|
Proceeding to a ceremony at Goa Lawah |
Ceremonies are the supreme
markers of life in Bali, they mark life's and death's passages,
temple anniversaries twice a year, and defeat evil spirits
at the spring equinox, before the purified new year arrives, in
a silence more silent than Sabbath in
Jersualem. Our driver was eager to find us a ceremony---first we were to
attend a tooth filing, but it was rescheduled. At the age of 15
young people undergo a filing of their canines (which Wayan said was
excruciatingly painful while other writers say it is not) surrounded
by enormous pomp and circumstance.
We were in luck, though: the
brother of the king
|
Cremation tower |
of Ubud would be cremated on the 14th of May.
This is one of the most expensive and elaborate ceremonies on the
island. Without cremation the spirit does not become free of the
body. A cremation is enormously expensive, so bodies are buried
sometimes for years as families save up for the cremation. In the
case of the Royal Family absolutely no expense is spared: not the
expenses of the villagers of the kingdom who will carry the floats on
their shoulders, nor gifts for them, nor the construction of the
enormous tower and bull and serpent Naga, nor musicians and priests.
Because it is so expensive a few other bodies are cremated at the
same time.
|
Blessing the tower and bull |
In a fever of excitement
Wayan arrived at 8:30 in the morning, while in Ubud the ceremonial
tower already stood tall and brilliant as priests prayed, their wives
burning incense, bells ringing. The tower was at least 10 meters
high and made of wood, and it would be carried by the villagers of
the Ubud region who owed the king their allegiance--he had paid for
their temples, he had granted them favors. The Ubud kingdom turned
out in their finest. Even more beautiful was the bull into which the
body would be transferred for the actual burning. Throngs pressed
into the palace
|
The bull |
gates (where dancing took place only for invitees)
and hawkers clung to us with sarongs and trinkets. We burned with
exitement among the infectious crowds. We roamed Ubud before we finally took
our seats which Wayan had arranged for us, at a restaurant where he
was well known. We were facing the parade, as if on an elite viewing
stand, where the villagers, 100 at a time carrying the heavy floats,
almost weeping with the effort, would collapse, put down the weight
of Naga and Bull and finally Tower and pass their burden on.
|
Villagers carrying the floats |
|
After the burning |
We sat at our viewing stand,
next to Mr. Carlo, a Milanese who'd been coming to Bali for 45 years
and had a house by Klungung. A sudden downpour as the orchestra
approached put everything in doubt. The orchestra members in their
turbans and black checked sarongs dispersed, crowding with their
brown smiles into the restaurant. Yet the show went on. Amid thunder
and sheets of rain the village men took up their burden with a shout
and hustled toward us, putting it down in front of us, fainting with
the effort. Boxes of water were broken open and rushed to the young
men. The priests sprinkled water with rice sheaves and 1-2-3- GO the
men shouted as a new crew pushed up the load, and trotted on to
clamorous bells and drums.
|
Ceremony at Besakih |
We missed the actual burning
at the cemetery, not believing that it would be possible in the
downpour, but in fact petrol was poured and poured and the bull now
carrying the body exploded in flames. We arrived there after a
museum visit, as the ashes were being prayed over. A stench of
rotting flesh hung in the air. Someone carried a duck, and I did not
see what happened to it, but later I understood.
|
Waiting for the Malasti procession |
The next day we happened on
a Malasti ceremony, in which the statues of the temple are carried to
a purifying place before they are returned to the temple, which was
happening as we were stopped on the road. Ominous chanting started up
just as we arrived. Young girls danced in the road at the entrance of
the temple. A woman held a terrified white duck, stretching its neck
to face the oncoming procession. The clangorous orchestra started
up. Parasols and
high flags shaped like palm fronds glittered with
gold and bright colors. Little platforms with wooden statues had
been cleansed in the river. Upon arrival the priest stabbed the duck
in the neck, head, wings and feet to the ominous roar of medieval
chanting. The
|
Malasti procession |
procession circled the duck's plonged spasms of agony,
the pure white feathers drenched in its own blood, its beak streaming
like a red baton, a long, cruel death. They finally kicked the duck
aside.
Back in the car, in a voice
of studied neutrality, I asked Wayan about animal sacrifice. In fact
every single ceremony includes animal sacrifice. Yesterday's white
duck, at the end of the cremation, being so passionately videoed by
the men present, had been hidden from me. But animal sacrifice is everywhere and incessant. In
three days' time there would be a cockfight as well, the cocks
fighting to the death, another constant. Everywhere in Bali roosters
strut under woven baskets, waiting their turn to die.
|
Watercolored Rooster-so far, so good for him |
Wayan didn't
know why. I later read in the wonderful book on Bali by Miguel
Covarrubias that it is to appease the evil spirits, who want blood.
Wayan told us that it is
usually white ducks or black chickens, but a friend who owns a B&B
in Seminiyak said that every kind of animal is sacrificed all the
time, a detail normally omitted from tourist information or the usual
rhapsodic description of Bali. I asked Indra, a Balinese masseuse
who grew up near the most sacred temple at Besakih, about it. "I
know!"she cried out, her face suddenly pained. "Why do
they do that?"
|
Blessing at Tanah Lot - for a price |
Another kind of blood is
given in Tanganan, a bali-aga village with practices that pre-date
the arrival of the Majahapit Hindu kingdom in 1343, when it took over
the island. Men still fight, with bare torsos, using stiff fronds of
a certain succulent bordered by sharp thick spikes. They strike each
other and draw blood. It is painful. Only the master of ceremonies
decides when they have had enough.
So it seems the evil spirits of Bali have withstood time. The nearby island of Nusa Penida is said to be the
home for these denizens of a black and white checkered universe. I
have meditated there and it is in fact a strange place.