Indonesia's rainman

Indonesia's rainman

By Rachel Harvey BBC correspondent in Jakarta

During the rainy season in Indonesia, holding outdoor events is a risky business. But in Java, the most heavily populated island in the archipelago, help is at hand.

Those who can afford it employ a traditional rainman - a Pawang Hujan.

It is hard to believe that Abah Haji Otong is 84-years-old. He seems to exude energy from every pore.

Today I am sending the rain away from Jakarta to another town called Bandung, about 60 kilometres away

Abah Otong

Perhaps it is his profession that has kept him fit. For almost 30 years, Abah Otong has been in great demand as one of Java's most respected Pawang Hujan.

Literally translated, it means "one who controls the rainfall".

For six months of the year, during the rainy season in Indonesia, the weather plays havoc with people's lives. Dramatic storms and flooding are common.

Abah Otong was trying to keep the rain away from a wedding party when I met him.

Dressed in his finest gold batik shirt, the elderly Javanese mystic had been given a strategic position on a top floor balcony.

From there he had a clear line of sight to the clouds. Two bowls sat at his feet. One contained long red chillies. The other a chicken's head. These were offerings to the higher powers, I was told.

The clouds were looking fairly benign and the wedding party was in full swing.

Abah Haji Otong works his magic

Abah Otong felt it would be safe to move to a room inside to talk to me, away from the deafening karaoke booming out from the celebration downstairs.

His bright eyes twinkling with excitement, Abah Otong told me he first learnt about the mystical art of being a Pawang Hujan when he was a student in an Islamic boarding school.

The idea, he said, was not to stop the rain, but rather to move it somewhere else.

"Today I am sending the rain away from Jakarta to another town called Bandung, about 60 kilometres (37 miles) away," he said.

"I chant prayers, and use my arms to move the clouds in the direction I want them to go."

At that point there was a loud knock on the door, and a perturbed face peered round the door. The rain clouds were building. My private chat was clearly over.

Back on the balcony the first raindrops started to fall. A low rumble of thunder signalled that more may be on the way. It was time for the Pawang Hujan to work his magic.

With his face pointed to the sky, Abah Otong raised his arms aloft. Then in a soft voice, he began to chant prayers in Arabic, all the time moving his arms in flamboyant sweeping movements.

Rain can spoil many a party in Indonesia

Whether by coincidence, or as a result of Javanese mysticism, the wind increased and the clouds began to skid across the darkening sky.

Five minutes later the rain had stopped. With a huge grin on his face, Abah Otong turned to me. "You see," he said proudly, "I moved the rain away."

But it was only a brief respite.

A short time later, the rain came back with a vengeance. A huge tropical downpour, complete with forked lightning and cracking thunder.

Judging by the sideways looks in my direction, some people clearly felt my presence was distracting the rainman.

He was, after all, being paid good money for his services - about $50 in this case. It was time to leave.

Abah Otong and I said our goodbyes. As I turned to go, he called out to me. "I'm working for the navy later this week," he said, "it's a retirement party on a boat somewhere. Perhaps you'd like to join me?"