THE POMPEII OF THE EAST - Tambora: The Eruption that Changed the World - page 9

up with brass pots, jewelry, and eighteenth-century Dutch coins they said also belonged to
the site—a blurry snapshot of the unrecovered Pompeii of the East. 27
Sumbawans still fear their volcano and tell visitors that it will surely erupt again soon. For
that reason they inhabit villages at a respectful distance from Tambora and maintain its le-
gend through stories. They talk of the island's great wealth before the zaman hujan au , when
a rich king ruled the mountain from a palace of gold. 28 The ghost of the Tambora king haunts
the mountain forests, where his treasure is buried. He is of a wily and embittered disposition,
and addicted to spells. If one must go to Tambora, Sumbawans say, be wary of this ghost
king. No bad language; no speaking ill of others. And if a young man brings his girlfriend into
the Tamboran forest, he must not think of making love to her there. For once the ghost king's
vengeful attention is roused, there can be no escape. At first, it will seem like a wonderful
dream. The ghost king will reveal his lost kingdom with its palace of gold to your disbelieving
eyes. Out of the jungle, trees bearing delicious fruit will appear in dazzling colors, promising
bliss. And to complete the enchantment, the ghost king will send his own daughter, another
phantom of 1815, to lure you ever deeper into the forest with her trilling laughter, until you
can never find your way home. Many young Sumbawan men have been lost this way, they
say.
Figure 1.6. Pottery and other household items excavated from a buried village on the lower slopes of
Tambora in 2004. They offer evidence of a prosperous island community well integrated in the regional
trade zone of the East Indies and, by extension, linked to the hemispheric economies of China and Europe.
(© University of Rhode Island/Michael Salerno).
We climbed the jungle slopes of Tambora late in the rainy season. Tormented by leeches
and the razor-sharp leaves of a fern called srra , we came upon a trio of young Sumbawans
hunting wild pig in the jungle. They were smoking cigarettes under cover of a small lean-to
after a fruitless morning's hunt. From a tinny cassette player in the dirt, a young woman sang
songs of love in Arabic, accompanied by the jungle's hum. The young hunters, good Sum-
bawans all, listened to her gentle pleadings in silence, unmoved. When we had rested—and
picked each other clean of leeches—the men showed no inclination to join us on our climb.
Only the occasional volcanologist or tourist now visits Tambora's sprawling cratered peak,
while its peninsular surrounds are mostly populated by recent immigrants from other islands.
Deserted but for these, the great headless mountain Tambora lives on as the lotus land of a
traumatized Sumbawan imagination.
THE PHILOSOPHER KING OF JAVA