“Every village has Pura Darem, or cemetery,” says Sana, my cultural guide, as we past a sign that says Ngusabe Desa. It means a big ceremony. We drive into a temple compound of the Mumbal Village, 20 kilometers from Ubud. “Vishnu is the god for the dead,” he adds.
Today’s preparation is part of the hundred year cycle festivities, and nothing is spared to appease their god, Vishnu. There will be many more animals sacrificed today. A few days earlier I was near the temple at the local private swimming pool, and spotted a white baby buffalo. He was mulling around with another young cow. I went up to him, and it made a pathetic kind of plea. He will be sacrificed in a few days.
Today the same ‘holy’ cow, tied up to a tree, is watching on as the hide and legs and head in tact of a young cow is dried out on a stretcher and cured with coffee. I was surprised to see that beautiful creature still alive (it was suppose to be slaughtered at 10 am this morning, but was rescheduled in a few days.) I go up to it. It sniffs my hands. It smells no fair. At least not with me anyway.
Coffee aromas wafts across the temple grounds of the Pura Dalem, the cemetery temple, in the Balinese highlands. But there’s no idle chatter or long black being served here. There’s a sense of industry going on. The coffee is sprinkled over the skins of the sacrificed cow and dog hide to alleviate the smell of this open air slaughter house.
Tables with fresh kills of pigs are being chopped up. A dog carcass is being wrapped up carefully in red cloth,on a bamboo base. The hide of a cow, that was sacrificed this morning, is also being spruced up for the temple offering.
It’s an open air butcher. Here they are being knifed, bleed, minced and made into sates for tomorrow’s offerings .Surprisingly, the Balinese coffee is keeping the dead smell at bay. But the noises coming from the frightened animals suggests something else is at hand.
“Duck, do you like duck,” says one Balinese local who is grilling ducks on open coals. Other’s are fanning it. The whole compound is a flurry of activity. A few young chickens to be killed run away. The Balinese run in all directions to catch them.
Laughter again.
Vishnu’s hunger is insatiable. But after the offerings are made, the fresh meat from the sacrificed animals will go home to the 700 families of this village. “So nothing is wasted. And eating the holy food gives us better luck,” says Sana, who is also preparing for a big ceremony in his village in Ubud for next week.
Now a cool wind blows. The smoke of fires cooking sate waft with the aromas of spices, as the bamboo ceremonial decorations that will be used at tomorrow’s ceremony rustles. The temple dedicated to Vishnu is hungry. Someone will go in a trance, and the message from the gods will be relayed tomorrow. Auspicious tidings no doubt.
Today there were no priests. It was just a villager good with a knife who slit the animal’s throat. “It’s a different situation,” says Sana. “The priests only make the sacrifice when bad spirits need to be purged. But this is an offering so no need for them. ”
Now a kid goat is about to be killed.Two of them were tied up on a tree. The one that is to be spared cries. The other goat is taken to the temple nearby. A man pulls out his knife from his sheaf. Two other guys hold the goat. Another puts a bucket underneath the goat’s neck. Then there’s a resistance, but soon the sound of air leaving the goat’s throat signifies another sacrifice for Vishnu.
A young man asks me, after the goat kicked its last nervous kick, “Do you want to die?”
It put a whole new meaning on the sacrifices. I thought about it, and asked my friend and cultural guide. “He was joking. The whole point of the ceremony is to bring good luck to the village.”
While relaxing, and taking this all in over a Balinese coffee, Sana said that a turtle would be killed. “No thanks, not interested in seeing that.” A big guy, who had earlier had a meal with us, had tasted the sate turtle, “Its really tasty,” he said and rode off on his motor bike.
At the temple, a statue of Vishnu and a slaughtered cow, waits patiently for tomorrow’s offering.
And I’m sure, I’m not going to be on his menu list.