waves beating on sand

waves beating on sand,

leaves fluttering in wind, sunlight

shimmering on water

A group of musicians are walking up the main street of Nyuh Kuning, carrying all of their gamelan instruments and playing the ones that can be played while moving. The music is repetitive and droning. Pak Win says this processional style is called beleganjur. The music gets faster the closer they get to their destination.

          At the odalan for a new house at the north end of town, the musicians arrange their instruments in front of the area for a dance performance. This is a kebyar band with sixteen musicians. Two men play bamboo flutes, two beat large kendang drums, another pair pluck string instruments. The rest of the musicians are playing percussion instruments: small bronze reong pots, ceng-ceng cymbals with big bells, a rack of gong chimes and a long metallophone with bamboo resonating tubes. Like a family, each group of instruments lives together in the central village bale and they are tuned to each other in such a way that the instruments cannot be interchanged from one gamelan to another. Since Nyuh Kuning is a woodcarver’s village, this refined craft is reflected in the intricately carved and gilded wooden frames of the instruments. All of the designs as well as the tuning form a matching set.

           As I listen to the music, it seems both exotic and familiar. Pak Win tells me that the scales, called pelong, are based on five tones per octave, with intervals that vary from approximately half steps to whole steps to major thirds. The effect is complex and vibrant. The tunes are particular to each gamelan and to each type of performance. The gender wayang pieces we heard earlier at the wayang kulit shadow play were slow and serene, whereas this dance music is fast and lively. Pak Win explains that the themes are divided into several interlocking parts, which allows for a fast tempo. Players trade pitches to create a musical line, a technique known as kotek. Pairs of instruments are played in an interlocking movement, with one instrument tuned to the true scale and the other slightly flat to produce a tremolo. He points out particular moments in the dance movement when there is a break in the repeating musical line and at other times there is a dramatic outburst. Like ballet or opera, the dance and the music form two aspects of a single artistic expression.

          After we have listened for awhile, Pak Win draws my attention to the three-fold hierarchy of the music: the basic form carried in the low pitches, the melody in the middle range and the variations in the upper register. So much of Balinese culture is expressed in hierarchical triads: the mountains where the gods reside, the rice fields where humans live, and the ocean, the realm of the demons. 

          The overall effect of the music feels like waves beating on sand, leaves fluttering in the wind and sunlight shimmering on water. And now I realize why it seems familiar. It sounds like an outward manifestation of the sounds I hear inside when I meditate -- a low hum, pulsing mid-tones and high, shimmering bell-like tones. With that realization, I close my eyes and sink down into the music.

behind the white string

behind the white string

of a wayang kulit, the dalang 

brings the puppets to life

The odalan in Nyuh Kuning has been going on around the clock for days. Lots of offerings, blessings, prayers and chanting, and also lots of entertainment. One of the most popular is the shadow puppet theater, wayang kulit. Pak Win, my cultural interpreter, tells me that wayang means shadow and kulit means skin, in this case the perforated water buffalo hide used for the puppets. Wayang kulit is religious, instructive and entertaining all at the same time. 
          There are two types of performances, daytime and nighttime. Wayang peteng usually goes on all night and is primarily entertaining, combining religious mythology with historical facts, current events, local stories and humor. Wayang lemah is a religious rite. Lemah means daylight and this shadow puppet theater is performed only during the day. The two types of performance also differ in the presentation. In wayang peteng, the flat cut-out figures are silhouetted behind the kelir, a translucent screen lit by a damar, a hanging coconut-husk lamp which creates animation with shadow and light. In wayang lemah, like the one I'm watching, there is no screen, only a string separating the dalang, or puppet master, from the audience. Pak Win points out the white string hanging in a graceful curve above the stage. He says that the daytime wayang kulit is actually performed for the gods and is considered an offering. 
          The dalang sits cross-legged on the stage behind a gedebong, a bamboo trunk in which the puppets are placed, heroic figures on the right, evil figures on the left. His two assistants, tutulan, hand him the puppets. The dalang manipulates the puppets with rods made of carved buffalo horn. 
          He is accompanied by a gender wayang, a small gamelan orchestra, which he signals by tapping his foot on the wooden puppet box by his left side. Gender means an instrument with bars suspended over bamboo resonating tubes. This gender wayang consists of two metallophones with ten bars each. Pairs of musicians sit on both sides of the instrument and strike the bars with two disc-headed wooden mallets and then mute them with the heals of their hands.
          There are three types of religious stories that are performed in wayang kulit, Pak Win explains: Wayang Parwa, about the many heroes in the Mahabharata, Wayang Ramana, stories about Rama, the hero of the Ramanyana, and Wayang Colon Arang, stories about the witch Rangda. All of these epic stories climax with the triumph of good over evil.
          Pak Win says that the dalang is really a one-man show: actor, storyteller, historian, educator, comedian and holy man, all rolled into one. He and his puppets are highly revered in the community. The puppet master, usually a male, is consecrated in a ceremony similar to that of a priest. Like a priest, he is able to make holy water and he recites prayers before the performance to bring the puppets to life. He is able to recite long passages from memory and play all the parts, varying his voice to match each character. With his many skills, the dalang plays an important role in passing on traditional culture from one generation to the next.      

a game of kocokan

a game of kocokan

draws men and demons outside

the temple gate

Wandering around an odalan in Nyuh Kuning, I chance upon a group of men and boys dressed in white and black temple attire playing Kocokan outside the temple gate. Kocokan is a game of chance where players put money on a vinyl mat decorated with six different pictures of gods, demons or animals. This particular version depicts a sea turtle, a rooster, a crayfish, a flying fish, a crab and an eel. The dealer places three large dice marked with the same pictures in a bucket, shakes the bucket and uncovers the dice. The pictures that turn up are winners. I saw this game being played on the beach, but I am surprised to see it at a religious festival. 
          I go looking for Pak Win, an expert on Balinese culture who's always happy to explain customs to me. When I find him, he tells me that the purpose of gambling at an odalan is to draw the attention of demons away from the religious ceremonies going on inside the pura desa. Balinese believe that the world is made up of the eternal opposites, good and evil, which are both part of life. They do not strive to completely eliminate evil but rather to maintain a balance so that evil does not overpower good. The black and white checkered temple decorations and the men's white and black temple dress symbolize this balance of opposites. The "vice" of gambling serves the purpose of distracting evil spirits so that they stay outside the temple. Of course, it also attracts Balinese of all ages, especially young men and boys, who are happy to do their part by entertaining the demons.

balancing gebogan

balancing gebogan

on top of their heads, parading

to the odalan 

The third odalan today is the largest, held at a village pura desa to celebrate the anniversary of the temple. Graceful young women keep filing in, bearing gebogan or banten tegeh, tall offerings. This is not an easy feat, as the offerings are not only tall but heavy, and the women use only one hand to keep the edifice balanced on top of their heads. Ida Ayu directs them where to place the one-meter-high offerings on the central bale, where incense sticks are placed in the gebogan. I am amazed at the amount, size, shape, color and variety of items in the offerings. It's like watching a homecoming parade, each "float" a work of art. Robin tells me that these gebogan can take weeks to make. Each one can cost 500,000 Rp, depending on the ingredients, which much be the finest. 

The tukang banten, usually elderly women belonging to the Brahman caste, collect the ingredients, put them together and ritually purify them. They start with a soft banana trunk placed on a wooden dulang or metal bokor. The ingredients, pinned to the trunk with bamboo skewers, vary widely, but may include fruit such as banana, apple, pear, mandarin or salak, rice crackers, sweet cakes, flowers, grated coconut, roasted peanuts, rice pyramids or cooked chicken. Sampian, plaited coconut leaves, decorate the top. One woman at this odalan has brought a gebogan made of a pile of batik cloth, folded and stacked high. 

A procession of priests dressed in white sangkul putih comes around, carrying sheaves and trays and sprinkling tirtha from narrow glass bottles with tapered metal spouts. To me, these holy water dispensers look like the bottles for oil and vinegar at restaurants back home. The pemangku bless the participants and the gebogan with the tirtha. After the gods have enjoyed the essence of the gebogan, the family will enjoy the offerings at home.

The whole celebration is extremely beautiful and colorful, with everyone dressed in their finest, all the buildings elaborately decorated and piled with mounds of gebogan. The purpose of all this beauty and delicious food is to please the many different gods who have been invited to come from the holy mountain to the temple. Pak Win tells me that the word banten may come from the Sanskrit word bali, which means tribute, obligation or gift. Or it may be derived from enten, which means to wake up or be conscious. An offering is a conscious awareness of the gods. He says offerings also have the purpose of binding communities together. The constant stream of celebrations certainly brings people together to feel the joy of giving gifts to the gods and to enjoy each other's company, surrounded by beauty, music and entertainment.

gold-green-red serpent

gold-green-red serpent

on a gold penjor reaching

from earth to heaven

          Three odalan in one day! The first is down the street in Made's family compound. Robin is sitting under a penjor which towers over the temple shrines. This decorative banner is an important part of every anniversary temple celebration. The narrow, tapering cloth is attached to a young bamboo pole, perhaps 8-10 meters high. The tall, arching penjor with its dangling streamers is designed to be seen clearly by visiting ancestors and gods from the holy mountain. The banner is decorated with a beautiful undulating design of a serpent with a green and gold body and red crests. His head is at the bottom of the banner, where food offerings are made, and his tail is at the top of the pole, where streamers are attached as another type of offering. The white and yellow material of the banners indicates that they are a holy offering.
          Other penjor are decorated with plaited coconut leaf streamers, called sampian. Offerings are placed in a little bamboo cage, called sanggah cucuk, dangling near the top. This is considered to be a temporary throne for the gods when they come to visit. Tall penjor are typical of Gianyar, the province where Nyuh Kuning is located. At the wedding we attended, there were two penjor, a tall one with a white banner representing the man and a short one with a yellow banner representing the woman.
     Robin leaves to visit Mangku Liyer to have an amulet made to protect her from the leyak sent by the witch. Pak Win sits with me and explains the symbolism of the penjor and its serpent design. The penjor represents the dominance of dharma over adharma, as well as an offering to the gods. The towering banner represents Gunung Agung, the highest and holiest mountain on Bali, and the mountain symbolizes the world, which is divided into three realms. Suarga or heaven is where Ida Sang Hyang Widi Wasa, "Great Almighty Lord," resides. Bhuwah Loka is the realm where humans live. Neraka or the underworld lies below Bhuwah Loka. In the beginning there was nothing but infinite, empty space. Ida Sang Hyang Widi Wasa asked all the other gods to come together on top of Mount Mahameru to create a new island called Bali, where the gods would be worshiped and given offerings until the end. The great world serpent Sang Hyang Ananta Boga supported the island from below, while the turtle god Sang Hyang Kuram Gni became the foundation and Badawang Nala became the underneath layer of earth on the island. This is why Bali is called the island of the gods.

topeng pajegan

topeng pajegan,

calling the spirit of each mask

to enter his body

An odalan for a new house has been going on for a week. Made has me sit in a chair in a corner above the gamelan orchestra in a pit. A topeng pajegan, a one-man mask dance, is part of the ceremony for the new home. A man in an elaborate, red, mirrored costume makes offerings on the bale. Then he puts on several layers of false hair and a mask and starts dancing, with stylized hand, feet and head movements, to the metallic music of the gamelan instruments. Pak Win explains that the dancer is enacting a story, changing masks to represent various characters. The story, Empu Tapa Wengkeng, is about a priest and his servant and involves a sacrifice. The first character is Topèng Keras Dadeling Mani, an aristocrat. The second character is Topèng Tua, the old man, who reminisces about his youth. Next is Sage Tapa Wèngkèng, the Brahman priest. The fourth is Kelik, the old servant of the priest. And the last to appear is Sidha Karya, a comic character, who breaks the conventional storytelling with gossip and other antics to get a laugh. When the dancer puts on this mask, he starts talking to me. "Where you from?" "America." "You like Bali?" I shake my head yes. "Enchanting?" Yes. Then he approaches me, hand extended as if to shake hands. I put out my hand and each time he withdraws his before we touch, to much laughter. Then he makes a sudden lunge at the children behind me, who run away terrified. He picks an imaginary louse from his armpit, pulls hairs out of his white wig, staggers against a tree, all to laughter. In between mask changes, he mops his face, drinks water. At the end, he makes more banten offerings. Even though this masked dance seems like pure entertainment, Pak Win explains that all Balinese dances and music are performed as an offering to the gods, in this case, to bless and protect the new home. He says that the dancer uses fire to summon the spirit of the mask, which then enters the body of the dancer so that the dancer becomes the character being portrayed.

at an odalan

at an odalan

Pak Win, a red hibiscus 

tucked in his udeng 

I am watching all the activities taking place at an odalan, a village temple ceremony where many elaborate banten offerings are being made. A man just went by carrying a long pole over his shoulder with two ducks in little wicker baskets on either end, just their heads sticking out. He hangs them up in a low tree and Made's son is teasing them, making them snap at his hand and sway in their baskets. I ate a little duck today because Made served me. She is like a friendly St. Bernard. Pak Win shows up and sits with me. I have just read his article on Balinese ceremonies, in which he says that they sacrifice all kinds of animals, the most common being chickens, ducks, geese, pigs and dogs, especially brown ones with a black muzzle. I am glad I have not seen anyone carrying a dog today. Pak Win is pleased that I am reading his many articles on Balinese culture. He explains that he is wearing his "costume": a black and white checkered udeng on his head with a red hibiscus tucked into the elaborate knot in front, a black kain with a black and white checkered overskirt, and a gray shirt. The black and white checkers symbolize a balance of light and dark, good and evil, gray is the area in between and red is for the heart. He asks me when I am leaving and says it's good to leave soon because of the political situation with the blind, crazy president being impeached. Then he asks me who was the best American president. "Lincoln," I reply, "because of his stand on freeing the slaves and because he was a wise man who believed that if you don't like someone it's because you don't know that person well enough." Robin shows up and asks Pak Win why he has such a long thumb nail. "It means an intellectual, an artist, nobility, one who doesn't dig ditches," he explains. "Maybe you should have a garden," Robin teases, "for balance." Pak Win grins and replies, "I have a mental garden." 

holding a keris

holding a keris,

two dragons carved on top of

the long wavy blade

Kadek comes by to tell us that an odalan will be held today to celebrate the birth of a pura, a new temple up the road. He is dressed in temple clothes: red and white checked kamben, black and white stagen around the waist, batik shirt, and udeng, a batik turban. Robin has him show me his knife, worn in a small leather scabbard, a kind of miniature cleaver. Then he shows me a ceremonial keris, with two dragons carved on top of the wavy blade. He lets me pull the long blade out of its scabbard and hold it and take a photograph. He tells me the dragon symbolizes this material world. When the emperor is cremated, they burn a dragon to cut the ties to the material world so he can go to the gods. Then Kadek shows me a tiny keris, palm size, in a wood scabbard, very old. One side depicts the five sons of Pandhava and on the other side the words Om Sri Saraswati are engraved in Devanagari, with a design of the Hindu Goddess of Wisdom. This small dagger is for a woman, to be used in the practice of silat, martial arts. Kadek doesn't seem to want me to take a photograph of this dagger. Both of these blades are kept in the rafters of the communal bale, above the ceremonial bed. The Pande clan in Bali are the only ones allowed to make keris. In addition to forging the blade, they also perform rituals to imbue it with a spiritual presence with magical powers, which may be beneficial for one person and unlucky for another. I had been thinking to give keris to my sons, but knowing this I don't want to choose something that might bring them bad luck. I'm beginning to think like the Balinese, everything with a light side and a dark side.