Globalizing the Prehistory of Japan

This iconoclastic work on the prehistory of Japan and of South East Asia challenges entrenched views on the origins of Japanese society and identity. The social changes that took place in Japan in the time-period when the Jōmon culture was replaced by the Yayoi culture were of exceptional magnitude, going far beyond those of the so-called Neolithic Revolution in other parts of the world. They included not only a new way of life based on wet-rice agriculture but also the introduction of metalworking in both bronze and iron, and furthermore a new architecture functionally and ritually linked to rice cultivation, a new religion and a hierarchical society characterized by a belief in the divinity of the ruler. Because of its immense and enduring impact the Yayoi period has generally been seen as the very foundation of Japanese civilization and identity. In contrast to the common assumption that all the Yayoi innovations came from China and Korea, this work combines exciting new scientific evidence from such different fields as rice genetics, DNA and historical linguistics to show that the major elements of Yayoi civilization actually came, not from the north, but from the south. Ann Kumar is Professor in the Faculty of Asian Studies, Australian National University, and former Vice-President of the Australian Academy of the Humanities.

Routledge Studies in the Early History of Asia


Imperial Tombs in Tang China, 618–907 The politics of paradise Tonia Eckfeld Elite Theatre in Ming China, 1368–1644 Grant Guangren Shen Marco Polo’s China A Venetian in the realm of Khubilai Khan Stephen G. Haw The Diary of a Manchu Soldier in Seventeenth-Century China “My service in the army”, by Dzengeo Introduction, Translation and Notes by Nicola Di Cosmo Past Human Migrations in East Asia Matching archaeology, linguistics and genetics Edited by Alicia Sanchez-Mazas, Roger Blench, Malcolm D. Ross, Ilia Peiros and Marie Lin Globalizing the Prehistory of Japan Language, genes and civilization Ann Kumar






Globalizing the Prehistory of Japan
Language, genes and civilization

Ann Kumar

First published 2009 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 270 Madison Ave, New York, NY 10016 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an Informa business This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2008. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to” © 2009 Ann Kumar All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Kumar, Ann, 1943– Globalizing the prehistory of Japan : language, genes and civilization / Ann Kumar. p. cm. 1. Yayoi culture. 2. Japan – History – To 645. I. Title. GN776.2.Y3K86 2008 952'.01–dc22 ISBN 0-203-88643-7 Master e-book ISBN 2008023978

ISBN10: 0–7103–1313–6 (hbk) ISBN10: 0–203–88643–7 (ebk) ISBN13: 978–0–7103–1313–3 (hbk) ISBN13: 978–0–203–88643–4 (ebk)


List of illustrations Acknowledgements Introduction

vii ix 1

1 2

Myths and mental space The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia

9 25


3 4 5 6

The enterprise of rice cultivation The evidence of the teeth and skulls Breaking the DNA code Breaking the language code: the words that tell the story

59 73 89 104



The world enchanted Conclusion: a consilience of induction Glossary Notes Bibliography Index

131 162 171 176 184 201


1.1 1.2 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 2.5 3.1 3.2 4.1 4.2 Eighteenth-century Japanese watercolours illustrating unlucky marks on horses Eighteenth-century Japanese watercolour illustrating lucky marks on horses A large bronze bell from island Southeast Asia A Yayoi bell Jōmon pots Some Yayoi pot types Some Javanese pot types Hybridization percentages of six ecotypes of rice Chang’s two maps of 1975 and 1989 Craniometric graph from Li et al. Figure from Kozintsev’s cranioscopic study 16 17 44 45 53 54 54 67 69 79 80

2.1 Comparative timeline of Japanese and Indonesian prehistory 3.1 Early examples of cultivated rice 4.1 Sinodont and Sundadont populations 4.2 6-cusp LM1 4.3 4-cusp LM2 4.4 Deflecting wrinkle LM1 4.5 Distal Trigonid Crest LM1 4.6 Protostylid LM1 4.7 Cusp 7 LM1 4.8 Hypocone UM2 4.9 Carabelli Trait UM1 4.10 Shovelling UI1 6.1 Borrowings containing five segments 48 62 82 83 83 84 84 85 85 86 86 87 112

viii Illustrations 6.2 Sound correspondences in primary and secondary data between Old Javanese (OJAV) and Old Japanese (OJAP) consonants (A) and vowels (B) Chance similarities in Hawaiian and ancient Greek vocabulary Some borrowings using the modern languages

117 119 126

6.3 6.4


This research was carried out over a long period and over many diverse disciplines. So for much of this time the researcher was, inevitably, in terra incognita. The journey was often exciting, but also long and arduous. It would have been even more so, and most likely never reached its end, without the unselfish assistance of a substantial number of fine scholars in those diverse disciplines who gave up their precious time to assist me. I am particularly grateful to:

Peter Bellwood, who promptly and patiently answered many difficult questions about prehistory. T.T. Chang (former Director of the International Rice Research Institute, Manila) for the many extremely helpful letters he wrote to me about the history of rice in Asia. Tony Diller, for his support and encouragement of my very tentative beginnings. The late Murayama Shichirō, who gave me the benefit of his enormous knowledge even though he would have been quite justified in throwing my early efforts in the rubbish bin. Alexander Vovin (Department of East Asian Languages and Literature, University of Hawai’i at Manoa), for his generous help at a later stage, despite the fact that for a long period his opinion on the history of Japanese differed radically from mine. Geoffrey Haig (University of Kiel), Harold Koch, James A. Matisoff (Professor Emeritus UC Berkeley Department of Linguistics), Bernd Nothofer (JW Goethe-Universitaet, Frankfurt), Andrew Pawley, Malcolm Ross, Cindy Allen, Royall Tyler and Sue Serjeantson who all provided very useful inputs.

I am also indebted to my reseach assistants, Genevieve Herbert, Sonia Kumar, Duncan McLaughlin, and Masayuki Onishi, whose contribution exceeded the minimal hours they were employed for, and to Pichit Roinil for his kind assistance.



Three people in particular must be singled out for special acknowledgement. First, Simon Easteal, whose eminence in his field guarantees him an overcrowded schedule, which was further deranged by the arrival of someone who needed to study d-loops and clearly had no idea how to go about this. His remarkably generous assistance was essential to producing one of the first DNA-based studies showing a specific link between the Indonesian and Japanese populations. Second, Peter Hendriks, for giving up his scarce research time to provide extremely valuable input on Japanese historical linguistics. And most importantly of all, P.J. Rose, whose characteristic generosity with his vast expertise and commitment to perfection enormously strengthened and enriched the crucial linguistic chapter; and who invariably provided wise advice when asked, making it possible for me to reach the end of a gruelling academic journey. Any errors or omissions are, of course, my own. Thanks are due to the Australian National University for a subsidy of $A3500. I am grateful to the British Museum for supplying the photo of the bell from island Southeast Asia (Figure 2.1, p. 44) and to the Tenri University Museum for supplying the photo of the Japanese bell (Figure 2.2, p. 45).


Over two thousand years ago, there occurred in Japan one of the most dramatic and thorough-going transformations in the history of human society: the massive discontinuity between the so-called Jōmon and Yayoi cultures in the second half of the first millennium BCE. Around this discontinuity, the hunter-gatherer way of life of Jōmon Japan was totally transformed by a whole range of radical innovations. These innovations were not just equal to but actually greater than those brought about by other great transformations in human history. Thus, they included the massive changes that occurred elsewhere in the world during the so-called Neolithic (‘new stone age’) Revolution, which saw the introduction of agriculture and a major socio-political and cultural transformation. These Neolithic changes included the production of better and more diverse tools, occupational specialization, accumulation of property, the development of larger social groups and status distinctions, and the development of the symbolic aspects of human culture such as the concept of another world that we now see reflected in grave goods. In the Yayoi period, Japan underwent these major changes that occurred elsewhere in the Neolithic Revolution: agriculture in this case took the form of wet-rice farming, and larger settled communities with specialization and social hierarchy also developed. However, the innovations that were introduced at this time went well beyond those of the Neolithic Revolution. They included the new technology and new socio-political and religious structures which in Europe and elsewhere were introduced later on in the Bronze and Iron Ages. These Yayoi innovations included bronze and iron production, a new architecture, a new religion, and a hierarchical society with an emperor at its head. In other words, the Yayoi period saw the compression into a relatively short time of numerous innovations that in other places had taken a very long time indeed to evolve. After the long, 10,000-year persistence of a hunter-gatherer mode of existence during the Jōmon period, the Yayoi transformation, which represents both the beginning of agriculture and the beginning of a rather sophisticated civilization in a single process, took place within just a few centuries. By ‘civilization’ I intend to convey the introduction of an urban way of life with its own distinct character based on the idea of a distinction between the refined and the coarse, rustic, or uncouth. This enormous transformation encompassed not just the



cultivation of rice but also the development of cults associated with rice; the appearance of many new technologies such as metal-working, weaving, and architecture, used for both practical and religious purposes; the introduction of a new language that expressed new ideas relating to the socio-political order and to religion; and the emergence of a court that would place great emphasis on accomplishment and refinement. What were the causes of this truly extraordinary transformation? Previous hypotheses as to how and why this huge leap forward took place at this time are unsatisfactory. At one time it was thought that the Jōmon suddenly made all these changes themselves, but skeletal evidence does indicate such a dramatic change in body type that one can only, realistically, explain this by positing immigration. But where did these immigrants come from? The prevailing opinion is that they came from Korea, although the evidence for this ‘must be there’ rather than actually being evident. This book presents ‘hard science’ evidence, in areas such as DNA, rice genetics, and historical linguistics, evidence which is susceptible to scientific evaluation, that reveals the origin of at least that group of immigrants who were responsible for the great innovations. This evidence points to Indonesia rather than to Korea or China. It reveals the nature of the court-and-village culture that they brought. It elucidates their genetic contribution to the Japanese population. Perhaps most importantly of all, it establishes what language they introduced by the use of rigorous and innovative analysis, including Bayesian probability, thus establishing the first demonstrable relationship in the prehistory of the Japanese language to any external language. This is a quantum leap forward over previous study of the possible linguistic relationships of the Japanese language, which to date has been marked by much controversy and lack of consensus. The book is divided into three parts. Part One sets the scene and explains the hypothesis; Part Two presents the hard evidence; and, once the hypothesis has been established, Part Three fills out the picture by the use of evidence from a later period that shows how the Yayoi introduction of rice cultivation and social hierarchy exerted a formative influence on religion and court culture. Part One comprises the first two chapters, which set the scene and present the first evidence for a hitherto unknown link between Japan and Java. Chapter One, Myths and mental space, looks at the way academic disciplines have their own foundation myths (using this word in its non-pejorative sense), and how these myths provide necessary structure and make order out of the chaos of infinite detail. At the same time, however, such foundation myths tend to become fossilized and prevent the emergence of new truths, a point illustrated by notable examples such as Galileo’s discoveries. This chapter outlines the accepted academic myths, in the form of grand narratives, of Indonesian and Japanese history, and shows how these preclude the possibility of contact between the two, especially the kind of contact demonstrated in this book. The long-established academic fields ‘East Asia’ and ‘Southeast Asia’ are not natural or cultural entities, but constructs which unfortunately set up strong mental boundaries that prevent us from perceiving connections between the two. This

Introduction 3 situation is compounded by the near-total absence of research on the Bronze-Iron Age civilization of Java, which scarcely features at all in accounts of prehistoric society in Asia. As a result, traces of contact between Japan and Java are vanishingly small in the conventional accounts. Making use of the suggestion that ‘that’s funny’ are the most productive words for scientific discovery, I conclude by listing the few small signs that first made me question the accuracy of these grand narratives. Chapter Two, The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia, outlines the prehistory of Java and Japan with a view to establishing the most likely time for the sort of contact suggested by these first small signs to have taken place. It concludes that the Yayoi period was the most probable time for this contact to have occurred. Despite the unsatisfactory state of research, we can at least see a striking typological similarity between the Yayoi artefacts – bells, blades, and pottery for example – and their Javanese counterparts. This chapter also looks at the work of earlier scholars who studied artefacts, such as masks and architecture, from a later period, and who concluded that the resemblance between the Javanese and Japanese examples was so strong that there must have been some historical connection between the two. Part Two takes a highly innovative approach in order to overcome the inadequate archaeological work and the absence of written records. For although the period involved is roughly contemporaneous with the era of the Roman Republic and the Caesars for which ample written records survive, this is not the case here. This lack of written records and extreme paucity of archaeological investigation has wrongly been taken by some scholars as evidence that nothing much was happening, and that Javanese civilization must have begun with the first Sanskrit inscriptions. Others, however, deduced that there must already have been an advanced level of technology and socio-political organization before the period of Indian influence. But this remained a deduction for which there was only scanty archaeological evidence, given the dearth of research. So it was necessary to look for a very different kind of evidence, the scientific kind. Perhaps no significant new truth is won without risk and effort, in this case the effort to develop competence in rice genetics, language and linguistics, mathematics, and bio-anthropology, including DNA. In these areas, specialists had already produced a certain amount of relevant research, and this was more supportive of the idea of significant contact between Indonesia and Japan than the viewpoint represented in the established myths/grand narratives of Southeast Asian history outlined in Chapter One. The author was also able to carry out new studies on DNA and on the linguistic evidence. And as time passed, further studies strongly confirming the results of these gradually appeared. The most important types of evidence are covered in four chapters, as follows: Chapter Three, The enterprise of rice cultivation This chapter establishes the connection between Java and Japan with respect to rice. It looks at the complicated relationship between the different types of cultivated rice, and explains how Morinaga’s work published in 1968 had already demonstrated that Javanese rice (known as javanica) was the closest relative of ordinary Japanese rice. This



establishes the first demonstrably genetic link between Java and Japan. The chapter concludes with some remarks about how rice, the basis of this civilization, also had a parallel religious significance in Java and Japan. Chapter Four, The evidence of the teeth and skulls Cultural influence can occur without any significant migration or ethnic admixture. For example, though the British certainly did not bring civilization to India, they did significantly influence India in fields as diverse as politics, economics and cricket, and established English as the second language of India. Yet it is doubtful that after two millennia one would find too much evidence of British genes in the Indian population. So it did not necessarily follow that there would be any evidence that the massive innovations of the Yayoi period were accompanied by any significant migration. Nevertheless, there is, and this chapter describes the evidence for migration provided by more traditional research methods. To elucidate questions about the history of the human race, physical anthropologists have been providing answers for over a hundred years by studying morphological characteristics, such as skull and teeth shape. This chapter demonstrates that there is support from such studies for an Indonesian element in the Yayoi population. Chapter Five, Breaking the DNA code More recently, particularly in the last twenty years, molecular anthropologists have been producing studies of human DNA which can be used to elucidate the history and migrations of the human race. This chapter deals with DNA studies relevant to the present investigation. Unfortunately, not enough research has yet been done specifically on the Yayoi, but studies of the modern Japanese population indicate specific sharing with Indonesia in comparatively recent (i.e. post-Palaeolithic) times. This indicates a case not just of great cultural and technical influence from Java, but also of enough migration to have left its mark on the modern Japanese population. Chapter Six, Breaking the language code: the words that tell the story This chapter describes the linguistic evidence for intense contact between Java and Japan. It first outlines the large number of diverse theories concerning the relationships of the Japanese language that have been put forward by previous researchers. It explains why, without discounting the possibility of a Korean connection at some period, Korean simply cannot have been the language introduced during the Yayoi period. The chapter then presents data which clearly establish linguistic borrowing into an earlier form of Old Japanese, not from Korea, but from an antecedent of Old Javanese. It further explains, as far as possible in non-technical terms, how the linguistic data was statistically evaluated, using the appropriate framework for assessing the strength of evidence in support of a hypothesis, namely Bayesian probability. Finally it explains why the linguistic evidence is the most revealing of all the different types of evidence used in this book. This is because it elucidates so many different aspects of the contact – directionality, exact location of the donor language, intensity of contact, and the things that were imported, not only items of material culture and technology, but also political and religious ideas and

Introduction 5 concepts. These innovations correspond precisely to those known to have been introduced in the Yayoi period. By the end of Part Two, extremely compelling evidence for the major contribution of the Javanese to the dramatic innovations of the Yayoi period has been presented. In Part Three, material from a later period is presented in order to give a fuller coverage of an important area not covered by this evidence except in part by the rich linguistic material. This is the area of ideology and religion. Part Three comprises Chapter Seven, The world enchanted, which describes how the Yayoi introduction of rice cultivation gave rise to myths and rituals that were essential to royal legitimacy, notably the myth of the female divinity who descended from the moon and brought rice to mankind, and whose heavenly robe both Javanese rulers and Japanese emperors must don at the time of their accession. It also describes the full bloom of a cultivated aristocracy, epitomized by the secular myth of the radiant prince, whose physical beauty and refinement, sumptuous and elaborate attire, accomplishment in all the arts of court life, and extraordinary emotional sensitivity, embody and epitomize the model of human perfection made possible by the development of a court civilization. The Conclusion, A consilience of induction, draws together the evidence from the preceding chapters and shows how, when taken together, it conforms to William Whewell’s concept of ‘consilience of induction’ in which a number of apparently disparate facts are finally brought together in a single simple and elegant explanation, the only explanation that can make sense of them all. This has led to the emergence of a totally new picture, fleshing out the deductions of some earlier Japanese scholars that there must have been a ‘southern’ origin for Japanese civilization, and revealing just when and how this happened. The resultant major discovery is that there was a hitherto unknown link between Japan and Java, comprising both major technological and cultural influence and also immigration. This counters the hitherto majority view that immigrants from the Korean peninsula brought all the innovations of the Yayoi period. Though we can certainly assume that there was contact between Japan and Korea and China, it is now clear that this was not the main source of the dramatic changes that took place in the Yayoi transformation. The chapter also raises more general issues concerning human history and the exciting new approaches we might take in writing it.

Note on spelling
For the romanization of Japanese words, the modified Hepburn system, which is commonly used in Japanese dictionaries, has been adopted. This system expresses long vowels through the use of a macron (e.g. ō). For well known place names such as Tokyo and Osaka, conventional English spelling is used. Japanese proper names are written with the surname followed by the given, first name in accordance with Japanese custom (unless the author is based outside Japan). Romanization of Japanese words in the bibliography is based on that in the original text, and may therefore sometimes diverge from the Hepburn system.



For the romanization of Javanese words, in the chapter on language a phonetically unambiguous scholarly transcription has been used, with retroflex consonants marked by an underdot and the schwa distinguished from [e] by a breve. Elsewhere, the current system for writing Javanese in the Roman alphabet has been followed. This is designed to eliminate diacritics and retroflex consonants are written as [dh] and [th]. The distinction between schwa and [e] is not marked.

Part One


Myths and mental space

Indonesia is quite a long way from Japan, geographically speaking (though not as far as it is from Madagascar, to which Indonesians migrated in prehistoric times). But it is even more distant in the world-view – the ‘mental space’, to use a term employed below – of most academics. To argue that there was a very close and important connection between Indonesia and Japan in the past seemed to many of them bizarre and unthinkable, since ‘everyone knows’ that this is not the case. Yet this is exactly what this book will argue. In this chapter I begin by outlining the powerful academic myths which cause scholars to reject the very idea of such a connection, and go on to explain the observations and juxtapositions that made me think that the basis of these myths had to be re-examined.

Their myths, our myths
What do we mean when we describe something as a myth? In current English usage the word has two main senses. First, it means that something is erroneous or untrue – as exemplified in statements like ‘That is the myth: this is the reality’, or in popular magazines setting out commonly held beliefs in tables with two columns, one labelled ‘myth’, the other ‘reality’. Another example is the well-known expression, ‘an urban myth’, referring to some widely current story, typically transmitted orally, in which there is no foundation of truth. This sense of a myth as something fabulous (in the sense of being only a fable, not a true story) goes back as far as the Romans (Lass 1997: 4). The second widely current meaning of myth denotes a traditional, pre-modern narrative usually involving stories of the Gods and often enacted in ritual. Thus, we find books on the Greek myths, or on ‘Myths and Legends of Japan’ (Hadland Davis 1912). Such myths may make a claim to be true, but this is a religious truth, not a secular and certainly not a modern scholarly or scientific one. Lass, however, contests this sharp division between myths and scholarly-cum-scientific endeavour. He uses ‘myth’ in what he calls a non-pejorative or neutral way, pointing out that even we academics have our myths, which we rarely question. These myths are stories or images that structure some epistemic field – knowledge, thought, belief – in a particular culture. Lass argues that the function of the myth is to provide a structuring device giving some piece of empirical or conceptual chaos an architecture; or we might


Myths and mental space

say that myths make sense of certain phenomena, phenomena which are more ‘scientific’ than those dealt with by the ‘myth and legend’ type of myths. What causes a myth to be accepted is framework-relative, defined by local standards specifying acceptable myth-types or myth-components. These can be explicit, or, as is more usual, implicit. A non-religious mythology structuring academic work has to meet criteria of empirical responsibility and rationality not binding on mythologies serving different, for example religious, purposes. But a venerable rational mythology, apparently grounded in argument and extrapolation from putative evidence, can pose a major problem: the longer it exists, the less succeeding generations or practitioners tend to remember (if they ever knew) or even care about how it came into being, or what evidence supports its main tenets (Lass 1997: 4–6). The myths supporting scientific investigation undoubtedly have an enabling function, providing researchers with givens which do not have to be re-invented and re-justified for every investigation. Myths may therefore be a necessary thing, but the price of this is that they can also have a crippling function. They shape our mental space, and as the science writer Stephen Jay Gould has pointed out many times, we can only see what fits into this mental space. If the thing we are observing does not fit in with the mental format set by the ruling myth, we have to see it as something else. Thus, ‘The great Gallileo, the finest scientist of his or any other time, knew that Saturn . . . must be a triple star because he had so observed the farthest planet with good eyes and the best telescope of his day, but through a mind harboring no category for rings around a celestial sphere.’ (Gould 2000: 50). This example cogently demonstrates how observation, which has been so vital to human understanding of the world, is as time passes increasingly mediated through, and even nullified by, established paradigms. Another case is the pre-nineteenth-century view of fossils as inanimate objects that resembled living things by chance, pranks, the devil’s toenails or survivors of the deluge (Lass 1997: 20). If this failure to see the evidence for what it is happens with eminent scientists observing concrete material objects, how much more likely is it to happen with the ordinary historian trying to understand far more nebulous cultural and social phenomena! It is dangerously easy for us to see only what we have been led to expect – and as we shall see this applies to the present research, for which there is no category in the established grand narrative of Indonesian history. In the discipline of history-writing the ruling myths take the form of what may be called ‘grand narratives’. Over the course of this research, it became apparent to the author that most historians are if anything even more unthinkingly hostile to the idea that their myth may need revision than are the true believers of a non-secular religion such as Christianity, who are more accustomed to having their beliefs challenged. Historians are not as used to facing the possibility of being proven wrong as, say, some scientists are. Of course, this is not to say that radical scientific discoveries are always quickly accepted. For example, Alfred Wegener, who not only observed but also juxtaposed things in a new way that challenged the ruling myths, had his work

Myths and mental space 11 rejected for a long time. In studies published between 1912 and 1929, he noted some interesting phenomena: that the same Permian plants and reptiles were found both in South America and Africa; that the fossils found in a certain place often indicated a climate utterly different from the climate of today (e.g. fossils of tropical plants, such as ferns and cycads, are found today on the Arctic island of Spitsbergen); and that the modern coastlines of now widely separated continents were mirror images of each other and if fitted together could be hypothesized to form a single ancient landmass. He concluded that about 200 million years ago there had been a supercontinent which he called Pangaea. This was made up of two components, which he called Gondwana and, to the north of Gondwana, Laurasia, comprising North America and Eurasia. Wegener called the mechanism that broke apart this ancient continent ‘horizontal continental displacement’ – what we now call continental drift. But for many years his idea could not be accepted because it went against the myth of his profession: the received explanation for the similarities between plants and animals on distant landmasses was that in former times there had been transoceanic land bridges, now sunken. Wegener’s ideas were eventually proved correct in the 1950s when plate tectonics theory was developed and techniques for studying the earth’s magnetic field showed that the position of the continents had changed with respect to the magnetic poles (Jones et al. 1992: 169, 452). This book, though its subject is not of such global proportions, also seeks to employ both observation and juxtaposition to formulate a highly revisionary hypothesis that makes sense of the correspondences that become evident with this juxtaposition. To test this hypothesis, I will use very diverse types of evidence.

The grand narratives of Indonesian and Japanese history
A major assumption has already been made for us even before we can examine these grand narratives, and indeed generally prevents their being examined together. The curriculum has usually placed them within two categories, East Asian and Southeast Asian history, which are rather clearly separated. Perhaps one of the most subtle ways in which myths imprison us is by what they exclude, and by the very categories they use, which implicitly preclude others. Outline of the Indonesian grand narrative

The Indonesians, with the exception of the Melanesian populations of eastern Indonesia, are largely descended from a Neolithic Austronesian-speaking group of settlers who could trace their origins back to Taiwan,1 and from there to the Chinese mainland. These Austronesians settled the Indo-Malaysian region from about 3000 BCE. In its early history the area underwent major cultural and some technological influence from India, probably beginning around the time of Christ. Java’s


Myths and mental space élite has been described as ‘Hinduized’ or ‘Indianized’ (since Buddhism was also important). From about the late thirteenth century there was major Islamic influence. There was also some Chinese influence of a restricted nature. Revisionist historians from van Leur (1955) onwards modified this story to the extent of stressing the agency of Indonesians in choosing to incorporate selected elements from Indic and Islamic civilization, but did not suggest that the Indonesians had themselves exerted influence elsewhere. One exception is Indonesian influence on Madagascar. The view generally accepted among modern scholars is that the closest relative of Malagasy is the Maanjan language of southeast Borneo, with which it shares about 80–90 per cent of its vocabulary. It is probable that over a period of centuries traders of Indonesian origin moved between a number of points along the western shores of the Indian Ocean, only gradually founding permanent settlements in Madagascar. The ancestors of the Maanjan are said to have formed part of the Barito group of Borneo who travelled to Sumatra and Java in the first five centuries of the present era. There, they acquired new skills and also new words under the influence of the Hinduized states (Ellis and Randrianja 1998). The most populous and developed societies – located mainly in Java and Bali – were those based on wet-rice cultivation, a highly dynamic system under which a large volume of additional labour can be absorbed before diminishing returns set in. Javanese royalty evolved slowly, under Indian influence. The most famous kingdom was Majapait (late thirteenth to early fifteenth centuries), which exercised suzerainty over large areas of Indonesia, without integrating it into a single nation-state. Despite this lack of unity at home, there was a sort of Javanese hegemony over parts of the mainland, including Cambodia, and military attacks of unknown duration and much cultural influence on the kingdom of Champa. The islands were subsequently colonized by the Dutch, beginning in the early seventeenth century, leading to substantial Western transformation of the economic and technological fields. There was less transmission of Western values to Indonesians, except for a small educated élite, of which an important group subsequently became leaders of the nationalist movement. Japan influenced Indonesia much later, during the Second World War. The Japanese Occupation introduced a particular style of politics – replacing the Dutch bureaucratic style with highly charged ideological appeals, mass mobilization, and the militarization of society – which continued to be dominant in the decades after the Japanese had left.

If we sum up these episodes in the narrative into a single ‘meta-myth’ or ‘super-myth’, it is that the flow of influence between Indonesia and the rest of the world was unidirectional, with Indonesia generally in the position of the cultural importer. Indic, Islamic, Western, and finally Japanese influences are

Myths and mental space 13 seen as determinant. Even the royal civilization of Java, where the strongest cultural and political tradition evolved, is commonly seen as a relatively late development deriving from Indian influence, with the Javanese contribution limited to local animist beliefs. However, there was Indonesian migration to Madagascar, with accompanying cultural influence, as well as some political and cultural influence on mainland Southeast Asia. The Japanese grand narrative

Though the ethnic origins of the Japanese have been much debated, it is generally (though not universally) agreed that they originate from two peoples, called the Jōmon and the Yayoi. The Jōmon period is usually thought to have begun between 11,000 and 10,500 BCE. It was succeeded by the Yayoi period beginning (depending on the basis of one’s dating) some time in the second half of the first millennium BCE. There has been debate about whether or not the Yayoi were descendants of the Jōmon or immigrants, with current opinion favouring the view that they were immigrants, who are generally presumed to have come from Korea. The Yayoi population made substantial technological and social advances, based on wet-rice cultivation, over the earlier Jōmon. The Yayoi period was followed by the Yamato/Kofun period (c. third to eighth centuries CE) during which there was substantial Sinification, in the fields of language, culture and religion, as well as substantial Korean immigration. Despite this heavy continental influence Japan retained some indigenous beliefs, institutions and practices. Among these was Shintō, which was both a folk religion and a religion intimately associated with the imperial family, which established political overlordship around the late fifth or early sixth century. Despite a cultural stress on harmony, propriety and hierarchical order, Japan’s political history is one of constant conflict and bloodshed, and it was not until the Tokugawa family established its hegemony at the beginning of the seventeenth century that peace and stability ensued for almost two and a half centuries. Japan’s élite made a conscious commitment to Westernization following the Meiji restoration initiated in 1868, and had great success in modernizing the economy and strengthening the state. From the early twentieth century, Japan began a significant military expansion, even defeating Western powers, which led many other Asian countries, particularly those that were under colonial rule, to try to follow the Japanese example. During the Second World War Japan conquered much of Southeast Asia, and though this occupation was brief it was nevertheless influential in the development of new political styles and institutions in Southeast Asian states.


Myths and mental space

To sum up, the Japanese ‘meta-myth’ or ‘super-myth’ is that in pre-modern times China and Korea were the sources of most important influence. Later, Japan underwent Western influence, and later still briefly exerted influence on Southeast Asia – a region with which it had previously had no significant interaction – during the Second World War. It is only at this point, the Second World War, that the Japanese ‘meta-myth’ intersects with the Indonesian one. These views about who influences whom feed into a hierarchical ranking. Said (1978), in his famous book Orientalism, pointed out that there is a hierarchical ranking of ‘The West’ and ‘The Orient’, with the latter representing the inferior ‘Other’, a view of the world propagated in Western academic discourse. What Said did not note was that there is also an intra-Asian hierarchy, in which there are profound inequalities. One determinant of relative rank in this hierarchy is whether or not a country has a high civilization that has influenced other parts of the Asian world. This is not the only determinant of rank – economic success and modernization, for example, may count for as much or more – but nevertheless it is not a value-neutral issue. The writing of ‘grand narratives’ has become less fashionable in historywriting in recent times. Paradoxically, this makes their influence on academia’s world-view even greater, just because it is more covert and unexamined. The grand narratives established in the past remain, unquestioned, in the back of our minds, always setting the context for the local histories, gender studies, and other smaller-scale studies that dominate academia today. This situation is particularly pernicious in areas of study such as Indonesia where grand narratives are not the result of extensive work by many distinguished scholars over many centuries, but have been hastily constructed by a few, on the basis of very slight evidence. There has already been a little questioning of this received picture. Solheim (1989) has argued that there were earlier connections between Japan and Southeast Asia, by which he seems to mean mainland Southeast Asia. He argues that there was actually an extensive maritime network which went back into the fifth millennium BCE. This network was responsible for bringing the typical Southeast Asian paddy rice culture to southern Korea and from there to Kyushu in Japan. This scenario certainly breaks down the separation between Southeast Asia (at least its northern part) and Japan. However, what the evidence suggested to me was not a diffuse trade zone with many cross-cutting ties and blending influences, but something much more sharply defined: a one-to-one relationship – a bilateral rather than multilateral relationship, one might say – between Indonesia and Japan, which is a more radical revision of the grand narrative. The initial small intimations which raised this possibility are described in the following section.

‘That’s funny’: questioning the myths
The perceived lack of historical influence or interaction between Indonesia and Japan produced a complete separation between their respective histories as taught in Australian universities. So it was only by chance – three small things serendipitously encountered – that I came to contemplate the possibility that this

Myths and mental space 15 separation did not reflect reality. Isaac Asimov is said to have remarked that the most exciting phrase in science, the one that heralds new discoveries, is not ‘Eureka’, but ‘that’s funny’ (Fripp et al. 2000: 32). And this was the reaction evoked in me from those three small things. First, I read a court diary from the Heian period – the Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon (Morris 1967) – which seemed to bear a close resemblance to Old Javanese court life as reflected in its literature. Second, I found a passing reference to Javanese rice being a subgroup of japonica rice. And third, I came across another Japanese link in an article on Javanese horse lore (katuranggan) written at the end of the nineteenth century by the Dutch scholar J.J.M. de Groot (de Groot 1899). De Groot too seems to have been prompted to further investigation by seeing something that didn’t fit into the accepted categories, to wit three Japanese watercolours painted in 1765 for the information of the Dutch East India Company officials on Dejima who had been asked to purchase three Persian stallions for the emperor of Japan (de Groot 1899: 201). Two of the watercolours depicted unfavourable hair-whorls, and the third favourable ones. De Groot found a virtually complete correspondence between the marks depicted in these three watercolours and those identified in written accounts of Indonesian beliefs. The unfavourable signs both in Java and Japan are (de Groot 1899: 203–4): 1 2 3 4 5 A mark under the horse’s eyes, said to bring the owner sorrow, misfortune and tears. A mark above the eyes which is said to be the sign of a skittish, capricious, ill-natured horse. A mark in the middle of the chest, which is believed characteristic of a horse likely to cause the death of its rider. Marks on the knuckles, believed to bring misfortune. A mark on that part of the horse’s body covered by the girth when it is saddled. A horse with this mark is regarded by the Javanese as panas, ‘hot’, and liable to cause its owner all sorts of ailments and sicknesses. Also a mark in the middle of the underbelly brings all sorts of bad luck. A mark where the mane ends on the withers. A horse with this mark is believed likely to cause the death of its owner. A mark on the rump, so that the hair sticks into the rectum, which is very unfavourable and makes the owner and his wife and children panas.

6 7

The favourable signs are (de Groot 1899: 204–5): 1 Two marks, one immediately below the other, in the middle of the forehead somewhat above the line of the eyes. This indicates a fast horse which will be a good mount for a soldier or policeman. Another sign on the forehead, made up of four marks forming a cross, indicates a horse that will protect its rider against all misfortunes. A sign on the back, believed to bring the owner of the horse a superabundance of rice.


Figure 1.1 Eighteenth-century Japanese watercolours illustrating unlucky marks on

Myths and mental space 17 3 4 5 6 A mark on each knee-cap, indicating a swift steed suitable for cavalry. A mark on the croup, far enough back to be covered by the loop of the crupper, which indicates a fast horse. A mark on the underend of the rump, indicating a good and trustworthy warhorse. A mark on the back of the thighs. This sign is ambiguous: it can mean that the owner will be able to pay his debts speedily, but also that others will be able to take away his goods.

De Groot concluded that the correspondence between the Japanese and Indonesian signs was far too great to be coincidence. He turned to Chinese sources to find a common source for the two systems, since both societies had to a greater or lesser extent been exposed to Chinese influence, and belief in lucky and unlucky hair-whorls is a well-established part of Chinese lore. However, the Chinese texts consulted by de Groot employed a different system of classification, based around the yin-yang dualism in some cases. De Groot concluded that there were pitifully few points in common with the Indonesian and Japanese signs. This article at first seemed to me somewhat incongruous, since ‘everyone knew’ that there were no cultural links between Java and Japan. Yet these three signs, so trivial as they appear, continued to disturb me. As an undergraduate I had noticed that Japanese and Javanese four-syllable names were often

Figure 1.2 Eighteenth-century Japanese watercolour illustrating lucky marks on


Myths and mental space

structurally similar, but it had never occurred to me that there was any historical link behind this. Now I came across some small puzzling details, details that were not explained by the received version of Indonesian history. ‘So what?’ you may ask. Well, small details are sometimes (though not always) significant. And in fact the identification of the significant detail that reveals a larger reality has always been a vital skill in all areas of human life. We are all descendants of remote African ancestors who recognized the detail of the lion’s spoor, and survived, and of ancestors who noticed plants or marks on rocks that indicated the presence of water and potential for a settlement. At a later epoch whole areas of human achievement have depended on this skill: physical diagnosis in medicine, for example is the art of culling the significant detail from the welter of irrelevant information. Historians, comfortably ensconced at their desks, can survive without this skill, and may be tempted just to dismiss small anomalies which do not accord with received wisdom. I decided to read more, and found that I was actually not the first to wonder if there was a significant link between Indonesia and Japan. Subsequently, it transpired that a number of specialists in different areas had asked the same question. Some of these are listed below.

Prehistoric pottery and customs
At a particular period in Japanese prehistory, i.e. the Yayoi period, there was a change in the style of Japanese pottery. Bellwood has noted that Yayoi pottery includes flasks, cut-outs in ring feet, red-slipped surfaces and incised scroll patterns which have an affinity with the pottery of island Southeast Asia. Bellwood also notes that jar burial was practiced in Yayoi Japan and in island Southeast Asia, and that the latter is quite different from Indian jar burials (Bellwood 1997: 306–7). Bellwood’s explanation is not the same as the one put forward in this book, but he does note the commonalities.

Lommel (1970: 182) writes that only in Japan and Java has the mask developed into a pure ‘theatre mask’ independent of ancestor worship and mystery plays, noting that the highly stylized theatre mask, the third of his three mask types, evolved from the original ancestor mask in Java and Bali and in Japan. He is convinced that there is a relationship between the Japanese and Javanese masks, and his continuing fascination with this hypothesized relationship is indicated by the following selection of quotations:

‘Javanese masks have developed their own, very characteristic style, which, in turn, has influenced the masks of Japan.’ (Lommel 1970: 93). ‘Japanese masks seem to have been influenced by Indonesia, above all by Java – at least it appears so when a purely visual comparison of masks is made. Historically this cannot be proved; the Japanese philosopher

Myths and mental space 19 Kitayama tried to do so, but failed to publish his findings before his death. When the influence of Indonesia is taken into consideration and examined in detail, Japanese theatre traditions do, in fact, seem to spring more from Indonesian and South East Asian sources than from China. In Java the live theatre clearly originates from the puppet theatre, and a close relationship between puppet show and live theatre can also be shown to exist in Japan.’ (Lommel 1970: 180–1). ‘The Japanese theory of stylization starts from the premise that puppets can be moved about in a more stylized and strictly circumscribed way than human beings. This is a theory which is put into effect in the traditional theatre of Java.’ (Lommel 1970: 181). ‘Japanese masks have a time-honoured tradition They have survived to the present day as theatre masks in the traditional Japanese theatre, and are highly sophisticated works of art. Their probable roots in an ancestor-cult or in shamanistic ceremonies of exorcism are too deeply buried ever to be rediscovered. One root, however, would appear to reach as far as Java and Bali, where there are masks and puppets of an artistic perfection comparable to that of Japanese masks. This link cannot be proved historically, but highly convincing stylistic similarities certainly exist.’ (Lommel 1970: 214). ‘Links between the Japanese and Javanese masks are obvious.’ (Lommel 1970: 216).

In summary, Lommel sees that there is a relationship not only between the form of the Japanese and Javanese masks, but also between certain theatrical and aesthetic preferences, notably stylization, associated with the masked theatre. Lucas too concluded that there were certainly closer cultural relations between Java and Japan in early times, since some Old Javanese masks have pronounced Japanese characteristics, and indeed can scarcely be distinguished from Bugaku masks (Lucas 1973: 9).2 Can one specify which particular types of mask are found in both Java and Japan? Here is a provisional list. 1 Lucas points out that the Javanese klana bapung is virtually identical with the Japanese Ry ū-ō mask, one of the long-nosed masks that he sees as having phallic significance. Japanese Ry ū-ō masks are in one piece, whereas the Javanese ones have a dragon helmet. This dragon helmet (torika-buto) is known in Old Japanese literature, and is worn as a cult mask. The Japanese Ry ū-ō masks combine dragon and long nose in one piece and can be considered as a later form, with the Javanese masks representing the older form (Lucas 1973: 138). Photographs of the Japanese and Javanese ‘dragon’ masks can be seen in Lucas, p. 140 (the Javanese example is a relatively modern one, first published in Pigeaud 1938) and in Nishikawa’s illustrations (Nishikawa 1978: 130, 134–7). The Javanese Sembung langu mask with puffed-out cheeks is also very like the Japanese usufuki or usubuki type (Lucas 1973: 168).


20 Myths and mental space 3 Recurrent types found in both Javanese and Japanese masks noted by me include: the wrinkled mask; the smooth, white-painted, narrow-eyed mask; the Karura half-mask/ bird mask; and the fanged mask.

The origin of Japanese masks is disputed. Thus Noma claims that masks ‘undoubtedly’ first came to Japan from the Asiatic mainland, despite the fact that today they are no longer much used there. Gigaku, he says, came to Japan from a kingdom of central China called Go. The first recorded performance is from 612, when Mimashi [Korean: Mimaji] who had learned Gigaku in Go, came to Japan by way of the Korean kingdom of Kudara. Nishikawa (1978: 21), by contrast, thinks it is quite likely that Gigaku masks did not originate in China but in West or Southeast Asia.

The ‘southern’ character of significant Japanese architectural forms has been noted by many scholars. Waterson (1991: 15) writes that the Neolithic Yayoi people are the most likely bearers of Austronesian language and culture into Japan since the development of gable-roofed pile structures in Japan is associated with the late Neolithic and early Metal Age Yayoi people. Model houses and store houses of clay, placed in the tombs of the ruling classes of the third to seventh centuries CE, show saddle roofs, sometimes with gable horns, and pile structure. These are also illustrated in pictures on clay tablets and the backs of mirrors. While residual traces of this distinctively built form may still be found in the architecture of some rural areas, the outstanding example of it is to be seen in the Shintō shrines of Ise and Izumo in southern Honshu. These sacred shrines of Ise and Izumo, together with the imperial palace, are the only Japanese buildings permitted to have crossed-horn finials. These finials are a characteristic Indonesian architectural feature which possesses something of a status element in Indonesia itself and which seems to have become of still greater importance in ‘the more distant regions of Austronesian influence – notably in Japan’ (Waterson 1991: 11, 15–18). The shrine of Ise is probably the holiest Shintō centre. Every twenty years the buildings of the shrine complex, built of Japanese cypress, are demolished and rebuilt in exactly the same detail. The style in which the shrine is built is known as shinmei-zukuri, and it has fixed proportions. The Mikeden preserves it in its most ancient form, with walls consisting of boards that cross at the corners log-cabin fashion in the style of primitive raised-floor granaries. Tange and Kawazoe also believe the gabled roof was brought to Japan with rice cultivation (Tange and Kawazoe 1965: 193). Ridge-supporting posts are fairly common in Southeast Asia and the presence of munamochi-bashira in Ise is another sign that its tradition goes back to the Yayoi. The gabled roof was chiefly used for raised-floor granaries, whereas most dwelling houses, as is shown by clay models which have been found, had hipped or hipped-and-gable roofs. Ancient records show that until medieval times the Geheiden, Treasure Hall and the

Myths and mental space 21 Naik ū and Gek ū as well as subsidiary shrines such as the Aramatsuri shrine were built like the Mikeden. The enclosures of Naik ū and Gek ū have a single post about seven feet high, the shin-no-mihashira (‘sacred central post’), which are the holiest and most mysterious objects in the Ise shrine. Such a post is also referred to as nakago no mibashira (central august pillar) (Aston 1905: 90). Even now, hidden under the floors of the present sanctuaries of Naik ū and Gek ū are two such shin-nomihashira (Tange and Kawazoe 1965: 167). This is analogous to the Old Javanese single-pillar building. Galestin’s study of Old Javanese reliefs showed that these buildings always had a sacred or devotional function, as they still do in present-day Bali (where they are called pasimpangan). Sometimes the reliefs show these buildings next to ponds, springs or ornamental waters, and in Bali too they are situated so as to serve as temporary dwelling places for water gods. In the reliefs and in Bali, they are also found in gardens, woods or along the road. Galestin speculates that there may be a connection with the offering houses to Dewi Sri which are found in Javanese rice fields. (These also rest on one pillar, but they have a different floor plan and roof, and look more like an imitation rice barn than an offering-pillar furnished with a roof [Galestin 1936: 31–4]). These little shrines were, it is most probable, the analogues of the Japanese kamidana which went on to become such a potent icon of Shintō, associated as it was with the Grand Shrine of Ise, where Kōtaijingū (Naikū) enshrines Amaterasu-Omikami, who gave Ninigi-no-Mikoto the great gift of rice agriculture. The importance of the kamidana is reflected both by the program to persuade the population to install it in their homes during the Japanese occupation of Korea, and by Macarthur’s later effort in the Occupation period to remove it from all Japanese schools and offices. Earlier scholars have commented on the resemblance of Yamato architecture to Indonesian buildings (Hane 1991: 24 n.16), and to readers who know something of Java, Kidder’s comment concerning the sacral nature of the rice-granary, used as the prototype for palaces and shrines in Japan, points to a commonality with the status of the Javanese lumbung (rice-granary).3

Iron weapons
In this case, earlier scholars have not been much struck by the resemblance between the Javanese kris and the Japanese sword. This is because there is not such a salient likeness in form and function as exists for masks and architecture. Japanese swords as we know them look very different from Javanese krisses, although Yayoi blades do look like the early Javanese krisses. What they have in common is that they are made using the same technique. All over the world smiths have sought to impart texture and pattern to their blades. They can do this in various ways, of which the main ones4 are as follows. 1 2 From slag inclusions (wrought iron). From natural structural homogeneity. Blades making use of this phenomenon are called ‘true Damascus’, or ‘Oriental Damascus’, or ‘crystalline

22 Myths and mental space Damascus’. They are directly forged from a small cake of heterogeneous steely iron which traditionally was produced in India. This steel, which is called wootz, was produced by heating iron ore, charcoal, and vegetable matter in a crucible for a prolonged period of time. By a process of enriching the steel mix with carbon and slowly heating and cooling it for a long time, the Indians succeeded in obtaining a rock-hard cast (crucible) steel. Patterns were formed out of networks of steel showing different metallographic structures and extended throughout the full thickness of the blade, and the pattern was exposed with final grinding when the natural heterogeneity of the steel was exposed. The polished sword-blade with oriental damascening displayed a pattern that looked like running water, so these blades were also referred to as ‘watered blades’. From lamination. Such blades were made up of a billet composed of alternating layers of steel and/or iron. The contrasting materials would be welded together in sandwich fashion and then folded back over upon themselves a number of times. Many such blades have the appearance of contour lines such as are found on maps. Both the kris and the Japanese sword are produced by this process. The kris smith stacks layers of steel on top of each other, and twists, cuts, and punches them to obtain motifs that were obviously not present in his base material. Whereas the Persian weapon smith just smelts his steel expertly and forms the blade, the kris smith and the Japanese swordsmith must undertake a much more elaborate process of working their metals together before they can produce a patterned blade (van Duren n.d.: 30–1). Confusingly, such blades are also sometimes referred to as ‘damascened’.


Of all the Southeast Asian blades made in this way, Javanese blades are by far the most complex. The pamor (a word denoting the mixture of metals and also the pattern this produces) is routinely laminated into thirty-two, sixty-four or more than a hundred layers, using two or three types of irons. The procedure consists of forging, severing, combining and reforging of the original billets of pamor and the irons to achieve fine and intricate configurations in the patterns. Further, this work is then transformed into three-dimensional or textured designs by repeated etchings, over long periods, with lemon segments and arsenic darkener. The rough, wood-grain effects sometimes have a strange spongy appearance to the uninitiated eye, but experts recognize the Javanese examples as the most skilled and controlled of all pamor blades (Frey 1986: 38–9). The production of the pamor is of crucial importance: it is during its manufacture that the empu shows himself in his full sacred function (Rassers 1982: 233). There are five basic types of pamor: wos wutah, scattered rice grains, sekar pala, nutmeg flowers, sekar ngadeg, straight standing flowers, blarak ngirid, parallel coconut leaves, and sekar temu, ginger flowers. The Balinese pamor types – such as pamor santa, pamor slasa, pamor tunggak semi and pamor mailut – mostly fall into these basic categories but the Javanese ones are much more variously developed (Jasper and Pirngadie 1930: 184).

Myths and mental space 23 The Japanese blade is often claimed to be the finest example of controlled work in the forging of a sword blade. Apart from lamination, a process of differential tempering is also used. The swordsmith applies varying thicknesses of different types of clay to the surface of the blade before it is quenched. Thicker and more insulating clay over the back and body of the blade slows cooling and results in less brittle and more malleable iron there, while the edge cools more quickly and is harder, though more brittle. This process also produces a boundary, the hamon, at the time of quenching, with a pattern of increased brightness. In all periods of the ‘old’ or Koto swords, i.e. prior to the seventeenth century, there are only the following hamon: sugu-ha (straight), chōji (cloves), notare (undulating) hitatsura (mottled) and gunome (invected) (Sato 1983: 190). It is worth noting that not only is the number, five, the same as that of the basic types of pamor but there is also even an overlap in the terminology. The hilt fitting is another important element in Javanese kris lore. The Javanese use the term mendhak for a small transition piece and selut for a larger fitting which forms a cup around the base of the hilt (Frey 1986: 52–4). There is an illustration of a mendhak in Jasper and Pirngadie (1930: 200). There is a possible overlap in terminology with Japanese blades. The Japanese term menuki, refers to a pair of small ornaments in decorated metal placed on either side of the hilt (kept in place by glue, concealed pins, decorative studs, etc.). Although originally intended to prevent the hands from slipping they later became an almost purely decorative feature (Sato 1983: 162). They are hypothesized to be vestigial survivals of the decorated ends of the retaining-pegs of ancient swords (Robinson 1961: 67), but perhaps they derive from the Javanese mendak, from which the word menuki may also be derived. In conclusion, there are quite striking correspondences between the most famous Javanese and Japanese weapons. Leaving aside the rituals associated with their production and their sacred significance in both Japan and Java, we find more material correspondences in the shape of the oldest blades, most strikingly in the technique of manufacture of the kris and the sword (lamination), also in the five-fold classification of the basic pamor and hamon, in the styles with the same name, and even perhaps in the term mendhak / menuki. A striking similarity between complex human productions has a greater probative value than a similarity between very simple ones. For example, if I go to a distant country and hear someone singing the tune of ‘Baa, Baa, Black Sheep’, I will be less likely to claim there must have been musical influence from my musical tradition than if I hear them singing the tune of Porgi Amor. In this example of musical compositions, similarity cannot be attributed to functional constraints, something which has to be taken into account when comparing, say, jugs or bowls, which are very much constrained by their function. In the cases discussed here, striking similarities between sophisticated artefacts such as shrines or masks have to be taken

24 Myths and mental space more seriously than, say, finding that a simple blue-and-red tartan had been produced in two different places. Nevertheless, it is better to have genetic rather than typological connections, and that is why I decided to look at genetic links between rice varieties, and at links between Asian populations. But first, some background on the prehistoric context, which is provided in the next chapter.


The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia

A famous forensic scientist named Edmond Locard (1877–1966) once remarked that every contact leaves a trace, and this has become a principle of forensic science (Robertson and Vignaux 1995: Ch. 1). Of course, finding this trace is often extremely difficult, which was certainly to be the case in this investigation. The first thing to be decided, of course, was where to look. Now, the things that had suggested to me and to certain earlier scholars that there might be a link between Java and Japan, the things that triggered the ‘that’s funny’ reaction, were things that bespoke a well-developed civilization. They included masks and theatre, and a quite sophisticated style of architecture. But presumably the link had not occurred in historical times, or it would have been mentioned in some written source(s). This suggested it might have been made in later prehistory, when there were already rather complex societies. So I decided to look at the prehistory of the two countries to see when civilization first developed. In this chapter I present a brief summary of the relevant time-spans, and indicate what seems to me to be the most likely time of the contact. After doing some reading on Japanese prehistory, I decided the most likely period was the Yayoi period, which has been described as the period when Japan’s first civilization developed along with rice agriculture. The link between civilization and agriculture was no surprise. Bronowski has written that the largest single step in the ascent of man is the shift to a settled village agriculture: it is the change from which civilization took off (Bronowski 1976: 59–64). In much of Asia this Agricultural Revolution was based on rice cultivation: in the cases of Java and Japan, wet-rice cultivation. In this chapter I begin by setting the Yayoi period in its context, outlining the major innovations that characterized it, and the dominant theories about who introduced these innovations. I then go on to Indonesian prehistory, and then look at artefacts and the traces of contact. Indonesian prehistory, particularly Javanese prehistory, is very badly researched indeed, but that does not mean that there are no clues at all. Japanese prehistory is certainly much better researched than Indonesian prehistory. Even so, there are considerable gaps and deficiencies in the evidence, and it is certainly not the case that there is a universally accepted consensus regarding the major developments (occasional assurances to the contrary notwithstanding).


The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia

Japan’s earliest civilization
As already noted, it is the Yayoi period that is of particular interest to this investigation. However, to gain an idea of the extent of the innovations made in this period, a small amount of background on the preceding period, the Jōmon period, is helpful. The Jōmon period The Jōmon period is usually thought to have begun between 11,000 and 10,500 BCE. The Jōmon people lived by hunting, fishing and gathering, including intensive shell-fishing in suitable regions. They developed a little horticulture (growing gourds and beans, and perhaps chestnuts) late in the period. They used polished stone tools, lived in pit dwellings, and made elaborately decorated pottery by hand. They practised tooth-pulling as a rite of passage, and seem to have had a religious life. They differed significantly from Neolithic societies elsewhere in the world in that agriculture remained undeveloped. Two reasons for the failure of agriculture to develop have been suggested: first, because hunting, fishing and gathering provided a rich livelihood (an extremely wide range of land animals, fish, plants, molluscs and birds were exploited, including deer and boar, sea bream and sea perch, oysters, clams, tuna and sea mammals, chestnuts, walnuts, and acorns); and second, because Japan had a limited area of plains and nutrient-poor soil. Jōmon culture thrived in eastern Honshu and Hokkaido, and the Jōmon diet was particularly rich in eastern Japan. The antiquity and richness of its pottery distinguishes Jōmon society from other hunter-gatherer societies. Pottery occurs very early in Japan: the oldest known pots were found in a Kyushu site and are dated to 10,750 ± 500 BCE. These are the pots that give the period its name – the term Jōmon (cord-marking) describes the type of decoration on the pottery. The oldest date for Chinese pottery is still substantially later than the earliest Jōmon pieces, and no known comparable pottery has been found in China. Jōmon pottery is ornate, florid, and shows much free improvisation in both form and decoration: it has been said to show endless variety. The period is conventionally divided up, on the basis of pottery styles, into six sub-phases: Incipient Jōmon, Earliest (also called Initial) Jōmon, Early Jōmon, Middle Jōmon, Late Jōmon and Latest Jōmon. The actual dates given for these periods in the literature vary, sometimes significantly: for instance, the beginning of Early Jōmon is sometimes dated as 4000 and sometimes as 5000 BCE. The following dates appear to be scientifically well founded: Incipient Jōmon 11,000–7500 BCE, Earliest Jōmon, c. 7500–4000 BCE; Early Jōmon, c. 4000–3500 BCE; Middle Jōmon, c. 3000–2000 BCE; Late Jōmon, c. 2000–1000 BCE; and Latest Jōmon, c. 1000–500 BCE (Farris 1998: 6 and Keally: Late Final Jōmon pottery is called tottaimon or Nagahara. Opinions have differed about the cultural connections of the Jōmon: some claim that there was strong Siberian influence, while, on the other hand, many

The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia


Japanese scholars consider the southern Pacific area to have been the place of origin of innovations that entered Japan in the middle Jōmon period, for instance the four-cornered axe. Research done on Jōmon DNA is relevant to these differences of opinion. The work of Horai et al. (1989) seemed to suggest a link with Indonesia and Malaysia. However, other research suggests that the Jōmon were probably an ethnically heterogeneous population. This is discussed in detail in Chapter Five. The introduction of rice cultivation Finds of rice, which is thought not to be native to Japan, first appear in the Jōmon period. Five main types of evidence are used to document the beginnings of rice agriculture in Japan, i.e. carbonized rice grains, rice impressions on pottery, pollen, phytoliths and paddy fields. This evidence is discussed in Hudson (1999: 108–15). In 2003, some Japanese scholars of the Yayoi submitted carbonized rice grains to radiocarbon dating and found that the earliest sites in northern Kyushu, such as Itazuke, actually may have been founded around 900 BCE (Keally 2004). A couple of points need to be made about this date. First, these are rice grains which could possibly be evidence of trade rather than of agriculture. Second, the date of about 1000 BCE previously suggested by Hudson for the first arrival of rice in Japan would still seem to hold good. Others have suggested slightly earlier dates: Tsukada (1986: 48) writes that the oldest evidence of rice culture in Japan comes from the Itazuke site, which he dates to about 1200 BCE. The second oldest date is the Nakamura site in southern Kyushu, c. 900 BCE. This was taken to indicate that rice cultivation began in the Late or Latest Jōmon in Kyushu. Kanaseki (1986: 318–19), however, is of the opinion (based on re-classification of ceramics, the basis of periodization in Japanese prehistory) that the Itazuke site should be regarded as a Yayoi site. The view that rice cultivation in Japan does not occur before the Yayoi period is also held by other prehistorians, such as Thorne and Raymond (1989: 142), though Chang (1987: 77) writes that rices were introduced into Kyushu from east China and possibly some from southern Korea in the Late Jōmon period (c. 1000 BCE). Evidence for rice over the following 500 years gradually increases, but it was still mainly limited to north Kyushu. Usually, however, only sites with evidence of wet-rice cultivation are termed Initial Yayoi (thus, though rice grain imprints have been noticed on pottery from eleven sites, eight of them in Kyushu (Kidder 1993: 78), these sites are regarded as Latest Jōmon). It has been argued that wet-rice cultivation may have been preceded by dry-field cultivation in parts of Kyushu in the Late–Final Jōmon, but sufficient evidence to confirm this theory is lacking (Hudson 1999: 113–14). Hudson argues that one should distinguish between small-scale cultivation, which is widely practised by hunter-gatherers, and full-scale farming or agriculture. Jōmon cultivation appears typical of the first, the sort of economic activity practised by


The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia

many foraging groups, whereas the agriculture that appeared in the Yayoi period clearly marked a revolutionary break with preceding subsistence patterns. The Yayoi period Farris writes that, beginning in the fourth century BCE, the technologies of wet-rice agriculture and metallurgy entered northern Kyushu (in his opinion, from southern Korea), initiating an epoch identified archaeologically as the Yayoi (Farris 1998: 6): the name is actually derived from the pottery found in the Yayoi district in Tokyo in 1884. Oddly enough, no secure date exists for the beginning of the Initial Yayoi. Most Japanese scholars give 400 BCE as an approximation for the start of the Initial phase (Hudson 1999: 119–20). This is a figure reached by working back from Middle Yayoi artefacts cross-dated with those from the continent. More precise dating of this important transition awaits better radiocarbon data (Hudson 1999: 119–20). The earliest paddy field remains, from Nabatake in Saga, are from the Yamanotera phase of the Initial Yayoi (Hudson 1999: 111–12). Barnes, however (1999: 170, 185) classifies the Yamanotera period as Final Jōmon and dates it to c. 500 BCE. This is because drawing lines between periods based on pottery typology has led to different positions as to where the Jōmon period ends and the Yayoi begins. And, given the lack of radiocarbon data, there is no really reliable way of saying whether 400 or 500 BCE is a more reliable date for the Yamanotera phase. Subsequent phases of Yayoi culture are conventionally labelled Early, Middle and Late. It is the introduction of rice-growing and metallurgy that define the Yayoi period, and contrast it with the preceding Jōmon period (Farris 1998: 24). The earliest stage of Yayoi culture saw the sudden appearance of wet-rice farming based on bunded paddy fields. The introduction of wet-rice agriculture and iron tools and weapons has been defined by some as the crucial moment when Japan moved toward civilization (Kidder 1993: 21), producing a great contrast between the long, technologically non-innovative Jōmon period and the multitude of enormous technological, political, social and religious changes that took place within the – by comparison extremely short – Yayoi period. This contrasts with other parts of the world such as Europe – and Java – where these major developments evolved over a much longer period. Archaeologists have found numerous hoes, shovels, stone reaping knives and sickles, rice paddies and grains of rice (Farris 1998: 32). Most of the rice paddies were located in western Japan, and typically located in low-lying swampy areas. It is believed that the way rice was grown involved transplanting seedlings from prepared beds into flooded paddies, a process known later as taue. The typical mode of harvest was to employ a reaping knife (made of stone, shell, metal or wood) and painstakingly cut each ripened ear of rice from the stalk in a process that must have consumed intensive labour and weeks of time (Barnes 1999: 186). Despite this heavy workload, this method remained standard in wet-rice farming in Java right up to the introduction of intensified cultivation in the Suharto years.

The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia Who introduced rice cultivation?


There has been debate over a long period as to whether the innovations made in the Yayoi period were the work of the Jōmon population, or whether there was significant immigration involved. Thus, a standard text reports that Suzuki Hisashi’s post-war studies initially led him to conclude that the Yayoi were Jōmon descendants, but that later studies convinced him they were Korean immigrants, and that virtually all cultural features of the period were introduced from China and Korea through north Kyushu (Kidder 1993: 22, 81). The latter point of view is now dominant. One of the main reasons for this is that skeletal evidence reveals that people with a different head shape and stature are found from this time. In addition, it seems to me that the introduction of a number of very radical innovations in a short time-span argues for attributing their introduction into Japan to an immigrant group that had already developed agriculture, metallurgy and a rather advanced social organization. Barnes writes that it is ‘commonly agreed’ that wet-rice cultivation ‘must have spread from the Shanghai Delta region’ to the Korean peninsula and then to the Japanese Islands. Hudson’s model of Japanese ethnogenesis also posits a scenario of Korean immigrant farmers with an intensive agricultural complex (Hudson 1999: 118) as does that of Farris (Farris 1998: 6) and Mizoguchi (2002). Barnes goes on: ‘Diffusion of wet-rice technology from the southern Mainland northeastwards into the Peninsular had already occurred by the end of the Zhou period’ (Barnes 1999: 168–9). It will be noted that there is a shift here from a statement about a common agreement that something ‘must have’ happened to a statement that something had actually occurred. So it seems reasonable to presuppose that there is some evidence for this. This evidence is however not evident, since the same section of this chapter reveals that there have actually been no prehistoric paddy fields yet excavated on the Chinese mainland or even on the Korean peninsula. It is true that many peninsular artefacts have been recovered in northern Kyushu in association with Japan’s earliest paddy fields. However, as Barnes herself notes, tools do not have to be used in one culture in the same way as in another – for example a Chinese stone reaping knife first used for millet culture was subsequently used for rice (Barnes 1999: 169–70). It should be noted that Hudson’s account of the Yayoi period (Hudson 1999: Ch. 4) sees the arrival of rice in Japan as coterminous with, or only slightly later than, its introduction into Korea and thus very likely part of the same as yet unknown general process. In this book I will aim to show just what this ‘as yet unknown’ process was, and who was involved in it.

The Yayoi expansion Initial Yayoi sites are mainly in north Kyushu, with rare, isolated ones in other regions. But the subsequent Early Yayoi phase (c. 300–100 BCE) saw clear population expansion from Kyushu and the establishment of full-scale agriculture across western Japan and into parts of the eastern archipelago. The following


The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia

Middle Yayoi period (c. 100 BCE– CE 1) saw further expansion and massive population growth in many regions, with chiefdom-level societies already present at least in western Japan. Yayoi culture never extended to Hokkaido, where the Jōmon way of life continued until the eighth century CE, or the Ryukyus (see further, Hudson 1999: 136–7; Barnes 1999: 185). The most distinctive feature of the Early Yayoi phase mentioned above is the expansion of Ongagawa-type ceramics from northeast Kyushu. Traditionally, Ongagawa ceramics and rice were thought to have spread in tandem, but this picture has been somewhat modified by evidence of Yayoi rice-farming sites before the Ongagawa expansion. However, this ‘Ongagawa expansion’ certainly involved a dramatic increase in rice cultivation. During the Early Yayoi a fully developed and rapidly expanding agricultural society was established in large parts of the western archipelago, with expansion into eastern Honshu more rapid than was previously thought. This expansion of Yayoi farmers continued well after the end of the Yayoi period in the north and south of the islands. The Yayoi expansion into the Kantō followed massive depopulation and subsistence distress in the Final Jōmon period, for which various hypotheses such as disease and climatic change have been put forward. This depopulation suggests that the genetic contribution of the Kantō Jōmon people to the later Japanese population may have been minor. The agricultural transition in the Kantō can be divided into two stages. The first dates to the Early Yayoi and the first part of the Middle Yayoi of western Japan. At this period the Kantō was still sparsely populated, and sites from this stage are extremely rare. In contrast, the second stage, which begins in the late Middle Yayoi, saw a dramatic increase in site numbers and complexity. Ditched farming villages begin in the Suwada phase and become common in the following Miyanodai phase, when massive population growth began. This phase is also marked by an explosive increase in large, clearly agricultural settlements, some of which are ditched. Immigranttype Yayoi skeletons also appear in this phase. Archaeologically, there is almost no overlap between the first and second stages referred to above, something which again suggests immigration rather than continuity with the Jōmon people (Hudson 1999: 138–42). Yayoi regional variation Barnes describes two major regional variations (and other minor ones) of Yayoi culture: one in southwestern Honshu and one in northeastern Honshu. The southwestern variant can be further subdivided into the eastern Seto and the western Seto regions. There is a significantly different distribution of bronze artefact types between the two areas with eastern Seto specializing in weapons and western Seto in bells. ‘Since bronze weapons are usually found in individual graves, they must represent either the real or ceremonial use of force. Bells on the other hand are always found in non-burial contexts, usually in caches on isolated hilltops.’ They are thought to have been used in agricultural rituals (Barnes 1999: 191). This distinction between the two bronze repertoires echoes

The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia


the different burial systems, of which one required the deposition of grave goods and the other did not (see further below). It is extremely interesting that both in the case of weapons and in the case of bells, it was common practice for these to be made from melted-down continental imports. This argues a very strong local cultural tradition: even bronze daggers and spearheads from the Korean peninsula were melted down and recast into local styles (see Barnes 1999: 190–1). The northeastern variant was characterized by less socio-political complexity than the southwestern one, and many cultural elements were retained from the Jōmon period. It is not clear how large a part rice cultivation played, and the extensive sets of bronze implements used in the southwestern Yayoi were not adopted in the northeast at all. Other Yayoi innovations As has already been noted, these were numerous and revolutionary.

Perhaps as early as 150 BCE, certainly by CE 100, inhabitants of the Japanese archipelago were casting their own bronze ceremonial bells (dōtaku), swords and halberds (Farris 1998: 35). There is an interesting contrast between the Japanese situation and the European Bronze Age. The latter is characterized by an enormous production of bronze swords, but very few cultural or symbolic objects. Because of the dearth of the latter, the recent discovery of the ‘Nebra Disc’ caused a sensation. This large disc depicts the sun and moon, and some objects presumed to be stars, or more specifically the Pleiades, and is believed to have been used for astronomical and/or religious purposes. By contrast, the Yayoi output of bronze objects of cultural significance is more prolific, and more varied and sophisticated in its designs. Craftsmanship seems to have been most advanced in the Kinki. A popular pattern in all Kinki arts was the ryūsui (flowing water), a series of parallel horizontal lines sweeping back and forth, on pottery, wooden vessels and bells, evoking the expression of water (see Figure 2.2).

Iron is a development of an advanced metal-working culture, since its smelting and working requires more heat than does copper, the basis of bronze: the melting point of iron is c. 1500o C, almost 500o C higher than that of copper. It is widely believed (see Farris 1998: 7, 50) that iron was introduced to Japan before bronze, whereas in the Mediterranean and Middle East it was the other way round. Until recently it was thought that iron was introduced from China where, after some earlier experiments, iron blades and tools from mined ore came into common use around 500 BCE (Farris 1998: 70). One scholar recently wrote: ‘By 400 BC iron products had begun to spread into Korea and Japan. The first iron


The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia

tools of the Yayoi period were cast iron axes probably made in China and shipped via Korea’ (Farris 1998: 51). However, newer finds have suggested that iron in Japan actually predates iron in China (Keally 2004). Keally cautions against holding fast to the implicit general assumption that things must have been discovered or used much earlier in China than in Japan, but also remarks that the early development of iron in China is still a matter of disagreement and our knowledge of iron in China and Korea is probably not complete and accurate. There is also disagreement concerning the extent to which iron was used in the Yayoi period. Bladelike items from the Early Yayoi Saitōyama site are the oldest-known evidence of iron in Japan, along with an iron sword: these finds are thought to be from the second century BCE. Iron finds from between 300 BCE and CE 1 are exceedingly rare (Barnes 1999: 171), but it has been suggested that the majority of old iron tools may have been melted down to make new ones. Since Japan was poor in iron, the Yayoi communities depended on south China and southern Korea for this metal (Piggott 1997: 25–6). So iron was hard to get until the late fifth century, when it was discovered that iron sand from rivers could be used. Before then, iron had to be imported. Farris states that this had the effect of keeping the ruling class a tiny élite, since it was necessary to cross a hundred miles of ocean to get iron. It also led to marked regional differences in the use of iron, which was more common in northern Kyushu, which is closer to Korea, than it was in the Kinai (Farris 1998: 51). In the later stages of the Yayoi period, iron came to be used for household and agricultural implements. Iron tools spread eastward up the Inland Sea in the early centuries CE. Iron was used for ploughs, hoes and sickles for farmers; axes, adzes, chisels, planes, scrapers and gravers for carpenters; spearheads and fish-hooks for fishermen; and arrowheads, spearheads, swords and halberds for fighters (Kidder 1993: 88–9). Bows and arrows were also used.

The recovery of hundreds of Yayoi bronze artefacts indicates a massive circulation of bronze. These artefacts were connected with a more or less sudden replacement of most Jōmon ritual practices by a new set of activities in the Yayoi period (Hudson 1992: 144), which is described as an age of war and weapons, involving the ritualization of war in ceremonial weapons that became objects of worship (Hudson 1992: 149). Among the bronze artefacts were swords, halberds, bells and mirrors used for religious and ceremonial purposes. The use of bronze follows the use of copper, which occurs naturally, sometimes on the surface, but has the limitations of being soft and not taking an edge. Bronze is made by the addition of tin to copper: tin is also a soft metal, but, miraculously, when it is added to copper the result is the much harder bronze. Bronze is an alloy, and it was not until the twentieth century that scientists understood how the two soft metals of which it is composed could, when combined, produce a hard alloy. This actually happens because

The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia


they have different atomic structures – something unknown to the ancient metal-workers who achieved this astonishing result empirically (Bronowski 1976: 125–6). Hudson’s account of the distribution of bronze artefacts is rather different from that of Barnes (see above). He says that the traditional view was that bronze casting spread from west to east Japan, but it is now considered possible that there were parallel origins in Kyushu and in the Kinai. Recent finds at Yoshinogari in Saga have put the beginnings of metalwork in Japan well back in the early Yayoi period, though no such evidence has come from the Kinai. He states that from early on, scholars detected two separate political/ritual zones based on population centres. The first was in north Kyushu, where bronze weapons were mainly found, being used together with gems and mirrors for ritual purposes, and the second in the Kinai, where bells (dōtaku) were centred. However, these zones were not as exclusive as has often been suggested. Although actual dōtaku have not been found in Kyushu, eight casting moulds have been, in Saga and Fukuoka. Similarly, ritual bronze weapons are known in the Kinai and surrounding regions. And a number of hoards are known where different types of bronze implements were buried together. The most spectacular example of this is Kōjindani in Shimane where six bells and sixteen spearheads were found buried together only seven metres from another pit containing 358 bronze swords. It seems bronze zones became more polarized over three stages. In the first, bell and weapon production began in Kyushu and perhaps also in the Kinai. In the second stage, in the latter half of the Middle Yayoi, there was most overlapping of the zones. By contrast, the Late Yayoi saw the most polarization with the zones posited by Terasawa and Kondo hardly overlapping at all (Hudson 1992: 156). This differs from Barnes’s account (see above) in that Barnes says that both the ‘weapon zone’ and the ‘bell zone’ are found within the Seto district of southwestern Honshu, while Hudson locates the ‘weapon zone’ in north Kyushu. Putting the two accounts together, one might speculate that the southwestern Honshu weapon zone could have been an offshoot of the northern Kyushu weapon zone. It has been claimed by some that the bells and weapons were imported from the continent and then underwent a process of exaggerated enlargement, and it has been suggested that the Yayoi bells ‘probably’ derived from a type of small bronze bell known on the Korean peninsula and also found in Kyushu (Hudson 1992: 153), though not everyone has agreed with this claim.

Agriculture requires tools not known to hunter gatherers, and the move into agricultural life initiates an unending process of developing better and better equipment. The archaeological finds of the Yayoi period include a range of agricultural implements such as hoes, rakes, spades, semi-lunar or crescentshaped knives for reaping (the so-called ‘woman’s knife’, see Kidder 1993: 82) and adzes. Yayoi polished stone implements are alleged to show links with

34 The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia Korea, Manchuria and northern China, and bronze and iron implements are believed to have been introduced from China and Korea. Wooden agricultural tools have only recently been discovered on the Korean peninsula, and their development there is poorly known, but Hudson considers they are the most likely prototypes for the Yayoi ones (Hudson 1999: 125). Iron and stone arrowheads are among the most common finds at Yayoi sites, and those dating from the middle and late Yayoi age are much heavier and more deadly than hunting arrowheads found in the Jōmon period. The Yayoi period seems to have been a period of increased violence: of the more than 5000 skeletons excavated from Jōmon sites, only about ten show evidence of violent death, whereas of the 1000 Yayoi skeletons excavated, over 100 probably died from wounds inflicted by weapons (Farris 1998: 37).

Weaving is attested not only by the parts of looms found amongst the finds at Toro (near the coast south of Shizuoka city) but also by actual cloth discovered in burial jars. A mirror at Sugu has been wrapped in a textile, and a fabric was found in a jar at Miai village, Saga. In the Nishishiga shell mound, Aichi, the base of a pottery jar bore sharp imprints of what seemed to be hemp cloth. Wild ramie fibre was probably used for the yarn of the cloth that made the impressions at Nozawa, Tochigi. Advances in textile production came about in the Middle Yayoi period, and these too are widely claimed to have been introduced by continental immigrants (Kidder 1959: 103–4). Sericulture was one of the Chinese skills adopted by the Yayoi peoples of western Seto by the Middle Yayoi period (Barnes 1999: 173).

Thatched, above-ground houses now appeared. ‘A major architectural advance accompanying wet-rice technology was the raised granary made of wooden boards. Components of such structures were preserved in the waterlogged conditions at the Toro site. The stilted granary is thought to be a southern form of agriculture which was transmitted directly to the Islands from the South China mainland’ (Barnes 1999: 187). These Yayoi raised-floor grain storehouses which are ‘thought to be’ a South Chinese import are, as has been noted in Chapter One, considered by other scholars to be Southeast Asian. Kidder (1977: 48–50) describes these as a major landmark in architectural development. Planks were used for walls and floors, all of which were squared off in regular shapes. Buildings in this style were accorded high status: in later Yayoi centuries the raised structure was adopted as an upper-class dwelling (despite the disadvantage of its unsuitability for fireplaces). This style was also used for palaces and early shrines, which were interchangeable in both idea and form, so that with the adoption of the Chinese writing system the same character was used for both.

The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia


It is generally agreed that the rapid spread of wet-rice agriculture was accompanied by larger and more stable social groups, higher degrees of social interdependence, and tighter political control. Archaeologists and historians see a scenario in which, as Yayoi farmers moved inland from the swampy land where they initially sowed rice to higher ground, they began to dig drainage canals for their fields, as well as irrigation ditches from nearby streams. Since individual small hamlets could not provide enough manpower for the necessary hydraulic projects, they joined together, under the authority of a chieftain. Over time, as new hamlets were developed as offshoots of old ones, an increasingly complex territorial hierarchy developed (Piggott 1997: 19). The Yayoi immigrants also built moated villages with watch towers (Kidder 1993: 106). Apical settlements of such hamlet hierarchies appear to have employed diplomacy, trade, metallurgy and a chiefly cult to maintain their pre-eminence by the early centuries CE (Piggott 1997: 21). Early Chinese sources describe small kingdoms that fought among themselves over land and access to water and metallic ore. Federated kingdoms were eventually established in northern Kyushu, along the Inland Sea, and as far east as the Kinai and Izumo. Large Yayoi communities also emerged in the Kantō which, although they employed little bronze or iron, organized their social life around the cultivation of rice (Kidder 1993: 106–7).

Despite the considerable regional variation of the Yayoi period, isolation was certainly mitigated by trade. Archaeologists have unearthed evidence for trade in a number of materials. For example, in northern Kyushu there seems to have been a trade in stone reaping knives, sickle blades, swords, halberds and arrowheads (Farris 1998: 34–5). Communities of potters moved to new areas from the late second and third centuries CE, and there was a trade network linking the southern Kantō and the Tōkai (Piggott 1997: 334 n. 28). Grave goods show evidence of the involvement of Yayoi chieftains in international trade with China and Korea by the first century CE. It is thought that long-distance trade worked to increase social stratification and infrastructural complexity (Piggott 1997: 20–2). Solheim, however, has developed a scenario of extensive prehistoric trade spanning both East and (especially the northern part of) Southeast Asia (Solheim 1993).

The Yayoi period represents the beginning of formal cemeteries, exhibiting a wide variety of burial practices (as many as twelve according to Farris [1998: 47]). The following is a list of the main types of burial practices.

MEGALITHIC GRAVES (dolmens). Hudson (1999: 131) points out that these are particularly numerous on the Korean peninsula. Their geographical


The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia distribution within Japan was, however, limited, centring on Saga and Nagasaki in the Initial and Early phases. Egami, on the other hand (1973: 123), mentions a particular type of dolmen called the ‘go-board’ dolmen which he says was probably of Southeast Asian origin, and brought to Japan together with a rice-growing culture from central eastern or southeastern China or Southeast Asia. Dolmens of this type, called batu dakon are also quite often found in excavations in Java and Bali (see e.g. Sukendar et al. 1977: 23 figure 4, 28 figure 9, 32 photo 8 and 38 photo 19 for some of the West Javanese examples, and Oka 1985: 141 for an example from Gelgel, Bali). JAR BURIALS (primary, for adults). Jars were the characteristic form of internment in northern Kyushu, especially in the middle Yayoi period (about 100 BCE– CE 100). This is one of the most distinctive Yayoi burial customs. No one else in East Asia used this burial technique, and the Kinai followed the mainland custom of using wooden coffins (Farris 1998: 47). In the northeast, secondary jar burial was practised. This meant that only the bones of the deceased were placed in the jar. Hudson describes secondary jar burials as ‘a long term process with much scope for reinterpretation of status after death’ (Hudson 1999: 163). Several jars were often interred in the one pit. In the west, the whole body was interred in the jar. The jar and cist burials of western Seto often contain many bronzes and other exotic objects. A jar burial site from Yoshitake-Takagi in Fukuoka has a bronze halberd, spearhead, and geometric-incised mirror in addition to two daggers. This is the earliest example of the mirror-sword-jewel combination that was later adopted as the imperial insignia. There was a Late Jōmon jar burial tradition, and it had been thought that the Yayoi jar burial tradition was a continuation of this. However, a recent paper (Tani 2004) analysing the combination of pottery shapes used, the manner of deposition and allied burial goods on the Jōmon and (northern Kyushu) Yayoi burial traditions revealed that the character of jar burial changed significantly between those periods. She concluded that the northern Kyushu Yayoi jar burials were introduced from Korea. I shall explore other possible origins of this jar burial practice below. BURIAL MOUNDS. Some jars contained splendid collections of bronze weapons, mirrors and other prestige goods and were also demarcated from others by placement in an actual mound. There are a wide variety of Yayoi mounds and opinions differ as to how they should be classified. MOATED PRECINCTS. This stage marked a major turning-point in the region concerned since it witnessed, along with new mortuary customs, the spread of moated villages and full-scale wet-rice agriculture. It is widely accepted that these precincts were the graves of some sort of kinship-based agricultural production unit.

After this, mound burials developed in tandem with growing social stratification, reflected in the size of the grave and placement away from ordinary burials. There was great regional variation, and some of the mounds seem to have served

The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia


as a ritual focus of the local polity (Hudson 1992: 165–7), as imperial tombs were to be later. Fukunaga Mitsuji argues that mid-Yayoi practices such as burying metal goods to propitiate the gods and using water for purification were customs imported from southern China, either directly or through the Korean peninsula (Piggott 1997: 27). This is a somewhat speculative and philosophical link: in terms of concrete burial practices there is a distinct divergence between the Yayoi and China and Korea. At the end of the Yayoi period, there was an abandonment of many Yayoi ritual practices and the development of new beliefs centred around the tomb mounds. The bronze bells and weapons, the major ritual artefacts of the Yayoi, dropped out of use in the late phase. At the end of the Yayoi, bronze ritual implements were smashed, discarded, and buried (Hudson 1992: 170). The Yayoi period was succeeded by the Kofun or Yamato period. The Kofun period The period from about the third to the early eighth century CE is known as the Yamato period, and is also referred to as the ‘age of ancient tombs’ (kofun) because of the use of large burial mounds for the ruling class. The rise of a much stronger and larger state appears to have been made possible by an enormous increase in the production of rice, due largely to the efforts and methods of Korean immigrants (Kidder 1993: 27–8) Many different materials, technologies, and religious and political systems flowed from the Korean peninsula to the Japanese islands (especially western Japan) between CE 300 and CE 700. These innovations embraced all social classes, including things that the common people would have used, such as blades for iron farming tools, household ovens, and pond-digging techniques (Farris 1998: 68). Other imports included more sophisticated stone fitting, gold and silver jewellery, new silk weaving methods, mathematics, bureaucratic techniques, Buddhism and the art and architecture that went with it, Chinese law, and the crossbow (Farris 1998: 68, 121). It is thought that immigration was a major factor, and that perhaps as many as a third of eighth-century aristocrats could trace their origins to Korea. There is considerable scholarly debate about how important this Korean (or Chinese via Korea) influence actually was. Some scholars have insisted on the native development of the Yamato state, others that Korea was the source of all Japanese civilization and once ruled the archipelago – while others again have taken a position somewhere in between. The Chinese chronicles record that Japan underwent a period of civil strife in the second century CE, before being unified under a queen referred to as Pimiku (Himiko, ‘daughter of the sun’, in Japanese). The Wei zhi records a visit from a delegation sent by Pimiku Queen of Wa in CE 238 (Hudson 1999: 183–4). There has been much debate about the interpretation of the word Wa, a Chinese term used from the third century CE, with respect to whether it encompasses the


The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia

different groups living in Japan or refers to only one of them. Hudson suggests that it is probably best understood as a general term for the inhabitants of at least western Japan in the third century CE (Hudson 1992: 139). It seems that Pimiku/Himiko may not be a personal name but a term applied to female rulers in general. These were common up till the eighth century and even occurred as late as the Tokugawa period. This first recorded Himiko seems to have been a shaman or priestess who served as the medium conveying to the people the words and laws of the gods. She remained unmarried, had a younger brother who assisted in ruling the country, and was attended by one thousand women and only one man. In this era, religious and political functions were regarded as being one and the same. Governmental functions were called matsuri‚ worship of or service to the gods. There is debate among historians concerning the location of this queen’s realm. All sorts of evidence, archaeological, mythical and linguistic, has been put forward for both northern Kyushu and the Yamato plain, but the issue has not been resolved.1 At any rate, by the middle of the fourth century the ruling family that had established its authority in the Yamato region had more or less unified Japan except for the outlying areas to the north, which were not pacified until the ninth century, and southern Kyushu (Hane 1991: 14). From this time on, there was one imperial family in Japan which was generally accorded supremacy over the whole country, though this supremacy was certainly not always translated into actual political power. The imperial seat was located in different places over the centuries, and Japanese history is usually divided into a number of periods such as Asuka, Nara, Heian, Muromachi, Tokugawa, and Meiji, based on the location and state of imperial power. Yayoi innovations: a summary Now that we have set it in context, let us review the developments of the Yayoi period. Foreign imports included iron tools and weapons, rice farming, metallurgy, granaries, silk weaving, specific items such as mirrors and glass beads, and less tangible things like divination and certain religious beliefs. ‘Most of these things were the latest in Han Chinese culture’ (Farris 1998: 54). Elements peculiar to Yayoi culture believed to be invented by the inhabitants of the Japanese islands were the worship and burial of weapons and ceremonial bells, short stone swords, iron halberds, bronze and shell bracelets, the jar burials of northern Kyushu, and perhaps the reinterment of remains found in eastern Japan (Farris 1998: 54). The commonly proposed scenario of the ‘continental’ immigrants abandoning their previous burial practices and taking up jar burial, hitherto unknown in East Asia, when they moved to Japan is counter-intuitive, to say the least. Migrants are known to cling to their own customs. The scenario becomes still less likely when we know that these ‘continental’ immigrants melted down imported continental artefacts in order to use the metal to make new and different objects that were more appropriate to their own culture. This suggests that their culture was not an East Asian one.

The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia


Java: the long prehistory of human society
Since Javanese prehistory is little known, inadequately researched, and necessitates recourse to material in all sorts of lesser-known languages such as Indonesian and Dutch, I will give a reasonably complete, though brief, account of it here. The periods of Javanese prehistory that have been the subject of significant research are very early prehistory and very late prehistory. The first centres on the exciting finds of early hominins (this term encompasses everything in the human line following the split from chimpanzees), with their implications for the large story of human evolution. The second comprises the exciting finds of the Indianized period, with its plentiful gold, statuary and temples. The period in which we are interested falls in between, and is largely terra incognita. One of the purposes of this book is to show the reader that this ‘dull’ middle period is actually anything but that, and contains some tremendous surprises. The history of human beings in Java is indisputably a very long one. Indeed, until the East African discoveries made after about 1960, Asia was frequently considered to be the locus of the earliest phases of human evolution, based on major finds made in China and in Java. Java entered the picture in 1891, thanks to a young Dutch professor of anatomy named Eugene Dubois who, after having his interest aroused by the European Neanderthal remains, went to the Indies, which he thought would produce equally exciting material. He eventually found this in fossil-bearing strata on a bend of the Solo River at Trinil. Dubois viewed the human remains he found as representing a ‘missing link’, which he named Pithecanthropus erectus. His ‘missing link’ theory was much criticized, and he subsequently withdrew from palaeontology. Forty years later G.H.R. von Koeningswald went back to the Solo River and found more skull pieces that tended to confirm the view already put forward by Arthur Keith that Dubois’s finds were actually of an early human (Edey and Johanson 1989: 328–30). Fossils that resembled Dubois’s finds were also found in Peking and were named Sinanthropus pekinensis. There were enough of these to provide some idea of the range of variation that could be expected within the one species, which a single find like the Neanderthal one or Dubois’s could not do. Later discoveries, including some from East Africa, eventually led to the classification of all these finds as members of a single wide-ranging species, Homo erectus, a medium-sized, exceptionally powerful, medium-brained species directly ancestral to modern man (Edey and Johanson 1989: 328–30). Though the archaeological context is rather problematic, the balance of evidence is that Homo erectus was a tool-making hominin (Bellwood 1997: 55–66). Although there are problems relating to the dating of many of the Javanese Homo erectus remains, Bellwood estimates that they span a long period of time prior to 500,000 years ago, going back to between 1,000,00 and 1,800,000 years ago, thus constituting some of the earliest evidence of human radiation out of Africa (Bellwood 1997: 43, 49). It is a remarkable fact that Java has been the site of the longest continuous occupation by a hominin species.


The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia

Another Javanese find has recently caused something of a sensation. This is a remarkably complete and probably female calvaria (the part of the skull above the orbits, temples, ears and occipital protuberance) designated Sambung Macan 3 (SM3) which was recognized by the owner of a New York fossil shop, Henry Galiano (Laitman and Tattersall 2001: 341–2). This calvaria showed features that diverged from other erectus specimens and were open to a number of different interpretations. It has a unique morphology not seen previously in the hominin fossil record, because though in some respects its morphology is like erectus it also has characteristics that strongly suggest more modern humans (Broadfield et al. 2001: 369).2 One particularly interesting feature of the skull is its pronounced Broca’s cap that is highly left-over-right asymmetric, suggesting a capacity for speech (Broadfield et al. 2001: 377). If this capacity was actualized, the Javanese population represented by this skull were not only using tools but also communicating through language a very, very long time ago. Early Homo sapiens When we come to Southeast Asian populations that are clearly Homo sapiens, the earliest one is known as ‘Australo-Melanesian’, and it was present in Southeast Asia at least by 50,000 years ago (Bellwood 1997: 92). This Australo-Melanesian population produced the Palaeolithic Hoabinhian tool industry of the mainland, the Malay Peninsula and northernmost Sumatra, as well as the Toalian flake and blade industry of Sulawesi. These Australo-Melanesians were subsequently replaced by Mongoloid people. The Indo-Malaysian Neolithic and the beginnings of agriculture For Southeast Asian prehistory, the terms Palaeolithic, Neolithic, Bronze Age and Iron Age are used, conformant to usage established in other parts of the world. The Southern Mongoloids just mentioned were part of an East Asian ‘Neolithic Revolution’ which had profound implications for Southeast Asia. The Austronesian, Thai-Kadai, Hmong-Mien and Austroasiatic language families seem to have arisen in subtropical China and northern mainland Southeast Asia, a zone lying between the Yangtze and northern Thailand/Indochina, where the cultivation of rice and other crops developed widely from about 6000 BCE. From this region members of these language families moved southwards. Austronesian is the language family of most relevance to this investigation, since this is the language family to which Javanese belongs. Blust’s reconstruction of Proto-Austronesian, the ancestral Austronesian language, and its daughter branches, suggests that this population expansion began in Taiwan, whence some colonists with an agricultural economy had moved from the Chinese mainland (where, however, there is no longer any extant evidence of Proto-Austronesian) (Blust 1981). This migration indicates that the Austronesian expansion would never have begun at all had its early pioneers not possessed the seafaring skills that enabled them to cross the sea between China

The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia


and Taiwan. The Neolithic finds in Taiwan date from 4300 BCE (Bellwood 1997: 212), with some evidence for rice by 3000 BCE. The Neolithic in Southeast Asia was based on agriculture (in contrast to the Jōmon) and the keeping of pigs, dogs, and poultry. It spread rapidly: the earliest date is from around 3000 BCE, and by 2500 BCE it is all over the region. The archaeological record now makes it clear that Neolithic populations occupied the whole region of mainland Southeast Asia, including the Malay Peninsula, by at least 2000 BCE. There is evidence that by 1500 BCE Austronesians had reached Indonesia, though unfortunately the situation in Java has not been scientifically investigated. However, it seems to me that the date of 1500 BCE for the arrival of Austronesians is too late: by 1000 BC we already have highly sophisticated Bronze-Iron societies – not just Neolithic agricultural societies – whose archaeological remains include gold objects, evidence of a wealthy society with an élite class. Unfortunately again, the early history of wet-rice cultivation, the special characteristic of Java and Bali, has not been investigated. Bellwood (1985: 244) writes that wet-rice cultivation is: ‘so closely tied historically with the Hinduized civilizations’ that an introduction in the first millennium CE ‘must always remain likely’. Van Leur, on the other hand, considered that wet-rice cultivation, as attested by the pacul, was definitely an earlier indigenous development, one which had taken centuries to evolve (van Leur 1955: 254), and that it formed the necessary basis for Indianized civilization. A maritime economy with long-distance exchange seems to have developed in Indonesia by around 1000 BCE. Marine shell adzes and fish-hooks, not found in pre-Neolithic sites in Southeast Asia, are now found. Material is particularly poor on the Neolithic in the large and populous islands of Java and Sumatra and this is still as much terra incognita today as when Bellwood wrote the first edition of his book on the prehistory of this region in 1985.3 Very few Neolithic sites have been excavated and none dated. For Sumatra there is little of a usable archaeological nature, and Java remains something of a mystery, as there are no dated Neolithic sites at all. Nevertheless, the enormous number of superbly manufactured quadrangular and pick adzes from Java, often made in semi-precious stones such as serpentine, agate or chalcedony, suggests that a very large and wealthy Neolithic population once occupied the island (Bellwood 1985: 230). The extensive working floors for adzes and stone bracelets found in several places in central and western Java add support to this view. One working floor for quadrangular adzes excavated at Kendeng Lembu in eastern Java produced sherds of red-slipped vessels with round bases and everted rims (Bellwood 1997: 231). Some pollen cores taken from highland areas in Sumatra and Java have been used as evidence that there was forest clearance by about 3000 years ago, but this indirect and equivocal evidence is no substitute for proper archaeological investigation. Bellwood’s first edition stated that it will not be possible to write an integrated prehistory of Indonesia until we know much more about this region (Bellwood 1985: 230), and nothing has improved since then.


The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia

Neolithic burial practices Neolithic burial practices included stone sarcophagi, stone cists, stone vats, stone chambers and dolmen graves. Burial in big earthenware jars was also practised. Jar burial possibly developed in the Philippines and Sarawak from the late second and early first millennia BCE (Bellwood 1985: 316), and the phase eventually graded into the Early Metal phase with copper/bronze, iron, glass beads and widespread jar burial at the end of the first millennium BCE. Bellwood makes the following comments on the development of jar burial in island Southeast Asia. Working from the assumption that India would be a likely source of this practice, he examined the Indian jar burials in Chalcolithic sites spread across the country from Karnataka to West Bengal as a possible source of the Indonesian jar burial traditions. However, he found that the basic artefact forms differ so considerably that an Indian source is actually unthinkable, which means that we must be dealing with an indigenous development (Bellwood 1997: 306–7). The Southeast Asian mainland prehistoric sequence is also almost totally devoid of this tradition. On the other hand, he notes, a coherent tradition of jar burial does occur in the Late Jōmon and Yayoi periods of southwestern Japan (1000 BCE– CE 300) and here it appears that bones were often placed in two jars laid horizontally4 mouth-to-mouth. As noted above, however, recent work suggests that there was a disjunction between the Late Jōmon and the Yayoi jar burials, which were different in character. It has been suggested that the Yayoi jar burial tradition was imported from Korea – though Farris writes that it was not actually known in East Asia outside Japan. Bellwood goes on to note that the Yayoi pottery style, which is different in many respects from that of the preceding Jōmon period, does include flasks, cut-outs in ring feet, red-slipped surfaces and incised scroll patterns which overlap to some extent with the repertoire of the Early Metal phase of the Philippines. He remarks that while he would not suggest Japan as a source for the Indo-Malaysian jar burials he feels that some degree of contact between the two archipelagic regions may have taken place from the late first millenium BCE onwards. So here we have the suggestion that there seems to have been contact between Japan and island Southeast Asia, with the assumption that Japan must be the source, and the Southeast Asians the importers. We will revisit this issue later.

The Metal Age and the development of a more advanced civilization Over the period of the Austronesian expansion there was a continuing development to more advanced societies, and for the more southerly regions it is probable that the Southern Mongoloid expansion was taking place not only during the Neolithic but also in the Early Metal phase. As already noted, this lengthy process contrasts sharply with Japan where there was a sudden break with the hunter-gatherer past at the time of the Yayoi period, with the Yayoi immigrants bringing an advanced agriculture, metal technology and other

The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia


innovations unknown to the hunter-gatherer Jōmon. In Southeast Asia, metallurgy was introduced into a society that had already had a millennium of Neolithic agriculture. The Indonesian Bronze-Iron Age is no better researched than the Neolithic. Bellwood concluded almost twenty years ago: ‘Questions concerning the evolution of complex societies provide just as much stimulus and excitement for prehistorians as do questions concerning the origins of agriculture, and I believe that the former represent perhaps the largest untapped field of research facing Indonesian, and especially Javanese, prehistorians at the present time’ (Bellwood 1985: 322). Things have not changed since then. For example, a relatively recent work advertised as a comprehensive study and ambitiously entitled The Bronze Age of Southeast Asia (rather than more accurately The Bronze Age of Mainland Southeast Asia) devotes eight of its 341 pages of text to island Southeast Asia. In the whole book there is only one reference to Java, and this refers not to the extensive bronze production of the island but to the fact that it shares with Bali, Southern Sulawesi and Timor a climate in which the seasons are more marked! (Higham 1996: 297). This is unfortunately by no means the only example of a complete lack of any coverage of Southeast Asia’s largest and most culturally influential population in studies purporting to cover the whole region, and it is more than time that this problem was addressed. Since the mainland is so much better studied, we know that northern Vietnam was a vital centre of bronze metallurgy which had a dramatic impact on many other regions of Southeast Asia. The Dong Son bronze culture goes back to around the middle of the second millennium BCE. The basic artefact styles overlap only marginally with those of metropolitan China, and not at all with India. A significant amount of work has also been done on Thailand. The date of the earliest evidence of bronze production is disputed: while Higham argues that 2000 BCE is too early a date for bronze technology and proposes 1500 BCE (Higham 1996: 821), Bayard (1996–7: 889) and Spriggs (1996–7) see metallurgy as older than 2000 BCE. Thorne and Raymond (1989) give a much earlier date again, arguing that the evidence supports the idea that a sophisticated bronze industry developed independently in Thailand by about 5000 years ago. They suggest that Southeast Asia, where tin and copper are found close together, not only had an independent development of a bronze industry, but may also actually have been the original source of the world’s knowledge of how to make bronze (Thorne and Raymond 1989: 156–9). Concerning island Southeast Asia, Bellwood writes that by about the early to middle first millennium BCE metal casting was being carried out (Bellwood 1997: 279–80). However, it seems to me that it is in the highest degree unlikely that it would have taken fully 2500 years (assuming the 5000 years ago/3000 BCE date) or even ‘just’ half a millennium (assuming the most conservative date of 1500 BCE) for knowledge of bronze making to have travelled the negligible distance between mainland and island Southeast Asia. It is interesting that among Indonesian bronze artefacts Bellwood detects a stylistic group which is quite distinct from the Vietnamese Dong Son tradition

Figure 2.1 A large bronze bell from island Southeast Asia, with wave-pattern and saw-tooth pattern decoration (British Museum GA 1949).

Figure 2.2 A Yayoi bell with wave-pattern, saw-tooth pattern and comma motif decoration (Tenri University Museum collection).


The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia

(Bellwood 1997: 281f). This is made up of flasks and large clapperless bells distinguished by an unusual and elaborate type of incised spiral decoration, whose manufacturing centres have not been located. This distinctive repertoire from island Southeast Asia has stylistic links with Japan. Though dating of these bronze objects has been shamefully inadequate, we do at least know, on the basis of carbon-14 analysis of one of the sites in the Taruma area (see below), that the Bronze-Iron Age went back to 1000 BCE at the latest, and most probably considerably earlier. One manufacturing centre of bronze artefacts in Java has been located. This was done during the unpromising years of the Japanese Occupation. In heroic contrast to the dismal efforts of peace-time colonial scholars, the enterprising W. Rothpletz (apparently a German-speaking Swiss), who was attached to the Geologisch Museum at Bandung, made a number of discoveries in the environs of Bandung in the years 1941–5. The most important of these was the discovery of the casting moulds of bronze axes, lances, and other objects. There were no less than 70 fragments making up around 40 different moulds. This is a truly remarkable number, considering that at that time only one small mould had been found elsewhere in Indonesia (at Kerinci in Sumatra) and that such moulds were also extremely rare in the rest of Asia and even in Europe. These finds made it clear that this area of West Java was a very major bronze-casting centre (Rothpletz 1946). And it should also be noted that Java has yielded three times as many finds as the next most productive Indonesian islands (as can be seen from the map in Soejono 1972: Fig. 1). In 1976, Walker and Santoso conducted investigations into earthenwares of the northwest Java ‘Buni complex’, which is in the Taruma area (see below) (Walker and Santoso 1984). Looters found no less than 350 intact vessels at this site, but the process of looting made proper archaeological investigation impossible (Bellwood 1997: 293). This area has a history of at least 1500 years of agricultural irrigation and drainage ditch construction (Walker and Santoso 1984: 377). The local pottery shows stylistic affinities with that found at Melolo, Lean Buidane in Talaud, two Sabah sites, Gunung Piring on Lombok, Leuang Bua on Flores, Batu Ejaya in southern Sulawesi, Gilimanuk on Bali, and Anyar in west Java. It is a marker of the Early Metal Phase and indicates an industry that already transcends local cultures. Mostly it is associated with jar burials but at Gilimanuk, Leang Bua and Gunung Piring with inhumation. The pottery of this region will be discussed further below. Like the bronze objects, the ceramics also exhibit a distinctive local style. Walker and Santoso remark that the Buni ceramics do not seem to be related to the Sa-huynh/Kalanay tradition of Vietnam and the Philippines, often considered to have been influential across a wide area of Southeast Asia. The presence of Romano-Indian rouletted pottery at Buni suggests that the area was linked into trade networks reaching far to the west by the first two centuries CE at least. In the area of Java where the earliest inscriptions (those of the kingdom of Taruma) were found, archaeologists have identified eight settlement sites, five of which are from the Bronze-Iron Age or the so-called craftsmanship development

The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia


period. The period already showed division of labour, development of metalwork technology, and evolving artistic merit. On the basis of carbon-14 analysis three Metal Age sites in this area were dated between 1000 BCE and CE 500 (see below). One site revealed gold ornaments, along with other finds such as bronze and iron artefacts, bracelets made of stone and glass, beads, a quadrangular adze, and a multitude of earthenware objects in a variety of forms and sizes (Fontein 1990: 101). There has been some investigation of a number of Javanese Iron Age sites, such as Plawangan in north-central Jakarta, Leuwiliang near Bogor, and Pejaten to the south of Jakarta. The Plawangan site produced an interesting mixture of extended burials and burials in jars with inverted-vessel lids. The assemblage included iron knives, a bronze fish-hook, and incised and stamped pottery. In the Iron Age both primary and secondary jar burial is found. Jar burials are found mainly at coastal sites, namely Anyer, Selayar, Gilimanuk, Lomblen and Melolo (Sumba). At Anyer only the primary jar burial and at Gilimanuk alone the double-jar burial was practised. At Gilimanuk secondary or indirect burials were practised either in earthenware jars or without any container (Soejono 1984: 63–6). However, none of these sites can as yet be placed within a coherent reconstruction of Javanese prehistory, and the most urgent requirements are for a fuller publication record and many more well-documented radiocarbon dates (Bellwood 1985: 301). The beginning of written history The island of Java is probably mentioned in the Ramāyana and in Ptolemy, though there has been much scholarly debate about various versions of the toponym. Coedès once pointed out that the scholars who were most audacious in other matters of phonetic relationships seemed stricken with incomprehensible timidity when presented with a place name distantly, closely, or even very closely resembling Java, and used any excuse to seek locations anywhere but on the island that bears this name. Though Java and Sumatra were often believed to form one island and Marco Polo had called Sumatra ‘Java Minor’, this seemed hardly sufficient reason to brush Java aside and systematically relate all the evidence concerning countries denominated Java, Yava(dvipa), Yeh-p’o-t’i, and She-po to Sumatra, or, indeed, sometimes to Borneo or even to the Malay Peninsula (Coedès 1975: 53). It is also the case that Java is farther from the mainland than Sumatra, and was therefore largely unknown to Chinese travellers, who for many centuries did provide some information on Java’s neighbour (Walker and Santoso 1984: 382). Leaving behind the period where we are dependent on the problematic decipherment of distorted Indian, Arab, Chinese and European versions of Indonesian toponyms, the oldest Indonesian written sources come into the picture with the inscriptions of Mūlavarman in Borneo, from c. CE 400. These are followed about fifty years later (dating them on the basis of the script) by four

48 The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia stone inscriptions from west Java erected by Pū rnavarman, king of the realm of Taruma, a name which survives today in the name of the river Ci Tarum. One inscription commemorated the construction of waterworks of considerable scope involving the diversion of a river. The kingdom of Taruma existed until at least the second half of the seventh century, when a T’ang chronicle records an embassy coming from To-lo-ma in 666–9 (Coedès 1975: 53–4; Fontein 1990: 25). This kingdom of Taruma was evidently built on old foundations, as is evident from the archaeological investigations in this area (Fontein 1990: 101) which revealed settlement sites with bronze, iron, and gold artefacts (the last suggesting a stratified society with an upper class). In its later history Java produced many great kingdoms in central and eastern Java – Mataram, Singosari, Majapait and the second Mataram – and smaller ones in western Java, where Taruma had flourished, as well as in the ‘East Hook’ at the easternmost extremity of the island. Javanese states also exerted considerable influence overseas, showing that they had not lost the maritime skill and daring that made the original Austronesian expansion possible: after all, Austronesians had started out in the South China Taiwan region and got as far as remote Oceania by c. 3200 BP (Kirch 2000: 94). Java was, in the opinion of the author of the major reference work on Indonesian boats, the place where the characteristic form of Indonesian craft developed (Neyret n.d.: 217). This highly-developed maritime tradition allowed some Indonesians, at a much later date, probably the early centuries BCE, to voyage in a quite different direction, i.e. across the Indian Ocean to Madagascar, where they settled. In early historical times, the Javanese are known to have launched naval expeditions as far as the northernmost part of mainland Southeast Asia (for details of these expeditions see Schafer 1967: 64).5 Nor was this a purely military expansion. The Cham art style of the beginning of

Table 2.1 Comparative timeline of Japanese and Indonesian prehistory Japan Indonesia c. 50, 000 BCE Hoabinhian tool industries found in Sabah, Sarawak and Sulawesi, and at Sampung in east Java. Associated with Australo-Melanesians c. 11,000 BCE Earliest Jōmon pottery Continuing Jōmon period Continuing Jōmon period c. 3500–2500 BCE Neolithic culture, based on agriculture associated with southern Mongoloids Prior to 1000 BCE: Bronze-Iron Age

500 BCE Beginning of Metal Age Yayoi period, with rice agriculture, metallurgy etc introduced by immigrants.

The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia


the tenth century comes from a period of profound Javanese influence on all aspects of Cham culture, including the arts and the ‘science of magic’ (Schafer 1967: 73; Stern 1942: 109–10). In addition, there is evidence that there were Javanese (Ho-ling) traders in Canton in the early eighth century (Schafer 1967: 78). Table 2.1 summarizes the information provided above and provides a comparative timeline for Japan and Indonesia (particularly Java). What is important to note here is that there was an earlier development of both agriculture and metallurgy in Indonesia (particularly Java) than in Japan.

Connections and traces
Was Locard right? Does every contact leave a trace? As Bellwood remarks, Java is the black hole of Austronesian prehistory (Bellwood: personal communication). Yet he himself has observed and noted the match between the Javanese and Balinese jar burial tradition and the Japanese one, and also the similarities between Yayoi and archipelagic pottery. So we will begin with these two things. Burials It has been noted above that the Yayoi jar burials of northern Kyushu are different from the preceding late Jōmon jar burials. This argues that the custom was introduced by immigrants. Furthermore, it is unlikely that these immigrants were from East Asia, or from mainland Southeast Asia, where inhumation, not jar burial, was used. The evidence of the artefacts Prehistoric Javanese pottery In the whole dismal picture of little light and much dark that constitutes our knowledge of the prehistory of the most populous and technologically advanced island of Southeast Asia, no area is more dispiriting than pottery. There is only a tiny amount of properly excavated and dated archaeological work. Gunadhi’s article on the Bronze-Iron Age pottery of Gunung Wingko and Wingko Sigromulyo concludes that some C14 analysis would be useful (Gunadhi 1983: 149), a modest statement that makes one reflect on the fact that this analysis is so expensive in Indonesian terms that there appear to be no more than half a dozen radiocarbon dates of prehistoric pottery. Much of the pottery held in museums and other collections is also devoid of stratigraphic context. In what follows, I will concentrate on the small amount of dated and comparatively thoroughly studied pottery that is available – particularly that from the area of Taruma, the first known Javanese kingdom. Some archaeological work was done in the 1970s on the prehistoric pottery of this area, specifically a number of sites in the Tangerang/Bogor/ Bekasi region

50 The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia of west Java. The four most important sites investigated were Pejaten, Kampung Kramat, Condet Balekambang, and Kelapa Dua, the first three being Metal Age sites and the last a Neolithic (masa bercocok tanam) site. The three Metal Age sites were dated to between 1000 BCE and CE 500, based apparently on two radiocarbon dates of charcoal (Djafar 1985: 43, 57). As already noted, such dates are of the utmost rarity in Indonesian prehistory. From the presence of pottery moulds at Pejaten and other indications, the area seems to have been a metal-making centre (Djafar 1985: 47). Eight different types of vessel were found at the sites. These were: cooking pots ( periuk), water vessels (tempayan), bowls (mangkuk), footed bowls, nonfooted bowls ( pasu), plates ( piring), lids/covers (tutup) and moulds for metal casting (cetakan logam). It will be noted that this pottery dispays a high degree of functional specialisation. Not all sites had the same range of forms: all of the eight except plates were present at Pejaten, and all except the moulds at Kampung Kramat, but only four of the eight types were found at each of the other two sites. Nevertheless, the area produced a great variety of pottery, since many of the eight main types were represented by a range of different forms plus a variety of decorations. For example, the periuk at Pejaten occurred in both globular and carinated (bergigir, berkarinasi) form, and with four different types of rim, which was also the case with the tempayan. The pottery from Kampung Kramat, while mainly red, also occurs in grey, cream, and blackish colours, which together with its variety of forms, shows a mastery of the firing process. It also clearly shows the striations typical of wheel-made pottery (Djafar 1985: 48). The decoration fell into four main categories: 1 2 INCISED. This included comb-pattern decoration featuring parallel lines and curved and straight lines sometimes combined with small circles. PADDLE MARK DECORATION, either carved paddle mark or corded paddle mark. Patterns include fishbone, short thick parallel lines on a slope (‘ladder’ pattern) and net pattern. IMPRESSED DECORATION. This includes serrations and hollows produced by pressing the edge of a shellfish shell onto the surface of the pottery. DECORATION BY SLIPPING. This also has the functional purpose of reducing the porosity of the pottery.

3 4

According to Sutayasa (Sutayasa 1979: 68) Pejaten also produced, as well as many cord-marked pots, pots with net impression, impressed fishbone sherds, carinated sherds, and globular pots with everted rims, a pot with a mangle impression, and pots with impressed concentric circles. Carved paddle mark is not very common in the pottery of these sites, the most common type of decoration being corded paddle mark. This is usually said to be very rare in Western Indonesia, absent from Sumatra, and in Java is confined to Sampung, East Java, and Bandung (see Sutayasa 1979: 69).6 However, it is also found in sites in the Bogor region, such as Ciliwung, Pasir Angin and Pejaten.

The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia


The technique of manufacture at the Neolithic site, Kelapa Dua, was more primitive. It did not use the paddle and anvil technique (tatap pelandas), and the pottery remains are very brittle and easily broken. The technology of the other three sites was more advanced, both in the making and in the decoration, and in the Pejaten site, for example, the pottery was still in good condition and quite strong (Djafar 1985: 45). Other West Javanese sites whose pottery appears very similar to Yayoi pottery are Bandung (which has incised comb decoration, cord-marking, red slipping, and occasionally painting; shapes include carination, everted and flaring rim, rounded and flattened bases: see Sutayasa 1979: 62–4); the Ciliwung sites (comb impressed and corded: see Sutayasa 1979: 65–6); and Pasir Angin (comb incision, fishbone pattern, rarely cord-marked red slip: see Sutayasa 1979: 69). In the Museum Nasional collection of prehistoric pottery, the four dominant decorative elements are: 1 2 3 HORIZONTAL LINES, often in pairs, running round the pots. SLOPING (DIAGONAL) LINES, usually between the horizontal lines. TUMPAL of various sizes, the large ones often filled in with lines (bergaris). Tumpal are designs consisting of a row of edge-to-edge triangles, often filled in with parallel lines, as in this pottery. The tumpal/‘saw-tooth’ design is thought to be associated with Dewi Sri, the rice goddess. R EPRESENTATIONAL ELEMENTS. These are rare, but there are human faces on two Galumpang kendhi (narrow-necked water-pots) and a Sumba one (case 11 no. 1943).


Yayoi pottery The new pottery of the Yayoi period is so different from the pre-existing, Jōmon pottery that this contrast has been much remarked upon by art historians. Mikami states that in all aspects, plastic and decorative, the ethos of the Yayoi pottery is diametrically opposed to that of Jōmon pottery with its dull gray colouring, absence of linear fluidity, and heavy, at time oppressive, decoration (Mikami 86–7). By contrast, Yayoi pottery is characterized by:
● ● ● ●

● ●

bright cheerful tones of red/russet little or no surface ornament a larger range of vessel types rich smooth curves introducing a new plastic aesthetic [which others have characterized as ‘elegant’ or ‘serene’] a single collective standard high-quality ware whose production must have required considerable effort and skill surfaces smoothed with a paddle or edging tool


The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia

Elaborating a little on these points, one can say that the increase in vessel types reflects the arrival of a rather sophisticated society that needed a wide range of pottery tailored to particular functions, practical and also ritual. Thus we find flasks and jugs for pouring and storing liquids; storage jars whose mid-sections are generally full and bulging, narrowing towards the bottom, a shape particularly appropriate for their function; domestic plates and bowls of different sizes, including footed dishes like cake stands; and at the other end of the spectrum, burial urns. Whereas the vast majority of Jōmon pottery is fukabachi (deep bowl), Yayoi pottery has four main shapes, a wide-mouthed kame (pot), a tsubo (narrow necked jar), a hachi (bowl), and a takatsuki (pedestalled dish). The kame is thought to have been the vessel primarily used for cooking and the tsubo for storing rice (Hudson 1999: 120–2). The relatively uniform collective standard, compared with Jōmon pottery, reflects a rather cohesive society. Yayoi pottery was made with wider coils or strips of clay than Jōmon pottery, and by ‘exterior bonding’ instead of ‘interior bonding’. Mikami remarks that production of such high-quality pottery with its beautiful lines, smoothness and balance would have required great effort and skill, and the present author’s personal experience with coil-built pottery certainly supports this judgement. The main decorative techniques on Yayoi pottery are comb incision, clay-band appliqué, cord-marking and red slipping. Incision and use of a comb-like tool were already used in Jōmon pots.7 Grooving was also used in both Jōmon and Yayoi, in the latter with use of a turntable, and shell impression too was used in both periods (Hudson 1999: 78–9). However, even if some of the techniques used to produce them, such as incising, were the same, the Yayoi decorative motifs are quite different. As the Yayoi-style pottery spread north and east its techniques blended with the lingering artistic legacy of the Jōmon, mostly in decoration but sometimes also in form, as in the cooking pot (Hudson 1999: 121). Comparing Yayoi and Javanese pottery It is striking that the decoration on Egami’s plates of Yayoi pottery (see Egami 1973: plates nos. 22, 28, 71, 74, 147), a combination of tumpal motives and sloping and horizontal lines, is extremely similar to the decorative repertoire of Javanese pottery noted above. The human face motif is also found (Egami 1973: figs. 12, 19). Yayoi pottery is coil-built (as are Late Jōmon and Korean Plain pottery, though the former is made by interior bonding and the latter by exterior bonding). Coil pottery is found in the early Lapita culture, established by Austronesian migrants to the Pacific c. 1500–1000 BCE (Bellwood 1997: 235). It appears, however, that early Indonesian pottery has not been examined technologically so it is not clear if it is coil or slab built. Both techniques are used in Indonesia today (Peter Bellwood, personal communication). To sum up, its overwhelmingly restrained ‘classical’ shapes and regular geometric decoration sharply distinguish Yayoi pottery both from the antecedent

The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia


Figure 2.3 Jōmon pots from Egami 1971, exhibiting the typical exuberant decoration and variability.

Jōmon tradition, with its undisciplined decorative exuberance, and from Korean Plain Pottery. It points rather to the advanced pottery in Pejaten going back to 1000 BCE, where the decoration is produced by the techniques used in Yayoi pottery: comb incision, cord marking (found in only a very few places in Western Indonesia, one in East Java and the others in the Bandung and Bogor areas of West Java where the oldest known Javanese kingdom, Taruma, was situated), and red slipping. The specific motifs produced by these techniques are basically a combination of the tumpal with horizontal and diagonal lines in both pottery traditions. Both Yayoi pottery and prehistoric Javanese pottery spring from and reveal an advanced society utilising a wide range of special, rather standardized forms of pottery tailored to particular functions, both practical and ritual. Other artefacts

The famous Yayoi dōtaku have Javanese affinities in both shape and decoration. A large percentage, perhaps the majority, of dōtaku are based on (often highly elaborated forms of) the two Javanese motifs ubiquitous in metalwork and pottery, i.e. the tumpal and the spiral or whorl.8 For an example of over-all tumpal decoration on dōtaku, see the one in Egami (1973: 139, plate 152), and for use on the outer rim see another dōtaku in Egami (1973: 140, plate 153). The spiral motif is seen in the dōtaku shown in plates 29 (Egami 1973: 34), 78 (Egami 1973: 80), the latter a highly elaborated spiral around the rim of the handle, and 154 (Egami 1973: 141). It is striking that even Javanese bells and handles from later periods have the same shape as dōtaku, and continue to be decorated with the tumpal motif (there are examples in the Mangkunegaran Museum and the British Museum). Figures 2.1 and 2.2 above show bells with running water (wave) patterns, as well as tumpal and comma motifs.

54 The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia

Figure 2.4 Some Yayoi pot types, showing the typical stylistic restraint and standardization according to function.

Figure 2.5 Some Javanese pot types, also standardized according to function.


The Yayoi semilunar or crescent-shaped knives (the so-called ‘woman’s knife’) noted above are the same shape as the Javanese reaping knife, the ani-ani, and are used for exactly the same purpose, i.e. the painstaking cutting of each single ripened ear of rice from the stalk. In Java too, the harvesting of rice by this painstaking method was the responsibility of women. Another distinctive feature of Yayoi rice cultivation, the practice of transplanting seedlings from prepared beds into flooded paddies, a process known in later times in Japan as taue, is exactly the same as the Javanese practice. Toponyms As noted above, Taruma is the name of the earliest kingdom in Java, located in an area where archaeological investigations have revealed the existence of a sophisticated Bronze-Iron culture before the earliest written sources. The toponym Taruma, or the variants Tarumai, Tarumae or Tarumi,9 also occurs in about forty (to my knowledge) locations in Japan. Looking at the overall picture, there are two major concentrations, in Kyushu and in central Honshu, with nine each. Looking in more detail at these largest concentrations, the Kyushu ones include four around Kagoshima Bay and three in the Fukuoka-Saga area (one of which is a site where Yayoi artefacts have been found); and five of the Honshu ones are located along the coast of the Inland Sea and Bay of Ise. As for the rest, for some reason there are no less than four on the Noto Peninsula, and there are two near Sendai, plus a couple widely spaced in northern Honshu. There are two on Shikoku, one near Takamatsu

The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia


on the north coast, and one on a cape called Tarumi-sake near Funakoshi on the southwest tip. There is also a cluster of four close together slightly west of Sapporo in Hokkaido (one of the latter is designated ‘Imperial Estate’). Nearly all these places are on or very near the coast, as one would expect if they were settlements made by people who arrived in Japan by sea: by people, one may suggest, who had left behind a homeland called Taruma.

In this chapter I have dealt with the prehistory of Japan and the prehistory of Indonesia as if they were quite separate, because that is how they have been treated in the Western academic curriculum in which I was educated. Rather than canvassing the usefulness or otherwise of the categories of Southeast Asia and Northeast Asia, let me adduce a counter-factual parallel. Let us suppose that the early history of Europe had been divided into two separate spheres, south Europe and north Europe, each of which had its own specialists. Let us further suppose that the historians of northern Europe had been looking for the origin of the villas and palaces, ampitheatres, mosaics, baths, coffins and gravegoods which they had found in Britain, searching for them in the Germanic and Scandinavian countries, because ‘everyone knew’ that is where Britain’s most important relationships lay. If it happened that a historian working on south Europe chanced to see some of these things and noticed their strong resemblance to Roman villas and palaces, ampitheatres, mosaics, baths, coffins and grave goods, how would this suggestion be received by those who believed that south and north Europe were two quite separate cultural areas? Would there not be a strong tendency among the less open-minded to dismiss the strong similarities as coincidence? And as this would be a mistake, since important cultural influences do not always come from the nearest neighbours, this does raise the possibility that dividing up Asian prehistory might, perhaps, also be obscuring the truth. So what has been the result of re-uniting the two previously separate fields? Despite the pitiful state of research on Java, the results of this investigation have been encouraging. We can see that the burial practices and artefacts (pottery and metalwork) introduced into Japan during the Yayoi period bear a strong resemblance to their Javanese counterparts. Equally importantly, we have found that the development of agriculture and metallurgy took place earlier in Java than in Japan. We know that the Yayoi women harvested their rice painstakingly ear-by-ear with a knife that was the same shape as the Javanese ani-ani, employed in the same method of harvesting. We know that the Yayoi system of rice cultivation involved transplanting seedlings from prepared beds into flooded paddies, just as in Java. As far as the main competing hypothesis of Yayoi origins is concerned, the evidence for a Korean source of Yayoi innovations turns out not to be so strong as to rule out an alternative explanation.


The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia

At this point, I decided to go beyond similarities of appearance or typology to seek deeper connections of a genetic kind. This required the use of ‘hard science’. So the next four chapters deal with rice genetics, bio-anthropology (including DNA) and historical/statistical linguistics. Unfortunately (unless you enjoy a challenge), these chapters are quite hard-going – but they are the core of the book, and the story that they tell when put together is a fascinating one.

Part Two


The enterprise of rice cultivation

We have seen how important rice was as the basis of Yayoi civilization, enabling the development of a settled agricultural society and the production of a surplus to support larger political units with their courts and culture. We have also seen that the Yayoi rice tools such as the reaping knife, as well as the Yayoi rice cultivation practices, were like those of Java. It is now time to look at rice genetics to find out if here too there is a link between Java and Japan, since a genetic relationship is immensely stronger proof than similarities, even striking ones, in tools and practices. This requires providing some background on the long, complicated, and still inadequately researched history of cultivated rice (Oryza sativa). In Chapter One, I listed three things that made me wonder whether Indonesia and Japan had had more contact in pre-modern times than anyone had ever realized. One of these three things was a statement that javanica rice was a subgroup of japonica rice. To explain this statement, I need to say something about the different forms of cultivated rice. Then I will outline the history of rice in Southeast Asia – to the extent it is known – before going on to look at the relationship between Japanese and Javanese rice. I will conclude with a few remarks on the social, religious and ritual importance of rice in Java and Japan.

The long and disputed history of cultivated rice
So what exactly is the relationship between javanica rice and japonica rice? To explain this, some background on the history of cultivated rice is necessary. The subject of the evolution of the different forms of cultivated rice grown in Asia and their relationships is both complicated and controversial. There is less research on rice than on wheat, maize, barley and even the common potato, and T. T. Chang, for long the research director of the International Rice Research Institute (IRRI), describes rice as ‘an Asian crop underexplored by Asian scholars’ (T. T. Chang, personal communication). Scientists working on rice seem to have more major and unresolved differences of opinion than those working on other crops, and even individual scientists have not always taken a clear and consistent position. The following briefly outlines the different scenarios that have been put forward concerning the early history of cultivated rice, Oryza sativa, and the development of subdivisions within it.


The enterprise of rice cultivation

One can begin with a basic, introductory statement such as ‘Most scientists who work on rice would agree that there are now, and have been for a long time, three large “eco-geographic races” of cultivated rice, Oryza sativa. These are indica, japonica (sometimes also called sinica or keng) and javanica.’ Unfortunately, such a statement immediately has to be qualified. This is for two major reasons. First, indica and japonica were formerly considered to be subspecies of Oryza sativa, whereas they are now generally considered to be not subspecies but ‘eco-geographic races’, also called ecospecies, whose origin is the result of selection by man in the process of the domestication of the wild rices under different environments (Chandler 1979: 12). However, the term subspecies is still retained by some, introducing an element of confusion. Second, some scientists would not accept this basic introductory statement because they argue that japonica and javanica should be considered as one single eco-geographic race rather than two, a question that will be discussed below. Scientists working on rice have described a number of distinct ‘ecotypes’ which developed within the eco-geographic races of Oryza sativa. Thus, the indica eco-geographic race contains the ecotypes Aman (monsoon rice, photoperiod sensitive – a term used to indicate sensitivity to day length), and Aus (spring rice, photoperiod insensitive), Cereh (an Indonesian indica rice) and Boro. The japonica eco-geographic race contains the ecotypes ‘ordinary Japan rice’ and Nuda (Morinaga 1968: 4). At the lowest taxonomic level, that of the variety, the range is enormous, though it has become less so with the recent spread of the so-called High-Yielding Varieties (HYVs) which superseded older varieties and brought about much greater uniformity. These High-Yielding Varieties are now planted in an estimated 70 per cent of the world’s rice-growing land (Khush 1997: 33). It is this remarkable number of varieties, developed by natural selection, breeding and hybridization over the 8000 years of Oryza sativa’s known existence that makes the historical evolution of these cultivated forms of rice so difficult to reconstruct. Human beings have been working on improving their rice varieties for millennia, both by selective breeding and by importing rice from elsewhere, and we have minimal archaeological information and historical records detailing these developments. Therefore, it is possible to put forward a number of different historical narratives to explain the situation we find today. The Indica–Japonica differentiation How did the different eco-geographic races of cultivated rice and their subgroups evolve? The generally accepted thesis is that the prototype of Oryza sativa evolved from an annual progenitor such as Oryza nivara, which was in turn derived from wild rice, over a broad belt that extended from the southern foothills of the Himalayas, across upper Burma, northern Thailand, and Laos to North Vietnam and southwest and south China (Chang 1989: 410). The widespread distribution of the wild rices in insular Southeast Asia, Sri Lanka and Taiwan was most probably facilitated by land bridges which existed as late

The enterprise of rice cultivation 61 as the Pleistocene. In view of this widespread distribution of wild rices, Oka favours the theory of multiple origins for cultivated rice, though if a single site has to be nominated he would favour Thailand (Oka 1988: 137–9). Subsequently, the continuous and varied movements of people in Asia during prehistoric times were an important factor in the broad distribution of early Oryza sativa forms which led to the formation of the three eco-geographic races (Chang 1976a: 428–9). What factors led to the development of these eco-geographic races? Oka sees the indica and japonica eco-geographic races as having evolved separately with the domestication in different places of Asian common wild rice, which he states is not differentiated into indica and japonica types but shows a latent tendency and potentiality for such differentiation (Oka 1988: 169). Based on their present distribution, Oka has suggested a continental/island distinction with the indica type mainly distributed on the continent while the japonica is distributed mainly in islands ranging from Japan to Indonesia (Oka 1975: 154–6). However, it can be objected with respect to this suggestion that japonica varieties are found in the mountainous regions of India and Indochina, as well as in the plain of northern China, and conversely, indica varieties are grown in the islands of Indonesia. In the same publication Oka suggests a different way in which indica and japonica can be distinguished. Though they each have both tropical and temperate varieties, according to Oka rice cultivars in temperate countries such as Japan, Korea and northern China are exclusively japonica (Oka 1988: 154). In China, japonica varieties are grown mainly north of the Yangtze and indica ones to the south, since japonica varieties have better cold tolerance. Indica rice is dominant in tropical and subtropical regions, though there are also japonica varieties grown in the tropics.1 Oka does admit, however, that indica varieties have actually been grown in temperate countries.2 He also states that there is a tendency (in northern Thailand, for instance, as well as in Yunnan) for indica varieties to be grown in the valley and japonica ones on the hill, and upland japonica types are also found in Burma, north eastern India, Nepal, Bhutan, Bangladesh, Laos and in some places in Indonesia. This distribution of indica and japonica has led Oka to suggest that japonica rice could be related to selection for suitability for upland conditions (Oka 1988: 156). However, it seems clear that neither Oka’s continental versus island classification nor his temperate versus tropical classification fully accounts for the highly complex distribution of indica and japonica rices. Chang differs from Oka in claiming that the tropical indica race, which has the greatest diversity, is generally recognized as the prototype of the other eco-geographic races (Chang 1988: 71). He claims that the initial differentiation of the japonica race could have taken place at any one of a number of mountainous sites with likely prehistoric contacts with China, notably in the triangle bordering Nepal, India and Bhutan, and another triangle between northwest Burma, northern Laos and Yunnan. This finding agrees with historical, archaeological and geographical studies and with the rich varietal diversity found in Nepal, Sikkim, Assam, Bangladesh, northern Thailand and Yunnan


The enterprise of rice cultivation

Table 3.1 Early examples of cultivated rice Site Koldihwa, U.P., India Type of remains Ecogeographic race indica Estimated age 6570–4530 BCEa

Rice grains in potsherds and husks in cow dung Ban Chiang, Thailand Husk remains in potsherds Ban Na Di, Thailand Milled rice kernels Gua Sireh, Sarawakb Rice grains and husks Solana, N. Luzon, Glume imprints on Philippines potsherds Luo-jia-jiao, Zhejiang, Carbonized grains China and broken husks Ho-mu-tu, Zhejiang, Carbonized grains, China husks, straw Heng-ch’un, China Glume imprints on potsherds Chih-shan-yen, Taipei, Carbonized grains Taiwan and brown rice Yang-shao, Honan, Glume imprint on China pottery Xom Trai Cave, ? northwest Vietnam

? ? ? ? indica and japonica indica indica japonica ? indica and japonica

3500 BCE 1500–900 BCE 2500 BCE c. 1400 BCE 5000 BCE 5008 BCE 3985 BCE 2095–1500 BCE c. 3200–2500

4000–2000 BCE

Notes a Chang suggests in a footnote that this date is uncertain and the age of rice cultivation at the Koldihwa site may be as late as 1500 BCE. b The Gua Sireh date has been subtituted for the Ulu Leang date of c. 4000 BCE given by Chang, as this latter date is now under question.

(Chang 1976a: 432–3). It is also supported by recent findings showing that indica has greater intra-subspecific variation than japonica and javanica (Bautista et al. 2001). Fortunately, for the purposes of this investigation it is not necessary to know whether the eco-geographic race japonica was developed from the eco-geographic race indica or whether the two eco-geographic races evolved separately. It is sufficient to know that the indica/japonica differentiation, however it arose, already existed in very early times indeed, as the above table based on Chang 1989 makes clear. We can see from this table that both the indica and japonica eco-geographic races of rice have existed for 7,000 years. Over time, there have been shifts in the balance of indica and japonica rices grown in most parts of rice-growing Asia, with rice farmers always looking for varieties that will perform better in their specific micro-climate. Southeast Asian farmers played a significant part in developing improved

The enterprise of rice cultivation 63 varieties: for instance, early-maturing Champa varieties were introduced on a large scale into central and south China during the eleventh century (Chang 1977: 147–8). We can assume that the urge to develop improved varieties which we can see operating so strongly in historical times was also at work in prehistoric times. The Japonica–Javanica relationship Javanese rice ( javanica) is of special interest to this investigation. Javanica was grown not only on Java but also on Madura, Bali and Lombok, southern Sumatra and Sulawesi until it began to be replaced by new high-yielding and locust-resistant varieties developed at the International Rice Research Institute from the late 1960s. Outside Indonesia, the second largest concentration of the javanica race is in northern Luzon, especially the central Cordillera region. The aboriginal tribes in the mountainous areas of Taiwan also grew javanica rice until recently. In all cases, the cultural regime belongs to the wetland type: irrigated wetland in Indonesia and Luzon, rain-fed wetland in Taiwan. The javanica race was also taken by sea to Madagascar, where it is still grown. Thus, the javanica race, though genetically more compact and less diverse than indica, has an extremely wide geographical distribution, ranging from Madagascar to Taiwan. Its geographic spread, though extending northwards and westwards rather than southwards and eastwards into the Pacific, rivals in extent that of the original Austronesian migration. The javanica race seems to have evolved when Javanese farmers persistently selected for cultivars with long and fully exerted panicles, non-shattering habit, and heavy bold grains (Chang 1977: 152). Their long panicled, tall and non-lodging straw together with their resistance to grain shedding makes them eminently suitable for the harvesting and planting methods particular to Indonesia. Individual ears are harvested separately with the ani-ani (small, hand-held, crescent-shaped reaping knife) – a practice which was also, as we have seen, followed by the Yayoi rice farmers – before being tied in bundles and transported to the store. Whole ears are sown in the nursery, and rice is milled direct from the unthreshed ear (Chandraratna 1964: 20). In Indonesia most javanica rice is known as Bulu, which means ‘bearded’: Bulu varieties always have awns (an awn is the ‘delicate spinous process, or “beard,” that terminates the grain-sheath of barley, oats, and other grasses’ []). A much smaller group of javanica rice is known as Gundhil. These rices are like Bulus in most respects, but differ from them in being unawned – Gundhil means ‘hairless’ – and in their high hybrid fertility not only with Bulus but also with the Indonesian Cereh rices which belong to the indica eco-geographic race (Chandraratna 1964: 18–22). Since the time of van der Stok (1910) workers have recognized the existence of pronounced morphological and physiological differences and sterility barriers between Bulu and Cereh. The Bulu and Gundhil varieties of the javanica eco-geographic race have more advanced features than the indica varieties


The enterprise of rice cultivation

grown under wetland culture in the same area, and Bulu is a more compact group than the Cereh rices. Thus, javanica can be described as an advanced (through selective breeding), genetically compact but extremely widely-dispersed eco-geographic race of rice.

The history of rice in Southeast Asia
It is assumed that indica rice spread southward from the mainland into Sri Lanka and the Malay Archipelago. The reasons put forward for seeing the direction of dispersal as being from south Asia and mainland Southeast Asia to insular Southeast Asia are: 1. the relative paucity of wild relatives in island Southeast Asia; 2. the apparently shorter history of agriculture there – though recent discoveries have suggested that rice may have been cultivated in insular Southeast Asia at an earlier period than previously thought; 3. the abundance of root crops and low population density there; and 4. the more advanced features of rice cultivars (i.e. varieties that have arisen as a result of human cultivation) found in Indonesia, the central Cordillera region of the Philippines, and the mountainous areas of Taiwan (Chang 1989: 413). Nevertheless, information is fragmentary on the history of lowland rice culture in Southeast Asia. The earliest specimens of rice glumes excavated from Non Nok Tha in Thailand were dated at 3500 BCE or slightly earlier. These grains seem more closely related to weed than to cultivated races and indicate gathering rather than cultivation. Historical records indicate that cultivation in northern Vietnam began sometime after 2000 BCE. It was once thought that cultivation in Indonesia, Malaysia and the Philippines did not begin until after 1500 BCE (see Spencer 1963), but the archaeological record, though slight, clearly indicates that there was rice cultivation in western Borneo by 2500 BCE. Given this, we can safely assume that rice cultivation would also have developed in the much more favourable conditions of neighbouring Java by this time if not earlier. Bellwood writes that it is likely that rice was always important in the ideal soil and climatic conditions of magnificently fertile Java and Bali from the time the first Austronesians settled there. These Austronesians may have already developed rice varieties suited to an equatorial climate (Bellwood 1997: 234–5, 237). It is unfortunate that wet rice cultivation has no clear archaeological or linguistic prehistory in the Indo-Malaysian archipelago (Bellwood 1997: 252), so that at present we can only speculate as to the date of its development or introduction. As noted in the preceding chapter, Bellwood (1985: 244) feels an introduction in the first millennium CE ‘must always remain likely’ whereas van Leur, on the other hand, considered that sawah (wet rice) cultivation was definitely an earlier indigenous development that had taken centuries to evolve (van Leur 1955: 254). It is important to note that the time-frame is right for the introduction of Bulu into Japan: though the early history of rice in Indonesia is inadequately studied, we know that rice was present at least by 2500 BCE, which is 1300–1500 years before the dates proposed for the introduction of rice into Japan. This also allows ample time for the development of Bulu rice.

The enterprise of rice cultivation 65

The relationship between Javanese and Japanese rice
As background to the following discussion, it may be useful to set out some of the methods scientists have used to decide whether particular ecotypes of rice are closely or only distantly related. These are as follows: 1 MORPHOLOGY, PARTICULARLY GRAIN TYPE. Following Kato, Matsuo placed particular emphasis on grain dimensions, since despite minor environmental fluctuation, grain dimension appeared to be the most constant of the attributes of rice varieties. He recognized three grain types: short, large and long (Chandraratna 1964: 8, 24). Most of us have been to the supermarket and bought rice labelled ‘long grain’, and this is the typical indica grain. Japonica grain, on the other hand is round, while javanica has a heavy, bold grain. It was subsequently pointed out, however, that reliance on gross plant and grain morphology to characterize and classify the numerous rice cultivars is inadequate because the grain size and shape of rices are subject to the rice growers’ preferences, and the predominant grain type of a region can be altered by selective breeding over a period of centuries (Chang 1985: 440). DEGREE OF INTERBREEDING. Stebbins showed in 1950 that rices which were morphologically similar were often separated by pronounced sterility barriers, while rices with marked morphological differences were frequently interfertile (Chandraratna 1964: 7). Therefore, the extent to which two types of rice will interbreed is now generally considered a much more reliable diagnostic of relatedness than is morphology. The relative fertility of the F1 (i.e. first generation) hybrid is the main indicator of whether two types of rice are closely or more distantly related. OTHER INDICATORS, such as relative potassium chlorate resistance, drought resistance, apiculus hair length, KOH (potassium hydroxide) digestion, phenol staining, and cold sensitivity (on some of which see Oka 1988: 144). However, it could be argued that these indicators have now been superseded by more advanced and reliable procedures. ISOZYMES. Isozymes almost always have some slight differences so that when they do not differ it means the plants are from the same stock. With respect to rice, Oka argues that though japonica cultivars vary widely in fitness characteristics as they are subdivided into tropical and temperate types, they are exceedingly unique in the assembly of isozyme alleles, which suggests they are descendants of a single founder. Indica rices may also have descended from a single founder, although they are more varied in their isozymes (Oka 1988: 171). In terms of scientific analysis, isozymes preceded restriction fragment length polymorphism (RFLP), discussed below. R ESTRICTION FRAGMENT LENGTH POLYMORPHISM. This is a technique in which organisms may be differentiated by analysis of patterns derived from cleavage of their DNA. If two organisms differ in the distance between sites of






The enterprise of rice cultivation cleavage of a particular restriction endonuclease, the length of the fragments produced will differ when the DNA is digested with a restriction enzyme. The similarity of the patterns generated can be used to differentiate species (and even strains) from one another. Isolation of sufficient DNA for RFLP analysis is time-consuming and intensive.

As remarked above, opinions differ as to whether japonica and javanica are two separate eco-geographic races of Oryza sativa. In 1986, Glaszmann and Arraudeau argued on the basis of F1 hybridization, isozymes, and some morphological characters, that japonica and javanica should be lumped together. They found that variation was continuous between two extremes, which are constituted on the one hand by Japanese and Korean varieties and on the other hand by Indonesian varieties. Rices that occupied an intermediate position on this spectrum were found in mountainous Southeast Asia and the Himalayas. They concluded that the so-called javanica varieties were the tropical forms of a single japonica sensu lato group in which morphological variation is related to geography, and that the use of the term javanica at the same rank as indica and japonica was therefore incorrect (Glaszmann and Arraudeau 1986). However, their study has been criticized for its over-reliance on the starch gels to present isozymes as the most important indicator of genetic relationship. And in fact the picture is more complex. To begin with, studies at IRRI have shown that the upland indica rice varieties of the Southeast Asian mainland and the javanica varieties are genetically close to each other, differing mainly in the root system. They also bear rather close affinity to the Aus (summer rice) varieties of east India and Bangladesh. Figures on interfertility among F1 hybrids show that the upland rices are closer to the Bulu rices than to the Aus rices (Chang et al. 1986: 394). The upland and Bulu rices share characteristics (see Chang 1988) which represent an advanced state of evolutionary changes (Chang 1989: 415). Chang considers the Javanese varieties (both the awned Bulus and the awnless Gundhils) and the traditional upland varieties of Southeast Asia as making up a much younger race, which is quite close to the Aus varieties in genetic affinity and meiotic behaviour as expressed by their F1 hybrids and in certain properties of their proteins (electrophoretic profiles) as well as their root characters, amylose content and photoperiod sensitivity (T. T. Chang, personal communication). Earlier Japanese workers such as Morinaga and Kuriyama postulated that the Aus rices may represent a form intermediate between the indica and japonica races. These Aus varieties are marked by their early maturity, resistance to drought, well-developed root system, and rather bold grains. It has also been suggested that they may be the progenitor of the javanica varieties and of the upland rices (Chang 1988: 71). The Aus varieties also showed some fertility with Japanese varieties, though not as much as the Bulu rices had. This is demonstrated in the work of Morinaga. Morinaga’s 1968 study was the first to establish a relationship between Bulu rice and ordinary Japanese rice. This study looked at the relationships between six ecotypes, i.e. Aman, Cereh, Boro, Aus, Bulu and ordinary Japan rice, based on their relative interfertility. His findings showed that while Bulu did appear to

The enterprise of rice cultivation 67 have some relationship with the upland indica rice of the mainland, it had an even closer relationship with ordinary Japanese rice. His findings can be summarized as follows: 1 The Japan ecotype was distinguished from the others in making hybrids of an intermediate degree of fertility with the Bulu ecotype and the Aus ecotype. It is noteworthy, however, that it was more fertile (66 per cent compared to 56 per cent) with the former than with the latter. In fact, hybrids with Bulu are the most fertile of any of the ecotypes when bred with Japan ecotype (see diagram). In contrast, the Japan ecotype made highly sterile hybrids with Aman, Boro and Cereh ecotypes. The fertility of Bulu when bred with Japanese rice is even more remarkable considering the fact that the tropical Bulu rices did not flourish in Japan where this experiment was made (T. T. Chang, personal communication). The difference between Bulu and Aus was that Bulu made highly sterile hybrids with Aman and Cereh, while Aus made highly fertile hybrids with Boro, Cereh and Aman.


Figure 3.1 Hybridization percentages of six ecotypes of rice (following Morinaga 1968).

68 3

The enterprise of rice cultivation The difference between Boro ecotype and Aman ecotype was very slight, consisting only in that Boro made highly sterile hybrids with the Japan ecotype and Aman made highly sterile hybrids with Japan and Bulu ecotypes. The difference between Aman ecotype and Cereh ecotype was only that Aman made hybrids of intermediate fertility with Boro, while Cereh made highly fertile hybrids with Boro.


More recent work using random amplification of polymorphic DNA (RAPD) and other analyses of DNA as well as RFLP have confirmed that japonica and javanica are closely related (see Bautista et al. 2001). However, it appears that very little research is being done on javanica, with studies tending to concentrate on cultivars of particular interest to US breeding programs (Ni et al. 2002: 601). Thus, Bulu in all classifications and in terms of morphology, hybridization and Oka’s tests clearly has a close relationship with one particular ecotype of japonica rice, i.e. ‘ordinary Japanese rice’. This is a much closer relationship than Bulu has with its immediate neighbour, the Javanese indica ecotype Cereh. What is the historical reason for this relationship? One cannot argue that Bulu is the ancestor of ALL japonica rice world-wide (which Oka describes as likely to have had a single founder, at the same time stating that rice varieties tended to move from south to north) – simply because japonica varieties are attested on the Asian mainland before there is any evidence of the existence of Bulu. Also, Bulu appears to be a younger, more advanced type of rice produced by selective breeding. It seems quite possible that Bulu was developed from the Aus rice varieties, which themselves appear to be intermediate between indica and japonica. Subsequently, the Bulu rice varieties spread northwards, which would have been after japonica already existed. It is generally agreed that Bulu reached at least as far north as Taiwan. But it must also have been introduced to Japan – where it is still grown today! Takamiya points out that in Japan today two types of rice are grown, which he calls temperate japonica (which comprises the vast majority of Japanese rice production) and tropical japonica (Oryza sativa javanica). Sato has suggested that javanica rice was introduced into Japan through the Ryukyu archipelago (Takamiya 2002: 216), but this seems highly unlikely since food production in Okinawa developed very much later than in the main islands of Japan: there is, in fact, no evidence of it until the eighth century CE. Somewhat surprisingly, Takamiya (2002) makes no reference to the origins of this javanica rice that was introduced into Japan. However, the idea that Bulu rice was introduced into Japan from Indonesia was put forward by T. T. Chang as early as 1976. He wrote: ‘The bulu varieties spread from Indonesia to the Philippines, Taiwan and Japan.’ (Chang 1976b: 102). This scenario is depicted on the map showing diffusion of rice varieties that appeared in some of Chang’s earlier publications (1977, 1976a and 1976b). In a later publication, however (Chang 1989), the arrow that formerly showed Bulu rice reaching Japan has been retracted to Taiwan (see Figure 3.2). It is now clear that Chang’s initial judgement was correct, and that Bulu rice was indeed introduced into Japan. This judgement was, however, unacceptable to

Centre of diversity of cultivars Japonicas Indicas Javanicas Distribution of wild relatives

area of origin indica sinica or japonica javanica distribution of wild relatives

Figure 3.2 Chang’s two maps of 1975 and 1989: the first shows javanica rice reaching Japan, the second does not.


The enterprise of rice cultivation

many people who could simply not accept that there could have been a movement of rice and associated technology going northward to Japan, rather than in the opposite direction. Once javanica rice was introduced into Japan, it appears to have been crossed with temperate japonica rice with results that greatly facilitated the expansion of rice cultivation in Japan. There was quite a rapid spread of rice cultivation as far as Aomori in the northernmost part of Honshu, with rice being grown there as early as the Middle Yayoi period. Takamiya (2002: 216) remarks that for rice to succeed there, it had to be an early-ripening variety, whereas both temperate japonica and javanica are late-ripening varieties. When they are crossed, however, they actually produce an early-ripening variety, allowing the expansion of rice-growing to areas with shorter growing seasons. And it is exactly such cross-breeding that must also explain why Bulu was revealed to be the closest relative of ordinary Japanese rice in Morinaga’s experiment.

Rice and religion
In both Java and Japan, rice was not just a food but was also central to religious and ritual life. As Jessup (1991: 59) writes: . . . the image of Dewi Sri [the rice goddess] pervades all layers of society. In the wiwitan ceremony in the harvest festival of Central Java, offerings are made to Dewi Sri; the first stalks of rice are cut and tied to make a bride or bridal couple (mantenan), which is identified as the goddess herself. This effigy is taken home and placed on a bed in the inner part of the house. Similarly, simple effigies made of rice paste are formed as offerings to sacred wayang kulit (shadow play puppets) when these are removed from their storage chests in the Kraton Surakarta Hadiningrat (the court of the senior ruler of Java, the Susuhunan of Surakarta), while images of Dewi Sri are incised into the wooden panels of small central rooms considered the heart of village houses in Java. Her association with fertility has a more overt expression in the courtly loro blonyo figures . . . placed in front of the kobongan (ritual marriage bed) in noble houses in Central Java and specifically named Dewi Sri and Dewa Sadana [the husband of the rice goddess]. The harvest festival that Jessup refers to is the largest of those Javanese rituals based on commensality which are called slametan. Jay points out that this slametan celebrates the marriage of Dewi Sri and Jaka Sudana and as part of its ritual identifies every wife with Dewi Sri and every husband with Jaka Sudana [Jaka is a form of address for young males and Sudana a variant spelling for Sadana]. The sri kawin which the one receives from the other becomes spiritually symbolic of the food which a husband gives his wife for her support and the same term is used for the gift which every bridegroom must make to his bride (Jay 1969: 214). Rice cultivation itself is a highly ritualized and gender-specific activity. For a description of the major rituals for blessing the seeds, ploughing the first furrow,

The enterprise of rice cultivation 71 planting, ripening, harvesting and storage, see Ismani (1985: 120–1). Rice must be treated with respect in harvesting and afterwards. When harvesting, the small hand-held reaping knife, the ani-ani, is used in order not to offend the spirit of the rice goddess (as noted above, Javanese rice has clearly been bred to suit this tradition of harvesting – a wonderful example of ideology determining technology). When drying rice, one must be very careful not to spread the grains on the ground. With regards to the gender division of labour, the earthworking and irrigation and most daily crop tending is men’s work, but the rice harvesting is an almost exclusive preserve of women (Jay 1969: 43). The planting of rice must also be done by women: Most important of all, it is the Javanese woman’s proud privilege to plant out the bibit (seedlings) of rice, thus symbolically proclaiming herself the true mother and giver of life to her race. This rule in Java is fixed and absolute. Rice must be planted by women or it will not be fruitful. (Ponder n.d.: 125) Jay also comments that: Women handle the rice store. In hearthholds, where the rice is treated traditionally by being stored in a separate chamber at the rear centre of the sleeping section, they do the small daily ritual aimed to keep Bok Sri, the female rice divinity, content. (Jay 1969: 43) The Nawang Wulan myth, which underlies this female role, is discussed in Chapter Seven. Rice in cosmogony and cosmology in Japan Although right up until the twentieth century most Japanese peasants lived mainly on less valued crops such as wheat, barley and millet, rice growing was still: ‘ . . . a way of life, deeply affecting the individual, the family, and the community. We can begin to appreciate the pervasive significance of rice in traditional Japan by noting that rice was the basic unit of economic exchange, measure of wealth, and symbol of political power’ (Befu 1989, quoted in Hudson 1990: 75). In fact the link between rice and Japanese identity is so strong that it is sometimes claimed that the Japanese actually became Japanese when they started to eat rice (Takamiya 2002: 209). Rice has always been the food for ritual occasions. Of all grains, rice alone is believed to have a soul, and it alone requires ritual performances (Ohnuki-Tierney 1993: 44). Analogous to Bulu rice in Java, Japanese rice must be treated with particular respect: rice is considered to be alive in the hull (Ohnuki-Tierney 1993: 55) and in former times it was common for it to be pulled up, not cut.


The enterprise of rice cultivation

Rice consumption and production are not mere secular activities. Rice consumption is a religious act and thus requires a proper ceremony. Rice and rice products such as rice cakes and rice wine have always been the food for commensality between humans and deities, on the one hand, and among humans on the other (Ohnuki-Tierney 1993: 48), as in the Javanese slametan. In Japanese mythology, one important role of the ‘divine grandson’, Ninigi-no-mikoto, is portrayed in the events after his descent to land. There his bride, Kami-ataka-shitsu-hime, designated a sacred rice-field named sanada, where she grew rice to make sacred sake and boiled rice, thus initiating the first earthly celebration of the Feast of First Fruits (Bock 1990a: 36). This harvest festival became the major annual festival in countryside and court. It was formerly known as the Nihi-nahe or Nihi-name, and is now known as the Shin-jo-sai and is celebrated on 23 November. Like the Javanese harvest festival, it celebrates a divine married couple associated with the introduction of rice. It is also the basis for the imperial ceremony discussed in Chapter Seven. These parallels in the religious and ritual importance of rice in Java and Japan expand our understanding of the central importance of rice not just as the economic basis of society but in the religious sphere and in the construction of identity. The main point of this chapter, however, is to demonstrate the genetic relationship between Javanese rice ( javanica) and the particular japonica ecotype ‘ordinary Japanese rice’. Even though there are disagreements about the evolution of indica and japonica rices, this is not a problem that affects the certainty with which we can state that there is a relationship between javanica and Japanese rice. Morinaga’s work showed that Bulu, the main Javanese rice, was the closest relative of ordinary Japanese rice. That the two interbred to produce the most fertile hybrids of any pair in Morinaga’s experiment is remarkable, given that ordinary Japanese rice has been selected over two millennia for temperate conditions, whereas Bulu has been selected for tropical conditions over the same period. Because of this selection for tropical conditions, the Bulu rice used for the test did not grow well in Japan, yet when Morinaga brought them together with Japanese rice for the first time in 2000 years, they still interbred more successfully than either did with any of the other rices used in this experiment. Not only is javanica rice still grown in Japan to a limited extent, it has also contributed an important component of the most common Japanese rice, the japonica ecotype called ‘ordinary Japanese rice’. The chronology of rice cultivation in Indonesia and Japan is perfectly consistent with a scenario in which Bulu was introduced into Japan by the Yayoi: we know that rice-growing was practised in Indonesia at least by 2500 BCE, over a millennium before the earliest date proposed for the introduction of rice into Japan. So we now know that, apart from the correspondence between rice-planting practices and rice-harvesting knives and techniques, there is also a genetic relationship between the rices of Java and Japan. The question now is, how was javanica rice introduced into Japan? Was it through trade? Or was it brought by immigrant settlers? To answer this question, it is necessary to look at the ethnic relationships of the Japanese. And that is the subject of the following two chapters.


The evidence of the teeth and skulls

At the end of the last chapter, the question was posed as to whether the genetic relationship between the Bulu ecotype from Java and the ‘ordinary Japanese rice’ ecotype was just due to trade, or whether it was actually due to immigrants bringing their rice to Japan. This chapter and the following one will answer that question. This necessitates reviewing a lot of scientific and technical material, some of it open to more than one interpretation. I have given quite a full account of the data for readers who want to evaluate it for themselves, but have also summarized the results of the investigation briefly and in non-technical language at the end of the chapters for other readers. East Asia, and more specifically Japan, is used as the point of departure, since much more work has been done on its population history than on that of Southeast Asia. Nevertheless, the work done on Japan also has some gaps, for instance, the very much smaller number of studies done on the Yayoi population, in which we are particularly interested, compared to the number of studies done on the modern Japanese population. Let me begin by giving a brief coverage of the period when East Asia was first being populated, which forms the background to the era in which we are interested. This was the Late Pleistocene and Holocene era: the Pleistocene is the first epoch of the Quaternary period, usually dated to between 1.64 million years ago and 10,000 years ago, and the Holocene is the second epoch of the Quaternary period, from about 10,000 years ago to the present. This period has recently been studied by Karafet et al. (2001). They discuss the two major routes of migration of the first humans into East Asia that have previously been proposed, the first being via Central Asia, the other through southern East Asia. They found that a simple ancestor–descendant relationship between the Southeast Asian and Northeast Asian populations was not supported by their data, which they concluded may better fit the two-prong/pincer model of Cavalli-Sforza, a model which envisages immigrants arriving via both the Central Asian and the Southeast Asian route (Karafet et al. 2001: 625). They also found that the Northeast Asian population was internally diverse, which they see as reflecting migrations from different source populations


The evidence of the teeth and skulls

(Karafet et al. 2001: 623). In this context it is striking that in their figure 3, instead of Northeast Asian and Southeast Asian populations separating into two groups as one might expect, the Northern Han, the Koreans and the Manchu are all closer to Southeast Asia than to Northeast Asia (Karafet et al. 2001: 620). The sharing of Y chromosome haplotypes1 between the southern and northern populations may be explained by short-range and long-range migration processes subsequent to the initial peopling of East Asia – that is, there was a whole complex series of migrations over a long period of time. This scenario of relatively recent bi-directional migration is clearly shown in their figure 2. The haplogroups2 derived from (and to the left in fig. 2) mutational site M175 are found at relatively high frequencies in Southeast Asia and are shared with Northeast Asia rather than Central Asia. The authors are of the opinion that these haplogroups may well have originated in Southeast Asia and spread north. On the other hand, many of the haplogroups in the backbone of the gene tree are shared by Northeast Asian and Central Asian populations and account for the majority of the Northeast Asian groups, which they feel suggests that there is an old Central Asian element in the Northeast Asian population. Their very important conclusion is that future population history models will have to accommodate more complex multi-directional biological and especially cultural influences than the earlier explanatory paradigms (Karafet et al. 2001: 626).3 So Karafet et al. found evidence of relatively recent migration bringing haplogroups from Southeast Asia to Northeast Asia. Here, I provide the evidence that one example of such a south–north migration took place in Yayoi Japan. To elucidate questions about the history of the human race, physical anthropologists have been providing answers for over a hundred years by studying morphological characteristics, such as skull and teeth shape. Studies of this type related to Japan, and in particular the Yayoi period, are discussed in this chapter. Japan’s ethnohistory during the Yayoi period and the preceding Jōmon era has been debated for a long time. Hypotheses about Japanese ethnic affiliations go as far back as the work of von Siebold in 1823. In the late nineteenth century von Baeltz – displaying the notable readiness of European scientists of the period to engage in gross racial stereotyping – neatly divided the Japanese into two distinct types on the basis of somatometry (body measurements), and called them the Satsuma and the Chōshū. The Satsuma were characterized by a broad and low face, large eye openings, double eyelids, wider nose, thick lips and ear lobes, and short stature. The Chōshū had a longer face, narrower eye openings and nose, single eyelids, thin lips and ear lobes, slender body build, and taller stature. The Chōshū were said to be few in number, but predominant in aristocratic families (K. Hanihara 1991: 2). More recent views of Japanese ethnogenesis, based on more thorough examination of the physical remains of the past, through study of such things as cephalic indices and osteological data, are well summarized by K. Hanihara (1991: 3). The principal questions in the minds of twentieth-century investigators were firstly, do the vast majority of the modern Japanese population descend from the Jōmon (with any physical differences observed resulting from evolutionary pressures), or was there a significant

The evidence of the teeth and skulls 75 contribution from later immigrants, particularly at the time of the Yayoi Revolution? The first position has been named the continuity theory, and the second, the replacement theory. (Unsurprisingly, an intermediate position, i.e. that there was subsequent immigration, but the numbers were so small that they had almost nothing to do with the genetic structure of the subsequent Japanese population, has also been put forward.) Consequent questions have been: What was the genetic makeup of the Jōmon? If there was migration, where exactly did the migrants come from? and, How do the majority population and the minority populations, mainly the Ainu and Ryukyuans, differ in their genetic ancestry? Some researchers also noted that even the majority Japanese population was not a homogeneous group, but was characterized by significant regional variation. Various sources of migrants were mooted, such as Korea (Kanaseki 1986), Mongolia, northeast Asia and Siberia (K. Hanihara 1984). In recent times, the most influential view of Japanese ethnohistory has probably been K. Hanihara’s ‘dual-structure’ hypothesis. It can be outlined as follows. At some time during the Pleistocene the archipelago was settled by ‘proto-Mongoloid’ people from Southeast Asia. These were the ancestors of the Jōmon people, and their morphological characteristics are still visible in the Ainu and Okinawan populations. From the Yayoi period, populations with a quite different, Northeast Asian or ‘neo-Mongoloid’, morphology began to arrive in Japan, in large numbers (K. Hanihara 1991: 8, 23). These migrants had considerable genetic influence in western Japan, particularly northern Kyushu, while eastern Japan by contrast remained more Jōmonese. In the Kofun period, there was a rapid increase in the number of migrants compared with the Yayoi period (K. Hanihara 1991: 10–11). By the end of the seventh century, roughly 90 per cent of the Japanese population belonged to the north Asian lineage (K. Hanihara 1991: 12). K. Hanihara sees the Ainu as descendants of the Jōmon, rejecting various other claims – that they are of Caucasian race, on the one hand, or that they are no different from the majority Japanese population, on the other. While K. Hanihara notes that most of the previous studies of Ainu suggest close similarities between Ainu, Ryukyuans, and non-Ainu Japanese in both morphology and genetics (K. Hanihara 1991: 14), his work on Ikeda’s data on frontal sinus measurements led him to conclude that the modern Ainu and the Ryukyuan populations were both Jōmon descendants, something also reflected in their basic vocabulary, language structure, and world view. These Jōmon descendants are said to correspond to von Baeltz’s Satsuma type, whereas the Chōshū type is represented by the north Asian migrants of the Yayoi period (K. Hanihara 1991: 23). This view achieved widespread currency, and according to Hudson, a majority of anthropologists had accepted [by 1999, when Hudson wrote this] that immigration played the major role in the formation of the Yayoi people, from whom the modern Japanese derive most of their genes, with some uncertain and regionally variable degree of Jōmon admixture (Hudson 1999: 60). More recent studies and their results are described below. This chapter will review studies which have been made of Jōmon and Yayoi skeletons or parts thereof, to wit crania and teeth – the type of studies which, as


The evidence of the teeth and skulls

already noted, have furnished the traditional means of establishing links between different populations.

Jōmon and Yayoi skeletal remains
General characteristics Omoto and Saitou (1997: 440–1) remark that the difference between the Jōmon and the Yayoi populations in the western part of Japan, especially in cranial morphology, is so remarkable and occurred so suddenly that the continuity model – which sees Yayoi civilization as having been developed by the Jōmon, whose head shape changed over time – cannot adequately account for these. Jōmon-type skeletons are generally shorter than Yayoi ones. The facial skeleton is low and wide, giving it a squarer appearance, the interorbital region is deeper, and dental occlusion is edge-to-edge. It appears, however, that not all Jōmon skeletons are the same: Shigehara (1994a) argues that there was a change in Jōmon skeletal morphology over time, and that the delicate physique of the early Jōmon period may have been transformed into a stouter physique in the early and middle Jōmon periods in the Chiba region. His study of the Late Jōmon skeletons of the Inland Kitamura site (Nagano Prefecture), however, describes a population with more delicate skulls than other Late Jōmon people, but with similar brachycephaly, narrow and high semicylindrical nasal bone at the nasal root, and relatively flat limb bones. In-process work on the size of the teeth suggested a close relationship with Jōmon populations in the Tōkai and Kantō districts (Shigehara 1994b: 341). Kondo (1995) argues on the basis of metric and non-metric data on Jōmon crania that the Jōmon population was not homogeneous, and that heterogeneity within the different regions where they are found is quite comparable to the heterogeneity between regions. Turning to the Yayoi skeletons, it should be said at the start that these show a restricted distribution as regards both temporal and regional location. Nakahashi (1999) notes the lack of Yayoi skeletons from the transitional period between the Jōmon and Yayoi: most of the Yayoi skeletons from northern Kyushu are from the middle Yayoi period when the jar burial system, which provided the best conditions for preservation, was popular. There is also a lack of skeletons from the period of the spread of this immigrant type through western and central Japan in the late Yayoi and early Kofun periods. The average height of Yayoi skeletons is about 162–3 cm for males and about 151 cm for females. The facial skeleton is high and narrow with a shallow nasal root and a very flat interorbital region, and dental occlusion is overbite. This contrasts with the Jōmon-type skeletons of the period from northwest Kyushu which have an average height of around 158–9 cm for males and 148 cm for females, and which, as remarked above, have a low and wide facial skeleton with a square appearance, deep interorbital region and edge-to-edge dental occlusion.4 It is clear that there is internal diversity among Yayoi-period skeletons just as there is among Jōmon ones. Hudson reports Matsushita’s conclusion that the

The evidence of the teeth and skulls 77 Yayoi skeletons themselves could be subdivided into two types that he termed ‘Doigahama’ and ‘Yoshinogari’, of which the first has a narrower, more delicate face. He argues that these two groups may have come from different places on the mainland (Hudson 1999: 62). In southern Kyushu there is a third Yayoi-period population. It has to be remembered that the term ‘Yayoi’ is used in the literature both to describe the immigrant group(s) whose arrival is indicated by the skeletal evidence, and the period in which they came. Since Jōmon people continued to live in Japan in this period, one comes across references to ‘Yayoi’ populations which are actually ethnically Jōmon, leading to a certain amount of confusion for readers. This southern Kyushu Yayoi-period population is one of these, although it is somewhat different from other known Jōmon groups. Recent finds of sixty Final Jōmon to Middle Yayoi skeletons in Mashiki Azambaru in the Ryukyus resemble this southern Kyushu type, though Matsushita points out that there are some differences between the two sets of skeletons. Another study, of skeletons from the Takuta-Nishibun Yayoi-period site (Oota et al. 1995: 141) led the authors to classify these skeletons into three types: the first type is characterized by taller stature, a higher and narrower facial contour, higher orbital openings (eye sockets), a much shallower nasal root, and remarkably flat glabella (the smooth rounded surface of the frontal bone in the middle of the forehead, between the two eyebrows) and superciliary arches. These are typical of Yayoi individuals excavated in northern Kyushu who are considered to have been migrants or their descendants. The second type has features opposite to those of the first type: a shorter stature, a relatively low and wide facial contour, rather square orbital openings, a markedly depressed nasal root, and prominent glabella and superciliary arches, which are known to be characteristic of the indigenous Jōmon people. The third type is intermediate between the first and second types. Outside of Kyushu and Yamaguchi Prefecture (on the westernmost end of Honshu), Yayoi skeletal morphology is poorly known owing to the scarcity of remains. A few Kyushu/Yamaguchi-type skeletons are, however, known from other Yayoi sites in western Japan, including Karako-kagi in Nara, and Koura in Shimane (Hudson 1999: 64). In the Kantō, only five sites have produced nonfragmentary remains. Some of these skeletons are typically Jōmon. However, Late Yayoi remains from Awa Shrine Cave in Chiba are seen as intermediate between Jōmon and Kofun period specimens. Some skulls show the same kind of prominent Jōmon-like glabello-nasal region seen at Sano cave and Tenjinmae, while others show a pronounced flatness of the same region that is characteristic not of Jōmon period skulls, but of later Kofun period facial skeletons. Late Middle Yayoi specimens from Bishamon and Ōurayama caves (on the Miura peninsula in Kanagawa) are the most similar to the north Kyushu/Yamaguchi Yayoi population: the skulls are more long-headed and have flatter faces, poorly developed glabella, and a wide, low nasal root (Hudson 1999: 65). Despite the paucity of finds, it seems clear that by the Kofun era the Kyushu/ Yamaguchi morphology was widely distributed through Shikoku and western


The evidence of the teeth and skulls

Honshu. Hudson states that by this period the population of the Kantō region was close to the Yayoi immigrant type, and by the seventh century the genetic influence of the Yayoi immigrants had advanced to a high level even in eastern Honshu (Hudson 1999: 65). According to Matsushita, by the Kofun period there were two different populations in southern Kyushu. The first, found in the mountainous regions of Kumamoto and Kagoshima, is basically of the Jōmon type, the second, located in the plains, is similar to north Kyushu Yayoi and Kinai Kofun populations. It is not clear what might have happened to Matsushita’s south Kyushu Yayoi group mentioned above (Hudson 1999: 66–7). Since Korea is the favoured source of the Yayoi immigrants, one would naturally expect that comparisons be made with Korean skeletal material. It seems, however, there is a dearth of skeletal remains from China and the Korean peninsula corresponding to the Final Jōmon and Yayoi periods in Japan (Han 1995; Hudson 1999: 67). A comparison has been made with two hundred skeletons excavated from the Yeanni site on the Korean peninsula but these are from a later period, i.e. fourth to seventh centuries CE. With their high facial skeleton and flat naso-frontal region, they are said to show a close affinity with Yayoi and Kofun populations in north Kyushu and Yamaguchi (Hudson 1999: 68), but because of their date they are of limited use to determine the origins of the Yayoi migrants. I will now outline some of the major specialized studies.

Specialized studies including Yayoi samples
Cranial studies A number of cranial studies including Yayoi material have now been carried out. These fall into two categories, craniometric and cranioscopic. Craniometric studies A study by Li et al. in 1991 classified the Yayoi as belonging to the Southeast Asian part of the Asian cluster (Li et al. 1991: fig. 4). In another craniometric study, Pietrusewsky (1992a: 47) noted that Borneo, Vietnam, Sulu, Java and Sulawesi were closest to Japan – in that order, and ahead of both the Chinese and Mongolian populations. His dendrogram (Pietrusewsky 1992a: 42) indicates that Japan occupies a peripheral branch of the Southeast Asian subgrouping, joining just ahead of Thailand, Bachuc and the southern Moluccas. Pietrusewsky concluded that: ‘Previous researchers have noticed similarities between Japanese and East Asian groups. The results of this study only partially support this view. Although the modern Japanese are part of the East Asian cluster containing Chinese, Mongolians, and Southeast Asians, they align more closely with several mainland and island Southeast Asian samples than they do with Chinese or Mongolians.’ These findings are confirmed in Pietrusewsky (1992b), which, in

The evidence of the teeth and skulls 79
Australo Melanesia Africa Vietnam Thailand Burma Philippines Sumatra Bomeo Guangxi Yayoi Shanghai Chengdu Yunnan Hebei Honan Hong kong Japan Gansu Neolithic Korea Northeast China Amerind Jomon-Pacific Xian Neolithic Mongol Buriat Eskimo-Siberia India Europe

Figure 4.1 Craniometric graph from Li et al. showing Yayoi clustering with Southeast
Asian populations.

connection with Brace’s Sinodont/Sundadont distinction, concluded that affinities between Chinese, Japanese and Mongolians were not as marked as previous researchers had demonstrated (Pietrusewsky 1992b: 553). These studies, however, were based almost entirely on modern populations and did not have Korean samples, and in a later study (Pietrusewsky 1994) in which he did include Korean specimens, Pietrusewsky found that the Japanese series, from Yayoi to modern times, formed one branch with Korea, to which Ainu and Jōmon were marginally related. A still later study by Pietrusewsky (1999) produced results that were different again. This study was based on twenty-nine cranial measurements in six male cranial series from the Ryukyu Islands (these were modern and near-modern crania), ten male cranial series representing prehistoric and modern Japanese (including Ainu), and forty-two additional male cranial series from other parts of Asia, Australia and Oceania. Pietrusewsky’s figure 5 (1999: 269) which contains only Japanese and Ryukyuan specimens, shows the five modern and near-modern Japanese series clustering in one quadrant of the diagram while Kofun, Yayoi and Kamakura form a second cluster. The six Ryukyuan groups form a constellation which hovers closest to the latter grouping. Jōmon and Ainu form an isolated group far removed from any of the groups in this diagram; in fact, these two groups are the most differentiated from all remaining cranial series. Figure 7, however, which includes other Asian populations, shows the Yayoi as closest to the Babuz-Pazeh, a Taiwan aboriginal, i.e. Austronesian, group (rather than to Koreans or Chinese).5 In this study, the Yayoi are not close to the Javanese. However, Pietrusewsky’s check of his procedures by testing how many specimens of known provenance


The evidence of the teeth and skulls

they correctly classify – a common method used to test whether one’s classification criteria are correct – reveals some problems that are particularly relevant to the Javanese. The best classification results are only around 60–70 per cent, while the poorest classifications are actually less than 25 per cent or worse. (Indeed jackknifed classification results reveal a still higher percentage of misclassifications.) Among those with the poorest results are the Javanese, and also the Koreans (Pietrusewsky 1999: 268, 271–2). Considering that these two populations are the most important ones for establishing the origin of the Yayoi, it seems preferable to await a study where these problems have been solved. Cranioscopic studies Non-metric cranial features are considered particularly suited for the study of genetic inheritance. With respect to the genetic inheritance of the Yayoi, the ‘raw data’ of Kozintsev’s cranioscopic studies (Kozintsev 1990; 1992) revealed that the Yayoi align very closely with Indonesians. Kozintsev remarks that compared to the populations of northern and central Asia, modern Japanese as well as Chinese are considerably less Mongoloid. The proto-Japanese of the Yayoi and Kofun periods at first sight appear to be more Mongoloid than modern Japanese. But examining each trait separately it becomes evident that only in Occipital Index (OI) do the Yayoi and Kofun people

% HGCB 25
Hokkaido Ainu Okhotsk culture Sakhalin Ainu Nivkhs

Baikal Neolithic

Iroquois Aleuts


7 8

East Jomon Ryukyu 1 Mongols

Negidals Ulchi Chinese 6


West Jomon

Yayoi Indonesians 2

3 4











70 SOF


Figure 4.2 Figure from Kozintsev’s cranioscopic study showing the Yayoi aligning
closely with Indonesians.

The evidence of the teeth and skulls 81 deviate towards the Siberians, the number of observations being very small here. In most other diagnostic traits the shift is towards the Jōmon group (Kozintsev 1990: 251). Figure 2, based on supraorbital foramen (SOF) and hypoglossal canal bridging, shows the Yayoi very close to Indonesians (Kozintsev 1990: 255), and figure 1 (Kozintsev 1990: 254), based on transverse zygomatic suture posterior trace (TZST) and infraorbital pattern type II (IOP II), also shows the Yayoi closer to Indonesians than to Chinese. Kozintsev’s treatment of these data is frankly selective, apparently a ‘long-standing tradition of Soviet physical anthropology’. A selection of a few traits is justified as producing a better, more ‘suggestive’ classification, i.e. one which ‘obviously reflects population events of the past’ (Kozintsev 1990: 249) – a particularly striking example of massaging the data to conform to what is ‘already known’. Kozintsev’s method also has other problems, discussed in Kumar 1998. It is also significant that all northern-population models used by Kozintsev produce better results with the Kofun group than with the Yayoi groups, while for the Chinese and Indonesian models the opposite is true, i.e. they produce better results with the Yayoi than with the Kofun. This implies that the Yayoi population was closer to China and Indonesia, and the Kofun population closer to a northern population. Dental studies One of the traditional methods used for making gross classifications of macrogeographical variation in Asia is the study of dental form. Anatomist Melanie A. McCollum of Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland is quoted as saying that in early human ancestors, evolutionary forces seem to have operated on genes that affected the teeth but not much else in the face, though in most cladistic analyses dental traits seem to play a minor role compared with skull measurements (Bower 2000). There is significant variation between populations in features such as the number and location of cusps on the teeth, and the distribution of these features is the basis of dental studies. It is important, however, to note Matsumura’s point that there is difficulty in determining what aspect of dental morphology is most reliable in making phylogenetic inferences, with researchers taking different positions. He considers classification on the basis of the non-metric trait pattern or the tooth size to be a reliable indicator of ethnic affiliation (Matsumura 1995: 257). As far as Asian populations are concerned, the most frequently cited large-scale distinction is that drawn by Turner between a northern group of Sinodonts and a southern group of Sundadonts. It is not uncommon to encounter categorical statements that the Japanese are Sinodonts and the Indonesians Sundadonts. However, if one examines the data behind these categories a rather less black-andwhite picture emerges. According to the accepted theory, one should find Asian populations in the following positions between the two poles.

82 The evidence of the teeth and skulls
Table 4.1 Sinodont and Sundadont populations ‘Sinodont’ characteristics North China/Mongolia Recent Indonesia/Malaysia Early Malay archipelago, Jōmon ‘Sundadont’ characteristics

Though the Japanese are often classified as Sinodont, it can be established that the recent Japanese are at a halfway point between North Asians and Southeast Asians, as I pointed out in an earlier publication (Kumar 1998: 265–8; see also Manabe 1992). The south Chinese are in fact more like Southeast Asians than like North Asians, which confirms the opinion of Turner (1987). Turner (1992) also pointed out that Yayoi teeth were very similar to those of south China. We can infer from this that the Yayoi were also more similar to Southeast Asians than to North Asians. The position of the modern Japanese further strengthens this hypothesis, as their intermediate position suggests the presence of a significant southern influence. Hudson notes Turner’s finding that the Yayoi people originated in south China, but comments critically that his small Yayoi sample is noticeably absent from his table of Mean Measures of Divergence (Hudson 1999: 69). A study that does include a Yayoi sample was conducted by Tsunehiko Hanihara, who concluded that the teeth of modern Japanese are closely related to Yayoi samples and to Chinese from north-eastern China (Hudson 1999: 69). Unfortunately for our purposes, since he is particularly interested in the ‘aboriginal’ populations of Southeast Asia and their hypothesized relationship with the Jōmon population, he does not include those later Austronesian populations of interest to us (Tsunehiko Hanihara 1992). However, Hanihara’s figures for the Yayoi population can be to some extent linked into Turner’s work reported above (Turner 1987), though unfortunately Hanihara gives figures for only nine traits, as opposed to Turner’s twenty-eight. It is noteworthy that in five of these nine traits, the readings for the Yayoi population are closest to Turner’s Early Malay Archipelago and/or Recent IndoMalaysia and Southeast Asia groups. These traits are: 6-cusp Lower Molar (LM)1 (Yayoi samples 41.5 per cent and 47.6 per cent, Early Malay Archipelago 45.5 per cent) Protostylid6 LM1 (Yayoi samples 9.4 per cent and 8.7 per cent, Early Malay Archipelago also 8.7 per cent) Cusp-7 LM1 (Yayoi samples 4.2 per cent and 4.3 per cent, Early Malay Archipelago 4.6 per cent), Hypocone7 Upper Molar (UM)2, (Yayoi samples 84.3 per cent and 95.8 per cent, Early Malay Archipelago 86.2 per cent, recent Indo-Malaysia 91.2 per cent) and Shovelling UI1 (Yayoi samples 57.1 per cent and 47.5 per cent, Recent Southeast Asia 46.2 per cent). The other traits are 4-cusp LM2 (Yayoi closest to China, intermediate between North and South China), Deflecting Wrinkle8 LM1 (Yayoi frequency

The evidence of the teeth and skulls 83 higher than any of Turner’s groups but classifiable with northern Asians), Distal Trigonid Crest LM1 (Yayoi intermediate between recent Indonesia and recent Japan/Amur) and Carabelli Trait9 UM1 (Yayoi intermediate between Jōmon and Northeast Siberia, an odd combination in view of the Sinodont/Sundadont distinction; next closest is early Malay Archipelago). So when looking only at modern Japanese data produced the conclusion that the Japanese are halfway between ‘Sinodont’ and ‘Sundadont’, we can now see that an actual Yayoi sample lines up with Southeast Asian samples in the majority of cases.

Table 4.2 6-cusp LM1 Source Recent Southeast Asia Lake Baikal Hong Kong Recent Indo-Malaysia Early Southeast Asia North China East Malay Archipelago South China Recent Japan Early Malay Archipelago Jōmon Amur Northeast Siberia (%) 27.9 33.3 33.7 36.1 36.8 37.4 38.9 40.0 42.7 45.5 46.7 50.0 50.0

Note: Tsunehiko Hanihara’s Yayoi samples 1 and 2: 41.5 and 47.6.

Table 4.3 4-cusp LM2 Source Northeast Siberia Amur Recent Japan North China South China Lake Baikal Hong Kong Early Malay Archipelago Jōmon Recent Indo-Malaysia Recent Southeast Asia Early Southeast Asia East Malay Archipelago (%) 3.5 11.5 13.6 17.1 19.5 22.2 24.3 24.6 28.7 29.9 31.6 38.7 45.8

Note: Tsunehiko Hanihara’s Yayoi samples 1 and 2: 12.5 and 18.5.


The evidence of the teeth and skulls
Table 4.4 Deflecting wrinkle LM1 Source East Malay Archipelago Lake Baikal Jōmon Hong Kong Recent Indo-Malaysia Early Malay Archipelago Recent Japan South China Recent Southeast Asia North China Early Southeast Asia Amur Northeast Siberia (%) 0.0 0.0 4.9 9.8 10.6 10.6 14.9 17.9 19.4 29.2 31.6 39.5 39.5

Note: Tsunehiko Hanihara’s Yayoi samples 1 and 2: 41.3 and 48.6.

Table 4.5 Distal Trigonid Crest LM1 Source Lake Baikal Hong Kong North China Early Malay Archipelago Early Southeast Asia Jōmon Northeast Siberia South China East Malay Archipelago Recent Southeast Asia Recent Indo-Malaysia Recent Japan Amur (%) 0.0 5.3 5.7 6.0 6.3 6.8 7.2 7.9 10.0 10.8 11.1 18.0 20.4

Note: Tsunehiko Hanihara’s Yayoi samples 1 and 2: 14.0 and 21.6.

Matsumura’s 1994 dental study was based on population data that includes no Indonesians and the Korean data is incomplete.10 His subsequent study (Matsumura 1995) also used tooth size and non-metric characteristics, and this time there is an Indonesian sample. His figure 3, Large Crown Size, shows that the Indonesians and the Modern Japanese have exactly the same tooth size (next closest are Koreans and Thai) (Matsumura 1995: 246).11 Furthermore, in another study, Brace found that according to the tooth size/cranial volume index the Yayoi had exactly the same reading as Borneo (Brace et al. 1990: fig. 7). Matsumura does include a number of traits not included in Tsunehiko Hanihara (1992), and in some cases the Yayoi and Indonesian readings are very

The evidence of the teeth and skulls 85
Table 4.6 Protostylid LM1 Source Amur East Malay Archipelago Jōmon Recent Southeast Asia Recent Japan Recent Indo-Malaysia Early Malay Archipelago Hong Kong Northeast Siberia South China Early Southeast Asia North China Lake Baikal (%) 7.5 8.7 13.3 18.9 21.2 21.8 21.8 21.9 22.2 24.7 27.5 30.1 30.8

Note: Tsunehiko Hanihara’s Yayoi samples 1 and 2: 9.4 and 8.7.

Table 4.7 Cusp 7 LM1 Source East Malay Archipelago Early Malay Archipelago Northeast Siberia Jōmon Recent Japan Recent Southeast Asia Amur Hong Kong North China Early Southeast Asia South China Recent Indo-Malaysia Lake Baikal (%) 4.0 4.6 5.2 5.3 6.5 7.1 7.3 8.8 9.4 9.7 10.6 13.1 19.0

Note: Tsunehiko Hanihara’s Yayoi samples 1 and 2: 4.2 and 4.3.

close: in Winging,12 for example, the Yayoi reading is 15.4 and the Indonesian one 14.1, and these are the closest of all the readings. Figures for 4-cusp LM2 from Matsumura 1994 can also be considered. For this trait, it transpires that of the populations studied in Matsumura’s paper, the Neolithic Thai (36.4 per cent) are closest to the Yayoi (38.0) (Matsumura 1994: 104, 110). However the Yayoi are actually closer to Turner’s early Southeast Asia group (38.7) – again, they group with Southeast Asians, not Northeast Asians.13 A later study by Matsumura and Hudson (2005) examined a large number of Asian tooth samples with a view to establishing whether they provide evidence of significant Chinese migration into Southeast Asia associated with the spread


The evidence of the teeth and skulls
Table 4.8 Hypocone UM2 Source Northeast Siberia Jōmon Amur South China Early Malay Archipelago Recent Japan Recent Southeast Asia East Malay Archipelago Hong Kong North China Recent Indo-Malaysia Early Southeast Asia Lake Baikal (%) 76.1 82.0 82.7 86.0 86.2 86.5 87.3 89.1 90.3 90.4 91.2 93.1 100.0

Note: Tsunehiko Hanihara’s Yayoi samples 1 and 2: 84.3 and 95.8.

Table 4.9 Carabelli Trait UM1 Source Jōmon Northeast Siberia Early Malay Archipelago South China Amur Lake Baikal North China Recent Japan Early Southeast Asia Hong Kong Recent Southeast Asia Recent Indo-Malaysia East Malay Archipelago (%) 8.3 18.4 23.0 25.3 26.6 30.0 30.5 31.2 37.1 37.6 41.9 46.4 50.0

Note: Tsunehiko Hanihara’s Yayoi samples 1 and 2: 14.5 and 12.2.

of Neolithic culture to that region (as described in Chapter Two). The alternative to this migration hypothesis, derived from the work of Turner and K. Hanihara, is the ‘regional continuity’ or ‘local evolution’ hypothesis, according to which recent Southeast Asians are the lineal descendants of a prehistoric population without any major East Asian admixture. Biological differences between the ancient and modern Southeast Asians are attributed by adherents of this theory to ‘modernization’ or ‘gracilization’. Matsumura and Hudson conclude that the teeth they studied do support the Chinese migration hypothesis. They found that

The evidence of the teeth and skulls 87
Table 4.10 Shovelling UI1 Source East Malay Archipelago Recent Indo-Malaysia Jōmon Early Malay Archipelago Early Southeast Asia Recent Southeast Asia Northeast Siberia Hong Kong Recent Japan Amur South China North China Lake Baikal (%) 8.3 24.4 25.7 29.6 32.3 46.2 61.4 63.8 66.0 68.7 74.4 84.0 92.3

Note: Tsunehiko Hanihara’s Yayoi samples 1 and 2: 57.1 and 47.5.

most modern Southeast Asian samples occupy an intermediate phenetic position between East Asians on the one side and early Southeast Asians and AustraloMelanesians on the other. The array of non-metric dental traits observed in early Southeast Asians and Australo-Melanesians may be regarded as corresponding to the original Sundadont dental complex, while the array of dental traits found for modern Southeast Asians may be the result of admixture between the Sundadont and Sinodont complexes. It is not inconsistent with the data to conclude that the pre-Neolithic people of Southeast Asia, especially those associated with the Hoabinhian culture, were akin to Australo-Melanesians, while many modern Southeast Asians may be viewed as displaying the results of admixture between East Asians and indigenous populations (Matsumura and Hudson 2005: 198). The authors propose to use the term Sundadont only for Australo-Melanesians and pre-Neolithic Southeast Asians, because the dental affinities illustrated in their study suggest that most present-day Southeast Asians have not maintained the Sundadont dental complex due to the East Asian influence. So where Kumar (1998) showed that the modern Japanese population is halfway between the Sinodont and Sundadont types, Matsumura and Hudson showed that present-day Southeast Asians are no longer Sundadont due to East Asian influence. Putting these two findings together, it is clear that there is not nearly as much difference between the dentition of modern Japanese and modern Southeast Asians as was suggested by the old ‘Sinodont versus Sundadont’ classification. The main interest of the Matsumura and Hudson study for the present research lies in what it reveals about the affiliations of the Yayoi samples. In figure 1, Metric Dental Traits, the Yayoi are in a Southeast Asian group with Sumatra islanders, Chinese ‘Thailanders’, and ‘Thailanders’, and are more distant from the Koreans, who are in the East Asian cluster with the Kofun Japanese and near the Kamakura and Edo Japanese (Matsumura and Hudson 2005: 195).


The evidence of the teeth and skulls

As far as tooth size is concerned, Yayoi and Kofun Japanese possess total crown areas that are comparable with the samples from Early to Middle Holocene Malaysia, Vietnam and Laos (Matsumura and Hudson 2005: 195). Figure 3 shows the Yayoi dental crown area closest to the Philippines and Vietnam, then Malay, Dayak, Lesser Sunda and Java, Neolithic South China, Okinawa and Thai specimens. Koreans are much more distant (and curiously these are close to Laotians) (Matsumura and Hudson 2005: 197). In the tables of sixteen non-metric traits (Matsumura and Hudson 2005: 199–201), it can be seen that the Yayoi are often close to Leang Codong (Sulawesi) and sometimes also to ‘Sunda Islanders’, which is an amalgamated sample containing Sumatran, Javanese and Lesser Sunda specimens. Unfortunately, no Korean samples are included. In figure 3, summarizing Nonmetric Dental Traits, the Yayoi, and other samples, are closest to Dong Son Vietnamese, Neolithic Southern Chinese, and Leang Codong again (Matsumura and Hudson 2005: 203). So this large-scale study again shows the Yayoi grouping with South Chinese, mainland Southeast Asian, and Indonesian populations. Here is a summary of cranial and dental studies in which the Yayoi group with Indonesia:

● ●

The craniometric study of Li et al. (1991) where the Yayoi are classified as belonging to the Southeast Asian part of the Asian cluster. Pietrusewsky (1992a) shows Japan occupying a peripheral branch of the Southeast Asian subgrouping, a finding confirmed in Pietrusewsky (1992b). Pietrusewsky (1994) showed the Japanese closely linked with the Koreans. However, Pietrusewsky (1999) revealed that the Yayoi and the Koreans were very well separated at either side of the East Asian cluster, with the Yayoi at the extreme outer edge – which indicates that the Japanese connection with Korea would not have come from the Yayoi population. The cranioscopic study of Kozintsev (1990). Dental studies. These are numerous and include Brace (1990), studying tooth size/cranial volume index; Matsumura (1995), studying tooth size; Turner (1992) and Tsunehiko Hanihara (1992) based on a variety of dental traits; and the large and comprehensive study of Matsumura and Hudson (2005).

It is easy to leap to the conclusion that studies of the anatomy of fossils have been superseded by more modern molecular/DNA studies. But as Edey and Johanson (1989: 325–6) pointed out, our knowledge of human evolution depends on a blend of fossil and molecular evidence. Molecules may be great for tracking relationships, but they will never be able to tell you what your ancestors looked like. The studies described here were essential to provide evidence of an Indonesian element in the Yayoi population. They strongly suggest that the javanica rice would have been brought to Japan by migrants, rather than by trade. The next chapter will investigate the question of whether the more modern DNA-based investigations also support this proposition, and whether, if they do, they can start to quantify the numbers of immigrants involved.


Breaking the DNA code

DNA studies of Jōmon and Yayoi skeletal remains In the previous chapter, we looked at studies based on morphological characteristics, such as skull and teeth shape, studies of a type that have been carried out for many years. More recently, particularly in the last twenty years, molecular anthropologists have produced studies of human DNA. DNA can be divided into two types, nuclear and mitochondrial. Every human being has forty-six chromosomes that inhabit the nucleus of almost every cell in the body. These chromosomes contain the majority of the genetic information people inherit from their parents. This is known as the nuclear DNA. In reproduction, the nuclear DNA of one parent mixes with the nuclear DNA of the other. Outside the nucleus, but within the cell, are the mitochondria. These perform various functions such as producing the energy that cells need. There are about 1700 in each cell, and each includes an identical loop of DNA about 16,000 base pairs (bp) long containing thirty-seven genes (in contrast, nuclear DNA consists of three billion base pairs and an estimated 70,000 genes: Groleau 2005: 2). Unlike the nuclear DNA, which is inherited from both parents, mitochondrial DNA (mtDNA) is inherited only from the mother. Mutations, where one nucleotide is replaced by another, occur in our DNA at a certain rate and are often passed along to offspring. It is these differences, known as polymorphisms, which make us all unique, and the analysis of which will show how closely we are related. For this analysis, mitochondrial DNA has the following advantages: mitochondria are present in large numbers in each cell, making sampling easy; they have a higher rate of mutation than nuclear DNA, making it easier to resolve differences between closely related individuals; and since they are inherited only from the mother (Giles et al. 1980), it is possible to trace a direct genetic line (Horai et al. 1984; Horai and Matsunaga 1987; Nei 1987; Cann 1988; Chakraborty 1990). The systematic investigation of mtDNA has resulted in new insights into human population evolution (Brown 1980; Denaro et al. 1981; Johnson et al. 1983; Blanc et al. 1986; Roychoudhury and Nei 1988). Research on ancient DNA from skeletal remains is now quite advanced in Japan, though not in Indonesia.


Breaking the DNA code

Jōmon remains As noted in Chapter Two, Horai et al. (1989) extracted mtDNA from an ancient Jōmonese bone the age of which is estimated at 6000 years BP. Complete sequence identity was found with two contemporary samples from Indonesia and Malaya (Horai 1992). Of the sixty-one contemporary Japanese samples there was none that showed complete identity, though about one-third of this sample exhibited only one or two nucleotide differences in the 190-bp region. Later work by Horai et al. (1991) examined the relationships of four Jōmon individuals (dated to 3000–6000 years BP) and two early modern Ainu (200–300 BP). They found that the Jōmon-Ainu clustered with contemporary Japanese and individuals from Southeast Asia – actually Indonesia and Malaysia. This observation indicates that the Jōmon-Ainu share a phylogenetic affiliation with fourteen contemporary Japanese [it seems that this is out of a sample of 254], as well as with four Indonesians or Malaysians [Indonesian sample numbers 146, Malaysians not given]. The Jōmon-Ainu were found to belong to Group 2 mtDNA lineage of the modern Japanese (see below on Horai and Matsunaga’s classification of the modern Japanese into Group 1 and Group 2). This suggested that the aboriginal inhabitants of Japan, the Jōmon-Ainu, were most closely related to populations from the islands of Southeast Asia, indicating a Southeast Asian origin for the Jōmon people (Horai 1991). However, later research increasingly cast doubt on the picture of the Jōmon as a homogeneous group of Southeast Asian origin. In 1999, Shinoda and Kanai extracted DNA from human teeth samples excavated from the Nakazuma Jōmon shell midden (2500 BCE) which is located north of the Kantō Plain. Part of the mitochondrial control region (233 bp), where the greatest variability of the mitochondrial genome is found, was amplified by a polymerase chain reaction. Mitochondrial DNA sequences determined from twenty-nine individuals were classified into nine different haplotypes defined by seventeen segregating sites. The most frequent haplotype was observed in seventeen individuals (58.6 per cent). Most individuals shared the same sequence, suggesting the possibility of close maternal relationships at this site, which Shinoda and Kanai feel may have been a maternal tomb. On the other hand, the sequence diversity at this Jōmon site was almost the same as the mitochondrial sequence diversity observed in modern Japanese (0.017 compared to 0.020, the difference between these two values not being significant at the 5 per cent level). Phylogenetic analysis indicated that the Jōmon haplotypes were scattered among modern Japanese haplotypes and did not fall into specific clusters. The nucleotide diversity of the Jōmon people was also similar to those of the Yayoi population (0.013) and the non-Ainu Japanese (0.016) reported by Oota et al. (1995). Both the extensive sequence divergence and the results of phylogenetic analysis of the Jōmon people at the Nakazuma site confirm the result of traditional skeletal studies reported above that the Jōmon were not a genetically homogeneous population, but a heterogeneous one. Among these Jōmon people, the frequency of the 9-bp deletion – used by Horai and Matsunaga to divide the modern Japanese into Group I (which has the

Breaking the DNA code 91 9-bp deletion) and Group II (which does not) – was 0.14, nearly equal to that (0.15) for Mainland Japanese reported by Horai (1991). (A later paper by Horai gives the higher frequencies of 18 per cent in Shizuoka and 28 per cent in Aomori [Horai 1992: 150].) Shinoda and Kanai say that their results suggest that the Nakazuma Jōmon population may have been an admixture of groups I and II [though obviously with only a small percentage of Group 1]. However, they caution that these results could be affected by the stochastic nature of sequence evolution, and also because only mitochondrial DNA was analysed, because the number of sites compared was not very large, and because the DNA invariably proved to be degraded to an average molecular size of 100–200 bp, as in other studies of ancient DNA. In view of this, they recommended that longer sequences of many independently evolving genes should be analysed in the future (Shinoda and Kanai 1999: 137). Finally, Shinoda and Kanai point out that the non-homogeneity of the Jōmon population studied does not necessarily rule out the dual-structure hypothesis, meaning presumably that a later group of migrants could still have arrived in the Yayoi period, providing an additional component in the modern population. They also point out that the only way to verify this hypothesis is to carry out extensive sequencing of the Jōmon and Yayoi populations (Shinoda and Kanai 1999: 137). A view of the ethnic origins of the Jōmon completely opposite to that of K. Hanihara was put forward by Masatoshi Nei. He concluded on the basis of a comparative study of the paternally inherited YAP chromosomes that the Jōmon did not come from Southeast Asia as has been widely assumed, but from Northeast Asia at a much earlier period (Travis 1997). Oota et al. (1999) conducted a study of the D-loop region from remains of the Yixi site in the Shandong Peninsula with an estimated age of 2000 years. The authors concluded that the Yixi population had made no major contribution to the genetic structure of the modern mainland Japanese. However, they make some observations on Asian populations generally. They divided modern humans in Asia and the circum-Pacific region into six radiation groups. The Yixi are shown to be closest to the modern Taiwan Han Chinese, and they are closer to Mongolians, mainland Japanese and Koreans than to the Jōmon and Yayoi. The lowest values of difference from modern mainland Japanese were in Koreans (0.0) Mongolians (0.014), Ryukyu Japanese (0.029) and Taiwan Han Chinese (0.031) (Oota et al. 1999: 255). The Jōmon people shared mtDNA types with individuals from all of the circum-Pacific populations, including the Yixi (Oota et al. 1999: 256). The authors repeat their criticism of Horai’s statement that Jōmon share an identical mtDNA sequence with Southeast Asians: ‘such an extended divergence time merely means that genetic polymorphisms existed in the ancestral population of the Jōmon people, because the Jōmon period started only ~12,000 BP. Furthermore, four of the five Jōmon individuals reported by Horai et al. shared mtDNA types with many individuals from northern Asia. Also the Jōmon individuals [in the present study] were included within groups I and II, which have higher frequency in eastern Asia than in Southeast Asia,


Breaking the DNA code

while none were found to belong to group V, a group that is characteristic of Southeast Asian and Oceanic populations’ (Oota et al. 1999: 257). Again, this study suggested a northern Asian rather than a Southeast Asian origin for the Jōmon. The authors included a small (fourteen!) sample of Yayoi people but only shorter sequences were available for comparison. Of these, five were included within groups I+IV+V and nine within group II. To sum up, despite the use of such a powerful technique as DNA analysis, there are very major differences of opinion between scientists about the composition of the Jōmon population. Whereas K. Hanihara, the originator of the widely accepted ‘dual structure’ theory, held that the Jōmon were of Southeast Asian stock, a number of subsequent studies have come to the conclusion that they were a heterogeneous population, and two studies, those of Nei and Oota et al., have claimed that they were, in fact, Northeast Asian. The Yayoi Turning to DNA studies specifically of Yayoi remains, Oota et al. have extracted DNA from the Takuta-Nishibun site in northern Kyushu (Saga prefecture) (Oota et al. 1995). The site is dated to the first century BCE–the first century CE, corresponding to the Middle Yayoi era. One hundred and twelve skeletons were excavated, of which thirty-seven were buried in earthenware jar coffins (kamekan) and seventy-five were buried directly in the earth (dokōbo). The remains of thirty-five individuals were used for DNA analysis, nine from kamekan and twenty-six from dokōbo. For phylogenetic analysis, nucleotide sequences of two Yayoi and five Jōmon individuals determined by Kurosaki et al. (1993) and Horai et al. (1991) were added. Two regions in the D-loop of mitochondrial DNA were analysed after DNA amplification, corresponding to positions 16190–16208 of Anderson et al. 1981 (Oota et al. 1995: 135). One hundred and sixty-three modern individuals including six early modern Ainus were used for comparison. The authors constructed phylogenetic trees of ancient and modern humans based on nucleotide sequences of their mitochondrial DNA. Phylogenetic analysis revealed no discrete clustering patterns for the Yayoi individuals, for early modern Ainu, or for the Jōmon people. It was found that there was no significant difference in nucleotide diversity between the Yayoi population and modern non-Ainu Japanese, indicating that the Yayoi [-period] people from this site were not a genetically homogeneous population. Although the study showed that the population of the Takuta-Nishibun site was not a genetically homogeneous one, this may or may not mean that the Yayoi immigrants were not a genetically homogeneous group. It is possible that the lack of homogeneity in the Takuta-Nishibun population is due to the fact that this population was actually a mixture of Jōmon descendants and Yayoi immigrants (Saitou, personal communication). Phylogenetic analysis also indicated a statistically significant correlation between burial style and the genetic background of the individual skeletons.

Breaking the DNA code 93 Because of the small number of remains with full skulls, it was not possible to correlate the different morphological traits of these with burial type. However, it was possible to correlate burial type and mitochondrial DNA (see Oota et al. 1995: Fig. 5, p. 143). How one interprets this depends upon whether the two burial styles were contemporaneous or not. If they were contemporaneous, it would seem that their society was characterized by a social division which led to people being buried differently – one group in earthenware jar coffins (kamekan) and the other directly in the earth (dokōbo) – according to their ethnic/family background. If the two burial types were not contemporaneous, one of them was presumably associated with an inflow of people from a different genetic background. This raises some very interesting questions, and certainly deserves further investigation (for instance, a comparison of the DNA of the skeletons buried in jars with Indonesian DNA!). Cooperation with archaeologists to determine whether the two burial types are contemporaneous or consecutive is another line of approach that needs to be pursued. Also, further studies of Yayoi DNA from other sites are needed.

Studies of the modern Japanese population
The Y chromosome Research on the Y chromosome, which is paternally inherited, has recently become one of the major tools for understanding the evolution of mankind. Around 95 per cent of the Y chromosome is non-recombining (the nonrecombining region or NRY), which means it is passed down through the male line unchanged except for mutations. Based on this region, Underhill et al. (2001) have set out a number of ‘palaeodemographic hypotheses’ that are consistent with inferences from other types of evidence such as mtDNA and the fossil record. This work is based on the assumption that there is a correspondence between the present distribution of Y chromosome haplotypes and haplogroups and past human movements (Underhill et al. 2001: 46–7). They concluded that most modern extant Y chromosomes trace their ancestry to African forefathers who left Africa more recently than previously believed and eventually completely replaced archaic Y chromosome lineages in Eurasia (Underhill et al. 2001: 50). As far as Asia is concerned, there were either one or two dispersal events from Africa, around 50,000 years ago (or even less: see Renfrew et al. 2000: 253, reporting the work of Underhill et al., which puts the first expansion from Africa to Asia at 44,000 years ago). The last major human movement described by Underhill et al. is the colonization of the Polynesian islands by people from Taiwan and Southeast Asia (Underhill et al. 2001: 56). Is research on the Y chromosome also relevant to the more recent period of East and Southeast Asian prehistory in which we are interested? Yes, it is. Hammer has analysed the Y chromosome in some 2500 men in sixty populations around the world. He used two sets of genetic variations (haplotypes) as markers for the different populations. These are the Y Alu polymorphic (YAP) haplotype


Breaking the DNA code

and the IJ haplotype, the latter of which might be a Yayoi indicator. He reasoned that the occurrence of the two haplotypes should vary with distance from northern Kyushu, the Yayoi point of entry. YAP was seen to occur in the population more frequently with increasing distance from northern Kyushu, while the ratio of the population with the IJ haplotype is highest in northern Kyushu and decreases with increasing distance from that region. Looking for links with other parts of the world, Hammer used blood samples already collected around the world for other purposes. He found that YAP or a closely related variant was only found in populations from Japan, Tibet and sub-Saharan Africa. Hammer believes that the sub-Saharan variant evolved after the variants found in both Tibet and Japan. Variants of the IJ haplotype were common in Japan and Korea, but also appeared in Manchuria and Southeast Asia. To explain these patterns, Hammer theorized that YAP originated in central Asia 50,000 years ago. People carrying it dispersed across the east and west, perhaps under pressure from new waves of immigrants. Eventually, YAP peoples were pushed to the fringe areas of Tibet and Japan, and all traces of YAP in central Asia were subsequently obliterated. The ancestors of the Jōmonese crossed a land bridge to Japan about 30,000 years ago and were cut off from the mainland when water levels rose about 12,000 years ago. (Another group is hypothesized to have migrated all the way to Africa.) On the other hand, the IJ haplotype emerged in Southeast Asia and was carried north and east, eventually spreading to the Korean peninsula and Japan in the Yayoi period (Normile 1999: 1426–7). It is important to note how different Hammer’s ‘dual structure’ is from K. Hanihara’s: Hammer concludes that the Jōmon actually came from central Asia (rather than Southeast Asia) and the Yayoi from Southeast Asia (rather than northeast Asia). Studies based on classical genetic markers A genetic marker is a certain piece of DNA (a gene or simply a piece of DNA without any known purpose) with an identifiable physical location whose inheritance can be followed. The genetic markers utilized by scientists usually pertain to blood groups, enzymes and proteins. They are used in the studies of populations, such as studies of the migrations of peoples. One such study was carried out by Omoto and Saitou (1997) who set out to find the degree of support for K. Hanihara’s dual-structure hypothesis provided by modern population data. They concluded that the first element of the hypothesis – that the Jōmon people were of Southeast Asian origin – was not supported, but the second – that modern Ainu and Ryukyuans are descendants of the Jōmon, whereas Hondo (main island) Japanese are descended from Yayoi migrants from the northeast Asian continent – was supported. Their material consisted of twenty polymorphic loci. Polymorphic loci are regions or points in the genetic structure that may vary from individual to individual. This variation is basically differences in the number of repeats (of nucleotides) in the same

Breaking the DNA code 95 location. The polymorphic loci used in this study consisted of eight blood group systems, seven red cell enzyme systems and five serum protein systems from twenty-six populations of the world. For calculations of genetic distance, they used Nei’s standard distance (Dst) and the modified Cavalli-Sforza distance (DA). In their results they found that Native Australian and New Guinea populations clustered with the northeast Asian group on the tree based on the first of these distances, but were clearly separated from the other Asian-Pacific populations on the second. They also found that northeast Asian and Southeast Asian/Pacific groups formed two separate clusters (whereas Nei and Roychoudhury [1993] did not recognize a division of the Mongoloid group into northern and southern). They note that the separation of the northeast and Southeast Asian groups in their study is based on a rather low bootstrap1 probability and is not statistically significant, which they admit is a bar to considering their findings unarguable (Omoto and Saitou 1997: 442–3, 444). The authors feel that their claim that the Ainu are of northeast Asian ancestry is not just a reflection of Ainu admixture over time with other northeast Asian groups (Omoto and Saitou 1997: 442).2 Within the northeast Asian cluster, the Ainu and Ryukyuan populations clustered together in contrast to Hondo-Japanese and Koreans. They cite studies by Nei (1995) and Bannai et al. (1996), the latter a DNA-based study of HLA class II genes, as supporting the northern affinities of the Ainu and Ryukyuans. The authors comment that it is still not clear how bootstrap probabilities for genetic trees should be treated with the usual statistical tests (Omoto and Saitou 1997: 443). They also note that their conclusions differ from the phylogenetic tree published by Nei (1995); and that a detailed genetic comparison of Asian populations (Horai et al. 1996) did not find any evidence of a common ancestry of the Ainu and Ryukyuans. Cavalli-Sforza and his associates also used classic blood genetic markers such as blood groups, other immunological polymorphisms including HLA, and electrophoretic variation of proteins and enzymes but produced a completely different result. Their results produced a gradient around Japan visible as far as Tibet, which was explained by positing a major population expansion from near the Sea of Japan, and possibly even from Japan itself. This ‘may have been very early. According to our archaeological knowledge, it could have occurred 11,000 or 12,000 years ago.’ And it perhaps even brought ceramic technology to the Middle East for the first time (Cavalli-Sforza 2000: 125–6). Others, however, have countered that there is actually little archaeological or historical evidence that could support such a hypothesis. Cavalli-Sforza’s results from the Japanese Islands are also seen as presenting some problems. Although in these results the Ryukyuans are second closest to the Ainu, it is the Hokkaido Japanese who are the least distant. For their part, the Ryukyuans are closest to the Hokkaido Japanese, but the Hokkaido Japanese are most similar to the Koreans. While intermarriage between the Ainu and the Hokkaido Japanese is known to have occurred since Japanese colonization, it is not clear how the close relationship with the Ryukyuans on the one hand and the Koreans on the other can be reconciled (Hudson 1999: 73–4).

96 Breaking the DNA code The authors also discuss Horai’s finding that an identical sequence was observed among four Jōmonese, two Ainu, three Southeast Asians and also fourteen non-Ainu Japanese mtDNAs. They point out that there is a big difference between the phylogeny of molecules and the phylogeny of populations. It is well known that molecular splits may far antedate population splits. In the molecular genetic tree of Horai et al. mtDNAs of non-Ainu Japanese are scattered around the whole tree, among mtDNAs of Europeans and Africans, and do not cluster. A study published by Kumar (1998: 270–1) was based on nuclear DNA data obtained from Roychoudhury and Nei (1988). They consisted of eighty-five alleles at twenty-four polymorphic loci, including gene frequencies for enzymes (ACP1, ADA, AK1, ALDH2, ESD, G6PD, GPI, GPT1, PGM1, PGD), proteins (GCsub, HPA, TF), blood groups (SE, ABO, DI, FY, KEL, JK, LU, MNS, P, RH) and a DNA polymorphism (PI). Gene frequency data were obtained for groups representing ten populations: Ainu, Caucasian, Indonesian, Japanese, Korean, Negroid, North Chinese, Melanesian, Southeast Asian (Thai and Vietnamese) and South Chinese. This was a reasonably extensive data set in terms of both the number of polymorphic loci and the number of populations used, though data were not available for the Okinawans or any other representatives of the Ryukyu Island populations. Gene frequency data representing histocompatibility and immunoglobulin systems were not used as they were not available for all populations. The results of this study indicated two main clusters for East Asian populations. The first includes the South Chinese, Southeast Asians and Indonesians. The second consists of the Japanese and Koreans. The North Chinese fall between these two clusters, but aligned more closely with Southeast Asian populations as opposed to the Koreans. This is a rather surprising result in that the general expectation is that North Chinese cluster with Koreans rather than with Southeast Asians. Another polymorphic study was carried out by Nei (1995), who notes the general problem that gene frequency data are mostly available from populations in Western Europe, North America, and Eastern Asia – yet another example of the inadequate data from Southeast Asia already pointed out by the present author. For this reason, the number of shared loci rapidly declines as the number of populations increases (Nei 1995: 72) – a problem in all areas related to this research, and particularly for Southeast Asia. Nei used twenty-nine polymorphic loci with 121 alleles. Nei’s genetic distance (DA) was used, since this measure is believed to be more discriminatory for closely related populations. The neighbour-joining method was used as more reliable than the Unweighted Pair Group Method with Arithmetic mean (UPGMA).3 The reliability of the tree obtained was examined by a bootstrap test with 500 replications. With a little adjustment, the tree produced five major groups of populations: Africans, Caucasians, Greater Asians and Pacific Islanders, Amerindians including Eskimos, and Australians and Papua-New Guineans (the last group has to be wangled away from the Greater Asians by some statistical latitude). The first split of the phylogenetic tree is between Africans and non-Africans. The second split separates the Caucasian populations from all other non-African populations. This is different

Breaking the DNA code 97 from Cavalli-Sforza et al. 1988’s UPGMA tree, where the second split separates the Northeurasian supercluster (Caucasians, Northeast Asians, Amerindians) from the Southeast Asian supercluster (Southeast Asians, Australians, Papua New Guineans, and Pacific Islanders). Nei feels that his split is stable and validated by bootstrapping, whereas Cavalli-Sforza’s is not, and indeed is not well supported even by his own statistical evidence (Nei 1995: 72–3). The third major split separated Native Americans from the Greater Asian group. Nei’s figure 5 shows that the Ainu and Okinawans are certainly close to each other but they are also close to the Japanese from Tokyo and Koreans. The bootstrap probability of the Ainu-Okinawan or the Ainu-Okinawan-Tokyoan cluster is rather low, so that we cannot trust the branching pattern of the three populations. However, they are quite different from Southeast Asians (Southern Chinese, Taiwan Aborigines, Thais and Filipinos). This goes against the dual-structure hypothesis whereby the Ainu and Okinawans are supposed to be the direct descendants of Southeast Asians (Nei 1995: 78). However, Nei admits that the accuracy of the tree in figures 1, 2 and 5 is not as high as he wishes and that his conclusion is based on these trees (Nei 1995: 81). Nei criticizes dendrograms made from morphological characters since they have not been subjected to rigid statistical tests (there is no bootstrapping). Moreover, he says ‘unreasonable’ evolutionary patterns often result. For example, in Tsunehiko Hanihara’s study (1993) the Jōmonese and Okinawans cluster with Negritos in the Philippines and Dayaks in Borneo, whereas the main-island Japanese, Koreans and Taiwanese cluster with several Southeast Asians [sic] such as those from Java, Celebes and the Lesser Sundas. Nei considers these findings are ‘quite anomalous’ if we consider the genetic trees of these populations (Nei 1995: 79). However, to have a prior commitment to a particular genetic tree and reject evidence that challenges this hardly seems an appropriate research strategy. It is noteworthy that Nei argues, unlike K. Hanihara, that the number of immigrants in the Yayoi and Kofun period probably did not have much impact on the Japanese population, because the Jōmon population was large (c. 76,000). Indeed, he says the change in cranial measurements may have been due to lifestyle (Nei 1995: 80). This means that he is one of the few modern scientists who are still prepared to consider Hasabe’s continuity theory as valid. Nei proposes an out-of-northeast Asia theory similar to that of Matsumoto4 but not based on a single locus. However, with admirable modesty, he admits this is still a hypothesis (Nei 1995: 81). In conclusion, the above studies using a number of genetic markers based on multiple loci have produced extremely divergent results and explanatory scenarios for these results. These differences arise from methodological choices such as the choice of genetic distance and of the relative weightings of the different items in the study. Mitochondrial DNA As noted at the beginning of this chapter, mitochondrial DNA has a number of advantages for tracing the genetic inheritance of individuals of populations.


Breaking the DNA code

Mitochondria are present in large numbers in each cell; they have a higher rate of mutation than nuclear DNA, making it easier to resolve differences between closely related individuals; and since they are inherited only from the mother this means it is possible to trace a direct genetic line. Group 1 and Group 2 Japanese According to Horai, the mtDNA data indicated two distinct groupings within the Japanese population (Horai et al. 1984; Horai and Matsunaga 1986; Horai 1992). Most of group 1 are characterized by a nine-bp deletion within the non-coding region V of the genome which is found in Mongoloids and Oceanians.5 The percentage of this group varies from region to region in Japan: only 5 per cent in Okinawa, 18 per cent in Shizuoka and 28 per cent in Aomori (Horai 1992: 150). The larger Asian population can also be divided into these two groups, and it is estimated that the separation between the two groups occurred about 200,000 years ago (Horai and Hayasaka 1990: 835; Horai 1992: 154). Group 1 is also the dominant one among Polynesians (93 per cent overall, and 100 per cent in Samoans, Maoris and Niueans: see Hertzberg et al. 1989). Given that the groups are so ancient and widespread, their distribution cannot really be of use for determining the population history of the Yayoi period. Some less broad-brush, finer classifications will have to be worked out. The 9-bp deletion is found in Haplogroup B of Macrohaplogroup N. Perhaps further study of the different subhaplogroups of Haplogroup B (see Tanaka et al. 2004: 1842) and their geographical distribution may yield results of use for the Yayoi period. D-loop studies Mutations in mitochondrial DNA are, on average, at least twenty times more frequent than in the nuclear genes. The mutation rate is even higher in a short segment called the Displacement Loop or D-loop. This elevated variability, although restricted to a small segment of the molecule, is useful for evolutionary studies (Cavalli-Sforza 2000: 77–8), so that many scientists have concentrated on the D-loop as a particularly discriminating indicator of genetic relationship between different groups of humans. Horai et al. ( analysed nucleotide sequences from the D-loop region of mtDNA. Based on a comparison of 482 bp sequences in 293 people from five East Asian populations – mainland Japanese, Ainu, Okinawans, Koreans and Chinese – the authors found 207 different sequence types. Of these, 189 were unique to their respective populations, whereas eighteen were shared between two or three populations. The largest number of shared types (eighteen) were possessed by the mainland Japanese and the Koreans. Unfortunately, no Southeast Asian population was included in this study. The present author carried out a more targeted D-loop study, using data from relevant populations available in the public domain (Horai et al. 1990; Vigilant et al. 1992; Torroni et al. 1993; Lum et al. 1994; Redd et al. 1995; Sykes et al. 1995; Betty et al. 1996; Horai et al. 1996; Kolman et al. 1996; Handt et al. 1997).

Breaking the DNA code 99 These data comprise a total of 226 Japanese sequences, 69 Indonesian, 71 Korean, 40 Chinese, 103 Mongolian, 105 Taiwanese and 37 Philippine. The relationships between the D-loop sequences were evaluated using a neighbourjoining tree constructed using Saitou and Nei’s method (1987).


This tree produced a number of groupings, analysed below (j213 = Japanese sequence no. 213 of the sample; sites are indicated within brackets). Across most human groups there are six sites that do not give very reliable information for inferring the genealogy of this region of sequence. This is because the same change has occurred in more than one lineage at those sites, which can be deduced from the fact that the phylogenetic information at these sites is incompatible with the information at the majority of other sites. These sites are 16000 + 129, 189, 223, 278, 311, 362. Any groupings that are based on identity at these sites are therefore not reliable. Some of the groupings depended entirely on these sites. These were: korea69/indo18 indo31/j213 indo33/j157/j147 indo46/j26/j122/j182 indo36/indo37/j136/j153/j221 These groupings may not be real because of the possibility of recurrent mutation at the unreliable sites leading to identity by state but not by descent. Several other groupings were based on one other site in addition to these sites. These groupings include: indo14/korea2 (16217) indo62/indo63/indo69/j52/j80 (16266) indo57/phil36/j46/j113 (298) indo7/j200 (217) j86/indo10/indo11(217) These are more likely to be real groupings, but one site is still not a reliable basis for making an inference. There are two other groupings that are based on two sites other than the unreliable ones. These are: indo68/j134/j214 (243, 325) j226/indo15/indo16/indo17/indo24/indo25/korea69 (136, 217) It seems very likely that these groupings reflect identity by descent and therefore a sharing of lineages between Japan and Indonesia (and in one case


Breaking the DNA code

also Korea) that are not present in the other populations in the region sampled, such as Mongolian, Chinese and Taiwanese. This would suggest some movement of people between these two regions (Indonesia and Japan/Korea). The sharing of some sites between Indonesians, Japanese and Koreans to the exclusion of other Asian populations raises the further possibility that some Indonesians may have gone to Korea. Such a scenario which cuts across present national boundaries is not inherently impossible but does complicate the picture and the analysis of the data. Further research on these data would be useful. For instance, if the frequently shared site 217 were more common in one of the populations and less in the other(s), this would provide evidence that the source of the migration was the population where this site was more common. A striking result that should be emphasized is that none of these sites is shared by the Taiwan group. This means that this shared Indonesian and Japanese genetic inheritance cannot go back to the earlier period of the original Austronesian expansion out of Taiwan. These results provide evidence in support of the proposition there was not just Indonesian cultural influence but also Indonesian migration, and indeed represent an unexpectedly positive result given the presupposition that such a migration would probably have been predominantly male. Obviously, the fact that the link between Japanese and Indonesians showed up at all implies that the migration must have had a female component. A study of the complete mitochondrial genome A more recent and much larger mitochondrial DNA study by Tanaka et al. (2004) has produced some very interesting and complex results. The authors begin by commenting on earlier studies in which, as has been shown above, rival hypotheses had been put forward concerning the origin of the Late Palaeolithic inhabitants of Japan, positing either a southern or a northern origin. According to Tanaka et al. these studies had an incomplete representation of Asian populations and a relatively small sample size. In contrast, their study used a set of complete mtDNA sequences of 672 Japanese individuals and tested the relative affinities of modern Japanese and other populations using global distance methods and phylogeographic approaches. Their results showed that the Japanese population is actually the result of a complex demographic history, of which the different theories previously proposed to explain it had only emphasized partial aspects. With respect to those mitochondrial DNA lineages exclusively shared by Japanese and other Asian populations, as already noted, Korea is the main contributor, sharing haplotypes with mainland Japanese (55 per cent), as much as with Ryukyuans (50 per cent) and Ainu (50 per cent). However, differences between Japanese, Ryukuans and Ainu exist in the provenance of the rest of their shared lineages. Whereas for the Ainu and the Ryukyuans they are from northern areas (northern China and Siberia for the Ainu, northern China and Central Asia for the Ryukyuans), the

Breaking the DNA code 101 second region contributing to mainland Japanese is southern China (17.5 per cent), followed, at the same level (12.5 per cent), by northern China and Central Asia (including YAP+ and haplogroup M12 which seem to have originated in an area including Tibet: Tanaka et al. 2004: 1847). In addition, there exists a minor percentage of exclusive sharing with Indonesia (2.5 per cent).6 By contrast, all the matches with Siberia and Tibet are also shared with other populations. The authors conclude that this indicates that the ancient Japanese inhabitants came from northern Asia and that southern areas affected the Japanese by later immigration (Tanaka et al. 2004: 1845). This clearly contradicts K. Hanihara’s ‘dual-structure’ hypothesis according to which the Jōmon were of Southeast Asian origin and their descendants are the Ainu and Ryukyuans. We see here that Tanaka et al. found that the Ainu and Ryukyuans, far from being Southeast Asian, are actually more northern than the Japanese (though the authors found that there was a significant part of the Ryukyuan maternal pool that was of ‘ancient southern Asian provenance’: Tanaka et al. 2004: 1847). The Ainu are the most isolated group in Japan (Tanaka et al. 2004: 1843), which is consistent with Pietrusewsky’s earlier cranial study (see Chapter Four). Some mtDNA results obtained from ancient Jōmon remains (Horai et al. 1991; Shinoda and Kanai 1999; K.-I. Shinoda, unpublished) are congruent with a genetically diverse background for the Palaeolithic Japanese population (Horai et al. 1996). A tentative comparison of Jōmon with present-day Japanese populations based on shared lineages (data not shown) significantly relates Jōmon first to the indigenous Ainu and then to Ryukyuans and last to mainland Japanese (Tanaka et al. 2004: 1847). For the purpose of this book, the most important finding from the study by Tanaka et al. is that it confirms Kumar’s (1998) study, which showed that the Japanese share part of their mitochondrial DNA exclusively with Indonesians. Furthermore, it shows that this Indonesian contribution is a recent, not an ancient one. By ‘recent’ the authors mean late prehistoric times (Neolithic to Metal Age), into which the Yayoi period fits.

Summary, conclusion, and suggestions for further research
When Hudson wrote his book in 1999, K. Hanihara’s ‘dual-structure’ model of Japan’s population history was the most widely accepted one. According to this model, the Jōmon were of Southeast Asian origin, and the Yayoi immigrants of northeast Asian origin. Present-day Ainu and Ryukyuans were seen as Jōmon descendants, two related populations of Southeast Asian origin, while the majority Japanese population were largely considered to be Yayoi descendants. Later research has very significantly challenged this model. The picture is now much more complex, but if one were to greatly simplify it, the new model would see the Jōmon as predominantly northeast Asian, which implies that the ancient Japanese inhabitants came from northern Asia, and southern areas affected the Japanese by later immigration – more or less the reverse of K. Hanihara’s model. The proposal that the Jōmon were of northern ancestry had already been

102 Breaking the DNA code put forward by Nei and by Omoto and Saitou by the time Hudson wrote: Nei had concluded on the basis of a comparative study of the paternally inherited YAP chromosome that the Jōmon did not come from Southeast Asia, as has been widely assumed, but from Northeast Asia at a much earlier period. Nei’s finding has been confirmed by the mitochondrial DNA study of Tanaka et al. (2004). The Ainu and Ryukyuans, previously considered Southeast Asian in descent, now also appear, like the Jōmon, to have a northern ancestry and strong Korean links, though in the case of the Ryukyuans Tanaka et al. found clues that a substantial part of their maternal pool had an ancient southern Asian provenance. This simplified model needs to be adjusted to take into account the findings of Tanaka et al. (2004) that the picture is complex and suggests multiple migrations: just as Karafet et al. (2001) had previously deduced concerning the whole of East Asia. Tanaka et al. (2004) concluded that the Japanese population is the result of a complex demographic history, and Japan could have received several northern and southern Asian maternal inputs since Palaeolithic times, with notable northern Asian immigrations through Korea [suggesting that the Korean peninsula acted as a sort of funnel for northern Asian and other populations] in the late Neolithic, and more specific gene flows from western Asia, Siberia and southern islands. This is in contrast to Hammer’s YAP study which, as we have seen, concluded that the Jōmon came from Central Asia. The most important result of Tanaka et al.’s research from the point of view of this book is that it demonstrates that certain haplotypes and haplogroups are shared exclusively by Japanese and Indonesians, and not by any other Asian population. It also shows that this link does not date back to ancient, Palaeolithic, times, but is a more recent one. In conclusion, it is certainly not my intention to contest those studies mentioned above (one of them mine!) that suggest a strong genetic link between Japan and Korea, a link which one would expect partly to go back to Palaeolithic times and partly to derive from the documented immigration of the Kofun period.7 What I am concerned to do is to sum up the considerable number of studies that show a specific Indonesian connection. We have already seen in the previous chapter that a number of dental and cranial studies dealing specifically with the Yayoi indicated an Indonesian connection. This chapter adds to these Hammer’s YAP study, showing paternal inheritance. Furthermore, the following DNA studies which deal with the modern Japanese population also show an Indonesian component:
● ● ●

A study based on multiple loci: Tsunehiko Hanihara (1993). A D-loop study, showing maternal inheritance: Kumar (1998). Tanaka et al. (2004), a large-scale study of mitochondrial DNA.

The fact that data on Indonesians are always extremely poor compared to other populations studied makes the detection of an Indonesia–Japan link in so many studies all the more remarkable.

Breaking the DNA code 103 Clearly, a lot more work remains to be done, and I believe one can be fairly certain that we do not yet have all the data required for a complete picture. The percentages given by Tanaka, for example, may very well hold up in the light of future research, but it is equally possible that they may be modified when we have more Indonesian data, of which there was only a very small sample in this study. With more adequate Indonesian data, more evidence of exclusive sharing with Japan may come to light. Furthermore, a more adequate sampling of Indonesian data is also needed to address a potential classification problem: since Matsumura and Hudson have demonstrated that there has been significant Chinese migration to Indonesia, this implies that Chinese and Indonesians must share much of their DNA. The question inevitably arises, therefore, when Tanaka et al. demonstrate a significant amount of shared linkages between South China and Japan, did this DNA come directly from China, or from Indonesians with Chinese ancestry? Of course, much more work on Yayoi DNA is particularly needed, covering as many regions as possible. One particularly fascinating and suggestive finding (Oota et al. 1995) was the association between one particular type of Yayoi DNA and jar burials: further work should certainly be done on this. After surveying these many studies we can now see that there was Indonesian immigration, not just trade. Did these migrants bring other things besides rice? Though they may have been a relatively quite small group, small groups can actually have as much or more cultural, social and/or political impact as larger ones. This has been repeatedly demonstrated in many other parts of the world. Examples from English history are the significant Roman influence on Britain, even though the ethnic composition of the population remained overwhelmingly Celtic, and later on the linguistic, cultural and political hegemony of the French, even though they made up only about 0.5–1 per cent of the population (Morgan 2001: 22, 40, 121). Examples from Asian history include Indian and Islamic influence on Southeast Asia (and in a completely different political and cultural context, English influence on India, which extended beyond the élite to the entire cricket-playing population). If there is significant cultural influence from such a group, this influence is always reflected in the language. And that is the subject of the next chapter.


Breaking the language code
The words that tell the story

The last chapter outlined the evidence proving that there is an Indonesian element in the Japanese population. This seems to have been relatively quite small, though the figures may have to be adjusted somewhat when we have adequate sampling of the Indonesian population. It was pointed out how other numerically small groups such as the Romans and French in England had had significant influence on the host population, and that significant influence is invariably reflected in the language. In this chapter I will summarize and evaluate the evidence for language contact between Indonesia and Japan. I will try to do this in terms that will be understandable to the general educated reader. Professional linguists and others with an advanced knowledge of linguistics are advised to read the paper of Kumar and Rose (2000) where a fuller and more rigorously statistical treatment of the procedures followed and results obtained is provided. All forms of contact between two groups speaking different languages have some effect on at least one of the two languages. This point can be well illustrated by the history of the language in which this book is written, English. English has had many different types of contact with many different languages, leading to extensive borrowing. In the long history of language contact, a number of ‘great borrowings’ stand out. One of these took place after the Norman Conquest, when English absorbed a large number of French words in a process which reflected French political dominance and cultural superiority. This was manifested in such areas as government, the law, the church, the armed forces, fashion and social life, and also in vocabulary denoting more abstract, nuanced and philosophical concepts. Words borrowed include, among many others, nation, law, amorous, army, crown, power, jewellery, judge, state, agile, fragile, civilization and society. There is considerably less French lexicon in basic everyday vocabulary (though cuisine is one area with heavy French influence extending even to common words such as beef, pork and mutton [Baugh and Cable 1993: 163ff]). For many centuries French cultural prestige was so great that even countries not actually conquered by France, such as Russia, adopted French as an élite language in recognition of French cultural hegemony. Language reflects changes in comparative national prestige, so when England rose from its lowly position

Breaking the language code 105 as a cultural backwater to become a world power, many English words, such as biftek (beef steak) and redingote (riding coat), were now borrowed into French. The first of these is a rare example of a borrowing that was actually returned, since the first element in biftek derives from French bœuf, one of the words borrowed following the Conquest. English borrowings into French continue today (to the annoyance of many), reflecting the status of English as the world language. English has also absorbed words from groups that, unlike the French, were not regarded as politically or culturally superior, such as the Celts. Celtic loans include cart and wheel, as well as place names like Thames, Avon, Cam (as in Cambridge) and Tyne. In the days of the British Empire, the politically suppressed and culturally devalued Indians nevertheless contributed vocabulary to English: kedgeree, chutney, chintz, khaki, shampoo, cot and loot are a few examples. We can see that these Indian words do not relate to law, government, and higher civilization as do the French loans to English, but principally to items of material culture which the English imported from India. The even more oppressed and denigrated Australian Aboriginal peoples have made their main contribution to Australian English in the area of place names and exotic fauna (kangaroo, koala). Finally, English also has loans from languages with whose speakers there has been little direct contact, such as a few words from Arabic, among them algebra, as well as alcohol, nadir, azimuth, harem and vizir. Though only a small number of words were borrowed from Arabic, the fact that the word for an important area of the mathematics curriculum is among them shows that Arabic learning was of great importance far beyond the area where the language was spoken. The above examples show how the nature of the loans indicates the nature of the contact, a potentially very useful thing for the present investigation. If the Indonesian migrants had any significant influence on Japanese society, this must have left its mark on the Japanese language. We would expect to see some loan words, and it would be particularly lucky if they corresponded to known Yayoi period innovations, such as rice, tools and utensils, cloth, religion and royalty. Furthermore, the extent and type of mark made on the language would in turn throw further light on the nature of the contact. Though linguistic research has the great advantage over archaeology and studies of DNA of being cheap and accessible, in this case it had the disadvantage of being in a particularly murky state. This was due to the fact that although a large amount of work had already been done on the Japanese language, this work had produced a good deal more controversy than consensus, with continuing vigorous debate. This meant that I would be working in an uncertain context, with no ‘base line’ of firmly established knowledge. The extent of this disagreement among linguists concerning the origins and history of the Japanese language extends far beyond detail into the absolute basics. A voluminous literature has been produced over a long period of time. Lewin distinguishes three phases in the long search for the origins of the Japanese language. The first is the pre-scientific phase when Tokugawa scholars tended to regard Japanese as


Breaking the language code

a branch of Korean, with Europeans starting comparative word lists from 1786. The second is the early scientific phase introduced in the second half of the nineteenth century by European scholars, with a breakthrough to scientific comparison occurring with the publication of Ashton’s pioneering A Comparative Study of the Japanese and Korean Languages in 1879. The third is the real scientific phase which began with the work of the Finnish scholar Ramstedt in the 1920s (Lewin 1976: 390–2). All this research has led to the putting forward of extremely diverse theories of which none has been firmly enough grounded to obtain a consensus of agreement (despite the fact that one sometimes comes across very categorical statements, such as ‘everyone knows’ Japanese is an Altaic language!). The many theories put forward in this nearly a century of research and writing can be classified into four main categories, as follows. 1 Japanese is related to one other particular language. Many candidates have been proposed, ranging from Basque (a European ‘mystery language’, unrelated to its neighbours) to Tamil, a comparative newcomer (Ohno 1982 and 1989). This represents a drastic shift from Ohno’s earlier views (see e.g. Ohno 1970). Japanese belongs to one particular language family. The most favoured candidate is the ‘super-family’ Ural-Altaic, a hypothesized family of languages of which Uralic and Altaic are the main sub-branches.1 Miller, among others, is very firmly of the opinion that Japanese is an Altaic language (Miller 1980: 167). But the Altaic half of this super-family is unlike the Uralic one, for laws of correspondence such as those available for Uralic have yet to be discovered in Altaic. The second most favoured language family is Austronesian, the language family which encompasses the languages of the Philippines, Indonesia and the Pacific, whose speakers spread to these areas after the Austronesian migration from Taiwan (where the so-called ‘aboriginal’ languages such as Paiwanese are also Austronesian). Javanese belongs to the Western Malayo-Polynesian division of Austronesian. A radical and much criticized reclassification of a whole swathe of Asian languages in which Japanese is grouped with Austronesian was made by Benedict in 1990.2 Another language family to which it has been suggested Japanese is related is the Austroasiatic language family, which includes many mainland Southeast Asian languages (Nabuhiro Matsumoto 1928). This proposal, however, has not been widely supported. Japanese is related to two different language families. Under this scenario, the two language families proposed are generally (Ural) Altaic and Austronesian. The idea that Japanese is a hybrid or mixed language, i.e. a language whose morphology involves elements from two or more different protolanguages, has been mooted since early in the twentieth century, though the question of whether mixed languages exist has remained a matter of debate,3 and the position scholars take on this issue affects their views of Japanese: Miller for example is strongly against the whole idea of



Breaking the language code 107 the existence of mixed languages. As Miller notes, the famous linguist Murayama Shichirō shifted to a position that is for all practical purposes identical with that Polivanov took in 1924, that is that Japanese is a mixed or hybrid language (Miller 1974: 97). Murayama was of the opinion that Altaic linguistic studies alone would never provide the whole answer to the question of the genetic relationship of the Japanese language, and this chapter presents evidence from outside Altaic linguistics in support of Murayama’s prediction. The two language families are generally thought by many to have contributed a substratum and a superstratum, respectively, to Japanese. A substratum comes into being when a group of speakers of one language shift to using another language, which is then affected by certain features of their original language. Examples are the influence of Gaelic speakers on the English spoken in Ireland,4 or the Yiddish substratum in New York English (Antilla 1972: 171). Substratum influence is the effect of a politically or culturally nondominant language on a dominant language and does not usually have a very large impact on the lexicon (vocabulary) of the borrowing language. Usually, borrowed words are restricted to place names and unfamiliar items or concepts. Superstratum influence, in contrast, is the effect of a politically or culturally dominant language on another language or languages in the area. The Norman French influence on the English language is related to a major historical event – the conquest of England by French-speaking Normans in 1066 – and as we have already seen had a major impact on the vocabulary of English. This is typical of superstratum influence since it arises through the impact of a language that is a source of new concepts and ideas, which may be in the realm of culture or of science and technology, or both. Some languages such as French, English, Sanskrit and Arabic have influenced more than one language in this way. In the case of Japanese, there is no agreement as to whether the superstratum is Altaic and the substratum Austronesian, or vice versa, and there has been quite a bit of mind-changing as scholars grapple with the data. For example, Murayama was initially of the opinion that Japanese had an Austronesian substratum and an Altaic superstratum, including Altaic suffixes. By 1976, however, he was of the opinion that the Malayo-Polynesian elements in Japanese should not be seen as a substratum but as a vital and powerful structural component of the language (Murayama 1976: 420). He argued that the theories positing a Malayo-Polynesian ‘substratum’ in Japanese ran up against the problem that one would expect the substratum to be covert, and this was not the case. Kawamoto concluded that Japanese underwent two waves of Austronesianization, first by an Oceanic language and then by a ‘Hesperonesian’, i.e. Indonesian, one, leading to two different series of sound correspondences (Kawamoto 1986), which have not been universally accepted (see e.g. Lewin 1988: 101). None of the above: Japanese is in fact an isolate, with no relatives among the languages of the world. This position has been taken by many scholars, for example Nichols (1992: 515).



Breaking the language code

We can perhaps eliminate some theories, such as the relationship with Tamil, as having little support either from linguists or from supporting evidence from other fields such as archaeology. However, even with regard to Altaic and Austronesian, the two ‘front runners’ in these theories about the relationships of Japanese, there are extremely divergent views, ranging from a genetic relationship with one or both of these families, to an Austronesian substratum and an Altaic superstratum, or an Altaic substratum and an Austronesian superstratum. Furthermore, Shibatani has rightly criticized all theories claiming a relationship between Japanese and another language or language family on the grounds of the inability of any of the proponents to provide recurrent sound correspondences between the two languages/families (Shibatani 1990: 112–17). This problem has become so acute in the case of Altaic that former adherents of the theory of the Altaic status of Japanese have renounced this position, notably Vovin in his recent trenchant critique of the ‘evidence’ (Vovin 2005; for his former position see Vovin 1994a and 1994b). Here, I will show that there was a specific input from one particular Austronesian language, for which one can draw up the best set of sound correspondences ever produced for any putative prehistoric relationship of the Japanese language, whether genetic or contact. Given this situation, it is not surprising that I received some advice to keep out of the linguistic area. Though I knew the problems were daunting, I also felt that no radically new truth is won without risk and, as noted above, I had strong reasons for needing to know the linguistic element in the contact. Despite the confusion generated by these theories proposing so many different scenarios, I realized that there was at least one certainty that could be established. This is set out in the following section. The Korean language cannot have been introduced in the Yayoi period As reported in the chapter on prehistory, many prehistorians believe that it is most likely that the Yayoi migrants came from Korea. This is not supported by the linguistic evidence. It is impossible to relate Japanese and Korean within any but an extremely distant time-frame, i.e. one in which the two languages separated at a very distant time indeed and since then have massively diverged. The problematic nature of establishing a link between Japanese and Korean has been well described by earlier scholars: for example, in 1948, Hattori concluded that the fact that it is difficult to discover rules of phonetic correspondence between Japanese and Korean indicates that no intimate relationship exists between these two languages, despite their shared typological characteristics – most of which are also found in Malayo-Polynesian (Hattori 1948: 112). In a similar strain Murayama concluded (Murayama 1978) that a very large portion of the basic vocabulary of the Japanese language is Malayo-Polynesian, as are certain morphological and phonological phenomena that are of great importance to the language. By contrast, Murayama states, the identifiably Altaic elements (Korean being one of the languages in the posited Altaic family) are restricted

Breaking the language code 109 to a few special features of the syntax, a portion of the morphology, and an extremely limited section of the vocabulary. How limited? Well, Vovin’s exhaustive survey of 100 years work on finding cognates in Korean and Japanese came to the conclusion that there were thirteen possible cognates. He then investigated these thirteen cognates and concluded that of these only seven were unproblematic, and that they represent either Japonic influence on Korean, or the earliest layer of Korean loanwords, of which many more (seventy-five) were introduced later. He concluded that the relationship between Korean and Japonic is collateral, not genetic, and is the result of mutual influence in the last 1600 years, not the result of several thousand years of divergence from a common source (Vovin 2008; see also Unger 2000 and 2001). The extreme scarcity of cognates in their vocabulary and the fact that replicable phonetic correspondences cannot be established means that if Korean and Japanese are indeed related, they must, as suggested above, have already separated at a very ancient time. We can confidently say this because linguists have a very powerful tool, called the Comparative Method, which can establish relationships between languages that go back well beyond the reach of recorded history. A notable example is the reconstruction of Proto-Indo-European, the ancestor of all Indo-European languages, which probably dates to 5000–6000 years ago. Since the Yayoi arrived in Japan around 2500 years ago, this is less than half the 6000 years at which the Comparative Method has been shown to be effective (in fact it has been suggested that it may work for as long a time-span as 10,000 years). If the Yayoi migrants were really Korean or proto-Korean speakers and their language had made a major contribution to Japanese, linguists should easily be able to demonstrate this by using the Comparative Method (even allowing for the fact that historical reconstruction is probably easier in the case of Indo-European languages than for Japanese). The fact that many Japanese words have undergone a process of reduction or contraction also causes significant problems for reconstructing the original forms (Alexander Vovin, personal communication). In fact, the establishment of any relationship between Japanese and Korean, even one dating from a more distant period than that of the Yayoi, depends very heavily on typological similarities. ‘Typological’ means pertaining to general structures in grammar and syntax which are constrained by the nature of language. A simple example is word order. Now, given that languages clearly have a limited number of choices as to how they will arrange the three elements of subject, verb, and object, not too much can be made of the fact that two languages have the same word order! Such typological similarities can be contrasted to particular features such as the specific forms of conjugations, inflections, or vocabulary which are not constrained by practicalities but are arbitrary, and in which almost unlimited variation is therefore possible. This means that the close similarity between, for instance, English good-better-best and German gut-besser-best can be taken as proof of a real historical relationship between the two languages, whereas the fact that both languages use declensions and conjugations, a ‘typological’ similarity, cannot.


Breaking the language code

Typological similarities between Japanese and Korean that have been proposed include such features as the use of postpositions to indicate grammatical function, and vowel harmony (though, in fact, there is little evidence for the latter in Japanese). But many typological commonalities between Japanese and Korean proposed as evidence of their relatedness are actually negatives, for example, lack of an article in both languages, lack of grammatical distinctions between number and gender, lack of relative pronouns, lack of declension (for which postpositions or particles are substituted), and lack of a distinction between two liquids (/l/ and /r/). This negative evidence is a bit like identifying a criminal and a suspect as the same person because neither of them was wearing a brown jacket. None of this goes any way to meeting Shibatani’s criticism (Shibatani 1990: 112–17) of the inability of linguists to provide recurrent sound correspondences between the two languages. Establishing what language was introduced in the Yayoi period From an early stage of my reading I came across evidence that suggested a link specifically with Java, and Javanese is the Indonesian language for which the earliest significant documentation is available. So what should I do to see if there had indeed been borrowing from an earlier form of Old Javanese into an earlier form of Old Japanese? One option was to spend a good many years mastering Sino-Japanese characters to access dictionaries of Old Japanese, but this required more patience than I had. So I decided to begin with romanized dictionaries of modern Japanese. Thus began a period when I spent long hours reading dictionary after dictionary interspersed with books on historical linguistics recommended by colleagues. This procedure seemed based on a somewhat forlorn hope, since I realized it was unlikely that words from over 2000 years ago would have survived into modern Japanese in any form that I would be able to recognize. But in research as in war desperate strategies sometimes work, and this was the case here, with the discovery of a number of words very close in form and meaning in both languages. Based on this success, I succeeded in obtaining a small amount of research funding, just sufficient to pay for Ohno’s Old Japanese Dictionary (Ohno et al. 1991) to be transcribed and translated. I was also extremely fortunate, as an absolute beginner, in obtaining very generous assistance from Murayama Shichirō, Japan’s most famous historical linguist. After working for some years on Old Japanese, I had culled from a longer list a short list of eighty-two pairs of items found in both Old Japanese and Old Javanese, with a preliminary schedule of sound correspondences. I presented a paper on my findings at the Fourth International Symposium on Languages and Linguistics (Kumar 1996) where it was encouragingly well received. Let me take a moment to point out that there are basically four reasons why the same word occurs in two languages. These are genetic relationship, borrowing, iconicity and chance. As far as genetic relationship is concerned, I was not claiming that Japanese and Javanese derived from a common ancestor.5

Breaking the language code 111 Iconicity – onomatopoeia – applies to only a few words in any language, and is not relevant here. That leaves borrowing and chance. Borrowing is what I believe explains the occurrence of the same words in Old Javanese and Old Japanese, so the possibility of chance is what I had to eliminate. Linguists are fond of pointing out that it is not uncommon for two languages to share one word of the same form and meaning just by chance – i.e. the word is not evidence of a genetic relationship between the two languages and has not been borrowed from one into the other. Many examples of such fortuitous similarities are quoted in the linguistic literature: well-known ones include bad with the same meaning in Persian and English; and the words for ‘eye’ in Modern Greek and Malay (mati and mata) (Hock 1986: 557). A less well-known example is the word for ‘dog’ in the Australian language Mbabaram – which is ‘dog’, and is not a loan from English (Dixon 1983: 107). However, it should be noted that, generally speaking, the ‘going rate’ of such coincidences is one per pair of languages, if you’re lucky, and the examples quoted in the literature are short words of the length of ‘bad’ or ‘dog’. My evidence was enormously greater, but since my hypothesis was so radical it was desirable to use extraordinary standards of proof. As it happened, I had the great good fortune to work with a linguist with an exceptional number of specialist competences, ranging from phonetics to Bayesian statistics, which enabled us to carry out a highly professional study (Kumar and Rose 2000). We decided to set the bar very high by using only long words, comprising five segments, in the form consonantvowel-consonant-vowel-consonant (CVCVC). This meant that the eighty-two pairs of Kumar (1996) were reduced to forty-one. As far as I know, no previous study seeking to demonstrate a linguistic relationship has set the bar so high as to include only words with five segments. These previous studies are numerous, see for example Hock (1986: Ch. 18), Trask (1996: 366–8), Campbell (1998: 316–17), Lass (1997: 105, 123–30), and Jones (1989), and in all of them we were simply not able to find ANY occurrences of CVCVC matches. For example, in Jones’s attempt (1989) to demonstrate a genetic relationship between Warlbiri, Finnish and Tamil the greatest degree of matching is for two, not necessarily regularly corresponding, segments (CV). Below are the lists of cognate pairs presented in Kumar and Rose (2000). Where there are significant differences between the two Japanese dictionaries used, Ohno et al. 1991 (O) and Jidaibetsu Kokugo Daijiten – Joudai Hen (1967) (JKD) these are noted separately. We can see from Table 6.1 that some words, such as sosok and matur, were identical in form and meaning in both languages. (The o2 in the Old Japanese form of sosok reflects the fact that written Old Japanese distinguishes three series of vowels, designated o, o1 and o2. The real-life differences between these different vowels are still a matter of debate, which it is not necessary to go into here.) In others, however, there were some differences, which are described in the section following Table 6.1.

Table 6.1 Borrowings (Javanese in first line) containing five segments Primary list of borrowings: verbs with OJAP-i suffix: sawak ‘to call out’ sawak‘to gather and make a noise in disorder; to gather and cry in tumult’ sosok ‘to pour out’ so2so2k‘to pour, sprinkle, splash, water; to rinse, wash off; to gush out’ matur ‘to present, offer, tell or report to person of higher rank’ matur‘to give or present s.t. to a person of high rank/God; to offer prayers; to honour the memory of God by making offerings at a shrine, etc.; to eat and drink (of a person of high rank); (auxiliary verb) non-subject exalting action of humble person to person of higher rank’ kĕkĕr ‘to put away or hide, to cover’ kakarof clouds etc, ‘to cover (the sky); to hang over; [to be possessed by a spirit; (of a God) to draw close to a human; to lean; rely; depend’] pupur ‘blow, battle, cock fight with natural spurs’ popur‘to cut/tear (the body of a bird/an animal) into pieces; to massacre’ mauwus (muwus, mowos) ‘to utter words’ mawosO: ‘to reveal (to a god, emperor), to report, to tell (to superior); to ask a favour’ JKD: ‘to say (something to someone of high rank); (auxiliary verb) non-subject exalting’ (a)namar ‘to hide, disguise’ namar- (nabar-) ‘to hide, be hidden’ kukuh ‘to strengthen, support’ kukur‘to tie up, bind, fasten’ [kukuh means ‘tie up’ in Modern Javanese. It is therefore possible that this is the original Old Javanese meaning, and that a semantic shift to ‘strengthen’ occurred in East Javanese.] wuwuh ‘increase, growth; to grow, increase’ wowor‘to grow in profusion’

Table 6.1 Continued tutup ‘cover, lid’; tumutupi (with um infix), ‘to cover’ tutum‘to wrap (something); to cover; to conceal (something) inside (something); [to dam up a stream by heaping up soil]’ tatap ‘to get on top of, above s.t’ tatam‘to fold up’ [Also used of rocks in layers (ipa tatami) and of folded cloth of paper mulberry fibre used for Shintō ceremonies.] susup ‘to enter, go in; to penetrate’ susum‘to go forward, advance rapidly, proceed’ kukup ‘to gather up’ kukum‘to wrap up, hold, cover; to make invisible’ tutug ‘to the end, completely, as far as, to extend, reach up to’ tutuk-/tuduk‘to last, continue, follow, go on’ sĕkar ‘flower’; [in verbal forms] ‘to bloom’ sakar‘to flourish’ [This may be morphologically complex, from sak- ‘to bloom’, and -ar ‘unspecified derivational suffix?’] Primary list of borrowings: other word pairs parĕm ‘to clear (of weather, after rain)’ pare ‘clearing up’a after rain, cloud, fog, mist, snow sawah wet-rice field sapa ‘swamp, marsh’ wawar ‘strips of leaf hung on a string [e.g. for ceremonial usage]’ wawara-ba ‘torn leaf’b duduk ‘bamboo spear, any weapon for stabbing or piercing’ turuki ‘general term for swords’

Table 6.1 Continued pad . a˜ ‘cleared [field]’ para ‘a plain, a field; a flat wide area’ gud . a˜ ‘building to keep grain, treasure, furniture’ kura ‘storehouse for grain, treasure, furniture’ [e.g. the three kura in which the divine regalia of the Yamato court were kept; a raised platform, especially a board on the top of pillars where offerings were made to Gods; ‘a horse-saddle’] kada˜ ‘kinsman, relative’ kara ‘kinsman, (blood) relative/relationship’ lĕsu˜ ‘rice mortar, pounder’ usu ‘mortar for grain, rice cakes and making purified alcohol, and also used to accompany incantation for fertility’ tapih ‘(waist) cloth’ tape2 ‘fibre from bark of trees such as the Paper Mulberry; cloth made from such fibre; generic term for all types of cloth’ gilaŋ-gilaŋ ‘shine, glitter’ kirakira+si (also kiragira+si) O: ‘well made-up and beautiful’ (of one’s appearance) wakul ‘a type of basket’ pako ‘a container with a lid, in which one keeps something important or secret. In ancient times, people believed that it could contain a soul, or a power to bring people fortune’ Secondary list of borrowings rawuh ‘to fall, come down; to arrive, visit’ tapur‘to fall, come down, collapse; [to die]’ (a)nusup ‘to penetrate or enter into a place where one is unseen/hidden’ nusum1 ‘to conduct/carry out/do something in secret’ 2 ‘to steal [something]; to make [something] one’s own in secret’

Table 6.1 Continued bata˜ ‘guess, interpretation, probability’ pata ‘by any chance, by any stretch of the imagination’; ‘perhaps’ undur ‘to retreat, retire’ yudur‘to give way, hand over’ wukir ‘mountain’ woka ‘mountain’ kikis ‘border, boundary fence’ kaki ‘fence, boundary (of shrine, temple, imperial court, rice-field)’ piri ˜ ‘a plate’ pira+ka [ka: ‘vessel or container’] ‘a plate’ [also used in ceremonies] wutuh ‘whole, intact’ utu ‘utterly, totally, entirely, completely; empty, hollow’ sasar ‘to go astray, to stray from the right way’ sasurapV4: ‘to wander, roam, go out as one pleases’ V2: ‘to lose one’s way’ [The morphological status of the Old Japanese -ap- is not clear.] tuntun ‘to lead, command’ to2to2no2p‘to lead, command’ [The morphological status of the Old Japanese -o2p- is not clear; note, however, its similarity to the previous example.] i past · ‘fixed, decided’ be2sic modal auxiliary indicating certainty, inevitability tutug ‘to strike or hit’ tutuk‘to poke, to tap, to knock’


Breaking the language code

Table 6.1 Continued t ĕt ĕ g ‘signal block’ tatakO: ‘to strike in succession’ JKD: ‘to hit, to knock, to tap’ barubuh ‘to make a thundering noise especially when crashing down’ po2ro2b‘to fall into pieces and disappear; to be destroyed’ nurat ‘to draw or write’ nur‘to paint; [to become wet, damp, or stained (by blood etc)]’
a The form of the verb in Old Japanese is actually par-u; pare is a nominal form of this verb (therefore ‘clearing up’). It has also been suggested that this word is related to par-u ‘to clear land’, as well as para ‘plain, field’, and paruka ‘clearly’. b This seems to appear only as an adverb in the form wawara-bani, meaning ‘all bent up’. The dictionary gives other hypotheses such as one that views the word as meaning ‘torn leaf’, with the verb being related to the verb wawak-u. The problem here is that the character used for the ba is one that can either be used to write the sound ‘ba’ or to mean ‘leaf’ or to do both. c This word starts with a ‘b’ because it is always a (verbal) suffix, and Japanese regularly voices consonants in this position.

Correspondences In those pairs of words which were not identical, one or more segments had undergone a sound shift: for a complete treatment of these sound shifts and their environments, see Kumar and Rose (2000: 228, 230–2, 234). Table 6.2 is a summary of these. These sound shifts recurred throughout the data. Not only that, the individual sound shifts could be seen to be part of a consistent general pattern. For example, when one sees that /g/ corresponds to /k/, and /d/ corresponds to /t/, and /b/ becomes /p/, we can generalize and say that Old Javanese voiced stops have become devoiced in Old Japanese. The term ‘environment’ referred to in the table above means the position in the word of the sound in question and the nature of the preceding and following consonants and/or vowels. Environment explains why, for example, Old Javanese d corresponds to Old Japanese t wordinitially, but to r word-medially, and why Old Javanese p corresponds to Old Japanese p word-initially and word-internally, but before the Old Japanese verbal suffix -i it corresponds to Old Japanese m (as in tutup/tutumi). Furthermore, the correspondences were readily explicable in terms of Old Japanese phonotactics and morphology: they were the sort of changes that one would expect to occur if words from an antecedent of Old Javanese were borrowed into an antecedent of Old Japanese. For example, the sequence wu is not allowed in Old Japanese, so we find that when an Old Javanese word has this combination, either the /w/ is dropped or the /u/ is changed to /o/. So we see that wuwuh becomes wowor- (another recurrent shift is that final /h/ before a suffix corresponds to /r/) and wutuh becomes utu.

Table 6.2 Sound correspondences in primary and secondary data between Old Javanese (OJAV) and Old Japanese (OJAP) consonants (A) and vowels (B) A OJAV p t k b d d ˚ g m n ŋ r l s h w B OJAV i a o u ĕ OJAP i ~ e2 ~ a a o ~ o2 ~ u o u ~o e a~u / w_ / elsewhere / __bilabial C elsewhere Environment OJAP m p t k p b t r r k g ø m n~ø n ø t ø r ø r s ø r ø w~p /—# / + i verbal suffix /__ u / elsewhere /# — /elsewhere /#— / elsewhere /intervocalically / #__ , + i verbal suffix /elsewhere / syllable-final / elsewhere / syllable-final / elsewhere / syllable-final / #__ /—# / elsewhere / #— / elsewhere Environment /__+ i verbal suffix /elsewhere


Breaking the language code

Could all these CVCVC words of the same form and meaning in Old Javanese and Old Japanese, with recurring sound correspondences, be just chance? This seems prima facie ridiculous, but to further strengthen our hypothesis we decided to use extraordinary standards of proof. This was done by standard statistical testing, using what is called the binomial distribution (details are in Kumar and Rose [2000: 239–46]). This assesses the probability of observing a given number of occurrences of an all-or-nothing event in a certain number of trials. For example, suppose a coffee machine overflows, in the long run, 10 per cent of the time. The binomial distribution will tell us what the probability is of it overflowing once in twenty trials, twice in twenty trials, fifteen times in twenty trials, etc. In the same way, a binomial distribution can be used to estimate the number of times one would expect to find, by chance, with a given vocabulary size, exact phonological matches of the type found in our data. It was found that for just four exact CVCVC matches the probability of chance occurrence was about 0.014, and for six exact CVCVC matches to be 0.051. So even with this small subset of the forty-one pairs, we were confident, 95–99 per cent sure in fact, that the matches were not due to chance. Moving on from here, the question of how well the hypothesis is supported by the evidence is best answered using the proper construct for evaluating the strength of evidence in favour of a hypothesis, namely the Likelihood Ratio (LR) of Bayes’s Theorem (Robertson and Vignaux 1995; Rose 2002: Ch. 4). The LR is the ratio of the probability of the evidence assuming the hypothesis to be correct (H1), to the probability of the evidence assuming that it is false (H2). Applied to the Old Javanese/Old Japanese correspondences, what we would need to know is the probability of observing the evidence – i.e. the degree of phonological correspondences present in the Old Javanese/Old Japanese data – assuming that there has been borrowing, and the probability of observing this evidence assuming no borrowing. This would result in a statement of the following kind: ‘One would be n times more likely to observe these phonological and semantic correspondences if there had been borrowing than if there had not been borrowing’ (where n is the Likelihood Ratio). The probability of the phonological evidence assuming chance – i.e. the probability of observing the matches assuming that borrowing had not occurred (the denominator of the LR) – was already demonstrated by the binomial analysis to be very low. The probability of getting the matches assuming borrowing had occurred – the numerator of the LR – must be as near as makes no difference to 1, i.e. certainty. Thus, just taking FOUR exact matches into account, the LR for the evidence is (100/0.014) = c. 7000. This means that one is seven thousand times more likely to observe the evidence assuming that borrowing had occurred than if it hadn’t. In reality, the LR would be very much higher than this, because we ignored the other matches, and many other factors. Among these is the existence of sound–meaning correspondences (in themselves agreement on two levels). Then there is the obvious fact, already mentioned, that the sound–meaning correspondences obtain for many items. Of these items, there are two independent, semantically related facts indicating a high probability of non-fortuitous occurrence. A simpler way of showing how unlikely you are to get the number of CVCVC matches we found by chance can be achieved by comparing them with an

Breaking the language code 119
Table 6.3 Chance similarities in Hawaiian and ancient Greek vocabulary Hawaiian aeto noonoo manao mele lahui meli kau mahina kia hiki eagle thought think sing people honey summer month pillar come Ancient Greek aetos nouos manthano melos laos meli kauma men kion hikano eagle thought learn melody people honey heat moon pillar arrive

unusually long list of chance resemblances between two languages – Hawaiian and Ancient Greek – generally believed to be unrelated and not to have borrowed from one another. This list, intended to demonstrate how easy it is to find chance similarities, was drawn up by Trask (Trask 1996: 220). Setting aside problematic issues such as the fact that Trask has ignored the difference between short and long vowels in this list, the maximum number of contiguous matching segments found in these words is three, with the single exception of meli/meli, which has four. However, meli/meli, unlike the others, is NOT in fact a chance similarity, but is actually a borrowing! So even this at first sight impressive word list actually contains nothing more than three matching segments, and most importantly there is no schedule of regularly recurring sound correspondences. Obviously, the lists of cognates given above are in a different class altogether. So the Kumar and Rose study satisfied Shibatani’s requirement for proof of relationship by producing the first schedule of replicable segmental correspondences between Japanese and any other language, prior to the influence of Chinese in historical times, as well as setting an exceptionally high standard as regards word length, and employing rigorous statistical testing. After establishing that there was substantial borrowing, we were also able to make further deductions concerning the nature of the contact from the words we studied, since the linguistic evidence proved, as hoped, both strong and informative. These deductions are set out in the following sections. Directionality The correspondences point to a directionality from Old Javanese to Old Japanese. Part of the evidence for this can be seen in the word-initial consonantal correspondences. We find Old Japanese /k/ corresponding both to Old Javanese /k/ and to /g/ in, for example, kadang/kara ‘kinsman’ etc., and gud . aŋ /kura ‘storehouse’ etc; Old Japanese /t/ corresponding to Old Javanese /t/ and /d/ in tapih/tape ‘cloth’ etc., and duduki/turuki ‘sword’ etc.; and Old Japanese /p/ corresponding to Old Javanese /p/ and /b/ in parĕm /pare ‘clear up’ etc., and barubuh/ po2ro2b among other examples. These sound shifts are only predictable

120 Breaking the language code if one assumes an influence from a precursor of Old Javanese to a precursor of Old Japanese, and not vice versa. In addition, the data also contained examples such as Old Javanese lĕsuŋ and Old Japanese usu ‘mortar’, where it would be counterintuitive to say the least to assume the improbable addition of /l/ word-initially and /N/ word-finally in Old Javanese, when neither of these elements occurs anywhere else as a prefix or suffix. So it was clearly the case that the borrowings had come from (an antecedent of) Old Javanese into (an antecedent of) Old Japanese, rather than vice versa. Semantic fields A ‘semantic field’ means a group of words whose meanings relate to the same subject or area. Our data consisted both of general vocabulary (words such as sosok/ so2so2k, to pour, tutup/tutum- to cover, and wuwuh/ wowor to grow or increase) and a significant number of words which clustered in particular semantic fields. One such semantic field relates to land clearing and rice cultivation and preparation, as the following words indicate:
Semantic fields sawah/sapa pad . aŋ/para lĕsu ŋ/usu kikis/kaki ipi/ipia rice field open or cleared field rice mortar boundary of a rice field cooked rice

a This item was too short to be included in the Kumar and Rose (2000) study, but is included here to fill out the picture.

I have not included other likely pairs such as kukusan/ ko2siki, rice steamer, since this is a case of metathesis and, as such, linguists would not use it to demonstrate a relationship. Further semantic fields can be added to the above, and when we consider them all together they show a striking agreement with the most often quoted innovations of the Yayoi period (c.f. Saitoo 1983: 321–2). Thus, our data contain word pairs referring to rice cultivation (see previous paragraph); introduction of metallurgy (duduk/turuki: ‘sword, weapon’); weaving of cloth (tapih/tape2: ‘cloth’); and the development of communal storehouses (gud . aŋ/kura: ‘storehouse’). The received view is that these innovations entered Japan from China and Korea. As Thorne and Raymond wrote: . . . the growing stream of mongoloid settlers from Korea and China . . . brought with them important new knowledge and technology. They introduced rice, and the technique of growing it in flooded paddies. They knew how to make bronze and smelt iron for tools and weapons. The women could weave cloth. These invaders and their ideas were absorbed without too much upheaval. (Thorne and Raymond 1989: 191–2)

Breaking the language code 121 The linguistic data, however, clearly indicate a Javanese source for these innovations. The linguistic data also indicate other innovations in the realm of thought and social organization which cannot be seen in the archaeological record studied by Thorne and Raymond. An outstanding example is matur-, noted above as meaning in Old Japanese ‘to give or present something to a person of high rank/ God; to offer prayers; to honour the memory of God by making offerings at a shrine’. In its modern form, matsuri,6 this word is used to refer to Shintō rites and festivals both singly and collectively, and even to the Shintō religious outlook as a whole. References to religion and royalty are also found, for example, in the meaning of kura which extends not just to ordinary storehouses but also to the three kura in which the divine regalia of the Yamato court were kept. Abstract concepts include items such as Old Javanese kadaŋ, ‘kinsman, relative’ and Old Japanese kara, ‘kinsman, (blood) relative/relationship’. One of the borrowings means ‘to lead or command’ (tuntun/ to2to2no2p-). A word for leaders and those in authority, kami/kami2, which occurs both in Old Japanese and in Old Javanese inscriptions, was not included in the Kumar and Rose study because it was a segment shorter than the required length. Another shorter word relating to an abstract concept rather than an item of material culture is duk/ to2ki, ‘time (period)’. These semantic fields represent borrowings from a language whose speakers were a high-status group which had brought much new technology and many new ideas, analogous to the Romans in England or the French after the Norman Conquest, whose impact on English was described at the beginning of this chapter. However, even as early as the time-period when the Romans came to England there was already a (Celtic) aristocracy and relatively advanced technology, including fine metalwork. By contrast, the Javanese influence on the Yayoi period was at an earlier period of Japanese social development and represented the first introduction of agriculture, metalworking, and other advanced technologies as well as the first introduction of a complex civilization, built on this agricultural base – a much more radical socio-cultural and technological transformation. Distribution Kumar and Rose (2000) also looked at the distribution of cognates of the Old Javanese words they included in other Austronesian languages. Why was it important to do this? The reason is that, as has already been noted in the introduction to this chapter, some linguists have claimed that Japanese is genetically related to Austronesian, or that the Jōmon language was Austronesian. This means we had to consider the possibility that the cognates we found actually represented an older, i.e. very much pre-Yayoi, undifferentiated Austronesian influence, rather than a later, Yayoi period, specifically Indonesian/ Javanese one. If it were this older undifferentiated Austronesian influence, it would go back to the time before the Austronesians began their southward journey from Taiwan, i.e. before 3000 BCE (see Chapter Two).

122 Breaking the language code In the event, we found that half or more of the items occurred only in Old and Modern Javanese. Of those items that do have cognates, the overwhelming majority are found in Western Malayo-Polynesian, mainly Indonesian, languages (Kumar and Rose 2000: 236). Furthermore, the Old Japanese words are phonetically closer to the Javanese and Western Malayo-Polynesian forms than to the very small number of non-Western Malayo-Polynesian cognates. Indeed, in some instances the Old Japanese reflects a specifically Javanese innovation, e.g. the replacement of Proto-Austronesian *b by w. And most importantly, the Old Japanese words are phonetically closer to the Javanese and Western MalayoPolynesian forms than to the reconstructed proto-Austronesian forms. The above phenomena clearly point to a localized Indonesian, not a general Austronesian influence. And the fact that over half the words occur only in Javanese and that some include specifically Javanese linguistic innovations indicates that we can narrow the influence down to this particular part of Indonesia. So the Kumar and Rose (2000) paper demonstrated that there had been borrowing specifically from an earlier form of Old Javanese into an earlier form of Old Japanese. We also looked at the sort of words that were borrowed, not only from the point of view of semantics, discussed above, but also with respect to parts of speech, and the implications of all of this for clarifying the nature and intensity of the contact. Our study had revealed that a large number of verbs have been borrowed: in fact they made up the majority of our examples (Kumar and Rose 2000: 232). This was striking, since many linguists have claimed that verbs are not easily borrowed. I will expand on this aspect of the borrowings in the following section. Relative intensity of borrowing As noted above, borrowing occurs in all sorts of different situations. Thomason (2001:70–1; see also Thomason and Kaufman 1988) sets out a ‘Borrowing Scale’ which distinguishes four different types of borrowing situations characterized by different levels of intensity, and lists what parts of speech and other linguistic features are found in these different situations. Though not all borrowing situations follow identical patterns, the types of borrowings which typically occur in these four situations are as follows: LEVEL ONE: CASUAL CONTACT. In this situation borrowers need not be fluent in the source language and/or there will few bilinguals among borrowing-language speakers. Only non-basic vocabulary and only ‘content words’ will be borrowed. LEVEL TWO: SLIGHTLY MORE INTENSE CONTACT. In this situation borrowers must be reasonably fluent bilinguals but they are probably a minority among borrowing-language speakers. The borrowings will still be confined to non-basic vocabulary but they will include not only ‘content words’ but also some ‘function words’ such as conjunctions and adverbial particles. LEVEL THREE: MORE INTENSE CONTACT. In this situation there are more bilinguals, and attitudes and other social factors favour borrowing. It is only at this third level that basic vocabulary – the kinds of words that tend to be present in all

Breaking the language code 123 languages – will be borrowed. And a larger range of function words such as prepositions, postpositions, and derivational affixes will also now be borrowed. The derivational affixes (such as -able/ible which was borrowed into English from French) may be abstracted from borrowed words and added to native vocabulary. Inflectional affixes may also be adopted, but only on borrowed vocabulary items. Also, personal and demonstrative pronouns and low numerals, which belong to the basic vocabulary, can be borrowed at this stage. LEVEL FOUR: INTENSE CONTACT. This involves extensive bilingualism among borrowing-language speakers, and social factors strongly favour borrowing. There will be continuing heavy borrowing in all sections of the lexicon. Borrowings which can be related to this scale Kumar and Rose (2000) demonstrated that the words borrowed from an antecedent of Old Javanese into an antecedent of Old Japanese include much basic vocabulary, which is only borrowed at Level Three. Particles, which according to this scale occur at Level Two, and pronouns, which occur at Level Three, were among the words listed in an earlier article (Kumar 1996: 537–40). Structural influence (i.e. influence on syntax and grammar) According to the borrowing scale given above, we can expect slight structural influence at Level Two, significant structural influence at Level Three, and heavy structural influence at Level Four. Concerning structural influence, Sakiyama (2000) has already argued that the Japanese suffix *-i should not be interpreted as an ‘Altaic’ morphology but as an Austronesian one, because Old Japanese and Austronesian both use it with a locative function, which Altaic never does. A less speculative case than this suffix is the undoubted borrowing from Javanese of the ‘humble auxiliary’ matur-. This is an application of one of the words represented in Kumar and Rose (2000) and listed above. Of this word Bentley says, following Ohno et al., that its original meaning was ‘to present offerings to deities and men’ (Bentley 2001: 204). Its usage as an affix indicating humble speech shows that it had in Old Japanese the full range of meanings it had in Old Javanese – i.e. including speaking to a superior – and which it still has in Javanese and Balinese today. Gericke and Roorda (1901) define this word in Modern Javanese as meaning: what is offered, said, or given to know to a superior (in contrast to d . hawuh or d . hawah, which indicates something – e.g. a gift, an order – handed down from a superior). In Modern Javanese it is also used as a humble auxiliary verb in expressions such as ‘my humble answer/question/ respects/thanks’. An area that would perhaps repay further investigation is a distinctive type of adverb called the ‘psychomime’. Psychomimes are a well-known phenomenon of the Japanese language. They include not only onomatopoeic words (which are not used by linguists to demonstrate relationship, since the same representation of a sound could have arisen independently in two different languages), but also

124 Breaking the language code words which are meant to evoke manner, feelings, and figurative expressions in which sounds play no part. The most common form used is reduplication of the base word. Exactly the same general form of reduplication with a similarly wide range of connotations is used in Javanese. Furthermore, apart from the general morphological phenomenon of reduplicated disyllabic words to express not only sound but also manner, feeling, etc., there are a number of specific matches which have both the same form and the same meaning (one, kirakira, is listed in Table 6.1).

Suggestions for Further Research
Although we have made a major advance in understanding the history of the Japanese language, it would be foolish to pretend that there is not much work still to be done. Though I have published a much larger word-list than is given here (Kumar 1996), in which the words exhibit the same sound correspondences and shifts, the same semantic fields, and the same distribution, i.e. overwhelmingly Western Malayo-Polynesian – a remarkably clear and consistent outcome – there are certainly many more cognates still to be found. Then, more work must be done on establishing the total range and environments of the sound shifts involved. Even in the much better-documented field of Indo-European linguistics this took considerable time. For example, the famous linguist Jacob Grimm formulated Grimm’s Law in 1822. This set out the relationships between the Proto-Indo-European consonants and the consonants in the daughter languages, such as Gothic and Sanskrit. Grimm’s contemporaries soon discovered ‘exceptions’ to his rules, and the question was whether it would be possible to define the specific linguistic environments which produced these apparent aberrations. This was eventually done, notably by the linguists Lottner and Verner, showing that the shifts were actually rule-driven and consistent, not spasmodic exceptions to a rule (Lehman 1973: 8–9, 84–7). However, this full working-out of Grimm’s Law took half a century. There is no doubt that much fine-tuning of this type remains to be done on the sound shifts described here. The regular, exceptionless changes Kumar and Rose stipulated are commendable in the sense that they meet the counsel of perfection of the Neogrammarian school of historical linguistics, the first normative approach, which insisted on this requirement. However, Gilliéron subsequently demonstrated that the Neogrammarians, when they insisted that a single phonetic law applied to all words similarly constituted and situated, ignored the fact that we never really find two words that are identically situated. Words generally change under various, sometimes competing influences. Each word has a life of its own, different to some degree from all others – a situation Gilliéron expressed in his famous statement ‘chaque mot a son histoire’ (Iordan 1970: 170). For us it was appropriate to use the somewhat artificial criteria of the Neogrammarians in order to set the bar of proof as high as possible. This strategy worked well, and the sound shifts we worked out are, as already noted, extremely plausible: according to one reader of this book, too plausible!! He wrote that one would

Breaking the language code 125 ‘expect some surprises’ due to the significant period between the time of the borrowings and the time when they were written down. Well yes, though the amount of change that takes place over time varies greatly from language to language. Thus French, for example, has changed greatly and become extremely different from Latin, whereas Italian has changed much less (and Javanese itself seems to have been a conservative language, changing little over the period it is recorded). Be that as it may, the absence of ‘surprises’ in our highly plausible schedule of correspondences is due simply to the fact that we decided to exclude all words that didn’t conform to the rules. This means that there are many other borrowed items whose ‘own histories’ still have to be told: words which the Javanese brought to Japan in the Yayoi period and which underwent changes over the period between their first introduction and their first appearance in the written record. All these word histories need to be investigated in detail. It is well known that elements borrowed into another language often undergo a restructuring process. From my own data (not included here), it seems that Javanese prepositions were converted to postpositions in Japanese. More work needs to be done on this subject. The question of the impact on different Japanese dialects also needs to be taken into consideration. Using kawi and the modern languages It was already suggested in Kumar and Rose (2000: 250) that the kawi lexicon, an ancient, probably central Javanese, lexicon preserved as a literary vocabulary in modern Javanese, would be an obvious place to look for further vocabulary. (Confusingly, the term ‘kawi’ is also used to denote Old Javanese, the language used in this chapter!) Apart from this ancient lexicon, it is undoubtedly the case that there are vocabulary items not actually attested in the written records of Old Javanese and Old Japanese, limited as they are in amount and scope, but which can be found in the modern languages. Many linguists working on Japanese and its relationships do use words found in the modern languages, either in modern Japanese or in its putative relatives, but the Kumar and Rose study (2000) did not do this. However, I have compiled a list of pairs using the modern languages, pairs which display the same sound correspondences as already established here from Old Javanese and Old Japanese. It is striking that for most of these pairs it is only the Javanese word for which the modern language has to be used, due to the fact that the item is not found in Zoetmulder’s dictionary (Zoetmulder 1982). This is not chance, but reflects a linguistic reality, i.e. that the texts used as the basis for Zoetmulder’s Old Javanese dictionary were written in East Java, while Modern Javanese is based on the language of Central Java, which became normative (analogously to southern standard English) in the nineteenth century. From the archaeological evidence given above, I believe that it was very likely immigrants from central-to-west Java – particularly the Taruma region – who took their language to Japan, and that is why we can still find cognates in standard modern

126 Breaking the language code
Table 6.4 Some borrowings using the modern languages Modern Javanese amat, a measure of rice (cf. Malay amat, much) Modern Javanese antar, length Modern Javanese tuwi, which is the krama (polite form) of tilik, to visit, and is also a kawi word Modern Javanese kĕbul, smoke Modern Javanese cuki, cuke, a tithe, tribute Old Japanese amata, an adverb of quantity, ‘more than enough, much’; possibly related to the Old Japanese verb amar-, to have too much, to be left over Old Japanese ata, a unit of length measured by stretching the thumb and middle finger Old Japanese top-, to2p-, to inquire (after someone), to visit, to say something Old Japanese keburi, smoke Old Japanese tuki2, a tribute. Also mi-tuki2, taxes, a tribute

Javanese, which is based on the dialect of that area. I have no doubt that systematic work on the modern language(s) would yield many more pairs, and in fact I would not be astounded if they equalled those based on Old Javanese. Table 6.4 lists a few examples.

As already remarked, we have worked out the first schedule of replicable segmental correspondences ever presented in support of ANY prehistoric relationship of the Japanese language. These correspondences are simple, require no tortuous argumentation, and make sense in corresponding to soundshifts already known to be common ones, not rare or bizarre ones requiring special justification. Even vowels, regarded by the great Grimm (and subsequent linguists) as somewhat intractable, fall into reasonably clear and logical patterns. Therefore, we can regard the influence of an antecedent of Old Javanese as the most firmly established prehistoric relationship of the Japanese language. We still do not know exactly what percentage of Japanese words derives from an ancestor of Old Javanese, and the exact amount of influence in the area of basic vocabulary. This may have been greater than is the case for French influence on English, considering that the Javanese introduced agriculture and the technology associated with settled life, which meant that words for items such as cloth, plates, and covers, listed above, were introduced, along with words from the domain of higher civilization and religion (which came to be known by the Javanese borrowing mat(s)uri). Murayama has suggested that there may also have been Austronesian influence on Korean. This possibility is strengthened if we remember Hudson’s suggestion that rice was introduced into Korea and Japan as part of the same general process (see Chapter Two), and is further strengthened by some of the DNA findings. This work on the Korean language must be left to others more qualified.

Breaking the language code 127 Though further work still has to be done, it cannot be denied that the linguistic evidence did what was hoped of it: it confirmed the other evidence, notably the archaeological and DNA evidence. Like these, it showed that what we have here is not an early Austronesian influence, but a late (Metal Age) and specifically Indonesian influence. The linguistic evidence went further in greatly filling out the whole picture. It was already known that the Yayoi immigrants introduced rice, and the technique of growing it in flooded paddies. It was also known that they knew how to make bronze and smelt iron for tools and weapons. And it was known that the women could weave cloth. Now we know that these innovations were introduced from Java. And we also know that many other important innovations in the area of culture, social structure, royalty and religion, not visible in material remains, were also introduced at this time, and played a central role in the formation of Japanese identity and civilization. The semantic fields represented indicate the nature of the Javanese influence, that is, that it was influence from an élite group. This was a culturally and politically dominant group who introduced rice agriculture, new technologies in pottery, metalwork and architecture, new art forms, a new social structure culminating in the Emperor, and a new religion. We now have a mental picture of the Javanese immigrants with their visible and invisible goods: rice seed, agricultural implements, rice cookers, textiles and looms, pottery, baskets, weapons, and ritual objects such as bells, and their no less important cultural and artistic skills, and commitment to a hierarchical social structure. In sum, the linguistic evidence has delivered the goods magnificently.

Part Three


The world enchanted

We have seen from the evidence presented in the preceding chapters that the Javanese immigrants, though on present evidence a comparatively small group, transformed Japan by the introduction of wet-rice agriculture and many new technologies and skills. From the Javanese loan words in the Japanese language, we can also see that the Javanese brought socio-political ideas such as the distinction between leaders and led, and the importance of showing deference to one’s superiors, now rather clearly demarcated. The sometimes technical and difficult evidence for all this has been described in the preceding three chapters. The book could perhaps have ended there. However, evidence of this type does not cover the whole of human life. It is clear that Yayoi society must have had a more complex religion than the material remains can reveal to us. Though the artefacts of the period include bells and mirrors which clearly were designed for religious and ceremonial purposes (Hudson 1992: 149), it is difficult to guess what ideas and concepts underlie the forms and decoration of these. Even the loan words, though they reveal a great deal, do not supply the religious texts these words were used to compose. Yayoi society was characterized by hierarchy, and a society which has an upper class that lives from the surplus of the productive class (and wet-rice farmers are particularly good at producing a substantial surplus) has need of what academics ponderously refer to as a hegemonic discourse. As Martin puts it ( OC%235895%232002%23999719998%23330001%23FLA%23&_cdi=5895&_ pubType=J&_auth=y&_acct=C000028338&_version=1&_urlVersion=0&_useri d=554534&md5=85e5a43e224d21c4ca676f459b8060a8): ‘From the prison writings of the Italian communist Antonio Gramsci, Laclau and Mouffe adopt (and modify) the concept of hegemony to denote the structuring of meanings through discursive practices. For Gramsci, hegemony denoted the capacity of a class to transcend its narrow, corporate interests in order to symbolise a variety of popular struggles that were strictly external to class or economic practices. To hegemonise a specific group’s political demands was to incorporate it into a wider identity, to eliminate its difference sufficiently for it to be viewed as an integral part of a larger, distinctive worldview that joined together the otherwise contradictory and unstable institutional domains of state, civil society and economy.’ Unsurprisingly, the actual style of the hegemonic discourses constructed


The world enchanted

was very different from this academic exegesis. In creating a cohesive social identity based on an encompassing, distinctive world view, ruling classes used simpler verbal weapons, basically involving threats (hell, for example), and promises, or hopes, embedded in powerful myths. This ‘enchantment’ of the world through myths has been a feature of all traditional societies that I can think of, enduring for millennia. We who live in a world dominated by the impact of science find it hard to realize the power of these myths, because our world has been ‘disenchanted’. This point was most famously made by one of the founding fathers of sociology, Max Weber, though Keats made the point earlier and more vividly in his 1819 poem, Lamia. In this poem he describes the effect of Newton’s scientific explanation of the rainbow (till then a long-standing problem in physics) as being due to the refraction of the sun’s light in drops of falling rain, and the different properties of the differently coloured rays of the spectrum. Thus science (Keats uses the older term, philosophy) demoted a powerful Old Testament and Christian icon to just another natural phenomenon belonging in the ‘dull catalogue of common things’: Do not all charms fly At the mere touch of cold philosophy? There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture; she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an Angel’s wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine – Unweave a rainbow . . . The Yayoi, by contrast, did not live at the stage of society when the enchanted world was being dismantled by science. They lived at the stage of society when the enchantment was set up. Their ruling class constructed an enchanted world that identified them with all the peasant rice-farmers of their society, integrating upper and lower classes into a larger, distinctive world view. The myths that enchanted the world of traditional Java and Japan centred on divine women who brought immense blessing to society, and on radiant princes (and their consorts) who embodied the extraordinary aesthetic level of the court and the even more extraordinary accomplishments developed there. These myths were remarkably successful in creating a distinctive world-view for the whole society that lasted a very long time indeed, well into modern times, and is not entirely dead even yet. In what follows I will outline these myths and also briefly note some cults particularly associated with Yayoi innovations such as rice (whose cultivation and cult was so important for royal legitimacy) and weapons.

Part A: The divine women of the sky and sea
The civilizations of both Japan and Java give great prominence to the supernatural agency of divine women – the angels and goddesses described here.

The world enchanted Java The angel and her robe


The following well-known story is told in a number of Javanese sources, and the version given here follows the Babad Tanah Jawi (Olthof 1941: 25f, 30–1, 103–4). Once upon a time a baby whose mother had died in childbirth was adopted by the widow of the ascete Ki Ageng Tarub. He grew up to be a very handsome young man and was known as Jaka (‘young man’) Tarub. When he was of marriageable age, he refused to marry, and liked to spend his time hunting with his blow-pipe. One day he was in pursuit of a strange and beautiful bird and went deep into a great wood. The bird shifted from perch to perch and finally disappeared, at which point the young man found himself by a lake (sendhang) which was the bathing-place of widadari1), which I translate here as angels, though it is probably more accurate to describe at least the most important of these as fully a goddess, like Demeter. It happened to be the day of Anggara Kasih (TuesdayKliwon: Kliwon is the first2 day of the Javanese five-day [ pasaran] week, which is combined with the seven-day week to produce a thirty-five-day cyclical month). The angels had descended to earth to bathe. The young man hid while the angels undressed and bathed in the lake. Attracted by their beauty, he whipped away and hid the clothes of one of them. Not realizing this, the angels continued to bathe happily. Then the young man cleared his throat. The angels were startled to hear the voice of a human and quickly flew away, each taking her own clothes. Only one, called Nawang Wulan (‘gazing at the moon’), was still at the lake, because her clothes were missing. The young man approached, and said to Nawang Wulan that if she would agree to marry him, he would return her clothes. Out of fear, Nawang Wulan agreed. They married and had a child, Nawang Sih. Nawang Wulan possessed the secret of producing an unending supply of rice, so that no matter how many meals she cooked the rice-granary never diminished. One day she went to do the washing in the river. She left her husband in charge of the rice-pot, enjoining him that he must not look inside it. However, he broke her prohibition, looked inside, and saw that there was only one grain of rice there. This breach of trust destroyed her magic, so that from that time she had to work like an ordinary mortal. She longed to leave this life of drudgery but was unable to do so until she discovered her robe under the last of the rice in the granary. This robe was called Antakusuma: a contraction of Anantakusuma, which means endless or eternal flowers [the reference to flowers occurs in other versions of this story, see below pages 138 and 153]. She flew back to heaven, promising to return to suckle her child, Nawang Sih, whenever she cried. Nawang Sih’s grandchild Ki Ageng Sela was the grandfather of Ki Pamanahan, the first ruler of the kingdom of Mataram, the most powerful modern Javanese kingdom. Another version of this story provides further clues to its significance. Pleyte (1894) reports a story told by the Tenggerese (an isolated population in the

134 The world enchanted mountains of East Java with conservative beliefs) about Sunan Bonang, one of the apostles of Islam on Java. In this story, Sunan Bonang has an illegitimate son with a hermitess. This son, named ‘Djaga Tarup’, was brought up by a widow. He came upon twelve angels bathing, stole the wings of one, Nawang Wulan, and forced her to marry him. They had a daughter Nawang Seh [sic]. One day Nawang Wulan went out leaving him in charge of the rice-pot, and against her orders he looked in and saw the single grain. This destroyed her power, the rice-granary diminished, and she then found her wings at the bottom of it, enabling her to fly back to heaven. So far, the story is much the same as that of the Babad Tanah Jawi (except that Jaka Tarub’s father is said to be Sunan Bonang) but what follows is more detailed and explicit: when Nawang Wulan left her husband, she returned to heaven with the instruction that her daughter should be left in the sawah and a bundle of rice-straw set alight as a sign for her to return and feed the child. Pleyte comments that this is obviously an agricultural myth, with Nawang Wulan, the goddess of agriculture, bearing a daughter, rice. This daughter has to be taken to the field, symbolizing the sowing of the grain, where her mother gives her to drink, symbolizing the flooding of the rice-fields by the rain, after the flame of the rice straw, symbolizing the burning off of the fields, has alerted her.

When the Babad Tanah Jawi comes to describe the rise of Islam and the construction of the mosque of Demak (Olthof 1941: 31–2), it is recounted that a bundle with a cover of goat or sheep leather and containing the prophet Mohammed’s prayer-mat and shawl fell on Sunan Kalijaga, one of the greatest of the nine apostles of Islam on Java. He made the cover into a garment called Antakusuma or Ki Gundhil. This garment was to be worn by all the kings of Java for accession and war. We can see that in this version the story of the Anantakusuma robe has been given an Islamic cast to ensure its continuing importance under the new religion. Senapati, traditionally celebrated as the greatest ruler of the early days of Mataram, was given the Antakusuma garment by Kalijaga and went into battle wearing it after its importance had been explained to him. Much later in the Babad (Olthof 1941: 300f.), in the passage describing Pangeran Blitar’s 1719 bid for the throne (Ricklefs 1974: 349n.), we are told that the prince asked the former ruler, now fleeing from his enemies, for the following heirlooms: the bendhe [a sort of small gong] called Ki Bicak, the kris called Kyai Belabar, the lance (waos) Kyai Baru, and the jacket (rasukan) Kyai Gundhil or Antakusuma.

Important myths are enacted in ritual, and this one is no exception. These rituals took place both in the Javanese courts and throughout the countryside. Court rituals In the Sultanate of Yogyakarta, Sultan Hamengkubuwana VII (1877–1921) wore the Antakusuma jacket when he ascended the throne, and also

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for the three great annual court festivals, the Garebegs (Veldhuisen-Djajasoebrata 1988: 30–2, 227). This jacket had belonged to the first Sultan of Yogyakarta, and was a sacred heirloom. It was made of triangular pieces of velvet, silk and brocade of a wide variety of patterns and colours sewn together. This design – not only the actual patchwork, but the related quilt-like pattern called belah ketupat – is considered by the Javanese to have the power to ward off sickness and evil. Though according to court tradition the Antakusuma jacket originated from Sunan Kalijaga and the Demak mosque, the author of a museum catalogue comments that wearing this jacket appears to be a pre-Islamic custom, because in the fourteenth-century text, Sri Tanjung, a similar jacket is mentioned that gives the possessor the power to fly. It was also customary for patchwork jackets and headgear to be worn by the priests of the Tengger community who retained the old religion when other Javanese converted to Islam, at the time of their annual offering (Volkenkundige Museum Nusantara: 34–6). In the other central Javanese principality, Surakarta, an official source (K. R. T. Harjanegara, personal communication) said that Antakusuma is also worn by the priest Durna in the Mahābhārata story and is the insignia of office (samir) of Adipati Sedah Mirah, who has the responsibility of looking after the heirlooms ( pusaka) of the kraton (royal court and by extension kingdom). Tradition links the origin of the jacket with the story of Jaka Tarub and Nawang Wulan, who is also considered to be a personification of the rice goddess Dewi Sri, honoured in many prescribed rituals both by the court and by ordinary villagers. Every eight years the ruler conducts a ceremony where he personally cooks rice for his subjects. When he does this he is said to use the dandang (rice cooker) of Nawang Wulan (K. R. T. Harjanegara, personal communication). In the third major Javanese kraton, Cirebon, it is believed that the Antakusuma jacket protects against rain, drowning, heat and other dangers (Pak Sujana, personal communication). An official of the Kanoman kraton said it gave the power of flight. Van Dapperen, writing of Cirebon in 1933 (van Dapperen 1933: 140f), says that the very old wore the Antakusuma jacket at Mulud. It was made of dull red and white squares, red and white being sacred colours in traditional Javanese religion. The Mulud ceremony in Cirebon is centred on the Panjang Jimat, a dish believed to have belonged to Nawang Wulan, which is filled with lucky rice (gabah), husked grain by grain, that participants compete to obtain. The Panjang Jimat is carried in procession by young virgins ( prawan sunthi).4 The Panjang Jimat is thus the Cirebon equivalent of the dandang of Nawang Wulan in which the Sunan of Surakarta cooks rice for his subjects. So in all three major Javanese kraton then, Nawang Wulan’s robe remains central to the most important rituals of kingship: accession to the throne and the major annual festival, Garebeg Mulud. This festival, despite its present Islamic garb, retains its old character of a celebration of the divine woman who enables the ruler to provide rice for his people. Even more remarkable is the appearance of the Anantakusuma robe on the occasion of the Garebeg Besar in Demak, the holiest site of Javanese Islam. Part


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of the ceremony takes place at Kadilangu, where there is a large complex of graves, of which the most revered is that of Sunan Kalijaga, one of the most famous of the nine apostles of Islam on Java. The ritual includes a ceremonial washing of certain sacred heirlooms ( pusaka) from the holy man, which are kept in a box and stored in the cover (cungkup) of his grave. Such ritual cleansing is a well-known Javanese practice, found for instance in the annual cleansing of the regalia of Javanese kratons. The sacred objects from Sunan Kalijaga include two krisses (Kyai Crubuk and Kyai Sirikan), a staff (Kyai Tratas) and the Kotang (vest) Ontokusuma, a variant spelling of Antakusuma. The special provisions for the ritual washing of this garment are that those who perform the ceremony must turn aside their face and close their eyes. They have previously immersed their hands in a bowl containing sandalwood oil, which they now wipe on the garment which is still in the box, the latter only partly opened. It seems there is a belief that anyone who sees it will become a monster (buta) (Munawar 1991:6, 10). Does this turning aside with closed eyes spring from a faint memory of the proper response to an angel’s nakedness? The court dance There are two Javanese court dances of the highest status, the bedhaya and srimpi, names used for both the dance and the dancers. These dances are associated with important occasions such as royal marriages and the anniversary of the birth or accession to the throne of the ruler, and are also performed at the garebeg. Though the Javanese do not draw a hard and fast distinction between bedhaya and srimpi, it is the former that is of most interest here. In the song texts performed as an introduction to bedhaya dances, the dancers are often described as widadari, angels descending from heaven. There are a number of different bedhaya dances variously depicting historical events, the Panji stories, and the Arjunawiwāha, the last, an Indic story also dealing with the union of a mortal and a widadari. New forms were constantly created and old ones fell out of fashion, and the accession of a new ruler or the establishment of a new kraton was usually the occasion for a rebirth of the royal bedhaya tradition in a new incarnation. There is, however, one bedhaya dance more sacred than any other and considered the origin of all these later ‘putra’ (offspring). It may only be performed, or even rehearsed, in the kraton pendhapa (the most important inner pavilion), at specified times, in court dress. It is also, at least in its text, which is only found in Surakarta manuscripts, by far the most stable of the bedhaya, relatively unchanged over three centuries because of its close association with Javanese kingship (Kumar 1992: 268–9). Moreover, it is explicitly connected with the accession ritual of Javanese rulers. This dance is the Bedhaya Ketawang. The Bedhaya Ketawang is highly sacred and surrounded by strong taboos. It may only be performed on the accession of the ruler or the anniversary of this date. Over the rest of the year, rehearsals are held in the Surakarta court on the sacred day Tuesday-Kliwon, also called Anggara-kasih, on which Nawang Wulan descended to Earth.

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The dancers must be pure and wear the classic toilette of brides in Solo, and in Yogya the bridal coiffure. Their clothing bears the royal parang sawat or parang rusak designs. Parang are diagonal sword patterns traditionally forbidden to commoners, while sawat are wings, symbolizing Garuda, the mount of Vishnu and of kings (Simatupang n.d.: 55; Hadiwidjojo 1981: 13–14, 20; Van Lelyveld and Bernard 1931: 139).5 Lelyveld says that until recently the dancers had to be under fourteen years old, and virgins.6 The close family of the Sunan spend the whole day before the performance purifying themselves outwardly and inwardly, as of course do the dancers, who have to be in a state of purity even for rehearsals. The accompanying song is sung by a choir of men and women ( pesindhen jaler and estri)7 but each of the three parts is opened by a female solo. The style of singing is the antique and virtually obsolete mandaraka (Tirtaamidjaja 1967: 34, 35). The Bedhaya Ketawang text is so holy that it cannot be sung in daily life and when the text is written incense must be burnt. Hadiwidjojo comments on the highly erotic character of the text, which is a love-song sung by an unidentified woman to a Javanese king. It is also somewhat cryptic and not easy to interpret. When sung, it is accompanied not by the full gamelan8 but by the Lokananta ensemble. The melodic element is exclusively represented by unison choir singing, in former times exclusively by women (Kunst 1949 vol. 1: 279). Many people believe that the Bedhaya Ketawang is a dance devised by Sunan Agung in tribute to the undersea goddess, the Queen of the Southern Ocean, Nyai Rara Kidul (discussed below), who is supposed to dance invisibly among the other dancers and correct their mistakes.9 Another explanation of the creation of both bedhaya and srimpi is that they were created by Dewi Candrakirana, Panji’s wife, of whom more will be said later (Kumar 1992: 268). A rather different story of the origin of bedhaya appears in Ranggawarsita’s Pustaka Raja, also in relation to Sunan Agung. In this account the dance originated in the heavens, and the goddess of the Southern Ocean appears at a later juncture, when rehearsals have already begun. Brakel-Papenhuijzen (1992: 55–6) notes other discrepancies in the different accounts of the role of Nyai Rara Kidul. In the Weda Pradangga account she is involved with the choreography, though not with the music or poetry, and only for the Bedhaya Ketawang; while in the Titi Asri account she is not mentioned at all in connection with the creation of the Bedhaya Ketawang. Her main role is in connection with the Bedhaya Gadung Mlati, not in the process of teaching its choreography to humans, but in relation to the song-text created by Sunan Agung. Finally, it is important to point out that the performance takes place on Anggara-kasih, Nawang Wulan’s day of descent; that it involves offerings of black and white rice; and that the text of the song sung as the Bedhaya Ketawang dancers return to the dalem explicitly compares them to angels descending and to jewels shining in the sky (see Tirtaamidjaja 1967: Appendix I, III). It seems, therefore, that there has been a convergence of the rites and myths of the sky/rice-goddess and the sea-goddess, presumably from the time of Mataram. One example of this is a version of the Nawang Wulan story reported


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by Groneman (1895: VI, 48), in which Nawang Wulan is refused re-admission to heaven and Nyai Rara Kidul adopts her as her patih (chief official). Observances outside the courts The myth of the angel has been continuously re-enacted all over Java and at all levels of society. These are some of the ritual performances in which it is found.
NINI THOWONG The dolanan Nini Thowong is a game exclusively for girls. The Nini Thowong doll can only be made on one of the days when there is a large moon (between the 10th and the 15th of a month) and preferably on a Thursday night, or even better on the eve of the sacred day Anggara-kasih (TuesdayKliwon). After the doll is taken to a sacred spot, where incense is burnt and an offering (sajen) made, the widadari Nini Thowong is asked to descend into the doll. Later, at night, a pestle ( gandhik) is wrapped up to look like a small baby, which is called the child of Nini Thowong. The items which must be assembled for a Javanese marriage, such as flowers and water in an earthenware pot, along with a mirror and an oil lamp, are placed in front of Nini Thowong and incense is burned continuously. The girls gather behind and on either side of Nini Thowong. No one is allowed to be in front of her ‘for she must always be able to see the moon’. Later, one of the girls may take the pestle, hide it and say, ‘Nini Thowong, I have taken your child.’ Then the baby is found and returned. Sometimes the girls hold the pestle out in front of her and say, ‘Look, your baby is crying!’ This is clearly a re-enactment of the same legend as is told in the Babad Tanah Jawi and the Tengger myth. SINTREN AND LAIS Other ritual performances, called sintren and lais, were also designed to call down the widadari or to transform a young girl into one. Maurenbrecher (1940) noted performances in Tegal and Banyumas and described in detail one in Cirebon which apparently had a more antique character. Performances could only take place by moonlight in the west monsoon after the planting-out of the padi harvest. A woman served as the panjak (or dhalang) of sintren, and a man as the malim of lais. For sintren, only a non-nubile girl ( prawan kencur or sunthi) could act, and only a boy of the same age ( jaka kumalakala) as lais. It was preferred to train a daughter or son of a former performer, and practice could not be held more frequently than every four or five days, since it was believed that otherwise it would lead to psychological disturbance. Sintren involves trance or possession, and the panjak would request the widadari to descend into the sintren by singing the following:


turua sintren, sintrene widadari nemu kembang ayon-ayonan, kembange widadari, widadari tumuruna, ngranjing ing awakira [sleep, sintren; the sintren of the widadari has found flowers, to adorn herself, flowers of the widadari; descend, widadari, enter the body destined for you].

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This corresponds closely with the words used in the Nini Thowong game to invite the widadari to enter into the doll.10 Lais is similar but with some Islamic elements. The Javanese marriage ceremony Finally, every Javanese woman becomes a spiritual daughter of Nawang Wulan on the eve of her marriage. This is called the lenggahan midadareni, the sitting up all night, in which the bride and groom will be in contact with the widadari and receive her blessing. The sea goddess: Nyai Rara Kidul Ricklefs gives the following account of this goddess and her connections with Javanese royalty (Ricklefs 1998: 10–12). The goddess first appears in the major Javanese chronicle in the account of the career of Raden Susuruh, son of the king of Pajajaran and founder of Majapait, considered the greatest of the HinduJavanese kingdoms. The young man was travelling across Java after a military defeat when he came to Mt Kombang and met an ascete (ajar) called Cemara11 Tunggal (‘Single Pine’), who told him to look for a maja tree with bitter ( pait) fruit, and establish himself as ruler of all Java there. The ascete revealed to him that she was actually a princess of Pajajaran, and thus related to him. All the rulers of Java had sought to marry her for her beauty, but she had refused them, and left the kingdom to escape her father’s wrath. She reverted for a moment to her former shape as a beautiful princess, and told Raden Susuruh that she could take on many forms, male or female, young or old, and would not die until the Day of Judgement. She promised to meet him again when he ruled all of Java. She would move from her present kraton in the ‘sand sea’ to Pamancingan on the south coast. Her troops would be the spirits of Java and she would serve Raden Susuruh and his descendants the rulers of Mataram. In one version of the story, she promised to marry each of the rulers of Java. Although she is not yet called the Goddess of the Southern Ocean (Nyai Rara Kidul) – logically enough, since she has not yet established her court there – there can be little doubt that Cemara Tunggal is the future Goddess. She also appears in the story of Senapati, founder of the Mataram dynasty. His supernatural power was such as to cause a great disturbance in the ocean, killing all the fish. The goddess rose from her underwater palace to find him standing on the shore, surrendered to him all that exists in the ocean and put her hordes of spirits at his service. In return, he restored the fish to life. Nyai Rara Kidul and Senapati then went joyfully to her underwater palace where they entered into a sexual union. During his three days there, she instructed him on the mystic science of kingship. So the author of the chronicle celebrating the Mataram dynasty considers it essential to link its founder, Senapati, with both of the two most powerful Javanese divinities, Nawang Wulan and Nyai Rara Kidul. The goddess’s third appearance in the chronicles is at the end of the life story of Sultan Agung (r. 1613–46), the greatest of the kings of Mataram. He went to the southern ocean to meet her, and she informed him that he had only two years to


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live and should leave his earthly kingdom and join her. He refused, saying that all her spirits were not equal to mankind and the creation, whereupon she asked him to use his powers as a great king, recognized by Mecca, to turn her back into a human being. Agung refused to exorcize the curse that had made her Goddess of the Southern Ocean, to her great sorrow. Eventually she was consoled, and thereafter instructed him to throw a holy kris into the ocean at the time of his death. She undertook to care for it, and pass it on to his successor (Olthof 1941: 77ff). The goddess also appears in other major Javanese texts such as the Centhini (an encyclopaedic text of which the fullest version is the 1814 recension from the central Javanese court of Surakarta), where an account is given of a shrine dedicated to her and guarded by weretigers (Amengkunagara III 1985–91: vol. 1, Canto 21 verses 23–9). The importance of this goddess for Javanese rulers and more widely in Javanese society can be seen in the following historical events:

The founder of the Sultanate of Yogyakarta, Sultan Mangkubumi (1749–92) built a large water-garden complex known as Taman Sari which, though semi-ruinous, can still be visited in Yogyakarta today. One of its most remarkable buildings is the Sumur Gumuling, accessible only via an underground passage, which was probably designed for establishing a ritual union with Nyai Rara Kidul (Ricklefs 1974: 84–5). Visitors to this complex will have pointed out to them a sort of stone couch, on which the ruler’s union with the goddess is said to have taken place. Records from the end of the eighteenth century show that the Dutch East India Company establishment in Yoygkarta regularly financed an offering to be made to Nyai Rara Kidul, ‘to avoid misunderstandings in their relationship with the court’.12 The leader of the Java War (1825–30) against Dutch colonial rule, the Yogyakarta prince Dipanagara, writes in his autobiography of how the goddess appeared to him as he was performing asceticism in a mountain cave (Kumar 1972: 76–8). She realized that he was as one dead to the world, and so she promised to return in the future when the time would be ripe. The young Dipanagara heard what she said, though he made no sign. In the morning he went down to Parang Taritis, where he bathed in the sea, and slept at Parang Kusuma. He was again sunk in meditation when he heard the voice of the goddess instructing him to change his name and preparing him for the fact that in three years time there would be great disturbances in Yogyakarta, in which he would play a vital role. A Dutch official writing of the 1920s and 1930s (van Dapperen 1936: 172–86) described the existence of a paseban (audience-place) of Nyai Rara Kidul, in the wood Si Rawung, about ten kilometres from Petarukan. Many people came to spend the night here in accordance with the Javanese belief that certain sites have a strong spiritual power that can benefit one if one performs such nocturnal vigils. It was said that sometimes in the evening

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between 6 p.m. and 1 a.m. one could hear tambourines and gamelan instruments going out to sea in a great bustle, and this was believed to be Nyai Rara Kidul returning home after a visit to the mountains, accompanied by her host of followers. It was believed that those who saw her wearing a kain in the royal pattern of parang rusak (see below) and a green jacket and shaded by a red parasol were near their hour of death. At the courts and in all regions of Java, then, Nyai Rara Kidul has been venerated through the centuries. Even today, rooms are set aside for her in luxury hotels on the south coast, so that she does not become angry with the hotel guests when they bathe in the sea and take them into her watery domain beneath the treacherous waters of the south coast (no light threat on a dangerous coast where rips have been known to carry off adults who were only standing in the sea at knee level). Strangers are also warned not to wear green on the beach, for this colour is the prerogative of the goddess, and ordinary mortals wear it at their peril. Japan The angel and her robe

The hagoromo, ‘feather-robe’ or ‘wing-robe’ is known in Japanese folklore and literature as the garment of the tennyo, heavenly maidens in the service of the moon kami. The most famous story about it is that of the fisherman Hakuryo who put to shore on the strand in Suruga province and found a hagoromo hanging on a pine tree.13 He was about to carry it off when a beautiful tennyo appeared and implored him for it, saying that it was hers and that without it she could not fly back home to the moon, where she was an attendant of the lunar deity. Hakuryo returned it to her after she had shown him a dance unknown to mortals, and she flew back to the moon. Many other variants of this myth are found, including one in the Kojiki. In some versions the man who stole the robe is the father of Toyouke14 of Ise (Wheeler 1952: 109–11, 501). Wheeler’s account of the hagoromo tells the story of the eight angels and the theft of the feather garment of one of them by a mortal, scion of a royal family. In this version the prince marries her, in contrast to the above version, where she flies straight back home. Wheeler comments that the story is the subject of a thousand poems, and literary references to it are legion. In one version of the legend the angel is particularly skilled at mixing sake, one cup of which cures every type of ailment, and her name translates as Female-of-Fruitful-Food. Wheeler also mentions that half a mile from the Miho shrine at Miho-no Matsubara, on the Bay of Suruga, there grows on the sandy beach what is known as the Hagoromo-no matsu (Feather-robe pine) on which the maiden is said to have hung her robe. There is also a Nō play on the subject, called Hagoromo. It is attributed to Seami, but Wheeler feels that its primitive

142 The world enchanted pantomime-like form, in which the words are largely irrelevant, suggests a much earlier origin.15 Yasuda (1973: 5, 59) sees the play as having sources in folklore and, more immediately, in the Fudoki. He remarks that in it the difficult relationship between a mortal, who cannot trust, and an angel, divine and trustful, is movingly depicted. He also comments: ‘[ . . . ] even as a third group play, it occupies a special place. Kita Roppeita, the last survivor among the great Meiji masters, showed the transcendant insight popularly ascribed to them when he chose Hagoromo to perform at the Imperial Court on December 8, 1912, during the celebration attendant on the coronation of the Taisho Emperor’ (Yasuda 1973: 19). Presumably this means the daijō-sai and associated celebrations, including the gosechi dancing. Clearly, at least one of those associated with the Meiji restoration of imperial authority saw this play as having a particularly close association with imperial power. Hadland Davis (1912: 65–79) recounts a story taken from the tenth century Taketori Monogatari (‘The Woodcutter’s Story’) which is the earliest example of this romance and which he says demonstrates that in ancient Japan sovereignty was probably considered to be descended from the moon rather than the sun. This romance combines the moon maiden story with another widespread Indonesian (rather than particularly Javanese) myth, concerning a bamboo princess. This bamboo princess story occurs in many Indonesian chronicles in connection with the founding of a kingdom. The Japanese version has some Buddhist admixture, analogous to the Islamization of later versions of the Javanese story of Nawang Wulan’s robe. In the romance as retold by Hadland Davis, an old bamboo cutter was working in a grove of bamboo, when he suddenly perceived a miraculous light, and on closer inspection discovered in the heart of a bamboo stem a small girl of exquisite beauty. He carried her home to his wife and the pair reared her in a basket. The bamboo cutter became rich after adopting the bamboo princess, who quickly grew into a young woman of peerless beauty, named Lady Kaguya. Suitors from all over the country wooed her; they were reduced to a short-list of five great lords, who were given five different tasks, the successful completion of which would allow them to gain her hand. These tasks were: to bring the Buddha’s bowl from India; to obtain a branch of the jewel tree on Mt Horai; to obtain a robe made of the fur of the flame-proof rat; to obtain the rainbow-hued jewel hidden deep in the dragon’s head; and to obtain a cowry shell from the hands of Lord Iso. The suitors all failed discreditably. Subsequently, the Emperor himself was smitten by her beauty and offered to ennoble her adoptive father if he were allowed to marry his daughter, but she informed the old man that she would die if compelled to go to court. Eventually, she began gazing at the moon in a melancholy way, and revealed that she was destined to return to her home there. The Emperor, on being informed, sent a guard of soldiers to prevent this, but they were powerless to stop the moonfolk taking Kaguya back. She left behind her silken mantle, saying to her father that he should gaze on it on moonlit nights. The moonfolk had brought with them a celestial feather robe, which would eliminate all memory of her earthly existence. Before donning it she wrote a final message to the Emperor, and gave him a bamboo joint containing

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the Elixir the moonfolk had brought. After her departure, the Emperor gave the scroll which she had written and the Elixir to Tsuki no Iwakasa, commanding him to take them to the summit of the highest mountain in Suruga, and there to burn the scroll and the Elixir of Life. Kaguya returns to heaven, in this version taking the feather-robe with her and not marrying the emperor. This mountain (the tallest and most celebrated in Japan) was subsequently given the name Fuji (‘Never-dying’) and men say that the smoke of that burning stills curls from its high peak to mingle with the clouds of heaven.

In Japan, too, the robe of the angel is part of the accession ritual of royalty. There is an extensive literature even in English on the Japanese accession rituals, and I have provided a reasonably full summary of this elsewhere (Kumar 1992). Rather than repeat this material here, I will confine myself to the briefest outline of these rituals and their context. Rice harvest rituals, modelled after folk harvest rituals, were the official rituals of the court. The imperial system involved politico-religious leadership founded on a rice agriculture, in which the annual harvest ritual served to legitimate a local political leader, ensure the leader’s rebirth, and rejuvenate his power. For this reason, many scholars consider the emperor first and foremost as the officiant in rituals for the rice soul (inadama no shusaisha) (Ohnuki-Tierney 1993: 45). The core imperial rituals officiated by the emperor all relate to rice harvesting: niinamesai, ōnamesai (daijōsai), and kannamesai. The annual harvest ritual of niinamesai becomes the ōnamesai at the accession of a new emperor and is held as the last of three accession rituals, following the senso (including kenji togyo) and the accession ritual (sokui no rei). It was formerly the custom to hold these ceremonies separately and sometimes a long time apart. Thus, the Meiji emperor was enthroned at Kyoto in 1868, and the daijō-sai held in 1871 in Tokyo (Kincaid 1928). Although the niinamesai and ōnamesai are almost identical, the kannamesai is a ritual in which a new crop of rice is offered to the Ise shrine, rather than at the Imperial Court. Following Orikuchi, Yokota postulates that the basic structure of the ōnamesai was established by the end of the Yayoi period. The Nihon Shoki alludes to a performance of a harvest ritual by the legendary first emperor, Jimmu, who is said to have reigned from 660 to 585 BCE. A description in the Nihon Shoki of the twenty-second emperor, Seinei, r. 480–4, indicates that the imperial ritual of niinamesai had been formalized by this time. Unlike in China and Korea where the new emperor’s accession took place immediately after the death of the former emperor, the Japanese aversion to the impurity associated with death required that the accession ritual be held after the imperial funeral in which the impurity was ritually removed (Ohnuki-Tierney 1993: 47). Only after the imperial system became established did the Sun Goddess become the deity addressed in the ōnamesai: in earlier rituals, various deities of production and reproduction were addressed. Kitagawa notes that at one point an


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esoteric Buddhist ritual was introduced into the daijō-sai, but that this along with all other Buddhist elements was completely purged from the ceremony at the Meiji accession in favour of a more ‘purely Japanese’ ritual (Kitagawa 1990: 274; see also Sekine 1928). Although the duration and details of the ritual have indeed undergone historical changes, basically it consists of the following elements: the mitamashizume, the rejuvenation of the soul; shinsen (or kyōsen), offering of the new crop of rice by the new emperor to the deity; naori, commensality between the emperor and the deity; and utage, commensality among the humans, that is, a feast hosted by the emperor. Of these, the mitamashizume is the most difficult to interpret. Bock notes that it is a strictly private ritual in which the emperor lies in the sacred bed (ohusuma), which lies on the sacred seat (madoko). One or sometimes two court ladies perform a ritual to receive the emperor’s soul that is departing from this body and renew it. Some say he has sexual intercourse with the court lady. This is very reminiscent of the sacred couch at Taman Sari where the Sultans of Yogyakarta reputedly lay with a goddess. Returning to Japan, according to some scholars the corpse of the deceased emperor is placed on the sacred seat and his soul enters the new emperor’s body. This practice of preserving the deceased ruler’s corpse in ceremonies involving the new ruler was also carried out after the death of the last Sultan of Yogyakarta. It is said that in previous times the Japanese emperor used to bite into the corpse of the deceased emperor so the latter’s soul could enter him (Ohnuki-Tierney 1993: 48–50). In Java, it is said that one claimant to the throne of Mataram, Pangeran Puger, sucked up a light that emanated from the corpse of the previous ruler. Ellwood (1973) claims that the heart of the whole imperial rite is the cooking of rice from the sacred yuki and suki fields followed by the emperor’s ritual bath and assumption of the hagoromo robe – which is the equivalent of the Javanese rulers’ putting on of the Anantakusuma robe. The ceremony at the capital is as follows. New buildings are constructed for the rite. Attendants undertake abstinence and purification and don their sacred robes. The forty Mononobe (Armourers) guard the two gates, twenty at each, along with the Hayato, the Imperial guards from Kyushu. Then the offerings of both the yuki and suki provinces are carried into their lodges. The climax of the procession is the ‘sake child’, a virgin girl chosen by divination, assisted by an older ‘sake woman’, riding in a palanquin, followed by the sacred rice itself. Next comes the ‘lord of the rice ears’, a male, also chosen by divination, followed by the offering table, carried by eight women, and the sake table carried by four people, and lastly the black and white sake, each carried by eight persons, and eight sacred vessels. Here we see the Javanese sacred numbers four, eight, and forty. There are also numerous prescriptions of blue, dark-blue, or blue-printed robes for the princes, princesses, Mononobe, and the lord of the rice ears, mirroring the sacredness of indigo clothing in Java, where it was prescribed wear for women in the areas under royal rule as late as the twentieth century. Use is also made of hemp and bark-cloth (Bock 1990b passim). These are all taken to the Nai-in buildings, the buildings set up for preparing the offerings. Here the

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rice, the most important offering, is pounded, to the accompaniment of traditional rice-pounding songs,16 and then cooked. Subsequently, the emperor arrives, having taken one purificatory bath before leaving the palace. In the Purification House (Kairyu Den) of the daijō-sai he takes another. When he enters the bath the Emperor wears a simple garment of hemp called the Ama no Hagoromo, or Heavenly Feather Robe (Holtom 1928: 128). After this ritual bath, the emperor puts on a white robe variously described by Ellwood as either linen or silk (Ellwood 1973: 56, 135) which he wears throughout the rest of the ceremony. Ellwood claims that this is the Ama no Hagoromo, not the only instance of differences in the interpretation of the daijō-sai ritual. The maidens who attend him in the rite are like tennyo. It should be noted that the correspondence between the Javanese and Japanese accession myths does not relate to the very widespread general features of kingship rituals such as the triumph of order over chaos, ancestor worship, the common theme of a sacred marriage between earth and sky gods, or the correspondence of cosmic order to political order. Rather, it is a correspondence in fine-grained detail. The ritual prescriptions on numerous occasions also reveal the structural importance of east–west and left–right classificatory divisions at the Japanese court (as for instance in the yuki and suki division and the Left and Right Capital Offices [Bock 1990b: 310]); these left–right and east–west classifications of officials and regions are equally prominent at the Javanese courts.

As in Java, in Japan, too the myth of the angel was re-enacted in a court dance of sacral significance. Wheeler (1952) reports the tradition that in the reign of Temmu-Tenno, fortieth sovereign [r. 673–86] a number of these sky-maidens descended and danced before the emperor at Yoshino, fluttering their celestial sleeves five times, and that this was the origin of the court dance, the gosechi. Wheeler saw this performed at Kyoto at the coronation of the Taisho emperor (who came to the throne in 1912), by five girls of ancient noble families selected for their beauty. It is clear from Brewster’s account of a twelfth-century source (Brewster 1977: 139–40) that this is a very old ritual dance. According to this source these dances were performed in the eleventh month by young girls of good family in association with the Festival of the Five Fruits (niiname-sai). Normally, the celebrations lasted for four days in the middle of the month, but in the year of a daijō-sai, however, the celebrations lasted for six days (for further detail, see Kumar 1992: 279). It seems that after the Kenbu era (1334–7) the gosechi dance was not performed regularly, but was revived in 1734 (Enthronement 1928: 95). As with the bedhaya, the gosechi dancers are accompanied by a choir of singers and a small ensemble, in this case consisting of shaku-byoshi, fue, hichikiri, and wagon,17 and by singers clothed in traditional court costumes.


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Gosechi dancers also figure quite prominently in the Tale of Genji, with Genji himself enamoured of one (Murasaki 2001: chs. 12–14). Field’s analysis of the novel (1987: 252, 197) sees the motif of the heavenly princess, originally an inhabitant of the moon, as central to the characterization of Tamakatsura (a lesser consort of Genji), who is described as ‘pure, radiant’, epithets usually reserved for royalty, and who after her death ascends to heaven at the full moon of the eighth month. Field also sees the heavenly princess as the basis of Murasaki, the central female character and Genji’s great love, as well as of the character Aoi. The heavenly princess is seen as characteristically leaving behind a grieving emperor to whom she gives extraordinary gifts and who sends a burnt message to her (Field 1987: 210–11, 277), just as in the Javanese version of the myth reported by Pleyte (see above) and in the myth collected by Hadland Davis (see above). On the moon/pine-tree motif in connection with Genji’s women, see below. The sea goddess Japanese emperors are also associated with a sea goddess. In prehistoric Japan a king was magically guaranteed acquisition of the wealth of the sea through sacred marriage with a shamaness who represented the goddess of the submarine world and the daughter of the sea god. The shamaness was believed to be able to journey freely between the world under the sea and the human world. The king was also aided by the mythical wani, believed to be identical with or a messenger of the goddess of the undersea world who married the king, and by the Wani clan. The mysterious creature wani is said by some to have been a kind of turtle. In recounting the heavenly descent of the imperial line, the Kojiki tells the story of Hikohohodemi, alias Ho-ori (or Po-Wori)-no-mikoto, the son of Ninigi (see Ellwood 1973: 70; Philippi 1969: 150–9). In search of his brother’s lost fishhook, he met the daughter of the sea king, who took him to her palace, where he sat on the divine bed (identified by Ellwood with the shinza of the daijō-sai). The sea deity gave him two jewels, which respectively raised and lowered the tides. He married the sea deity’s daughter, and from their union a child was born. This child was the first emperor, Jimmu. However, while his wife was in labour Hikohohodemi broke her taboo against looking at her at a time when she was bound to return to her original form, which was that of a crocodile. She could have removed the barrier between land and sea, but because of the breaking of this taboo she returned to her domain and henceforth land and sea were separated once and for all, and the sea was closed to mortals (note here again, the motif of the husband’s breaking of a taboo and losing the supernatural gift his wife had bestowed on him). There is also a story of the Emperor Jimmu and his family who were caught in a violent storm and appealed to the fact that their mother was a goddess of the sea. So, both Javanese and Japanese rulers reaffirm in sacred rituals their mythical union with two female divinities, one associated with the moon and rice, and one with the sea.

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These divine women are possessed of great beauty and miraculous powers, but they seem – appropriately – remote and unseeable by ordinary mortals, approachable only in ritual, especially the rituals performed by rulers. By contrast, the princes described in the next section, who in many respects embody the epitome of this civilization, are fully and vividly described in the texts written when that civilization reached full bloom. They are very much of and in this world, though as we shall see below, they are by no means ordinary mortals.

Part B: the radiant prince
In the later Javanese and Japanese kingdoms, royal legitimacy depended upon the ruler’s assuming a central role – practical and ritual – in rice production, the main basis of the polity. The myth of the female divinity from the moon who brought rice (and I should probably have referred to her as a goddess rather than an angel, though it is hard to get the exact translation of such culture-specific terms) was embodied in the ritual of accession in both countries, with the rulers donning her robe – appropriately, since in some versions of her story she also brings magic cloth (like rice, a Yayoi innovation). This was a major part of royal legitimacy. In this way the court identified itself with the ordinary farmer; but in other ways it greatly distanced itself from anything rustic. The extreme cases of this type of court differentiation are represented by two princes, Panji and Genji. Though, unlike the angels who brought rice and cloth, they are of this world, they nevertheless undoubtedly possess qualities that distinguish them from ordinary mortals. Among these many qualities is a special radiance, which is frequently noted by their chroniclers. For example, at a relatively late stage in Genji’s life it is written: ‘There will never be anyone like Genji. He has aged, of course; but I think that the extraordinary vividness and radiance of his expression – the quality which in his infancy won for him the name of Hikaru – has if anything increased as time goes by.’ (Murasaki 1935: 617). Genji’s appellation of Genji Hikaru is usually translated as ‘Shining Genji’. Panji, too, has this quality: he is said for instance to possess ‘searing radiance’ ( prabāngesengi18) (Robson 1971: 156–7). In this chapter, I have used the translation ‘radiant’ rather than ‘shining’. Java: Panji In the best-known written and performed versions of the Panji story, Panji is the Crown Prince of Jenggala and his beloved, Candrakirana (‘Light of the Moon’), who plays an equally central role, is a princess of Kedhiri (Daha). These are historical Javanese kingdoms of the eleventh to early thirteenth centuries. However, some earlier Dutch scholars perceived the mythic quality of the Panji stories and deduced that this particular Panji story set in a particular real kingdom was just one historically located ‘incarnation’ of a much older myth. This myth seemed to have something to do with the definition of Javanese-ness, leading the Dutch structural anthropologist W. H. Rassers to describe Panji as

148 The world enchanted the Javanese ‘culture hero’. In his book Pañji, the Culture Hero (Rassers 1982), the persevering reader will eventually discover on page 220 that Panji (who, curiously, is not listed in the index) is the inventor of such central cultural icons as the Javanese theatre, the Javanese gamelan, and the Javanese kris.19 The word Panji was not just a personal name but lived on as a title of nobility, and is still so used in Tulung Agung and east Java (K. R. T. Harjanagara, personal communication). The Panji stories are well known to have a daunting jungle-like density and complexity. They are multi-episodic and eventful, and generally involve subplots, disguises, and deceptions. The Javanese scholar Poerbatjaraka analysed a large number of Panji texts, and classified them into seven types, labelled A to G (Poerbatjaraka 1940: 334ff), of which he considered B to be the oldest type. Despite the variety and complexity of the Panji stories, there is a common structure or master narrative in most of them: a marriage is envisaged between Panji, Crown Prince of one kingdom, and his peerlessly beautiful and admirable beloved, daughter of the ruler of the other kingdom. Complications intervene, perhaps involving a rival suitor, an enemy attack, and/or the disappearance of the princess. Panji, in disguise, solves the problem and then reveals himself. Like Panji, the princess, too, is often disguised, generally as a man, before being revealed as her beautiful self. The prince and princess marry and the world returns to its desirable normative state. There is usually a secondary hero who is not quite of the same calibre as Panji. Other prominent figures include the Klana, a ferocious king ‘from overseas’ who desires Candrakirana; Gunung Sari, Candrakirana’s brother; Ragil Kuning, Panji’s sister, married to Gunung Sari; and Wirun, Kertala and Andaga, young relatives of Panji. There are also a number of servant go-betweens. As noted above, the heroine’s name, Candrakirana, means Moonlight, and sometimes she is called by other names which refer to the moon, such as Dewi Candrasari and Nawang Wulan.20 This last name reveals that she is conceptually linked with the angel Nawang Wulan whose robe Javanese rulers wear at accession (see above). Even when she has a name, such as Warastrasari, which refers to her other qualities, there is always an explicit association with the moon, as for example in the Panji story translated by Robson where her father, the king of Daha, dreams that the moon fell into his lap and turned into his daughter (Robson 1971: 67 stanza 17a). Other prominent figures in Javanese mythology tend to be drawn into the Panji story. For example, a lontar (palm leaf) manuscript from Batang on the north coast gives a version of the story in which Panji marries a siluman queen, Dewi Ginawati, and establishes a kingdom in Galuh. (A siluman is a ghost or spirit who looks just like a human being.) The royal pair have a daughter Dewi Rara Angin-Angin who defies all attempts to marry her off, and subsequently becomes Nyai Rara Kidul, the Queen of the South Seas (van Dapperen 1936: 183–4) – thus linking the Panji story with the other divine woman so central to Javanese kingship and religious beliefs (see above). A very salient feature of the Panji stories is the evident desire to draw a clear line between the aristocracy/court and outsiders. People from the non-urban

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population seem to be brought into the picture only to have their ignorance and crude manners deplored. They are rarely considered worthy of being mentioned by name. In one Panji text, a wise man instructing the younger generation tells them not to behave clumsily like people from the mountains, but to be elegant like people of the capital ( praja) (van der Molen 1992: 168). A bald summary of the events and characters of the Panji stories can, however, convey no idea of their literary sumptuousness and emotional intensity. They lavish the most detailed attention on three things: the artefacts of court civilization, particularly clothes, krisses and jewellery; the extreme cultivation and refinement of the principal characters, most notably Panji himself; and the extremes of emotion experienced by the characters. These are not stereotypical Oriental princes lying about in cushioned ease. Their youth has obviously been spent in a fairly gruelling educational regimen covering belles letters, music and the arts (one thinks of the similar gruelling regimen imposed on the young Elizabeth I of England). Later, they perform these accomplishments in public. In the many episodes of the Panji story, we see him writing a love poem, acting as puppeteer for wayang, showing his skill at other arts such as playing the gupit (a plucked instrument like a lute) and the cantung (a lute), tekap (an instrumental performance?) and raket (probably a masked dance), acting as the leader of the gamelan orchestra; and overwhelming the audience by his presence when dancing the martial dhadhap with shield and lance. He also has a flawless command of Sanskrit, can compose both kakawin and kidung21 as well as impromptu love poems, is extremely proficient at carving, and is even master of the art of painting beautiful cloths for the princess’s attire. Nor is it only the princesses who are beautifully attired. Though Panji is by nature radiant, nature has been considerably improved upon. One might describe him as hyper-adorned, with cosmetics, fragrances, jewellery, and elaborate clothes made of the finest textiles. On one occasion he is described as wearing a kain of light puru22 and in a South Indian pattern, with a black tumpal23 motif, a green sash of gilded cloth, his kris inlaid with a design of maids and lovers on a green ground and set with gold and gems, wearing ear-studs of ivory painted with green and decorated in gold [on another occasion his ear-studs were of purple rubies soldered with gold], a puspanidra flower behind his ear. He was also perfumed with fragrant musk, wearing a scented salve, and with a haircut designed to increase his handsome looks (Robson 1971: 83, 167). In one passage the actual adornment of Panji is undertaken by the king, who ‘reached out and took his hands; at the same time he gathered up the charming locks from his temples, and then placed over them a headband of red gold set with suryakarana [possibly translatable as ‘sunbeam’] gems’ (Robson 1971: 191). There is little distinction between male and female conventions of dress, and on occasions they could be identically attired, as is shown by the following description of Panji and his bride on the occasion of their wedding. They both wore a kampuh24 of liliran silk 25 with patra26 and a white tumpal motif painted in the kumitir (‘fluttering’) pattern; their kain were the same as their sashes: a green ‘honey to the eye’ pattern, with gold leaf. Their buckles and girdles were of


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foreign make, and had as gems the finest wedurya27 stones. They wore ear-studs of pakaja (lotus) jewels adorned with gold; their flowers were of gold, with leaves of green silk. They wore rings of kostuba28 jewels, kana29 bangles adorned with glowing gems, and armbands of three intertwined strands (Robson 222–3). There is also a good deal of overlap between male and female accomplishments. Just as Panji is an accomplished poet with a knowledge of Sanskrit, so too is his beloved described as ‘a knowledgeable and clever poetess’ (Robson 1971: 229). And just as Panji dances so as to inspire erotic swooning, so too does his destined consort. There is a good deal of swooning in a Panji story, and it is not a female monopoly. Panji himself swoons: after receiving a present of his beloved’s cast-off garments, he swooned away and for a long time lay face down on them (Robson 1971: 179). Swooning was clearly not considered to diminish a man’s masculinity: Panji is portrayed not as effete or effeminate but as a dominant male, both on the battlefield and in the bedchamber (he is known both as Panji Jayengrana, ‘Panji-victorious-on-the-battlefield’ and as Panji Jayengtilem, ‘Panji-victorious-in-the-bedroom’). A good deal of the encounters that produce the swooning are made possible by the exchange of love letters, not always written on conventional media but sometimes also on what one would have thought were rather intractable ones, such as bangles (Robson 1971: 175). All this emotion is part of the ecstasy (langö) of losing oneself in the experience of beauty, a major element of the Panji stories, and in Javanese court literature generally. Panji and the theatre The Panji story is performed in many theatrical genres, ranging from simple village ones to elaborate court performances. Among those which belong to the village sphere are jathilan, barong and reyog. They are all based on episodes of the Panji story, notably his defeat of wild animals and monsters and his defence or marriage of his beloved Candrakirana (Pigeaud 1938: 193). The Panji story is also performed in a number of different types of wayang. These include wayang gedhog, using flat leather puppets similar to those of the Hinduized wayang purwa. According to the Javanese, this Panji wayang, in which (in contrast to the Hinduized wayang), the male characters wear krisses, is the older and holier form (Ponder n.d.: 27ff). Other forms of wayang based on the Panji stories are wayang golek, using three-dimensional doll puppets; wayang karucil, using flat polychrome wooden puppets; and wayang beber, a very ancient and virtually extinct form in which a storyteller narrates the tale based on pictures painted on a long strip of cloth, leather, or paper, which is rolled from one supporting pole to another. The most common presentation of the Panji stories today is in a dance drama, with masked dancers, called topeng. This was traditionally played by men alone, as in Nō. The Panji dance, expressing the ideal embodiment of spiritual grace,

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was one of the most ritually important of the masked dances of Java. It was usually presented in a group of four dances, each with its specific mask, showing four stages of the worldly and spiritual life of man. In Malang and adjacent regions as late as the twentieth century all boys and men of priyayi (noble) status had to be able to perform this masked dance, and at festivals it was not uncommon for priyayi to dance. There are also records of Javanese rulers dancing the role of Panji, for instance at a topeng performance held at a central Javanese court in 1765 (Ricklefs 1974: 116). A Panji mask was specially carved for the son of the ruler of Solo, Pakubuwono IX, a famous dancer, around 1875 (Jessup 1991: 166, 182). Another dance drama that re-enacts the Panji story is the langendriya, a relatively modern development at the Javanese courts. It is an elaborate, unmasked dance drama, featuring Gunungsari (Panji’s brother-in-law), Klana (the foreign ruler in the Panji drama), a princess, and Penthul (a panakawan or comic figure) (Pigeaud 1938: 79 *67). Panji is also the central figure in the Balinese gambuh, an unmasked dance. Another Balinese genre is Panji semirang, a relatively modern dance of the kebyar genre developed in the 1930s on the basis of the traditional legong dance. The story deals with Panji Semirang’s search for his love, who is disguised as a prince, but whom he recognizes by her feminine movements and lovely voice. In short, Panji has been the single most prominent figure in Javanese theatre at all levels, from elaborate court performances to simple village ones. The form in which the Panji story is cast became so ‘classical’ in Javanese literature that it even shaped the form of later Muslim epics such as the Menak (Poerbatjaraka 1940: 369). Even today, the dance is considered particularly appropriate to mark major royal festivities, as for example the ninetieth Javanese birthday of K. G. P. A. A. Paku Alam VIII (see Joglosemar online at courtdance_pka.html). And Panji still has a presence not just at the rarefied and traditionalist level of court high culture but also in pop culture media, such as comic books.

Panji and Candrakirana are not only figures of literature and theatre; they are intimately interwoven into the central rituals and culturally significant artefacts of Java. They are invoked in Javanese life-cycle rituals such as the one which takes place when the paningset (bride-price) is sent by the bridegroom to the bride, whose acceptance of it renders the marriage contract binding. This present is described as being sent by Panji to the princess Candrakirana of Daha. Again, in the seven-month ceremony of pregnancy, a young coconut is engraved with portraits of Panji and Candrakirana in the hope that the child will be like Panji if it is a boy and like Candrakirana if it is a girl. Some of the most sacred textiles, such as the kain kembangan, are named after Panji. These are used in ceremonies to mark the erection of houses, and for the royal dodot (a large piece of cloth wrapped in prescribed fashion around the


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waist and legs), which is also worn by brides and bridegrooms in ritual circumstances where they are considered to be in contact with the gods. Tradition also has it that the famous royal batik pattern parang rusak was invented by Panji (see Boow 1988: 28). As mentioned above, Panji is credited with the invention of the kris, and there are some particular forms of kris that are specially associated with him. In the nomenclature of Balinese krisses the notched ornamentation on the back of the sheath is called alis panji, ‘Panji’s eyebrows’ (Jasper and Pirngadie 1930: 231). So the Panji myth is a big myth, a seminal, civilization-founding myth, an enduring myth, a myth that reproduces itself in manifold diverse forms in society and in the imagination (as entertainment, as moral/philosophical/political statement, even plastically as icon). The Panji stories epitomize the most prized qualities of aristocrats in the same way as the Arthurian romances do. No other Javanese literary product can equal the spread of the Panji story (Poerbatjaraka 1940: 368). The Panji story is Java’s most notable cultural export by far. Different versions of the story have been adopted by royal courts outside Java: most notably in Bali, but also in the Malay world, Sumatra, Borneo, Sulawesi and Lombok, and as far afield as Thailand, Cambodia and Burma. After Rama I founded the Cakri dynasty in 1782 he commissioned a new version of the Ayudhyan Panji texts, along with the Ramāyana and other works. Rama II (r. 1809–24) is famous for writing an extended version of the Inao – the name by which the Panji story is known in Thailand, deriving from Panji’s other name Inu – which is almost as long as the Thai version of the Ramāyana. From Ayudhya the Panji narratives spread to Burma, Cambodia and Laos, and in Cambodia they were still performed in the Thai language interspersed with Cambodian commentary until recent times. In mainland Southeast Asia, dance and puppet theatre kept the Panji narratives alive and to the author’s knowledge they have been performed at least up until the closing decades of the twentieth century. The Japanese counterpart of the Panji stories is represented by the story of Genji. Genji Structurally, the Tale of Genji is in many ways parallel to the Panji myth. It is a long, rambling collection of different episodes, which do, however, have the same common structure, the quest of the hero – who is the Crown Prince as in the Panji stories – for his lost love(s). And all the most important women in the Tale of Genji in one way or another bear the sign of the moon. In the Tale of Genji the principal female characters are all marked in the narrative by moon and/or pine references, the two frequently co-occurring. I believe these moon and pine references link these women to the woman of the Hagoromo story, described above. Some examples are given below.

Prince Hitachi’s daughter Suyetsumuhana (Murasaki 1935: 54, 115, 235–6 [where Genji recites to her a poem about the moon], 317, 321). ‘Late one night,

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soon after the twentieth day of the eighth month, the princess sat waiting for the moon to rise. Though the starlight shone clear and lovely, the moaning of the wind in the pine tree branches oppressed her with melancholy . . . .’ (Murasaki 1935: 115). ‘Over a tall pine tree a trail of wisteria blossoms was hanging; it quivered in the moonlight, shaken by a sudden puff of wind that carried with it when it reached him a faint and almost imperceptible odour of flowers’ (Murasaki 1935: 317). The Lady of Akashi: (Murasaki 1935: 273, 349–352–4). Genji goes out to meet his beloved on a resplendent moonlit night remembering the verse: ‘Would that to one who loves what I love I now might show it, this moon that lies foundered at the bottom of the bay’ (Murasaki 1935: 273). Genji’s supposed daughter Tamakatsura, to whom he makes amorous advances (Murasaki 1935: 366 [where Tamakatsura is likened to a little pine tree], 489, 525). Kumoi, who marries Genji’s son Yūgiri (Murasaki 1935: 604). The appearance of Kumoi in a variant version of the Hagoromo play (Yasuda 1973:18) suggests that Genji’s consort may be conceptually associated with the angel of the Hagoromo story, a parallel to the equating of Panji’s consort Candrakirana with Nawang Wulan. The Lady of the Boat (see Murasaki 1935: 916–17, which describes the night of the consummation of the marriage of Niou, Genji’s grandson – child of the Akashi Princess and the Emperor – and Roku no Kimi, also Genji’s grandchild – daughter of Yūgiri). Ukifune, who is loved by both Kaoru and Niou (Murasaki 1935: 1094). Imoto compares her to a sort of Kaguyahime. (The heroine of the Taketori Monogatari, found in a bamboo stem, who subsequently ascended to the sky. This story, which the Japanese courtiers listened to with particular attention, has been discussed above.) On the next page there are further moon motifs, and Ukifune says, ‘To those who thought my troublous course was run tell it not in your Palace, sovereign moon [the court at Kyoto was often spoken of as Tsuki no Miyako, “the Palace of the Moon”], that thus I loiter in the world’ (Murasaki 1935: 1095). The account of the Colonel’s courtship of Ukifune once again contains the moon and pine combination (Murasaki 1935: 1102–3).

Inu, another Javanese name for Panji and his principal name in the Thai version of the Panji story, also occurs as a personal name in Genji. Little Murasaki complains that ‘Inu’ has let her pet sparrow out of its cage (Murasaki 1935: 84). Though inu as an ordinary noun means dog, this is something a dog would be unlikely to do; at least, if a dog had torn open the cage, Murasaki would have voiced her complaint some other way, and would not have sounded as though she was talking about another child. In the original the full appellation is inuki. One text has this written phonetically. Another has the characters inu + kimi (roughly, ‘Miss Inu’). In short, it is doubtful that inu should be taken seriously as meaning ‘dog’, and the addition of the character ki(mi) makes it clear that ‘Inu’ is understood to be a person (Royall Tyler, personal communication).

154 The world enchanted Once again like the Panji story, the overall ideological stance of the Tale of Genji is noticeably motivated towards celebrating the superiority of court culture, and is characterized by an anti-rural bias, depicting country dwellers as deplorably uncouth and unrefined, reminiscent of the attitude expressed in the English word ‘yokel’. At one point, one of the main female characters reflects on her provincial birth: ‘Akashi! Born at Akashi! What a hideous thought!’ (Murasaki 1935: 637). When Genji’s great love is first introduced, fears are raised that she may be ‘somewhat countrified’, even though her mother was a person of some consequence, because she was raised in the countryside (Murasaki 1935: 83). It has been said above that a bald summary of the events and characters of the Panji stories can convey no idea of their literary sumptuousness and emotional timbre. This is equally true of the Tale of Genji. Genji, like Panji, is handsome beyond all others. At his initiation into manhood we are told ‘He looked very handsome with his long childish locks, and the Sponsor, whose duty it had just been to bind them with the purple filet, was sorry to think that all this would soon be changed and even the Clerk of the Treasury seemed loath to sever those lovely tresses with the ritual knife.’ After this, Genji changed into man’s dress and performed the Dance of Homage before the Emperor with such grace that tears came to everyone’s eyes. ‘It had been feared that his delicate features would show to less advantage when he had put aside his childish dress; but on the contrary he looked handsomer than ever’ (Murasaki 1935: 18). As in the Panji stories there are scenes where the hero is travelling in procession and all who have gathered to see him, whether courtiers or rustics, are smitten by his incomparable beauty (Murasaki 1935: 158). Murasaki has a more reflective and ironical attitude to the description of elaborate costume than is found in the Panji epic, as is shown in this passage: ‘A complete description of people’s costumes is apt to be tedious, but as in stories the first thing that is said about the characters is invariably what they wore, I shall once in a way attempt such a description’ (Murasaki 1935: 121) – which she certainly does for Genji. And the aesthetic imagination of the novel is sophisticated enough to encompass the idea that a truly handsome person might show to equal advantage in simple, understated attire: ‘He [Genji] was dressed in a suit of soft white silk, with a rough cloak carelessly slung over his shoulders, with belt and fastenings untied. In the light of the lamp against which he was leaning he looked so lovely that one might have wished he were a girl . . .’ (Murasaki 1935: 24). Like Panji, Genji dances in a way that moves onlookers to the strongest emotion: ‘Prince Genji danced the “Waves of the Blue Sea”. To no Chujo was his partner; but though both in skill and beauty he far surpassed the common run of performers, yet beside Genji he seemed like a mountain fir growing beside a cherry-tree in bloom [a typical Panji-story device of invidious comparison]. There was a wonderful moment when the rays of the setting sun fell upon him and the music grew suddenly louder. Never had the onlookers seen feet tread so delicately nor head so exquisitely poised; and in the song which follows the first movement of the dance his voice was sweet as that of Kalavinka, whose music is

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Buddha’s Law. So moving and beautiful was this dance that at the end of it the Emperor’s eyes were wet, and all the princes and great gentlemen wept aloud. When the song was over, and, straightening his long dancer’s sleeves, he stood waiting for the music to begin again and at last the more lively tune of the second movement struck up – then indeed, with his flushed and eager face, he merited more than ever his name of Genji the Shining One.’ Later, the Emperor insisted on treating Genji’s performance as a kind of miracle or religious portent (Murasaki 1935: 129–30). I could have called this section ‘the dancing princes’, because in both cases dancing is an essential element of the prince’s persona. This contrasts greatly with modern ideas of desirable attributes for élite males, where we see a narrowing of the accepted attributes of masculinity. It is no longer required, or even acceptable (post-Versailles and the English Regency), for such men to master a highly prescriptive and demanding dance form which also conveys emotion and pathos: that is the business of ballet dancers, who are not leaders and whose masculinity is questioned. With Panji and Genji, however, dancing is central in conveying an aristocratic and charismatic persona – indeed one which had, as we have seen, a religious or miraculous quality. Like Panji, Genji is also an extremely accomplished musician, playing the seven-stringed koto, the flute, lute and the thirteen-stringed koto, and a master of painting. Again like Panji, he also has an extreme emotional sensibility. In one passage he is utterly wretched, fearing that his current love absolutely detests him, and at last lays down to rest wearing her scarf, to which her delicate perfume clings, under his dress. He continues to do this for long afterwards (Murasaki 1935: 52–3). Again, this emotional sensibility is expressed in the poems that so frequently motivate the action, which again are written both by Genji and by the women he loves. He is also extremely susceptible to ambiance: ‘Even the most unimpressionable nature would have been plunged into melancholy by such surroundings. How much more so Prince Genji . . .’ (Murasaki 1935: 88). Both epics revolve around the element of desire in their radiant princely heroes, who not only desire but are greatly desired. Eerily – given the current general disbelief among academics in any underlying objective reality capable of being perceived by more than one person in the same way – two academics working separately on the Tale of Genji and the Panji stories have respectively entitled their works ‘Desire and the Prince’ and The Desiring Prince (see Morris 1990 and Vickers 1986). Both epics contain elements of entertainment which have been commented on by scholars. This is present, but more than entertainment is involved. These enormous investments of effort represent a prodigious feat of imagining what immense accomplishment and refinement civilization might make possible. They became charters for all the courts who took them up with such persistent commitment, over such a large part of the world, and over centuries and even millennia. It may seem quite odd and incongruous that royal legitimacy could have rested on two such highly different pillars as the religious performance of sacred


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rites, on the one hand, and the cultivation of extreme glamour, radiance, over-the-top adornment, skill as dancer and musician, and sexual irresistibility, on the other. Yet such a combination is not unknown elsewhere, as we can easily perceive in, for example, the different portraits of Henry VIII. In some, the religious role of the monarch is dominant: the portrait c. 1520 by an unknown artist, for example, in which Henry is placing a ring on his finger as a symbol of Christian piety; or the c. 1535 portrait attributed to Joos van Cleve in which he is holding a scroll inscribed with the words of Mark 16:15 exhorting the preaching of the Gospel to every creature. In others, however (such as the Whitehall Mural or the portrait by an unknown artist c. 1542 in the National Portrait Gallery, London), glamour and luxury are the dominant elements – cloth of gold, rich embroidery, jewellery and furs – together with the unmistakeable assertion of virility and potency made by the large, erect codpiece parting his skirts which distinguishes at least four portraits. These painted portraits are the equivalent of the word-portraits of the Panji and Genji stories. Genji in theatre Japanese and Javanese theatre have general thematic and structural features in common. Nō plays, like Javanese wayang, are an art of the capital, and again like wayang are committed to portraying the sovereign as presiding over a halcyon world of peace and order (Tyler 1992). Both the Japanese and Javanese plays are divided into subdivisions (shodan and adegan, respectively) which mark a change of topic or mood and provide information on musical form. Both have interludes to the main story provided by comedians with rather rustic manners (the panakawan and the ai). Both use a mixture of verse and prose delivery. An Englishman who visited Japan in the second half of the nineteenth century describes a performance at the Kaburenjō theatre at which was shown Tomozuru, the Friendly Cranes, a new dance performed by six dancing girls, plus Azumagenji, one of the classical dances, showing a part of the life of a feudal lord in his mansion (Redesdale 1985: 228–9). The latter is presumably one of the Genji-related plays in the performance repertoire. Nowadays, the Nō theatre is, like all traditional theatres, superseded by more modern forms as far as the majority of the Japanese populace is concerned. But Genji himself has survived modern times and technological revolution: he now appears in anime (www. and has also been the subject of a major film. This evidence of his continuing popularity, along with the translation of the Tale of Genji into modern Japanese, the manga (cartoon books) devoted to him, and his appearance on the 2000-yen banknote, has been attributed to his ‘Japanese-ness’ (Spaeth 2001:,9754,188602,00.html). The Western commentator – perhaps more used to seeing Rambo-style heroes – was astounded at the popularity of a hero who dances gracefully, powders his face, writes delicate poetry, wears coordinated clothing, and mixes his own scent. In the Genji millenium in 2008, Genji-fever has risen to hitherto unprecedented levels. Meanwhile in Java, Panji too continues to be associated with all that is

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best in Javanese-ness, though the definition of ‘all that is best’ has certainly changed. Recently, one has seen the appearance of Panji the defender of the environment, representing the ‘Panji agriculture system’ that treats nature with ‘much respect and love, not exploitation’ (Bapak Suryo Prawiroatmojo, personal communication). This Panji will have his own Centre on Mt Penanggungan, a mountain of striking appearance, associated with ancient legends, and extremely rich in archaeological sites. It has a central, almost perfectly rounded summit, below which lie four minor peaks, more or less symmetrically located in the cardinal directions, a configuration which is sacred in Javanese cosmogony. And so the princes, astonishingly, seem able to maintain their position as paragons in a world that bears hardly any resemblance to the one in which they were born.

General Religious Congruence
Cults In both countries a strong cult developed around the kris and sword, with specific rituals prescribed for the manufacture and honouring of these highly accomplished feats of metalworking. The following cults are also shared by Java and Japan. The crane The bango and kuntul are kramat (holy, sacred) in Java. The bango tulak pattern is the most sacred of all Javanese textile patterns. A cloth with this pattern is placed on the four cagak guru or saka guru, the main pillars of a Javanese house. In traditional society, a kain with this pattern might only be worn by the ruler, princes and bridal couples. The bride and groom wear ceremonial dodots (waist cloths) in bango tulak pattern for the ceremonial meeting (upacara panggih) and dodot in a pattern called bango buthak (‘bald bango’) for the wedding ceremony (nikah). Both these patterns are dark blue and white, the colours of the bango’s feathers (Museum Radya Pustaka 1990).30 In Yogya, some corps of the Sultan’s prajurit (soldiery) wear bango tulak (Adam 1940: 109). In Cirebon, we find references to the bango on ritual occasions and in royal chronicles. At Mulud, the gamelan is only played in one of the two Cirebon kraton, the Kanoman. One of the prescribed pieces is Bango Buthak, ‘bald crane’, the same name as that of the textile pattern just mentioned. This piece is, however, also known as ‘Rara Buthak’, ‘The Bald Maiden’. It is the only melody that can be played at 11.00 when the panjangs (sacred rice dishes) are brought to the mosque and on returning to the kraton (van Dapperen 1933: 157). Pangeran Kusna (personal communication) said that after the procession had been to the mosque it returned to the kraton, where the Panjang Jimat was filled with rice at the surau (chapel). Then at 9 p.m. it was accompanied by the gamelan sekaten, playing the composition Bango Buthak.


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In the Cirebon chronicle, the bango gives Raden Walang Sungsang a pendhil to cook rice, an umbul-umbul (banner) and a waring (container for rice) (see Hadisutjipto 1979). The pendhil is said to have been used by Nawang Wulan to provide rice for 1000 people. All these pusaka (sacred heirlooms) are brought out at Mulud. Those responsible for washing the ceremonial objects are from the village of Sindang Kasih (Pangeran Kusna, personal communication). A similar story from the folk sphere is reported by van Dapperen (1936: 180–1). Like the Cirebon chronicle story, it is masculinized and in this case also Islamicized. Probably the full picture of the sacredness of the ‘bald’ crane/maiden and its association with textiles is given in a Japanese folk story (Folk Tales, 1975: 62–7). In this story a crane which flew down from the sky after being wounded by an arrow was saved by a young man, who pulled out the arrow. Some days later, a beautiful young woman appeared at the young man’s house and offered to marry him. He replied that he was so poor that no one would marry him, since he did not even have any rice. The beautiful young woman said that she had brought rice with her. The young man agreed to marry her, and some time later she asked him to set up a special room for weaving. She entered it and remained locked in it for seven days, having forbidden her husband even to peep in. Then she emerged with a roll of resplendently beautiful cloth which her husband sold in the town for a very large sum. Eventually, he was overcome with curiosity as to how she could make such beautiful cloth without any thread, and peeped into the weaving room. There he saw a crane, plucking her own feathers to make the cloth. Once he had discovered her secret, however, the grateful crane that he had saved flew back into the sky, telling him to keep the half-finished cloth in memory of her. In this story, which exists in many variants, the beautiful woman not only brings rice but also has the gift of magically producing fine cloth. The combination of tree and mountain in a sacred context The object that, at the beginning of a performance, opens the way into the sacred world of the Javanese wayang is the so-called kayon (tree-representation) or gunungan (mountain-representation). Two models of mountains capped by trees, donated respectively by the Yuki and Suki provinces, were set up in the Buraku-in during the Daijō-sai (Ellwood 1973: 141). A photograph showing the tree–mountain combination in a Shintō ceremony can be found in Holtom (1965: 186). The tree sacred to Shintō, found growing at Shintō shrines, and also used for making the o-hake, the holy rods erected at the entrance of the village priest’s premises on the occasion of ceremonies for the villages tutelary deity, is sakaki, Latin name Eurya ochnacea (Dorson 1963: 217, 326). The Shintō priest waves a branch of sakaki in the direction of the worshippers, symbolically shaking over them some of the divine spirit it contains. Two vases with cuttings from this tree are placed on the kamidana or god-shelf, the household altar for the worship of the gods. It is also the custom in a region near the Ise shrine to stick a sakaki branch into each of the paddy fields to ensure good harvests (Tange and Kawazoe 1965: 167).

The world enchanted The sacred central pillar This has already been discussed in Chapter One. The sacred couple


Figures of Daikoku and Ebisu were kept on a shelf in traditional Japanese houses. Some say they are a married couple, others say they are father and son, or brothers. There is a parallel to these two figures in traditional Javanese houses, in the loro blonyo, male and female figures placed in front of the pasren, the place of Sri, the rice goddess (the pasren is also known as the sentong tengah). Loro means two; blonyo means rubbed with lulur (a yellow salve to cleanse the body). The statues are made of wood or clay and are sometimes said to represent Sri and her consort Sadana, but are more accurately described as representing the householders, whom Sri will bless. They contain subtle indications of status in such things as variations in headgear and relative position of the husband and wife figures. The krobongan, bed of state (also known as the petanen), is the court equivalent of the pasren, and the loro blonyo are placed in front of it. One can see a pair of loro blonyo at the Jakarta Museum and an aristocratic pair at the Sono Budoyo Museum, Yogyakarta (see also Jessup 1991: 29, 58). The sacred gateway The Shintō gateways called torii which were apparently set up for cocks to perch on resemble the candhi bentar (‘split gate’) entrances of Javanese temples. Rituals relating to the afterbirth In Japan, this was buried in the yard, and the father stepped over the spot to ensure the child’s obedience. Post Wheeler (1952: 451 n. 32) notes that the word for placenta is the same as that for elder brother. In Java, too, the afterbirth is ceremonially buried in the yard, and here the word used for it refers to the younger brother/sister (Javanese terms for sibling do not distinguish sex). The cult of tombs Kato (1973: 125 ff.) claims that due to the early custom of observing the rite for the spirits of the kami at tombs, tombs naturally and gradually came to be regarded as Shintō shrines. The word for tomb, okutsuki, later came to have the meaning of shrine. He gives numerous examples of tomb-shrines, including two of Tokugawa Iyeyasu built in the mountains (the Mt Kuno and Mt Nikko shrines: there are two because Iyeyasu’s remains were divided up). Kato goes on to remark that in the religious consciousness of the Japanese, there has never been a clear distinction between the kami and men as in a theistic religion.


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Consequently, the Japanese never distinguished shrines from tombs, and finally this worship of men resulted in the disappearance of the distinction between worship at a tomb and worship at a shrine. For this reason, in spite of the fact that every emperor in Japan was considered a living kami while on earth, it has been but seldom that he has been enshrined; instead, the tomb of each emperor has been made the object of worship. The author points out that Muslim tombs do not have the same divine content as Japanese ones. In Java, too, royal tombs are major sites of religious pilgrimage that emanate divine blessing. There is a common preoccupation with purification, fasting and continence in Javanese and Japanese religious conceptualization, and in the rituals through which this is expressed. In Japan, these include the general purification (O-harai) that takes place twice yearly (in the sixth and twelfth months) (Aston 1905: 30) and the tsuina (demon-expulsion) festival at the end of the year (Hori et al. 1968: 8). In Java, they include the annual bersih desa or cleansing ceremony at the village level and its equivalent at the court, as well as the ruwat exorcism procedures. In both cultures, death is regarded as impure and polluting and is ‘dealt with’ by an imported religion: in Japan, Buddhism is primarily associated with funerals, while birth is dominated by Shintō ceremonies (Hori et al. 1968: 16); in Java, funerals are Islamic while the more life-affirming rites de passage such as birth and marriage are primarily Javanese.

Two aspects of the Yayoi legacy in particular came into full bloom in the later Japanese courts: rice and its associated rituals, and hierarchy. Rice provided a major part of the Emperor’s legimitation and role, as we can see from the rituals of accession, the first-fruits festival, and the gosechi dance. The same is true of Java, with the accession ritual, the ceremonial annual cooking of rice by the ruler, and the bedhaya dance. Rice-related rituals, particularly pertaining to the angel who brought rice, also saturated the wider society. Turning to hierarchy, court literature, as exemplified by the Tale of Genji and the Panji stories, draws a sharp distinction between court and countryside. The court, and in particular the exemplary prince, is distinguished by cultivation: aesthetic cultivation, emotional cultivation, and the cultivation of the high-culture arts such as music and dancing. Thus, the radiant princes embody the sumptuous refinement, the enormous accomplishment, and the extreme emotional sensibility that these civilizations valued. The very striking parallels between Japanese and Javanese myths related to the angel who brought rice, and the particular court rituals and dances that embody them, strongly suggest that these myths and rituals go back to the Yayoi period, when rice was introduced into Japan along with a hierarchical society. The further parallels between the stories of the perfect princes, Panji and Genji, and the extremes of cultivation they exhibit (in the performing arts, and in the

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aesthetic and emotional domains) suggest the possibility of a common origin. So too do the correspondences between particular religious cults in Java and Japan. All this gives us good grounds for concluding that the Yayoi immigrants brought more than technologies: they must also have brought a well-developed culture with its own distinctive preferences. This is hardly a startling conclusion. Among the Yayoi artefacts, we have already seen an abundance of bronze goods of cultural rather than practical significance, bearing a repertoire of abstract symbols such as the sacred tumpal motif as well as depictions of significant rituals such as dancing and rice-pounding, which show that a sophisticated trans-local religion was already in place.

A consilience of induction

At the beginning of this book, I explained how I had come across some small pieces of evidence that raised the possibility of a significant and ancient connection between Indonesia and Japan – something for which there was no place in the accepted myths or grand narratives of Southeast and East Asian history. My reaction to this apparently nugatory evidence was ‘that’s funny’, claimed by some to be the most exciting phrase in science, the one that heralds new discoveries. It is, however, only the very beginning of the journey to any new discovery. First, if one simply ignores the ‘funny’ phenomena, the ones that are not explained by existing theories or paradigms, there just will not be any discovery. If, on the other hand, one is actually inclined to investigate these phenomena, one needs to develop a theory that would make sense of them. I believe that this process of forming a hypothesis is the same in the humanities and the sciences. In both cases, the relative strength and worth of the hypothesis will be assessed in the light of the researcher’s more or less expert knowledge. The next step is to collect and examine data to see if they support the hypothesis. Here, the sciences have the advantage over the humanities, in that while a humanities expertise is just as valuable as a scientific one in the actual formation of a hypothesis, in data analysis the scientist has the advantage in being able to use quantitative methods, which constitute a more convincing proof. This was one good reason for my decision to venture into the unknown realms of science to see if it were possible to find hard evidence of a significant connection between early Japan and Indonesia. The first step was to investigate the prehistoric context, and particularly the Yayoi period in Japan, where I reasoned that the contact, if there was one, was most likely to have occurred. Though standard accounts of Japan’s prehistory make almost no reference to Indonesia, on closer inspection it transpired that there were significant similarities in prehistoric artefacts from Java and Yayoi Japan, most interestingly in the repertoire of decorative motifs – significant because decoration is not constrained by function, but permits almost infinite variation. We also found practices common to prehistoric Java and Yayoi Japan and not shared with Koreans or Chinese, such as jar burials. And in the crucial matter of dating, we discovered that the two key areas of metalworking and rice cultivation had developed significantly earlier in Java than in Japan – by at least

A consilience of induction 163 500 and 1300–1500 years, respectively. This logically implied that any transmission of these technologies would have had to be from Java to Japan, and not vice versa. The ‘hard evidence’ was then presented in the four core evidentiary chapters and this is briefly summarized below. In the chapter on rice, we saw that Morinaga’s work published in 1968 had already demonstrated that Javanese Bulu rice was the closest relative of ordinary Japanese rice, and vice versa. Some years after Morinaga’s work T. T. Chang wrote: ‘The bulu varieties spread from Indonesia to the Philippines, Taiwan and Japan’ (Chang 1976b: 102). These findings thus established the first demonstrably genetic, as opposed to typological, link between Java and Japan. They do not establish the time to which this relationship goes back – but they do indicate that it would have been relatively late, rather than from the period when cultivated rice first developed, since Bulu is a younger, more compact and purpose-bred ecospecies of rice. The chapter on teeth and skulls revealed that though studies specifically focused on the Yayoi are unfortunately much fewer in number than studies of the modern Japanese population, they nevertheless provided support for the hypothesis that there was indeed an Indonesian connection. Thus, Brace’s craniometric study showed the Yayoi lining up with Southeast Asia, and Kozintsev’s cranioscopic study showed the Yayoi aligning very closely with Indonesians. Dental studies by Turner, Tsunehiko Hanihara and Matsumura showed that in tooth size and in a majority of other traits the Yayoi lined up with the early Malay Archipelago, early Southeast Asia, and recent Indo-Malaysia samples. A more recent study by Matsumura and Hudson (2005) again placed the Yayoi in a Southeast Asian group with Sumatra islanders, Chinese ‘Thailanders’ and ‘Thailanders’. Therefore a range of studies using different indicators pointed to Southeast Asia, particularly island Southeast Asia, rather than to Korea or China. The next chapter reviewed studies of DNA. First, Kumar (1996) and then Tanaka et al. (2004) provided further support for the conclusion that there is a specifically Indonesian element in the Japanese gene pool, on present evidence of c. 2.5 per cent, which would be somewhere of the order of two to four times the size of the French population in Norman England. However, quite a lot of further work needs to be done on DNA before we can say with confidence exactly how large a proportion of the Japanese gene pool these migrants contributed. To sum up this work on Japanese population history, the most recent work, including that on DNA, has seriously undermined the long dominant ‘dual-structure’ hypothesis for Japan’s population history which posited that the Jōmon population was Southeast Asian and the Yayoi population Northeast Asian. With the appearance of this new evidence, it is apparent that, if anything, the reverse is true: the Jōmons are more northeast Asian than the modern Japanese, and southern areas affected the Japanese by later immigration. And Japan’s population is more complex than the dual-structure theory suggested, with multiple migrations from different areas.


A consilience of induction

The chapter on language began by pointing out that numerically small groups like the Norman French might exert far greater cultural, political or technological influence (or all three) than their numbers would suggest. And we would expect any significant contact to leave some evidence in the language. This evidence was amply furnished. Exceptionally strict linguistic criteria and procedures established that there had been extensive borrowing. Possible structural influence is something that requires further work. The linguistic evidence confirmed that the direction of the contact was to Japan from Java, as had already been deduced from the relative dates at which rice cultivation and metalworking had developed. It also corroborated the finding of exclusive sharing of DNA with Indonesia in Tanaka et al.’s study of the modern Japanese population by revealing that the donor language was specifically Javanese (more precisely, an earlier form of Old Javanese), rather than Malayo-Polynesian, or Austronesian languages generally. And it corroborated the relatively late (in prehistoric terms, postPalaeolithic) time of the contact indicated by the rice and DNA studies. The nature of the borrowings suggested that the contact was an intense one. And the range of words borrowed demonstrated that this was a case of superstratum influence, exerted by a technologically and politically dominant group. Very significantly, there was also a close correspondence between the linguistic borrowings and the material culture introduced in the Yayoi period, in such areas as rice, metalworking and weaving. The linguistic evidence also provided information on significant ideas and concepts which were borrowed, and which by their nature cannot be visible in archaeological remains. One good example is Old Javanese matur, ‘to present, offer, tell or report to a person of higher rank’, a word resonant with significance for religion and social hierarchy. This was borrowed into an antecedent of Old Japanese as matur-, with a similarly wide range of meanings: ‘to give or present something to a person of high rank/God; to offer prayers; to honour the memory of God by making offerings at a shrine’. In its Modern Japanese form, it is used to mean a religious ceremony or religious worship in general. It also occurs as the ‘humble auxiliary’ matur- indicating self-abasing speech. The semantic range of this word reflects an emphasis on humble respect not just to the gods but also to one’s superiors, especially a god-like royalty, which is a characteristic and extremely durable feature of this civilization. Once again, this shows the indispensable capacity of languages in providing insight into other civilizations and world-views and an understanding of the full diversity of human inventiveness. Most importantly, here as elsewhere the use of a Bayesian approach provided the correct framework, and showed how vastly the linguistic correspondences exceed any correspondences ever found by chance. Thus, the substantial linguistic evidence made a very large contribution to our understanding of the whole nature of the contact. To sum up, this research and its conclusions constitute a case of what William Whewell called ‘consilience of induction’. This means taking a number of apparently disparate facts and finding that they can be made to cohere – in ‘one, and in absolutely only one, possible way’, via the sole coordinating explanation

A consilience of induction 165 that can bring them together into a single, simple and elegant explanation (Gould 2004: 208–9). The single coordinating explanation in this case is that new technologies such as wet rice, metallurgy and cloth weaving – as well as specific items of material culture such as weapons, baskets, and plates – and a whole new political organization culminating in a court, together with new ideas relating to kinship, leadership, religion and hierarchy, were introduced into Japan from Java in the Yayoi period. The evidence also shows that this process involved significant immigration, that is, significant enough to leave its mark on the modern Japanese population. From a Bayesian point of view, the probability of observing all the disparate types of evidence given the hypothesis put forward here vastly outweighs the probability of finding them under any alternative hypothesis.

What we know now that we didn’t know before
About Japan We already knew that in the Yayoi period Japan underwent an immense transformation comprising not only the characteristic Neolithic innovations such as agriculture and weaving, but also the introduction of metallurgy, both bronze and iron. This technology formed the essential basis of a complex civilization eventually culminating in an emperor and a state religion. The Yayoi story strikingly exemplifies the irresistible advance, throughout human history, of superior technology, whether brought by conquerors who possessed it or eagerly taken up by those who had lacked it. Numerous Western examples – the Romans, and the conquests of those with superior maritime technology like the Portuguese, Dutch, and English – are widely known. Now we know of an Asian example that involved a great range of new technologies that enabled the transplanting of a whole civilization – something the Western conquerors of Asian countries never did. The title speaks of ‘Globalization’ and the book tries to show that this is not a new phenomenon: only its pace and visibility has greatly increased. Ancient, even prehistoric times saw global flows – population, economic, technological, and cultural – and not always from the nearest neighbours. A more global focus takes Japan out of its restrictive (north) East Asian box, since Japan was completely transformed by being drawn into a vast global movement created by the Austronesians. The Austronesians, alone of the language families that arose in their part of the world, launched themselves across the uncharted oceans and became such masters of the sea that their settlements eventually stretched from Madagascar to Easter Island. Thus they spanned the greater part of the globe, in a way no other language family did in pre-modern times. And Japan was transformed by one particular Austronesian society – the only one whose achievements on land were of the same order as the Austronesian achievements at sea, mythically symbolized by the female divinities presiding over these different realms. These achievements began with the development of an


A consilience of induction

extremely sophisticated rice agriculture. This supported the development of an advanced craftsmanship and superb metallurgy, a highly developed (and extremely hierarchical) socio-political system whose workings are recorded in its inscriptions, and a range of fine arts – the collection of things that taken together were traditionally described as a ‘high civilization’. Thus Japan inherited the achievements of the most advanced Austronesian society, Java. In very much later times the Japanese would far outperform their one-time mentors in acquiring Western technology and would in their turn arrive in Indonesia as conquerors. Much more work needs to be done. We know who the Yayoi newcomers were and what they brought, but we need in particular more work on prehistoric DNA in both countries, and more work on the ‘signature’ artefacts of the Javanese immigrants, particularly the pottery and metalwork. About Java Of course, it is tempting to focus wholly on this major transformation of our picture of early Japan, but it should be noted that the current picture of Java has also been greatly transformed. Java, though the most advanced and influential Austronesian society, is, ironically, the ‘black hole’ of Indonesian and by extension Austronesian prehistory. This study has thrown light on the darkest period of Javanese prehistory, between the period of very early hominins and the Hindu-Javanese period. Java was not, as has been suggested, a centripetal society of landlubbers, but retained the Austronesian maritime drive for richer pastures – now, pastures suitable for an advanced wet-rice economy and a technologically and politically complex society. It is now clear that the depiction of Java’s great tradition as an Indic one resting on a base of local animisms is erroneous. In fact, pre-Indianized Java had already developed not only an advanced agrarian base and metalworking technology but also an indigenous great tradition of formidable strength which began much earlier than is generally recognized, and endured for millennia, both at home and in Japan. This goes against prevailing beliefs, which have been greatly influenced by the American anthropologist Clifford Geertz’s opinion that Java’s great tradition and the Javanese state were both Indian imports (Geertz 1980: 9) – Indian influence being generally easier for Westerners to see than local developments. Yet already in the colonial period, as early as the second half of the nineteenth century, the idea that Java’s high culture and the Javanese state itself are products of Indian influence was contested by a scholar named Brandes who drew up a list of ten things which he regarded as indigenous to Java, not Indian imports. They are: 1 2 3 4 wayang gamelan an indigenous system of metrical poetry batik

A consilience of induction 167 5 6 7 8 9 10 metalworking a currency considerable knowledge of seafaring/navigation astronomy wet-rice cultivation a highly ordered state of government. (Brandes 1889: 122–3; Krom 1931: 47–8)

Brandes did not, however, realize how ancient these things were, an insight that came only at the end of the colonial period, with the brilliant work of J. C. van Leur (van Leur 1955: 256). He pointed out that the prehistoric agrarian civilization of Java supported a highly organized political structure, since sawah farming necessitates special forms of social organization in the village, region and royal court with its officials. He concluded that both governmental technique and sacral organization had developed over a very long time on an indigenous basis (van Leur 1955: 167, 257). This high level of technological competence, encompassing the specific technologies that Brandes noted as indigenous to Java, such as wet-rice agriculture, metalworking which produced weapons as much as religious objects, plus a considerable knowledge of seafaring and navigation, as well as a sophisticated level of socio-political and religious development, were essential to transporting men, women, goods and equipment to Japan and establishing an advanced society there. Given what we know now, the nature of the early Javanese state and Javanese society is a topic for another book. About ‘sailing up the map’ of Asia Anyone who acquires a basic knowledge of Asian prehistory learns that the Austronesians set forth from East Asia, and voyaged first to Southeast Asia and then right across the Pacific. This information does not seem to provoke disbelief that they could have brought off such a formidable achievement. Less well known is the Indonesian migration to and settlement in Madagascar (mentioned in Chapters One, Two and Three), which may well seem a remarkable achievement to those who know about it but which once again does not appear to be greeted with disbelief. On the other hand, the idea that some Javanese could have sailed from Java to Japan is, in my experience, likely to provoke a response along the lines of ‘What – they sailed up the map?!’ What explains this difference in reactions? Perhaps the circumstance that the Austronesian migrations are often described as a ‘dispersion’, something that does not foreground strenuous and purposive voyaging but rather suggests that they were ‘borne along’ by the waters to their distant destinations. By contrast, sailing ‘up the map’ to Japan seems intuitively more difficult. However, this is in fact quite contrary to the reality of the situation, since the ocean currents, notably the powerful Kuroshio, actually make sailing ‘up’ the map northwards to Japan easier than sailing ‘down’ it. Moreover, it appears that an equally powerful reason for scepticism that


A consilience of induction

Indonesians could have sailed to, and exerted significant influence on, Japan is Indonesia’s low position in the intra-Asian hierarchy noted in Chapter One (a lowly position which, sadly enough, even some Indonesianists evidently do not wish to see questioned). Prejudice aside, the northwards population movement from Indonesia fits into a scenario where multiple movements in different directions had long been taking place. Karafet et al.’s work (2001) on the peopling of East Asia showed that people didn’t stop moving after the initial migrations of the earliest settlers, and that subsequent movements – like the one described here – were not necessarily in the same direction. The evidence set out here has demonstrated that people from the largest Austronesian population, the Javanese, did indeed sail back from Southeast to Northeast Asia.

What we still need to find out
Much work undoubtedly remains to be done – most notably in the field of archaeology, where I have not been able to do anything and which is essential to flesh out the picture and establish more precise places and dates. I predict that the most productive areas for archaeological investigation will be West Java, and particularly the area of the former kingdom of Taruma; and those places in Japan which are also called Taruma or a variant thereof; and the Yayoi jar burials. More work also needs to be done on DNA, especially DNA from the time of the contact, rather than just modern DNA. In the linguistic field, though Murayama Shichirō’s prediction that the genesis of the Japanese language could not be understood from Altaic materials alone has proved true, there is also much work still to be done. For example, Kumar and Rose (2000) suggested investigation of the ancient kawi lexicon as promising, and it is certain that there is much more yet to be discovered. All this work is well within the realm of possibility, given adequate funding.

The humanities and sciences
As remarked in the opening chapter, Java is quite far from Japan, though perhaps farther mentally than geographically. In modern times this distance has been bridged with increasing ease. Better ships enabled people to sail against the currents and arrive more quickly and easily. And so as early as 1909, Yosaburo Takekoshi, a member of the Japanese diet and well-known historian of Meiji Japan, made a visit to the Indo-Malaysian islands. He remarked: ‘I felt as if I were travelling in Kyushu, because the houses, the children, the fences around the houses, and everything in the lifestyle made me think of Japan’ (Andaya 1977: 147). Instead of dismissing this as coincidence he concluded that these striking resemblances must indicate a blood relationship. Hodgson has pointed out that natural selection in evolution has equipped humans with prodigious computing capacity (Hodgson 1995: 64), and the brain is a far more stupendous super-computer than any artificial one so far produced. Takekoshi’s multifactor

A consilience of induction 169 recognition – computing houses and fences, people, and lifestyle – is an impressive example of this highly developed human faculty. I came to the same conclusion as Yosaburo Takekoshi independently, and needed to use both the deep knowledge of the historical development of society and culture provided by the humanities, and the rigour and daring of science to establish whether or not we were right. This was often a strange experience, somewhat comparable to someone who is repeatedly told not to drive towards a brick wall (perhaps the barrier between East and Southeast Asia) when they have reasoned that it really cannot be anything other than illusion or paper. At times it seemed that my deduction that, appearances to the contrary, there was an old and significant connection between Indonesia and Japan would remain just a hypothesis. But it turned out that the evidence was there: some I was able to find early on, some only appeared at a late stage of this research. The first relevant scientific evidence demonstrating a Java–Japan connection had already appeared in the 1960s when Morinaga, again utilizing modern inventions, brought Javanese and Japanese rices together. Despite over two millennia of separation in different climes they ‘recognized’ their common genetic heritage by interbreeding. Thirty years later I was able, with the help of generous colleagues, to recruit even more precise and sophisticated technologies. These included, most notably, the extension of Bayes’s theorem (originally proposed in the eighteenth century) into historical linguistics. I was also able to call on powerful on-line resources such as data bases and digital programs to bring together and compare D-loops from populations across the whole of Asia without having to assemble all these people physically. The ‘hard bricks’ constituting the barrier between Japan and Indonesia began to dissolve on subsequent inspection – as for instance the categorical ‘Japanese are Sinodonts, Southeast Asians are Sundadonts’ distinction, when it became evident that Japanese are actually halfway between the two types, while modern Southeast Asians are actually not Sundadont at all. As already noted, this also happened with the long dominant ‘dual-structure’ hypothesis for Japan’s population history which posited that the Jōmon population was Southeast Asian and the Yayoi population Northeast Asian. With the appearance of new evidence, it is apparent that, if anything, the reverse is true: the Jōmons are more northeast Asian than the modern Japanese, and southern areas affected the Japanese by later immigration. So, all this established, nearly 100 years after Yosaburo Takekoshi leapt audaciously to a conclusion, that there was a scientific basis to it after all. This strongly suggests that those of us who were trained in the humanities can profitably make more use of the new possibilities opened by recent developments in science. These possibilities should not be confined just to the history of prominent individuals (such as Cadbury’s [2002] investigation of the fate of the Louis XVII, the ‘lost king’ of France, or the exposure of the false ‘Anastasia’ who claimed to be a survivor of the massacre of the Russian royal family) but should also be used to enrich the histories of whole societies: such as the societies investigated in this book. It was the contribution of science and statistical analysis that enabled us to establish where these Yayoi migrants, or at least those


A consilience of induction

who brought the great innovations, actually came from. The human world is not divided into humanities and sciences; we have just decided to study it that way, and this is not always the best way. It would be pointless to pretend that it is a simple matter to acquire an understanding of one or more of the highly technical areas of science, but the rewards may be commensurate with the effort. There are those who are not ready to accept or even contemplate the conclusion that arises from such a large amount of scientific evidence because it goes against all or part of the ruling myth. To some, it is inconceivable that any part of Indonesia could export rather than import cultural or technological innovations to East Asia. To one anonymous reviewer, on the other hand, this book simply should not be published because ‘everyone knows’ everything in the Yayoi period came from Korea and China! But academic work has to be based on examination of the evidence rather than the angry restatement of ‘common knowledge’. Here evidence has been adduced for one compelling reason: it is evidence that can be scientifically evaluated. Clearly, the linguistic evidence alone – a substantial corpus of five-segment-long Old Javanese words in Old Japanese evidencing recurring sound correspondences, something that has not proved possible, despite a century of scholarly investigation, for any other hypothesized relationship of Japanese, including Korean – is totally inconsistent with the hypothesis that ‘nothing came from Java’. That being so, logically speaking, we have to reject the claim that everything came from Korea and China: on the contrary, many extraordinarily transformative things came from Java. And after all, at one time ‘everyone knew’ that the earth was flat, until scientists produced evidence that only made sense under the competing hypothesis, i.e. that it is round. What has been described in this book is not related to the nature of the earth and planets: it is a human story about a group of people who sailed north to settle in a new homeland, taking with them their rice, cloth, weapons, and pottery, as well as the things in their heads – technological knowledge certainly, but also language, ideas about kinship, social hierarchy and kingship, aesthetic preferences, and belief in goddesses. Their exceptional success in transplanting both technology and a whole civilization makes this a story that transforms our view not just of early Java and Japan, but also our view of the immense extent of human capabilities. These remarkable capabilities had evidently developed to a high level as early as that shadowy period when there already existed advanced societies of which there is no surviving written record – a long proto-history in which this is not the least remarkable episode.


In the case of more complex and/or technical terms, a short characterization is given first, followed by a fuller definition. allele Alternative form of a genetic locus; a single allele for each locus is inherited separately from each parent. amylose One of the three subdivisions of the carbohydrates. base pair A measure of length of a DNA segment, e.g. 500 bp. Fuller definition: two nitrogenous bases held together by weak hydrogen bonds. Two strands of DNA are held together in the shape of a double helix by the bonds between base pairs. Bayes’s theorem A logical method for updating one’s confidence in a hypothesis in the light of new evidence. Fuller definition: an extremely important tool in the forensic area, for example using DNA or linguistic evidence. See also Likelihood Ratio. bilabial A sound produced using both lips. binomial distribution A method for assessing the probability of observing a given number of occurrences of an all-or-nothing event in a certain number of trials. bootstrapping A statistical procedure using computer simulation to test the reliability of a dataset. brachycephaly A cephalic index of 80 or more is called brachycephalic or broad (while below 75 is considered dolicocephalic or long). Carabelli trait A topographical feature of human teeth whose incidence varies in different populations. Fuller definition: an accessory cusp on the mesiolingual surface (the surface of the tooth towards the midline) of the maxillary first molar (and occasionally the second, rarely the third). cephalic indices The ratio of the breadth of the head to its length. chromosome One of a number of long strands of DNA and associated proteins present in the nucleus of every cell that carry the cell’s genetic information. Humans normally have 46 chromosomes. cladistics A branch of biology that determines the evolutionary relationships of living things based on derived similarities. It forms the basis for most

172 Glossary modern systems of classification, which seek to group organisms by evolutionary relationships. Comparative Method A long-established analytical procedure that aims to reconstruct the features of a proto-language from its descendants (daughter languages) and work out the changes in linguistic structure that took place. It is also a method used for determining whether languages are genetically related. craniometry Measurement of the skull. cranioscopy Examination of the size and configuration of the skull. cusp A topographical feature of human teeth whose incidence varies in different populations. Fuller definition: an elevation on the occlusal (biting or chewing surfaces) surface of an unworn tooth. deflecting wrinkle and/or trigonid crest A topographical feature of human teeth whose incidence varies in different populations. Fuller definition: one of the particular formations of the median ridge of the metaconid cusp on lower teeth. The ridge, when the deflecting wrinkle appears, shows a stronger development in either its length or breadth and curves distalward at the central part of the occlusal surface. distal Toward the back of the dental arch (away from the midline). distal trigonid crest See deflecting wrinkle. eco-geographic race; also ecospecies The first subdivision of cultivated rice (oryza sativa) comprising indica, japonica and javanica. ecotypes The second subdivision of cultivated rice, comprising more localized types. electrophoresis A technique that separates charged molecules – such as DNA, RNA or protein – on the basis of relative migration in an appropriate gel matrix subjected to an electric field. environment (linguistic) The place of a sound relative to adjacent sounds. frontal bone The skull bone over the eyes. glabella The smooth rounded surface of the frontal bone between the eyebrows. haplogroup A group of related haplotypes, particularly with regard to mitochondrial DNA and Y chromosomes. Fuller definition: if a set of haplotypes are placed into a tree determined by the minimum number of mutations that separate them, the main branches of the tree are haplogroups. Each haplogroup in theory contains haplotypes that are all descended from a single individual. haplotype A group of alleles on a single chromosome that are linked together and usually inherited as a unit. histocompatibility The degree to which tissue from one organism will be tolerated by the immune system of another organism. Holocene The second epoch of the Quaternary period, from c. 10,000 years ago to the present. hominin All early forms in the human line following the split from chimpanzees.

Glossary 173 hypocone A topographical feature of human teeth whose incidence varies in different populations. Fuller definition: an external cusp on the inner back corner of an upper molar tooth. iconicity A general phenomenon accounting for the fact that most languages have a (small) number of onomatopoeic words. immunoglobulin A protein that acts as an antibody. interorbital region The region between the eye sockets. jackknifing A versatile method of reducing the bias of estimates and assessing their variability, using subsets of the available data. Likelihood Ratio A (Bayesian) measure of the strength of the evidence. Fuller definition: the Likelihood Ratio is the ratio of the probability of the evidence assuming the hypothesis to be true to the probability of the same evidence assuming the hypothesis to be false. lineage An ancestor–descendant sequence of genes. meiosis A process of nuclear division in a living cell by which the number of chromosomes is reduced to half the original number. Meiosis occurs only when the gametes, or sex cells (ovum and sperm), are being formed. metathesis A change in the order of segments in a word over time. mitochondria Granular, rod-shaped, or filamentous self-replicating organellae in cytoplasm, consisting of an outer and inner membrane, necessary for cell respiration and nutrition. They have their own (mitochondrial) DNA and are nearly all maternally inherited. mitochondrial control region The main regulatory region and the only major non-coding area in mitochondrial DNA (mtDNA). Fuller definition: despite its functional importance, the control region is suggested to be the most variable part of the mtDNA: in the human control region, the rate of substitution may be up to five times the rate of the rest of the mtDNA. morphology The study of the more intimate combinations of morphemes (the minimum meaningful units of languages). nasal root The top of the nose, the indentation at the suture where the nasal bones meet the frontal bone. naso-frontal region The articulation of the nasal bones with the frontal. Neolithic ‘New Stone Age’: see Three Age system. nucleotide A subunit of DNA or RNA. Fuller definition: thousands of nucleotides are linked to form a DNA or RNA molecule and consist of a nitrogenous base, a phosphate molecule and a sugar molecule. Depending on the sugar, the nucleotides are called deoxyribonucleotides or ribonucleotides. osteology Study of the skeleton or of bones. Palaeolithic ‘Old Stone Age’: see Three Age system. phoneme A unit of linguistic analysis. Fuller definition: the name for a contrastive sound in a language, e.g. the English words bat and pat begin with two different phonemes.



phonetics The study of all aspects of speech, particularly how speech sounds are made, their acoustic properties, and their perception by listeners. phonology A branch of linguistics dealing with phonemes and their sequences. phonotactics The study of which phonemes can occur in what position in a word, and which other phonemes can occur next to them. phylogenetic Pertaining to evolutionary history. phylogeny The ‘pedigree’ of a species – the branches of the ancestral tree of species from which the current species derives. phylogeography The study of the history of gene flow and isolation in population lineages. phylum A large group of languages considered to be descendants of a common ancestor. Pleistocene The first epoch of the Quaternary period, usually dated as encompassing the period between 1.6 million years ago and 10,000 years ago. polymerase chain reaction A method of DNA analysis that amplifies a specific DNA (gene) region allowing rapid DNA analysis. polymorphic loci Regions or points in the genetic structure that may vary from individual to individual. proto-language A reconstructed language considered to be [an approximation of] the ancestor of one or more actual living languages. protostylid A topographical feature of human teeth whose incidence varies in different populations. Fuller definition: a swelling or an extra cusp found on the buccal surface (the surface nearest the cheek) of the protoconid cusp in the mandibular molars. Radiocarbon dating (also called carbon-14 dating) A process that provides absolute dates by counting the radioactive decay of carbon in the remains of once-living plants and animals (such as charcoal, wood, bone, or shell). random amplification of polymorphic DNA A variation of the polymerase chain reaction used to identify differentially expressed genes. restriction endonuclease (restriction enzyme) Chemicals used in the laboratory to cut up DNA at specific sites so that it may be sequenced. The use of restriction enzymes is crucial in DNA fingerprinting. segregating sites Sites with more than one allele (polymorphic). shovelling A topographical feature of human teeth whose incidence varies in different populations. Fuller definition: the term ‘shovel-shaped’ was coined to describe anterior teeth with a deep fossa on the lingual surface created by large marginal ridges, a normal morphological feature which has been exaggerated in cases of shovelling. Double shovelling refers to a ridge on the labial surface of the tooth which may or may not occur in addition to the lingual ridge. stochastic Random. substratum The legacy of the original language in a language contact situation where its speakers are affected by a dominant language.

Glossary 175 superstratum The legacy of the dominant language in situations of language contact. supraorbital foramen An opening in the frontal bone in the supraorbital margin, giving passage to the supraorbital artery and nerve. Three Age system A classification of human prehistory according to the material used for tool-making, successively stone, bronze, and iron. transverse zygomatic suture posterior trace A particular configuration of the skull in the cheekbone region. unweighted pair group method (UPGM) A heuristic algorithm used for determining the closeness of relationships between different population groups. voiced Sounds produced when the vocal cords are vibrating are described as voiced. vowel harmony The requirement in some languages that vowels in successive syllables be similar in some way. winging A topographical feature of human teeth whose incidence varies in different populations. Fuller definition: rotation of the incisors.


1 Myths and mental space 1 Most experts in the field subscribe to the Taiwan hypothesis, but there are some who propose a different homeland, such as the Philippines, or even New Guinea. 2 There are two main categories of old Japanese masks, Gigaku and Bugaku. Gigaku are often considered to be the earliest Japanese masks. The masks are large, intended to cover the whole head. Gigaku performance was at its peak in the Nara period (645–781), lost popularity in the Heian period, became very infrequent in the Kamakura period, and had its last recorded performance in the Genroku era (1688–1794). Seventh- and eighth-century masks are still in existence in the Hōry ū-ji temple, Shōsō-in and Tōdai-ji. Nothing similar can be found in China today (Noma 1957: 223). Bugaku was developed in the ninth century, at the Heian court. Bugaku masks are boldly formalized and standardized to suit the rhythmically based symbolic form of the Bugaku dance, quite different from the dramatic style and strongly naturalistic masks of Gigaku. The Bugaku masks are intermediate between the Gigaku masks of foreign origin and the purely Japanese Nō masks – not so large or realistic as the earlier Gigaku masks, they are not as small or as restrained as the later Nō masks. 3 In the Hindu-Javanese period, around 20 stone models of lumbung all in the same form are found in Madiun (Ponorogo), Kediri, Central Java, and one in West Java: the roof style is apparently Sundanese, suggesting that West Java was the place of origin of these artefacts. They date from around CE 895 to CE 1356. Some of these are inscribed ‘Sri’. It is hypothesized that they were used to make offerings to Sri, the rice goddess, though others have suggested they had a funerary use (see Santiko 1985: 296 and Soekatno 1985). 4 Techniques such as pattern welding and piled blade structures are not dealt with here. 2 The prehistories of Japan and Indonesia 1 It has been suggested that the long and largely fruitless exercise of trying to locate Yamatai was inspired by the need to disassociate Himiko from the imperial line after it was realized that she could not be identified with ‘Empress’ Jingu. Tokugawa historians wanted an unbroken, male genealogy that was more strictly defined than that delineated in the Nihon Shoki, whose compilers were attempting to maximize the antiquity and authority of the Yamato line (Kidder 1993: 98). 2 Because SM3’s morphology is partly erectus and partly sapiens-like, and on some tests it (along with other Homo erectus specimens) is not distinguishable from archaic H. sapiens specimens, SM3 has been claimed by the multi-regionalists as providing support for their hypothesis (Broadfield et al. 2001: 387; Soares 2001: 26–9), that is as

Notes 177
showing evidence of local evolution of Homo erectus into Homo sapiens (rather than replacement of Homo erectus by Homo sapiens coming out of Africa). Others have argued that it may represent variation within Homo erectus at any given time, rather than temporal change towards modern features (Delson et al. 2001: 380). Since the possible dates for SM3 appear to be no more precise than from one million to one hundred thousand years ago (Delson et al. 2001: 381), it is clearly very difficult to settle this question! So poor is the material on Indonesia that the well-dated and well-studied Late Neolithic Lapita culture of Oceania is considered an extremely important window on obscure Indo-Malaysian developments, on the assumption that its logical antecedents presumably lie in the eastern regions of Indonesia or the Philippines. In fact, a large percentage of Bellwood’s book is devoted to developments in neighbouring regions which might throw some light on the Indo-Malaysian world, an understandable strategy in the far from ideal circumstances, but one which leaves much, particularly western Indonesia, in virtual darkness. Although this horizontal pattern is not to Bellwood’s knowledge found in the Indo-Malaysian archipelago there are records of vertical mouth-to-mouth jar burials on Batan Island, at Plawangan on Java, and at Gilimanuk, Bali. A rather silly article (Koster 1926) argues that the Javanese were never a real seafaring people, but could only creep along close in to the coast. This exemplifies Taylor’s point that early navigation is badly represented in literature, which is generally written by non-seafaring, sedentary types who either did not know about it or projected their own mistaken ideas. As they could not imagine how the seaman made his confident way across the pathless and unpeopled oceans they depicted him as ‘hugging the shore’ despite the fact that this is far from being an easy option, given the lee shores, and the rocks, sand-banks, rips and on-shore sets that are characteristic of inshore waters (Taylor 1956: 4). Kirch’s excellent study of prehistoric seafaring (Kirch 2000), although it deals with Oceania, provides additional evidence of the ability of Austronesians to carry out lengthy sea voyages, for example from the Bismarck Islands off New Guinea to Yap, and if the members of the small-scale societies of Oceania were able to do this, those from the much larger-scale societies of Java can be assumed to have had an at least equal capacity. In eastern Indonesia, cord-marked pottery occurs only occasionally in Metal Age contexts (Peter Bellwood, personal communication). Ongagawa comb incision has been said to derive from Korean pottery but there is no Korean comb pottery as late as the third or second centuries BCE, and Korean Plain Pottery, from which Yayoi pottery is generally believed to derive, is, as its name suggests, plain. About ten per cent of the over 400 known dōtaku are decorated with small thread-relief pictures. There are a total of forty-one different pictorial designs known. Deer and long-legged birds that may be cranes or herons are the main elements (Hudson 1992: 145–7). Harunari believes that the thick borders of dōtaku designs symbolize their role of confining the rice spirit (reported in Hudson 1992: 154). Sahara has worked out a series of the dōtaku based on typology, which differs from the series posited by those archaeologists who argue on typological grounds that dōtaku production began in the Kinai and spread east (Hudson 1992: 153). Javanese place names can also have a vowel alternation in the final (open) syllable, e.g. Jawa and Jawi.


4 5

6 7



3 The enterprise of rice cultivation 1 It seems that before the tenth century japonica varieties may have been commonly grown in Thailand, Burma and northern India, with indica varieties limited to the coastal areas of these countries. Later, the indica varieties were more extensively

178 Notes
planted when the alluvial lowlands along big rivers were reclaimed and planted to rice (Oka 1988: 137–8). 2 In the case of China, for instance, indica-like grains are more common in the earliest archaeological finds than japonica-like ones. Subsequently, Chinese rice was largely japonica up to Sung times, when early-maturing indica varieties were introduced from the south and spread over the Yangtze basin. In Japan, indica rices were grown up to the Tokugawa period when they were replaced [in whole or in part?] by higher-yielding japonica ones (Chang 1987: 66).

4 The evidence of the teeth and skulls 1 A haplotype is a group of alleles ( an allele is one of several alternative forms of the same gene, occupying the same relative positions in homologous chromosomes) on a single chromosome that are linked together and usually inherited as a unit. Haplotypes are particularly stable in mitochondrial DNA and on nearly all the Y-chromosome, because they are not subject to re-combination. 2 A haplogroup is a group of related haplotypes, particularly with regard to mitochondrial DNA and Y chromosomes. If a set of haplotypes are placed into a tree determined by the minimum number of mutations that separate them, the main branches of the tree are haplogroups. Each haplogroup in theory contains haplotypes that are all descended from a single individual. 3 One consequence of such numerous and complex migrations is that where various tribes sampled for genetic studies live today is not necessarily their original location (particularly the case for nomadic groups who are vulnerable to displacement by pastoralists), a situation which makes working out the ethnohistory of the region concerned more complicated. 4 A study of mandibular morphology also found significant differences between the Jōmon and Yayoi. In comparison to Jōmon males, Yayoi males had mandibles with 1. a larger overall size; 2. a higher symphyseal height; 3. corpus height consistently decreasing posteriorly; 4. a relatively lower least coronial height; 5. a deeper sigmoid notch; 6. a thicker angular region; and 7. a larger mandibular angle. In contrast, corpus heights at the premolar region of the Jōmon mandibles were approximately equivalent to the symphyseal height. A similar tendency was seen in the females with minor exceptions. Kondo remarks that the study of the mandible has previously attracted little attention as it is considered a less reliable indicator of ethnic affiliation, for two reasons, i.e. that it is considered to have a considerable degree of plasticity due to environmental influences; and that it continues to grow well into adult life, so that differing measurements may reflect the different age of the subjects. The author feels that the second factor has not operated to any great degree in his specimens (Kondo 1995: 291–2, 304). 5 In other respects, Pietrusewsky’s results are quite different from those of Brace and colleagues, who claim on the basis of a limited number of variables and specimens that Kamakura crania are close to Ainu, a claim not supported by Pietrusewsky’s study. Another investigator (Suzuki 1956) has written of the Kamakura people that although they are most likely to be the direct ancestors of the modern Kantō Japanese, many of their skull measurements are actually entirely outside the range of modern Kantō Japanese. It should be noted that the Ryukyuan-Kamakura connection found by Pietrusewsky may, he says, only reflect influence on the Ryukyus by later immigrants [from mainland Japan], and since his Ryukyuan sample is made up of modern and near-modern skeletons, rather than early-dated ones, this certainly a real possibility. Others have suggested the reverse scenario, i.e. that the Kamakura Shogunate was recruiting followers from as far away as the Ryukyus so that there would have been Ryukyuan influence on mainland Japan. This is one particularly

Notes 179
striking example of problems arising from the circumstance that a particular genetic pattern might have been produced by a number of different historical scenarios. Whatever the respective merit of the scenarios suggested, the fact that the skull measurements of the Kamakura population deviate so much from those of their direct descendants, the Kantō Japanese, is a very large problem indeed. This is because we either have to suppose that there was, in historical times, a hitherto completely unnoticed population replacement or at the very least a huge influx of newcomers that completely altered the ethnic composition of the population; or we have to suspect that there has been a methodological problem of some sort. The protostylid is a swelling or an extra cusp found on the buccal surface (the surface of a posterior tooth which faces the cheeks) of the protoconid (itself a cusp on another cusp, the trigonid!) in the mandibular molars. The hyopocone is an external cusp on the back corner of an upper molar. The deflecting wrinkle and trigonid crest are particular formations of the median ridge of the metaconid (one of the cusps of the trigonid). The Carabelli Trait is an accessory cusp on the mesiolingual surface (i.e. the middle of the surface facing the tongue) of the maxillary first molar (and occasionally the second, rarely the third). Matsumura found that the Japanese groups he studied could be divided on the basis of tooth size into two clusters: 1. the northern Kyushu Yayoi people and post-Yayoi Japanese of the Kofun, Kamakura, Edo and modern times; and 2. the Jōmon, Tanegashima Yayoi [thought to be Jōmon descendants, not immigrants] and Hokkaido Ainu. These two groups were confirmed by a study of the incidence of eleven non-metric traits (Matsumura 1994: 101, 103, 107). On the basis of this study, Matsumura estimated that the Yayoi migrant contribution to the Japanese population was of the order of 70–90 per cent (Matsumura 1994: 114), more or less the same figure as given by K. Hanihara (see above). The data for Koreans are again incomplete, and there are also no data from south China. Winging is rotation of the maxillary central incisors. The full picture of the Yayoi population will not emerge, however, until the reason for some quite notable inconsistencies within the Yayoi data is established. For example, Hanihara’s Yayoi readings for 4-cusp LM2 were 12.5 and 18.5; his readings for 6-cusp LM1 were 41.5 and 47.6 compared to Matsumura 28.6, and for Shovelling UI1 47.5 per cent and 57.1 per cent compared to Matsumura 91.3 per cent (Tsunehiko Hanihara 1992: 124–5; Matsumura 1995: 251). No mean and standard deviation is given, as is often the case in dental studies. Thus, it is impossible to tell if, for example, there could be two different groups with different measurements within the Yayoi population, producing a bimodal distribution which is entirely obscured by the way the figures are presented.

6 7 8 9 10

11 12 13

5 Breaking the DNA code 1 Bootstrapping is a way of testing the reliability of the dataset, dealing with the distribution of statistics by computer simulation, in studies where the data are too complicated or too small to deal with by analysis. There are two kinds of bootstrapping, the straightforward and the parametric or semi-parametric. The first means recombining random samples from the data under study and is used in Omoto and Saitou 1997 (in phylogenetic analyses nonparametric bootstrapping is the most commonly used method). Using this process means that if the resultant bootstrap probabilities are high, then you are seeing something which is stable; thus allowing you to say something is meaningful because you can replicate it. However, this does not really give you a handle on your basic methodology, and does not solve the problem of finding the key characteristic(s) which will separate groups. This problem






5 6 7

of knowing what to measure is fundamental, since by taking certain measurements we may conclude that the whale, dolphin, and shark are closely related when in fact they are not (and perhaps this is related to the phenomenon of why use of different sets of polymorphic loci produce different ethnic affinities for the Japanese). On the other hand, a craniometric study by Kondo (1995: 381) found great heterogeneity in cranial morphology among the Province groups of Ainu. Among the River groups inter-group variation was smaller. These results did not agree with previous studies, which indicated that inter-population migration was rare among River groups and that they were genetically very isolated. Kondo speculates that the heterogeneity in the Province groups may be due to their living in different major watersheds, and admixture from other populations. The UPGMA, or Unweighted Pair Group Method with Arithmetic mean [10], is a heuristic algorithm that iteratively joins the two nearest clusters (or groups of species), until one cluster is left. The distance between clusters is calculated as the average distance between all pairs of objects in the two different clusters. The abbreviation UPGMA was introduced by Sneath and Sokal (1973). H. Matsumoto (1988: 207) claims that there is a ‘Gm ab3st gene, which characterizes Mongoloid populations’. It subsequently becomes clear that he actually means that it characterizes only northern Mongoloid populations. Southern Mongoloids are characterized by a high frequency of another gene, the Gm afblb3 gene. The Gm ab3st gene has its highest incidence among the northern Baikal Buriats, and Matsumoto concludes that the origin of the Japanese race was in Siberia, and most likely in the Baikal area. The centre of dispersion of the Gm afblb3 gene has been identified as the Guangxi and Yunnan area in the southwest of China. A problem with this hypothesis is that it is unfalsifiable as presented, in the sense that the author claims that the occurrence of the Gm ab3st gene in any population – be it Hungarian, Sardinian, or Tamil (see H. Matsumoto 1984: 213 table 5) – indicates Mongolian ancestry. While this argument is used to explain the presence of this alleged northern Mongoloid marker in populations where one would not expect to find it, other arguments have to be mounted to explain why it is present only at low frequencies in some populations which are certainly considered to belong to the northern Mongoloid category. A 9-bp deletion is also quite common in some African groups due to a separate evolutionary event (personal communication, anonymous reviewer). When lineage frequencies are taken into account, the percentage of exclusive sharing of mainland Japanese is South China 2.5 per cent, North China 1.5 per cent, Central Asia 1.5 per cent, and Indonesia 0.3 per cent. However, it should also be noted that there are significant ways in which the Japanese are quite unlike the Koreans. For example, H. Matsumoto’s work on the Gmab3st gene shows that there is a wide difference between Japanese and Koreans (the latter group with the Chinese, the former do not). Mourant (the pioneering British haematologist who produced the first comprehensive study of human polymorphisms) makes the important observation that though the Koreans differ little in their blood group frequencies from the northern Chinese, the Japanese differ markedly from both. He claims that their Rh and MNSs picture is in several respects unique (Mourant 1983: 62–3). Pietrusewsky’s figure shows the Japanese and Korean populations well separated (and using a really old-fashioned indicator, K. Hanihara 1991 fig. 8 appears to show that Koreans are all brachycephalic while nearly all Japanese are mesocephalic).

6 Breaking the language code: the words that tell the story 1 Uralic is further subdivided into Finno-Ugric and Samoyedic. Finno-Ugric is in turn bifurcated into Ugric, of which the main representative is Hungarian, and Finno-Permic,

Notes 181
which includes Finnish and Baltic languages, Lappish, and Permic (in the Ural region). Confusingly, the term ‘Finno-Ugric’ is also used of Uralic as a whole. Samoyedic includes a number of minor languages spoken mainly in Siberia. Altaic is a hypothesized family of which the subdivisions are Turkic, Mongolian and Tungusic, the last a family of languages in east Siberia including Evenki or Tungus, spoken mainly on Sakhalin Island. Benedict proposed that Austronesian and Japanese be placed in Austro-Japanese, a subgroup of Austro-Kadai, itself a subgroup of the very large posited language family/phylum Austro-Tai (Benedict 1990). See e.g. Meillet (1967, Ch. VII). For a good introduction to the debate regarding mixed languages, see Crowley (1992: 260–1). French is also said to have a Celtic substratum, but since this has disappeared without records it is one of the numerus substratum claims that is difficult either to prove or disprove. Though some linguists, as seen above, do classify Japanese as an Austronesian language, and if this is true it would imply that as well as the contact relationship described here there is also a genetic relationship with Javanese. There are other examples of such a dual relationship: for example, apart from the French borrowings into English subsequent to the Norman Conquest, the two languages are also genetically related in that they both belong to the Indo-European language family. In Modern Japanese, the phoneme /t/ is realized as [ts] before u.

2 3 4 5


7 The world enchanted 1 Widadari is usually translated as ‘heavenly nymph’ but this seems to me rather ponderous and neoclassical, so I have translated it here as ‘angel’. It is, of course, difficult to find a word that does not carry a complex of meanings from another culture, of which not all are appropriate. 2 In an alternative system of enumerating the pasaran days, it is the fifth day. 3 These are Mulud, Bakda Pasa, and Besar. They are now associated with Islamic religious events but undoubtedly go back to pre-Islamic times. 4 Others who are appointed to take prescribed roles in the procession are males from the village of Ciawi and people from the village of Sindang Kasih, the latter being responsible for cleaning (purifying) the ceremonial objects (alat upacara) which must be used in the ceremony. 5 In Tirtaamidjaja’s account the dancers wore parang rusak at rehearsals and the bridal dodot bango tulak alas-alasan at the actual performance. 6 In Anderson’s notes on the 1963 performance, however, five of the dancers are said to have been the Sunan’s wives (Anderson 1967: 70) but it is possible the author was misinformed or misunderstood. 7 In Tirtaamidjaja’s account, women only. 8 However, on the occasion of the performance described by Tirtaamidjaja, the ancient and sacred gamelan Kyai Munggang, which is played only at major religious rituals, was played in the outer courtyard (Tirtaamidjaja 1962: 42). 9 Hadiwidjojo (1981: 14–15) reports another tradition tracing the origins of the dance back to Senapati, who is the other ruler associated with Nyai Rara Kidul in the Babad Tanah Jawi. 10 Sawardi and Soepanto (1962) give an account of sintren based on the practice in the hamlet (dukuh) of Tawang, in the village (desa) of Gempolsewu, Weleri Kacamatan, Kendal Kabupaten. It is apparent that in this place sintren is a more elaborate performance than the one described by Maurenbrecher. As well as the sintren (a girl of 10–12 years) there is a perewangan (medium), a female dukun (traditional healer) who directs the performance, two cantrik (assistants or pupils), who help the perewangan, two or more clowns (badut) who perform hobby-horse dances, feats

182 Notes
with kris, etc., as well as a girls’ choir and a gamelan. The kris dance involves the men trying to pierce the sintren’s throat while they are mad with lust, but to no effect. Forty-one songs are sung over four acts (babak), which are further subdivided into scenes (adegan), except for the final one. There is a plot which involves the widadari’s hands being bound at one stage, leading her to sing a song asking to be freed. There is also a courtship aspect with mention of a ‘suitor’ ( jodoh) (Sawardi and Soepanto 1962: 21–2). At one stage the sintren is asked to perform cures and solve problems. The authors infer a ‘shamanistic’ element in the performance. The word cemara is used to refer to four different trees, i.e. Podocarpus cupressina, Casuarina equisetifolia, Casuarina junghuhniana, and Casuarinas montana (Cemara gunung, the mountain cemara). Casuarina equisetifolia seems to have been introduced in the early nineteenth century, and so it seems the reference here must be to Podocarpus cupressina or to one of the other two casuarinas which represent the pine in Java. In former times there were extensive woods of these trees (see further Kumar 1992: 260 n.1). See a report made by Matthijs Waterloo, First Resident at the Yogyakarta court, to Nicolaus Engelhard, Governor of the Northeast Coast, included with the van Ysseldyk report in the Algemeen Rijksarchief, The Hague, Nederburgh 389. The word glossed as ‘pine’ is matsu, which as far as I can tell from the references available to me is used with different qualifiers for various species of the genera pinus and larix: see Kaempfer 1983: 883 and Thunberg 1975: 274–5. A food goddess, one of the two goddesses with a shrine at Ise (the other is Amaterasu). The Ise mythology included Izanagi and Izanami, Amaterasu, Tsukiyomi and Susa-no-o and others like Ogetsu (Toyouke) and Ukemochi. They are all deities relating to tenchi Kai-yaku, the creation of the Japanese archipelago, and are agricultural deities. There are also numerous subsidiary shrines at Ise, which all have some relationship with nature. For a translation of this play see Waley 1976. The introduction (p. 18) says that in the Nō theatre a pine tree is painted on the boards of the back wall, and three real pine branches are attached to the railing around the gallery. The text of Hagoromo mentions the angel’s cloak hanging on a pine tree (Waley 1976: 179) and also a ‘heavenly moon tree’ (Waley 1976: 183). Sugimoto (1928: 53) mentions a music pavilion where youths from the sacred rice fields sing rice-planting folk songs and where the court musicians sit playing an accompaniment to the ‘Song of the Rice Pounders’ which is sung by eight court ladies in scarlet and white, who as they sing lift and let fall their wooden pestles over the huge pine-trunk mortar full of hull-rice, the most important Daijō-sai offering. The last three instruments (a bamboo flute, a double-reeded woodwind of Chinese origin and the well-known Japanese lute) comprise a traditional trio typically used in archaic musical forms such as kagura, to which the shaku-byoshi, wooden clappers that keep the rhythm, are sometimes added. Sometimes the word praba seems to denote not just a radiance but something almost physical, like a halo or a nimbus. Vickers states that ‘The Pañji model is Southeast Asian, but it was not an “authentic” Southeast Asian cultural form which pre-existed the Western presence in Southeast Asia. It came into being at a time when Southeast Asian civilization was shifting its orientation, a time when Islam and Christianity were competing over the islands of Southeast Asia’ (Vickers 1992: 1). He claims (1992: 16) that the Panji stories first came into being in Java in the late fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries. Elsewhere, however, he writes that ‘the Pañji stories probably predate Islamisation’ (Vickers 1992: 21), which logically implies that they did pre-exist the Western presence (since this followed Islamization) and were an authentic Southeast Asian cultural form. In some versions of the story, when the time of the full moon comes, there is a dance performed by a number of princesses divided into two groups, on the east Ratna


12 13 14




18 19


Notes 183
Kumala with all the princess from the lands of the east, on the other side Candrakirana with the princesses from the west. Kakawin are literary works in Indian metres, kidung are works composed in Javanese metres (tembang). This is the name of a particular kind of fabric, the exact nature of which is no longer known. This is the triangle or saw-tooth motif traditionally reserved for royalty and thought to be associated with Dewi Sri, and which we have already seen on prehistoric Javanese and Japanese artefacts (such as pottery and bells). Generally, the kain of Panji and of his consort Candrakirana are described as bearing this design. Garment worn around the lower half of the body. It is not known exactly what characterized liliran silk. The word lilir means to wake from sleep. At a guess, leaves. This word is derived from the Sanskrit and is used to denote cat’s eye, opal or beryl. This is the name of a legendary jewel in Hindu mythology obtained from the churning of the ocean. How it was represented in ancient Java is unknown. Probably an armband worn on the upper arm, of which there were many different styles. I have also heard that the bride wears a bango tulak kemben (breastcloth) when meeting the groom, and that other items of the prescribed bridal attire, such as the sabuk (waistband), have a bango tulak pattern.

21 22 23

24 25 26 27 28 29 30


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accession 5, 134–6, 143–5, 147–8, 160 adegan 156, 182 Africa 11, 18, 39, 79, 93–4, 96 afterbirth rituals 159 Agricultural Revolution 25 ai 156 Ainu 75, 79–80, 90, 92, 94–8, 100–2 Akashi Lady 153–4 allele 65, 96, 171–2 Altaic 106–8, 125, 168, 171 Amaterasu 21, 172 Amerindians 96–7 Anantakusuma 133–5, 144 Ancient Greek 119 Andaga 148 angels (widadari, tennyo) 132, 133–4, 136–8, 141–3, 145, 147–8, 153, 160, 181–2 Anggara-kasih 136–8 Antakusuma see Anantakusuma Aoi 146 Arabic, Arabs 105, 107 Aramatsuri 21 archaeology 105, 108, 168 architecture 20–1, 25, 34, 37, 127; gableroofed structures 20; hipped roofs 30; ridge-supporting posts 20; thatching 34 Arctic 11 Arjunawiwāha 136 Ashton, W.G. 106 Asia, Asians 3, 13–14, 20, 24–5, 39, 55, 59, 61–2, 68, 79, 81, 85, 91, 93, 95–6, 100, 103, 106, 165, 167–9 Asimov, Isaac 15 Asuka 38 Australia, Australians 79, 95–7, 105, 111 Australo-Melanesians 40, 48, 87 Austroasiatic language family 40, 106 Austronesian language family 11, 20, 40, 106–8, 121–3, 126–7, 164, 181

Austronesians 11, 20, 40–2, 48–9, 52, 63–4, 82, 100, 106, 121, 165–8, 177 Austro-Tai, proposed language family 181 axe, four-cornered 27 Babad Tanah Jawi 183–4, 138, 181 babak 182 Babuz-Pazeh 79 Bachuc 78 Baeltz, Erwin von 74–5 Bali 12, 18–19, 21, 36, 41, 43, 46, 63–4, 153, 177 Baltic languages 181 bamboo princess 142 Bangladesh 61, 66 Barito 12 barong 150 base pair 89, 171 baskets 114, 127, 142, 165 Basque 106 Bayesian probability/Bayes’s theorem 2, 4, 111, 118, 164–5, 169, 171 bedhaya dances 136–7, 145, 160 bells 3, 30–3, 37–8, 44–6, 53, 127, 131, 183 bersih desa see purification ceremonies Bhutan 61 bilabial 117, 171 bilingualism 122–3 binomial distribution 118, 171 bio-anthropology 3, 56 Bismarck Islands 177 blades (damascened, watered, laminated) 3, 21–3, 31, 35, 37 Blitar, Pangeran 134 blood 94–6, 180 Bonang, Sunan 134 bootstrapping 97, 171, 179 Borneo 12, 47, 64, 78, 84, 97, 152

202 Index
borrowing 4, 104–5, 107, 111–14, 118–23, 125–6, 164, 181 bracelets 38, 41, 47 brachycephaly 76, 171, 180 Britain, British 4, 55, 103, 105 Broca’s cap 40 bronze 1, 3, 30–8, 40–4, 46–9, 54, 120, 127, 161, 165, 175 Bronze-Iron Age 3, 41, 43, 46, 48–9, 54 Buddhism 12, 37, 160 Bulu rice see javanica Buni complex 46 burial practices 18, 36, 38, 42, 46–7, 49, 103, 162, 168, 177 Burma 60–1, 79, 152, 177 Cambodia 12, 152 Candrakirana 137, 147–8, 150–1, 153, 183 Carabelli trait 83, 86, 171, 179 carving 149 Caucasians 96–7 Celts 103, 105, 121, 181 Cemara 139, 182 Cemara Tunggal 139 Centhini 140 Central Asia 73–4, 80, 94, 100–2, 180 Central Java 70, 125, 135, 140, 151, 176 cephalic indices 74, 171, 180 Champa, Chams 12, 48–9, 63 chance 10, 110–11, 115, 118–19, 125, 164 China 2, 5, 14, 19–20, 26–7, 29, 31–2, 34–7, 39–40, 43, 48, 60–3, 78–9, 81–8, 100–1, 103, 120, 143, 163, 170, 176, 178–80 Chōshū 74–5 Christianity 10, 132, 156, 182 chromosome 74, 89–91, 93, 102, 171–3, 178 Cirebon 135, 138, 157–8 civilization 1, 3–5, 12–14, 25–6, 28, 37, 41–2, 59, 76, 105, 121, 126–7, 132, 147, 149, 152, 155, 160, 164–7, 170 cladistics 81, 171 comma motif 45, 53 Comparative Method 109, 172 contact 2–5, 25, 42, 49, 59, 61, 104–5, 108, 119, 122–3, 139, 152, 162, 164, 168, 174–5, 181 continental drift 11 continuity theory 75, 97 court 2, 5, 15, 59, 70, 72, 114–5, 121, 132, 134–6, 138–45, 147–55, 159–60, 165, 167, 176 crane 156–8, 177 craniometry 78–9, 88, 163, 172, 180 cranioscopy 78, 80, 88, 163, 172 cusp 81–3, 85, 171–4, 179 daijō-sai 143–6, 158, 182 Daikoku 159 Dayaks 88, 97 death 160 deflecting wrinkle 82, 84, 172, 179 Demak mosque 134–5 dental studies 76, 81–8, 102, 163, 179 desire and emotions 5, 148–50, 154–5, 155, 160–1 Dewi Sri 21, 51, 60, 70–1, 135, 159, 176, 183 Dipanagara, Prince 140 directionality (linguistic) 4, 119–20 Distal 83–4, 172 Distal Trigonid crest 83–4, 172 distribution (linguistic) 121–2, 124 D-loop 91–2, 98–9, 102, 169 DNA (mitochondrial, nuclear) 2–4, 37, 56, 65–6, 68, 88–103, 105, 126–7, 163–4, 166, 168, 171–4, 178–9 dodot 151, 157, 181 dokōbo 92–3 Dong Son 43, 88 dōtaku 31, 33, 53, 177 dual-structure hypothesis 75, 91–2, 94, 97, 101, 163, 169 Dubois, Eugene 39 Dutch 12, 15, 39, 140, 165 East Asia/Northeast Asia 2, 11, 36, 38, 40, 42, 49, 55, 73–5, 78, 86–8, 91–2, 94–8, 101–2, 162–3, 165, 167–70 East Java 48, 50, 53, 112, 125, 134, 148 Ebisu 159 Edo 87, 179 electrophoresis 66, 95, 172, 190 emperors 1, 5, 15, 112, 127, 142, 142–6, 153–5, 160, 165 empu 22 English (language) 4, 104–5, 107, 109, 111, 121, 123, 125–6, 173, 181 environment (linguistic) 116–7, 124, 172 enzymes 66, 94–6, 174 Eskimos 79, 96 Eurasia 11, 93, 97 Europeans 39, 96, Evenki (Tungus) 181 Filipinos 97, 99 fine arts 166 Finnish 111, 181

Index 203
Finno-Permic, subdivision of Finno-Ugric see Uralic language family Finno-Ugric, subdivision of Uralic see Uralic language family flasks 18, 42, 46, 52 fossils 10–11, 39–40, 88, 93 French (language) 104–5, 107, 121, 123, 125–6, 164, 181 frontal bone 77, 172–3, 175 Fudoki 142 Fuji, Mt. 143 Gaelic 107 Galileo 2 gambuh 151 Garebeg festivals (Mulud, Bakda Pasa and Besar) 135–6 Geheiden 20 Gek ū 20 Gelgel 36 Genji 146–7, 152–7, 160 Genroku era 176 German (language) 109 Gilliéron, Jules 124 glabella 77, 172 glamour 156 globalization 165–6 Go (kingdom) 20 goddesses 51, 70–1, 133–5, 137, 139–41, 143–4, 146–7, 159, 176, 182 Gondwana 11 gosechi dance 142, 145–6, 160 Gothic language 124 Gould, Stephen Jay 10, 165 granaries/rice barns 20–1, 34, 38, 133–4 grand narratives 2–3, 10–11, 13–14, 162 Great Tradition 166 Grimm’s Law 134 Gunung Sari 148 Hagoromo 141–2, 144, 152–3, 182 Hagoromo -no matsu 141 Hakuryo 141 halberds 31–2, 35–6, 38 Hamengkubuwana VII, Sultan 134 hamon 23 Han 38, 74, 78, 91 haplogroup 98, 101, 172, 178 haplotype 90, 93–4, 172, 178 harvest rituals 143 Hawaiian 119 Hayato 144 hegemony, hegemonic discourse 12–13, 103–4, 131 Heian period 15, 38, 176 Henry VIII 156 High-Yielding Varieties 60, 63 Hikohohodemi 146 Hinduism 12, 41, 139, 150, 166, 176, 183 Hindu-Javanese period see Java, Indianized period histocompatibility 96, 172 Hmong-Mien language family 40 Hoabinhian industry 40, 48, 87 hoes 28, 30, 32–3, 41 Hokkaido 26, 30, 55, 80, 95, 179 Holocene 73, 88, 172 hominins 39–40, 166, 172 Homo erectus 39, 176–7 Ho-ori -no-mikoto see Hikohohodemi horse lore 15–17 horticulture 26 Hōry ū-ji temple 176 Hungarian 180 hunter-gatherers 26–7, 42–3 hypocone 82, 86, 173 iconicity 110–11, 173 immunoglobulin 96, 173 inadama no shusaisha (rice soul) 143 Inao 152 India, Indians 4, 18, 22, 42, 61–2, 66, 79, 103, 105, 142, 149, 177, 183 indica rice 60–9, 172, 177–8 Indo-European 109, 124, 181 Indonesia: architecture 20–1; cranial measurements 80–1; dental measurements 47–9; D-loop study 98–100; ‘grand narrative’11–3; languages 106–7, 110, 122; links with Madagascar see Madagascar; Metal Age 42–7; Neolithic 40–2 innovation (linguistic) 122 interorbital region 76, 173 Inu 152–3 iron 1, 3, 21–3, 28, 31–2, 34–5, 37–8, 40–3, 46–9, 54, 120, 127, 165, 175 irrigation and drainage 35, 46, 71 Ise 20–1, 54, 141, 143, 158, 182 Islam 134–6, 182 isozymes 65–6 Itazuke site 37 Izanagi 182 Izanami 182 Izumo 30, 35 Jackknifing 80, 173 Japanese Occupation 21, 46

204 Index
japonica rice (also called sinica or keng) 15, 59–63, 65–6, 68–70, 72, 172, 177–8 jathilan 150 Java: early history 47–9; Indianized period 11–13, 39, 41, 103, 139, 150, 166, 176; prehistory 39–51 Java War 140 Javanese (language) 4, 40, 106, 110–27, 131, 164, 170 javanica rice 3, 59–60, 62, 63–6, 68–70, 72, 88, 172 Jenggala 147 Jimmu 143, 146 Jōmon 1–2, 13, 26–31, 34, 36, 41–3, 48–9, 51–3, 74–87, 89–92, 94, 96–7, 101–2, 121, 163, 169, 178–9 kagura 182 Kaguya 142–3, 153 kakawin 149, 183 Kalijaga, Sunan 134–5 Kalimantan see Borneo Kamakura 79, 87, 176, 178–9 kamekan 92–3 Kami-ataka-shitsu-hime 72 kamidana 21, 158 Kanoman kraton 145, 157 Kawi language 125–6, 168 Keats, John 132 Kedhiri (Daha) 147 Keith, Arthur 39 Kenbu era 145 Kerinci 46 Kertala 148 kidung 149, 183 kinship 36, 165, 170 Kita, Roppeita 142 Kitayama 19 klana 19, 148, 151 Koeningswald, G.H.R. von 39 Kofun 13, 27, 75–81, 87–8, 97, 102, 179 Kojiki 141, 146 Kōjindani site 33 Korea, Koreans 2, 4–5, 13–14, 20–1, 27–9, 31–7, 42, 52–3, 55, 61, 66, 74–5, 78–80, 84, 87–8, 91, 94–100, 102, 106, 108–10, 120, 126, 143, 162–3, 170, 177, 179–80 Korean Plain Pottery 52–3, 177 Koto 155 kris 21–3, 134, 136, 140, 148–50, 152, 157, 182 Kumoi 153 Kuroshio 167 kyosen see shinsen Kyushu 14, 26–30, 32–3, 35–6, 38–9, 54, 75–8, 92, 94, 144, 168, 179 Lady of the Boat 153 lais 138–9 langendriya 151 langö 150 Laos 60–1, 88, 152 Lapita culture 52, 177 Lappish 181 Laurasia 11 Lesser Sunda Islands 88, 97 Likelihood Ratio 118, 173 lineage 75, 90, 93, 99–101, 173–4, 180 linguistics 2–3, 56, 104, 107, 124, 169, 174 local evolution hypothesis see regional continuity hypothesis Locard, Edmond 25, 49 Lokananta ensemble 137 Lombok 46, 63, 152 lord of the rice ears 144 Loro blonyo 70, 159 Lottner, C. 124 Lumbung 21, 176 Luzon 62–3 Maanjan 12 Macarthur, General Douglas 21 Madagascar 9, 12–13, 48, 63, 165, 167 Madura 63 Majapait 12, 48, 139 Malagasy 12 Malayo-Polynesian 106–8, 122, 124, 164 Malaysia 27, 40, 42, 64, 82–8, 90, 163, 177 Maluku see Moluccas Manchu 74 Manchuria 34, 94 mandaraka musical style 137 mandibular morphology 178 manga 156 Mangkubumi, Sultan 140 Maoris 98 Marco Polo 47 marriage 70, 136, 138–9, 146, 151, 153, 160 masks 3, 18–21, 23, 25, 176 Mataram 48, 133–4, 137, 139, 144 material culture 4, 105, 121, 164–5 matsu 141, 182 matsuri 38, 121 Mbabaram 111 Mediterranean 31

Index 205
Meiji emperor 143–4 Meiji restoration 13, 38, 142, 178 meiosis 173 Melanesians 11, 96 Menak 151 mendhak 23 menuki 23 metallurgy 28–9, 35, 38, 43, 48–9, 55, 120, 165–6 metathesis 120, 183 Miai site 34 Middle East 31, 95 migration 4, 13, 40, 63, 73–5, 85–6, 100, 103, 106, 167, 180 Miho shrine 141 Mikeden 20–1 millet 29, 71 Mimashi 20 mirrors 20, 22–3, 26, 28, 34, 36, 121, 138 mitamashizume 144 mitochondria 89, 98, 173 mitochondrial control region 90, 173 mixed languages 106–7, 181 Miyanodai phase 30 moated villages 35–6 Modern Greek 111 molecular anthropology 4, 89 Moluccas 78 Mongolia, Mongolians 75, 78–9, 82, 91, 99–100, 180–1 Mongoloids 40, 42, 48, 75, 80, 95, 98, 120, 180 Mononobe 144 Morinaga 3, 60, 66–7, 70, 72, 163, 169 morphology (linguistic) 106, 109, 116, 123, 173 Mūlavarman 47 munamochi-bashira 20 Murasaki 146, 153–4 Murayama Shichirō 107–8, 126, 168 Muromachi 38 myths, mythology 2–3, 5, 9–24 passim, 38, 71–2, 132–4, 137–8, 141–2, 145–8, 152, 160, 162, 165, 170, 182–3 Naik ū (Kōtaijing ū) 21 nakago no mibashira 21 naori 144 nasal root 76–7, 173 naso-frontal region 78, 173 Nawang Sih 133–4 Nawang Wulan 71, 133–9, 142, 148, 153, 158 Neanderthal 39 Nebra Disc 31 Negroids 96 neighbour-joining method 96, 99 Neogrammarians 124 Neolithic 1, 11, 20, 26, 40–3, 48, 50–1, 79–80, 85–8, 101–2, 165, 173, 177 Nepal 61 New Guinea 95–7, 176–7 Newton, Isaac 132 Nihi-nahe 72 Nihi-name see Nihi-nahe Nihon Shoki 143, 176 Nini Thowong 138–9 Ninigi-no-Mikoto 21, 72, 146 Niou 153 Nishishiga site 34 Niueans 98 Nō 141, 156, 182 Normans, Norman conquest 104, 107, 121, 163–4, 181 North America 11, 96 Nozawa site 34 nucleotide 89–90, 92, 98, 173 Nyai Rara Kidul 137–41, 148, 181 Oceania, Oceanians 48, 79, 177 Ogetsu 182 O-harai see purification ceremonies Okinawa 68, 88, 98 Old Japanese (language) 4, 110–11, 115–23, 125–6, 164, 170 Old Javanese 4, 110–12, 116–23, 125–6, 164, 170 ōnamesai see daijō-sai Oryza nivara 60 Oryza sativa 59–61, 66, 68, 172 osteology 173 Pacific 27, 52, 63, 79, 91, 95–7, 106, 167 pacul (hoe) 41 painting 51, 149, 155 Paiwanese 106 Palaeolithic 40, 100–2, 164, 173 Pamanahan, Ki 133 pamor 22–3 panakawan 151, 156 Pangaea 11 Panji 136–7, 147–57, 160, 182–3 Panji semirang 151 parang patterns 137, 141, 152, 181 pasaran calendar 133, 181 pasimpangan 21 pattern welding 186 Permic 180–1

206 Index
Persian 111 Philippines 42, 46, 62, 64, 68, 79, 88, 97, 99, 106, 163, 176–7 phoneme 173–4, 181 phonetics 174 phonology 108, 118, 174 phonotactics 116, 174 phylogenetics 81, 90, 92, 95–6, 99, 174, 179 phylogeny 96, 174 phylogeography 174 phylum 174, 181 pick adze 41 Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon 15 Pimiku/Himiko 47–8 pit dwellings 26 Pithecanthropus erectus 39–40, 176–7 plate tectonics theory 11 Pleistocene 61, 73, 75, 174 poetry-writing 156 polymerase chain reaction 90, 174 polymorphic loci 94–6, 174 Polynesia, Polynesians 93, 98 Portuguese 165 pottery 3, 18, 26–8, 31, 34, 36, 41–2, 46–53, 55, 62, 127, 166, 170, 177 Po-Wori-no-Mikoto see Hikohohodemi praba 147, 182 pregnancy 151 princes 5, 132, 147–57, 160 priyayi 151 proteins 66, 94–6, 171–3 Proto-Austronesian 40, 122 Proto-Indo-European 109, 124 proto-language 172, 174 protostylid 82, 85, 174, 179 Ptolemy 47 Puger, Prince 144 purification ceremonies 160 Pū rnavarman 48 quadrangular adze 41, 47 Quaternary period 73, 172, 174 radiocarbon dating (carbon-14 dating) 27–8, 46–7, 49–50, 174 Ragil Kuning 148 Ramāyana 47, 152 Ramstedt, G.J. 106 random amplification of polymorphic DNA 68, 174 Ranggawarsita 137 Rassers, W.H. 147–8 reaping knives 28–9, 33, 35, 54, 59, 63, 71 regional continuity hypothesis 86 religion 1–2, 5, 13, 70, 105, 121, 126–7, 131–47, 157–61, 164–5 replacement theory 75 restriction endonuclease (restriction enzyme) 66, 174 restriction fragment length polymorphism 65 reyog 150 rice 1–5, 10, 12–15, 20–1, 24–5, 27–31, 34–8, 40–1, 48, 52, 54–6, 59–72, 83, 88, 103, 105, 113–5, 120, 126–7, 131–5, 137, 143–7, 157–9, 160–7, 169–70, 172, 176–8, 182 rituals 5, 9, 23, 30, 32–3, 37, 52–3, 59, 70–2, 127, 134–6, 138, 140, 143–7, 151–2, 154, 157, 159–61, 181 robe, angel’s (Anantakusuma, Hagoromo) 133–5, 141–5, 152–3, 182 Roku no Kimi 153 Romano-Indian rouletted pottery 46 Romans 9, 55, 103–4, 121, 165 Rothpletz, W. 46 royalty 12, 105, 121, 127, 134, 139, 143, 146, 164, 183 Russia 104, 169 ruwat see purification ceremonies Ryukyu, Ryukyuans 30, 68, 75, 77, 79–80, 91, 94–6, 100–2, 178 ryūsui (flowing water) 31 Sabah 46, 48 sacred gateway 159 Sadana 70, 159 Sa-huynh/Kalanay ceramics 46 Said, Edward 14 Saitōyama site 32 Sakaki 158 sake child 144 sake woman 144 Sakhalin Island 80, 181 Sambung Macan 3 (SM3) 40 Samoans 98 Samoyedic 180–1 sanada 72 Sanskrit 3, 107, 124, 149–50, 183 Satsuma 74–5 Saturn 10 science 2–3, 9–10, 15, 25–6, 32, 41, 56, 59–60, 65, 73–4, 92, 94, 97–8, 105–7, 132, 162, 168–70 Seami 141 Second World War 12–14 segregating sites 90, 174

Index 207
Seinei 143 Sela, Ki Ageng 133 selut 23 semantic fields 120–1, 124, 127 Senapati 134, 139, 181 senso ritual 143 sericulture 34 sexual irresistibility 156 Shamanism 19, 38, 146, 182 Shin-jo-sa see Nihi-nahe shinmei-zukuri 20 shin-no-mihashira 21 shinsen 144 Shintō 13, 20–1, 113, 121, 158–60 shinza 146 shodan 156 Shōsō-in 186 shovelling 82, 87, 174, 179 shovels 28 shrines 20–1, 23, 34, 112, 115, 121, 140–1, 143, 158–60, 164, 182 Siberia 26, 75, 79, 81, 83–7, 100–2, 180–1 Siebold, Philipp Franz von 74 siluman 148 Sinanthropus pekinensis 39 Sinodonts 79, 81–3, 87, 169 sintren 138, 181–2 skeletal remains, Yayoi 2, 29–30, 34, 76–8, 89, 92 social organization 29, 121, 167 socio-political constructs 4, 28, 35, 37–8, 103–4, 131, 143, 145, 152, 164–7; deference 131; government 104–5, 167; hierarchy 1–2, 13–14, 35, 127, 131, 160, 164–6, 168, 170; leadership 143, 165; rural-urban distinction 154 sokui no rei (accession ritual) 143 Solheim, Wilhelm G. 14, 35 Solo river site 39 sound correspondences 107–8, 110, 117–9, 124–5, 170 sound shifts 116, 119, 124 South America 11 Southeast Asia 2, 11, 40–9, 78–88, 90–8, 101–3, 163, 167, 169, 182 sri kawin 70 srimpi 136–7 substratum 107–8, 164, 181 Sudana 70 Sulawesi 40, 43, 46, 48, 63, 78, 88, 152 Sumatra 12, 40–1, 46–7, 50, 63, 79, 87–8, 152, 163 Sundadonts 79, 81–3, 87, 169 Sung dynasty 178 superstratum 107–8, 164–5 supraorbital foramen 81, 175 Surakarta 70, 135–6, 140 Susa-no-o 182 Susuruh, Raden 139 Suwada phase 30 Suyetsumuhana 152 swords 21–3, 31–3, 35–6, 38, 113, 119–20, 157 Taisho Emperor 142, 145 Taiwan 11, 40–1, 48, 60, 62–4, 68, 79, 91, 93, 97, 99–100, 106, 121, 163, 176 Takekoshi, Yosaburo 168–9 Taketori Monogatari 142, 153 Takuta-Nishibun site 77, 92 Tamakatsura 146, 153 Taman Sari 140, 144 Tamil 106, 108, 111, 180 Tarub, Ki Ageng 133–5 Taruma (Tarumai, Tarumae, Tarumi) 46, 48–9, 53–5, 125, 168 technology 1, 3–4, 29, 34, 42–3, 47, 51, 70–1, 95, 107, 120–1, 126, 165–6, 170 teeth 4, 81–8 Temmu-Tenno 145 tenchi Kai-yaku 182 Tenggerese 133, 135, 138 textiles 127, 149, 151, 158 Thai-Kadai language family 40 Thailand 40, 43, 60–2, 64, 78–9, 152, 177 Thais 84, 85, 87–8, 96–7 theatre 18–19, 25, 148, 150–2, 156, 182 Three Age system 175 Toalian industry 40 Tōdai-ji 176 Tokugawa period 13, 28, 105, 159, 176, 178 tombs 20, 37, 90, 159–60 rools, stone 26 topeng 150–1 Toro site 34 Toyouke see Ogetsu trade 12, 27, 35, 46, 49, 72–3, 88 transverse zygomatic suture posterior trace 81, 175 Treasure Hall 20 tree-and-mountain symbolism 158 trigonid crest 83–4, 172, 179 Trinil site 39 tsuina see purification ceremonies Tsukiyomi 182 tumpal motif 51–3, 149, 161 Tungus see Evenki

208 Index
Tungusic languages 181 Turkic languages 181 typological similarities 3, 24, 108–10, 163, 177 Ugric languages 180 Ukemochi 182 Ukifune 153 unweighted pair group method (UPGM) 96, 175, 180 Ural-Altaic, language ‘super-family’ 106 Uralic language family 106, 180–1 utage 144 Verner, Karl Adolph 124 Vietnam 43, 46, 60, 62, 64, 78–9, 88, 96 violence 33–4 voiced (sounds) 116, 175 vowel harmony 110, 175 Wa 37 wani 146 Warlbiri 111 wayang 70, 149–50, 156, 158, 166 weaving 2, 34, 37–8, 120, 158, 164–5 Weber, Max 132 Weda Pradangga 137 Wegener, Alfred 10–11 Western Malayo-Polynesian 106, 122, 124 wet-rice farming 1, 12–13, 25, 27–9, 34–6, 41, 113, 131, 166–7 Whewell, William 164 winging 85, 175, 179 Wirun 148 wiwitan ceremony 70 word classes 122–3 Y chromosome 74, 93, 178 Yamato 13, 21, 37–8, 114, 121, 176 YAP+ (Y chromosome Alu polymorphism) 93 Yayoi period 1–5, 13, 18, 20–1, 25–38, 42, 45, 48–9, 51–5, 59, 63, 70, 72–94, 97–8, 101–3, 105, 108–10, 120–1, 125, 127, 131–2, 143, 147, 160–6, 168–70, 177–9 Yiddish 107 yin-yang dualism 17 Yixi site 91 Yogyakarta, Sultanate 134–5, 140, 144, 159, 182 Yoshinogari site 33, 77 Yoshitake-Takagi site 36 Yūgiri 153 yuki and suki fields 144–5, 158

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