BALINESE CREMATION CEREMONIES
( NGABEN )
THE FINAL PROCESSION OF NGABEN
THE HISTORY OF BALI CREMATION ( NGABEN )
The road to the cremation ground is crammed with a slow-moving
sea of people; a procession of hundreds bearing a towering wadah - the tall,
tiered, bamboo pagoda which contains the body of the deceased - and a lembu
- the sarcophagus symbolising the bull that leads the soul to heaven. Whenever
the crowd procession reaches a crossroad, the wadah and the lembu is spun
around three times as the bleganjur - the plodding, musical accompaniment
to the cremation rite - reaches its crescendo, as if to insist that any feelings
of sorrow must relent to the ultimate joy of the occasion. The event climaxes
when the flames begin to lick the wadah and the lembu, engulf the body, and
leap skyward as they turn the corpse to ash. A whole series of rites follow,
to urge the soul towards heaven.
Such is a typical Balinese cremation ceremony, one of the local rites most
frequented by tourists to the island. Contrary to popular belief, Balinese
cremation rites are not strictly traditional. They have their roots in the
influence of the Hindu Javanese Majapahit empire over the island, in particular
with the entry of Majapahit Hindu priest and missionary Dang Hyang Dwidjendra
in the 17th century. In Bali's pre-Majapahit communities, known as Bali Mula,
no such ceremonies existed. Rather, Bali Mula communities preferred a death
rite known as mepasah, in which all or part of the body - depending on the
age and cause of death of the deceased - was buried. Traces of these pre-Majapahit
rituals are still evident in practices of Bali Mula, or indigenous Balinese,
communities of Tenganan in Karangasem.
Interestingly, however, the cremation ceremonies practised in the indigenous
Balinese village of Trunyan have been subjected to Hindu Majapahit influences,
namely those transmitted and promoted via the official national Hindu body,
the Parisadha Dharma Indonesia. Nevertheless, in Trunyan, as noted by James
Danandjaja in his book Desa Trunyan, they don't burn the body, but bury it,
at the bottom of Lake Batur.
Masatya: The suicide rite of widows
At the cremation ceremony of the King of Gelgel in 1663, both the king's queen
and concubines leapt from a high tower into the funeral pire. Known in India
as sutee, and in Bali as masatya (for the queen) or mabela (for the concubines),
the rite was witnessed by a Westerner called John Crawfurd. As quoted by Covarrubias
in The Island of Bali, Crawfurd described the rite as "a sacred festival",
where the queen and the king's concubines "commit suicide without regret".
Showing no fear, he said, they leap from the tower into the raging funeral
pire. (Detailed excerpt of Crawfurd's writing included on p.14)
The next Westerner to document the masatya rite was the Dutch historian Friederich,
who attended a cremation ceremony that included masatya in 1847, when the
widows of King Dewa Manggis were burned along with him on 22 December. Like
Crawfurd, Friederich also described the rite in detail, writing of how the
widows stabbed themselves in the chest and stomach with keris (wavy daggers)
before leaping to their death. The widows, it is said, believed that if they
performed the masatya or mabela rite, then they would be transformed in the
afterlife into Saraswati, and that their souls would unite and find eternal
love in heaven.
It is highly likely that mabela and masatya rites continued to be practised
over the next century, although there is little documentation to confirm this.
The only evidence that masatya existed is the notes taken by westerners who,
on witnessing the rite, were shocked and taken aback at its "barbarous"
nature
In 1904, there was an event that initiated the banning of masatya. When the
son of King Ngurah Agung of Puri Tabanan was preparing to cremate his father,
the King's widows indicated that they were ready to undergo the satya ritual.
The Dutch colonial government tried to stop the event by sending two warships
to blockade the south beach at Tabanan.
The prince went ahead with the ceremony, which took place on 20 October 1904.
Eventually, however, strong pressure from the colonial press and government
urged the prince to sign a contract agreeing to the outlawing of widow-burning.
Since that time, regular Balinese cremation ceremonies - with their accompanying
beleganjur orchestras and the burning of the lembu and the wadah, have become
major tourist attractions. At the same time, the tourism industry as a whole,
with its big-time capital investment and resort development, has worked to
change the social structure of Balinese society and as such has had serious
implications for the commercialisation of the cremation ritual.
Cremation becomes commercialised
There has probably been little change in the cremation rite between the 1930s,
when Covarrubias witnessed the mass cremation of around 250 bodies in Kerobokan,
Kuta, and the current time. Now, as then, the practise of the cremation ritual
has been based on the legitimacy of the caste system, and functions to strengthen
the hierarchical relations between the high-caste brahmana with Balinese of
lower castes. The New Order government, making use of existing social hierarchies
to further its political interests, has praised the 'traditional' cremation
rite and espoused its perservation. In the New Order context, the cremation
rite became a communal space, in which people worked together to prepare for
the ceremony. Such preparation could involve hundreds of people, take several
days, and cost millions of rupiah. Many Balinese families find they have to
either hock or sell pieces of land in order send their ancestors off with
due respect. And it is tour operators who have most benefited from the increasing
and overwhelming hype surrounding cremation ceremonies.
According to Prof Ngurah Bagoes, a professor in the Faculty of Letters at
Denpasar's Udayana University, such hype is rarely accompanied by a deep understanding
of religious essentials. Indeed, a number of religious scholars have registered
complaints about the conflicting trends towards increasingly elaborate rituals
on the one hand and the erosion of basic religious knowledge on the other.
Some see the ever more complex ritual and offerings as evidence of Balinese
peoples' creativity and artistic skill. To deprive Balinese Hinduism of its
aesthetic, they say, is to destroy the very core of the island's culture.
Others, however, argue that it is a waste of natural and human resources.
Indeed, the majority of Balinese are not opposed to the simplification of
the cremation rite. In fact, in recent years, certain changes have already
taken place.
In the seventies, wood was used to feed the fire. Nowadays, due to the expense
and difficulty of obtaining enough wood to burn the body, gas burners are
used instead. Using gas, the body can be burnt in only 2 hours. Other changes
have taken place in the process of construction of the lembu and the wadah.
Whereas making the processional towers used to be a communal effort, now people
can buy them from a traditional architect or undagi. Similarly, the offerings
used in the ritual can either be made by the women of the house or simply
purchased from the high priest who is to lead the rite. Such commercialisation,
it seems, is difficult to avoid, even if many are concerned about its potential
to undermine village solidarity.
Nostalgia for a legendary past is a fact of any society undergoing rapid change,
as it is of Bali. This cultural conservatism often takes on the guise of 'cultural
preservation', and in Bali it is legitimised as evidence that Balinese culture
need not be subservient to a foreign culture of modernity. Ironically, however,
in many ways that foreign culture of modernity has worked to deepen existing
social hierarchies, rather than threaten local culture with extinction.
Take, for example, the impact of electricity and telephone cables on the function
of the cremation rite as a show of wealth and power. Generally speaking, the
presence of telephone cables and electricity cables has forced most people
to be content with ceremonial wadah that are low enough to pass under them,
to avoid collisions during processions. "Because the roads are lined
with cables, we have to make sure the wadah is no higher than the cables.
It's OK if they're a little shorter, it doesn't change the meaning of the
ritual as a whole," says Santa Wijaya, traditional head of Banjar Dukuh
in Penebel village, Tabanan. In the seventies, when there were no electricity
lines in the village, wadahs for local cremation ceremonies could reach up
to 15 metres in height. Nowadays, most only reach one level in height - just
big enough to hold the body.
But for those eager to exhibit their wealth and influence via cremation ceremonies,
telephone cables are of little concern. They can ask for the cables to be
temporarily removed to allow passage for a higher than normal wadah, thus
cutting power to surrounding households for as long as several hours. Cremation
ceremonies held by royal houses in Pemecutan, Klungkung, Ubud and Puri Agung
in Gianyar have all been known to be complete with wadahs towering high above
electricity and telephone cables, which have been 'removed' temporarily by
the State Electricity Commission or Telkom to allow the funeral processions
to pass.
Crematorium and Transformation
At the end of 1997, Dr Anak Agung Made Djelantik - descended from the royal
family of Karangasem - took Bali's conservative Hindus by surprise. When his
Dutch wife, Astri Zwart, a Buddhist, died aged 80, he did notcremate her with
all the fanfare of a regular Balinese cremation ceremony. Rather, Djelantik
chose a simple ceremony in Yasaa Mandala, Nusa Dua - Bali's 'international
crematorium', reserved for cremating tourists who die in Bali, should their
families so desire. The simplicity of Astri Zwart's cremation, devoid of the
cermonial pagoda, the cow and the musical accompaniment, beleganjur, was surprising
to many Balinese because of Djelantik's royal heritage. Most Balinese with
royal descent, keen to assert their noble status and elevated position in
the social strata, would have opted for a much more lavish ceremony.
The simplicity of Dr Djelantik's ceremony for his wife gave rise to debate
in the local print media. "I was looking for the most practical and efficient
way," explained Djelantik of the nature of the ceremony. "Plus,
my wife had stipulated in her will that the ceremony be simple. I had no ulterior
motive." The rite, although simple, was no less legitimate in terms of
Balinese lore. Djelantik had ensured this by inviting high priest Ida Pedanda
Sidemen of Sanur to officiate.
Simplification of the cremation rite does not amount to a 'bastardisation'
of Hindu teachings. In fact, the scaling down of cremation ceremonies was
officially recommended as long ago as 1963, when a Hindu congress known as
the Pasamuhan Campuhan argued for the simplification of cremation ceremonies.
Several years prior to the Congress, a Hindu high priest from Sanur, Pedanda
Ketut Sidemen, had been cremated in an extremely stripped-back fashion, including
only the simplest of offerings and coffin, but without the musical accompaniment
beleganjur, nor the wadah or the lembu - unprecedented for a Hindu high priest.
Not everyone is happy with this change, though. Dr Ida Bagus Agastia, the
head of the Parisadha Hindu Dharma Indonesia, and an expert on Balinese literature,
fears that simplification of the cremation ceremony will contribute to the
erosion of Balinese culture. Writer Gde Aryantha Soethama also argues that
the complicated, detailed and multiple rites that make many cremation ceremonies
so elaborate serve as opportunities for Balinese people to express themselves
artistically. Further, Soethama argues, transformation of the cremation ceremony
could lead to a breaking down in community
solidarity. "If everyone undertakes simplified cremation ceremonies,
which ultimately means involving the community less in their preparation,
village solidarity will ultimately be undermined," claims Soethama.
But the number of Balinese families who opt for 'simplified' cremation ceremonies
is not great. And even those who choose to buy in the required offerings still
rely on the assistance of their local community for carrying the body, the
lembu and the wadah to the cremation ground, and to play the beleganjur musical
accompaniment. So, in fact, simplification and the search for a scaled-down
'essentially Hindu' cremation ceremony is unlikely to contribute to an erosion
of village solidarity. And there are still many other rites of passage, such
as weddings and temple ceremonies, where the communal work ethic has to be
put into practice. Further, transformation of the cremation rite won't directly
affect Bali's famed 'art and culture' because other rituals, which remain
in abundance, continue to provide the space for Balinese men and women to
express themselves.
Ceremonial protests
One form of community solidarity which has become increasingly apparent of
late is the tendency of village communities to 'protest' what they see as
the anti-social behaviour of members of the community by running amuck at
cremation ceremonies. Reports of "tampering with" the wadah and
even the bodies of deceased people who have a bad reputation in their community
are on the increase.
The most recent example of such a 'protest' was at the cremation ceremony
of a member of the royal house of Abiansemal, Gusti Putu Merta, last year.
The initial reaction of the people of Abiansemal to Merta's death was to throw
his wadah into the gutter. Among the reasons quoted was that Merta's son,
Anak Agung Surya, was not in favour with the local banjar. Not long after
his father's death, Surya himself passed away, and his cremation ceremony
was also marred by symbols of protest against him by the local community.
His wadah and body were carted not to the cremation ground, but to the front
of the banjar hall, as an expression of protest that Surya never participated
in communal banjar activities. Locals refused to accept that Surya, being
a policeman, often worked far away and was seldom able to return home.
Even more severe was the case of Made Siari from Manggis in Karangasem. Siari's
role in an unresolved land case had set his community against him, and at
the time of his death they burned his ceremonial accessories before the rite
had been completed. Siari had taken the village administration to court over
ownership of a piece of land, and the dispute had seen Siari banned from using
the local temple until he withdrew his case and apologised to the local community.
The case was still in process when Siari died.
According to Ketut Wiana, such forms of protest are at odds with Hindu principles
of non-violence. Says Wiana: "In cases where a villager has flouted local
village regulations, or has failed to do his or her part for the banjar, they
should be punished, but in a humane and non-violent fashion."
As Balinese society becomes increasingly heterogeneous, village solidarity
will inevitably be threatened. The homogeneous, mostly agrarian societies
of the past had no difficulty in adopting a lifestyle of which the communal
work ethic was an integral part. Now, more and more Balinese villagers live
outside their communities, and work in the service sector, and thus are less
able to fit in with the agrarian lifestyles back home. That means, of course,
that they can't commit 100% to community activities in their local village.
In some villages, these people might be punished after their death in the
fashion described above, but most villagers are aware of the difficulties
faced by those who choose to seek work outside the village. As Made Santa
Wijaya, head of Dukuh banjar in Penebel, explains: "We allow for villagers
who work outside to compensate for their inability to be present at community
events by paying other people to do their share of work for them. They don't
have to pay a lot, just a symbolic amount to show that they haven't forgotten
their roots." Although many of those who work outside the village can't
be as involved as other villagers in communal works, they will usually turn
up the day before a ceremony begins, to help maintain community solidarity.
Other forms of community conflict arise from differences of opinion concerning
the Hindu priesthood. Sangkanbuana village, in Klungkung, experienced an ongoing
conflict between members of the Pasek clan on the one hand and the rest of
the village on the other. When a member of the Pasek clan died, they invited
their own clan priest, a so-called Sri Mpu, to lead the funereal proceedings,
but the other villagers claimed that the cremation ceremony could only be
led by a brahmin high priest.
According to the national Hindu body, the Parisadha Hindu Dharma, priests
of Sri Mpu status as well as brahmin priests may conduct proceedings for cremation
ceremonies. The conflict in Sangkanbuana arose when Ketut Siman of the Pasek
clan was inducted as a Sri Mpu priest in 1995, thus changing his name to Sri
Mpu Suranata Wicaksana, and a number of members of the Pasek clan began to
follow his teachings. Other non-Pasek villagers claimed however, that according
to a 1952 agreement, rites of passage must be led by a brahmin high priest.
"Even though the Parisadha stipulates that they may be led by Sri Mpu,
many of our villagers hold to the fact that village traditions take precedence
over national law. If all the villagers agree to revise those traditions,
perhaps we could come to some compromise. But they haven't agreed to revise
them yet, have they?" says village head Made Parna.
The Sangkanbuana conflict resulted in terror and violence. Houses belonging
to members of the Pasek clan were stoned in the middle of the night. Just
as it was approaching harvest time, Ketut Margi's rice paddy was burned. Cremation
ceremonies for members of the Pasek clan were often disrupted by outsiders,
and the wadah destroyed and left in pieces on the ground.
With or without the associated debates about the function
and role of cremation ceremonies in modern Balinese society, the cremation
ceremony will continue to reflect the passion and purpose of the Balinese
people. It is a colourful event that will continue to fascinate visiotrs to
Bali and play a central role in the celebration of the Balinese life cycle.
As the Balinese believe, as one life ends, so another begins.