the dark foliage of
colossal kanari-trees, shows the usual fragility of structure in
basket-work walls and roofs of plaited palm-leaves, but the humble
dwellings, destroyed and rebuilt myriad times on the ancient site of
Java's Hindu capital, have supplemented native workmanship by a
multitude of carven stones, broken statues, and moss-grown reliefs, for
the ruins, theoretically guarded from the spoiler's hand, are still
inadequately protected, and the grey _recha_ have been used as seats,
landmarks, or stepping-stones over muddy lane and brimming
water-course. The conversion of Java to the materialistic creed for
which she forsook the subtleties of an impersonal Buddhism, though
shallow was complete, and the doctrine of impermanence, inculcated by
the discarded faith, continued an essential factor in spiritual
development, for the inconstancy of the national mind only found a
temporary halting-place in each successive creed which arrested it. The
seed was sown, the bud opened, and the flower faded, with incredible
rapidity, but the growth while it lasted, showed phenomenal luxuriance.
The erection of these Hindu sanctuaries signalised the zenith of
Javanese power; their fame travelled across the seas, and numerous
expeditions sailed for this early El Dorado of the Southern ocean.
Kublai Khan came with his Mongol fleet, but was repulsed with loss, and
branded as a felon. A second and stronger attempt from the same quarter
met with absolute defeat. Marco Polo, compelled to wait through the
rainy season in Sumatra for a favourable wind, came hither in the palmy
days of mediaeval Portugal, but returned discomfited. Goths from the
Northern bounds of Thuringian pine forests followed in their turn, but
the power and prestige of Hindu Java remained invincible until
destroyed by the wayward fickleness of her own children. Brahminism
was finally discarded for the specious promises of Arabian invaders,
and the lightly-held faith succumbed to the creed of Islam. Mosques
were built, Hindu temples were forsaken, and Nature's veil of
vegetation was once more suffered to hide altar and statue, wall and
stairway, until every sculptured shrine became a mere green mound of
waving trees, strangling creepers, and plumy ferns. The memory of the
past was entirely obliterated from the hearts of the people, and every
year buried the relics of the former religion in a deeper grave.

Siva the Destroyer, and also the Life-Giver, the Third Person