Each level is a metaphor for the successive factors of Enlightenment.
The warm rain on the first visit granted solitude. On my return the weekend crush left me cornered and resentful of the vulgar games of young day-trippers and tourists scrabbling up the ancient pagodas. A group of American pensioners were encouraging each other to 'strike lucky'. They leaned through the diamond-shaped gaps in the stone screens encasing a circle of meditating Buddha's to 'see if you could touch his nose'. Their good-natured energy was infectious, however misapplied, but I kept a distance.
borobudur is a buddhist pilgrimage point par excellence. The path through
its 1,500 friezes begins with the kamadhatu, the realm in which we are largely
governed by desire. In the middle galleries we reach the rupadhatu , the realm
of form, which is gradually attained through meditation practice. Here desire
weakens and withers but 'name and form' still bind the pilgrim. Borobudur
then opens out on to its upper section, where all bonds to the mundane world
are broken. Professor Soekomo, the key figure in Borobudur's recent restoration,
distils the route as 'starting with the law of karma at the base, the search
for perfection from the first to the fourth gallery terminates in the attainment
of the Ultimate Truth'.
The panels of bas-reliefs (left) describe scenes from the Buddhist sutras.
Their contours beckoned in the soft, almost lateral light of late afternoon.
Edges hewn from hard rock were made unexpectedly supple by the counterpoint.
Ananda Coomaraswamy, the celebrated art historian, described Borobudur 'like
a ripe fruit matured in breathless air'. But there was little space for this
to resonate. Parties of schoolgirls, quickly bored with the handsome sculpture
strayed across with curious delight. They giggled, took pictures until a 16-year-old
confidently asked:
'So you are tourist?'
'Not really. I'm Buddhist.'