscription of Pūrṇṇavarman and in the inscription at the base of the Amoghapāśa image sent to Malayu in 1286 CE by Kṛtanagara. He reasons — I believe correctly — that Kṛtanagara chose this title for himself in order to conform to the standards of Malayu, noting that the inscription itself is composed in Old Malay. De Casparis feels that the Sumatran preference for the longer titles can be traced to the Gupta style of first millennium Northern India, but it can be equally associated with the Pāṇḍya influences noted above. The fact that one of the two (now missing) sides of the Batu Bapahat inscription of Ādityavarman was written in Tamil, of course, supports a close connection of the court of Malayu with South India during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. A preference for the longer more grandiloquent title is reflected in Ādityavarman’s use of the title mahārājādhirāja in the Pagaruyung (I) inscription of 1356. We will return to a discussion of titles used by Ādityavarman in his inscriptions in a later section of this chapter. However, we should pause here to note that in a recent review of the evidence for

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Ādityavarman’s rule, Kulke (2009) has suggested that Ādityavarman’s later shift to less grandiose titles can be combined with the evidence of Deśawarṇana/Nāgarakṛāgama 13.1c to suggest that Ādityavarman toned down his use of titles as part of a compromise with the Majapahit court that allowed them to speak of Malayu as a suzerain, but allowed him relative autonomy in his own region. We should not fail to note here that the term mahārājādhirāja lived on as a title of major significance in the period following 1668 CE, when the Dutch found it expedient to characterize themselves as the “guardians of the west coast” for the “emperors ruling in Pagaruyung”. In Andaya’s Leaves of the Same Tree (2008, pp. 96–107), the aura of magical power that emanated from the sacred heirlooms of the house of Pagaruyung was a major factor in what he terms the “ethnicization of the Minangkabau”, a process of identity-formation that led to a distillation of a unique Minangkabau identity from the historical background of a Malay ethnic identity. In this process the epistolary means noted by Drakard (1999) as a central, organizing principle in the “Minangkabau world” (alam Minangkabau) derived their greatest power when issued from the royal court in Pagaruyung, whose reigning monarchs were known as the maharajadiraja. Andaya summarizes the profound influence of Pagaruyung and its “supreme king among kings”, thus: For approximately two centuries, from the late 1660s until 1833, Pagaruyung provided the locus for Minangkabau identity. Its realm was the alam, a world consisting of those on Sumatra and beyond who acknowledged and obeyed the missives and emissaries sent from Pagaruyung. Regarded as pusaka, or sacred heirlooms, these emissaries of Pagaruyung embodied the spiritual powers of the court and helped to give shape to the Minangkabau alam. Princes purporting to be from Pagaruyung were eagerly sought as rulers by Minangkabau communities on Sumatra and the Malay peninsula, not only to win prestige but also to benefit from their special protective powers. Until the dissolution of the monarchy in the late nineteenth century, the belief in an alam Minangkabau with Pagaruyung as its center was well established (Andaya 2008, p. 104).

Our reconstruction of karetabessa as Kārtabhaiṣaj is also problemati­cal, but here on philological grounds. Kareta, the initial component of what is clearly a compound is easily recognizable as Sanskrit kārta-

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“being made, accomplished”, but bèssa is at best opaque to analysis. We have attempted here a reconstruction as bhaiṣaj, a word of Sanskrit origin meaning “expert in healing” and found occasionally in Buddhist contexts referring to bodhisattva-s like Bhaiṣajya-guru who are invoked for their powers of healing, and so sometimes referred to as “medicine bodhisattva-s”. The phonological comparison of bèssa to bhaiṣaj may not be particular strong, since beyond the shift from [ai] to [i] that is quite common between Sanskrit and vernacular languages, even on the sub­-continent, we still need to account for the loss of the final [j] of bhaiṣaj. However, as we will see following, a higher degree of plausibility for the reconstruction arises when we consider the more recognizable phrase seri gandawaŋsa. Reconstructing seri gandawaŋsa is straightforward and unproblematic, yielding an original tatsama form Śrī Gandhavaṃśa that can be translated as “his majesty of the fragrant dynasty”. This leads immediately to the question of whether there was a ruling monarch of fourteenth-century Sumatra whose name was associated in some way with the idea of “fragrance”, a word whose figural possibilities live on in the Malay-Indonesian expression mempunyai nama harum, “to have a fragrant (good) name”. It is perhaps not too remarkable that we find just such an association with “fragrance” when we look to the inscriptions of Ādityavarman. A first example, composed in the Mālinī metre, is found in the Padang Candi inscription of 1269 Śaka (=1347 CE): Ādityavarman is characterized in this verse as the “lord of the queen elephant Mātāṅginī”, an epithet that is said to reflect his marriage to a powerful princess of native Sumatran birth. Rambahan (Padang Candi), Verse VI. [metre: upajāti of vaṃśasthā and indravaṃśā] bihaṅgamātāṅgabilāṣasobhite | kāntārasaugandhīsuradrumākule | surāṅganā(17) lākhitakāñcanālaye | mātaṅginiso suradirghikāgate ǁ 6 ǁ

Rambahan (Padang Candi), Verse VII, line 1. [metre: mālini] anubhavati biśeṣonmādasandohahāhā | When the charm of birds and elephants glows beautifully, and an intensely pleasant fragrance from the trees spreads everywhere; when heavenly nymphs adorn the golden abode, and the lord of Mātāṅginī comes to its divine ponds. (6.1–4) experiences an abundance of particular intoxications… (7.1)36

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The lexeme saugandhi, “pleasantly fragrant” in this verse is descript­ive, so does not offer us strong evidence for an association of Ādityavarman’s name with the idea of a “fragrant dynasty”, but there is other evidence to support such an association. This is an important point since, so far as I know at present, there is no other dynasty in the annals of the archipelago that is so strongly identified in terms of the phrase “fragrant” (gandha). To be sure associations of a fragrant odour with good behaviour are legion in the archipelago, hence the longevity of the Malay phrase nama harum, “fragrant (good) name”. However, the associations with a particular dynasty are strongest, if not unique, to the case of Ādityavarman. For stronger evidence of an association of Ādityavarman with a “fragrant dynasty”, we need to turn again to the Saruaso I inscription dated by Kern (1917d, p. 261) at 1296 Śaka (= 1375 CE). In the last line of this inscription we find the lexeme gandha, “fragrant” twice, in the second case in a phrase expressing the wish that Ādityavarman “become the same as the fragrance of the Vedic oblation” (homa-gandho samo bhavet). While this is not the same as naming Ādityavarman’s lineage as “the fragrant lineage”, and so suggests a continuing need for caution, it is very suggestive of a special association that may well be reflected in the phrase seri gandawaŋsa/Śrī Gandhawaṃśa of the TTms: bhuḥ karṇṇe nava-darśśane Saka gate Jeṣṭhe śaśi Manggale ǀ sukla śaśṭi-tithir nṛpottama-gunair [r] ādityavarmma-nṛpaḥ ǁ kṣetra-jñaḥ racito viśeśa-dharaṇī nāmnā surāvāśavān ǀ37 hāśāno [read: Āśāno] nṛpa āsanottama sadā khādyam pivan nissabhā ǁ puṣpakoṭisahāśrāni ǀ teṣām gandham pṛthak- pṛthak ǀ ādittyavarma-bhūpāla ǀ homa-gandho samo bhavet ǁ o ǁ In the Śaka year “earth=ears=nine=philosophical schools” [= 1279 Śaka], in the auspicious month of Jyaiṣṭha, On the sixth day of the waxing moon, Ādityavarman, the monarch of surpassing virtues, A knower of the field, who has been initiated in a [ritual of] called “special concentration”, who (resides) in the (place) that is “scented by heroes”, [This] divine king sits always on the high throne, eating and drinking in his hall of audience. Among a thousand ten million flowers, each one with its own distinctive fragrance (gandham),

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May this king Ādityavarman become one with the fragrance of the Homa offering (homa-gandho).

Perhaps the strongest evidence for the association of “fragrance” (gandha) with the dynasty of Ādityavarman is the element vāśa in Śuravāśa, the ancient name of what is believed to have been the centre of power of Malayu after Akārendravarman moved his capital from Dharmāśraya to the Tanah Datar region of highland western Sumatra. Once again we can find valuable information on this point in the handwritten notes of de Casparis of the Kern Institute of Leiden. In his discussion of the (very illegible) Sanskrit portion of the Batu Bapahat inscription he has detected the compound Amara-vāśita-vāsa, which he notes appears to be a synonym for Śuravāśa, and appears to relate to the founding of the place by that name. As de Casparis explains the synonymous relationship of Śuravāśa and Amara-vāśita-vāsa, amara, “immortal/immortal hero” = śura, “hero”; vāśita = vāśa, “perfumed”; while vāsa = “abode, place of dwelling”. While the compound Śuravāśa does not include a lexeme denoting “place”, its use as a place name leaves little doubt that this meaning is implicit in the term. If we look back to the Saruaso I cited above we note the phrase surāvāśavān, which can very likely be read śuravāśavān. This might be read “one who has the quality of being scented by heroes (or heroism)”, but I believe it is more likely that we should read “one who resides in the place “made fragrant by heroes”. We thus find in the inscriptions of the Tanah Datar area an assembly of names relating to the centre of the highland kingdom of Akārendravarman and Ādityavarman that make clear references to the notion of “fragrance”, which is then reflected in the epithet Śrī Gandhawaṃśa, “the exalted lord of the fragrant dynasty” found in the TTms. Returning to the question of the possible reconstruction of karetabèssa as Kārtabhaiṣaj we must continue along the same cautious lines, not assuming too much from the evidence of a single morpheme (-bèssa), even when it is repeated twice in the same series of epithets of the ruling monarch. At the same time, while the argument I propose to develop here is in stark contrast with the line of thought first put forward by Moens (1924), and still surprisingly influential among historians of the archipelago, I believe it is worth pointing out that there is slim evidence for anything like the practices of human sacrifice or orgiastic rituals that Moens believed he detected in the inscriptions of Ādityavarman. On the contrary there are repeated references to his development of the Buddhist virtues and his

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compassionate regard for his subjects which suggest that he thought of himself as a “royal bodhisattva” in the Buddhist mould, albeit one with a decidedly Tantric approach to the question of salvation. While I view the study of images like the Bhairava image of Padang Roco as very important for our understanding of the reign of Ādityavarman, the subject is too complex for anything approaching an adequate treatment here. However, I should at least state my position in opposition to an earlier generation of scholars who were intent on finding evidence for cannibalistic and orgiastic practices in the historical record on Ādityavarman, as also on Kṛtanāgara. It is unfortunate that at a time when we have at our disposal many excellent and scientific works on esoteric Buddhism that it is not uncommon to find approving references to the claims of Moens (1937, p. 457), who pictures Ādityavarman’s consecration as a Bhairava that is described in the Saruaso inscription of 1375 CE as including the eating of human flesh and the drinking of blood. Moens also follows Berg (1938, 1953) in ascribing orgiastic practices to Kṛtanāgara (reigned 1265–92 CE), whose consecration as Akṣobhya in the rites of the Guhyasamājatantra (recorded in his Akṣobhya image inscription of 1289 CE) appears almost certainly to have provided a model for Ādityavarman’s later consecrations, for example, as a viśeṣadharaṇī as described in the Saruaso I inscription of 1375 CE. I have begun an initial reassessment of these claims elsewhere (Hunter 2007a, pp. 49–51) focusing there on the claim that the Pararaton and Kidung Rangga Lawe provide evidence that Kṛtanāgara died while in a state of orgiastic intoxication. The textual evidence merely suggests that he had become tipsy while having a drink with his chief minister at the point when his kraton was under attack by Jayakatwang, and that he was thus unable to resist in the heroic manner expected of a worthy monarch. I believe that the way forward lies in investigating earlier claims in view of more recent works on important Buddhist Tantric works like the Kālacakratantra in studies like those of Vesna (2004), Hoffman (1969) and Newman (1987, 1992). While Vesna’s (2004) work shows us that psycho-sexual practices may have played an actual (rather than purely symbolic) role in the Buddhist Tantrism of the early second millennium, these practices were in no sense of the “orgiastic” sort, and should rather be understood in terms of the totality of subtle wisdom (prajñā) and practice (upāya) that is the goal of all Tantras.38 Leaving aside here the question of the possibility that Ādityavarman was initiated into the practices of the Kālacakra-tantra, let us focus on the

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inscriptional evidence for his concern for developing the “four virtues of a bodhisattva” (catur-pāramitā). While there is some controversy on the date of the set of Old Javanese Buddhist “handbooks” titled Sang Hyang Kamahāyānan Mantranāya (SHM) and Sang Hyang Kamahāyānikan (SHKM), there is a strong possibility that they were well-known in the archipelago by the time of Ādityavarman. It is in the SHKM that we find early evidence for a concern with the catur-pāramitā that must have been shared by Buddhist institutions of Java and Sumatra, since they can be traced in both the SHKM and the inscriptions of Ādityavarman.38 In the SHKM, we find descriptions of two sets of Buddhist virtues popular in the Mahāyāna literature. First, we find the narrator of the SHKM describing a set of six virtues termed the ṣaṭ-pāramitā (dāna-, śīla, kṣanti-, wīrya-, dhyana- and prajñā-) and following this a set of four virtues, termed the catur-pāramitā. The narrator of the SHKM speaks of these four virtues as follows: • metrī, friendliness — described as consisting of the desire to bring about the welfare of others, without regard to benefit for oneself (Kats 1910, p. 42)40 • karuṇā, compassion — described as the desire to alleviate the three kinds of suffering of all living beings (Kats 1910, pp. 42–43) • muditā, joyfulness — described as the desire to bring the three kinds of happiness to all living beings, e.g. happiness dependent on other beings, happiness dependent on the Buddhist law (dharma) and happiness without dependency of any kind (Kats 1910, p. 44) • upekṣā, equanimity — described as being unmoved and unchanged in the practice of bringing about the welfare of others, acting without any thought of compensation (Kats 1910, p. 44) There are several inscriptional sources that mention Ādityavarman’s efforts to develop the catur-pāramitā and attest to his identifying himself as aspiring to the role of a world-saviour. These include: • the inscription of Bukit Gombak (Pagaruyung I), dated 1278 Śaka (1356 CE), line 2 (Hasan Djafar 1992, p. 15; Kern 1917c, p. 268): maitrī tvaṃ karuṇā [m]upekṣā-muditā satvopakārā-guṇā • the undated inscription of Kubur Rajo, lines 7–9 (Kern 1917b, pp. 217, 219): maitrī karuṇā ā mudita upekṣā ā 41 While we may not yet be able to draw a direct connection between the ruling monarch described in the TTms and Ādityavarman, the fact

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that the lexical content of the opening eulogy of the TTms appears to be directed towards the glorification of the “fragrant” and “healing” virtues of the monarch opens up the possibility that the TTms may be referring to Ādityavarman himself, or to one of his successors. We will return to this important question anon. If we return now to the remaining epithets found in the opening eulogy of the TTms, we may find further evidence for the possibility of connections between the TTms and the court circle of Ādityavarman. In his study of the Pagaruyung (I) inscription, Kern (1917c, pp. 271, 275) has drawn attention to Javanese and Malay lexemes found in the inscriptions of Ādityavarman, which otherwise might best be characterized as being composed in a local Sumatran Sanskrit that is remarkable for its hybrid nature and deviation from Pāṇinian norms.42 While we must take a cautious approach in reconstructing the following epithets of the ruling monarch of the TTms and assuming an exclusive OJ provenance, they are among other lexemes in the TTms that suggest a connection with East Javanese modes of expression that can be quite reasonably connected with the career of Ādityavarman: Diplomatic Form

Reconstruction

Provenance

maredana

pradhāna

pan-archipelago Skt, including OJ [OJED 1380-1] “chief thing or person”

maga-

*měgět

OJ [OJED 1132] paměgět, saměgět, “a person invested with a high office or rank at court”

sena-

senapati

pan-archipelago Skt, including OJ [OJED 1750] “army-commander, general”

There are not a few philological and orthographic puzzles that need to be solved before the three reconstructions suggested above can be taken as anything more than tentative. We must, for example, account for the possible shift from [m] to [p] in deriving pradhāna from maredana. In suggesting that maga- may be related to OJ paměgět, saměgět we are on somewhat firmer ground in that another fragmentary form of this lexeme appears in the list of local officials following in TTms, line 3.4. Here we find the sequence senapati prapatiḥ sama - - t, where one of the possibilities for the obscure character of the manuscript is [ga]. If this is the case, we can thus reconstruct samagat and propose a specific relation to the technical vocabulary

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of the East Javanese inscriptions, which in a great many cases feature the term paměgat or saměgat. Here the term is used to refer to an important class of officials who were often involved in the tax-transfer charters issued when sīma lands were opened up for the support of religious domains.43 The form samagat/saměgat is generally (and I believe correctly) assumed to be a contraction of sang pamagat/paměgat, and perhaps ultimately to be related to pěgat, “broken off ”, hence to practices of surveying that “broke off” or “demarcated” the boundaries of rice fields, religious domains and other areas whose borders needed to be fixed for purposes of taxation, or relief from taxation. If this reconstruction is correct, then we find here one more piece of evidence linking the TTms to the efforts of Ādityavarman to establish a Javanese-style polity in the upper reaches of the Batang Hari river basin; for the saměgat, usually listed in the inscriptions of East Java as three in number, were very important in the system of establishing sīma lands that was a major engine of economic productivity in the hinterland areas of the Brantas river valley of East Java. Founded on hierarchical principles that had long been naturalized in East Java, this form of political organization may not have been congenial to the highland Minangkabau settlements that Ādityavarman chose as his centre of political power (cf. Miksic 1987). Reading samagat in the TTms as one of the officials of the polity described in the manuscript, may thus lend support to the claim that this orientation was toward the kind of polity that Ādityavarman appears to have envisioned for highland Sumatra. In contrast to the term we have reconstructed as saměgat, the term senapati presents few problems; it is very well-known throughout the archipelago in its tatsama form based on the Sanskrit word for commander-in-chief of an army and may thus refer to a military official with a similar status within the polity of Dharmāśraya.

Introduction to the code of law: exhortation to the district officials Immediately following the brief panegyric referring to the reigning monarch, the author of the TTms shifts to an introduction to the code of laws that identifies it as a “gift of royal favour” (anugraha). It is clear that a hierarchy of officials and types of village territories is set up in this passage, but there are some problems with the terminology that make it difficult to be precise on a number of points. We should note that the terminology of

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this passage is more mixed than in the preceding framing passages, thus forming a transition to the code of laws, which is composed entirely in a Malay isolect, with occasional uses of Sanskrit terminology that can be understood as tadbhava terms with a long history of usage in Malay areas of the archipelago. Since the “exhortation” section of the manuscript is transitional in nature we will not put forward a reconstruction of the full passage (3.1–7, 4.1–2), but rather call attention to a number of lexical items that may shed light on the nature of political relationships reflected in the text, and possible connections to the language of state organization elsewhere in the archipelago.

(a) Terms Related to the Granting of the Code of Laws • anugeraha = Sanskrit anugraha, “royal favour, royal grant” • atña = Sanskrit ājñā, “order, command” • sang hya[ng] = OJ sang hyang, honorific or nominal phrase referring to a deity (or deities), especially to deities resident in a particular sacred location, often associated with a deified ancestor • kěmmatan = possibly to be related to OJ kěmit [OJED 847] (m)akěmit to guard […] kěmitan (1) that which is given in custody, is kept or guarded carefully The reconstruction of anugraha and ājñā from anugeraha and atña presents few difficulties. The dissimulation of consonant clusters with an epenthetic schwa is a common feature of Malay tadbhava forms, and here accounts for a Malay pronunciation of Sanskrit anugraha. Atña may seem quite dissimilar to Sanskrit ājñā at first sight. However, if we recall that the Sanskrit sequence jñ- (which is found in many words based on jña, “know”) presents unique difficulties in pronunciation and has thus given rise to a variety of compromise pronunciations in modern languages, then atña can be understood as reflecting the kinds of sound changes that in modern Balinese have resulted in the sequence –dnya- in words like yadnya, from Sanskrit yajña, “ritual”. The difference of -tnya- and -dnya- represent two adaptations of the Sanskrit sequence -jña- that reflect attempts to deal with the difficult sequence of a voiced, palatal affricate followed by a homorganic nasal. The same difficulty has given rise to the Bengali pronunciation of Sanskrit jñāna (“knowledge, gnosis”) as gyāna. It thus seems highly probable that we can accept atña as the chirographic rendering of a local pronunciation of ājñā.

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As noted above the phrase saŋ hy[aŋ] appears to refer to the kinds of local deities or ancestors who are referred to throughout the literary and epigraphic records of Java, and known in modern Bali in the form sangyang.44 The word kěmattan is more problematical, but contextually it is clear that it refers either to a place name where the saŋ-hya[ŋ] is considered resident, or to some special quality of the saŋ-hya[ŋ]. If we provisionally accept the reconstruction of kěmattan as kěmitan, understood as a place where something important or sacred is kept under guard, then we may be justified in reconstructing the phrase anugraha ājñā saŋ-hya[ŋ] kěmattan with the provisional meaning: “a royal favour given by order of the ancestral spirit of the (sanctified) place that is kept under watch”. An important piece of supporting evidence for the possibility that kěmattan may represent a variant on kěmitan comes up in uses of the related word mangěmit in lines 2 and 5 of the Ulu Bělu inscription. We turn here to Damais’ study of this inscription for a detailed study of the words built on kěmit (Damais 1960, pp. 303–05, 310). Noting that the four uses of the verbal form mangěmit from the Ulu Bělu inscription are based on a “nasalized form of the radical [baseword] kěmit”, Damais suggests the meaning protéger, “to protect, defend”. This reading is corroborated in the OJED [847–8], which gives (m)angěmit as “to guard, watch over, keep watch against, protect”. The OJED goes on to tell us that kěmitan means “that which is given in custody, is kept or guarded carefully”. A particularly telling example cited in the OJED [848], and listed as “passim in inscriptions” reads as follows:45 praśasti tinaṇḍa lokapāla pagěh-pagěh kěmitana nira “[this] inscription [that has been] ‘signed’ by the king, should be watched over by him with the utmost firmness”

I believe we can reach a new understanding of the phrase, which I have proposed should be read as sang hyang kĕmitan, if we refer now to the phrase ḍapunta hyang which is found in both Old Javanese (OJ) and Old Malay (OM) inscriptions from the second half of the 1st millennium. The most telling example for our study is the use of the term (ḍa)punta hyang as a title of the Śrīvijayan King Jayanāśa in the Talang Tuwo inscription of 684 CE. The formant ḍa in (ḍa)punta can be read as the OM equivalent

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of OJ ra, which is well-known as an honorific prefix or formant in OJ words like rākryan, “denoting a person of high rank, before the name or the categorical nouns” [OJED 1491]. Zoetmulder and Robson [OJED 364] note that ḍapunta is used as a synonym in OJ for the honorific title mpu, which is most often associated with persons holding priestly rank. They go on to explain punta in terms of religious functions: [OJED 1442–3]: “a person with religious status or function […] member of a religious community, disciple of a brahman”. In view of this, it appears that the phrase ḍapunta hyang from the Talang Tuwo inscription can only mean that the reigning monarch is also viewed as the chief officiant of a deity identified with a particular locale, a hyang, who stands at the centre of a configuration of ritual power that is coincident with the circle of pragmatic power emanating from the household (kaḍatwan) of the king.46 We return now to kěmitan. Looking once again at the inscription of Ulu Bělu, we find that the deities Brahma, Wiṣṇu and Sang Kāla (line 4) are said to be “those who protect” or “those who should protect” (line 2: ta kita mangěmit) and “who protect/should protect the waters, who protect/ should protect the earth” and “who protect/should protect the forests” (line 5: [ma] ngěmit ayir kita mangěmi[t] tanah mangěmit kay[u]). As in the case of the term hyang, we have here a localization of the powers of protection of the deities in natural sites that are identified with ritual power. When we understand that the -an derivation of kěmit (as kěmitan) can mean not just something that is or should be protected, but also a “place of protection” or “place that should be protected”, then we can arrive at an understanding of the reconstructed phrase sang hyang kěmitan as “the revered deity of the place of protection”. This phrase has much in common with the phrase ḍapunta hyang from the Talang Tuwo inscription in that it identifies a reigning monarch as representing a deity, either as his/her chief ritual officiant (Talang Tuwo) or as the embodiment of the deity who is guarded over in a particular site of ritual contact with the deity (TK 214). While this claim must remain in part conjectural, I propose that much can be gained by linking it to studies of “precedence” that are most notable in the works of Fox (1994, 1995) and Reuter (2002, 2003). Drawing on earlier work by Fox (1994, 1995), Reuter develops “precedence” as a model of “status competition and status distribution” (Reuter 2002, p. 211) that can be understood (in part) as follows:

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A ‘social order of precedence’ prevails in societies where the relative status… of persons or groups is indexed predominantly by their positioning relative to others within a chain-like temporal sequence of status-defining ‘historical’ events, connecting the past with the present through dualistic, recursive, asymmetric and (to some extent) transitive linkages (Reuter 2002, p. 22).

As Reuter (2002) unfolds the complexities of the social order of precedence among the upland Balinese villages of the so-called “Bali Aga” type, he shows how this social order is constituted in terms of a supra-local system of temple networks that are described locally under the term gěbog domas, “group of 800”, a term which refers to the grouping of over forty villages within a temple network whose membership is partly based on the symbolic payment of “dues” for the upkeep of the major temples within the system. Perhaps more important for the comparative study of pre-modern Sumatran socio-political organization, the key term for village level social organization among the Bali Aga villages is not desa, but wanua, which refers to clusters of villages in a contingent geographical area that are linked through the social order of precedence. My reason here for introducing the term precedence is to suggest that in both cases of the ḍapunta hyang of the Talang Tuwo inscription, and the sang hyang kěmmatan/kěmitan of TK 214, we may be seeing cases where the reigning monarch — or the immediate predecessor of the reigning monarch — is identified with the mythical/historical “point of emergence” of a lineage that thus has powerful claims to high status in the social order of precedence. This assertion is based on the claim that — as was likely in the case of the emergence of the Javanese rakai — a high status in the mythical and social order of precedence was an important factor in the ability of local chieftains to emerge as primus inter pares. In terms of the phrase sang hyang kěmitan found in TTms 2.6–8, I would claim that with this term the ruling monarch is identified with the tutelary deity of his lineage, and with a site of worship of this deity that was either in the kraton itself, or in an area within reach of the kraton that was considered sacred (hence “to be guarded”) through its association with the “point of emergence” of a powerful lineage that could claim ultimate status in terms of the social order of precedence. If we consider Ādityavarman’s self-identification as an incarnation of the esoteric Buddha Amoghapāśa in Verse 4 of the Padang Candi inscription, and his insistence in the same inscription (verses 6–7) on his relationship with a

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queen who must represent a Sumatran lineage of great importance, then it begins to seem likely that we can assume that the patron of the “great convocation” may have been Ādityavarman himself. However, the tentative dating of the TTms to the period between 1378 and 1387 CE presents another possibility. This is that the monarch who is glorified in the praśasti (eulogistic) elements of the text (TTms 2.6–8) was the direct successor of Ādityavarman, either Ananggavarman or Bijayendravarman, and that the “deity of the place of keeping watch” (sang hyang Kěmattan) should be taken as Ādityavarman, now understood as an apotheosized ancestor of the royal line who is thus entitled above all others to grant the “royal/divine favour of the command” (anugrah atña) of the code of laws promulgated at the great convocation in Dharmāśraya. We will return to this point presently in considering the importance of the location of the great convocation in Dharmāśraya, which we will claim remained an important part of the domain of Ādityavarman even during the period he ruled from the highland Minangkabau area of Saruaso (ca. 1356–75 CE).47

(b) Terms Relating to Local Officials in the “Land of Kurinci” The list of officials who are to receive the “royal favour” (anugraha) of the code of laws embedded in the TTms once again reveals a mixed character, including terms that range from Sanskrit to Malay, and include one process of word formation strongly reminiscent of Javanese forms of a Sanskritized form of “morphological creativity”. • mandalika

= Sanskrit, OJ: maṇḍalikā, “ruler of a maṇḍala or district” [OJED] 1100: (Skt māṇḍalika), “relating to a province, ruling a province”

• mahasenapati = Sanskrit: mahāsenāpati, “commander-in-chief of the army” [OJ equivalents: senāpati, mahasenāyodha] • perapatih

= likely to be reconstructed as prapatih, “foremost among principle advisors to a king or feudal lord”

• sama - - t

= OJ paměgět, saměgět [OJED 1132: a person invested with a high office or rank at court]

• parebalaŋbalaŋŋan

= Malay para balang-balang, “headmen”

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The special characteristic of this set of terms is its mixture of lexemes from a number of idioms and isolects that suggest a wider network of shared terminological resources. While the term maṇḍalikā may at first sight suggest the diminutive form of maṇḍala, hence a “sub-district”, Dineshchandra Sircar lists the term in his dictionary of epigraphical terms (1966) as the ruler of a maṇḍala or district. This meaning appears indeed to be reflected in an OJ example from Deśawarṇana 72.2 (Mpu Prapanca 1995) where one of the court officials is described as: • sang ārya / wira mandalika nama pu Nāla, “the nobleman, heroic district chief, lord Nāla by name”48 We can thus very likely understand the phrase mandalika di bumi Kurinci as referring to the “governor” of Kerinci as the primary recipient of the “royal favour” of the code of laws promulgated in the TTms, at least insofar as the manuscript was inscribed for his use by the scribe who will identify himself later in the document. The following set of officials, introduced with maka, a Malay lexeme used here in the sense of “including”, suggests the translocal aspect of the political terminology employed by the composer of the TTms. While mahāsenāpati is not found with any frequency in Sanskrit it is clearly an elevated form of senāpati, “military commander”, a lexeme found with great frequency in insular Southeast Asia during the pre-modern period. As noted earlier sama — t (saměgět ?) may refer to a type of official well-known from the inscriptions of East Java. While pra-patih is not attested in OJ, the process of deriving new words adding the Sanskrit prefix pra- is well attested in OJ words like pra-kawi, “versed in poetry” [OJED 1388] and pra-watěk [OJED 1415], where the meaning (“member of a particular group”) is periphrastic in much the same sense as it is in prapatih. The shift to a purely Malay phrase with parebalang-balang, “headmen”, completes the picture, drawing to a close a list of officials whose names may not reflect so much a ranked configuration of offices as a series of terms meant to encompass a wider, translocal network of participants in the activities of the political centre.49 A similar distribution of terms is reflected in the list of territorial units following the enumeration of officials of the TTms. Here again we appear to encounter not so much a configuration of actual territorial units as a collocation of terms meant to encompass a wider network of general possibilities aimed at drawing a variety of territorial units into the political process.

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(c) Terms Relating to Territorial Units • sapěra[ka]ra disi

= saprakāra (OJ sa- derivation), from Sanskrit prakāra, “class, species”, hence “all manner of a class of things”

diṣ, diṣi (Sanskrit): “quarters or regions, cardinal directions”

• desa hělat mahělat = (Sanskrit) “region, place, country” > panarchipelago deśa/desa, “village” hělat/hělět [OJED 613] “what separates one things from another”

[m]a- hělat/hělět [OJED 613] “with an interval of, separated by” (Malay) “merchants or travellers for whom a separate residence was maintained” (?)50 • desa-pradesa

= deśa (see above)

• ba[nwa]

= banua (AN) “village or cluster of villages sharing a single ritual and/or social structure”; found in OJ, Malay, Old Batak, Old Balinese and modern “mountain Balinese”

• sahaya

= (Malay) “dependent”, derived from Sanskrit sāhya > *sahāya (also the source of the MalayIndonesian 1st person pronoun saya, originally understood as a marker of dependence and/or polite self-deprecation)

pra-deśa (OJ style pra- derivation) “supraordinate or attached village” (?)

We can be certain that sapěra[ka]ra can be reconstructed as sa-prakāra, at the same time noting that this is a usage that combines Sanskrit prakāra, “type, manner” with the OJ prefix sa- that generally indicates a plurality of objects, actions or concepts considered as a unit (rather than to the Sanskrit sa-, which is derived from the preposition saha, “with”). It is not clear whether the author of the TTms would have had a deep enough knowledge of Sanskrit to know that diṣi is the locative singular form of dik “direction, quarter of the world”, but the forms diṣ and diṣi are common enough and

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may have had a wide enough provenance to have reached the court of Dharmāśraya, where the great convocation was held, and presumably the TTms was composed. We find here again an OJ-style derivation based on the Sanskrit prefix pra-, although we cannot say with any certainty whether pradeśa represents a supra-ordinate village or an attached, subordinate village founded originally as an outlying appendage to an older village (as the term kubu is used in modern Balinese). The (reconstructed phrase ba[nwa] sahāya is interesting in that it combines a ubiquitous Austronesian term for settlement or settlement cluster (banua, wanua) with sahaya, a Malay tadbhava form of Sanskrit sāhya, “to be borne or endured”, which appears to have taken on the meaning “dependent” early in the history of the language. The phrase helat mahelat is somewhat mysterious in that it appears to be based on a Malay lexeme helat, meaning “foreign” that has been subjected to OJ-style reduplication with the addition of the stative ma- prefix that is found in many Western AN languages, including OJ and Balinese.51 One would expect from this a phrase that contrasts two slightly differing forms of territorial unit, as one would expect as well from deśapradeśa. If the supposition is correct that the basic lexeme here is helat, with the meaning “foreign”, then one might venture to guess that hĕlatmahĕlat might be understood as meaning “foreign and being foreign”, with the second member of the compound referring to local communities with a significant number of members who went abroad for purposes of trade, and the first member referring to emigrants arriving for similar purposes. The final phrase before the beginning of the code of laws — jangan tida ida pada dipati-ña yang s[a]-urang s[a]-urang — presents some difficulty in that contextually ida must mean something like “loyal”. As Kozok suggests ida may be related to Malay-Indonesian indah, when used in phrases like meng-indah-kan perintah, “to obey an order”.52 If this is the case, then we can almost certainly link this word to the word indah that has been studied to great effect by Damais (1960, p. 301). Without going into too much detail here, we can observe that this word is found as the initial word in a large number of inscriptions of the archipelago that begin with phrases like īndaḥ kamu hyang, “may you be pleased to listen, [all] you gods” (Mantyasih I, 907 CE).53 Damais glosses “De grâce”, while in the OJED [680] Zoetmulder and Robson give the definition: “hear! Listen! (in addressing gods and persons of high rank)”. The meaning of the clause from the TTms should now be clear: it enjoins all of the local officials in their various territorial units not to disobey the orders of “their own

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dipati-s each one”. This suggests that while the officials and territorial units listed previously were understood in a more general sense, the real locus of political authority in “the regions” was understood as the various local officials called dipati. The question of the degree to which the dipati of the TTms may have held local power is a complex one, and I believe therefore that it is worth citing here a personal communication from Uli Kozok that has been very helpful in my understanding of the role played by depati in later Minangkabau society: Already Barnes, the first European to enter Kerinci, noted ‘a lack of overall authority in the Kerinci villages he visited’ (cited in Watson 1986, p. 7). The ‘amorphous, almost anarchic, nature of political authority’ (Watson 1986, p. 7) can partly be explained by the diverse social organization found among the population of Kerinci and by a general mistrust in any accumulation of power in one hand, which is typical for most Sumatran highland people in general. The highest territorial units were the 15 mendapo, federations of usually genealogically related villages (dusun), very similar to the Karo Batak urung, which also often failed to produce any effective supra-village leadership with the result that the villages on the whole acted autonomously. Both mendapo and dusun heads carried the title of a depati, but the actual amount of power a depati wielded varied considerably, and there were also institutional limitations preventing a singular person from accumulating too much power. The first was that their position as depati had to be ratified by election. The second was that they held power only with the consent of their maternal kin (ninik mamak). The third was that the position was inherited through the female line, and could usually be held only so long as the wife of the depati remained alive.54

If these facts of later Kerinci social organization were in place by the time of the great convocation in Dharmāśraya, this would suggest that the dipati-s who took part in the “great convocation” played a significant role in political organization, but nonetheless may have been limited in terms of the longevity of their political influence by the matrilineal factors we are familiar with from the later history of the Kerinci and Minangkabau highland polities. In any case, there can be little doubt that the dipati who is credited with enunciation of the śloka that closes the convocation is treated as someone with more than a minor share of prestige and status, while the dipati who attended the convocation may be seen as extending

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the territorial reach of Dharmāśraya through a network of local officials who played a significant role in the organization of outlying territories like the “the land of Kerinci” (bumi Kurinci, si lunjur Kurinci).

Closing of the convocation; role of the scribe; location of the convocation Like the lines introducing the code of laws those that follow upon its completion are transitional, composed in a Sanskritized idiom, but not intended to reproduce explicitly Sanskritic formulae like the chronological information and eulogy of the ruling monarch found at the beginning of the TTms, or the saluka dipati that will close the text. We will thus not attempt here the reconstruction of a possible Sanskrit original, but instead focus on a number of terms that shed light on how the author of the TTms uses textual resources to frame the code of laws in a form that reproduces the structural format of the “great convocation” and authorizes his text in terms of a structure of political relationships that appears to have linked the court at Dharmāśraya to peripheral territories like Kerinci. We reproduce critical and reconstructed readings of these passages below:

Critical Transcription of Mahdi 28.7 // sakyantabuñi 29 -ña atña titaḥ ma:ha:ra:ja dra mmasara:ya // yatna yatna sida~ ma: ha:t¬ mya sa°isi bumi kuriṇci, si lunju kuriṇci //·· samasta li kita~ ## kuja °ali dipa:ti, di wasè/baṇ¬\ di bumi palimba~, di ha: dappanpa:duka sri ma:/ha:\raja dra 30.1-3 mmasraya // ∞ // ·· // barang salaḥ siliña , suwasta °uliḥ sida~ ma: ha:t¬mya sa:mapta // ∞ //

Als Ob Reconstruction of Mixed Sanskritized and Malay Original sakiyan bunyi-nya atnya titah mahārāja Dhar-mmaśraya // yatna-yatna sidang ma-hātmya sa-isi bumi Kurinci si lunju Kurinci // //·· samasta li-khitaṃ ## kuja ali dipati di Waseban [read: pasabhan?] di bumi Palimbang di ha -dapan paduka śrī mahārāja Dhar-mmaśraya //∞//··//barang salah silihnya swāsta ulih sidang ma-hātmya samāpta //∞//

The first phrase of note is the line closing the code of laws: sakiyan ta buñiña atña titah Mahārāja Dharmāśraya, “just that much the sound of the order of the great monarch of Dharmāśraya”. We find here, first,

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that a Malay gloss — titah, “order of a monarch or feudal lord” — is added as a synonym to atña, thus confirming the reconstruction of atñ as Sanskrit ājñā.55 Next, we learn of the “careful attentiveness” (yatna-yatna) of the convocation (sidang), using a Sanskrit term for “mindfulness, mindful attention” (yatna) that was common in Buddhist texts of the archipelago as early as the SHKM.56 The convocation itself is then identified as the “great convocation” (sidang mahātmya), using a Sanskrit adjectival form based on ātmā, “self, divine aspect of the individual being” that refers to the greatness of the convocation in terms of its size and importance at the same time that it suggests that the members of the convocation were notable for their outstanding qualities as “great souls” (mahātmā). Then follows a formulaic phrase — samastaṃ likhitaṃ “written down in its entirety” — that is lexically Sanskrit, but follows the common practice of adopting the nasal (anusvara) termination of the neuter, singular, nominative case that is often a violation of correct, Pāṇinian form, but is everywhere a sign of Sanskritization.57 This is followed by what may be one of the most surprising points of information arising from the framing sections — that the text was composed by one Kuja Ali Dipati, who describes himself as having carefully inscribed the proceedings of the great convocation at the “meeting hall” (WasebanPasabhān) in the Palimbang country, in the presence of his royal highness, the mahārāja of Dharmāśraya. We will return to a discussion of the name Kuja Ali in a later section of this chapter, pausing here only to note that this distinctly Islamic title appears at first to stand in stark contrast to the Sanskritized vocabulary to be found elsewhere in the framing sections. The last line of the framing section of the TTms devoted to the closing of the convocation may be said to represent the “ratification” of the code of laws promulgated at the great convocation. Here we find two words of Sanskrit origin, suwasta, a tadbhava form of Sanskrit svastha (“sound, well, self-sufficient, complete”) that can be translated as “[being made] good” and samapta, which corresponds to Sanskrit samāptā (“finished, complete”). These lexemes provide something like a “Sanskritized seal of approval” on the proceedings of the convocation: barang salah sili[h]-ña suwasta ulih sidang mahātmya samāptā Whatever was wrong (of the contents of the code of laws) was amended by the great convocation, finished and complete.

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Mantra praising the reigning monarch The final sections of the TTms are either in a fully Sanskritized form, or are Malay glosses on the saluka dipati that represents the formulaic conclusion of the document, and as Griffiths (2010, p. 137) points out may be considered a colophon to the manuscript. This section begins with a short formula in honour of a deified monarch who in our reading is most likely to be identified as Ādityavarman, and whom by the time of the composition of the TTms may have been apotheosized as the “deity of Kěmattan”. While we cannot be absolutely certain whether the dipati referred to in the phrase saluka dipati was the author of the TTms himself, or a political actor of higher status who presided over the convocation and is addressed as such in the opening eulogy of the manuscript, we can sketch out a number of tentative conclusions based on the evidence that we have examined thus far: • If we consider a number of lacunae in the gloss of the saluka that follows the original rendering — which is in itself a defective rendering of a Sanskrit original — then it is clear that the author of the manuscript — Kuja Ali, dipati — either rather poorly transcribed a verse that was enunciated at the “great convocation” in Dharmāśraya, or made use in his composition of a piece of the local scribal tradition of Dharmāśraya that by the time of his composition of the TTms had gone through a long process of “drift” in terms of its enunciation and/or its orthographic representation. • Since the mantra-like formula introducing saluka is addressed to a deified king, we can surmise that it may have been intended as a eulogy of Ādityavarman. • We know that the centre of power of Ādityavarman and his successors was in the Śurawāśa/Saruaso-Pagaruyung area of the Minangkabau highlands, it is thus more likely that the ruler in Dharmāśraya was a regent of the reigning monarch, rather than the paramount king; above this person may have been the dipati who appears to be credited in the manuscript with the enunciation of the saluka dipati.58 • Since both Ananggavarman and Bijayendravarman are identified as “crown princes” in their inscriptions (Saruaso II and Kubu Sutan) and their inscriptions are found in the Minangkabau highlands, it is unlikely that either would have been reigning in Dharmāśraya at the time of the convocation; however, both archaeological and inscriptional evidence point to a continuing close association of the royal line of Ādityavarman

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with Dharmāśraya so there is little reason to doubt that a descendant of Ādityavarman (or Ādityavarman himself) might have presided over the “great convocation” that promulgated the set of laws recorded in the TTms. • Since evidence from the initial framing of TTms leads us to believe that a royal figure from the line of Ādityavarman presided over the “great convocation” in Dharmāśraya and our reading of the possible range of dates for the TTms suggests a date for the convocation falling between 1378 and 1387, then it is possible that either Ananggavarman or Bijayendravarman presided over the great convocation. In view of the possibility that these names refer to a single successor to Ādityavarman, then we might amend this to say that it is possible that the successor to Ādityavarman presided over the great convocation (see further on this point following). • If this is the case then it may be that in using the phrase saluka dipati that Kuja Ali, the apparent author of the TTms, was referring to either Ādityavarman or his successor with the term dipati in the phrase saluka dipati, and that this reference in effect put a “seal” on his record of the laws promulgated at the great convocation that guaranteed its political efficacy in Kerinci, a region important to the political centre as a link to the important gold-mining regions of the highland areas around Kerinci, but located at a considerable distance from Dharmāśraya and the political centre of the Minangkabau highlands. • It seems improbable that Kuja Ali would refer to himself with the term dipati. It appears rather that he was citing the saluka enunciated by an important political actor in Dharmāśraya, and that in doing so he identified himself to his constituency in Kerinci as a political actor who had access to the court, and to the Sanskritized scribal tradition that remained a mark of the political centre so long as Ādityavarman and his successors held power in the Batang Hari river basin and highland areas of the Tanah Datar region.

(a) Excursus 1: The Question of the Successors of A¯dityavarman It may be important here to note that we are not yet certain that Bijayendravarman was a successor to Ādityavarman and that the appellation “crown prince” in his Kubu Sutan (or: Lubuk Layang) inscription means

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that he was one of the heirs of Ādityavarman. I will suggest reasons below for believing that he was a successor to Ādityavarman, but should note that not all those who have commented on the Kubu Sutan, or Lubuk Layang, inscription are in complete agreement. Similar problems arise with reference to Saruaso II inscription, except that in this case the crown prince referred to, one Ananggavarman by name, is also said to be the son of Ādityavarman. In order to begin to address the question of the identity of these two “crown princes” who may have been the successors of Ādityavarman, and thus may have been ruling during a period of ten to twenty years following the last known inscription of Ādityavarman in 1375 CE, it may be useful here to reproduce transcriptions of the Kubu Sutan and Saruaso II inscriptions based on typescripts and handwritten notes produced in the field by de Casparis and available in the reading room of the Kern Institute in Leiden: Saruaso II

(1)  Subham astu dvārāgre śilalekha yat kṛta(2)guṇā Śrīyauvarājya=padam nāmnaś=cāpi A(3)naṅgavamrma taṇaya Ādityavarmmaprabho tiratvāmahimapratāpabalavān vairigaja(5)kesari sattyam=mātapītagurau karuṇayā Hevajra-nityāsmṛtiḥ Tentative translation:

Anaṅgavarma, son of the lord king Ādityavarman, pays homage to the inscription in stone (placed) before the entryway of the place (palace) of the Eminent Crown Prince who is accomplished in all virtues, has crossed to the other shore of greatness in courage and strength, who is an “lion-elephant”, and through his truth and compassion towards his preceptors, his mother and father, ever practises the vow of the Hevajra(-tantra). Kubu Sutan

(discovered 22 April 1976 in the Kelurahan of Lubuk Layang, the Kecamatan Rao Mapat Tunggul, the Kabupaten of Pasaman in the province of Sumatra Barat)59 A. (1) . . . śrī / (2) pūrṇṇa .. nira (3) . . . . . . surimadana

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(4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) B. (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7)

dhr . . iḥ // 0 // 0 // amarawijaya yauwāsutajata tendrawarma . satatawibhawa pujāpa/ dhid. . itatārasadawaca ti / ṛṣ a[r.ārsa]-bhakti di mātapitāra sakala / prāptiswastha śanta . . tan sugatayawāta / nṛpati Bijayawarmma namokṣam // 0 // 0 // śrī yauwarāja Bijayendrasekhara . . kṛtya . astu paripūrṇṇasobhitā / ku na pamuja di pitāmahā darādi śrī Indrakīlaparwwatapurī // 0 //

We will look first at the evidence of the Kubu Sutan inscription. It appears from Istiawan’s comments that Suhadi was the first to suggest that Bijayendravarman was a successor to Ādityavarman. In his comments on the inscription, which he calls the Lubuk Layang inscription, Suhadi (1990, p. 227) notes that the inscription does not refer to Ādityavarman, but mentions Bijayendravarman as the crown prince and records his con­structing a ‘stupa’ at Parwatapuri. It is in Suhadi’s chart of the genealogy of Ādityavarman (Machi Suhadi 1990, p. 237) that he lists Bijayendravarman, along with Ananggavarman, as a successor to Ādityavarman. To be sure he notes the provisional status of this identification by using dotted lines to designate the pattern of descent of Bijayendravarman from Ādityavarman, and thus establishes a contrast with the case of Ananggavarman, whose descent from Ādityavarman can be confirmed based on the Saruaso II inscription. Istiawan (1992) is more cautious in his reading of the Kubu Sutan inscription. He notes (1992, p. 10) that on palaeographic grounds it is possible to date it prior to the later inscriptions of Ādityavarman, and so he does not attempt to fit Bijayendravarman into a pattern of descent from Ādityavarman. However, we might note here that there are only two inscriptions of the era of Ādityavarman that refer to a “crown prince” and that the location of the Kubu Sutan at some distance from Saruaso suggests that it may have been a place of pilgrimage of some importance in the lineage of Akarendravarman and Ādityavarman. For these reasons, I will join Suhadi in my analysis by provisionally accepting the possibility that Bijayendravarman was a successor of Ādityavarman.

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At this point I believe it would be well to reconsider the conjunction “or” in the phrase Ananggavarman or Bijayendravarman that I have used previously to refer to the successors of Ādityavarman. This is first of all because a closer examination of the inscriptional evidence suggests that we may not actually be dealing with two different persons here. Second, we must ask ourselves if indeed it was possible for there to be two “crown princes” in the Saruaso-Pagaruyung area at one and the same time. Unfortunately, neither of the two inscriptions relating to these royal personages is dated. However, a good deal of other information can be gleaned from them, even if imperfectly. Turning here to the Saruaso II inscription, we learn that “Ananggavarman, the son of the lord king Ādityavarman” (Anaṅgavarmmatanaya Ādityavarmma-prabho) has caused to be made an “inscription in stone” (śilalekha) in front of the door to the “abode of the glorious kingdom (read: palace) of the crown prince” (śrī-yauwarājyam padam). The use of the word prabho, which may represent the possessive inflection of prabhu, is significant, for it can only refer to a paramount king, and thus implies that Ādityavarman was alive at the time of the inscription. This supposition is strengthened by the fact that in the fourth (and last) line of the inscription, Ananggavarman speaks of his “true (devotion) by means of compassion to his father, mother and guru” (sattyam mātā-pitāgurau karuṇayā) and his “ever keeping in mind (the teachings) of the Hevajratantra” (Hevajra-nityāsmṛtiḥ).60 We have here an inscription that seems to be directed with a sense of reverence to the royal parents of the crown prince, with only one line (line 3) devoted to epithets praising the heroic virtues of the crown prince himself. Moreover, if de Casparis’ reading is correct we find a reference to one of the major texts of the tradition of Buddhist Tantra, and in this a corroboration of other evidence suggesting that Ādityavarman followed both Kublai Khan and Kṛtanagara in placing a great deal of emphasis on initiations that established one’s identification with a central figure of one of the maṇḍala-s of Buddhist Tantras like the Guhyasamāja (Kṛtanagara) or Hevajra (Kublai Khan). I believe that from these lines emphasizing the attitude of devotion of Ananggavarman we can assume that Ādityavarman and his queen were alive at the time of the inscription, and hence that the Saruaso I inscription of 1375 CE marks a point when Ādityavarman may have retired from active kingship to pursue spiritual disciplines akin to those made famous by the example of Airlangga (reigned c. 1018–42 in East Java).

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The Kubu Sutan inscription of Bijayendravarman is less legible, and consequently more difficult to interpret, than the Saruaso II inscription. In line A.4 de Casparis was able to detect the phrases amarawijaya (“immortal victory” or “victory of the immortals”) and yauwā-suta-jata. I take this phrase to mean “born as the crown prince”, reading jata as jāta, “born, produced” and noting that all references to the “crown prince” in either the Kubu Sutan or Saruaso II inscriptions use the form yauwa(rāja), which appears to be a Sumatran Sanskrit variant of the usual form yuwa-(rāja).61 In de Casparis’ reading line A.8 yields the phrases [ā]rṣ ābhakti di mātapitāra sakala, “entirely devoted (a-bhakti) as to a sage to (his) mother and (his) deceased male ancestor”. This reading is highly suggestive as it seems to mirror closely the phrase sattyam mātā-pitā-gurau karuṇayā — “true (devotion) by means of compassion to his father, mother and guru” — that is found in the fourth and final line of the Saruaso II inscription of Ananggavarman. This suggests that — like Ananggavarman — Bijayendravarman wished to stress his devotion to his parents. Bijayendravarman seems to say here that he offers the devotion one owes to a great sage to his mother and to his deceased “male ancestor” (pitāra), whom one would suppose must either have been his father or grandfather. The B side of the Kubu Sutan inscription begins with three lines that end with the double-slashes and circle that mark major textual divisions in both the TTms and the inscriptions of the era of Ādityavarman. They thus appear to be an independent part of the inscription that has been marked out for special note. In de Casparis’ reading lines B.2 and B.3. yield the phrases nṛpati bijayawarmma, “King Bijayavarma”, and na mokṣam. This latter phrase is mysterious, but can perhaps be resolved as a mistaken inscription of an original nāma-mokṣam, which would then suggest that the phrase Bijayendra nama mokṣam refers to an “apotheosis name” given at the time of attaining “liberation at the moment of death” (mokṣam). This is then followed in B.5 with the phrase srī yauwarāja bijayendra-sekhara, “the illustrious crown-prince Bijayendra-sekhara”. The elements — varman (“armour”) and — śekhara (“crown”) were commonly used as the final elements of royal names all throughout the era of the Sanskrit cosmopolis, and in this sense can be considered near synonyms. However, are we justified in assuming that Bijayendra-sekhara can be conflated with Nṛpati Bijayavarma to yield the composite name Bijayendravarman that has been assumed to be the name of this “crown

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prince”? I would argue that we cannot. I submit instead that Nṛpati Bijayavarma, “King Bijayavarma (the victorious varman)” may have been a special name given to the recently ruling monarch at the time of his death, and that his son then took the name Bijayendra-sekhara in order to reflect the change in status of his father. I do not deny that Bijayendrasekhara and Bijayendra-varma may be synonymous, but only the former name appears in connection with the term “crown prince” (yauwarāja) in the inscription I would argue that it is more reasonable not to conflate Nṛpati Bijayavarma with Bijaya-sekhara, and thus arrive at a putative name “Bijayaendravarma”. Once again, I suggest that we understand Nṛpati Bijayavarma as the “apotheosis name” of a recently deceased monarch, and Bijayendra-sekhara as the crown prince, who at the time of the inscription had not yet undergone the ritual of consecration and become a consecrated monarch. To support this argument I would call attention to the phrases pamuja di pitāmahā, “means of worship of the patrilineal ancestor” in line B.6 and śrī indrakīla-parwwata-pūrī, “the city (or “shrine”) of the illustrious peak of the Indrakīla mountain”. Budi Istiawan (1992, pp. 11–12) has assumed — I believe correctly — that these phrases refer to a sanctuary sacred to the royal ancestors, whose consecration (or memorial of a consecration) is the subject of this inscription.62 This suggests that Bijayendravarman’s purpose in issuing the Kubu Sutan inscription was to commemorate his royal ancestor at a place of worship sacred to the royal line, which was located at some distance from the royal centre in Saruaso/Pagaruyung. It may even be possible that this locus can be associated with the phrase sang hyang Kěmattan that we have discussed earlier in this chapter. I believe that when we consider carefully the evidence of the Kubu Sutan inscription, and bear in mind the difficulty of there perhaps having been “two crown princes” in the years following the retirement and/or demise of Ādityavarman, that we may want to look closely at the possibility that Nṛpati Bijayavarma, “the victorious king” may have been an epithet given to Ādityavarman at the time of his death, and that the name Bijayendrasekhara was then taken on by his son, the crown prince. Perhaps it may go without saying that I believe that this son and crown prince may very well have been Ananggavarman, and that we have thereby found a plausible solution to the problem of two crown princes who were the heirs of Ādityavarman. In this reading there would be only a single successor to Ādityavarman, who issued his first inscription (Saruaso II) when his father

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was alive, and his second (Kubu Sutan/Lubuk Layang) some time after the death and apotheosis of his father.63 We return now to the short formula that introduces the saluka dipati. First, we give Waruno Mahdi’s critical and diplomatic readings of this phrase below: pra #namya diwa~ śrisa: maléswara~ Peran[e]mia diwang siresa [A]maléswarang

In considering Mahdi’s diplomatic reading of this formula, I believe we are forced to draw the conclusion that we need to reconsider his assumptions regarding the orthographic conventions that were developed in the scriptoria that produced documents like the TTms to deal with a Malay isolect (or isolects) of the Batang Hari river basin and Minangkabau highlands when we are faced with the use of the same orthographic system to record Sanskritized materials used in the framing section of the manuscript. Without belabouring this point here I would propose that citing the final framing sections of the TTms it will be useful to give Mahdi’s critical readings, but follow these with an als ob reconstruction of the Sanskrit or Sanskritized materials that had been preserved in the local scribal tradition. It is axiomatic here that I understand this to imply a certain degree of conservatism on the part of the local scribal tradition when it came to dealing with Sanskrit or Sanskritized materials, though not anything close to the orthographic conservatism of East Java or Bali. I would thus restate the comparison of critical and als ob renderings of the eulogistic formula introducing the saluka dipati as follows:

Critical Transcription of Mahdi pra #namya diwa~ śrisa: maléswara~

Als Ob Reconstruction of Mixed Malay and Sanskrit Original pranamya diwaṃ śirĕsa maléswaraṃ

There are a number of ways that this phrase might be reconstructed in terms of a putative Sanskrit original. The reconstruction of prānamya as Sanskrit praṇamya (“having made a bow of respect”) presents no problems if we recall that the macron denoting a geminate vowel is used with a high degree of arbitrariness or inconsistency in the TTms, and does not appear to represent the intention of retaining the geminate/non-geminate distinction of Sanskrit. Similarly, reconstructing diwaṃ as Skt devam

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presents no problems, since the sound change e > i is quite regular in the TTms and has been shown to reflect a regular sound change in the Malay isolect represented in the TTms. The phrase śrisā maleśwaram is more problematical, it may be (as my reconstruction above is meant to suggest) that śrisā should be read as śirasā, the instrumental singular inflection of Sanskrit śiraḥ, siras (“head”), thus to be read “with the head”. The following compound is clearly the title of a deity or high king (-iśwara), which could conceivably be read as combined with amala, “spotless” to produce Amaleśvaraṃ, “spotless Lord”. However, his word is unattested, at least to my knowledge, and requires us to assume a sandhi juncture in the geminate final vowel of śrisā/śirasā. It is thus tempting to see maleśwaraṃ as simply a scribal error for maheśvaram (“great lord/deity”), which fits exactly with the context of the eulogistic formula. Even when given the freedom of word order made possible by the inflectional nature of Sanskrit syntax a phrasing with an instrumental noun phrase appearing between two nouns in the accusative case is, to say the least, highly unusual. As we will see below, this reading is corroborated on all but one point by a nearly identical phrase in the first hemistich of the Sanskrit verse noted by Griffiths (2010, p. 137) as the original “title” of the saluka dipati. In that verse we find the sequence praṇamya śrīmahādevaṃ. This suggests that the original form of the eulogistic formula that Kuja Ali uses to introduce his saluka dipati may have originally been: praṇamya devaṃ śrīmaheśvaram. However, another possibility is that the first half-line of this verse is a conventional phrase from the theological vocabulary shared by Buddhist and Śaivite religious orders over a geographical area that covered (at least) Java, Bali and the eastern coast of Sumatra. Andrea Acri (p.c. April 2013) has noted just such a line, which appears in the Bhuvanakośa, which he terms “a Sanskrit-Old Javanese Śaiva text available to us through several Balinese manuscripts”. This verse differs at some points from the similar conventional verse identified by Arlo Griffiths. We will look more closely at the fit between the saluki dipati of the TT with the Sanskrit verse reconstructed by Griffiths. Here, we should look first at the verse of the Bhuvanakośa cited by Acri. This manuscript is available in the Pusat Dokumentasi Bali in Denpasar and has been published in a volume edited by Mirsha (1994). While the remainder of the verse after the initial phrases is only partly related to the saluka dipati of the TT, the initial phrases of

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the Balinese śloka appear to match those of the saluki dipati exactly. We note too a transposition of the second two words, which are given in the opposite order in the TT: pranṇamya / śirasā devaṃ / vākyamunir amanmatha [corrupted] / devadeva / mahādeva / parameśvara śaṇkara //

Looking only at the first line of the Balinese (Old Javanese) verse, we can note the following changes between the original and its copy in the TTms. These can be listed in terms of a tatsama-tadbhava comparison. That there are only minor variations between the two versions suggest an almost certain identity of the versions of the Javano-Balinese and Sumatran scribal traditions. Note that in terms of the orthographical transcription of Sanskrit originals the Balinese tradition is more precise, a fact that reflects a long history of conservativism in orthography that appears to have been aimed at preserving textual traditions with a clear link to Sanskrit/South Asian originals: OJ Form

Sumatranform

Sound Change or Scribal Error

praṇamya

pranamya

regular loss of contrast in the nasal series

devaṃ

divaṃ

regular change of vowel (e > i)

śirasā

sirĕsa

regular loss of contrastive sibilants

One conclusion that I believe we can draw is that Kuja Ali has made use here of a number of conventional phrases or verses from a scribal tradition that must have been alive at the time of the composition of the TTms. The degree of error in his presentation of this fragment might then reflect either his imperfect knowledge of that tradition, or a tradition that had itself undergone considerable change with reference to an earlier stage when orthographic conventions were more closely attuned to the preservation of Pāṇinian Sanskrit. With this short verse formula, Kuja Ali appears to mark a transition from the law book to its closing (and colophon) in the form of a Sanskrit verse in anuṣṭubh metre, his subsequent explication of that verse and his final description of that verse as “the śloka/saluka” of the dipati, who is

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thus credited with composing and/or enunciating the verse. Perhaps this dipati can be identified with the “great king” (mahārāja) who is described in the early framing sections of the TTms as presiding over the great convocation at Dharmāśraya that promulgated the book of laws recorded in the manuscript, or perhaps we should think in terms of a lower order dignitary whose status was similar to that of the composer of the TTms. We will return to this point anon.

The saluka dipati, or S´loka of the Dipati Verses 30.1–4 and 31.1–2 of the TTms, which are termed the saluka dipati in line 32.3 of the manuscript, represent a verse that is clearly intended to record a genuinely Sanskrit original. This is then followed by the author’s paraphrase of its meaning in lines 31.3–32.3. From the point of view of locating this text in a socio-political milieu, these are undoubtedly the most crucial lines in the entire TTms. They are also unique in the entire corpus of Malay letters, without precedent elsewhere, at least to the best of my knowledge. They thus offer us a singular opportunity to understand the TTms in terms of a particular historical moment in the history of Malay textuality. As in the case of the short eulogistic formula introducing this verse, we will list the contents of this verse in terms of a tatsama-tadbhava relationship, drawing our tatsama forms from the Sanskrit verse that Griffiths (2010, p. 137) has reconstructed as the likely original of the saluka dipati, augmented by the phrase introduced by Acri, which clearly represents another well-known phrase in the scribal traditions of Kuja Ali’s time. We will give first the critical and diplomatic renderings of Waruno Mahdi and the Sanskrit verses reconstructed by Griffiths or Acri, along with a slightly modified translation:

(a)  critical and diplomatic readings of Waruno Mahdi Critical pranamya śrisa diwa#m¬ , tṛlu: ter[i]lukyadipati stutim, nana setteru dṛta~ wakitnitri satra samuksaya

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Als Ob Reconstruction of a MalaySanskrit Original pranamya sirasa divam tr[i]lukya dipati stutim, nana-satteru drĕtam vakit netri satra-samuksayam

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(b)  Sanskrit Original Reconstructed by Griffiths, with Translation praṇamya śirasā devaṃ trailokyādhipatistutam nānāśāstroddhṛtaṃ vakti nītisārasamuccayam

Having bowed to the Illustrious Great God, who is praised as the Lord of the Three Worlds, he expounds this Compendium of the Essence of the Science of Polity, drawn from various authoritative works.64

(c)  Tatsama-Tadbhava Comparison of the Lexemes of the Sanskrit Original with Those of the Saluka Dipati Tatsama Form praṇamya śirasā

Tadbhava Form pranamya śrisa śirĕsa

diwaṃ trailokyādhipatistutam tṛlūkya dipāti stutim nānāśāstroddhṛtaṃ

nāna sattru dretam

vakti nītisārasamuccayam

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wakit niti satra samuksaya

Sound Change or Scribal Error loss of contrast in nasal series regular loss of contrastive sibilants, insertion of epenthetic shwa vowel change of vowel (e > i) reinterpretation of C + diphthong (-rai- > ṛ/rĕ) local variant (adhipati > dipati) variant reading of original (stutim for stutam?) loss of geminate feature of second vowel (ā > a) scribal error (śāstra > sattru) or reinterpretation (śātru “enemy” for śāstra, “authoritative text”) scribal error/error of interpretation: sandhi juncture –a + -ud > -od- not recognized leading to elimination of the verbal prefix ut-ud- and analysis of uddhṛtam as dhṛtam; subsequent loss of the aspirate (“breathy voice”) feature of dh- and reduction of dhṛtam to dṛtam/drĕtam scribal error (vakti > wakit) loss of geminate feature first vowel (ī > i) scribal error (satra for sāra) scribal reinterpretation (samuksaya for samuccayam?)

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Since the definitions of the lexemes given above are glossed within the TTms itself we will put off a discussion of those words for the present, instead focusing on the fact that if we follow Mahdi in understanding the sequence śrisa as being realized in the form sirĕsa, but add no other epenthetic vowels to the sequence of the saluka dipati then this verse appears to retain an approximation of anuṣṭubh metre, and thus suggests the possibility that Kuja Ali’s transcription represents an enunciation of a piece of the local Sumatran scribal tradition that was considered appropriate for the close, or colophon, of a text recording official business of the chancellery, or in this case a code of laws promulgated at a grand convocation of dignitaries representing the political centre and its peripheries. There seems little doubt that we can reconstruct the phrase saluka dipati from line 32.3 as ślokādipatih, thus implying that we have here a verse in the śloka, or anuṣṭubh metre.65 While the term śloka is used in later traditions of the archipelago (and parts of India) to refer to any verse in a Sanskrit metre and predominantly Sanskrit in form, its more technical reference is to the rather freely defined 8 syllable metre that was ubiquitous as the “carrying meter” for religious and didactic texts of both the Hindu and Buddhist traditions during the era of the Sanskrit ecumene, including those that were popular in the archipelago. If we discount the opening of the saluka dipati with the oṃkāra, and bear in mind the 8-syllable structure of the four lines of a verse in anuṣṭubh metre then we can indeed reconstruct a proper śloka, at least in terms of syllable count. This “localized” śloka can then be compared with the Sanskrit verse that has shown is the source of the verse cited by Kuja Ali. While Griffiths (2010, p. 138) is correct in noting that Kuja Ali’s explication of the meaning of the saluka dipati cannot be used to assist in the reconstruction of the Sanskrit original for this verse, we can use his exposition as an hermeneutic tool for examining how he understood the verse, and what this may tell us about his access to a local scribal tradition and his role in the convocation that promulgated the code of laws of the TTms. This means giving attention not just to the continuing presence of elements of the Sanskrit tradition in the textual record of the Malay-Indonesian archipelago, but also to the reception of these elements in diverse cultures that were involved in processes of Sanskritization in differing ways.

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Malay gloss of the saluka dipati One of the central aims of this chapter has been to determine what kind of “distance” we are observing when we consider the gap between the phonology and orthography of the Sanskritized framing sections of the TTms and a hypothetical reconstruction of a Sanskrit original. Thus far the kind of distance we are looking at has seemed to be one of centre to periphery, with the TTms representing a document written to convey the authority of a court centre to a peripheral centre of political influence in the “land of Kerinci” by means of a textual artefact. Some of the framing sections of the TTms (the dating information, short eulogy of the reigning monarch) reveal scribal traditions common to the Sanskritized milieu of the courtly cultures of archipelago at the same time that their state of “drift” from the norms of classical Sanskrit suggests a local, Sumatra scribal tradition that may have been internally differentiated in terms of attention to the inscriptional needs of the political centre and documentary needs like those that turn up in the code of laws section of the TTms. The next step in the process of understanding the question of spatial or temporal distance in the production of the TTms can be taken by placing the final section of the TTms alongside the saluka dipati, not as an exercise in reconstruction, but in order to get a clearer picture of how the scribe (and dipati) Kuja Ali understood the śloka that appears to have originally represented the colophone of the code of laws, and the record of its promulgation. In the final lines of the TTms (TTms 31–32), Kuja Ali glosses the saluka dipati in a phrase-by-phrase glossing that suggests the kind of translations one encounters today in public readings of ancient texts among the “reading clubs” (pesantian, pepaosan) of Bali, or in Javanese and Balinese modes of theatrical discourse that I have referred to elsewhere with the term “theatrical diglossia”. This suggests practices of orality, in which a text or fragment of a text in a “distant” (and high status) language is rendered in an oral mode, accompanied by an extemporized translation: it also suggests continuities with the “didactic mode” of translation that was a hallmark of pedagogical and textual practices of the archipelago from at least the time of composition of the Buddhist handbooks Sang Hyang Kamahāyanan Mantra and Sang Hyang Kamahāyānikan.66 As a preparatory step in our analysis of Kuja Ali’s gloss of the saluka dipati, we will first give the critical transcription of Waruno Mahdi along

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with an als ob reconstruction aimed at capturing the mixed Sanskritic-Malay idiom of Kuja Ali’s glosses: Als Ob Reconstruction of Mixed Malay and Sanskrit Original

Critical Transcription of Mahdi pranam¬mya ṇa:ma , tundukra ma:ñambaḥ , sirsa na ka: pa:la , diwa nama di/wa\ta , tṛ na:ma su rga madya prata:la , dipati ṇa:ma la: biḥ dṛripa:da sa:kal¬#liyaṇ¬ , naṇa ṇa:ma: bañak¬ , dṛta~ ṇa: ma: ya~ dika:takaṇ¬ , satra ṇa: ma ya~ satra , sa:muk¬sayamnama sarba sakalliyaṇ¬ // ∞ // · // °i # ni saluka dipa:ti //

praṇamya nāma tunduk manyambah, śīrĕṣa nā(ma) kāpāla, deva nāma devata, tri nāma svarga madhya pratala, dipati   nāma lěbih děripada sakaliyan nāna nāma bañak, dhṛtaṃ nā-ma yang dikatakan, satra nama yang satra samuccayaṃ nāma sarva sakaliyan ini śloka dipati

In order to give a clearer picture of how Kuja Ali has understood the saluka dipati we will next present each of Kuja Ali’s glosses in the form developed above, followed by an English translation and then comments on the extent to which Kuja Ali’s glosses reflect the lexemes of the original Sanskrit śloka suggested by Griffiths. This exercise should help us understand how Kuja Ali read (or “heard”) the saluka dipati, and should make clear any lapses from the meaning of the Sanskrit śloka that would suggest that Kuja Ali may have had a less-than-perfect understanding of its original sense. From this we may be able to move on to an understanding of the role played in the TTms by the saluka dipati, and what it can tell us about the identity and perspective of Kuja Ali: Original Sanskrit śloka according to Griffiths praṇamya śrīmahādevaṃ trailokyādhipatistutam nānāśāstroddhṛtaṃ vakti nītisārasamuccayam Kuja Ali’s glosses of the saluka dipati:

praṇamya nama tunduk manyambah praṇamya means “to bow the head and make the sembah gesture of respect.” Commentary: The first phrase of Kuja Ali’s gloss fits with praṇamya of Griffiths’ Sanskrit original.

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siresa nama kapala śirĕṣa means “head”

However, the second phrase does not fit with the verse cited by Griffiths, but instead is matched by the first phrase of the verse from the Bhuvanakośa cited by Acri: pranṇamya / śirasā devaṃ / (a) Commentary: As Acri (p.c. April 2013) has also pointed out the Balinese gloss on the (archipelago)-Sanskrit verse of the Bhuvanakośa matches that of the gloss given by Kuja Ali in the TT: Balinese gloss of the Bhuvanakośa [praṇamya] manambhaḥ ta sira ri bhaṭ āra / śirasā / makakaraṇa hulunira sira / [praṇamya] means “bowing to Him, to the Lord; śirasā means “because he is the ‘head’ of Him, [author’s translation] Comments: I have used small letters for “he”, I believe this pronoun refers to the person enunciating the śloka. We must then interpret “head” to be used in the form it takes as a metonymous reference to the state of serviture proper to the devotee of a deity, or the reigning monarch: hulun has come to mean “slave” but the original metonomy describes the placing of one’s head beneath the foot of the deity or monarch as a sign of respect and submission. In a similar sense monarchs in the Malay-Indonesian world are often addressed as the “sandal” of the king, since one approaches the feet of the monarch and bows the head low before them. (b) Kuja Ali’s gloss in the TT

praṇamya nama tunduk manyambah praṇamya means “to bow the head and make the sembah gesture of respect.” siresa nama kapala śirĕṣa means “head” We can see that the fir here is clearly between the Balinese and TT versions of a conventional phrase in scribal traditions of the major religious orders of the 14th century archipelago. There has been a shift of words between “siresa” and the following word (devam), but otherwise, as Acri has noted, “the fit is perfect”. deva na[ma] devata deva means “a divinity”

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Commentary: Kuja Ali’s original and gloss are consonant with devaṃ of the original. Kuja Ali adopts a well-known synonym for deva in his gloss, and drops the inflectional termination of the original. tri nama svarga madhya pratala tri means “heaven, earth and the underworld” Commentary: Kuja Ali’s gloss is consonant with trailokyā and moreover expands on the term by naming the three areas of the conventional “three worlds” of Hindu and Buddhist cosmologies. dipati nāma lěbih děripada sakaliyan dipati means “more than all others” (e.g. possessing characteristics that are more than those of ordinary persons, hence the source of the superior social status of the dipati-s) Commentary: Kuja Ali’s gloss is consonant with ādhipati of the original, and expands upon the meaning by underlining the superior status of bearers of this designation of political rank and role. nana nama bañak nāna means “many” Commentary: Kuja Ali’s gloss is consonant with nānā of the original. dhṛtam nama yang dikatakan dhṛtam means “that which is spoken” Commentary: Kuja Ali’s gloss does not capture the meaning of uddhṛtaṃ (“extracted”) of the original, but refers rather to the aspect of speaking that can be understood as recoverable from the overall sense of the phrase nānāśāstroddhṛtaṃ vakti, “he speaks that which has been extracted (raised up) from many authoritative texts”. satra nama yang satra satra means “those who are satra” Commentary: This gloss is puzzling. It may understood satra in terms of a local tadbhava “member of the warrior caste” and hence felt that who are satra” needed no further explanation (see

be that Kuja Ali form of kṣatrīya, his gloss as “those further below).

samuksayam nama sarva sakaliyan samuksayam means “all and everything” Commentary: Kuja Ali’s gloss is correct in terms of meaning, but his samuksayam suggests an earlier tadbhava development of samuccayam, that may have resulted from an admixture of a word like mokṣa or mukṣya (see further below).

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From the analysis given above we begin to get the sense that Kuja Ali was working with a Sanskrit original that had already gone through processes of drift in terms of both phonological shape and meaning. At the same time it appears that his understanding of the local Sanskrit form of the Sanskrit original was imperfect, so that he only partially succeeded in giving an expert gloss, failing most notably in his effort to explain the nominal compound nānāśāstroddhṛtaṃ. While some of Kuja Ali’s glosses are consonant with the Sanskrit original, or a Sumatran tadbhava form of that original that had already undergone significant changes before he used it in the composition of the TTms, there are others that are puzzling or suggest an imperfect understanding of the saluka as he encountered it. For example, in glossing tṛlu:kya which can clearly reconstructed as trilokya, “pertaining to the three worlds”, Kuja Ali demonstrates a clear understanding of the original by expanding on it with his phrase svarga madhya pratala, “heaven, the middle world and the lower world”, thus referring to the commonly known three divisions of Indian and Southeast Asian cosmology well-known throughout the Sanskrit ecumene. While in presenting his gloss Kuja Ali gives only the first morpheme (tṛ-/tri-), this may not represent a lapse, but rather an abbreviation for a longer term that can be compared to similar shortened forms of well-known lexemes in didactic works of the Old Javanese tradition.67 Sanskrit nana, “many, variegated” has been correctly glossed with Malay bañak, “many”, but the following lexeme — śāstra, “authoritative text” is not glossed by Kuja Ali, perhaps because sattĕru of the saluka dipati suggested to him a tadbhava derivation of Sanskrit śātru, “enemy”, which would not have been seemed appropriate given the overall sense of the saluka. Kuja Ali’s gloss of original uddhṛtam, “extracted” in terms of the tadbhava form dṛtam is suggestive in a different way, since he gives nama yang dikatakan, “means that which is/was spoken” as the gloss. While his gloss reveals that he (and likely his preceptors) did not understand the original of this word his gloss is suggestive in that he indicates with his gloss (“that which is spoken”) that he understands this phrase from the saluka dipati as referring to the enunciation of the code of laws of the great convocation, rather than the name of the code of laws promulgated therein that Griffiths has proposed should be taken as the “title” of the TTms (Griffiths 2010). That Kuja Ali gives no gloss at all on the following phrase (wakitnitri = vakit nitri?) suggests either that this phrase was no longer

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intelligible in the local scribal tradition that inherited the Sanskrit verse, or that this phrase was beyond Kuja Ali’s ability in terms of his knowledge of the Sanskritized elements of that tradition. It may be of some interest to note that we might expect loss of the somewhat unusual 3rd person present form vakti, “he speaks” a tradition that in large part preserved only lexical materials from Sanskrit (and not its fully inflected sentence patterns), the following word nīti, “art of polity” remained well-known in Balinese and Javanese traditions well beyond the time of the TTms, but perhaps had been conflated at some point in the local transmission of the Sanskrit original with netṛ/netā, “leader” so that Kuja Ali records the lexeme following wakit as nitri. As noted above Kuja Ali’s gloss of the following lexeme (sāra, “essence” in the original Sanskrit, satra in the saluka dipati) is also puzzling. As we have noted above, it may be that he had in mind a tadbhava form of kṣatrīya “member of the warrior caste”, a Sanskrit world clearly well-known throughout the archipelago that lives on in modern reflexes like Balinese satriya that have gone through a process of reduction of kṣ > s that can help us in elucidating Kuja Ali’s gloss. If we look back at the saluka dipati and compare it with Kuja Ali’s glosses, we note that he has not glossed śāstra/sattru from the longer compound nānāśāstroddhṛtaṃ of the Sanskrit original. If we have been correct in seeing the possibility of an earlier shift from śāstra, “authoritative text” to śātru, “enemy” in the local Sumatran form of the original Sanskrit verse, then it is possible to understand a relationship in Kuja Ali between satra and sattru, one term referring to a class of warriors, the other to their enemies. This explanation is more conjectural than others that we have put forward in the present section of this chapter, but it may help to explain two of the more significant cases where the saluka and glosses of Kuja Ali represent a considerable degree of slippage from the original Sanskrit. While Kuja Ali’s gloss of the final term in the saluka is consonant with the original, his samuksayam for original samuccayam, “collection, compendium” suggests the influence of other lexemes on his understanding of the original term. While samuccayam is commonly found in Buddhist hybrid Sanskrit texts and is part of the title of an important didactic text of the Javano-Balinese didactic tradition (Sāra-samuccayam), Kuja Ali’s samuksayam suggests with a lexeme like (Sanskrit) mokṣa, “release from the cycle of existence”, (Old Javanese) mukṣa, “vanish, disappear”, or even (Sanskrit) kṣaya, “split, destroyed”.

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We will discuss further the implications of Kuja Ali’s use of the saluka dipati and his glosses on that verse in a final section of this chapter. For present purposes, the most important points to be gleaned from an examination of Kuja Ali’s glosses of the saluka are that they appear to reflect a fairly advanced stage of local change with respect to the original text of the Sanskrit verse, and that they represent a form of text-building with a long history in the Javano-Balinese tradition, and likely with roots in the Buddhist pedagogical institutions of Sumatra dating back as far as the middle of the first millennium CE.

The Author, his Cohort and his Royal Patron What can the framing passages of the TTms tell us about its author, his relationship to the reigning monarch and to his cohort, a group of local officials who attended the great convocation held in Dharmāśraya “in the presence of his majesty the king”? Let us begin by discussing the contrast of the term dipati with titles like Śrī Mahārāja, which appear to represent a higher, or paramount bearer of political power.

(a) Excursus 2: Dipati, Adhipati, S´ rı¯ Maha¯ra¯ja Several terms are used in the TTms to refer to persons who play a major role in political organization. Two of these — pādukā Śri Mahārāja and Mahārāja Dharmāśraya — clearly refer to the reigning monarch, who was ruling in the Malayu country at the time of the “great convocation” (sidang mahātmya). Two other terms — sang hyang Kěmattan and devaṃ śīrṣā Amaleśwaraṃ appear to refer to the apotheosized form of a recently deceased royal monarch. In this configuration the use of the śloka dipati suggests a hierarchy of political actors, with an apotheosized ruler as the object of the hymn of praise, a ruling monarch who presides over the “great convocation” in Dharmāśraya, a lesser ruler — perhaps a regent ruling in Dharmāśraya who enunciates the śloka and finally a lesser dignitary (Kuja Ali) who acted as a scribe in formulating the TTms as a written document. This may well be the case, but it leaves unanswered several points related to the question of whether the TTms was framed within the temporal and geopolitical context of the rule of Ādityavarman and his immediate successors. In a recent review of the evidence for Ādityavarman’s rule, Kulke (2009) has reminded us that Ādityavarman styled himself as a mahārājādhirāja

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in the Pagaruyung (I) inscription of 1356, but “contented himself in his future inscriptions with rather vague and modest royal titles like ‘Lord of Men’ (nṛpati) or ‘Protector of Men’ (nṛpa)”. Kulke then goes on to cite the evidence of Deśawarṇana/Nāgarakṛāgama 13.1c which lists the Minangkabau region of Ādityavarman’s era as a dependency of the Majapahit. Kulke suggests that this tells us that a compromise had been reached that allowed Ādityavarman to reign as paramount in his own region, but without the pretensions to universal rule implicit in the term mahārājādhirāja.68 If we apply Kulke’s insights to the study of the TTms, and take into account the evidence for a concentration in the inscriptional record on the central role of Ādityavarman as a “ruling bodhisattva” in the Malayu country, then it appears quite unlikely that he — or his direct successor (who can be assumed to have aspired to a similar level of Buddhist kingship) — would have been willing to share power with another monarch ruling in Dharmāśraya. This suggests to me an alternative reading of the political hierarchy reflected in the TTms: the political actor referred to with the titles pādukā Śri Mahārāja and Mahārāja Dharmāśraya may be taken to represent the heir to Ādityavarman (ruling from Śurāwāśa/Saruaso but over a territory including Dharmāśraya), while the dipati who enunciates the śloka as a hymn of praise (stuti) might represent either his representative in Dharmāśraya, or one of a group of dipati in Kerinci who received copies of the TTms as a visible proof of their close relationship to the centre of political power, which I presume included both the highland capital of the Tanah Datar region and lower lying area of Dharmāśraya.69 The latter possibility is supported by the evidence of a local legend cited by Kozok (2006, p. 10), based on the earlier report of KathirithambyWells (1986): According to tradition, the ruler of Jambi commissioned a distinguished emigree of Majapahit descent, Pangeran Temenggung Kebaruh to administer the interior of Jambi with his headquarters at Muara Mesumai, on the Merangin river. The appointment was made, presumably, to induce the local chiefs to send tribute to the ruler of Jambi in acknowledgement of his sovereignty. In fulfillment of his duties the Pangeran is believed to have visited the Minangkabau settlements of Temiai, Pulau Sangkar, Pengasih and Tanah Hiang, south of the Kerinci Lake, to win over the territorial chiefs of the mendapo or negeri federations with presents of kain and the superior title of dipati or adipati. By this process the territorial headship of the dipati was superimposed upon the genealogical divisions originating from Minangkabau, and the administration came

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subsequently to be known as that of the “dipati berempat”, headed by the Depati Batu Hampar, descendant of Indra Jati of Temiai. Because the three chiefs of Kerinci (Ulu Temiai, Pulau Sangkar and Pengasih) received a kain (a cloth each) out of the 4 kain distributed by Pangeran Temenggung Kebaruh, the region came to be recognised as the Tiga Helai Kain. Of the remaining one kain, half the length was given to Depati Atur Bumi at Tanah Hiang and the remaining half divided amongst seven other chiefs found north of the lake at Semurup, Kemantan, Rawang Kudik, Depati Tujuh, Rawang Hilir, Seliman and Penawar. This area consequently came to be referred to as the Selapan Helai Kain. In addition to the twelve mendapo which received the kain there were three others, Sungai Penuh, Sanggaran Agung and Lolo, making a total of fifteen.

Kozok (personal communication, May 2008) suggests that we can read the ceremonial clothes and its “letters of appointment” to the status of dipati as a distant memory of manuscripts in the form of the TTms that were distributed throughout the area of Kerinci to ensure the loyalty of these regions to the political centre. If this is the case we might then view a political actor like Kuja Ali as a lower order member of the political elite whose power derived from his abilities as a scribe, and an intermediary between the political centre and the dipati-s of an area like Kerinci. This raises the possibility that the saluka dipati that he uses to close the TTms is intended to represent the words of a dipati of Kerinci, who can thus be presumed to have possessed enough expertise in Sanskrit to have understood and preserved in orthographic form a saluka/śloka drawn from the Sanskrit scribal traditions of India that was specially suited to serve as the closing verse and colophon of a code of laws. By virtue of this ability to control the specialized language that was so intimately tied to the discourse of the political centre, this dipati might be considered primus inter pares among other dipati and hence a fitting member of the political elite, albeit at some distance from the major political centres of Dharmāśraya and Śurawāśa. In this configuration the status of a scribe like Kuja Ali, who can also refer to himself as a dipati, would have been supported by his attending the great convocation, composing a written document reporting on its promulgation and ratification of the code of laws, and acting as intermediary between the political centre and local political leaders in the highlands of Kerinci. However, attractive as this hypothesis may be in terms of later epistolary practices in the Minangkabau country and in terms of the legends around the ceremonial clothes (kain), we must also point out that the likelihood

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that provincial actors in Kerinci would have been well-versed in the Sanskritized idiom of the court is quite low. This does not mean that the epistolary links that helped to extend the aura of royal power to Kerinci are not reflected in the mode of composition of the TTms, but simply that the point of origin of those links was most likely in Dharmāśraya, rather than Kerinci. While the Sanskrit origin of a term like sěri maharaja is unproblematic, the etymology of the term dipati presents a different picture. At first one might judge this term to be a loanword from Sanskrit, based on its similarity to terms like nṛpati and narapati (“lord of men, king”), bhūpati (“lord of the earth, king”) and senāpati (“lord of the army, commanderin-chief ”). This would suggest a derivation from adhi-, “foremost, transcendent” plus pati, “lord, master, spouse”. However, in actual fact the word adhipati is uncommon, and is found largely with the restricted meaning: “a particular part of the head (where a wound proves instantly fatal)”. From this it appears that adhipati was a term developed in the archipelago based on a local affixation of the prefix adhi- to patih, a word which appears very early in the history of OJ to mean the “military and political advisor to a king”. In the Old Javanese Rāmāyaṇana, for example, we find the phrase patih sang apatih patih, “the chief advisor and he who oversees the other advisors” (OJR 24. 49).70 Sarkar’s comments on the use of the term patih in OJ (Sarkar 1971, p. 122, note 107) are instructive and worthy of an extended citation: De Casparis has already observed […] that the status of the patihs depended upon whom they served or represented and that the original meaning of the term might have been ‘executor of orders’ […] De Casparis finds support for this interpretation from the fact that not only the highest dignitaries after the king, but also dignitaries of lesser status have borne the same patih-titles. The former executes royal orders, the latter those of local chieftains. A patih may indeed be ‘executor of orders’, but it is doubtful if this was the original meaning of the term. It appears to me that the word may be the same as Skt. Patih, which signifies among others: lord, master, chief, etc. As the Old-Javanese pati(h)s have various functions, the derivation of the term from Skt. and association of the holder of this title with land and administrative functions cannot be altogether ignored. In older inscriptions the rakarayān mapatihs have almost always exercised high administrative functions.

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It seems very likely that the term dipati is a tadbhava form of an earlier form adhipati, which in term represents a combination of the prefix adhi- with patih that was developed in the archipelago. However, it is not clear when this tadbhava form came into general use in the archipelago. One would not expect a tadbhava form like dipati to have emerged as early as the Old Malay (OM) inscriptions of Śrīvijaya, and indeed in these inscriptions we find the ubiquitous Malay term datu as the term for local officials appointed by the ruling monarch, rather than patih or dipati. In the Kota Kapur inscription of 686 CE, for example, the ruling monarch speaks of “those whom I have appointed to be datu” (yaṃ nigalarku sanyāsa datūā), thus suggesting the appointment of lesser rulers through granting of appanage territories, or the co-option of local chieftains into a federation with a significant degree of power emanating from a royal centre.71 The term dipati appears to have developed in Malay-Sumatran contexts. It is rarely (if ever) found in OJ, while in the later Javanese tradition we find that it is usually adipati, not dipati that is used mainly to refer to local rulers. Thus, for example, in a document in the Rouffaer collection of the KITLV from the period of Pakabuwana II (reigned 1727–49 CE), we find adipati used in the first instance as part of the title of the chief minister (Raden Adipati pepatih Dalem Tanah Jawa), then with a series of local rulers in outlying principalities who take their titles from the areas of their appanage lands. We thus find: Adipati Madura, Adipati Surabaya, Adipati Japara and Adipati Pekalongan.72 If we can be permitted to work backwards from the edicts (piagam) of the later Sumatran tradition, then it is clear that the term dipati — or depati in more recent spelling — plays the preponderant role in these documents, although on occasion adipati appears as a variant. As in the Javanese case, dipati can be used as one of the elements in the title of a chief minister or a prince of high enough standing to be entitled to issue edicts giving entitlement to rule in their districts to lesser, local leaders who are themselves invariably titled dipati. This is the case in two edicts issued in Jambi by one Duli Pangeran Dipati, who was entitled to use a royal stamp testifying to his authority to promulgate edicts granting power to local rulers. One of these edicts, dated Hijrah 1086 (1675/6 CE), is not legible enough to yield precise information on the recipient of the edict, but the other is clearly intended to confirm the authority of Dipati Pulang Jiwa and Dipati Penarang Bumi to rule over the people of Teramang in Serampas.73

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While uses of the term dipati or depati in seventeenth and eighteenth century documents of Sumatra are legion, it is perhaps going too far to speak of them as “local rulers”, since this gives the impression of authority over a sizeable territory and population that may have been the case during the much earlier heyday of the empire of Śrīvijaya, but does not appear to fit with the later context of political power in highland Sumatra, when a greater dispersal of centres of local power and authority seems to have been the norm. If we look to Drakard’s work on the nature of language and power in seventeenth and eighteenth century Sumatra (1999), and Gallop’s work (2002) on the role played by royal seals in the configuration of power produced by the traffic in royal edicts (titah, piagam), then we can begin to see just how important documents emanating from a royal centre were in ratifying the authority of local leaders, the dipati of so many royal edicts and letter. This dispersal of power along lines established by a traffic in epistolary artefacts bearing the weight of royal authority, and the importance of local dipati in these networks is strikingly reminiscent of the political and textual conditions reflected in the TTms. It may thus be reasonable to say that the Sanskritized framing of the TTms played a role in authorizing Kuja Ali and his fellow dipati who attended the “great convocation” role very similar to the use of seals and specialized language in the edicts of the later Sumatran tradition, or the precious textiles that may have been used to represent royal power in the areas of Jambi and Kerinci in the later history of Sumatra. Of course the code of laws itself must have played an equally important part in the representation of royal authority. Taken together the Sanskritized framing of the text — which connects it with interlocal domains of symbolic power through its use of the customary scribal practices of the charter states of the archipelago — and the code of laws, which represents a development within the Malay world that was to continue to influence the framing of legal documents for centuries to come — had the effect of producing a textual form of royal regalia that functioned in political exchange networks much like those represented in later centuries by the ceremonial kain or surat cap. The entire TTms thus may be most important as evidence of epistolary links between a royal centre and local leaders that ratified access to a higher source of power and authority. As Drakard has shown, colonial period doubts about the “real authority” of Sumatran sovereigns of the Minangkabau highland areas and subsequent changes in the connection of political and epistolary power have only partly effaced the traces of a system

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of authority that emanated from royal centres through networks that were established and maintained largely through the power of specialized forms of inscription. Royal seals, detailed calligraphic and illustrative techniques, and a specialized diction all contributed to the indexical potency of Sumatran letters, linking local leaders to sources of ancestral and hereditary authority that were maintained through chirographic links. We might thus suggest that the TTms is the first evidence we have of this type of distribution of power, configured largely in textual terms and spreading among a network of local dipati-s largely through epistolary links. These textual links were the symbolic and political side of economic links based on the trade in precious metals, forest products and agricultural surplus moving among highland areas, and between highland areas and the coastal areas of Sumatra, whether the vast littorals of the east coast, or the more narrow coastal stretches of the west. As Andaya (2008, pp. 82–107) points out, these links were a crucial factor supporting the emergence of a unique Minangkabau identity out of an earlier Malay ethnicity. He characterizes the older Malay identity as having originally coalesced in “the sea of Malayu”, a network of coastal trading communities of mainland and insular Southeast Asia in the first millennium CE that used Malay language as a lingua franca and over time were increasingly interlinked by way of kinship and related means of extending the “family” relationships that were basic to political structures of the ancient Malay world.

(b) Excursus 3: Kuja Ali When the author of the TTms identifies himself as Kuja Ali, we are immediately faced with the puzzling fact that a document so thoroughly embedded in a Sanskritized sociocultural milieu has been penned by someone whose title and name both suggest an Islamic hand. While it is reasonable to be cautious in assuming too much from the single term kuja, there is no doubt that it has resonance with a larger world of Islamic networks that had begun to make significant inroads into Sumatra in the later fourteenth century, thus during the same period that we can place the TTms, both on the grounds of carbon dating and on internal evidence pointing to a relationship with the court of Ādityavarman or one of his successors. In assessing the word kuja, if we begin with the assumption that variations of u and o in the TTms reflect an intermediary stage in a split in the high vowels between Proto-Malayic (PM) and Standard Malay (SM), then it will

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not seem surprising that kuja represents a local variation on koja.74 Koja in turn is a Malay rendering of khoja [ ‫] ﻮ‬, a word that ultimately derives from Persian khwāja [ ‫] ﻮ‬, “lord, leader, chieftain”.75 If we look initially for an understanding of the terms khoja and khwāja to the Encyclopedia of Islam (Bosworth et al. 1986, pp. 25–27) and the Shorter Encyclopedia of Islam (Gibb and Kramers 1983, pp. 256–57), we find that these terms are mainly defined in terms of the history of Ismaili, or Isma’iliyyah form of the Shi’a, who are sometimes known as “the seveners” in that they regard Muhammad, son of Isma’il, as the seventh Imam, rather than Isma’il’s younger brother, al Must’alias, who is accepted by the larger, more orthodox body of the Shi’a, the Imammiyah. While the Ismaili enjoyed early success as the founders of the Fatimid dynasty of Egypt (909–1171), their further history was often marked by suppression, diaspora or dissimulation. This was due to the fact that they were considered heterodox by both the Sunni, and by the more numerous population of the Imammiyah Shi’a. One of their earliest diasporic movements was into Sindh, in modern Pakistan, from whence they spread across northwestern India as far as Multan, Rajasthan and northern Gujerat. In these areas they came to be known as khoja. The title likely reflects their origins in Persia, but is explained in Sindh and other areas of migration in northern India in terms of a founding myth that may not be entirely reliable, but offers evidence for their adaptive strategies. In this account the khoja of Sindh were originally converted from (Hindu) Lohana lineages, thus placing them among the lesser nobility who claim kṣatrīya descent and have the right to be known as ṭhakur, “lord, master”. After their conversion they are said to have preferred to adopt khoja as the Persian equivalent of the Hindu title ṭhakur, so that even in recent times the Lohana are said to have used the term khoja among themselves as a sign of respect (Shorter Encyclopedia, 256).76 Given the importance of the coastal area of Gujerat for the trade with the Malay-Indonesian archipelago, and the propensity of the Ismaili for migration there is some evidence to support the possibility that Kuja Ali may have been an Ismaili. This possibility might be further supported by the fact that the philosophy of zahir-bathin, which figures prominently in the Islam of Java under the terms lahir-bathin, has been an important element of Ismaili belief from as early as the Fatimid period. However, we must introduce a note of caution here and call attention to other ways that the title khoja has been used in the archipelago, and the philosophy of zahir-bathin has entered into Malay and Javanese religious

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discourse. Thanks to the prodigious efforts of Ian Proudfoot in producing an online concordance of the literature in Classical Malay, we can now search a word like khoja for its uses in a variety of textual sources covering a span of time from the fourteenth through the eighteenth centuries. A short chronology for the use of the term khoja in the classical Malay literature can thus be summarized as follows: (a) 1300s • Hikayat Bayan Budiman, Malay translation of the Persian version of the Sanskrit Śukasaptati, attributed to Kadi Hassan, dated 773 AH = 1371 AD: 204 uses of khoja as a respectful title for Persian characters in the tales of the parrot Bayan Budiman. For example: Maka sahut isteri Khojah Maimun, “Hai unggas yang budiman, sungguhlah berahi hamba kepada anak raja itu, tetapi terlebih berahi hamba akan hikayat-hikayat tuan hamba itu.”77 • Hikayat Raja Pasai, dated c. 1390 CE: no uses of kuja, koja, khoja • Hikayat Bersurat Terengganu, dated inscription of 1302/3, 1320–29 or 1378–88 A.D. (702, 720–29 or 780-89 A.H.): no uses (b) 1400s • Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyyah, dated about 1580, definitely before 1624: no uses • Undang-undang Melaka, dated fifteenth or sixteenth century: no uses (c) 1500s • Hikayat Seri Rama, date of the earliest manuscript: before 1633: no uses • Hikayat Amir Hamzah, date of the earliest text, c. sixteenth century: 626 uses, including: lines 443, p. 39: dan ialah yang membubuh anting-anting pada telinga segala pahlawan; dan ialah murid Jibril alaihissalam dan Nabi Allah Khidir alaihissalam; dan ialah anak Khoja Abdul Mutalib, cucu Abdul Manaf; dan ialah yang keturunan daripada anak cucu Nabi Allah Ibrahim alaihissalam. Adapun suratku ini datang kepadamu hei mendalika Khawari … 78

Since both the Hikayat Bayan Budiman and Hikayat Amir Hamzah represent translations of Persian materials, it is reasonable to assume that their copious but singular use of the term khoja can be traced to the unique Persian associations of the term. The term Kuja Ali might then simply be

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understood as implying that Kuja Ali had attained the right to be termed by this respectful title that marked him as having a specific connection with a Persian predecessor, or simply know by this name due to his Persian forbearers. We have to wonder, however, why a dipati from among those who attended the great convocation at Dharmāśraya would have stressed his Persian connections. The answer may lie in the sense of a larger transnational community that was beginning to make its presence felt at the end of the fourteenth century, and not much later would take the place of the older transnational configuration of the Sanskrit cosmopolis. Here we may extend our net further afield and look to a second term in the TTms that suggests connections to a larger world of economic and religious exchanges. This is the term kuraysani, to be found in lines 19.4–5 of the text, in the phrase maliŋ kuraysani lima mas, “the thief of kuraysani (is fined) five masa (of gold)”. This term can be reconstructed as Persian khorasani, a strong form of steel ideal for forging sword blades and other sharp instruments that was mined and smelted in Khorsan, an area of Central Asia that was within the Persian sphere of influence throughout much of the first half of the second millennium.79 This area is important for a study of the word khoja since it represents an area in which the closely related term khwāja has been used since at least the fifteenth century to refer to what the Supplement of the Encyclopedia of Islam (1986, XII, p. 522) refers to as “two lineages of spiritual and political leaders in Eastern Turkestan”. These lineages have recently been studied in several insightful articles by DeWeese (1995, 1999) and Jürgen Paul (1991). In his work on the shrine of the twelfth century saint and Sufi shaykkh Khwaja Ahmad Yasavi, DeWeese (1999) has shown how this shrine and its documentary legacy are being mobilized in post-Soviet reassertions of identity that transcend ethnic and areal boundaries. In doing so, DeWeese provides us with a finely nuanced description of the broader implications of the term khoja: These communities [of Central Asia] belong to the broader category of descent groups known as khojas, whose traditional religious and social roles, and their very identity, were suppressed during Soviet times […] The khoja phenomenon appears to be rooted in a notion of genealogically derived sacrality as a basis for social cohesion, and as such […] amounts to a living critique of the explications of ‘religion’ and ‘ethnicity’ that are currently in vogue among the Central Asian political, cultural, and intellectual elites (1999, pp. 507–08).

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We know that the Yasavi and Naqshabandiyyah orders of Sufism played an important role in Central Asia, and that the Naqshabandiyyah order was among those that placed as great an emphasis on the understanding of the philosophy of zahir-bathin as we noted earlier for the Isma’ili. The Naqshabandiyyah order is also among the Sufi orders that are believed to have had an early influence on Sufi pietism in the archipelago. This suggests that we may also look to the riverine and maritime economic networks that connected Dharmāśraya and Jambi to Khorasan for another pathway that may have acted as a conduit for the spread of new religious ideas that connected Sumatra with the Persian sphere of influence in the late fourteenth century. This Persian sphere of influence must have included a large part of Central Asia, Sindh (in modern Pakistan), much of northwestern India, and certainly the Delhi Sultanate. This widens the network of possible associations for the name Kuja Ali. But perhaps what is most important for the present study is the idea developed by DeWeese of a “genealogically derived sacrality as a basis for social cohesion”. Given the importance of the idiom of kinship for socio-political networks of highland Sumatra in later centuries, and adding to that the evidence of the inscriptions of Ādityavarman it seems certain that the issue of a “genealogically derived sacrality” must have loomed as large for Kuja Ali as much as for any member of the royal line. This would suggest that he choose to make prominent his title as a kuja/khoja not simply to call attention to his access to the transnational networks that reached out to Persia through material and symbolic associations, but to underline the fact of his membership in a wider lineage network that carried with it a new form of legitimacy in terms of Islamic transnationalism. We might thus hesitate to imagine Kuja Ali as a “rank outsider” who was somehow able to make a place for himself as a local political actor with sufficient authority to pen a document meant to carry the weight of a royal centre in Dharmāśraya in a communication with the more peripheral area of Kerinci. But it might not be going too far to look to the importance in Malay foundation myths of “stranger kings” who attain success through bringing some special new quality to a kingdom that ensures their intermarriage into a prominent local line among the nobility. Kuja Ali might thus represent a local Sumatran lineage whose role in the Malay society of Dharmāśraya was enhanced through a genealogical (affinal) relationship to transnational sources beyond Sumatra that reached out to the Persianized areas of India,

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and to the Persian and Arabic heartlands of a new religion that was rapidly gaining popularity in much of Sumatra.80

Conclusions I have sought to demonstrate in this chapter that the framing sections of the TTms played an important role in supporting the authority of its author. The TTms in this sense is a document that supports Kuja Ali in his role as a local official whose competence in scribal matters related him directly to the court centre at Dharmāśraya and rendered him fit to receive the honour and attention that were his due as a representative of the court, and of the great convocation that promulgated the code of laws inscribed within the TTms. At the same time, by concentrating on the particular role played by the Sanskritized framing sections we have seen a pattern emerge that suggests that the TTms as a whole was composed as a textual artefact whose structure is iconic with the progress of the great convocation itself. The TTms thus begins with a formal presentation of the chronological details that must have been taken into consideration in arranging the date of the convocation, then moves on to a short eulogy of the reigning monarch. Only then does the author introduce the code of laws whose promulgation was the purpose of the convocation, and which was there formulated and ratified. The Sanskrit original of the colophon then describes the preceding document as a “compendium of the essence of the science of polity” (nītisārasamuccayam). However, as we have suggested above in our review of the saluka dipati and the glosses on the saluka dipati given by Kuja Ali, who we can surmise was the author of the TTms as we know, it is not clear that either Kuja Ali or the dipati who is credited with enunciating the saluka dipati understood the saluka dipati as a colophon, or that they understood the Sanskrit compound Nītisārasamuccayam as the title of the code of laws drawn up at the great convocation. Kuja Ali’s rendition of this verse, and his glosses on this rendition, lead us to believe that the verse itself had gone through a considerable process of drift during the long period when it appears to have been part of the “scribal tool kit” of a Sumatran tradition that appears to have emanated originally from Jambi, and later was extended to include Dharmāśraya and the Tanah Datar area of the Minangkabau highlands. Moreover, the shift that appears to be recoverable from the TTms from an original phrase

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praṇamya śrī mahādevam (“having bowed to the eminent great deity”) to praṇamya śirasā devam (“having made a bow with the head to the deity”) suggests that in terms of the local, Sumatran scribal tradition the meaning of the Sanskrit verse had shifted from one focusing on the identification and naming of a code of laws to an extended eulogy of the reigning monarch, now understood as an incarnate deity. I have also endeavoured to show that the orthographic inconsistencies of the TTms should not be understood as arising from an incomplete knowledge of a Sumatran idiom of legalistic writing on the part of Kuja Ali, but rather as revealing a particular historical moment, when the authorizing value of a Sanskritized orthography was giving way to functional concerns of a more local, Malay provenance. As the TTms itself shows us, this movement was not yet complete at the time of the “great convocation”. The retention of Sanskritized vocabulary, and a scribal culture that retained some elements of an orthography that was originally linked with a Sanskritized prestige dialect and its written representation, tell us that the TTms was produced within a scribal tradition that was related to the more specialized institutions that supported the promulgation of edicts in a local Sumatran form of Sanskrit during the era of Ādityavarman, but one whose central purposes seem rather to have been the keeping of court records, and the production of epistolary documents (like the TTms) that were designed to link the political centre with its peripheries. It is natural to suppose that so long as Ādityavarman and his successors still held power in the Minangkabau highlands and the upper reaches of the Batang Hari river basin the use of a Sanskritized diction and orthography carried a political weight that made it useful in areas which may have been peripheral to the inner circle of political power, but nonetheless were of considerable economic importance through their proximity to important gold fields like Tanah Datar of the Minangkabau highlands and the gold fields adjacent to the highlands of Kerinci. It is here that we may begin to understand the intention of Kuja Ali in adding a set of glosses to the verse that he terms the saluka dipati in the last line of the TTms. An analysis of the possible role of these glosses will, I believe, provide us with an unexpected link between the scribal tradition he represented with the pedagogical traditions pioneered in Sumatran Buddhist institutions of the mid-first millennium CE that set the standard for the text-building techniques of the Old Javanese didactic traditions, and live on in modern embodiments like the practice of the reading clubs of contemporary Bali (Pesantian, Sekaha Mabasan).

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First, we must ask ourselves why Kuja Ali appended a set of glosses to the TTms that are intended as an explanation of the Sanskrit verse that he describes at the end of his document as the saluka dipati. I have noted that this way of closing a document is highly unusual in the Southeast Asian textual traditions. However, it may seem less so if we consider two aspects of the composition of the TTms. First, given that Griffiths (2010) has identified the original of the saluka dipati as a Sanskrit verse containing a title (Nītisarasamuccaya) highly suitable to a code of laws, I believe that we can assume that Kuja Ali did intend the saluka dipati as a colophon to his work. The caveat must be added that he appears not to have understood correctly the original compound containing that name, and it may also be that a clear understanding of the original name had been lost by the scribal tradition prior to the time of Kuja Ali. Given the state of “local Sanskrit” that is evident from the (apparently) contemporaneous inscriptions of Ādityavarman, I judge the latter case to be less likely than a misunderstanding on the part of Kuja Ali. In any case, it seems altogether reasonable to assume that the verse cited by Kuja Ali as the saluka dipati was understood as a verse suitable for ending a text that recorded the promulgation of a code of laws. Turning to the second point, the question of why Kuja Ali provided a set of glosses on the saluka dipati, I believe we must look both to the typical text-building strategies of a long tradition of didactic texts that may have been pioneered in the Buddhist institutions of Śrīvijaya, and to modern practices of extemporaneous glossing like those of the “reading clubs” (Pesantian, Sĕkaha Mabasan) of Bali. If we start from the contemporary end of this picture we find a tradition whereby an authoritative textual source, in this case compositions from the kakawin or Parwa literature in Old Javanese, are recited in a phrase-by-phrase fashion by a specialist in intoning the original, accompanied by an extemporaneous translation by a second participant in the reading. Based on this kind of practice I believe we can understand Kuja Ali’s glosses on the saluka as a textual form of similar practices of extemporaneous glossing. In this case I propose that he has committed to writing a process of lending authority to his text that reflects what may have actually occurred when he returned from the “great convocation” in Dharmāśraya and presented his transcription of the code of laws and record of the great convocation to an appreciative audience of the local notables of Kerinci. In this reading Kuja Ali’s glosses on the saluka dipati represent the written “script” for what I envision as an enunciation of his composition, the

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TTms, before a council of local dignitaries and guests of his home territory in Kerinci. In this enunciation he would have made public the authority he gained from his attending the “great convocation” in Dharmāśraya and from his ability to frame the code of laws promulgated at the convocation with a suitably Sanskritized framework that reflected his access to the political centre by way of the scribal practices of the chancellery. We now turn to the question of possible precedents for the particular way that Kuja Ali configured the final Sanskritized portion of his manuscript, or in other words to other evidence for a text-building strategy that depends on the juxtaposition of an authorizing verse in Sanskrit and an explication in a local vernacular, or the literized form of a local vernacular that was associated with a political or religious centre of cultural production. We do not have to look far for a text-building strategy of this type if we turn to the tradition of didactic texts in Old Javanese, for this is exactly how the great majority of these texts were structured throughout a long history that begins with lexicographical works like the (Old Javanese) Amaramālā, works on Buddhist theology and meditative practice like the Sang Hyang Kamahāyānan Mantranaya and Sang Hyang Kamahāyānikan, works on Śaiva doctrine like the Wṛhaspatitattwa and works of the Old Javanese brahmanical tradition like the (Old Javanese) Brahmaṇḍa Purāṇa. In several works that discuss the history of this tradition of text-building in what might be termed a “dyadic” style (Hunter 2011a, b, c). I have suggested that the type of text-building strategy that juxtaposes an authorizing verse from Sanskrit with an explication in Old Javanese language grew out of the pedagogical practices of the Buddhist institutions reported by the Chinese pilgrim I Ching, who studied Sanskrit and works of the Mahāyāna canon in Śrīvijaya for six months during his journey to India of 671–673 CE, and returned there for two more years of study in 687 CE (see further in Takakusu 2006). I have further suggested that late works like the Korwawāśrama reveal a stage in the development of the “dyadic” form of text-building in Old Javanese when verses in what might be described as “quasi-Sanskrit” fulfil the need for an authorizing “voice” in the narrative, but can no longer be connected with any known Sanskrit text, and in most cases are completely unintelligible. While the Sanskrit verse cited by Kuja Ali in his manuscript is still intelligible, the degree to which processes of linguistic drift have altered the phonological form of the original, and in at least one instance triggered a change of interpretation, suggests a similar drive to retain the presence of an authorizing Sanskrit original.

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Kuja Ali’s use of the saluka dipati and his glosses on the saluka to bring closure to his manuscript thus complete the framing of his manuscript in terms of the Sanskritized scribal norms of the political centre that I believe we can now more clearly identify as a late efflorescence of the thematics of a “charter state”. I believe that this was a conscious process initiated in the Batang Hari and Tanah Datar regions by Ādityavarman modelled on his experience of an economically prosperous and relatively stable political formation while spending his youth at the Majapahit court, and indeed taking an active part in governance of the Majapahit state. In the light of the apparent failure of this type of state to live on for more than a few decades after the death of Ādityavarman, or abdication in favour of a successor, I believe we should look to the relative scarcity of documentary aspects of his inscriptions that deal with the kind of tax transfer system that had proven vital to maximizing the economic potential of the political centre in East Java. This suggests that the element most lacking in Ādityavarman’s state-building efforts in Sumatra was a pre-existing tax base that he could mold to the purposes of the state through a mechanism like the sīma charters that had proven so important in the economic foundations of imperial formations of Central and East Java. Looking from this perspective, the formulation of a document like the TTms reflects partly the desire to frame a political discourse in terms of the Sanskritized norms of the charter states, especially the East Javanese variant so well-known to Ādityavarman, and partly the desire to bring about a melding of these norms with more local concerns like those reflected in the code of laws of the TTms. It is significant, in this regard, that lines 12–17 of the Bukit Gombak (Pagaruyung I) inscription of Ādityavarman speak of a series of awards and punishments for good and bad behaviour that also appear to reflect local, Sumatran formulations of the role of legal regulations in the maintenance of the social order.81 We are now, I believe, in a position to state a number of conclusions that grow out of an analysis of the Sanskritized portions of the TTms, which we have undertaken partly to examine those sections in terms of the comparison between the manuscript as we know it in a critical reading and als ob reconstructions of possible Sanskrit originals or, in the case of the saluka dipati, an identifiable verse from the Indian scribal traditions: • The chronological and eulogistic sections that open the TTms place this document unequivocally within the framework of the “charter states” of Southeast Asia, especially those that show a preference for the “initial” style of dating in the Śaka era.

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• The mixed terminology referring to settlement types and local dignitaries that follows the eulogistic section suggests influences from both the Malay world and the practices of the Majapahit empire of East Java that must have been familiar to migrant political actors like Ādityavarman and some of his advisors and religious mentors. • The order of parts in the TTms suggests that its author (Kuja Ali) intended it to reflect the order of events of the “great convocation” in Dharmāśraya; the code of laws thus follows the dating and eulogistic information that we can imagine as having been enunciated as part of the formal opening of the convocation, and is followed by a formulaic closure (samastaṃ likhitaṃ) drawn from the “scribal tool kit” of the (Sanskritized) chancellery of the political centre. • The closing of the document with a verse that can be traced to a Sanskrit original appropriate to the closing (and naming) of a code of laws suggests that this verse (the saluka dipati) was intended as a colophon that authorized the text through its association with the ‘correct’ use of Sanskrit by political and religious actors of the political centre. • Kuja Ali’s glosses on the saluka dipati suggest that his text was intended for enunciation upon his return to a local centre of political power in the highland area of Kerinci, where his role as a dipati would be strengthened by his being able to present both oral and written evidence of his access to the political centre, both through his having attended the “great convocation” and his acquaintance with the political actor who enunciated the saluka dipati. In closing this chapter I think it is appropriate to say a few words about the question of whether, and how, a document like the TTms relates to the later history of formulations of political power through epistolary means that have been studied to great effect by Drakard (1999). It should be clear from the present study that I view the TTms as forming an epistolary link between the political centre of the era of Ādityavarman (the Batang Hari river basin and Minangkabau highlands of the Tanah Datar area) and Kerinci, a peripheral area that, as a centre of gold mining, was of great economic importance to the political centre. Yet this epistolary link has nothing of the formal, calligraphic elegance of the royal letters of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, nor does it contain anything resembling a seal, and so cannot be studied within the purview of the rich tradition of royal seals that has been the focus of the work of Annabel Teh Gallop (2002, 2006).

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I suggest, however, that this relative inattention to the elements of beauty in the physical presentation in the TTms does not mean that the TTms did not serve purposes very similar to those later representations of the epistolary formulation of political power. The key difference is that the TTms represents a scribal tradition that was developed to record political actions that were framed within a ritual dimension that expressed a local thematics of precedence and divine kingship through synthetic linguistic formulations that derived a large part of their authority from the effects of Sanskritization. In this reading of the TTms and the scribal tradition it represents the power of a textual artefact was directly related to its framing in terms of the Sanskritized discourse of the political and religious centre, and its reflection of the verbal expression of those norms in the ritualized contexts of courtly political activity. The Sanskritized framing of the TTms may thus be understood as an early predecessor of the kinds of textual authority that in later Islamized formulations arose from the use of elegant calligraphy and seals of intricate beauty, combined with the authorizing presence of Arabic, the new status dialect of the political centre. If I am correct in describing the TTms in terms of an extension of political charisma through a textual artefact that mixes oral and orthographic sources of authority and postulating a link with the more thoroughly calligraphic expressions of the later epistolary tradition, then it is fitting that the TTms as we know it was a product of Kuja Ali, a scribe and local dignitary whose name suggests association with the scribal traditions of the larger Islamic world. We are fortunate that his descendants in Kerinci saw fit to preserve his manuscript as a sacred heirloom (pusaka) and thus preserved one of the few pieces of evidence for a scribal tradition that the TTms shows us must have once played an important role in the political and religious life of pre-modern Sumatra.

Directions for Further Study Before closing this chapter I would like to propose that a fruitful direction for further study might be taken by considering the language and script of the TTms alongside the inscriptions of Ādityavarman and documents like the inscriptions of Minye Tujoh (dated A.H. 781 = 1380 CE) and Terengganu (dated either 702 or 789 CE = 1303 or 1387 CE). A comparison of the TTms and the Minye Tujoh (MT) inscriptions, which appear to share underlying palaeographic similarities, may help us to achieve a more in-depth understanding of the nature of scribal activity on Sumatra prior to the

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conversion to Jawi (Arabic-derived script) as the dominant form of writing. At the same time comparison of the TTms with the Terengganu inscription (written in Arabic script) may have much to tell us about the role played by a continuing presence of Sanskritized modes of textuality at a point when the conversion to Arabic script had already begun. All of these documents can, of course, speak to the question of the form of Sumatran society on the cusp between an older order that looked to the Sanskrit cosmopolis as a source of authority for building of local identities to a new order founded on transnational connections to the world of Islam. While not all the palaeographical details that emerge in a comparison of the TTms and MT point to a uniform type of writing that may have been pan-Sumatran, there are some important similarities that suggest that the term “Old-Sumatran” used for the script of the Minye Tujoh inscription by Stutterheim (1936) and Marrison (1951) should be reconsidered, or at the least opened up as a term for a number of varieties of script that may have a closer relationship to each other than has been apparent before Kozok’s discovery of the TTms. As a preliminary to a more thorough investigation we can take note of the fact that the TTms shares the development of a particular form of the graph for [m] with the Minye Tujoh inscription and the Padang Candi (Amoghapāśa) inscription of Ādityavarman. This development has led to a form of [m] that makes it very similar to the graph for [s], and widely divergent with other derivatives of the “ox-head-[m]” found elsewhere in the archipelago. This development alone should give us pause to wonder: is it not possible that the form of writing developed for writing on paper of daluang fibre may have had a much wider provenance in Sumatra than we have assumed in the past? And is it not also possible that the relationship of this type of script to the inscriptional styles of Ādityavarman and the Minye Tujoh inscription reflects the needs of the medium of stone engraving, combined with differing functional needs related to the differences between a scribal tradition largely concerned with legal documentation (the Malay tradition that is first reflected in the code of laws sections of the TTms and Terengganu inscription) and the more formal display purposes associated with the needs of empire (the inscriptions of Ādityavarman and the Minye Tujoh grave stone inscribed in Sumatran script)? These differing functional needs appear to be reflected both in comparing the lithic inscriptions of the era of Ādityavarman with scribal counterparts represented today by the TTms, and in comparing the lithic inscriptions

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themselves, which are not uniform in terms of their adherence to the norms of what was clearly a Sumatran form of regional Sanskrit. Inscriptions like the Rambahan (Padang Candi) inscription (1347 CE) are written in a variety of Sanskrit metres with clear attention to the use of inflectional terminations. While the Sanskrit tradition reflected in this type of inscription does not adhere to Pāṇinian standards, it appears to be composed in terms of a genuine, local tradition of Sanskrit, which moreover in the use of mantra-like phrases like hahahuhu (line 19) may reflect local developments in specialized uses of language reminiscent of Buddhist Tantrism of the Indian subcontinent.82 Other inscriptions, Saruaso I and Saruaso II, for example, are written throughout in Sanskrit, but case terminations are used more consistently in Saruaso I than in Saruaso II. These kinds of variations suggest that we should not think of the Ādityavarman era scriptoria as much in terms of an institution with a clearly defined set of standards as in terms of individual representatives of a tradition of local Sanskrit who varied in their degree of education in the classical norms of that tradition. This more minor type of variation can then be compared to the more major contrasts that become evident when we look at inscriptions like Pagaruyung I (Bukit Gombak) which mix verses in the local Sanskrit of the Ādityavarman era, and long nominal compounds that serve as laudatory epithets of the monarch, with extended clauses written in a Malay isolect that has been enriched with Sanskritic vocabulary. Once again the picture that emerges is of a scribal tradition with a high degree of internal variation, both in terms of the ‘classical’ education of individual scribes, and in terms of the functional needs that were served by members of local scriptoria. Some of these needs, like the monumental inscriptions of Ādityavarman were clearly aimed at enhancing the charisma and prestige of the monarch, while others combined these needs with documentary needs, like the recording of the dedication of religious institutions supported by the monarch, or — as in the case of the TTms — the promulgation of a code of laws. The question of whether the TTms reflects a larger scribal tradition that once stretched from the Musi river basin via Jambi and the Batang Hari river basin as far north as coastal Aceh can perhaps be answered through a careful appraisal of the materials we have at hand that takes into account both the requirement for a thorough-going palaeographic and philological analysis and the need to understand the evidence in terms of a critical analysis of the wider transnational relationships, movements and localizations that have been a part of the history of the archipelago since

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the first millennium CE. At the same time we must hope that the continual efforts of researchers in the field will bring to light more documents like the TTms. We should also like to see further critical work begin to fill in the historical space between fourteenth-century Sumatra and the study of Minangkabau political structures of the seventeenth century. If we consider two citations from Drakard’s (1999) work on the latter historical period, then it becomes clear that the charisma of Ādityavarman’s relatively short reign in the Minangkabau highlands had lasting effects on Minangkabau conceptions of the nature of the Minangkabau cosmos and its scattered polities: [M]any letters describe the first ruler of Minangkabau, Maharaja Diraja, as descending to ‘the land (tanah) of Pagarruyung, who possesses the throne of sovereignty … in Pulau Emas, and whose justice flows out within the Alam Minangkabau’ [ML 483]. (Drakard 1999, pp. 225–26) [E]ach letter presents the divine origins of Minangkabau sovereignty and, in most cases, is linked to the creation of the world itself. Secondly, the letters articulate the geographic sphere within which the ruler’s words were broadcast and they describe the quality of royal messages and the manner of their transmission (Drakard 1999, p. 222).

If, as seems entirely possible, we can understand the Maharaja Diraja, who is depicted in the Silsilah Raja-raja Pagarruyung (ML 483) and also in the folklore of the Minangkabau as the father of Datuak Ketumanggungan, one of the two legendary rival Minangkabau leaders as referring to Ādityavarman, then we can begin to see the extent to which his conception of state and society left its mark on the Minangkabau world. While his efforts to found an East Javanese style “charter state” appears not to have perfectly suited the conditions found in the Batang Hari river basin and Minangkabau highlands, the merging of his vision of a state emanating outward from the person of a divinely endowed monarch with the functional needs of local Malay polities (as formulated in code of laws like that of the TTms) appears to have set a style that had profound consequences for the later history of Minangkabau kingship and state formation. I have noted earlier in this chapter that the aura of supernatural power that was associated with Pagaruyung and the maharajadiraja who reigned there in ancient times was a crucial factor in what Andaya (2008, pp. 82–107) believes was a central feature in the emergence of a unique

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Minangkabau identity in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. In this configuration of power, based in many respects on epistolary means, the carriers of royal letters and seals to coastal areas of the “outer lands” (rantau) regarded themselves as pusaka, “sacred heirlooms” fully empowered to represent and act as viceroy to the maharajadiraja ruling from the distant highlands of Pagaruyung (Andaya 2008, p. 104). The Minangkabau belief that going against the word of letters marked with the seal of the court of Pagaruyung risked being cursed with punishment by the bisa kawi — termed by Andaya (2008, p. 102) “the supernatural force associated with Pagaruyung kingship” — provides another link with the world that produced the Tanjung Tanah manuscript; for bisa must be a tadbhava (Malay) form of the Sanskrit word viṣa, “poison” and came to mean both “poison” and “great power” in insular Southeast Asia, and kawi was well-known throughout the ancient archipelago as a word signifying either “poet”, “divine creator”, or at times “poetic language” itself.83 This belief in the extreme efficacy of the word, perhaps especially in the written word, must surely have been characteristic also of the era that produced the TT. The TT thus stands both at the beginning of the history of power configured through epistolary means and the beginnings of a unique Minangkabau identity that emerged in later centuries from the heartland of Ādityavarman’s highland kingdom, and carried with it the inherited aura of spiritual power that Ādityavarman developed through the practice of kingship, the cultivation of the Buddhist virtues (parāmita-s) and the pursuit of transcendental power through his practice of Buddhist tantras like the Hevajra. In order to achieve a more in-depth understanding of connections between the era of Ādityavarman and his immediate successors and the later history of Minangkabau state and society, we must hope for the further critical efforts of historians, archaeologists and anthropologists, and perhaps above all that future research efforts will uncover further evidence of the scribal tradition represented by the TTms.

Notes

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Thomas M. Hunter is a Lecturer in Sanskrit and South-Southeast Asian Studies at the University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. I will refer hereafter to this manuscript as the TTms. However, I will use the series number TK 214, wherever comparisons are drawn to TK 215, another manuscript in the “Tanjung Tanah pusaka collection” that is believed to date from

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eighteenth-century Kerinci and in many respects is a revised copy of the materials from TK 214. Lieberman (2003, p. 35) speaks of the “charter state” as a political form most prominent in “Pagan, Angkor, early Ava […] Champa and early Dai Viet” for the period c. 900–1450 CE and contrasts this with several later forms of state organization including the “decentralized Indic administration” that he says was typical of mainland Southeast Asia and the Malay states of coastal Malaysia and Sumatra during the period 1450–1840. The centrality of inscriptions to the public presentation of state ideals and practices, the prominent role played by religious institutions in the production of the state, and the balancing of Sanskrit (or Pali) and local vernaculars in the inscriptions are elements of the “charter states” that are as prominent in early Malay, Javanese and Balinese states as they are for the states Lieberman mentions for mainland Southeast Asia. His attention to fluctuations in economic cycles in the mid-second millennium means that he has not yet developed a nuanced picture of the differing forms taken by the charter states in the period of early state formation, or of the role of scriptoria in supporting this form of state organization. Further attention to these matters should lead to promising results for our understanding of early state formation in Southeast Asia. It is also possible to read sidang mahātmya as “convocation (or: session) of the great-souled”. For the term “hyperglossia”, see Pollock (1996, p. 208; 1998, p. 8). While diglossia can be characterized as a division of “sociolinguistic domains” in which one variety of language is superposed, used for special purposes and no one’s native tongue (cf. Fishman 1985, p. 39), hyperglossia can be understood as a similar division of sociolinguistic space, but marked by the superposition of several layers of languages used for special purposes. The saluka dipati that occurs as the last section of the TTms (lines 31.2–7, 32.1–4) is an exception within the TTms to the general rule that its language is Sanskritized, but not Sanskrit, since it is clearly intended to be in the form of a Sanskrit verse in anuṣṭubh (śloka) metre. I stress the term “linguistic Sanskritization” to emphasize the contrast with Srinivas’ development of the term Sanskritization to account for the tendency of social groupings at the peripheries of Indian society to change their “customs, ritual, ideology, and way of life in the direction of a high, and frequently, ‘twice born’ caste” (Srinivas 1952, p. 32). In the strict sense of the word we should use the term praśasti only for sections of inscriptions devoted to eulogizing the reigning monarch (and/or other highranking members of the nobility). However, the term has been extended in Malay-Indonesian to mean inscriptions in general, and has been accepted in that sense in much of the Western literature on the archipelago. Due to the special use that the praśasti plays in the TTms, I will use the term in this chapter in its more limited sense of “eulogy” or “panegyric”.

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I date the beginnings of the kakawin form from the appearance of verses in kakawin form in the metrical inscription of 856 CE (the Śivagṛha inscription), and follow Aichele (1969) in considering the Old Javanese Rāmāyaṇa to have been produced during the same period, with the possible exception of the approximately 2.5 cantos following verse 24.91. The date 1473 CE refers to a dated inscription of Suraprabhāwa, who may have been the patron of Tanakung, author of several works including the kakawin Śiwaratrikalpa. See Zoetmulder (1974, pp. 362–66) for a discussion of the dating of Tanakung’s works. While kakawin may have been produced in Java after 1473 CE, and certainly continued to be produced in Bali well into the nineteenth century, a conservative estimate would favour a date in the later quarter of the fifteenth century as the final period of kakawin production in Java. See Zoetmulder (1974, pp. 295–96). See OJED [902] s. kṣamā, kṣama … BhP 48.10 kṣamakěna těměn panambah patik haji; OJED [1621], s. sama IV = kṣāma … SD 20.2 saŋ paṇḍya Śakrādi samākěnâtah. See Gonda (1952) for a voluminous record of the many tadbhava forms that have developed in the archipelago for a long period during which both tatsama and tadbhava forms were found with great frequency as local polities embraced (linguistic) Sanskritization. While uses of jaka, the earlier form of jika, are found in TK 214 (a total of 14 times) they are far outnumbered in TK 215 by uses of jika and jikalau, which are found a total of 98 times. In fact, judging from the nature of the mixture of Malay and Sanskrit that we find in the Gudam inscription, it seems possible that we should distinguish between one scriptoria with more general duties of keeping court records such as those that are represented in the TTms and inscriptions like the Gudam inscription, and another that specialized in a more thoroughly Sanskritized vocabulary like that favoured by Ādityavarman, and likely to be associated with the religious elite. Of course we do not have to envisage these two “scriptoria” as existing independently of each other. See Hunter (2007b) for a discussion of Balinese “orthographic mysticism” as growing out of an orthographic version of the linguistic conservatism of India. See also Rubenstein (2000) for an earlier discussion under the term “alphabet mysticism”. For detailed information on the dating of inscriptions of the archipelago, see de Casparis (1978) and Damais (1952, 1955, 1958). For an inventory of sources on the Old Javanese inscriptions, see Nakada (1982). It is not at all certain that the Sañjaya and Śailendra were in fact separate lineages. See van der Meulen (1979) for an early study that suggests that rulers in the line of succession from Sañjaya were referred to with Śailendra titles in the context of donations in support of Buddhist institutions. For a summary of the arguments to date on this point, with special reference

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to the evidence of the Kalasan inscription of (778 CE) see Jordaan and Colless (2006), with special reference to his review of the two dynasties theory of Naerssen (1947). For an early counter-argument to the two dynasties theory, see Meulen (1979). For transcriptions and translations of the Kalasan inscription, see inter alia Sarkar (1971, pp. 36–40). 17 For transcriptions and translations of the Chaiya inscription, see Coedès (1959, pp. 42–48) and Nilakantha Sastri (1949, pp. 119–21, 125.32). As Jordaan and Colless (2009, p. 12) point out, the Chaiya inscription has been known in the past as the “Ligor, Vient Sa or Wieng Sra inscription”. They point out further (2009, p. 231) that an inscription of 1230 CE referring to the city state Tambralingga was in the past “said to be from Chaiya, but is actually from Ligor, as the so-called Ligor inscription of 775 is really from Chaiya”. 18 For a transcription and translation of the Śivagṛha inscription of 856 CE, see Casparis (1956, pp. 280–330). 19 See Ricklefs (1998) for a study of the Babad Sangkala, an historical text organized in terms of chronograms that Ricklefs holds may be among the oldest documents of the modern Javanese tradition. 20 Surat cap were letters composed for royalty in the Minangkabau highlands that shaped the political periphery (the rantau) by representing royal power in epistolary form. Royal seals (cap) played a prominent role in the composition of surat cap as did references to important royal insignia and to descriptions of the ruler as a mediator between God and human society. In her ground-breaking work on the surat cap, Drakard (1999) argues that Dutch comments on the “powerlessness” of Minangkabau monarchs of the nineteenth century failed to take account of the way that power was constituted through epistolary means. For example, when the seals of coastal rulers were included along with those of the paramount ruler issuing a surat cap, the combination acted to “represent a radiating network of centres linked to, and united by descent from, the Minangkabau king” (Drakard 1999, p. 175). 21 See Dahl (1976) for a discussion of the role of als ob reconstructions in historical linguistics. 22 See Hunter (2007a, pp. 38–39) for a recent discussion of the Pamalayu expedition that supports de Casparis’ claim (1992) that this was essentially a diplomatic expedition aimed at ensuring an alliance to ward off Yuan Chinese influence over the maritime trade routes of the western archipelago.   The Pararaton further tells us that Dara Jingga was married to a man named “dewa”, or of “dewa” lineage (sira alaki dewa) and that their son Tuan Janaka eventually became king of Sumatra under the name Mantralot Warmadewa, apparently another name for Ādityavarman. A number of historians have seen a relationship between Adwayawarman/Adwayadwaja, the name of Ādityavarman’s father according to the Pagaruyung I (Bukit Gombak) inscription and Adwayabrahma, a high Majapahit official (rakryan mahamantri)

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who is listed in the Dharmasraya (Padang Roco inscription as having been among the groups who presented the replica of the Amoghapāśa image of Candi Jago to the Sumatran king Mauliwarmadewa in 1286 CE). Following this line of thought to its logical conclusion, Adwayabrahma may be identified with Mahisa Anabrang, who led the Pamalayu expedition of 1286–92 CE, and may have thus been the ideal recipient of the favour of Kṛtarājasa that led to his marriage to Dara Jingga, and siring a son who then could count himself as a member of a royal Sumatran lineage through his mother, and high Singasari-Majapahit status through his father. This would fit with what we know of Ādityavarman’s high status in the Majapahit court from the evidence of his inscription on a statue of Mañjuśri at Candi Jago (dated 1343 CE), and the ease with which he took on the role of a paramount ruler in the Batang Hari river basin and Minangkabau highlands from 1347 CE, as attested by the Rambahan (Padang Candi) inscription of that date. 23 The so-called Batu Bĕragung inscription, published by Kern (1917a), was first transliterated and translated by Friederich (1854) based on a drawing by Vitzthun v. Eckstaedt, which also served as the base for Kern’s study. It later appeared that the first line of this inscription of five lines, also appeared in identical form on an inscription from Pagaruyung, while lines 2–5 appear in exactly the same form on an inscription from Saruaso. Strangely, the Batu Bĕragung stone had disappeared and all attempts to find it were in vain. When the Pagaruyung inscription consisting of one line, and the Saruaso inscription consisting of four lines, were compared with the abklatsch of the Batu Bĕragung inscription it turned out that the so-called Batu Bĕragung inscription is indeed a combination of the Pagaruyung and Saruaso stone (Krom 1912, pp. 34–35).   Because of this, Kern refers to it as the “so-called Batu Bĕragung inscription”. Nowadays this inscription is usually referred to as “Saruaso I” or “Suruaso I”. 24 Elsewhere this inscription is also known as the Rambahan inscription. 25 See Budi Istiawan (2006, pp. 37–38) on this point. 26 The use of the word “philosophical schools” (darśana) is also unusual in that the number of those schools is usually understood as five in the orthodox Indian tradition, that is Saṃkhya, Mīmāmsā, Vaiśeṣika, Nyāya and Vedānta. As used here the word darśane may refer to a larger number of Buddhist schools of thought that are spoken of in the early Chinese Buddhist tradition in phrases like liu-chia ch’i-tsung, “six houses and seven schools”, but the meaning of the term here is still illusive, as is that of the entire chronogram. 27 See de Casparis (1978) on the Śaka year and other details of Indonesian chronology. One other possible explanation for the “two dates puzzle” of the TTms may lie in the coincidence of the current beginning of the Balinese Śaka year on the day following the new moon of the tenth lunar month (tilem kadasa, “tenth new moon”), which precedes the month of Desta (= Jyaiṣṭhā/ Jyeṣṭha) and is thus equivalent to Vaiśāka in the older system of naming the

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months of the Śaka year. This suggests that Vaiśāka, the auspicious month of the birth of the Buddha, may have once been taken as the first month of the Śaka year in areas of the archipelago strongly influenced by Mahāyāna Buddhist traditions. We should note that following the four characters we have analysed as ciphers, we find what appears to be the character for the syllable sa-. This suggests that the ciphers of the date may originally have been followed by the word Śaka, thus reaffirming the era of the inscription that is given in the third line of the same page as sěri saka[warsa]tita. It is possible that tears and other damage to the daluwang paper following this character may have obscured a -ka that was original to the end of line four. In his handwritten notes in the Kern Institute of Leiden, de Casparis refers to the Saruaso I inscription as “Saruaso II”, and as a consequence refers to the undated inscription to a son of Ādityavarman named Ananggavarman as “Saruaso I”. In all other sources that I am aware of the term Saruaso I is applied to the so-called Batu Běragung inscription describing the initiation of a wiśeṣa-dhāraṇi in 1297 Śaka (1375 CE), while Saruaso II refers to the undated inscription referring to Ananggavarman. See, for example, the summaries in Budi Istiawan (2006), Hasan Djafar (1992) and Suhadi (1990). The contents of the code of laws show that it was designed for use in terms of the riverine activities of an area like the Batang Hari river basin and thus not designed with a highland area like Kerinci in mind. The usefulness of the TTms in Kerinci can thus be thought of as marking a formal pattern of alliance rather than as serving as a set of regulations designed with the ecological and socioeconomic conditions of Kerinci in mind (Uli Kozok, personal communication, January 2008). See OJED, pp. 1581–82. The names of important officials like the rakryan mantî hino as Dyaḥ Śrī Rangganātha and the mantî halu as Dyaḥ Śrī Wiśwanātha are other elements that call to mind South Indian influences. There are also striking parallels between some of the epithets of the reigning monarch found in the Tuhañaru inscription and the Jayabhupati inscription of Sunda, dated 952 Śaka, or 1030 CE [stone inscriptions D73 (Ci Catih), D96, D97 and D98 in the Museum Nasional collection]. The epithets of the reigning monarch of the Jayabhupati inscription (Śrī Jayabhupati) include Haro-gowardhana Wikramottunggadewa, thus suggesting a similar Vaiṣṇava influence that in the case of the Tuhañaru inscription is reflected in the epithets Śrī Wirakaṇḍagopala and (somewhat later in the initial panegyric) Wikramottunggadewa. The coincidence of Vaiṣṇava epithets in the names of the ruling monarchs of Sunda and East Java separated by a span of almost 300 years suggests the continuing presence of Pāṇḍyan preceptors in the court centres of Java and their occasional rise to the position of primus inter pares among religious officials serving the royal family.

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Andaya (2008, p. 85) summarizes the latter understanding of the term as follows: There is an interesting statement toward the end of the [Amoghapāśa] inscription, which focuses […] on a certain Dewa Tuhan Parapatih. He is described as the governor (patih) ‘whose speech accords with the truth; and whose fame is achieved through conquest of enemy lords, the deflecting of the arrows of jealous gods, assuring the well-being of Malayupura, being capable in all matters, and being radiant through a great many virtues’ [Kern, Verspreide Geschriften, vol. 7, 174]. Krom [Hindoe-Javaansche, 394, fn 4] speculates that he may have been a family relation, either the father or the maternal uncle (mamak) of Adityawarman’s spouse. There is a tradition among the Minangkabau that a marriage was contracted between Adityawarman and the youngest sister of Parapatih nan Sabatang, one of the two legendary lawgivers in Minangkabau folklore. The reason given is that Adityawarman found a natural ally with the other lawgiver, Datuk Ketemanggungan, who advocated a more aristocratic form of government. To avoid conflict in his new kingdom, Adityawarman sought reconciliation with the Datuk Parapatih nan Sabatang, who supported the democratic ideal in Minangkabau society.



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See Boechari (1985, pp. 77–84) for a recent transliteration of Plate 5 of the Tuhañaru inscription. See Brandes and Krom (1918, p. 255) for plate 10, which Boechari (1985, p. 116) tells us represents the plate from the Tuhañaru series that is stored under inventory number E 36 in the collection of the Museum Nasional in Jakarta. See Boechari (1985, pp. 116–17) for plate V. a of the set of plates (1, 3, 5, 9) that are stored in the Museum Nasional under the inventory number E 54. I am indebted to Arlo Griffiths and Jan van der Putten for initial corrections to my reading of this verse, and to Arlo Griffiths for his careful re-reading of line (d) based on photograph no. 3780 of the Oudheidkundige Dienst collection. I am also very grateful to Arlo Griffiths for more recent emendations based on a reading of the original inscription. Based on this new reading he has noted that there is enjambment between lines 6.d and 7.a so that one must take both verses into account in completing the meaning of verse 6. I have adopted much of Griffiths’ material on these verses, so I will include his notes here comparing his reading with that of Kern. These notes were received in a letter from Arlo Griffiths on 27 December 2009: Verse 6

b.  °saugandhī°: read °saugandhi° (after Kern1 n. 1, and Kern 2). b.  °suradrumākule: surudram ākule Kern. c.  °lākhita°: read °lālita°? °rakṣita°?

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Thomas M. Hunter d. mātaṅginiso: mātaṅginīsā Kern 1; mātaṅginīsā Kern 2. Read mātaṅginīso (i.e. mātaṅginīśaḥ: cf. -o in pausa in VIId). d.  suradirghikāgate: suradīrghikāgate Kern 1. Read with Kern 1. Verse 7

a. anubhavati: anubhavadhi Kern (who “suspects anubhavati is intended”, p. 173 n. 1, while this is in fact the reading seen on the stone).



There are a number of further points that should be noted in reviewing verse six of the Padang Candi inscription: (1) sobhite is original to the inscription, the irregular spelling [s] represent­ ing a sound change from ś > s that is quite regular in the inscriptions of Ādityavarman. (2) The “long (guru)-ā” of mātāṅga in the first line of verse 6 appears to be metri causa, the normal spelling of this word for elephant being matāṅga. In line (a) mātāṅga simply means “elephant”, while in line (d) it refers to the wife of Ādityavarman, describing her as “the lord/spouse of mātāṅginī”. We should also note that the composer of the inscription has elided the “long-ī” of mātāṅginī in the phrase mātāṅginiso, “lord of Mātāṅginī in line 6.a, but retained the correct geminate form in line 7.d. (3) The metre of lines (a) and (c) is Vaṃśastha, with 12 syllables per line. Lines (b) and (d) are also 12 syllables in length, but differ from the (a) and (c) lines in that the first foot is a ta-gaṇa foot (antibacchius) rather than the expected ja-gaṇa (amphibrach). This type of variation is quite common in the 11-syllable metre Upajāti, which is composed of alternating lines of Indravajra and Upendravajra, and is attested in the form found in the Padang Candi inscription in verse 1.18 of the Ṛtusaṃhāra (attributed to Kālidāsa). This metre is described by some Indian commentators as a mixed metre (upajāti) of Vaṃśastha and Indravaṃśa. (4) Kern read Mātāṅginīsāsura in (d) and thus spoke of Ādityavarman “and the Asuras (en de Asura’s)” coming to the ponds. However, a new reading of the line by Arlo Griffiths shows that Kern’s transcription should be emended to Mātāṅginisosura. This can either be read as –īso ‘sura, that is as –īso (a)sura, which follows the normal sandhi rules of classical Sanskrit, or as –īso sura, which does not follow the norms of Pāñinian sandhi, but may reflect a common practice in the Sumatran Sanskrit of Ādityavarman’s era. I favour the latter reading, which gives us “divine ponds” and eliminates the rather strange reference to “demons” (asura), that has been generally assumed to refer to Ādityavarman’s practice of a vāmācara form of Tantrism. The addition of the syllables hāhā to the final word (sandoha, “essences, enjoyments”) of line 7.a does, however, suggest a special use of mantra-like language that may represent a local form of Buddhist Tantrism.

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This line is difficult, and I do not presume by any means to have solved all the problems. The most important is the reading of the phrase racito viśeśa dharaṇī nāmnā. If we read dharaṇī then we might suppose that the phrase refers to Ādityavarman’s having a “special wife” who represents the earth, a figure which is well-known from epic and classical sources of India. But this does not account for racito, which appears to be meant in the sense “he who has been fashioned (e.g. consecrated)”. Since the metre is Śārdūlavikrīḍita, which calls for a “short” (laghu) tenth syllable, then I believe we can assume that dharaṇī is metri causa, and we can read dhāraṇī, which can be derived from dhāraṇa, and thus refer to a process of intense concentration leading to identification with a deity or boddhisattva. That Monier Williams (1981, p. 515) speaks of the term dhāraṇī as “a mystical verse or charm used as a kind of prayer to assuage pain” seems to bring the phrase in line with “worldsaviour” aspects of the personality Ādityavarman projects in his inscriptions, rather than associations with orgiastic practices like those first suggested by Moens (1924). We should not fail to note here that Newman’s (1987) work is especially important for the study of Buddhist Tantrism in Java in that he presents several forms of textual evidence supporting the assertion that the famous monk Atiśa, who studied Buddhism in Sumatra in the early eleventh century, was initiated into the practice of the Kālacakra by his Javanese guru Piṇḍo, and subsequently introduced this important Tantra into India and Tibet (Newman 1987, pp. 96–102). This does not yet mean that we can trace the origins of the Kālacakra to Java; nonetheless, the sources cited by Newman suggest that we need to pay further attention to this intriguing possibility. See Hunter (1996, pp. 9–12) for a recent discussion of the date of the SHKM. The spelling metri represents a tadbhava of Sanskrit maitri that reflects a regular process of reduction of diphthongs in Sumatran renderings of words of Sanskrit origin. While there is no overt mention of the catur-pāramitā in the Padang Candi inscription of 1269 Śaka *(1347 CE), there are several indications of a similar orientation. These include the choice of the “half-hour” (ghaṭikā) for the publication of the inscription as karūṇya (compassionate), and references to Ādityavarman’s being the “refuge of the happiness of all beings” (line 4a: sarvvasattvāsukāśraya) and “he who is dedicated to the complete welfare of the (land of) Malayu” (line 11c: Malaya-pura-hitārtthaḥ). While Kern spoke of Ādityavarman era Sanskrit as a “brabbel-Sanskrit ” (Kern 1917d, p. 253) or a “barbaarsch Sanskrit” (1917b, p. 217), more recent studies devoted to the question of non-standard Sanskrit in local contexts have shown that the development of regional forms of Sanskrit that did not necessarily follow the grammatical norms of the tradition of Pāṇini was by no means uncommon, even on the Indian subcontinent. See Goudriaan (1996)

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for a discussion of the use of non-Pāṇinian Sanskrit in the composition of works from the Tantric literature. These works suggest that the development of non-standard forms of Sanskrit was a natural process with widespread provenance throughout South and Southeast Asia. A summer school on the subject of non-standard Sanskrit held at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem in 2005 demonstrated the degree to which scholars have accepted the evolution of local, non-Pāṇinian forms of the language as a legitimate part of the history of Sanskrit. For sīma, see OJED [1770]: “(Skt sīma, boundary, border), freehold, piece of ground (irrigated rice field, village, etc.) freed from taxes and other obligations”. As historians like Christie (1994) and Barrett Jones (1984) have pointed out, the sīma system of Java did not, in fact, produce “freeholds” or complete exemption from taxes; it rather involved the shift of tax obligations and/or the opening up of new agricultural lands for the support of religious institutions. From the evidence given by Barrett Jones (1984), there can be no doubt that the sīma system had advantages for local communities that made it preferable to a prior status that left them exposed to a wide variety of taxes collected by a variety of officials, especially the mangilala dṛwya haji, who were entitled to collect taxes linked to virtually every imaginable productive activity. Sang (H)yang is also attested from Batak in the form (boru) saniang (naga), a name for the goddess of the earth. Saniang is also attested in the Minangkabau area in the name of the village of Saniang Baka in the Solok regency. In Malay baka occurs in the phrase alam baka that refers to the unseen world, or world of the ancestors. This usage is reflected in the Minangkabau cognate baka which points to the origin of one’s genealogy. Taking these points into consideration, Saniang Baka very likely refers to the point of emergence of a primordial ancestor (Uli Kozok, personal communication, March 2009). See Kern (1917e, p. 32 f., 860) for the source cited by Zoetmulder and Robson (1982, p. 848). Zoetmulder and Robson give one example of this clause, but note that the entire phrase occurs with great frequency in the inscriptional record. Hermann Kulke (1991, p. 166) has written convincingly on the question of ḍapunta hyang, suggesting that the term was used in early Śrīvijaya to link the reigning monarch — and only the reigning monarch — to a sacerdotal source of power that combined Buddhist and autochthonous sources of religious sanction: The dātu of Śrīviaya, however, was the only one among the dātus who held the additional title of ḍapunta hiyaṃ. According to de Casparis ‘punta and ḍapunta, also punta hyang, ḍapunta hyang […] seem to be religious titles’ and he points out that the title (ḍa)-punta hyang occurs in several Old Javanese inscriptions ‘where it is evident that it does not refer to the king.’ […] I have no doubt that ḍapunta hiyaṃ was an additional title of the ruler of Śrīvijaya, particularly as we know of a more or less contemporary case

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from Java of an early king of chieftain who bore the title ḍapunta, that is the famous ḍapunta Selendara, the alleged ancestor of the Śailendra vaṃśa of Java. It seems to be very likely that this title with its obvious religious connotation was chosen intentionally by this ruler of early Śrīviaya in order to legitimate his newly acquired position as primus inter pares amongst the other ḍātus of Sumatra as it gave him access, or at least brought him nearer to the sacerdotal realm of Buddhism and the power of the tutelary deity of his kadātuan.



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We should not fail to note here that the Padang Candi inscription was incised (very likely under the direct guidance of Ādityavarman himself) on the obverse of the statue of Amoghapāśa and his acolytes that was sent by Kṛtanāgara to Śrīmāt Tribhuwanarāja Mauliwarmmadewa in 1286 CE. The fact that the original for this gift was the images at Candi Jago associated with the apotheosized form of Wiṣṇuwarddhana, father of Kṛtanāgara, links Ādityavarman to a longer series of “installations” (pratiṣṭha) and initiations designed to maximize invisible aspects of the power of the house of SinghasariMajapahit through the deification of its leading royalty. While it may be argued that Ādityavarman moved his capital closer to the highlands in order to achieve a degree of autonomy from Majapahit power, there seems little doubt that he continued to put great faith in the initiatory rites that linked him to important figures in the Singhasari-Majapahit line and associated figures from the Buddhist Tantric pantheon. As Zoetmulder (1974, p. 1100) has pointed out, it is possible to understand wira mandalika as either a “proper name or office”. Wira (read wīra) can also be taken as appositive, hence to be read as “a hero, or leader” rather than as “heroic”. Sircar’s meaning for maṇḍalikā is also given in the Cologne online dictionary at: . See Daud Ali (2011) on the mixed vocabulary of the Śrīwijayan inscriptions. My reading here is based on that of Waruno Mahdi in the Word List for this volume. It can be argued that Malay mě- is a reflex of the same underlying stative verbal prefix. However, many analysts would insist that Malay mě- is rather the form taken by the “nasalizing Actor Voice prefix měN- when it is prefixed to a sonorant initial base-word. We thus find mě-lihat, mě-rangsang and mě-nganga where the underlying morphophonemic form is měN-. We should also bear in mind that mar- was the reflex of Western AN *ma- in Old Malay. The prefix mar- is still found in a number of Malay isolects, while ber- is found in standard and classical Malay. This suggests that — as in a number of other cases — the morphological system of TK 214 has come under the influence of the literized dialect of the East Javanese inscriptions. This would stand to reason if, as I believe, TK 214 represents a product of the polity of Dharmāśraya during the era of Ādityavarman. Uli Kozok, personal communication, April 2008.

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The Mantyasih inscription is a series of Old Javanese copper-plates written in the ”Standard Early Kawi” script and internally dated to 829 Śaka, or 907 CE. According to Nakada (1982, pp. 94–95), they may have originally been found in Temanggung, located northwest of Yogyakarta, and are now kept in the Radjapustaka Museum in Solo. See Nakada (1982) for a list of published versions of the plates. The *i > *e split of the high, front vowels in a great many Malay isolects has had the result of a shift in the pronunciation and spelling of the earlier form dipati to depati. More research is needed to establish a chronological framework for this shift. It can be argued that the word bunyi in the phrase bunyiña atña simply refers to the purport of the royal order, as it might in later Malay usage. On the other hand we should not fail to note the features of orality that much recent scholarship has shown are an essential part of Malay textual practices. In this sense we may well want to think of bunyi, “sound” in its more literal sense, and understand the phrase bunyiña atña as suggesting an enunciation of the royal order that is first perceived through an act of listening in a public space, and then committed to written form. See also footnote 30 above regarding the date of the SHKM. The terms samasta and likhita are participial forms, which in Sanskrit usage should agree in case, number and gender with the nouns they modify. This is not the case here. Instead, we find the anusvara as a conventional marker meant to indicate a “Sanskrit inflection”. Rāgam, the South Indian word for musical melody, is a typical example of this extension of the use of the neuter, singular, nominative termination to mark a word as Sanskrit in origin. The real basis of the musical term is the Sanskrit word raga, a masculine gender noun whose nominative singular form appears as rāgaḥ, rāgas or rāgo depending on its phonological environment, but in the form rāgam only in the accusative singular case. Saruaso is the present-day spelling of the locale that in some inscriptions appears as Śurāwāśa which, according to de Casparis, may have been the capital of Ādityavarman’s kingdom. In Islamic times, the Minangkabau capital was based in Pagaruyung, only a few kilometres from Saruaso. In his report on the first attempts to decipher this inscription, Budi Istiawan (1992) notes that this inscription was investigated in 1992 by the staff of the Kantor Suaka Peninggalan dan Purbakala of the provinces of Western Sumatra and Riau. Istiawan (1992, p. 3) notes that the head of the Kantor Suaka team, Drs Marsis Sutopo, gave the name “Kubu Sutan inscription” to this inscription, as it was discovered in the village of Kubu Sutan, located in the keluruhan of Lubuk Layang. Istiawan has contributed a careful reading of the inscription, and also noted differences with the readings of Machi Suhadi and the late Professor Boechari. He notes that Boechari left only a transcription of the inscription in his notes at the National Museum in Jakarta, while Suhadi

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published his findings in collection of articles on archaeology published in Jakarta (1990). My readings of the Saruaso II and Kubu Sutan (Lubuk Layang) inscriptions here are based on a typescript of de Casparis that is available for study at the Kern Institute in Leiden. De Casparis underlines ta-jata in yauwā-suta-jata to call attention to the provisional basis of his reading at that point. Istiawan (1992, p. 12) takes pitāmahā as referring to Brahma and links this with the use of the word Indra to suggest that the Kubu Sutan inscription was composed in a Hindu context. While pitāmahā is one name for Brahma, it is because he is the “grandsire” of humankind, hence a pitāmahā. Furthermore, Buddhist tales of both South and Southeast Asia that feature the god Indra are legion, so there is actually no basis in the Kubu Sutan inscription for an identification with a Hindu prince or family. The question must remain open of whether Ādityavarman was apotheosized immediately following his death, or twelve years later, following the East Javanese practice of completing the “transformation” of a deceased king or queen into an apotheosized form with the completion of the śraddha rites. Normally these rituals were completed at the same time as the consecration of an image and temple dedicated to the deceased member of the royal family, now fully identified with a deity of the Hindu pantheon or the central figure of a Tantric Buddhist maṇḍala, and at the same time elevated to the status of a deified royal ancestor. My translation differs in a few minor details from that given by Griffiths (2010, p. 137). It is important to note that this reconstruction is of a compound that follows the head-modifier word order and not the order of a Sanskrit genetival compound, which would give us a hypothetical form *adipati-śloka. See Hunter (forthcoming, 2011a) for a study of the pedagogical and textual practices that led to a “didactic mode” or translation in the archipelago, and Hunter (forthcoming, 2011b) for further discussion of the “didactic mode” of translation. The most common of these is ng for ngaranya, “by name”, which is used in Old Javanese didactic texts in the same way and with the same meaning as nāma of the Sanskrit tradition. My reading of the history of Ādityavarman’s rule runs counter in some degree to that of Kulke (2009), and also that found in Andaya (2008, p. 85). I read Ādityavarman’s separation of the base of the statue of Amoghapāśa and the image itself, and the relocation of the image upriver to a site in Rambahan as a movement designed to produce a ritual “pathway” that could ensure the continued connection of Ādityavarman’s highland kingdom with Dharmāśraya, the site where the Amoghapāśa statue that represented the palladium of

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his kingdom had been moved sometime after its arrival from East Java in 1286 CE. I agree with Kulke in supposing that Ādityavarman’s movement to the upper reaches of the Batang Hari may have been partly for defensive reasons, but assume that he would not have meant to bring about a rupture of his ritual and political connection with Dharmāśraya during the process. See de Casparis (1989) for a discussion of the moving of the statue of Amoghapāśa from its original site in Jambi. By de Casparis’ reckoning the move was made during the reign of Akārendravarman sometime before 1347 CE, when Ādityavarman published his first inscription in Sumatra.   It may also be important to note here that there has been an unfortunate tendency to postulate a second king ruling in Sumatra at the time of Ādityavarman’s inscription at Padang Candi (1347 CE), namely Mauli-māliwarmmadewa, whose name appears in the prose section of the Padang Candi inscription found between verses 5 and 6. In fact, as Kern (1917a, p. 172) showed early on, this is simply an epithet of Ādityavarman, no doubt intended to strengthen his association with the lineage of Mauliwarmmadewa, the original recipient of the Amoghapāśa statue that sealed the political alliance of Sumatra and East Java in 1286 CE. 69 It can be objected that someone with the title dipati would not have possessed sufficient rank to stand as the regent for Ādityavarman in Dharmāśraya or as a political leader in an area like Kerinci, peripheral to the political centre, but important for its proximity to the goldfields that were an important source of income in the economic networks of the Minangkabau highlands and Batang Hari river basin. But this begs the question of how this most weighty section of the TTms could have been enunciated by anyone of low status: if the dipati who produced the śloka was not of high status, then how could his words have carried sufficient intrinsic value to ensure its position as the “final seal” that fully authorized the TTms as a document embodying political power in a linguistic idiom? 70 The great Majapahit era general, Gadjah Mada, for example, is referred to as the mahāpatih in both the inscriptional record and in the Deśawarṇana, composed c. 1365 by Mpu Prapañca. 71 See Blagden (1913, 1914), Coedès (1930, pp. 47–50), and Coedès and Damais (1992) for transcriptions and translations of the Kota Kapur inscription. As Coedès notes, the wording of the Kota Kapur inscription differs from that of the contemporaneous Karang Brahi inscription only in the addition of several lines. Both these inscriptions were likely issued by Śrī Jayanāśa, who issued the longer Talang Tuwa inscription in 684 CE. See especially Kulke (1991) on the political structure of Śrīvijaya, and the review in Christie (1995). 72 For these Javanese uses of the term adipati, see Margana (2004, pp. 16–9, Naskah no. 6). 73 These two documents are cited courtesy of Annabel Teh Gallop and David Neidel. They are listed as “Renah Kemumu MS E, ff. 1–2” in a collection of

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photocopies of eight documents collected by Neidel in Serampas and Sungai Tenang “in the present day kabupaten of Merangin, Jambi” in 2004–05. Each of these documents bears a royal seal testifying to the authority vested in the person issuing the edict, and its extension to the dipati-s who are confirmed in their right to rule in their localities. See Gallop (2006). Anderbeck (2004, pp. 6–7) speaks of the split of the PM *u to Standard Malay (SM) *u and *o that is reflected in the isolect represented in the TTms. As against the case of the non-split of OM *i also discussed by Anderbeck, this split is reflected in partial form in the TTms as an inconsistent contrast of *u and *o that we can expect could yield kuja of the TTms from the more common SM form koja. Mahdi has given further information on the origins of khoja in Chapter 4 (pp. 206–10) of this volume, citing Wilkinson (1901), Alwi and Sugono (2001), Steingass (1892), McGregor (1995) and Wehr (1976). Note that the article on khoja in the Shorter Encyclopedia is dated 1918 in the colophon for the article. In Chapter 4 (pp. 206–10), Mahdi cited Winstedt (1920, p. 29; Balai Pustaka 1986, p. 13) with a similar use of Khoja referring to a Persian merchant by the name of Khoja Mubarak. See Mahdi’s chapter for full citations. Note that the Malay term mendelika is used here with a proper name (Khawari), thus supporting the claim made above and elsewhere in this volume that the TTms term mandalika should be understood as referring to the “governor” of a territory, not the territory itself. In Chapter 4 (pp. 206–10), Mahdi notes that kuraysāni of the TTms “must be a cognate of Malay [besi] khersānī, ‘Khorassan iron’” and notes that the term Khorassan refers to a region (Khurāsān) in the northeast of present-day Iran. Mahdi notes that the region flourished during the Umayyad and Abbasid dynasties, and again under the Mughals, and that its high-quality steel was much sought after in the “Near East and neighboring regions”, especially for its usefulness for producing sword blades. The term is also found in OJ, but under the spelling purasani, cf. OJED [1452] purasani “a kind of iron (Pers. Khorasani)”. Kozok (2003) notes that Khorasani iron is mentioned in a Karo Batak manuscript (in Malay language), number A 30826c in the Linden Museum collection in Stuttgart. In an earlier version of his chapter for this volume, Mahdi has reasoned that the expansion of the Delhi Sultanate in the fourteenth century; … must have led to countless socially dislodged persons who would be apt to be looking for their fortune abroad, and could, just like travelling merchants and seamen serving the increased demand of the market network for oversea imported wares having for example a dipati in Kerinci as direct descendant. The problem is that Kuja Ali may not be related to Kerinci at all. It’s likely that he is from Dharmasraya.

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  Mahdi’s reasoning on the “overflow” of the Delhi Sultanate as a source of the kinds of migratory patterns and patterns of intermarriage that could produce a Sumatran scribe named Kuja Ali is cogent and convincing, as is his proposal that Kuja Ali lived and worked in a court centre with riverine access to the sea trade like Dharmāśraya. However, I cannot concur that the irregular use of “exotic” consonants (and vestiges of a contrastive system of short/long) vowels in the TTms suggest that Kuja Ali was of Indian origin and hence had a limited knowledge of the language of the area. In my analysis, Kuja Ali’s knowledge reflects the norms of a scribal tradition — and perhaps scriptoria local to Dharmāśraya — that was in an intermediate stage of development away from the more thoroughgoing form of Sanskritization found in court centres like those of East Java. In my view, the orthography of Kuja Ali is irregular for reasons that have to do with his scribal tradition, and the degree to which the usage of this tradition had either slipped away from the more heavily Sanskritized norms of courts of the archipelago in areas like East Java, or was heir to a Sumatran form of Sanskritization that was never as thorough-going as that of the East Javanese courts. 81 See Kern (1917d, pp. 267–75) for a transcription and discussion of the Bukit Gombak, or Pagaruyung I inscription. See also Hasan Djafar (1992, p. 65). For a study of the premodern legal traditions of Java, see Hoadley (1991). Studies of the premodern legal traditions include those of Hooker (1976, 1986). 82 The use of phrase like haha-huhu suggests mantra-s of some form of Tantrism, but is also possible that the reference is to two “celestial musicians” (gandharva) of the Indian tradition known as Hāhā and Hūhū. Why these celestial musicians should be invoked at this particular point in the Rambahan inscription is a point that needs further investigation. For a reference to Hāhā and Hūhū in the medieval tradition of vocal compositions in Dhrupad form, see Srivastava (1989, p. 42). 83 See Zoetmulder and Robson (1982, p. 246) for Old Javanese biṣa in the meanings “venemous” and “highly effective powerful, mighty”, and Zoetmulder and Robson (1982, p. 2294) for the tatsama form wiṃa that preserves the original Sanskrit meaning of “poison”. This set of meanings is reflected in the fact that modern Indonesian uses bisa most commonly to mean “able to do”, but also to mean “poison”, while in modern Malaysian bisa can only mean “poison”.

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Appendix A Brief Survey of Inscriptions dated in the S´ aka Era (1) (Pre-Angkor Khmer) K 604, Saṃbor Prei Kuk; embedded date: 549 Śaka = 627 CE (2) (Western Chalukya) Aihoḷe, Kali-era and Śaka dates embedded in written form: 556 Śaka = 634-5 CE (3) (Pre-Angkor Khmer) K 79, stele of Bhavavarman II; embedded date in ciphers: 565 Śaka = 643 CE (4) (Central Java) Canggal; chronogram verse initial to 12 verses: 654 Śaka = 732 CE (5) (East Java) Kañjuraha, Dinoyo; initial date in ciphers: 682 Śaka = 760 CE (6) (Śrīvijaya/Malay peninsula) A side of Ligor stele; chronogram, embedded: 697 Śaka = 775 CE, (7) (Śrīvijaya/Palembang area of Sumatra) Talang Tuwo; initial date in ciphers: 606 Śaka = 684 CE (8) (Central Java) Stone of Dieng; initial: 731 Śaka = 801 CE (9) (Central Java) copper-plate of Garung; initial date in ciphers: 741 Śaka = 819 CE (10) (Central Java; Old Malay language) Gandasuli I; chronogram, initial (following salutation to Śiva): 754 Śaka = 832 CE (11) (Central Java) Śivagṛha; chronogram, embedded: 779 Śaka = 856 CE (12) (Sunda/West Java; Old Malay language); Kebon Kopi, chronogram in suryasengkala form (e.g. reading right to left), embedded among 3 lines of inscription: 854 Śaka = 932 CE (13) (Southern India Choḷa area; mixed Sanskrit and Telegu language) inscription of Kulottungga Cola I found near the Nageśvara temple at Chêbrôlu; initial, in form similar to “initial format” of Śaka datings of the archipelago: 998 Śaka = 1076 CE (14) (Jambi, later moved upriver on the Batang Hari to Dharmāśraya, Sumatra) Amoghapāśa image, base; initial date in ciphers: 1208 Śaka = 1286 CE (15) (East Java), image of Mañjuśri from Candi Jago (composed by Ādityavarman); chronogram embedded among three lines at base of front of image and as ciphers in Śaka era at end of seven lines on reverse: 1265 Śaka = 1343 CE (16) (Rambahan, upriver from Dharmāśraya on the Batang Hari, Sumatra) Amoghapāśa image, reverse side; chronogram, embedded: 1269 Śaka = 1347 CE (17) (Upper reaches of Batang Hari river basin, Sumatra) Pagaruyung I (Bukit Gombak I); chronogram, embedded in lines 19–20 of 21: 1278 Śaka = 1356 CE (18) (Upper reaches of Batang Hari river basin, Sumatra) Rambatan; chronogram, embedded: 1291 Śaka = 1369 CE (19) (Upper reaches of Batang Hari river basin, Sumatra) Rambatan; Śurawāśa (Saruaso I); chronogram, initial of four verses: 1297 Śaka = 1375 CE

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Index

A

Abdul Hamid, 50, 223, 236, 242, 261, 265, 270, 274, 280n153 accelerator mass spectrometry (AMS) radiocarbon dating, 52, 53 adhipati, 342–48 Ādityavarman, 32 Bukit Gombak (Pagaruyung I) inscription of, 36, 309, 357, 361, 366 era of, 286, 343, 361 inscriptions of, 36, 38, 41, 81, 282, 291, 295–96, 300, 303, 305, 309, 310, 326, 352, 355, 357, 359, 361, 366 successors of, 324–33 adu sabung, 102 ājñā, 312, 322 Akārendravarman, 87, 88, 286, 303, 307, 376 akṣara, 163, 164, 168, 171, 201 akṣara-s in TK 214, 163 alcoholic drinks, intoxication, 103 Ali, Kuja, 48, 174, 322–24, 331–33, 335–42, 344, 347–59, 378 identity and perspective of, 337–40 saluka dipati, 342 samuksayam, 341 Alocasia, 96 Amoghapāśa inscription, 31, 36 Ananggavarman, 85, 316, 323, 324–29

Andaya, Barbara, 226 Andaya, Leonard, 87, 304, 348, 362, 363 angiwat, 93 antilingan fishing net, 99, 270 anugraha, 311–13, 316 anuṣṭubh metre, 283, 332, 335, 364 Arabic-Malay Jawi script, 7, 56, 130 arak, 103, 235 assimilated Sanskrit, 74–78

B

Babad Candrasengkala, 291 Balawi inscription (1305 CE), chronological section of, 293–94 “Bali Aga”, 315 Bali, inscriptions of, 288–89 Balinese manuscripts, 331 Balinese “orthographic mysticism”, 365n14 Balinese system of orthography, 299 Balinese tradition, 332 bamboo, writing medium, 9–12 Bandar Bapahat inscription, 40 bangun, 257 ba[nwa], 319 banyan, 212 bark manuscripts, 15 ba[R]- prefix, 192–94, 214, 215 Batang Hari, 17–22, 27–29, 31, 36, 41–45, 49, 107, 225, 226, 282, 296, 301, 354, 357, 361, 362, 376

397

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398 Batu Bapahat inscription of Ādityavarman, 303, 307, 367n23, 367n29 besi babajan, 269 Bhairawa, 39, 45 “Bharala AryyAmoghapasa Lokeshwara”, 34 biduk, 49, 78, 102, 108, 272 Bijayavarm, Nṛpati, 328–29 Bijayendravarman, 85, 300, 323, 324, 326–29 birah, 96, 108, 266 bodhisattva Manjuśri, 32 bongkal, 82, 91 Borassus flabellifer, 10, 15 Brahmaṇḍa Purāṇa, 356 Broussonetia papyrifera, 60–61 Buddhist Tantrism in Java, 308, 371n38 Buddhist virtues, 295, 296, 307–8 Bukit Gombak (Pagaruyung I) inscription of Ādityavarman, 36, 309, 357, 361 bumi Kurinci, 205, 321, 336 Bumi Minangkabau, 12 bumi palimbang, 105 bungkal, 91 bunuhan, 142

C

C-14 ages. See radiocarbon dating of TK 214 cakra, 65, 66, 164, 183–86 Canggu inscription, 303 cardinal numbers in Old Malay, 207 cecak, 65, 102, 156n40, 166, 192, 200 Chaiya inscription, 28, 290, 366n17 Chinese ceramics, 4, 21, 27, 45 Chinese pilgrim I Ching, 356 chronogram format, for recording auspicious dates, 290, 291 chronological formula, Sanskritized sections of TTms, 288 classical Malay literature, 202, 350 code of law, 81, 103, 273 granting of, 312–16 introduction to, 311–12

09 TTCL Index 8thPrf.indd 398

Index local officials in “Land of Kurinci”, 316–17 territorial units, terms relating to, 318–21 Colocasia esculenta, 96 “comma correspondent”, 173 commentary, TK 214, 79–84 closing section, 105–7 fines, 107–10 legal code, 88–105 opening section, 85–87 concordance and translation, critical transliteration, 245–74 consonant gemination, 179 retention of, 219n13 consonants, 163–67 convocation, 321–22 “careful attentiveness” of, 322 critical transliteration, 242–56 Crooke, S.C., 19–20 cupak, 90–91

D

daluang manuscripts, 6, 7, 48, 60–64, 298, 360 danda, 168, 169 dang acaryya Shiwanatha, 33 dangau, 113, 169, 245, 271 Daoyí Zhìlüè, 30 dating information in manuscript, chronological setting, 298–300 Datuk Ketumanggungan, 41, 86, 87 Datuk Perpatih Nan Sebatang, 41, 86, 87 dayang-dayang, 2 debts repayment of, 49, 100 in staple food, 100, 101 de Casparis, 38, 47, 56, 175, 286, 303, 307, 325, 328, 345, 368n29, 372n46, 374n58, 375n61, 376 depati, 2, 4, 7, 12, 14, 224, 232, 233, 260, 263, 268, 272, 273, 274, 320, 346, 347 derhaka, 88

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399

Index desa hělat mahělat, 318 desa-pradesa, 318 Devanagari anusvara, 166 Devanagari visarga, 166 Deva Tūhan Apātih, 302 Dharmasraya, 41, 184 “didactic mode” of translation, 336, 375n66 dilettantism, 180, 217 Dineshchandra Sircar lists, 317 Dioscorea alata, 96 dipati, 48, 79, 85, 103, 109, 211, 212, 225, 227, 228, 231, 233, 320, 323, 332, 343–47, 351, 353, 358 dipati barampat suku, 262 diplomatic transliteration, 64–73, 236–42 dua alapan, 206, 224 dulang, 98, 99 duli pangeran, 225 dunungngan, 89, 90 dwa lapan hari, 172 “dyadic” style, 356

Gentoo, 212 Grantha script, 40 “great convocation” (sidang mahātmya), 282, 316, 320, 322, 342, 364n4 Griffiths, Arlo, 37, 38, 64, 331, 369n36, 370 “group of 800”, 315 Gudam inscription, 286, 303, 365n13 Guhyasamājatantra, 308 gutera, 93

H

Fatimid dynasty of Egypt (909–1171), 349 fibre structure, of manuscript, 63 fines, 107–10 “fragrant dynasty”, 305–7

hahahuhu, 361, 378n82 “Haji” (Xia-chi), 24 Halāyudha, Dyah, 302 hampangan, 77, 98, 269, 270 haram beverage, 235 heirloom manuscripts, 286 helat mahelat, 319 hemicelluloses, 63 Hijrah 1086 (1675/6 CE), 346 Hikayat Amir Hamzah, 260, 350 Hikayat Bayan Budiman, 202, 350 Hikayat Bersurat Terengganu, 350 Hikayat Muhammad Hanafiyya, 350 Hikayat Raja Pasai, 32, 350 Hikayat Raja-Raja Pasai, 32 Hikayat Seri Rama, 191, 218, 350 Hinduist-to-Islamic transition, 218 “History of the Song Dynasty”, 24 horizontal ligatures, 164 horn manuscripts, 9, 12–13, 137 hubi, 96, 242 hukum, 257 hukum gantang dan cupak, 90 Hunter, Thomas, 30, 58, 64, 74, 85, 105, 220n26 “hyperglossia” configuration, 282

G

I

E

East Javanese era, 294 Encyclopedia of Islam (1986, XII, p. 522), 349, 351 “exhortation” section of manuscript, 312 “exotic” consonants, 175–77, 378n80

F

Gajah Mada, 32, 34 Gallop, Annabel, 223 gandha, 306, 307 gantang, 90–91 “generic determinator”, 204, 205, 215

09 TTCL Index 8thPrf.indd 399

incung script, 4, 9, 12, 13, 143, 162, 172, 186 characters in TK 214, 132–43 diacritics in TK 214, 140–43 tanda bunuh diacritical mark, 142

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400 Indian astrological terminology, 294 Indian scribal tradition, 357–58 Indic-based scripts, 163 Indonesian toddy. See tuak Indrakīla mountain, 329 Iskandar Zakariah, 51 Islam, 1, 5, 10, 13, 28, 52, 56, 57, 58, 61, 81, 103, 131, 153, 217, 232, 235, 349, 360 Islamic Law, 81, 82, 154, 231, 232, 235

J

jagung, 101, 159n99 jaka, 178, 223, 274n1, 365n12 jala, 99, 270 Jambi Monuments Preservation Board, 19 Jambi province, archaeological remains in, 43–49 janji, 102 Javanese social organizations, 86 weights, 107 writing, 7, 8, 51 jawa, 101, 271 Jawa Lama, 8 Jawi script, 4, 6, 8, 14, 15, 53, 55, 56, 57, 81, 130, 132, 179, 201, 217, 218, 244, 261, 360 advantage of, 131 manuscripts of Kerinci, 223 Jayabhupati inscription (Śrī Jayabhupati), 368n32 Jayanagara (r. 1309–28 CE) inscription, 302 jika, Malay conditional conjuctions, 178, 223, 266, 286, 365n12 jimair udharita, 35 Jinalaya sanctuary, 33 judi jahi, 89, 211, 213 junjung, 213, 266 junjung sirih, 214 Jyasta, 297

09 TTCL Index 8thPrf.indd 400

Index

K

ka-ga-nga script, 130 Kahlenberg, 5 kakawin authorship on Java (c. 856 CE–1478 CE), 285 kakawin form, 365n8 kangsa, 100 Kareta, 304 karja, 94–95, 193 katian, 91 “Kawi-influenced Malay”, 34 Kawi script, 43, 60, 64, 167–69, 176, 178, 180, 201, 217, 374n53 Kedah code of law, 90 keladi, 96, 242 Kelurak inscription, 290 kenderi, 91 kenduri sko, 2, 5 keret diacritic, 167, 185, 186 Kerinci manuscripts, 1–17, 134, 137, 143, 154, 221 conservation, 4–6 pre-Islamic religion, 1 pusaka, 1–2, 4–6 script and writing media, 6–8 script, text, and writing medium, correspondence between, 9–15 tradition, 12 Kerinci social organization, 320 kerja kawin, 95 khoja, 48, 58, 211, 212, 349–51, 377n75 Khorasan steel, 211 Kiai Gede, 161n127, 228–31, 235 killer sign. See bunuhan Kota Kapur inscription of 686 CE, 346, 376n71 Kot Mandirapala of Ayutthaya (1358), 42 Kozok, Uli, 1, 51, 221, 286, 320, 344 kraton, 293, 308, 315 Kṛtarājasa, Śrī, 293 Kuborajo I inscription, 39 Kuborajo II inscription, 40

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401

Index Kubu Sutan (Lubuk Layang) inscription, 300, 324–26, 328, 329, 374n59, 375n60, 375n62 Kulke, Hermann, 46, 372n46 kunderi, 91, 186 kuraysani, 210, 269, 351. See Khorasan steel kurinji, 106, 107 kutera, 93

L

lagnā, 285 Land of Kurinci. See bumi Kurinci local officials in, 316–17 langir, 153 laras-Federation, 86 Leaves of the Same Tree (2008, pp. 96–107), 87, 304 Ligor inscription of 775, 366n17 Line 4 of TTms 02, 298–99 linguistic conservatism, 284, 365n14 “linguistic drift”, 284, 356 “linguistic Sanskritization”, 282, 364n6, 365n11 lontar manuscript, 8, 10, 222 lontar palm, 15, 62 Lubuk Layang inscription, 39, 300, 324–26, 375n60

M

mahameru, 106 mahārāja-rājādhirāja, 302–3 Mahdi, Waruno, 64, 162, 330, 333, 336, 373n50 Majapahit dynasty, 293, 302 Majapahit era inscriptions, 299 Malaya-pura-hitarthah, 45 Malay Concordance Project, 274n2, 274n3 Malay culture, 55, 216, 217 Malay ethnic identity, 304 Malay ethnicity, 348 Malay idiom of manuscript, 292 Malay-Indonesian archipelago, 335, 349

Mandailing Batak bamboo manuscripts, 11 manggala, 293 mangiwat, 93 maN- prefix, 190–92 mantri praudhatara, 33 Mantyasih inscription, 374n53 Mao Kun map, 22 māsa wesaka, 299 Maulibhushanawarmadewa, Trailokyaraja, 28 McLuhan, Marshall, 12 medial nasals, 243 megalithism, 218 metri, 371n40 metrical inscription of 856 CE, 365n8 Miksic, John, 17–49 Minangkabau alam, 304 Minangkabau migrants, 230 Minangkabau political discourses, 281 Minangkabau social organizations, 86 Ming dynasty, 41 Míng Shílù, 42 Minye Tujoh (MT) inscriptions, 216, 359, 360 mogul, 212 monetary fines, 109 moor, 212 “morphological creativity”, Sanskritized form of, 316 morphophonology, particular features of morphophonological particularities involving prefixes, 190–97 vowel-initial suffix, consonant doubling before, 187–90 morphosyntax, aspects of numerals and numeration, 206–9 one/more nouns, word groups with, 203–6 relative marker, 209–10 verb forms, paradigm of, 197–200 word groups with verb, 200–3 Muara Mesumai, 225, 233, 234, 343

N

09 TTCL Index 8thPrf.indd 401

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402 Nāgarakṛtāgama, 31, 290 Nagari script, 287 Nalanda inscription, 290 nāmābhiṣeka of ruling monarch, 302 nānāśāstroddhṛtaṃ, 334, 340, 341 New Indo-Aryan (NIA) period, 285 Nglawang inscription, 33 NIA period. See New Indo-Aryan (NIA) period Nītisārasamuccaya, 355 ‘nominal clusters’, 164 nominal long and short vowel notation, 178–80 nominal postconsonantal rhotic, 183–86 nominal postconsonantal semi-vowel, 186–87 non-monetary fines, 108 non-Sanskritisms, 185 normalized transcription, 64–73 normalized transliteration, 66 not-mediated possessive construction, 203, 204 noun-numeral-quantifier, 208 number seven in Islam, 153

O

OJ. See Old Javanese (OJ) Old Javanese dictionary (OJED), 93, 101, 313 Old Javanese (OJ), Sanskritized vocabulary of, 285 Old Malay (OM) inscriptions of Śrīvijaya, 346 Old-Sumatran script, 162, 360 Ombilin inscription, 40

P

pada-bab, 65, 156n49, 173–74 pada-bab-s, 174 pada-lingsa, 173 pada-lungsi, 65, 89, 173, 175 Padang Candi inscription, 295, 305, 360, 361, 370n36, 373n47, 376 Buddha Amoghapāśa in Verse 4 of, 315–16

09 TTCL Index 8thPrf.indd 402

Index Padang Roco inscription, 34, 45, 367n22 Padri War, 5 Pagaruyung I inscription, 36, 303, 309, 310, 342–43, 357, 361 Pagaruyung II inscription, 37 Pagaruyung III inscription, 37 Pagaruyung IV inscription, 37 Pagaruyung V inscription, 37 Pagaruyung VI inscription, 37 Pagaruyung VII inscription, 38 Pagaruyung VIII inscription, 38 Pagaruyung IX inscription, 38 Pahang laws, 88, 259 Painan contract of 1663, 227 palimbang, 105–6 Pallava script, 56, 159, 166, 287, 288 Pallavo-Nusantaric script, 64, 81, 131, 140, 158n93, 162 palm leaf manuscripts, 8, 9, 15, 61, 221 Pamalayu, 29, 32, 366n22 pampas, 243, 256–57 pancawida, 94 Pangeran Dipanegara, 227 Pangeran Sukarta Negara, 232, 235 Pangeran Surianegara, 231 Pangeran Suta Wijaya, 154, 228, 229, 231 Pangiran Ratu, 228 panjing, 89–90 paN- prefix, 190–92 paper manuscripts, 13–15 Paper Mulberry, 51, 60–61 parahu, 101 Pararaton, 29, 32, 34, 290, 293, 308 Pariangan inscription, 41 pa[R]- prefix, 192–94 partial reduplication, 243 Parwa, OJ literature, 285, 355 pasangan, 155n14, 164 pasap, 99–100 patèn, 65, 131, 155n24, 167, 170, 171 pèngkal, 164, 186–87 pepet, 167, 180 “period correspondent”, 173 periuk kancah, 273

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Index Poerbatjaraka, Raden Mas Ngabehi, 8, 52, 59, 137, 142, 144–52, 167–73, 185, 269 “poetics of polity”, 291 Polo, Marco, 28, 29, 31 post-consonantal vowels, 167–71 praṇamya śrīmahādevaṃ, 331 Prasasti Bukit Gombak I. See Bukit Gombang inscription Prasasti Kapalo Bukit Gombak. See Pagaruyung III inscription prasasti of reigning monarch, 283 pre-Islamic Malay script, 56, 236 pre-Islamic religion, 1 property offences, 109 pukat, 99, 270 punctuation marks, 142–43, 173–75 in manuscript, 65 (ḍa)punta hyang, 313–15, 372n46 pusaka, 1–16, 95, 221, 304, 359, 363 caretaker of, 52

Q

“quasi-Sanskrit”, 356 quire, 58

R

radiocarbon dating of TK 214, 53, 54 Rajendra Maulimali Warmmadewa, 35 Rake Tuhan Mapatiḥ, 302 Rambahan (Padang Candi) inscription, 45, 47, 305, 361, 367 Rambatan inscription, 40, 47, 295 recording auspicious dates, chronogram format for, 290 regional lexical innovations, 213–14 relative marker, 209–10 rencong script, 130 retained aksara, the, 163 Rugua, Zhao, 22, 26, 28

S

sa- ~ si, proclitical and prefixal, 195–97 sahaya, 318, 319 Sahibzada, Mehnaz, 153

09 TTCL Index 8thPrf.indd 403

403 Śaka era, 38, 288, 289, 291, 298 survey of, 379 salah langkah salah kata, 272 saluka dipati, 283, 321, 323, 330, 333–35 Malay gloss of, 336–42 samagat in TTms, 311 samastaṃ likhitaṃ, 322, 358 sanggabumi, 260–62 Sang Hyang Kamahāyānan Mantranāya (SHM), 309, 336, 356 Sang Hyang Kamahāyānikan (SHKM), 309, 336, 356 Sang Hyang Kěmattan, 74, 85 also Sang Hyang Kěmitan, 313–16 Sanskrit analytical tradition, 284 Sanskrit cosmopolis, era of, 328, 351, 360 Sanskritization in scribal tradition, 282 Sanskritized form of “morphological creativity”, 316 Sanskritized orthography, 297, 354 Sanskritized sections of TTms, chronological formula, 288 Sanskritized vocabulary, 281, 283 of OJ, 285 Sanskrit phonology, 297 contrastive features of, 296 sapěra[ka]ra disi, 318 Saruaso I inscription (1375 CE), 38–39, 308, 367n23 chronological information of, 295–97 Saruaso II inscription, 39, 300, 325–28 saugandhi, 306 Schwa, 140, 152, 155n11, 186, 243 alternative notations of, 180–83 script and writing media, 6–9 Sebermula lagi, 271–72 śekhara (“crown”), 328 semi-diplomatic transliteration, 163 senggabumikan, 89–90 Serat Sastramiruda, 261 seri gandawaŋsa, 305, 306 Shapiro, Michael, 285 Sharia Al-Quran, 228, 233

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404 Siamese law book, 42 Silsilah Raja-raja Pagarruyung (ML 483), 362 Sirhindi, Shaykh Ahmad al-Farooqi, 233 Śivagṛha inscription of 856 CE, 290 Smaradahana, 285 “sociolinguistic domains”, 364n5 Sofyan Ibrahim, 52 Solok Sipin, 21, 43–44 Song hui yao qi gao, 26 Sòng Shǐ, 24–27 spelling method/notation mode, 181 Śri Mahārāja, 301, 303 Śrī Sundara-Pāṇḍya-dewādhīśwara, 302 “Standard Early Kawi”, 374n53 stone inscriptions, 55 suku diacritic, 167, 170 Sultan Astra Ingalaga, 231 Sultan of Jambi, 14, 154, 225, 235 Sumatra, “charter state” in, 282 Sumatran socio-political organization, 315 Sumatran tradition, 346, 347 “scribal tool kit” of, 353 Sungai Langsat, 45, 47 surat cap, 347, 366n20 of Minangkabau rulers, 281, 292 surat incung script, 7–8, 15, 129, 130, 132, 154, 162 surat lampung, 129, 130 surat rencong, 130 surat ulu scripts, 56, 64, 129, 130, 131, 132, 137, 139, 141, 143, 154 suryasengkala, 295 Suvarnadvipa, 23 Sūwùzhàpúmí, Xiáchí, 24 svarga madhya pratala, 339, 340 syllable-initial vowels, 171–73

T

tadbhava form, 283–88, 292, 312, 322, 339, 346 Tadmor, Uri, 139–40

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Index tahil, distribution of variant spellings of, 178 takalak (tengkalak) fish trap, 77, 99 Talang Tuwo, inscription of, 289, 313–15 taling, 168, 169 taling-tarung pair, 169, 170 Tambangdalam, 20 Tambo Kerintji, xii, 6, 7, 8, 14, 15, 52, 59, 144, 221, 223, 227, 234, 236 tanda bunuh, 131, 134, 142, 143, 146 tandang desa, 93 Tang Dynasty, 20, 21, 25 tangkul, 99–100 Tanjor inscription of south India, 25 Tanjung Tanah Malay, 180 Tanjung Tanah manuscript (TK 214), 7, 17, 285–86, 288 alternative notations of schwa, 180–83 binding, 58–60 characters. See incung script, characters in TK 214 chronological formula, Sanskritized sections of, 288 chronological information of, 297 commentary. See commentary, TK 214 comparison of script of, 165–66 composition of, 287 dating of, 52–57 diacritics. See incung script, diacritics in TK 214 dipati of, 320 discovery of, 50–52 evidence of, 287 “exotic” consonants, 175–77 framing sections of, 281, 283, 336 interpretation, 151–54 Kerinci text, 129–43 material, 60–64 nominal long and short vowel notation, 178–80 nominal postconsonantal rhotic, 183–86 nominal postconsonantal semi-vowel, 186–87

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405

Index orthographic conservatism, 288 orthography of, 293 physical properties of, 58–64 Poerbatjaraka’s transliteration, 144–51 punctuation, 142–43 samagat in, 311 Sanskritized lexicon of, 283–84 Sanskritized sections of, 282 Saruaso I inscription and, 296 translation, 74–79 transliteration and normalized transcription, 64–73 with Terengganu inscription, 360 wordlist, 110–29 Tanjung Tanah manuscript (TK 215), 286 critical transliteration, 242–56 diplomatic transliteration, 236–42 haram beverage, 235 Indian Islamic scholar, 233 Jawi script documents, 221 Kiai Ged, 230, 231 lontar, 221 Minangkabau migrants, 230 Painan contract of 1663, 227 Pangeran Sukarta Negara, 232, 235 Pangeran Surianegara, 231 Pangeran Suta Wijaya, 228, 229, 231 “Pangiran Ratu”, 228 pre-Islamic Malay script, 236 pusaka collection of, 221 Sultan of Jambi, 225 “Tanjung Tanah pusaka”, 286 Tapak Gajah, 7 ta-, perfective forms with, 194–95 taR-, perfective forms with, 194–95 tarung, 169 tatsama form, 283–88 Telaga Raja, 43 Temenggung, Raden, 224, 225 Terengganu inscription, 88, 360 textiles, theft of, 97–98 Tribhuwanarāja Mauliwarmadewa, 28, 29

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treason, 88 Trengganu stone, 179 TTms. See Tanjung Tanah manuscript tuak, 94, 103, 235 tuba, 96, 267 Tuhañaru inscription, 301–2 tujuh, 136, 146 tupang steel, 98, 109, 210, 269

U

Ulu Bělu inscription, 313, 314 ulu scripts. See surat ulu scripts Undang-Undang Aceh, 82 Undang-Undang Melaka (UUM), 89, 97, 98, 102, 103, 108, 109, 256, 258 article 22.2, 259 Undang-Undang Sungai Ujung, article 35 of, 267

V

Vaiśāka, 297, 367n27 Van der Putten, 223, 236, 242, 257, 265, 268 Van Ronkel, 177 varman (“armour”), 328 Vedas, 94, 218 verb forms, paradigm of, 197–200 vocabulary, particularities of regional lexical innovations, 213–14 words of near-eastern origin, 210–13 Voorhoeve, Petrus, 4, 7, 8, 50, 51, 52, 59, 60, 130, 144, 221, 234 vowel-initial suffix, consonant doubling before, 169, 172, 187–90 ‘vowel replacement’ diacritic, 167, 185

W

Watson, C.W., 51 Western Malayo-Polynesian (WMP), 293 West Sumatra, archaeological sites in, 46 wignyan, 166 Wilwatikta, 31

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406 Wiryamartana, I. Kuntara, 64, 74, 85 WMP. See Western Malayo-Polynesian (WMP) word groups with one/more nouns, 203–6 with verb, 200–3 word reduplication, 243 wrddhamantri, 33 writing media, 51 script and, 6–15 wulu diacritic, 167

09 TTCL Index 8thPrf.indd 406

Index

Y

yam, 76, 77, 94, 96, 97, 108, 116, 266, 267 yajña, 312 Yuan Dynasty, 28 yumuhu pakatahu, 288–89

Z

zahir-bathin, 349–50, 352

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NALANDA-SRIWIJAYA SERIES   1. Nagapattinam to Suvarnadwipa: Reflections on the Chola Naval Expeditions to Southeast Asia, edited by Hermann Kulke, K. Kesavapany and Vijay Sakhuja   2. Early Interactions between South and Southeast Asia: Reflections on Cross-Cultural Exchange, edited by Pierre-Yves Manguin, A. Mani and Geoff Wade   3. Hardships and Downfall of Buddhism in India, by Giovanni Verardi   4. Anthony Reid and the Study of the Southeast Asian Past, edited by Geoff Wade and Li Tana   5 Portuguese and Luso-Asian Legacies in Southeast Asia, 1511–2011, Vol. 1: The Making of the Luso-Asian World: Intricacies of Engagement, edited by Laura Jarnagin   6. Portuguese and Luso-Asian Legacies in Southeast Asia, 1511–2011, Vol. 2: Culture and Identity in the Luso-Asian World: Tenacities & Plasticities, edited by Laura Jarnagin   7. Sino-Malay Trade and Diplomacy from the Tenth through the Fourteenth Century, by Derek Heng   8. Tradition and Archaeology: Early Maritime Contacts in the Indian Ocean, edited by Himanshu Prabha Ray and Jean-François Salles   9. The Sea, Identity and History: From the Bay of Bengal to the South China Sea, edited by Satish Chandra and Himanshu Prabha Ray 10. Early Southeast Asia Viewed from India: An Anthology of Articles from the Journal of the Greater India Society, edited by Kwa Chong-Guan 11. The Royal Hunt in Eurasian History, by Thomas T. Allsen 12. Ethnic Identity in Tang China, by Marc S. Abramson 13. Buddhism and Islam on the Silk Road, by Johan Elverskog 14. The Tongking Gulf Through History, edited by Nola Cooke, Li Tana and James A. Anderson 15. Eurasian Influences on Yuan China, edited by Morris Rossabi

407

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408 Nalanda-Sriwijaya Series

Nalanda-Sriwijaya Series 408

16. Of Palm Wine, Women and War: The Mongolian Naval Expedition to Java in the 13th Century, by David Bade 17. Offshore Asia: Maritime Interactions in Eastern Asia before Steamships, edited by Fujita Kayoko, Momoki Shiro and Anthony Reid 18. Literary Migrations: Traditional Chinese Fiction in Asia (17th–20th Centuries), edited by Claudine Salman 19. Trails of Bronze Drums Across Early Southeast Asia: Exchange Routes and Connected Cultural Spheres, by Ambra Calo 20. Buddhism Across Asia: Networks of Maternal, Intellectual and Cultural Exchange, Volume 1, edited by Tansen Sen

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Images of TK 214 The photographs on the following pages were taken by Uli Kozok at the village of Tanjung Tanah on 22 May 2003. For a description see pages 57–63.

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