It's all about balance....and nasi goreng

Between the few dim pools of street-lamp light, Putu navigated the car by the full moon. At 8pm the small village seemed shuttered for the night and I was sure we'd missed it. Following the smell of smoldering coconut husk, the pounding of the surf and finally the delighted squeals of children, we made our way to Seseh's village temple, awash in light from fluorescent tubes mounted on the walls.

The full moon is an auspicious time in many cultures and in Bali often the time to bless a new temple and tonight to commemorate its anniversary. I was here for the sacred dances of the Barong, Rangda and Kris.

Putu parked the car near the only others: a couple of local entrepreneurs selling steamed corn-on-the-cob, water and sweets. The six of us got out and man and woman alike wrapped ourselves in sarongs, the respectful garb when visiting a temple.

Upon entering the temple gates, we were awed by the altars overflowing with offerings and the 30 or so women and girls in trance dance. Incense from the sticks in their hands wafted over us all. We were the only Bule (boo-lay), whites, in attendance and were welcomed by the women and men watching the trance dancers.

Next we were taken in hand by an older woman in a green pakaian adat (formal temple dress), escorted from the temple and ushered to the best seats for the upcoming dances. As the children ran around and played games, we watched the various stands and flag poles being set up to delineate the stage. All of us awaited the performance which was signaled by the entrance of a woman balancing an offering on her head followed by a priest flinging holy water. She set it down about 50 meters from the gate of the temple and sat down behind it on the ground, some of the trance dancers sat around her forming the audience. The rest of us watched from the wings, so to speak. The gamelon members took their places behind the drums, gongs and metallophones to begin the prelude.

A gasp went up as the red-faced, hairy, black Barong emerged from the temple gates and danced its way forward, clacking its nutcracker-like jaws menacingly. It takes two of the strongest men to bring the Barong to life and many men to lift the costume on to its stand while the men take their periodic rests. Don't kid yourself though, the Barong even at rest is a formidable presence. Barong and it's ilk are common in Asian ritual and represent the low spirits, the ones deterred from entering the house by a tall door step and offerings put on the ground outside the door or drive way.

Next four white-faced spirits, the forces of good enter the arena, followed by the red-faced representative of evil. 

As in life, a battle ensues.

Next the red witch or Rangda enters the fray followed closely by the more powerful white Rangda, a manifestation of the god. On her heels is a boy in a ghost-like, featureless white face—the comic relief. He stays mostly in the background taunting the various characters. All of the spirit representatives including the Barong participate and are each for a time victorious.

During the hour and a half that we sit spellbound, four men standing with the women at the offering are going into trance. They begin to dance. Each produces a Kris or long dagger, with which to kill the evil in his heart. This is literally the battle for the hearts of men as the witch entices them to commit suicide and the temple elders stop them. Meanwhile, all around the same battle is raging between the spirits. 

With no clear winner, but a balance achieved between the forces of good and evil; the men are brought out of their trances and the spirits retire to the temple to eat the offerings (often nasi goreng).

I stumble back to the car in a trance myself. There are few words and fewer pictures to testify to what I've witnessed here in this tiny village of 200 now-balanced souls.