for the kitchen walls were lined with filthy black woks, or so I thought, until Ibu Sri pulled one off its hook and turned it over to reveal a gleaming interior. Why on earth did she clean only the inside, I wondered, puzzled, until she explained: “Of course we allow layers of charcoal to build up on the outside of pans so they retain heat.” I nodded sagely and kept quiet. When my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, I realized that the whole area, though primitive, was a model of hygiene. Ibu Sri interrupted my musings by offering my companion a tumbler full of khaki-coloured liquid. He downed it in a single gulp, sighed with relish and complimented Ibu Sri on her brew.
Then it was my turn. First I sampled Beras Kencur, which was spicy and delicious. But when Ibu Sri began to stir a green mixture in the wok and scoop ladles of it into a glass, I became anxious. I knew for sure things were bad when a miniature glass of sweet liquid was set down alongside it. (A sugared drink is the antidote served when the jamu is particularly bitter.)
“The Pegal Linu,” Ibu Sri announced with aplomb, oblivious to my distress (‘pegal’ means stiff; ‘linu’ is rheumatic; therefore ‘pegal linu’ translates as ‘stiffness caused by rheumatism’ and is prescribed to alleviate aches and pains.)
Taking a deep breath, I consumed the potion, which made the worst Western cough mixture seem like nectar. The sugared water alleviated the aftertaste only marginally.
Central Javanese Ibu Sri was the first person whose home-made jamu the author tested. Here a pot of Kunir Asem is being prepared in her back yard.
By midnight, however, I still had not experienced the anticipated backlash. At 5 am the next morning, I awoke expecting to feel like death, but—to my astonishment—I had never felt better. This was extraordinary—I had actually acquired a new energy; in fact I had never felt more alive and jamu had been the only variation from my normal diet.
From that moment, I was hooked. I began researching the subject in earnest, in the hope that others would benefit from my experience and discover what—if anything—this ancient Indonesian health system could do for them. The result, many years later, is this book.
Archival photograph showing Javanese from the kraton making jamu.
CHAPTER 1
Indonesian Healing Through the Ages
THE USE OF HERBS IN A CURATIVE OR HEALTH-GIVING CAPACITY IS AS OLD AS JAVANESE CIVILIZATION ITSELF.
Tracking down the origins of jamu is no easy task. The use of herbs in a curative or health-giving capacity is as old as Javanese civilization itself. Indonesians believe herbal medicine originated in the ancient palaces of Surakarta (Solo) and Yogyakarta in Central Java. The culture of the courts also developed as a result of various exotic influences—Chinese, Indian and Arab—and these influences are reflected in their herbal medicine. But as with many things Indonesian, solid evidence is hard to find.
Early Evidence
Experts agree the use of plants for medicinal purposes in Indonesia dates from prehistoric times. The theory is substantiated by the impressive collection of Neolithic stone implements in Jakarta’s National Museum that were almost certainly used for daily health-care. Tools such as mortars or rubbing stones were used to grind plants and obtain powders and plant extracts.
Further proof can be found in stone reliefs depicting the human life cycle at the famous Borobudur temple dating from C. AD 800– 900. In these carvings the kalpataruh leaf (from the ‘mythological tree that never dies’) and other ingredients are being pounded to make mixtures for women’s health and beauty care. These reliefs also depict people giving body massage, a healing process recorded in many parts of the world, particularly in China, Japan and India. With the establishment of early trade routes between Asia and Asia Minor, healing techniques would have quite easily passed from East to West, and vice versa.
At the end of the first millennium, the influence of Javanese culture began to spread to the neighbouring island of Bali, whose peoples had already absorbed influences from as far away as India. The powerful Majapahit kingdom thrived in East Java, controlling much of the seas between India and China; links were established between Java and Bali (a channel of less than five km [three miles] separates the two islands). But the Majapahit kingdom wanted more, and in 1343 an army under Gajah Mada was sent by ruler Hayam Wuruk to subjugate the Balinese. His success was short-lived and the Balinese retaliated on several occasions, trying to impose their rule on the territories at the easternmost end of Java.
Following the adoption of Islam and subsequent breakup of the Majapahit empire in the late 15th century, many Javanese fled to Bali, taking their books, culture and customs with them. There they remained isolated until 1908, when the Dutch subjugated the island. This accident of history means that Balinese healing frequently mirrors that of Java 400 years ago, and here, Javanese healing traditions have remained largely intact.
Written Records
Gaining access to surviving records is very difficult: many are in the hands of healers or their families who are reluctant to let anyone see them, let alone scan their contents. Indeed when, in the course of researching this book, it came to the manuscripts at Yogyakarta Palace, the librarian was not at liberty to show them to anybody unless that person had received permission from a higher authority. Because of their religious content, palm manuscripts are considered sacred and are only handed down to a chosen few. (Balinese healing knowledge was inscribed on lontar leaves, dried fronds of a type of palm.) In Java, important information was also recorded on paper manuscripts, but surviving examples are in bad condition: inks have faded; pages are torn, missing or covered in dust; and whole sections have been attacked by mould or insects which have transformed them into delicate but unreadable pieces of lace.
Dating the written material is also complex. In the absence of modern printing presses, hand-copying texts was the only way to make them available to a wider audience and dates were included at the whim of the scribe. The paper used can sometimes gives a rough guide, but identifiable watermarks are rare. In the case of usada (book of Healing), a collection of texts dealing with healing practices, scholars are still unable to determine a precise date with any certainty. There are, however, two manuscripts in the Surakarta Palace library that have been dated, and are arguably the best references on jamu and traditional medicine in existence—namely, Serat Kawruh bab Jampi-jampi (A Treatise on All manner of cures) and Serat centhini (book of centhini).
The former probably gives us the most systematic account of jamu. It comprises a total of 1,734 formulæ made from natural ingredients, together with information on their use. A further 244 entries are in the form of prayers or symbolic figures used as powerful amulets or talismans to cure specific health problems, or to protect the owners from any black magic aimed in their direction.
ADVICE FROM THE SERAT CENTHINI
Still considered one of the major references on jamu, the 300-year-old Serat Centhini has plenty of illustrative tales which not only make interesting reading but are also instructive.
For example, it tells how a certain Mas Cebolang went to visit Ki Bawaraga, leader of a Javanese gamelan orchestra (photo left depicts a contemporary gamelan player). It was around midnight when he encountered an acquaintance called Amadtenggara, who had a toothache; Mas
