Cremations are the most spectacular of Balinese ceremonies. When a person dies, the family goes to great expense creating a cremation tower to transport the body to the cremation site. The ceremony may take months to prepare, at which time the body is burried and later exhumed for cremation. Death is a celebrated part of the life-cycle in Bali, and although my experience only scratches the surface of preparation ceremonies leading up to cremation, I have learned quite a bit about the cremation itself since it is a very public event. To put it simply, Cremation is the Mother of Balinese ceremonies. It just so happens that the King of Ubud was cremated today.
But before I get to the cremation, let me describe a few days leading up to the big finish.
The Ubud Palace has been undergoing dramatic preparation for the procession. Giant bamboo staircases tower above the street where the body of the King will be carried to the top of a cremation tower, which is an 80-something-feet-high totem pole with mythological character faces carved into the sides. It may also resemble a parade float, except that there is nothing on it which floats. The extremely heavy tower is carried by a hundred men, each filling their own section of a bamboo grid underneath. There are also 30-foot high bulls and a sacred serpent especially created for the procession between a nearby village and the palace. Trees were cut down all along the road and power lines were removed so that it would be possible to pass through the streets. And yes, they took up every inch of space in the small streets, sometimes even a bit of sidewalk space when the shear weight caused the structure to sway from side to side, knocking over spectators in the meantime. This is normal and I was told to be prepared. Somehow nobody is crushed, but the threat is always looming. But more on that later.
Two days before the cremation, as the giant towers and bulls are still being prepared, the palace hosts sacred performances of music and dance for invited guests only. Tourists crowd near the gates, but are turned away unless they know enough to wear traditional clothing - for women a sarong and lace kabaya, for men a sarong, saput, and undeng (on the head). Less than a week ago, our teachers at Cudamani surprised the students when they told us we were being invited to perform at the palace during this special occasion. This would be an historic event since westerners were never before invited to play inside the palace. Of course we were honored, but also a bit anxious. Afterall, we may be studying gamelan and dance, but we couldn't possibly do justice to the music in the way Balinese musicians and dancers can. We were assured that this was the right thing to do - so we worked hard and practiced knowing that we would be playing inside the palace walls with hundreds of Balinese there to witness.
Now I don't want to call this a performance, because that word is not used in Bali. The Balinese say "offering" instead of "performance." This is a very important point, since it gets to the essence of Balinese music and art in general. When the night came, we were gathered together in the special chamber behind the instrument area. Dewa, our teacher, spoke of the nature of Balinese musical offerings and said a prayer for us. I wish I could remember the Balinese words, but I will try my best to do a rough translation. We were contributing to a particular type of offering which is somehow associated with the sound of the large gong. A Balinese musician tried to make this "gong offering" clear to me when he said simply:
This offering means Yes I Can. It's like when you ask, "Can I?" Well the answer is "Yes I Can."
What a peculiar thing to say - but it was so important to us. Our anxiety literally dissolved from our minds when we realized this was not about us at all - it was simply an act of giving. And when we were able to purify our intentions in this way, it just so happened to be one of the most enjoyable "performances" most of us had ever been part of.
Afterwards, many Balinese came up to us individually, including me, to express how touched they were with our offering. Some even had tears in their eyes as they told me how profound it was to see westerners make an offering to their culture with such respect. In a culture hugely threatened through the consumptive nature of tourism, our single performance, I have been told, was a very important symbolic event for the Balinese who have developed harsh prejudices against the intentions of westerners. (I have heard really disastrous stories of tourism ignorance. One involved a group of tourists crashing somebody's wedding - literally walking in and snapping pictures and sitting on top of sacred fabrics that were laid out across offerings. Jeez.)
Two days later brings us to today - the day of the actual cremation. We arrived at the palace, as special guests, at 9:00am. There was sacred music being played by Cudamani, and then we were told to go find a comfortable spot somewhere on the street to witness the spectacle of the procession, where the giant towers and bulls would be carried down the streets to the cremation grounds a mile away. I found a small art gallery patio which quickly became so crowded with local Balinese that each of us had only enough space to stand and sit. There I waited for 4 hours, luckily in the shade, and watched as the streets quietly became so full of people that they took to the roofs, then the trees, until literally every possible space was occupied by a body. This kind of crowd would be unheard of in a first-world country, for the obvious reason that it is so incredibly dangerous. Some tourists passed out and were tended to by the Balinese. I kept my mind occupied by entertaining the children with my camera - making short movies of their waving and then playing it back for them to watch, which was endless entertainment for most of them and their families. Finally, after the 4-hour wait, the drums were heard from a distance. People rushed to the edges of the streets and watched as the roads filled with procession bodies as if a dam had suddenly broke a mile away. First were the priests with their offerings, then the police who tried to push people out of the way as quickly as possible, then finally the first Bull, being carried by 100 men, nearly running with the momentum as a gamelan played behind them with such intensity it was no wonder they were so charged. The Bull passed and the street cleared for a few moments. I wondered out into the street to take a few pictures of the next approaching tower and as I watched it come closer, it became clear that they were also running and would not stop at anything in their way. Police again led the way, literally shoving the oblivious tourists out of the way before they were trampled by an 80 foot high cremation tower. I dodged the police and the tower and took some great video from the side of the street. It really did feel like a surge of whitewater that just nearly carries you away.
I walked out into the street to take pictures of the final tower's approach. Again I could see the wave of energy approaching me, and the situation became something similar to the running of the bulls. It was a game to see how close I could manage to stay out before bailing out of the street into the piles of people huddled into the shop patios.
Finally the last tower passed, and now there was nothing to do except follow them to the cremation grounds. I decided to take part of the river of people and suddenly found myself in the middle of the largest, most overwhelming crowd I have ever seen. A river of people stretched as far as I could see in both directions along the street. I felt as though I should be scared - or overcome with claustrophobia, but lucky for me these feelings never really took hold. When I was finally near the gates of the cremation grounds, I felt an intense squeezing in the crowd - it was a serious bottle-necking as people tried to enter the gates from two directions. I saw that to my left, the Balinese were bailing out by climbing over a wall. Soon it became clear that it was the best thing to just get out of there, so I too swam through the piles of people until I got over to the wall, grabbed some vines and hoisted myself up.
Once I was on the other side I discovered a ad-hoc camping ground where people were roasting pork on sticks, and just hanging out until the towers went up in fire. I was told that the towers cost around $200,000. And this is all burned. Really amazing.
Well, I'm really exhausted. Unfortunately I don't have the pictures from today's events yet since my camera battery needs to be charged. But I will post them tomorrow.
Salamat Malam.
