Mystics in the Mountains: Bali
I was reading this fabulous article in the JP yesterday but the only problem was that the authors name did not appear on the article. I naturally assume it is Balinese writer Made Wijaya by the way the article is written and the content.
Entitled Mystics in the Mountains, the article explores the mysticism of the many peoples living in the mountains of Bali and in particular those of Danau Batur and the Bali Aga in an unusual manner.
The original inhabitants of Bali, the Bali Aga, live a reclusive life in the mountains to the east, the north and certain parts of central Bali.
It is believed there are several thousand Bali Aga people living in the mountainous regions and they speak their own dialect. The Bali Aga inhabited Bali well before the Majapahit invasion in 1343AD. The Balinese today are actually descendants of the Wong Majapahit who were 15thC migrants from East Java when finally the Majapahit empire fell. There is a distinct indifference between the two and the Bali Aga ensure it remains this way by their seclusion.
I have always found the Bali Aga to be a fascinating and beautiful people whenever I have visited the villages. Many travellers I have spoken to over the years have found them to be aggressive and indeed unwelcoming. If you ever visit Bali, I strongly suggest you take some time to visit one or two of the Bali Aga villages.
Here is the article from the Jakarta Post:
Mystics in the mountains
There is something about the mountain people of Indonesia -- the Batak Karo, the Baduy, the Tenggerese and the Lake Batur Balinese. They are descendants of the first tribes of proto-Malays who came hopping down the Malay Peninsula from present day Yunan, South China, and eventually reached the Sunda archipelago.
These early tribes must have jumped from mountain lake to mountain lake with their pigs and dogs and wet-rice cultivation. Over hundreds of years they displaced the ancient Indonesians who were forced eastward, we are told, to Flores, Timor and Alor where they remain to this day.
The mountain folk of Bali have more purely Mongoloid features - like dollar signs visible on their eyeballs? - than their coastal cousins who have more hybrid features due to contact with Yemeni, Indian and ancient Malay traders, fishermen, merchants and priests.
Features aside the mountain Balinese and particularly in the lakeside villages of Songan, Terunyan and Kedisan are as "rough as nuts" (as anthropologist Margaret Mead politely put it) but unified with a mysticism that presents itself as an intensely spirit worshiping culture. They also possess a strong sense of tribal identity not really found in lowland areas.
They are strong and wilful, temperamental, but profound. They are the keepers of the ancient flames and guardians of the ancient deities - the gods of the mountains and all the important lakes.
Last Sunday I headed for the hills to make offerings at Pura Batur, Kintamani, a high temple perched on the caldera that overlooks Lake Batur and its attendant volcano, Mt. Batur. The god of Pura Batur is the patron saint of agriculture, horticulture and landscapers.
Like most Balinese offices our office also worships Dewi Saraswati, goddess of the arts and education and thus designers. Our holiday is both Saraswati Day and Tumpek Landep, the birthday for keris and knives and thus lawn-mowers.
It sounds complicated but it's not. Everything just comes around in 210 day cycles and then you die. That is the way the Balinese think of it.
All you have to do is stay awake. And dress up. And be sincere when the occasion calls for it. In between, it's tourism (lackey-duty), chatting up Japanese chicks (the cops and terrorists have scared the Australians away it seems) and McDee, as often as one can.
But this is a generalization.
Specifically the mountain Balinese also have their strong local culture and their gruff roguishness.
As I was saying…
I was heading off to Pura Batur, up the hill, straight up from Sanur, but got side-tracked at Sayan where I have a small cottage (pesantren pemedek bul‚).
I discovered that Sayan's mother temple, the Pura Penataran, had had its odalan temple festival the night before, so as I was dressed for the occasion with incense to burn, I did a divine detour.
In the beautiful Pura Penataran I discovered my cook and my landlord and his son who never shows up for work as a relief driver but has very good legs.
I had forgotten that when they are not breaking my china or ambushing me with dental bills,they are extraordinary artists and trance-mediums. They can invoke the higher gods and make the elixir of life, even.
The temple was decorated with precision and skill. They had even affected the bouquet of tedung (temple umbrellas pinched at their base) invented by sculptor Ida Bagus Nyana at the nearby Pura Taman Pul in Mas. All the village’s Barong - Pig and Tiger varieties - and very spooky Rangda witch masks were aligned on high altars in the ravishing ceremonial pavilion.
I prayed with young 'De' Doot, the son of my old buddy painter Wayan Suji.
De Doot has a dreamy disposition like his dad and sat with grace on a pavilion base nursing an offering: He was like the young Princess Elizabeth in a formal portrait by Cecil Beaton.
From Sayan, we sped due north up the hill to Kintamani, via the still picturesque villages of Katung and Banua.
The temple was empty save for a sweet Denpasar-Chinese couple praying at the recently restored Taoist shrine.
They burned US$200,000 in paper money and 28 miniature paper Zen villas with swimming pools in the living room and 37 miniature paper pan technicians full of cotton interlock tank-tops.
We all then prayed together - the Australian, the two Chinese, the Muslim-Jakartan and the Balinese - to the spirit of the crater lake.
On leaving the temple I bumped into my old buddy the dwarf mystic who sells lucky charms to dumb tourists. He has sprouted three new rings and a Kiwi necklace symbolizing the All-Blacks victory over Wales at the last "Super Sunday".
I inquired after my dear friend Mangku Meme - star of this column since its original inception in 1979 (in the now defunct Sunday Bali Post) - who invokes the spirit of Bung Karno, the country's Proklamator, in her Klinik Mistik on the lakes edge at Kedisan.
"She danced at the tenth full moon festival last month" he volunteered cheerily.
Mangku Meme is 90 years old if she is a day. The idea is mind boggling.
Mountain folk last longer than us.
That night I went back to my village to visit the ailing prince of Kepaon, I Gusti Lanang Oka.
(It seems I made a mistake in my last column: The name for a princely vassal is moncol, not mongol.)
I learned from the sweet prince that there are 32 moncol in South Bali all descended from the 32 children from the 500 wives of Cokorda Sakti" the founding father of the royal house of Pemecutan, a Majahpahit-era clan. Each has a palace, a petrol station, a blonde Californian daughter-in-law studying the Legong and a major temple to run.
For example: Jero Kuta Palace runs Uluwatu temple which had its glittering five day festival last week too!
We talked of the origins of Kampung Islam Kepaon whose inhabitants are descendants of the retainers of a Muslim Madurese prince who was gifted with a Hindu Pemecutan princess in the 18th century - a present for helping the Pemecutans put down insurgencies (the south Bali travel warning issued by Canberra).
We talked of the family of four banci (transsexual) brothers who had a warung we used to frequent located in front of the Kampung Islam Kepaon mosque, the islands first. One, Haji Ali, had been murdered the night before by rent boys.
"They found a condom in his bottom and all his gold was gone" my prince said in the droll way most Balinese deliver scandal-aceous news.
Poor Haji Ali: Bali’s first "out" Muslim transsexual, he was always kind and gentle.
What's the matter with the world!