Raising The Dead. A Mass Cremation In Bali.
It’s an hour before dawn as I make my way up the gently sloping hill to the cemetery outside the village of Blangsinga, on the island of Bali. There is no breeze, a scimitar of a new moon hangs in a cloudless sky above us. With me are perhaps fifty or so men carrying hoes, shovels, picks and long metal spikes carried nonchalantly over their shoulders like a rag-tag medieval army off to fight a battle.
Our destination is a cemetery and, once through the gates, the men divide into small groups and make for their family grave and once there, begin to dig. I can hear others already at their task. As the new day dawns, I can make out elaborate sarcophagi arranged in regimented rows under the trees. These statues, fashioned into elephants, bulls, both black and white, dragons and gigantic fish rear like over-sized sentinels as if keeping watch over the morning’s proceedings.
Hundreds, soon to be thousands of extended family members, distant relatives, and acquaintances, many of whom have travelled great distances to farewell the dead, begin to gather. Before the sun has fully risen, one hundred and eleven bodies will have been exhumed, the bones carefully washed, wrapped in white muslin, and then placed into their allotted sarcophagi.
Today will be a mass cremation.
Balinese cremations are complex affairs that leave those not familiar with the process puzzled, for a cremation ceremony has little to do with the remains of the dead. Balinese believe the departed are no more than impure, temporary shells which are the receptacle for the soul
All thoughts and prayers are devoted to the spirit and its passage to reincarnation at the time of death. Until a body is cremated, the soul cannot leave the body, and the Atman (the immortal soul) will hover near the deceased body as a ghost, which brings angst to the deceased’s family. The soul can be freed only when the body’s five elements (air, earth, fire, water, and space) have been returned to the macrocosm by burning.
The sun has now climbed into a cloudless sky, and with it, a procession of women arrive carrying offerings on their heads, followed by members of a large orchestra dressed in vivid purple jackets playing gamalungs; symbals begin to add to the growing din. Outsiders have started to set up temporary warungs (tiny eating houses) while others are selling colourful balloons, incense and other paraphernalia as if we are all at a country fair.
Mass cremations are never simple.
There is a pervasive belief that no expense should be spared for the final send-off, and any skimping on costs somehow constitutes disrespect to the departed. A cheap cremation, it seems, is considered a somewhat wrong way to start one’s afterlife.
These ceremonies cost millions of Rupiah, which can severely deplete the families’ resources in the lead-up to the grand day, which takes months of preparation. Not only are the spirits impressed by a grand cremation, but the family gains prestige and status in the village if the living have laid on a costly ceremony.
Today’s event is a ‘communal’ cremation where funds are ‘pooled’, ensuring the costs are spread throughout the village, thus lessening the burden on the poorest. With all the thousands of details involved, the event unfolds even though there seems to be no checklist as to the order of the day's events as no one seems to be in charge, but it all works out in typical cooperative Balinese fashion.
The diggers are by now deep into the graves, and finally, the buried bodies, wrapped in white shrouds, are spotted in the earth. Attending family members jostle for position around the grave, and a white ribbon, attached to a three-pointed stick cut from the dab tree, is ceremoniously lowered into the open pit.
With a mighty “One, two, three!” shout, the resting corpse is rather unceremoniously hoisted into the air to land on the side of the grave.
This, I am told, is to wake the sleeping dead!
The remains are gently unwrapped, exposing the bones, which are washed and then carefully rearranged before being wrapped in a fresh, pure white muslin shroud. The body is then borne shoulder-high three times around the gravesite before being carried to the allotted sarcophagus. Once all the bodies have been exhumed, it is time for lunch and a rest!
The cheerful vendors, by now, are doing a roaring trade selling all manner of goods while balloon sellers wander amongst the crowds, followed by bands of excited children. After lunch, a large procession of family members returns to the gravesites carrying photographs of the deceased, followed by the ever-growing orchestra, who, after a splendid lunch, are in fine form!
Each family breaks away to their particular sarcophagi, where a priest performs the cremation rites, sprinkling water from clay pots that are ceremoniously broken when the ritual is complete. This takes a while, and a torpid lull falls over the crowd that now measures at least three thousand. They sit around catching up on local gossip and chatting with relatives who have travelled from all over Indonesia to attend this grandest of ceremonies.
Then, without warning, young men clad in white robes race through the crowd and begin to set fire to each sarcophagus and within minutes, the entire cemetery is suddenly ablaze.
This is high drama at its best.
The sarcophagi begin to smoke, and then, as fire takes hold, flames dance around the structures, consuming them in yellow busts of fire that explode in showers of sparks. I am in a frenzy, trying to take as many pictures as possible while at the same time avoiding the fierce heat erupting all around me. It feels like a war zone.
Burning elephants, bulls and dragons are rapidly consumed and slowly begin topple from their platforms.
Soon it is over, and as the heat subsides, I wander through the charred remains of singed dragon- heads that breathe actual fire while elephant trunks are reduced to smouldering appendages.
This somehow gives new meaning to the term, ‘ ashes to ashes!”
This is but stage one of the ceremony. The ashes must be carried to the sea now, but I will save that story for another day.
All photographs copyright Paul v Walters.
