NEW LIFE FOR ANCIENT MONUMENT IN JAVA
By COLIN CAMPBELL
Published: January 16, 1983
JAKARTA, Indonesia— For the better part of a decade, lovers of ancient Eastern art, governments East and West and the Indonesian treasury have been paying archeologists, engineers and laborers to dismantle, repair and reassemble one of the great buildings of antiquity, the ninth century Buddhist monument of Borobudur in central Java.
A few scientists had thought it folly to take apart the settled pyramid-shaped structure, warning that it might collapse in the process. But most archeologists believed that if rainwater kept seeping through the widening cracks and turning the underlying hill to mush, the monument's walls would keep tilting, its three miles of carved reliefs would keep rotting and the whole would quicky crumble. So the cleaning, the draining and the shoring up began.
Pieces of many intricate carvings, breakaways from ages back, may not find their places in this gigantic jigsaw puzzle for years to come. Many heads, severed from what were originally 504 Buddha statues, may never be returned from private collections and foreign museums. Still, the reassembly is now near completion. Today, Borobudur sprawls over the lush Progo River valley cleaner to the eye and sounder underfoot than it has been for centuries.
The last of $20 million has been spent - $6.5 million of it from international contributions and the rest from the Indonesian Government, which wants to preserve the centerpiece of Java's ancient civilization, find expression for national pride and keep the tourist dollars flowing. The Unesco committee that has overseen the restoration, meeting in Paris last September, declared the funding finished and turned to thoughts of celebration. So it is that on Feb. 23, President Suharto and hordes of dignitaries will travel to Borobudur for a rededication. ''We would like it to last another thousand years,'' said Boediardjo, a former minister of information who has been creating a park around Borobudur.
A humid jungle surrounded the monument, invading it in spots, when Sir Stamford Raffles was led there in the early 19th century. Sir Stamford, Governor of the Dutch East Indies during the British occupation from 1811 to 1816, praised the structure's symmetry and ''delicate execution,'' ordered it surveyed and recommended restoration. Only later in the century, however, did returning Dutch colonial officers and scholars begin clearing away trees, earth and volcanic ash from nearby Mt.Merapi.
The worst problem was water. In the early 20th century archeologists, such as the tireless T.Van Erp, spent years filling cracks, cleaning and directing rainwater off the terraces and into the monument's gargoyles. But the problem persisted. In the late 1960's and early 1970's an international campaign financed a complete overhaul.
It was a Herculean effort during which most of Borobudur's seven square terraces were dismantled. The monument's foundation and three circular upper terraces were left, for the most part, undisturbed. The underlying hill is now a maze of huge concrete slabs, sand filters, sheets of lead and layers of epoxy, which together are meant to keep water running off a more stable structure. The patina of mosses, algae and lichens that were eating away at carved reliefs have been removed from the porous volcanic stone with chemicals and needles. Tourists Welcome, and Not
The Government's plan now is to treat the monument much like a baby, keeping it clean and dry, with a few prayers against earthquakes and volcanic eruptions thrown in. There is, however, a new threat - tourists.
One hot day last July, tens of thousands of people, mostly Indonesians, could be seen swarming up toward the finials of latticed, bell-shaped stupas; climbing over lotus-blossom moldings, balustrades and niches to have their pictures taken; stroking sculpted panels depicting animals and flowers, gods, merchants and kings, temple scenes and battles. Hawkers and souvenir stalls lapped around the monument's base. Paper wrappers and bottles lay in mounds upon the dirt. Tasty crisps of water buffalo skin crumbled on the ancient pavement. Crowds, deflected off ropes and guards away from some of the most notable reliefs, surged up and down stairwells threatening to break the stone bannisters. A Whisper from the Past
Borobudur looked less like a storybook temple or palace, a quiet refuge whose beauties could be enjoyed in silence, and more like a jungle gym in the middle of a busy playground.
True, it was the busiest holiday of the year, the close of the Islamic month of fasting. But Borobudur has become so popular for family outings that by the end of the decade it is expected to attract two million visitors a year. Can the allure and the monument survive? Mr. Boediardjo said he hopes it will, helped by the attractions of the 210-acre park, which offers traditional Javanese theater, a museum and fancy audiovisual displays.
In part, such lavish attention and care have made the monument a more Indonesian possession than it has been for hundreds of years, and its celebration in February will be a proud one. Commemorative medals are being cast and postage stamps printed. The Unesco committee has offered to fly in the Government's chosen foreign journalists for the occasion.
One can even imagine President Suharto -deeply interested in the religion of his native central Java, and the builder of a milliondollar family mausoleum besides - sympathizing with the ancient kings, priests, craftsmen, laborers and taxpayers who built the monument. His Indonesia resembles Borobudur: vast, serious, full of small delights, fissured, unsettled at bottom, striving for transcendence through symbols and strict hierarchies.
Illustrations: photo of monument