What’s Left Behind in New Yorker Hotel 3327
Niagara Falls, 1895
People might gaze at waterfalls and the thought of unfathomable power crosses their mind, but for Nikola Tesla, Niagara wasn’t just a spectacle of nature; it was a source of energy that could be read and then controlled. On that shivering morning filled with mist, Tesla stood on the edge of a soaked wooden deck, his eyes fixated on the swirling water crashing against the rocks. His coat dark and long, like the silhouette of a burnt tree in winter. Beside him was Sudarsana, a Javanese man from the Dutch East Indies, observing a brass measuring instrument while noting down results in a pocket-sized leather-bound notebook. He recited numerics in Dutch mixed with Javanese. As his voice passed through, Tesla frowned; for some reason, it reminded him of a chant his mother would quietly say when the rain came.
They weren’t friends, at least not yet. But they weren’t any regular colleagues either. Both of them were brought together by necessity. Westinghouse, which funded the colossal project, needed a hydraulic expert who understood the pressure of water from perspectives untouched in European physics. Then came in Sudarsana — a civil engineering graduate from Delft with a local background rich in traditional knowledge of water, who seemed to be the right fit. Tesla didn’t have time to refuse; what he needed was results, not arguments. Still, from the very beginning, he knew that this man was to be some sort of matter.
The Niagara Turbine is Tesla’s dream alternating current transmission project — a dream of a world illuminated by clean energy, able to be distributed without cable and country restrictions. However, he did realize that if it were to fail, his reputation could go down the drain. Meanwhile, at the end of the newspaper, Edison is waiting with a jibe all set to go at any given moment. Reflecting on all of this, Tesla worked twice as hard as usual, like the force of water hitting a stony cliff for a thousand years with no intent of stopping. Instead of a dynamo, the challenges came in the form of Sudarsana’s calmness, the questions he always asks, and the boldness of the man to say “no”.
Their first conflict occurred in the second week, when Tesla showed the new turbine blade design. Sudarsana studied it for a while, then shook his head in disagreement. “You are forcing the water to spin against its natural direction, Sir,” he said. “That is against its instinct.”
While frowning, Tesla stared at the man with the half-baked brown skin. “Water doesn’t have an instinct,” he answered. “It moves by the laws of physics. If we can adjust the inward pressure and its outward angle, we can force the flow to be more efficient.”
Sudarsana did not reply. He simply opened his notebook, presented a sketch of a dam in Java that utilized the shape of a rock and the river’s natural curves to direct the water with no subjection. “I learned from my homeland,” he said. “Water can work for you, if you know how to ask.”
More lines appear on Tesla’s temples. “I didn’t come all this way to discuss philosophy.”
Sudarsana looked at him straight. “Neither I.”
That night, they ate dinner separately. Tesla in the hotel dining room, Sudarsana in the technician quarters. But the same thoughts flood their minds: water pressure, metal friction, and the friction that slowly eats away at their partnership.
The next few days continue with tension that could be cut through with a knife. Sudarsana perfected the water inlet system, creating small gaps to adjust the pressure to be more stable. Tesla did not protest, but took notes of the changes in the logbook without comments. They only spoke when they needed to. However, it is something in that silence that, in truth, revealed the similarity of the two: both awkward, stubborn, and place no trust in authority. Tesla is tired of all the investors and conglomerates that rode on ideas for profit alone. Sudarsana has had enough with the colonial system that regards scientists such as himself as no more than a helper dressed in a suit.
They were in a pavilion one night, and the rain poured heavily. Tesla was improving the energy distribution scheme, and Sudarsana was rearranging the water flow data. All of a sudden, the power went out. Darkness engulfed the room. Only the sound of rain and breathing could be heard. Tesla silently cursed in Serbian. Sudarsana fumbled for a match until finally, a flicker of light illuminated them.
In that small glow, Tesla looked up and asked, almost like a student looking to his teacher: “Do you honestly believe that water has its own will?”
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Sudarsana let a small chuckle. “Not like humans, of course. But… it has memory. It once fell from the sky. It once seeped into the ground. It once stayed still in a lake. Water always knows its way.”
Tesla stared at the dancing flames. “I only believe in the principle of energy and the force of the magnetic field. Laws that we can count and predict.”
Sudarsana nodded. “I don’t deny. But maybe that’s our difference. I want to work with nature, and you want it all under your hands, Sir.”
And for a while, they don’t argue.
Nonetheless, such conversations were always short-lived. A month later, the turbine testing was conducted for the first time. The roar of the machine echoed through, but a moment after, the sound morphed into a series of hefty coughs. The vibration was too much. The blade’s angle didn’t match the water’s current in this rainy season. Sudarsana had warned him, but Tesla insisted on using his original design. The machine was shaken, the bolts loosened, causing the main shaft to almost break in the aftermath. The damage had cost them two weeks’ worth of work, and Westinghouse started to worry. In an evaluation meeting, Tesla accused Sudarsana of sabotaging the pressure system. Upon hearing that, Sudarsana could only hold back his anger with a sharp glare.
“Sabotage is a word you use when you do not want to admit to your own fault,” he said slowly. “I merely wanted the water not to rebel.”
Tesla stood up. “Water does not rebel. The ones rebelling are those who want to impose their culture on science!”
Ever since that moment, the two have not spoken without a technician acting as an intermediary.
Until along comes that day — the day when an iceberg collapsed upstream of the temporary dam. The volume of water increased with no warning. The wooden scaffolding couldn’t withstand the pressure. Panic swept through the workers. The main locking system that should be able to secure it all stood helpless. If the water burst uncontrollably, the whole structure could collapse and bring an end to the entire project.
Sudarsana ran up to the control tower. Without hesitation, he opened the untested additional pressure channel. Tesla shouted a no from below, but Sudarsana had seen the signs of cracks since the night before. He knew that time was ticking. With all his strength, he hit the control lever. Water sprouted frantically, then slowly stabilized. The booming sounds of metal echo, followed by a heavy silence that settles.
It was fortunate that the incident did not hurt anyone. The structure was saved. But the price paid was Tesla’s realization that this time, the water trusted Sudarsana more.
A few weeks after that, a new turbine was designed. Not entirely owned by Tesla, nor Sudarsana. But something in between — a turbine that doesn’t force the water to go against itself, yet could still send its enormous energy all the way to Buffalo, to Albany, to Boston. Cities lit up. And the world changed.
Tesla’s name is written in newspapers, in scientific journals, and in textbooks. Westinghouse received applause. Sudarsana was mentioned once, as a “technical assistant from the East.” But he wasn’t mad. He solely wrote his name on the back of a final design sketch — in a small Javanese script that no one might know how to read except for himself and one other.
Tesla found the writing a week before Sudarsana returned to Batavia. He kept it — and for a reason he never told anyone — slipped the sketch beneath his pillow until he laid his eyes to eternal rest years later, alone in a Hotel New Yorker room, accompanied by the shadow of water that never gave in.
Urubingwaru,
Yogyakarta, Juni 2025
Translated by
Naja Izzah Kurniawan
