Tjokorda Raka Kerthyasa – Asta Kosala Kosali

Thus Spake Prince Tjokorda Raka Kerthyasa
On Asta Kosala Kosali
- The Balinese Architectural Code – Pics and Text by Marculyseas

This is a conversation with the Prince of the Ubud Royal family who has spoken at length about the Balinese way of constructing homes. Often expats have fallen foul of the religious and social norms while building due to ignorance of the customs that are intrinsic to the Balinese way of living in harmony with their surroundings.

I met Tjokkorda Raka Kerthyasa at his residence next to Ibah, a sprawling luxury hotel owned by him to talk about the meaning of Asta Kosala Kosali. This is what he had to say.

“It is a system…traditional Balinese method of how to divide a space for a house or temple in relation to the owner. We believe in the interconnection between macro and micro cosmos. We have a philosophy of life during transit on this planet on how to maintain harmony between human-to-human, human to the environment and human to their God. Every Balinese activity is to manifest this philosophy. So when we are building a house or temple we measure the space according to the owner that reasonates as the fundamental belief of Tatwa Philosophy, ethic and moral.

There is a ritual and spiritual aspect to this…the physical world and the non physical world. Like Desa Kala Patra – Desa is a place, Kala the time and Patra the situation and condition. So when building a place anywhere in Bali it is essential to take this into account as Bali is very complex and each area has ethnic differences. For instance, Ubud and Seminyak.

We believe in the Pancha Shrada (Five Beliefs) in God, the rule of Karma, Reincarnation, Moksa (liberation of worldly attachment) and Atman – soul. The concept of Pancha (Five) will keep appearing in this conversation and you will begin to understand the significance that will help you when you are selecting land to build a house, in design and construction and when you move into your new home.”

Here are basic simple steps to follow to keep the balance between the physical and non-physical world and to make your home one of peace, happiness and prosperity.

01. When you have decided to invest in a piece of land meet the Heads of the village of that area which is the Klian Banjar and the Klian Adat.

02. The Klian Banjar is where the legal formalities are done and where your status in the community is written decided etc. The Klian Banjar scrutinises all legal papers to ensure all are in order.

03. The Klian Adat is religious head who will advise and guide you on the rituals that need to be followed prior to commencing construction, the floor plan and most important whether the land is suitable of living on as some places are considered “bad” e.g. a house situated at a T junction or land that was formerly a cemetery. It is suggested that you concult the villagers in the area to check if the land is “good”.

04. The position of the land is not important but when you build a house and or temple it has to be recognised where the East or the North. The temple has to be positioned in the North East and the house facing usually south. The head of your bed has to facing east or North. The land must have sufficient morning and evening sun.

05. Proportions of the layout of the floor plan for the land are based on the concept of Trianga, which are head, body and legs of the owner.

06. The buildings on your land will have to be measured by human feet. In fact the measurement is done using the actual feet size of the owner! After every seven feet a half-foot is added which is called the Urip. Urip means life or living. If we don’t have space like Urip we will not have a spirit and therefore no breathe of life.

07. Once you have purchased the land the first thing to do is to follow the local customs and religious ceremonies to bless the land and construct the temple, which must be the first building on the site. We have to bury Panch Datu (Five elements), which is gold, silver, iron and ruby as they represent our body and the micro cosmos. Our material base is related to the same elements that are Earth (gold), Water (iron), Fire (copper), Air (silver), Ether (ruby). You probably are aware that we are made from Butha (character of wood), Kala (animal instinct) and Dewa (Gods and Goddesses). Only in Bali do people bury these precious materials but others mine it. The five elements vibrate life and that’s why people feel at home in Bali.

Just a word of caution here: the temple or Padma Sana must be venerated according the Balinese way of life like making regular floral offerings etc. The neighbours must have access to the Padma Sana to place their offerings. Do not dissuade or prevent them from doing so.

08. Once the land has been blessed and the Padma Sana installed the first phase is complete. Now the measurements of the building is done using the owner’s feet size, outstretched arms and hands on the hip! Yes, have you ever wondered why the Balinese doors to the entrance to their homes are so narrow? Well the measurement is done of the width of the owner with his hands on his hips – elbow to elbow.

09. To tune into the “harmonious vibrations” one must consult the expert who is called Undagi.

10. The most important ceremony once the construction is complete is making it alive with rituals performed by holy men. This is symbolic of giving life to the building and thus creating a living being. It is for this reason that every house in Bali has a shrine or Padma Sana because it is a part of the owner; The building and the owner become one.

11. We believe in Pancha Shrada (Five Beliefs) in God, the rule of Karma, Reincarnation, Moksa (liberation of worldly attachment), and Atman (Soul). Therefore, when constructing it is essential to maintain a balance with the environment in terms of design, aesthetics, co-existence to other residences and religious places in the vicinity.”

After a nice cuppa tea and some fried banana fritters, Tjokorda Raka Kerthyasa, took me to the palace and then onto Pura Taman kemuda Saraswati, the Lotus Temple built by his father Tjkorda Ngurah and Gusti Nyoman Lempad, a short distance away. To begin explaining the intricate details of layout, ornamentation and aesthetics will take up a thousand pages.

What you have to keep in mind is that Bali is a very special place where the Gods and Goddesses of the land hold sway over the immortals. You have to abide by the rules, rituals and pay obeisance to them otherwise your home here will never be a home. It will probably be a place that will cause you much unhappiness. This is not superstition but common sense. Living in harmony with your surroundings is an integral aspect of fine living.

And in the words of Tjokorda Raka Kerthyasa,

“Wherever you stand up, you are holding the sky above your head”.

Ubud – I Wayan Balawan – a musical legend

Not too long ago while driving past Opera Warung in Ubud I overhead music that was contagious and provoking. Hence, I dropped in, ordered a whisky sour and sat down to see and hear a truly gifted Balinese musician, I Wayan Balawan, in a melodic frenzy with fingers racing across the fret boards of two guitars! This is what I would call an ambidextrous musician! When the show ended I got to speak to Balawan.

“I compose and play music not for audiences but for my God.” – I Wayan Balawan

I Wayan Balawan hails from Batuan Village about 10 km south of Ubud. His brother owns the Opera Warung where he performs on a weekly basis to an ever-growing number of expats, people from Jakarta and locals.

For the last 25 years Balawan has been perfecting his art of playing two guitars (electric guitar and keyboard guitar) at the same time backed by a drummer, bassist, rhythm guitarist and Gamelan. He has been attempting to bridge the gap between western music and the Gamelan.

At age 11 he performed for the first time in Denpasar to an appreciative audience. A self taught musician he believes that the root of all music stems from religious encounters with the Almighty that sows the seeds of enlightenment for the artist through the music that is being played.

The three musicians who have influenced Balawan’s style are John McLaughlin, Paco de Lucia and Charlie Parker. They infused in him a sense of being in touch with a spiritual force that magnified his perception of a bridge that exists in the music of eastern and western cultures. From here he began experimenting with his own compositions and came up with quite a few recordings viz. Balawan Globalism, Balawan Solo and the latest album – Balawan Magic Fingers.

He has toured cities in Australia, Germany, Holland, Norway, Belgium, Japan and Canada playing his own compositions punctuated by the gamelan.

Balawan’s band, Batuan Ethnic Fusion was formed in mid 1997 with the purpose of exploring existing elements in ethnic Balinese music by using a combination of western and traditional instruments (Gamelan) and to preserve for posterity traditional Balinese songs.

In addition to the two guitars he plays, a bassist, rhythm guitarist and drummer he has two Balinese Kendangs, one metal Gamelan, one wooden Gamelan, one standard Cengceng, four pairs of Cengceng, four flutes and a ten-piece Reong.

“Walking through the paddy field
While catching some fish
So you can eat it with rice
It’s a simple life for the Balinese” is a stanza from one of his compositions.

“I am a Balinese Hindu. Life is hard enough so why will I leave my religion. It’s my life, my culture. If I wasn’t a Hindu who will carry my body to the city?” said Balawan to me, adding, “I want to tell people not to sell their land and to keep the rice fields. For if the rice fields are sold off Balinese culture and what it stands for will also slowly disappear. We have to be careful. The only way to preserve Bali is to educate the people. For without education there can be no enlightenment”.

Well you heard it from a legend in the making. A young talented Balinese musician with a mission to bridge the gap between cultures and religions in a world ravaged by war, disease and racism.

Come to Ubud and listen to Balawan’s music and when you do you will then believe what some have been saying – that Ubud is the cultural capital of Indonesia.

Morganics – Hip Hop is my passport!

‘It’s the seams, it’s the edges where worlds meet, old school, new school, can you feel the heat?- Rapper Morganics in Ubud!

The New Year sun is days away, hiding far behind the hills of Ubud ready to rise and shine to warm, caress and preserve the beauty of a land reminiscent of the fabled Camelot. It will spread before us like a feast at Galungan and once again we will waltz through the year in Ubud rubbing shoulders with royalty, holy men, artists of vibrant hues, culinary maestros, musicians and the ubiquitous stereotype expats who lounge around watering holes wallowing in Draught.

The week began with a Hip Hop cool dude, Morganics, from Down under who is here for a brief R & R with his beautiful girl friend Karina from Paris before returning to Sydney for the launch of his latest album Hip Hop is My Passport.

When I quizzed Morganics about his Cd he replied, “ This album has been recorded on my laptop as I travelled through countries producing tracks with children on the streets of Arusha, Tanzania, on subway trains in New York with rapping ciphers (circles/groups), performing with aboriginal elders in Oz, rapping with Balinese school children in Ubud and culminating in the recording of a Javanese folk song to Hip Hop with Thanding Sari at the 2006 UWRF. The title of this song is Jungle Funk and it goes like this – it’s the seams, it’s the edges where worlds meet, old school, new school, can you feel the heat? This is how Hip Hop is my Passport came together through a series of cross-cultural collaborations. The album also features people rapping in Swahili, Spanish and Pitjanjarra (a central aboriginal language). Along with this album there’s also a one hour documentary DVD on the making of it.”

Morganics was born in Brisbane. His father a left wing political activist introduced him to the Warumpy Band and Kraftwerk while his mother, a feminist and into street theatre, made him listen to Grace Jones and Prince’s early work. When Morganics was 13, Hip Hop culture was taking root in Oz. And like punk music it was revolutionary, political and inventing itself at every stage. He had been in television from an early age doing shows with Lee Majors on one of the popular TV series produced by NBC called Danger Down Under.

Around ’95 he co-formed one of Australia’s first Hip Hop groups “MetalBass’n’Breath” with Baba Israel (New York) and Elf Tranz Porter (Houston). The 3-member band formed on the streets of Sydney rapping, playing drums and break dancing. It expanded to include Funk Jazz musicians and a DJ.

‘Ya I played with bands from Run-Dmc to Michael Frante. In 97-98 I was based in New York for nearly a year and did gigs with Badar Ali, son of the late Ustad Fateh Ali Khan (great Qawali singer), as well as, the originator of hip hop culture, Grand Wizard Theodore who also invented ‘scratching’. The group disbanded in 99 and since then I’ve been doing solo stuff and a lot of community work and more recently Hip Hop Theatre. I will be producing and performing in some Hip Hop Theatre at the Sydney Opera House, Melbourne, Brisbane, New York and Manchester UK. I will be going on a European tour in August 08. Presently am writing a Hip Hop travel book titled – Hip Hop is my passport – memories of a Hip Hop nomad and what better place for inspiration, perspiration of the mind and the groove of culture than Ubud!”

Dr. Kathy Reichs – From real life to reel life

Exclusive interview with Mark Ulyseas in Bali.
Dr. Kathy Reichs – a prolific writer whose books have all been on the New York Times Bestseller List. In fact her latest novel Bones to Ashes knocked J.K.Rowling’s Harry Potter off the top spot. She is a forensic anthropologist for the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, State of North Carolina and for the Laboratory of Science for the province of Quebec. Kathy is one of only fifty forensic anthropologists certified by the American Board of Forensic Anthropology and is on the Board of Directors of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences; a professor of anthropology at The University of North Carolina at Charlotte. A native of Chicago where she received her Ph.D at North Western Kathy now divides her time between Charlotte and Montreal and is a frequent expert witness in criminal trials.

Why are people fascinated by crime, especially murder?
People have a macabre interest in the ultimate crime, triumph of good over evil, puzzle solving and seeing order restored.

Is there a particular segment of the reading market that’s more interested in this area than other, say middle-aged people?
The primary segment is middle-aged women probably those in their late thirties early forties. The secondary has people of all ages.

What is it about forensics that attracts you?
I think it’s the relevance of the scientific process that ultimately reaches a proven conclusion. It actually impacts someone’s life. It also scientifically unravels the mystery of a murder and proves beyond all-reasonable doubt thus helping the police catch the perpetuator/s.

What percentage of your work is legwork and research as opposed to writing and dreaming up ideas and storylines? And how do you get ideas for your books – do everyday things spark off a train of thought?
All my books have drawn heavily on my real life experiences as a scientist. This has helped me in formulating storylines and creating plots and sub plots. You can safely say that work has inspired my writing. In fact it was in my forties that I started to write and since then have published ten books, all have been on the NYT Bestseller List.

Your characters like Temperance Brennan – ho do you come up with their names?
Oh I just liked the name.

Who are your favourite writers, and why?
Jeffery Deaver (Bone Collector), Ian Rankin and P.D.James (I spent her eightieth birthday with her). It’s too short a time to discuss each writer and how they influence me.

What’s your impression of Bali (if here for the first time?). how do people back home regard Bali?
Am here for the first time. It’s a very short trip but what I have seen of it so far is lovely. People back home don’t view Bali as a dangerous place…just too far to travel to!

Do you think you could set a book here (and this is a spark for a new novel?!) A tropical murder mystery. Could be big.
That’s a wonderful idea. Yes would be a challenge…the publishers need to sort out the details of my stay etc…hah hah hah

What are your thoughts on the Ubud Writers and Readers festival?
Well this is my last leg of my book promotion tour of New Zealand and Australia and I arrived with my daughter on the 29th and the festival closed on the 30th. Pity. But I enjoyed myself meeting other writers. Can’t say more.

How do you compare it with similar festivals around the world?
It is small and concise. There was much interaction between writers at the UWRF unlike many other festivals across the world that have an impersonal feel. That’s what I liked about it.

From initial idea to typing the final work, what’s the average length of time it takes you?
One year per book. Ten years ten books!

Do you think people are as interested in books these day as they used to be? Has someone like J.K.Rowling helped the industry enormously?
Yes yes very much so. Infact she has done a great service to the publishing industry and has been instrumental in helping in the revival of interest in books by children with her Harry Potter series.

In your line of forensic work what incident do you still recall with emotion?
When I was part of the team exhuming mass graves in Guatemala and this mother came up to me and held my hand. Her children and grandchildren were in the mass graves. It was moving.

From real life to print and now to reel life? Tell us about your TV series?
Hah its very exciting to see one’s work enacted on the screen.
20th Century Fox and Sky are broadcasting the TV series “Bones”. I am the producer and I also advise the panel of writers.

In your latest book Bones to Ashes what is it that inspired you?
The plot is based on a true story of a child’s skeleton found on the border of Brunswick and Quebec. I worked on that case. However, the parents or family members were never located. It still remains a mystery.

Are you working on any book presently?
Yes, the working title is Devil Bones, it is based on Voodoo, Black Magic and Witchcraft.

Michael Franti – A Rastafarian Interlude

I met Michael Franti, musician and Filmmaker, at the Flava Lounge in Ubud a week ago. It was the regular weekly Open Mike Night when all aspiring poets, writers, musicians and wannabes can have their fifteen-minute say in the spotlight. At the fag end of the evening a two-meter tall Rastafarian with a tranquil look on his face took the stage acoustic guitar in hand and followed by a thunderous applause. It was then that I recognised the face. It was the great Michael Franti of San Francisco who had quietly descended on Ubud for a brief sojourn to play at a local school in Maas and to relax with his beautiful Hawaiian wife Carla Swanson, a Hollywood film editor.

The next day we met at Meghan’s Kafe for an exclusive interview for The Bali Times.

Q. Who are you Michael Franti?

I am a musician and a filmmaker. My goal is to be a musical communicator of social justice and tolerance. Music and moving pictures help me translate my words into tangible symphonies of images and sound.

Q. Where are you from?

San Francisco. I was adopted by Charles Franti, an Afro-Native American and Carol Franti of Irish/French/German descent.

Q. Where did you first get your inspiration to write poetry and play music?

I used to play basketball when I studied at the University of San Francisco and lived about the campus radio station, which used to play all kinds of music. The rhythms, beautiful voices crooning, lamenting and rejoicing in life ignited that spark in me to be a creative person. I wanted to put my poetry to music to get my word across to people who I think are the best part of Nature.

Q. Can you recall one of your performances that still holds a special place in your heart, and why?

Well in June 06 I performed at the Folsom Prison. It was the first performance since Johnny Cash visited the place 37 years ago when he sang Folsom Prison Blues. Folsom prison is Level 4 maximum-security prison. The prisoners are hardened criminals and yet when I sang one of my songs – One step closer to you – they broke down and cried, holding each other and singing along with the guards and me – I believe in the spiritual, I believe in the miracle, I believe in the one above, I believe in the one I love, and take me one step closer to you.

It was an experience that left me believing there was a benign and loving God who cared for even the most evil of us all. For a moment I saw the prisoners for what they really were – lost children of the world.
I also understood what Johnny Cash was trying to do so long ago.
Q. Have you performed at any other prisons in the States?

Ya, at San Quentin, youth and women’s prisons. In fact I will be teaching yoga in Salt Lake City prison in January 08. I believe there is a lot of wisdom to be found in prison ‘cause both men and women criminals during their incarceration have time to contemplate their lives and to slowly sync with the universe. But am not for the death penalty. Taking a life for a life does no one any good nor does it achieve any purpose.

Q. Tell us about your recordings?

Michael Franti Spearhead has recorded a total of 12 albums till date. My CD – Everybody Deserves Music – is on sale at Kafe. The latest one, which has still to reach Ubud is – All Rebel Ruckus. It’s a hip hop/reggae/rock mix, which was recorded in Jamaica.

Q. And films?

I made the movie – I know am not alone – in June 04. I spoke to the people on the streets of Baghdad, Palestine, Israel and the Gaza Strip.

Q. And festivals?

Every year in Frisco I am part of festival – The Power to the People – that occurs very close to September 11, when more than 50,000 people congregate to hear musicians from all over the world. We don’t want 9/11 remembered as a day when the call was made to war but a day when the call has been made to end all wars.

Q. How did you meet you wife?

Carla Swanson volunteered to help me on the film I was making on Iraq in 04. At that time she was a successful film editor at Hollywood with written and spoken knowledge of Arabic, Spanish and Japanese. In fact when she saw the rough cut of the movie she could understand the Arabic spoken by the Iraqis on the streets of Baghdad. She is my partner in films, manager of the website, merchandiser, art director, stage design and music videos.

Q. Will you be visiting Ubud again?

I will be performing at Meghan Beth Pappenhiem’s Bali Spirit Festival (a celebration of yoga, dance, music, love and gratitude) being held at Yogabarn from March 05 to the 16th this year. A part of the proceeds is going to Robin Lim’s Yayasan – Bumi Sehat – for the building of a new wing at the medical centre.

Q. Any last thoughts?

I believe in the power of melody and rhythm to communicate the problems that afflict the world. And the greatest gift for me is to see people smile and rejoice when they hear my songs.

Birds of Paradise – III

This is the third in a four part series of the wonderful women I met in Amed.

“I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain
I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end
I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought I’d see you again”.

-James Taylor, Fire and Rain.

Ina called Bali the Garden of Eden – Beautiful people who had arrived on its shores losing themselves after tasting the fruit of momentary love.

She had seen a friend vanish into the carnival like atmosphere that pervaded the air in Kuta. The clothes, the culture, the pretty faces – all making up for a panoramic view of a paradise the likes of which she had never known.

This was her first journey to Bali. She was working as a manager with a multinational in Paris – A forty-year-old highly successful single woman with a long time boy friend and a golden retriever back home.

I met her in the small restaurant in the hotel in which we were both staying. She was eating Nasi Campur with a red face as she had just bitten into a green chilli that looked like a string bean.

I went up to her table and introduced myself. Ina held out her hand and instead of words rice came out. She apologised profusely and rushed off to wash up.

On her return, she offered me a glass of rosé wine, which I gladly accepted.

Talk centred around religious beliefs and in particular Christian church’s teachings about God and salvation. I suppose the wine I was drinking instigated the conversation. Ina spoke passionately about her notion that God did not exist and that we were creatures born of accident. I attempted to reason with her but to no avail. Apparently, she felt that if God existed he could have prevented the accident that killed her beloved uncle many years earlier.

“So why did you come to Bali”, I asked.

“I have come to seek solitude, meditate and to spend time with myself,” she answered softly.

Just then one of the hotel boys broke out in song strumming his badly tuned guitar. We both laughed. Then she looked at me and asked a few personal questions which I avoided for fear of being dragged into a dialogue that had been laid to rest over three years ago.

I abruptly walked out of the restaurant and lay down on a sun bed next to the pool. She followed me and sat at the corner of the sun bed and placed her hands on my legs patting them gently. Ina told me that though she didn’t believe in the existence of God she did believe in the power of love. I didn’t answer her nor commented on her views for I was tired. I turned my back and closed my eyes.

Moments later she retired to her room. We met at the Internet café the next day. She was punching the computer keys with a vengeance and cursing under her breath.

“Is the internet slow today?” I asked.

“No, just got news from home about the death of Sparky, my golden retriever. Yesterday morning my boyfriend discovered him dead on the floor of my flat in Paris,” she said in a soft voice.

“Sorry to hear that. How did he die?” I asked.

She never answered me.

We met again the following morning on the beach as we were coincidently sharing the same boat that would take us out for the sunrise cruise. On the way out an agitated sea and an errant wind buffeted the boat. We never spoke at all till we returned to shore. Then as if the moment had arrived we held hands and walked back to the hotel. That day and the following night we shared quiet time together interrupted by a few meals, lots of Arak and Made’s explanation of the dark moon or night of no shadows when black magic was performed. Ina quizzed Made and me about the Devil and the existence of evil forces on such a night.

For a person who didn’t believe in God but found the existence of evil forces plausible, Ina was confronted with the logic that if Evil existed there had to be a counterbalancing Good because the Universe worked on the principle of Ying and Yang, Positive/Negative. She never verbally acknowledged the predicament that confronted her for it was apparent that our logic was inarguable, as it had aroused within her the profundity that if the Devil existed then there had to be a God. The tranquillity was broken when Ina got a telephone call from home that her father had suffered a heart attack.

“I told you there is no God,” she wept.

Hearing her sob, Made the owner of the hotel walked into our room and suggested I take her to a temple to make an offering and be blessed by a Holy man.

“We Balinese pray and make offerings everyday because we believe that we must acknowledge God’s existence, otherwise we will not be blessed with the power of love and our lives would not be peaceful,” he said.

An hour later we arrived at the temple, made our offerings, prayed and were blessed by a Priest. On the return journey Ina confided in me that she had felt a powerful force embrace her soul during the religious ceremony and was afraid, as she hadn’t encountered anything like that before.

When we reached the hotel she went straight to the seashore and sat on the rocks till sunset. At twilight she returned to her room. Ina surfaced next morning fresh faced and smiling. She told me in an excited voice that she felt a change within her.

“I believed that when I went home I would be greeted by Sparky who would lick me on the face. You know he was my best friend. He knew me, trusted me and loved me for who I am. When I kissed him good-bye I thought I would see him again. It is like a replay of the parting with my uncle when I was ten years old. I left his home with my parents after a dinner party. He kissed me on my forehead and said he would drop by our home the next day for lunch. He died in a car accident on his way to us the following day. I never got to see him again. I feel a deep sense of loss. But I can handle it now.”

“Why?”

“Because when I got a call today from my mother informing me that Dad was out of danger, it dawned on me that your friend Made was right after all – the Balinese have understood the Power that controls their lives and by paying obeisance to this Power they are able to handle the pitfalls in life. In hindsight, I feel that my earnest prayer for my father’s health was heard by some divine force and that’s why he is recovering.” she replied.

I removed a small silver coin with the image of Lord Ganesha on one side, which I carried around in my pocket as a good luck charm and gave it to her.

“Always keep this coin close to you. Believe there is a God and your life will become a lot less unbearable”.

Ina held the coin to her cheek and smiled for it was apparent that she had begun to believe in the power of the Almighty on a small island called Bali.

Om Shanti Shanti Shanti Om

Birds of Paradise – II

This is the second in a four part series of encounters with women in Amed. I call these wonderful women – birds of paradise – for they don the plummage of paradise in the hope that they will become exotic in a land they assume is utopia.

Sometime ago when I was sitting in a Warung in Bunutan (Amed) listening to Jimmy Nail and sipping an Arak Attack a young woman walked up from behind and said cheerfully “Hiya, am Alison, you’re playing my song – Crocodile Shoes”.

I turned around and stared into the face of an American girl who looked like Ali McGraw.

“What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you’re alone and checking out the countryside”, I said and laughed loudly.

She told me that she had been working with an NGO in Java as part of her thesis for her Masters from an American University and as the deadline drew near she had come to Bali to stretch her legs and complete the pending work. Kuta was her first choice but the throbbing streets at night punctuated by pulsating music were a distraction. Now she was in Amed looking for a cheap clean room to lay her head down for a few days.

I called my friend Made over to my table and introduced him to Alison and requested him to give her one of the best rooms at his small hotel, where I happened to be staying. So off she went on his bike. I returned to the small hotel at sunset to see Alison in a red checked bikini lying on a sun bed beside the swimming pool. The room boys were hanging around like flies on a luscious tropical fruit.

Late that Saturday evening, I saw her in a café in an animated discussion with Kadek, a friend of Made’s. When the live band began to play, she was soon lost in the plumes of cigarette smoke and sweaty gyrating bodies on the dance floor.

Next morning at breakfast Alison confided in me that she had been indiscreet for the first time and was contemplating telling her boyfriend. I advised her against it for the night could never be relived. Then Alison mentioned she had fallen out of love with her boyfriend. That he was a boring artist too immersed in his work who didn’t see her as a woman. She needed the warm touch and strong arms of a man to make her feel woman all over.

Alison spoke of the emptiness in her life even though she was travelling the world. There was an element of her that was missing, like a lost piece of a jigsaw puzzle. One night in Amed had apparently changed her perspective of life.

I thought for a moment about what she had told me and then uttered words like passion, lust and momentary lapse of concentration – All these had factors warped her sense of proportion when she met Kadek. Alison replied by spilling her mixed fruit juice on me. It was a deliberate act by someone in the throes of Bali. It had seduced her with its voluptuous lifestyle that made her drunk on lasciviousness the likes of which she had probably never encountered before.

That day was spent with her lying on adjacent sun beds on the seashore and gazing at the sky. Images that danced through my mind were like flipping through the pages of Lolita.

“What is your sign,” I asked her.

“Aquarian”, she replied. Then she reached out and patted my stomach telling me I had a paunch just like her dad. This is when all thoughts of Lolita were unceremoniously dispensed with and reality kicked in like a shot in the solar plexus.

“Yes, I know, too many whiskeys and cigars”, I said blithely.

Just then a fisherman ambled up and asked if we would like to go out with the fishing boats the following morning. Alison requested me to accompany her on the boat. I hesitantly agreed on the condition she wore her bikini so that in case I fell into the water she could dive in and safe me. I was embarrassed to tell her I couldn’t swim.

The next day at 5 a.m. we headed out in a craft no bigger than a large dugout canoe. The wind was up and the boat was pushed out to sea. The spray wet our lips and made them salty. Alison shivered as she was in a bikini with only a hand towel with which she vainly tried to cover her head and wipe her body.

I reached out to her and held her hand.

“Alison, are you okay, shall we turn back?” I asked.

“No, not now, lets wait for the sunrise”, she said in a shaking voice.

A short while later the sun rose over the horizon like a poached free-range egg all glowing with wholesome energy. The fisherman turned the boat towards shore.

The shoreline was bathed in a strange light with Mount Agung luminous orange as it penetrated the skyline.

“This is it! I wish Henry were here. Wow, what a fantastic sight,” exclaimed Alison.

“Who is Henry?” I shouted above the roar of the wind.

“My boyfriend in the States silly. This is where he should be not in a studio on the twentieth floor of a building,” she replied.

“So you want him to be with you in Bali?” I asked.

“Yes, no…maybe, I don’t know. It’s just that when I see something beautiful I want to share it with him”, she said.

“So what about Kadek?” I asked.

“Well they can both share me. One for my body and the other for my mind,” she laughed mischievously.

We landed on shore drenched and Alison none the less wiser.

Over breakfast she got a call on her cell phone. She spoke into it in monosyllables and after a few minutes banged the phone down on the table.

“You know what, Henry just called to tell me he has another girlfriend. It’s good I spent a night with Kadek. Maybe it was the spirits telling me to let go. They were preparing me for this moment”, she said quietly, as tears swelled in her eyes.

I didn’t see her for the rest of the day. She had locked herself in the room and refused to meet even Kadek.

In the evening, Alison emerged from her room with swollen eyes and asked me to call Kadek, who miraculously appeared as we were talking. She sat on his bike and went home with him.

A day later she returned to the hotel on Made’s bike. I asked her to tell me what had happened. She avoided my questions and began to pack.

I entered her room and said, “What happened, are you okay, do you need to see a doctor?”

“What am I doing here…you tell me? I have wasted a week sleeping around, going on trips and lying on the stupid shore when I should be finishing my thesis. My work is my life. Why can’t the men in my life understand this? Do you know what Kadek wanted me to do? Get married, have children and live in a village vegetating! Henry was no different. All he wanted me to do was mother him. I got up this morning next to Kadek and realised that it was MY LIFE…it does not belong to anyone else,” she said with finality.

Abruptly, I walked out of the room. She followed me and apologised. Then Alison sat down beside me, held my hand and told me she was pregnant.

“That’s impossible to know after one night,” I said.

“No silly, I mean with Henry’s child”, she replied.

Alison knew that it was time to depart for home, as she had to complete the thesis and nurture the life growing within her. Terminating the pregnancy did cross her mind but this was quickly despatched by what she had learnt from the Balinese – that all life was sacred.

In the end, Paradise had mended the broken wing of a bird of paradise so that she could fly home to nest.

Om Shanti Shanti Shanti Om

Birds of Paradise – I

This is the first in a series of four encounters with women who I have met in Amed. They are birds of paradise – A dwindling species of beautiful creatures that sing a song of love and friendship. But in their hearts they carry a lifetime of self-doubt and missed opportunities. These young ladies arrived on the shores of Bali hoping to find what they were looking for in their lives but often confused this with the enchanting smile of a Balinese village boy and the flow of a rich living culture that is an intrinsic part of the isle.

I have travelled to Amed, Bunutan, Jemeluk, Lipah and beyond over the last year. This area has a Mediterranean feel to it with its rocky coast, white fishing boats and azure sea. Beneath the blanket of serenity lies the bedrock of emotions, yearnings and dreams of a utopian friendship.

Amed as we loosely call this entire stretch has been a soothing balm whenever I sought refuge from the wild world. During one sojourn I met a girl walking on the beach picking up shells and putting them in her skirt pocket. The skirt was wet and clung to her body like a plastic wrap. She looked at me with her pale blue eyes and asked me a question in Bahasa. Ignorant of the language I shrugged and walked on. A short distance away someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and it was the girl. She asked me my name and introduced herself as Helga from Germany.

We strolled on in silence. The Gamelan in the distance and the waves lapping at the shore completed the picture of serendipity. Suddenly she held my hand and asked me where I was from. I replied that I was an Indian. And then as if anticipating my question, she told me she had been travelling in Indonesia for a number of months with a healer from her hometown near Munich. He had taught her Bahasa and other worldly things that enlightened her to a point where she saw him for who he was – a married man using her for pleasure – it was then she met Wayan in Amed in a Warung where she had gone to eat Nasi Goreng. Her mentor who had fallen from grace returned to Germany while Helga settled down in a small village on the side of a hill not far from Lipah beach. Wayan gave her a friendship she had never known – A synchronicity of mind and body that satiated her sense of belonging to him and to the earth she trod on. She was accepted into his family as a honoured guest and it was assumed that in the near future she would marry Wayan and beget him children and bring her dollars to the family. This made Helga yearn to stay forever paradise.

Her narration abruptly ended as a young bloke sauntered up to us with a grin and a hearty greeting. It was Wayan, of fresh face and lithe body. He gently put his hand around her waist and held her close in a proprietary manner. I understood what he was telling me so I moved away and began walking along the water’s edge.

“What do you do here”, I asked.

“Am a healer. I go around the neighbouring villages and heal people who are sick in mind and body,” she replied.

A healer? I thought to myself. What could this young thing from another country know about eastern healing?

Nightfall was minutes away but the full moon was already rising. She quietly said how she wished she could own a house and start a family, as she was content living a rural life amid people who had no pretensions of who they were. Helga clutched herself and shivered. I removed my sleeveless jacket and gave it to Wayan who put it over her shoulders. This is because Wayan never wore anything above his waist. We walked back in silence to a Warung just off the beach. She got on his bike and waved to me as it roared off down the moonlit road.

The next day we met again at the Warung where I had gone to eat lunch. She returned the jacket to me and sat down at the table. I looked at her intently and noticed that she was severely sunburnt.

“How long can you stay here?” I asked.

“Well, either I get married to Wayan and become a citizen of this country, or I make a short trip to Singapore to renew my visa and then carry on living in this manner. What do you think I should do?” she said.

“Sorry I can’t advise you, I think you should search your heart and come up with the answer,” I replied.

Helga tucked into the fruit salad I had bought her like someone who had never eaten for sometime. Wiping the cream off the corner of her mouth she smiled wanly and touched my hand telling me she was happy to have met me.

Then she began sobbing uncontrollably. Embarrassed I put my arms around her and held her tight whispering to her that she needed to let go the pent up emotions that lay suppressed beneath an exterior of one who had discovered that paradise was not utopia.

We sat late into the evening animatedly discussing her options and the connections she had severed in Germany, which needed to be repaired to bring a coherency to her life. No conclusion was arrived at that day or the day after.

A week later I returned to Amed and to the Warung hoping to meet Helga again. I was not disappointed. There she was sitting alone in a corner eating her fruit salad and cream and wearing a light blue top that matched the colour of her eyes.

She smiled and hugged me, excitedly announcing she was leaving for home. Flabbergasted I asked her to explain the turn around.

Helga told me how she realised that she needed to come to Bali to cleanse her body and spirit. The many months she had spent in Wayan’s arms were a time of healing. It renewed her faith in Man and in the concept of love and belonging. His family put the finishing touches to the picture she had been painting for herself. Now that it was complete she understood the meaning of her life. Helga said that return to her home in Germany was crucial for she had to answer the many unanswered questions of her family and to start life anew.

I lightly put my hand over her mouth to stop her from speaking any further and asked her about Wayan and his family.

“Oh well, Wayan will find another girl am sure. And as to his family I will send them some money when I reach home”, she said nonchalantly.

Helga flew out of Bali a few days later without saying goodbye. Months later I received an email that spoke of her father and the love she had found in her family. I didn’t reply for I knew this bird of paradise had finally found a nesting place and was at peace with the world, as she knew it.

Godspeed Helga.

Om Shanti Shanti Shanti Om

Ubud – Homage to a tree

I dedicate this week’s column to my friend Radha with whom I have spent many a precious moment sharing the secrets and eating the fruits from the tree of life.

I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray,

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair,

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

- Joyce Kilmer

I awoke one morning in Ubud to the sound of fervent religious chants from across the river. Walking down to the riverbank I came across a small group of people and a holy man praying at the foot of a large tree. Soon, my landlord Wayan joined me. He explained to me that the large tree was going to be cut down as it was tilting dangerously and therefore could fall on the small houses around. But before the tree could be felled the Balinese were seeking permission from God and the spirits of the forest. They were requesting the spirits residing in the tree to move to another tree till such time another sapling was planted in its place.

This incident rekindled memories of my summer holidays (between bouts of boarding school) in Vrindavan, the home of Lord Krishna. The imposing banyan tree that stood in the corner of our large garden was sanctuary to a plethora of birds, insects, squirrels and the odd snake. The tree, for my brothers and me, represented a haven to which we fled when our tutor arrived to teach us Sanskrit. It gave us its branches to swing from and a trunk to carve our names and symbols of hearts and arrows with our penknives. The hanging roots that grew downwards towards the earth were like a newborn baby’s arms reaching for its mother’s breast.

Those were the days when we raided our neighbour’s mango tree and stole green mangoes. Quite often we were chased away by him, an old man who hobbled to the tree waving his walking stick menacingly. Part of our stolen booty of mangoes that was hidden in the crevices of the banyan tree was invariably pilfered by the resident squirrels and sampled by the rambunctious parrots.

Whenever my brothers bullied me, I would climb the banyan tree and lie down on one of its boughs to feel the rhythm of life flowing through it – a stream of consciousness that held the earth in its grasp and reached for the sky in homage to the Creator. In those times of loneliness the banyan embraced me like a grandmother. The sights and sounds of the menagerie of creatures that had set up home in its ever expanding boughs and the constant bickering of the two resident squirrel families made me feel one with the banyan tree. For me it was the Tree of life. In Hindu mythology it is called Kalpavriksha meaning ‘wish fulfilling tree’ – that represents eternal life. In the Bhagavad Gita, Lord Krishna uses the banyan tree as a representation to describe the true meaning of life to Arjuna.

“Under the protecting foliage of this king of the forests, the Gurus teach their pupils their first lessons on immortality and initiate them into the system of life and death”, says Madame Blavatsky on the banyan tree under which Lord Vishnu, in one of his avatars, is believed to have taught men philosophy and science.

More than two thousand years ago, when Emperor Ashoka witnessed the bloodbath that was the Kalinga War he converted to Buddhism and spread his message of peace and love through out the Indian subcontinent and beyond. As a symbol of love he had planted Ashoka trees all over his kingdom. Under this tree, which means sorrow less, Lord Buddha was born and Lord Mahavir renounced the world.

Trees in most cultures and religions are a symbol of eternal life, good and bad, fertility etc. To me the rustle of leaves, the succulent fruits, the slender and muscular branches, the foreboding roots are part of a living breathing spiritual being that unites the three worlds; underworld, our physical world and the abode of the gods. It is complete in all respects. The spirits of the forests protects this beautiful creation. Some call them nymphs, dryads and in India – Vrikshaka, sensual female beings.

Leaf through books documenting the myriad facets of civilization and you will encounter the many images of trees; the Tree of Good and Bad in the Garden of Eden, the Tooba Tree in the Koran, the Egyptian Date Palm whose leaf symbolizes eternity, the Hazel tree that is the source of wisdom according to the ancient Druids, the Yew tree a symbol of immortality for the Celts, Myrtle tree sacred to Aphrodite, the Oak that represents Zeus and the Banyan tree – Brahman.

Today there are many people who appreciate the life of trees. Books have been written, films produced but alas this has little effect on the continued rape of the forests. We plunder our heritage and abuse our world disregarding the silent cries of the trees that sustain us materially and spiritually.

Trees also exist in the metaphysical world beyond our line of vision. Because we live in the length, breadth and height of this world but not in time we are blinded by our own secret desires and perceptions that often come in conflict with this (metaphysical) world. Trees live in time and therefore are eternal. But if we continue to cut them down to satiate our wasteful needs what will become of our spirituality? Perhaps Lord Shiva who resides in the banyan tree, according to the Balinese, may one day come forth to take back what has been plundered from the divine forests -who knows?

In the meantime, I shall depart to Vrindavan and there under the Kadamba Tree I shall dance with my Radha and the enchanting Gopis to the sweet music of cowbells. We shall sing praises to the Gods in Heaven and partake of the fruits of the earth.

If you want to join us walk out of your home today and place your arms around a tree. Feel the life within it, on it and around it, place its flowers in your hair and taste its sensual fruits – for without trees we will cease to exist.

I leave you now with a Chinese saying –

Keep a green tree in your heart and perhaps a singing bird will come.

Hare Rama, Hare Krishna

Om Shanti Shanti Shanti Om