‘Do-la-lak’ Trance Dance: Kali Harjo, Central Java

“Spirits are just people who have died. We are not afraid of them. We live and dance with them here every day,” said Tjipto Siswojo of Kali Harjo village, Central Java. Tjipto and the Kali Harjo villagers are the keepers of one of Indonesia’s rare dance forms, the Do-la-lak trance dance in which spirits enter the dancers, driving them to frenzied and powerful performances.

Do-la-lak was created more than 70 years ago by Indonesian soldiers recruited into the Dutch army stationed in Purworejo, Central Java. The spirits of the dead that join in are in fact welcome members of the dance troupes.

Kali Harjo is a tiny, isolated hamlet resting at the feet of the province’s towering mountain ranges. The village is wrapped on all sides in dense jungle that rolls down to the flatland rice fields below.

Once a prime site for the malaria mosquito, the village is now alive with the flash of gold epaulets as the Do-la-lak dancers, costumed in velvet-embroidered military garb and 1950’s Ray-Ban sunglasses, stamp and sway to drums — the rhythms of which could easily be transported to a rave party in downtown Yogyakarta.

According to Tjipto, it is a drumbeat that can wake the dead.
“When we dance we call the spirits, singing an old song called Kecil Kecil. We ask who is coming and what song they want and which dance they want to perform. The spirits’ favorite is a song called Tinggi Tinggi. That song was popular around 50 years ago,” said Tjipto, who is now 60. He added that the spirits can dance in their living hosts for as long as two hours without the dancers tiring.

“The dancers sweat but they don’t feel tired because it is the spirit that is using energy, not the living dancers,” he said.

Not all dancers can cope with having their bodies invaded by dancing spirits, however, and a very simple test is done to check the mental and physical strength of the potential hosts.

“When a spirit enters a living dancer, if they are not strong enough they simply collapse. I have never had a spirit enter. I am not that strong,” said Tjipto.

The souls that enter dancers drive them to an intense form of Do-la-lak which can last from 10 minutes to more than two hours, ending with the collapse of the dancer as the spirit departs.

Tjipto said there are five spirits who dance the Do-la-lak — all originally from Kali Harjo, where they lived decades ago.

“Before 1950 we did not invite spirits to dance the Do-la-lak. At that time it was inspired by the silat and classical dances soldiers danced in the Purworejo barracks back in 1936 to cure their homesickness. Then in 1950 one of the village elders, Mbah Amat Dimedjo, thought the dance would be more interesting with spirits, so he called them and they came,” he said.

“The spirits are Raden Sosro and his wife Roro Anggraeni and their niece, Sukowati, and another couple, Raden Bagus and his wife Benjowati. They still dance with us today and guide our dance troupes.”

So integral to the dance troupe are the spirits that the direct all aspects of the performances.

“Before we travel for a show our spiritualist calls the spirits and they check where we are performing. The spirits fly to the theater, even if it’s as far away as Jakarta or Sumatra, and tell us what the stage is like and how big the auditorium is. They even tell us what time to leave and what roads to take. They tell us what time to come home.

“If we fail to discuss our performance with the spirits, little accidents occur. We might have a flat tire, someone might get sick — that sort of thing,” said Tjipto, discussing the ghosts as lightly as if he were speaking of the weather.

But he does not take lightly the possibility of this rare dance being lost to future generations through lack of interest and its removal from local school curricula.

With its military costume and history rooted in the Purworejo barracks and the life there of Indonesian soldiers conscripted by the Dutch during pre-Independence days, Tjipto says the Do-la-lak must be remembered and taught to future generations.

Today, just a few hundred people have learned the dance.

“Do-la-lak was born in the barracks of Purworejo in 1936. The soldiers were homesick for their families, their hometowns and their culture. They felt the only way they could express their feelings was by dancing silat (traditional martial arts) or dancing the classic dances of their hometowns. That was how the dance was created, the combining of those movements,” said Tjipto.

As an homage to those soldiers who danced away their sorrows, today’s Do-la-lak dancers still wear military-inspired costumes of gold embroidery on military dress jackets of black velvet, foreign legion caps and black sunglasses.

The sunglasses conceal the dancers’ eyes, which go blank in trance.

“I teach Do-la-lak because I have lived with this dance since I was a child,” said Tjipto. “If the Do-la-lak disappeared it would mean the loss of a part of our Purworejo culture and history.

“In 1995 the dance was taught in our schools, but was later banned. That is why I am writing a book on Do-la-lak, the movements and the history. So it will be taught and remembered long after I am gone.”

Tjipto added that it would not only be the living who would lose if this dance of the spirits was no more.

The spirits too would miss their daily communion with the living; these ghosts, who to the residents of Kali Harjo, are everyday players in the dance of life and death.

Trisha Sertori