Shadow Puppets & an Elephant Cave                                    Back

I had finished dinner & was relaxing by the pool at the Artini II in Ubud. It had been a long day, Nyoman & I had spent it buying bamboo furniture & contacting shippers. I had found a firm I was satisfied with & made arrangements for them to pick up and for the time being store the things I had already purchased.

I had just about finished my glass of Baileys & was about to go to my room for a quick nap, before going out for a little nightlife when Nyoman showed up. "Mr. Alvin, You want maybe to see Wayang Kulit (Shadow Puppet Play)." he said with a smile. "They are going to have celebration with most famous dalang on Bali, at Goa Gajah."

I had been to Goa Gajah (Elephant Cave) on my last trip to Bali the year before on the back of a motorcycle with another Balinese friend (Wayan Putra) but that had been in the daytime & there wasn't any celebration, in fact we were the only ones there.

Goa Gajah is the site of an intriguing archaeological mystery. The cave contains both Buddhist & Hindu sculptures & above the entrance of the cave is a carving of a giant head which resembles that of an elephant which were never known to inhabit Bali. No one knows which religion first used the cave.

The compound has baths and an area for dance & celebrations which on this night was the Wayang Kulit play.

You guessed it, even though I was tired I couldn't miss the greatest dalang on Bali performing for native Balinese & not for tourists. A real Balinese celebration without a lot of distraction from westerners and other tourists asking questions, chatting amongst themselves, or taking photos with their strobes.

When we arrived at the site it was already crowded, most were Balinese from a nearby village, but there were also many from other parts of the island. It seems that, like rock stars in the west, a great dalang has a large following of fans, who will go anywhere to watch them perform & this one was one of the greatest.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that the event was to include a Trance Dance, in which The Barong fights off Rangda with the help of village men who are placed in a trance. This is one of the most famous religious dances on the island & one of the most interesting.

We had arrived at about eight thirty and by the time this dance was over and the dalang had set up the stage and lit his lantern it was almost eleven

Since I was with Nyoman I was allowed to sit on the edge of the stage where I could see both the screen, which was a large white sheet, the audience, and the dalang.

The dalang (a type of priest) was, I would guess in his mid seventies. I mention this because as you will see, performing a Wayang Kulit is anything but a day at the beach.

The dalang lit his kerosene lamp, arranged the puppets he was going to use first & squatted, Indian style, behind the lantern. The show began, he was leading a gamelan band by drumming on the box, which he carried the puppets to the stage in, with mallets held between the toes of the right foot.

With amazing dexterity he manipulated two puppets, one in each hand. Unless you've seen Wayan Kulit puppets, you may not realize the difficulty of this action. The puppets aren't like the ones we use in the west but are cut out shapes of animals, people, and other things needed to tell the story. They are made of leather & attached to sticks which move the arms, legs, head, etc. & by moving the sticks with your fingers you can animate the shadows they project. See this site to see the puppets

The children, & there were lots of them, began to laugh. A laugh I couldn't share as he was speaking Balinese. (I could however picture the smile Rosemary would have had on her face if she had been there.) He also spoke in old Balinese & Indonesian. The only one of which I know a little, was Indonesian. The children got my attention as they went from laughter to cringing in fear, to intent sorrow, then back to laughter. They were more into the story, then I've ever seen our children here in America at any theater.

To the children of Bali these tales are history & they relate with the characters. After all they may be dead relatives who come to their many festivals, or sometimes to their homes to take their places in the family temple.

The dalang went on & on, his fingers flying, his foot drumming, telling his story & making jokes, while the band played & the kids laughed & cried all at the same time. Sweat was by now pouring from his forehead. It was, after all, in the high eighties with about 70% humidity.

It was nearly two in the morning and I, though enjoying the performance, was getting tired. I turned to Nyoman. "How long can he go on?". "Till sunrise." Noyman replied. That was all I had to hear. "Nyoman" I said "I had a great time tonight but I think I've had it. If we don't leave soon I'm going to fall asleep right here & I'd rather be in a bed. Besides your wife is going to wander where the hell you are."

So we skirted the edge of the large crowd, tripping on rocks in the dark, found the stairs back to the road and Nyoman's van & headed back to Ubud and good nights sleep. I took the next day off and spent it at the beach.