a performance with Pak Tunjung, I wore pakian adat, the traditional clothing that, for a woman in Bali, means a sarong and a brightly colored kebaya—a type of blouse of lace or cotton with lace decoration. Around my waist I wore a sash of a contrasting color (fig. 1.1). Pakian adat—required for any temple ceremony, ritual, or important event in Bali—marks the performance as “special,” or tied to traditional values and practices. Like all Balinese wearing this type of traditional clothing, I did not wear a helmet while on the motorbike, because the Balinese feel that a helmet is too modern and, as many Balinese explained to me, looks “wrong.” My Balinese friends claimed that the law reflects this attitude by not requiring cyclists to wear a helmet with pakian adat; thus, at least discursively (if not actually), a separation between modernity and tradition is marked within both the social and the legal spheres.2
Figure 1.1. This sign explains the requirements for traditional clothes (pakian adat) for men and women in Bali. Photo by author.
As I entered through the gate to the main courtyard of the compound, I was invited by Pak Tunjung to sit with him so we could talk about the performance he was going to give that evening. He contemplated which story to tell, explaining that a dalang knows many stories and must select the appropriate one for each situation. The performance that night was going to be at a family’s compound for a tooth-filing ceremony, often called matatah in Balinese, or potong gigi in Indonesian, which is a coming-of-age ceremony in Bali (Eiseman 1989, 108–14). Wayang kulit provides entertainment while serving as a necessary ritual for many such ceremonies in Bali. The performance also operates as a marker of material wealth and power, because not every family can afford to hire a wayang kulit troupe for its personal rituals.
After Pak Tunjung and I chatted for about half an hour, the four musicians and two assistants, all men, arrived and began preparing for the performance. Even though the dalang is the spiritual and performative center of wayang kulit, he does not perform alone. The assistants carried the four musical instruments called gender wayang, the oil lamp, sound system, the box containing the puppets, and other equipment to the truck waiting outside the compound gate. Pak Tunjung checked his puppets earlier in the day to make sure he had the ones needed for the performance arranged within the puppet box. As the assistants were gathering the equipment, Pak Tunjung told them that he needed the crocodile puppet I had used earlier in the day for my lesson. One of the musicians took it from the puppet box I used for rehearsal and carefully placed the crocodile puppet in the box Pak Tunjung was going to use for the performance. Finally, Pak Tunjung went to bathe and get dressed. He had prayed and given offerings in his family temple earlier in the evening in order to recognize the gods and to ask for a successful performance. Pak Tunjung explained that the gods would guide his performance and provide protection from any troublesome spirits, or ilmu penengen (lit., black magic).3 At around eight o’clock we piled into the van and headed on our way. I sat in the middle of the crowded front seat with the driver and Pak Tunjung, while the musicians, additional assistants, puppets, and equipment rode in the back. The location for this performance was only about ten minutes away, but sometimes Pak Tunjung would travel an hour or more to perform.
We climbed out after the truck pulled up in front of the family compound where the ceremony and performance were being held. I could hear the sound of a river running along the side of the narrow road. The men unpacked the vehicle while I followed Pak Tunjung through the gate that led into the compound. Once inside, a man came over to greet us and led us over to a bale, or covered platform, and we were asked to sit on a blue carpet. Soon, a man in a sarong and a mismatched batik shirt came over. He was a good friend of Pak Tunjung and they were happy to see each other. Later Pak Tunjung explained that since having his own family—a wife and a son—it was much harder to visit friends. When he was younger, Pak Tunjung would travel all night to give performances, often giving two or three in one evening, almost every night of the week. After his son was born, in 2006, he performed less often and preferred to stay closer to home. Often Pak Tunjung decided to accept a performance opportunity because it allowed him to see people he knew, exchange local gossip, and visit old acquaintances. Likewise, for many in attendance the performance provided an excuse to socialize, gossip, and eat together.
Social hierarchy is performed through language and actions4 in Balinese society, and traveling with Pak Tunjung provided me with an opportunity to observe and participate in these exchanges. We hadn’t been sitting long before several women approached and offered us coffee and jaja, little Balinese cakes made of rice and palm sugar. Pak Tunjung and I were provided with small individual trays with coffee and two cakes each, whereas the musicians and assistants shared one large common tray that had many coffees and cakes. The women smiled at me and said, “Silakan makan, silakan minum” (Please eat, please drink), as they set down the trays and hurried back to the kitchen area. Another tray was brought with cigarettes. One of the musicians gestured to the tray and made a joke of offering them to me with a smile, since it is not considered appropriate for a Balinese woman to smoke. They all laughed and grinned their approval when I refused the cigarettes. I waited to eat or drink until Pak Tunjung indicated that it was appropriate for me to do so. He ate and drank very little that night, and I remembered earlier he mentioned that his stomach was upset and he was worried about making it through the performance. Afterward he remarked to me that during the show he did not think about his stomach but only focused on telling the story and manipulating the puppets, attesting to how physically and mentally demanding the performance is for the dalang. Within the performance sphere, the dalang rises to the top of the social hierarchy: he is treated as an honored guest, he is valued for his wisdom and ability to perform, and he relaxes at the center of the compound, in a seat of honor while others prepare for the performance. My own presence at the event served as an interruption to the usual social hierarchy playing out through and around the performance. Unlike other women there, I did not help out in the kitchen or with serving. Like the other assistants, I was offered cigarettes, but my own refusal to take one pointed back to my womanliness. Like women dalang, I was disrupting the “usual” ways of doing things, but everyone made an effort to negotiate those boundaries in compliance with traditional social structures.
At approximately half past nine, we moved over to the compound’s central bale, where the screen for the performance was assembled next to an elaborate altar with many colorful decorations and offerings. Behind the screen on a chain hung the oil lamp, and the puppet box and musical instruments were set in their places on the floor directly behind the screen. It was not a very large platform and I had to perch off to the side, next to the musicians. Several young boys and adults gathered around behind the screen to watch the dalang place the puppets, but in Bali most of the audience watches from the shadow side.5 Figure 1.2 shows what it looks like behind the screen for a typical wayang kulit performance.
During the performance there are many things going on at once; rarely do people sit and observe with focused attention the way an audience would in the United States.6 A group of young boys watched the beginning as the puppets were taken out of the box, but once the characters began talking, most of them wandered away. I could hear the sound of a video game being played nearby and it occurred to me that the beeping electronic music of the modern game made an odd contrast to the music and dialogue of the traditional puppet show. Scholars, visitors, and Balinese alike often wonder if wayang kulit will be able to compete with other more technically advance modes of entertainment. These modern activities point to how traditional performance in Bali is changing and demonstrate how it also remains the same in many ways. The women were also missing from those watching the performance; they hardly had time to sit still, since they were working in the kitchen or adjusting the offerings. Old men were the most attentive audience members, and they sat in front of the screen on the ground and chewed betel nut as they watched. At one time or another, every person attending the event was drawn toward the screen like moths to a lightbulb. A group of
