Today, another thing came off the life list. Crashing a funeral? Check. Ok, so this wasn't exactly on my life list, and I wasn't exactly crashing it, but still I attended the ceremony of someone I have never met before. I am very sad to report that Anak Agung Niang Rai, the mother of the King of Ubud, is dead. But she was obviously well loved! Funerals, or cremations I should say, are not supposed to be a sad event in Bali, rather a celebration that the soul has passed from this life and will soon be born again into their next carnation. This is the most money ever spent on a cremation costing about 2 billion Rupiah, which is around $200,000. She actually died in May, and they have been preparing and building offerings for this event ever since. The largest structures built were a massive bull (Lembu) and tower (Bade) resembling a meru. Apparently, the bigger the tower, the closer you are to god... this one was 25 meters. Let me tell you, she and god were pretty close... they're practically neighbors. Power lines in the city had to be cut so that they could transfer the tower and bull from the location where they were built to the cremation site. Measuring and heavy duty planning does not seem to be a Balinese strong suit, but luckily their go with the flow attitude cancels this out. No one seemed to be bothered that there was no longer any electricity, generators slowly came to shops and people carried on business as usual.
The streets were crowded but there was still breathing room when we arrived. We checked out the bull and tower, listened to the clanging sounds of the gamelan, avoided the persistent vendors trying to sell us sarongs, fans, hats and other paraphernalia. This went on for a good 2 hours when suddenly a man with a megaphone warned us that we should all find a safe place because the procession was about to begin. He then went into a long speech about if you didn't understand English you should turn to the person next to you and ask them what to do and to follow the crowd. I laughed at the irony of this speech as we were carried down the street with the rest of the crowd. The first trucks to pass us brought men with water hoses, who soaked the street and some of the audience. Then came women with incense and fire on their heads (in bowls) and a few marching gamelan bands. Now, having been in marching band, the idea of a marching gamelan band makes me smile. Imagine, if you ca, just the pit of a band marching. All the heavy drums and bells put on wheels. You actually need twice the number of people, one to play the instrument, the other to push the instrument and person playing it. Needless to say, this was not such a fast procession. But all this was nothing to the bull coming down the street. Imagine a bull as large as a house laid on a series of bamboo shoots with about 90 men carrying the dead weight with no aid from wheels. They started strong, by the time they got to where I was, it was pretty slow going. The men on the left and right had a hard time coordinating when to pick up the bull to run so the bull would rock dangerously from side to side. The grandson of Niang Rai was strapped to the top of the bull and was screaming for his life as he swayed from one building top to the other. At any point did they think to take him off the bull? No, they persisted and after about an hour got the bull and tower down the road to the cemetery. Now the tower was a whole other problem. The ceremony dictates that at every intersection the tower has to be rotated 3 times. So the men carrying this structure not only had to make it down the street but had to run in circles as they did it. It was a long process of lifting and sprinting while screaming at the top of their lungs then a 5 minute period of rest before the next lifting could be arranged. When they finally made it to the cemetery the crowd went mad. Men had collapsed, the man on the bull broke down into tears from the stress of the event and two men who had evidentially been at the top of the tower were carried down unconscious. It was traumatic to say the least, and the work was not over yet. Now the bull had to be raised up onto the pyre where it would be burned. Once again, the Balinese precision came into play when they realized the bull was too big to fit around a corner. Out of nowhere men came with chainsaws and began to hack through the bamboo shoots. Here they implemented logs. I felt like I was at Troy when the horse was being dragged into the city. Everyone was cheering and trying to help as logs were thrust under the bull so it could be pulled forward like it was on a conveyor belt. It was hot and the sarong vendors were relentless. I caved and bought a hat, which ended up being my saving grace because after 7 hours in the sun I would have been charred to a crisp.
It was about 4 when they finally got the bull, covered entirely in velvet, onto it's pedestal. They cut the top off of the bulls back and began to bring things down from the tower. Offerings, umbrellas, beautiful fabrics and incense, and last but not least a huge coffin. I couldn't help but think there was no way that 80 year old Asian woman was that large. She was probably 5 foot at best, yet the coffin made her look like a giant. The pulled the body out (remember it's been at least 3 months now that she's been dead) wrapped in cloth and laid it down in the bull. Then the offerings came in on top of her. Prayers were said over the body by what looked like 10 priests and family members. And then I am sorry to report, I had to leave. I didn't after nearly 8 hours get to see the thing burn... I had to go to a rehearsal for our project so the final cathartic moment was stolen from me. It was a bit sad yes, but the whole day had been filled with so much that I didn't really mind at that point. It was an amazing thing to witness. The magnitude of the event. The number of people who came to see it. All the steps that they had to go through in order to do the ceremony properly. Truly like nothing I have ever seen before, or may ever see again. Everyone who took part had volunteered and it was really moving to see the men exert themselves like that. The traditions of this country are like no place else I have ever been. I talked for a while with a girl from Jakarta on the island Java and she said she had never seen anything like this. What a great day to witness. I really wish I could have seen it burn...
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