Majapahit: The most powerful empire in Asia that most people have never heard of

As diplomatic showdowns go, this summit was without parallel. In a grand pavilion in the magnificent grounds of the royal palace of Singasari in eastern Java, an envoy from Kublai Khan, probably the most powerful man in the world, sat down to pass on a blunt message to King Kertanegera, without doubt the most powerful ruler in Southeast Asia. The year was 1290, the mood was tense, and the chances of everything going horribly wrong were increasing by the minute.

Much was at stake. Kublai Khan ruled a vast empire that has spread as far as the eastern fringes of Europe. King Kertanegara had united the sprawling archipelago of what is today known as Indonesia for the first time in history and his power and influence was growing across Southeast Asia. Something had to give.

Meng Qi, the diplomat sent from the court of Kublai Khan in China, had been given clear instructions - King Kertanegara must agree to pay annual tribute and send a member of his royal family to live in the court of the Great Khan at his capital in Dadu (now Beijing).

The king flew into a rage. He wasn’t about to be lectured by some lowly messenger and had no intention of taking orders from Kublai Khan. Kertanegara feared nothing and no one. After all, he was a devotee of the dark art of magic and in his mind possessed supernatural powers. The king raised his voice for all to hear – Kublai Khan needed to be sent a strong message. On his signal, a guard took out a knife and cut off the unfortunate envoy’s nose.

This diplomatic disaster set in motion events that led, two years later, to an invasion by Mongol forces. When they arrived from China, King Kertanegara had already been assassinated, the city of Singasari had been burned to the ground and instead, the Mongols got embroiled in a war with Kertanegara’s usurper. It all ended badly and the Mongol’s retreat from Java was both hasty and humiliating in equal measure.

It was in these tumultuous years that a new power centre, the city of Majapahit in eastern Java, emerged from the ruins of Singasari, ruled by Prince Widjaya, the nephew of King Kertanegara. At its peak the Majapahit empire, in the days of King Hayam Wuruk and his feared vizir Gajah Mada, it controlled a huge amount of territory, from modern day southern Thailand to Singapore, Java, Sumatra, Borneo, Bali, Lombok, and beyond.

Majapahit was a remarkably sophisticated society whose wealth and power were built on a combination of political cunning, huge rice harvests, and a navy so powerful that even the Portuguese, the European mariners extraordinaire, were impressed.

It was also a place of great artistic achievement, religious diversity, and social tolerance. Kings worshipped Hindu and Buddhist divinities, and senior members of the priesthood were esteemed figures who held powerful positions at court. As did women. For context, in Europe, this was a time of religious crusades against Islam in the Middle East and constant strife between Catholics and Protestants.

Its streets were crowded with Brahmins with matted hair, hermits in bark cloth, widows dressed all in white, and Chinese, Persian and Arab traders. Bustling markets offered an astonishing range of goods from home and afar. Majapahit was a glorious medley of customs and beliefs, as indeed Indonesia to a lesser extent is today.

Some two hundred years after the empire rose to power, Majapahit fell into rapid decline. Its cities were abandoned, and its palaces and temples were reclaimed by the jungle.

Centuries later, by 1945, free of Dutch rule, Indonesia was in search of an identity. It had to look no further than Majapahit which the country’s first president, Sukarno, considered a precursor to modern Indonesia. Indeed, the colours of the Indonesian flag, red and white, are the same as those displayed on the banners borne by forces during the attack on King Kertanegara in Singasari in 1292.

There are signs that modern Indonesian is replicating some of the triumphs of the past. After that blood-soaked first encounter, the Majapahit empire found a way to come to an accommodation with the mighty emperors who ruled China. The same applies today, with Jakarta navigating a careful diplomatic path to match its own interests with those of Beijing.

Less visible elements of heritage are also discernible. The Majapahit court was a place of political intrigue where power was perpetually in flux, influential women pulled strings and ruled behind the scenes, and it was easy to tell different social groups apart. Some of this, too, is preserved in Indonesia today.

Attitudes to the legacy are as diverse as the dynasty itself. To many, the empire represents a glorious past when Majapahit commanded respect across the region. In this narrative, Gajah Mada, the legendary vizir, is the “hero of national identity”. To others, such as Acehnese and Sulawesian separatist figures, he was nothing but a Javanese aggressor in search of imperial glory at any cost.

Perhaps the same can be said of societies as it can be for people. However much they may change, the essential nature of their character is set when they are in the process of forming. In Indonesia, and large parts of Southeast Asia, this was the glorious civilisation that spawned the Majapahit.

For all of Majapahit’s strengths and weaknesses – every empire had them, after all – there can be no doubt that its rise and fall remains a story worthy of a broader audience. It is one of intrigue, murder, secrets, suspense, revenge, and war in a land filled with beautiful temples and imposing palaces. It remains, however, the most powerful empire in Asia that most people have never heard of.

This blog is based on excerpts from Majapahit: Intrigue, betrayal and war in Indonesia’s greatest empire (Monsoon Books, 2024). He also published Jakarta, History of a Misunderstood City (Marshall Cavendish, 2020).

Jakarta’s future, and its beauty, lie hidden in its kampungs

Jakarta is a fabulous city. To many, this statement might sound odd. The city conjures up images of endless traffic jams, immense shopping malls that all sell pretty much the same thing, and, of course, floods.

But to me Jakarta is more than the political, economic, and cultural centre of Indonesia. This sprawling metropolis of more than 30 million people is a vibrant, bustling place, brimming with life, an immense labyrinth of small alleys and streets where children still walk to school, vendors sell bakso (meatball soup) and women operate tiny street-side stores stuffed with everything from snacks and noodles to batteries, cigarettes and stationery. There are small barber shops, motor repair shops – most advertising the ability to perform “magic” on any vehicle regardless of condition – badminton courts, and small mosques. Street traders effortlessly move vast quantities of goods around on motorcycles and handcarts through these intricate kampungs.

Once it grows dark, these small shops light up, creating an atmosphere of convivial good cheer. In the warm evenings, I enjoy sitting outside, smoking a kretek cigarette (a habit I am still trying to break) and order sateh or nasi goreng from the passing hawkers. The neighbourhood spirit harks back to the days when these kampung – now absorbed into the broader metropolis – were originally small villages and settlements set apart from the city.

Jakartans are as diverse as they are friendly. It is difficult to find anyone who is not open for a chat, even with complete strangers. They come from all corners of the sprawling, multilingual Indonesian archipelago, bringing with them their own folklore, languages and dialects, traditions and cuisines. Every Jakartan knows where to get their Aceh noodles, beef rendang from Padang or coto, a soup from Makassar in Sulawesi. Jakarta can leave its mark on visitors in many ways – whether by sheer size, outrageous traffic congestion, imposing landmarks, or the variety of its colonial architecture – but its real beauty lies in the kampung.

However, Jakarta has to face up to formidable challenges. Reading apocalyptic newspaper articles about Jakarta’s floods, its suffocating traffic congestion or how it is slowly sinking into the mud, one might wonder if this city has any future at all. To add insult to injury, the capital will move to Kalimantan. Can Jakarta survive? And how? To answer these questions, some historical perspective is useful.

Dealing with floods (banjir) is nothing new. Thousands of years ago, a network of rivers – among others the Ciliwung – wound their way through the plains, depositing silt below sea level on the coast of the Java Sea, turning it into a fertile, low-lying alluvial plain with soft soil and swamps.

By the fifth century the Tarumanagara kingdom emerged and chiselled messages in stone tell us they were busy digging canals. Over a thousand years later, soon after their arrival, the Dutch discovered that one of their warehouses slowly sank into the mud. Like Tarumanagara, the Dutch solution was to dug canals around Batavia. And when this did not solve the banjir problem, more canals were dug.

Later, exploitation of the lands surrounding Batavia led to serious ecological damage. The rivers clogged up as mills and farms threw their dirt and rubbish into the rivers. In the absence of government projects to deal with these challenges, people took the initiative in their own hands. In the late seventeenth century wealthy landowners and smaller farmers alike got involved removing dirt and large trees from the river.

This did not solve the problem either and Batavia continued to be plagues by floods. Eventually, the Dutch started all over again and moved the capital to what is now Gambir (Weltevreden). That was the first time the capital was moved. New roads and canals were dug and excellent infrastructure was put in place for the rich.

Not so for the poor in the kampung. To get water, these people used wells to tap underground aquifers. Even today, most Jakartans get their water from such private wells. This continuous extraction of groundwater, exacerbated by the ceaseless construction of large buildings in more recent years, forced the soil to compress. And as the underground aquifers were sucked dry, the city gradually subsided and flooding became even more frequent.

It took the Dutch until the twentieth century to dig a banjir (flood) canal and its only recently that another canal was dug to allow rivers to circumvent the city on the other side. Despite this, modern Jakarta still floods.

So what is the long-term solution?

One option is simply to say goodbye and good riddance and start all over again in another location. The Dutch tried this in Gambir (Weltevreden) and Indonesia does it again by moving the capital to Kalimantan. But moving 30 million people is not realistic and history tells us that that is often very costly to the poorer families in the city.

Another option is to provide room for water to move around the city by building more canals and create new lakes. This would turn Jakarta into a city of sparkling blue vistas. This idea is already implemented in Rotterdam; lakes near the city can flood when a surge of water surge hits the coast while, inside the city, low-lying public squares and football fields collect excess rain.

Before the pandemic hit the city, a series of such development projects had been planned to make the city more livable, including a Rp 571 trillion (US$40.5 billion) "urban regeneration" project. This 10-year plan will also focus on the creation of a better integrated public transit system and the improvement of the city’s clean water and wastewater systems, housing and flood control system.

But whatever approach is taken, part of the solution lies with locals in the kampung. Just as recehan (pennies) can accumulate into a substantial amount of money over time, small changes by individuals can also make a big difference. And just like in the past when landlords and farmers took the initiative to remove dirt and trees from canals, it’s the changes made in the kampung that are, all together, very important. If one house is designed to be environmentally friendly others can too, and a million such houses will create a greener, cooler city. If one house offers a public space to others, then multiply that decision by a million and … you get the picture.

Like in the past, the constant flooding, congestion and subsidence has given birth to an awareness amongst residents that something needs to be done. Everybody needs to contribute.

And if there is anything Jakarta has in abundance, it is human ingenuity. In the face of adversity, Jakartans tap into a unique brand of quirky humour to make light of even the grimmest of circumstances. Children turn floods into swimming galas, adults go around on jet skis. To get around “three-in-one” traffic regulations (of a minimum of three in each car in the mornings), jockeys line the side of streets.

There is hope for this unruly urban sprawl. Politicians, architects, bankers and engineers must rise to the challenges that the city faces. Subways, canals, roads and tunnels will be needed. But equally important is support for the many small changes that take place across the city. Just like collecting dimes and pennies, this can accumulate to something meaningful and valuable.

And that is what will determine the future of this great city.

Herald van der Linde is the author of “Jakarta: History of a Misunderstood City” and HSBC’s Chief Asian Equity Strategist, based in Hong Kong.

Monsoon Route Dynamics and Early Trade

A tactical look at how seasonal wind patterns dictated wealth distribution networks throughout the early Indonesian archipelagos.

Future Exploration: Upcoming Discoveries

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The Spice Routes: Globalizing the Archaic World

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Stone and Ritual: Sacred Blueprints of Central Java

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Majapahit: The most powerful empire in Asia that most people have never heard of

As diplomatic showdowns go, this summit was without parallel. In a grand pavilion in the magnificent grounds of the royal palace of Singasari in eastern Java, an envoy from Kublai Khan, probably the most powerful man in the world, sat down to pass on a blunt message to King Kertanegera, without doubt the most powerful ruler in Southeast Asia. The year was 1290, the mood was tense, and the chances of everything going horribly wrong were increasing by the minute.

Much was at stake. Kublai Khan ruled a vast empire that has spread as far as the eastern fringes of Europe. King Kertanegara had united the sprawling archipelago of what is today known as Indonesia for the first time in history and his power and influence was growing across Southeast Asia. Something had to give.

Meng Qi, the diplomat sent from the court of Kublai Khan in China, had been given clear instructions - King Kertanegera must agree to pay annual tribute and send a member of his royal family to live in the court of the Great Khan at his capital in Dadu (now Beijing).

The king flew into a rage. He wasn’t about to be lectured by some lowly messenger and had no intention of taking orders from Kublai Khan. Kertanegara feared nothing and no one. After all, he was a devotee of the dark art of magic and in his mind possessed supernatural powers. The king raised his voice for all to hear – Kublai Khan needed to be sent a strong message. On his signal, a guard took out a knife and cut off the unfortunate envoy’s nose.

This diplomatic disaster set in motion events that led, two years later, to an invasion by Mongol forces. When they arrived from China, King Kertanegera had already been assassinated, the city of Singasari had been burned to the ground and instead, the Mongols got embroiled in a war with Kertanegara’s usurper. It all ended badly and the Mongol’s retreat from Java was both hasty and humiliating in equal measure.

It was in these tumultuous years that a new power centre, the city of Majapahit in eastern Java, emerged from the ruins of Singasari, ruled by Prince Widjaya, the nephew of King Kertanegera. At its peak the Majapahit empire, in the days of King Hayam Wuruk and his feared vizir Gajah Mada, it controlled a huge amount of territory, from modern day southern Thailand to Singapore, Java, Sumatra, Borneo, Bali, Lombok, and beyond.

Majapahit was a remarkably sophisticated society whose wealth and power were built on a combination of political cunning, huge rice harvests, and a navy so powerful that even the Portuguese, the European mariners extraordinaire, were impressed.

It also a place of great artistic achievement, religious diversity, and social tolerance. Kings worshipped Hindu and Buddhist divinities, and senior members of the priesthood were esteemed figures who held powerful positions at court. As did women. For context, in Europe, this was a time of religious crusades against Islam in the Middle East and constant strife between Catholics and Protestants.

Its streets were crowded with Brahmins with matted hair, hermits in bark cloth, widows dressed all in white, and Chinese, Persian and Arab traders. Bustling markets offered an astonishing range of goods from home and afar. Majapahit was a glorious medley of customs and beliefs, as indeed Indonesia to a lesser extent is today.

Some two hundred years after the empire rose to power, Majapahit fell into rapid decline. Its cities were abandoned, and its palaces and temples were reclaimed by the jungle.

Centuries later, by 1945, free of Dutch rule, Indonesia was in search of an identity. It had to look no further than Majapahit which the country’s first president, Sukarno, considered a precursor to modern Indonesia. Indeed, the colours of the Indonesian flag, red and white, are the same as those displayed on the banners borne by forces during the attack on King Kertanegera in Singasari in 1292.

There are signs that modern Indonesian is replicating some of the triumphs of the past. After that blood-soaked first encounter, the Majapahit empire found a way to come to an accommodation with the mighty emperors who ruled China. The same applies today, with Jakarta navigating a careful diplomatic path to match its own interests with those of Beijing.

Less visible elements of heritage are also discernible. The Majapahit court was a place of political intrigue where power was perpetually in flux, influential women pulled strings and ruled behind the scenes, and it was easy to tell different social groups apart. Some of this, too, is preserved in Indonesia today.

Attitudes to the legacy are as diverse as the dynasty itself. To many, the empire represents a glorious past when Majapahit commanded respect across the region. In this narrative, Gajah Mada, the legendary vizir, is the “hero of national identity”. To others, such as Acehnese and Sulawesian separatist figures, he was nothing but a Javanese aggressor in search of imperial glory at any cost.

Perhaps the same can be said of societies as it can be for people. However much they may change, the essential nature of their character is set when they are in the process of forming. In Indonesia, and large parts of Southeast Asia, this was the glorious civilisation that spawned the Majapahit.

For all of Majapahit’s strengths and weaknesses – every empire had them, after all – there can be no doubt that its rise and fall remains a story worthy of a broader audience. It is one of intrigue, murder, secrets, suspense, revenge, and war in a land filled with beautiful temples and imposing palaces. It remains, however, the most powerful empire in Asia that most people have never heard of.

This blog is based on excerpts from Majapahit: Intrigue, betrayal and war in Indonesia’s greatest empire (Monsoon Books, 2024). He also published Jakarta, History of a Misunderstood City (Marshall Cavendish, 2020).

Jakarta’s future, and its beauty, lie hidden in its kampungs

Jakarta is a fabulous city. To many, this statement might sound odd. The city conjures up images of endless traffic jams, immense shopping malls that all sell pretty much the same thing, and, of course, floods.

But to me Jakarta is more than the political, economic, and cultural centre of Indonesia. This sprawling metropolis of more than 30 million people is a vibrant, bustling place, brimming with life, an immense labyrinth of small alleys and streets where children still walk to school, vendors sell bakso (meatball soup) and women operate tiny street-side stores stuffed with everything from snacks and noodles to batteries, cigarettes and stationery. There are small barber shops, motor repair shops – most advertising the ability to perform “magic” on any vehicle regardless of condition – badminton courts, and small mosques. Street traders effortlessly move vast quantities of goods around on motorcycles and handcarts through these intricate kampungs.

Once it grows dark, these small shops light up, creating an atmosphere of convivial good cheer. In the warm evenings, I enjoy sitting outside, smoking a kretek cigarette (a habit I am still trying to break) and order sateh or nasi goreng from the passing hawkers. The neighbourhood spirit harks back to the days when these kampung – now absorbed into the broader metropolis – were originally small villages and settlements set apart from the city.

Jakartans are as diverse as they are friendly. It is difficult to find anyone who is not open for a chat, even with complete strangers. They come from all corners of the sprawling, multilingual Indonesian archipelago, bringing with them their own folklore, languages and dialects, traditions and cuisines. Every Jakartan knows where to get their Aceh noodles, beef rendang from Padang or coto, a soup from Makassar in Sulawesi. Jakarta can leave its mark on visitors in many ways – whether by sheer size, outrageous traffic congestion, imposing landmarks, or the variety of its colonial architecture – but its real beauty lies in the kampung.

However, Jakarta has to face up to formidable challenges. Reading apocalyptic newspaper articles about Jakarta’s floods, its suffocating traffic congestion or how it is slowly sinking into the mud, one might wonder if this city has any future at all. To add insult to injury, the capital will move to Kalimantan. Can Jakarta survive? And how? To answer these questions, some historical perspective is useful.

Dealing with floods (banjir) is nothing new. Thousands of years ago, a network of rivers – among others the Ciliwung – wound their way through the plains, depositing silt below sea level on the coast of the Java Sea, turning it into a fertile, low-lying alluvial plain with soft soil and swamps.

By the fifth century the Tarumanagara kingdom emerged and chiselled messages in stone tell us they were busy digging canals. Over a thousand years later, soon after their arrival, the Dutch discovered that one of their warehouses slowly sank into the mud. Like Tarumanagara, the Dutch solution was to dug canals around Batavia. And when this did not solve the banjir problem, more canals were dug.

Later, exploitation of the lands surrounding Batavia led to serious ecological damage. The rivers clogged up as mills and farms threw their dirt and rubbish into the rivers. In the absence of government projects to deal with these challenges, people took the initiative in their own hands. In the late seventeenth century wealthy landowners and smaller farmers alike got involved removing dirt and large trees from the river.

This did not solve the problem either and Batavia continued to be plagues by floods. Eventually, the Dutch started all over again and moved the capital to what is now Gambir (Weltevreden). That was the first time the capital was moved. New roads and canals were dug and excellent infrastructure was put in place for the rich.

Not so for the poor in the kampung. To get water, these people used wells to tap underground aquifers. Even today, most Jakartans get their water from such private wells. This continuous extraction of groundwater, exacerbated by the ceaseless construction of large buildings in more recent years, forced the soil to compress. And as the underground aquifers were sucked dry, the city gradually subsided and flooding became even more frequent.

It took the Dutch until the twentieth century to dig a banjir (flood) canal and its only recently that another canal was dug to allow rivers to circumvent the city on the other side. Despite this, modern Jakarta still floods.

So what is the long-term solution?

One option is simply to say goodbye and good riddance and start all over again in another location. The Dutch tried this in Gambir (Weltevreden) and Indonesia does it again by moving the capital to Kalimantan. But moving 30 million people is not realistic and history tells us that that is often very costly to the poorer families in the city.

Another option is to provide room for water to move around the city by building more canals and create new lakes. This would turn Jakarta into a city of sparkling blue vistas. This idea is already implemented in Rotterdam; lakes near the city can flood when a surge of water surge hits the coast while, inside the city, low-lying public squares and football fields collect excess rain.

Before the pandemic hit the city, a series of such development projects had been planned to make the city more livable, including a Rp 571 trillion (US$40.5 billion) "urban regeneration" project. This 10-year plan will also focus on the creation of a better integrated public transit system and the improvement of the city’s clean water and wastewater systems, housing and flood control system.

But whatever approach is taken, part of the solution lies with locals in the kampung. Just as recehan (pennies) can accumulate into a substantial amount of money over time, small changes by individuals can also make a big difference. And just like in the past when landlords and farmers took the initiative to remove dirt and trees from canals, it’s the changes made in the kampung that are, all together, very important. If one house is designed to be environmentally friendly others can too, and a million such houses will create a greener, cooler city. If one house offers a public space to others, then multiply that decision by a million and … you get the picture.

Like in the past, the constant flooding, congestion and subsidence has given birth to an awareness amongst residents that something needs to be done. Everybody needs to contribute.

And if there is anything Jakarta has in abundance, it is human ingenuity. In the face of adversity, Jakartans tap into a unique brand of quirky humour to make light of even the grimmest of circumstances. Children turn floods into swimming galas, adults go around on jet skis. To get around “three-in-one” traffic regulations (of a minimum of three in each car in the mornings), jockeys line the side of streets.

There is hope for this unruly urban sprawl. Politicians, architects, bankers and engineers must rise to the challenges that the city faces. Subways, canals, roads and tunnels will be needed. But equally important is support for the many small changes that take place across the city. Just like collecting dimes and pennies, this can accumulate to something meaningful and valuable.

And that is what will determine the future of this great city.

Herald van der Linde is the author of “Jakarta: History of a Misunderstood City” and HSBC’s Chief Asian Equity Strategist, based in Hong Kong.

Monsoon Route Dynamics and Early Trade

A tactical look at how seasonal wind patterns dictated wealth distribution networks throughout the early Indonesian archipelagos.

Future Exploration: Upcoming Discoveries

This is your third structural placeholder paragraph ready to receive fresh article layout content directly down the line.

The Spice Routes: Globalizing the Archaic World

This is the matching full layout view for your first extra list item.

Stone and Ritual: Sacred Blueprints of Central Java

This is the matching full layout view for your second extra list item.