Magical Mastery of Kris

The Jakarta Globe, Godeliva D. Sari, March 17, 2009

Sungkowo Harumbrodjo, an empu ( master bladesmith), pulls glowing slabs of what he says is meteorite sandwiched with iron from out of the heart of the fire in his workshop and lays them on an anvil. He sits on a plastic stool, and Pardi, one of his helpers, stands in a shallow trench facing him.

Without warning, Pardi lifts his hammer and lets it fall. Sparks fly everywhere, like little needles of fire.

Pardi continues to pound the slabs of red-glowing iron with another metal called pamor. He melds them together, until Sungkowo says it is enough, and he plunges the metal into the fire once more.

Their work calls for intense concentration, and it is easy to see why it was once considered magical.

It’s 9 a.m. in this besalen (traditional smithy) in Sumberagung village, Sleman district, in the special region of Yogyakarta, and what these men are creating is a kris, a traditional Indonesian dagger that dates back to the 10th century and is believed to have spread from the island of Java throughout Southeast Asia.

Kris are considered to be magical. They are typically asymmetrical and 30 to 40 centimeters long.

The blades — which are sharp on both edges — are forged on an anvil with a rounded surface to create the wavy pattern on the blade, also known as pamor.

“This rounded surface is useful when I pull the iron to make it long before folding it,” Pardi says.

“The iron and pamor material needs to be stretched and folded again and again many times. Some kris have more than 4,000 layers of metal. These layers make the designs of the pamor, which contrast with the iron that goes black when it is given an arsenic bath.”

In the workshop, the workers use long-handled pliers, an assortment of hammers and a stump of an anvil — all of which are handmade. In fact, everything in the smithy is as a traditional besalen was centuries ago, except Sungkowo’s bellows no longer work.

The bellows are made of two hollowed-out tree trunks and stand in one corner with a bamboo bench in front of them. A young apprentice would have sat there in the past, pumping wind on to the teakwood charcoal to bring the temperature of the furnace up past 1,300 degrees Celsius.

“Now we use magic. Look,” Pardi says, as he flicked a switch and an electric blower began to blow on the fire.

“The problem with the traditional bellows is that the operator must be very constant, and that is not easy,” says Sungkowo, taking a moment’s break just before midday. “Now we use the electric blower because the results are better.”

Sungkowo has a highly distinguished pedigree: He is the 17th descendant of the legendary empu, Supa of Majapahit, and is the only known descendant who still makes kris the traditional way.

The name empu, which literally means owner of, was traditionally bestowed upon people with exceptional skill and knowledge in a given field. Traditionally, a kris maker must fast, make offerings and refrain from working on certain days.

The difference between Sungkowo and smiths in places like Madura, East Java Province, is like night and day.

Manshur Hidayat, from Surabaya, sells old and new kris and he often visits the island of Madura where the daggers are made.

“There are more than 240 kris smiths in Madura,” he says. “Every week they produce thousands of daggers, which are sold all over Indonesia and overseas. Most are badly made ornamental kris, but there are some skillful makers. Nowadays they don’t only make Madura-style blades. Since the ’90s, they have been producing Bali blades, Bugis blades, Sumatran blades and also long Malaysian blades. In fact, Madura kris makers can make any design.”

Sungkowo makes his blades ritually and from scratch, while in Madura, there are production lines in the kris-making villages without any ritual involved. Sungkowo also only makes classic designs.

In two hours, Sungkowo and Pardi have managed to weld, stretch and fold the iron and pamor a number of times. Every time the hot iron is beaten on the anvil, parts of it fly off like fireworks.

“Those are the impurities. We need to get rid of all of that,” Pardi says. “When we make a kris, we can start with 20 kilograms of iron, half a kilogram of steel and a quarter kilogram of pamor. After it is finished, we have a light kris of less than 400 grams.”

Tugiyono, Sungkowo’s other helper, is sitting outside the workshop on the dirt floor, filing and scraping a kris to bring out the details of the shape and the pamor. “This job is all about feeling,” he says.

“Welding and forging the kris blade is just the first part of the job. When that is done, there is the shaping and the finishing. There are at least 20 small details [called ricikan ] that can be used on a blade, and besides the pamor, the combination of details used give the blade it’s name.”

Sungkowo says: “Once everything is done, I spend three nights just looking at the blade to make sure that it is just right. It takes six weeks or more to make a blade.”

Although Sungkowo’s kris are made over at least six weeks by three workers and are considered the best in the country, he charges only Rp 10 million to Rp 15 million ($833 to $1,250) a piece, which is relatively cheap considering the reverend powers associated with the kris.

It is believed that an empu and his assistants must not speak while making the kris, but Sungkowo passes this off as nonsense.

Asked about the legend of smiths making kris with their bare hands, he said: “Once a Malaysian came here asking about that, and I told him to go to the palace and ask people there.” When talking about the offerings to begin and end the work, he says that they are usually very simple, unless someone wants to film it. “The best offering is a whole chicken with rice and veggies, so we can eat it,” he said.

Sungkowo has an extensive private kris collection of blades made by his forebears. The fragrant sandalwood oil used on the blades gives them a regal aura. But Sungkowo does believe in some of the kris’s powers. One particularly striking blade was made by Sungkowo’s father. “I will never sell that. When it was being made, a serpent came and wrapped itself around my father before disappearing into the fire. I think that has mystical powers.”

Photo: Sungkowo Harumbrodjo’s kris smithy in Yogyakarta resembles the traditional besalen, in which kris have been crafted since the 10th century. (Godeliva D. Sari, JG)