Torajan Funeral (Part 1)
On our first night in Rantepao, the major town, we were approached by a “guide” offering us his services. A large funeral for one of his relatives would start the next day. We agreed to pay him a small fee to take us to the funeral. Since his family was related to the deceased, we would have good seats to watch the action. We set off the next day to the funeral with ten packs of clove cigarettes and sugar candy as gifts. As the guests assembled in the village, we admired the beautiful houses. Each of these “Tongkonan” faces a smaller, windowless rice barn. The sweeping roofs, projecting into space majestically in front of each house, were supported by tall poles stacked with buffalo horns. The walls were decorated with carved panels painted in vibrant reds and yellows.
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A crowd gathered around the coffin, a decorated red cylinder, as it was loaded into a miniature Torajan house. A Torajan roof was carried in and placed on the coffin. A long, red banner was unrolled and attached to the coffin. The assembly was hoisted onto the shoulders of the bearers, who carried it, with much fanfare, across the fallow rice fields and over the bridge to the funeral grounds, with the women in front holding the red banner over their heads. The whole affair was festive, with laughter and fun. An old man carried a long pole with a shirt on a crossbeam and a sarong tied over it, protected from the sun by an umbrella dangling with decorations. A trio of whooping dancers, all in strange costumes, waved spears and danced to the beat of gong. The coffin fell many times as the enthusiastic and uncoordinated crowd of bearers tried to lift and carry it in unison.
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As we entered the funeral grounds, we were astounded. A large, two-level rectangular enclosure had been constructed from wood and bamboo and decorated with traditional colors and motifs. On one side of the enclosure was a VIP viewing area with a Torajan roof. Opposite that was another, higher Torajan roof over an empty platform. A picture of the deceased, hanging under one of the sloping roofs, peered down from the main building. The coffin was slowly and painstakingly carried up a rickety bamboo ramp and placed on the empty platform. Meanwhile, in the center of the enclosure, women dressed in blue robes were beating out a powerful rhythm with long bamboo poles in a wooden feeding trough. Fat, snorting water buffalo were led into the enclosure and tied to the posts in the center.
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After the coffin had been lifted into place, it was time for the buffalo fights. This was the moment everyone had been waiting for. As the two bulls were sized up, men rushed around clutching wads of bills in a betting frenzy. The two buffalo, led to face each other, dropped their heads, locked horns, pushed and heaved. Spectators flooded into the area, trying to get as close to the action as possible - but not too close! Onlookers fled in all directions as the unpredictable bulls swung around, crashing into posts and knocking over decorations. The crowd let out a roar when one of the buffalo was defeated and turned tail, running for the exit. Helpers jumped into the path of the pursuing bull to prevent it from goring its fleeing opponent.
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After the bullfights came the first sacrifice. Three young water buffalo were led into the arena and tied to posts. One by one, without ritual or fanfare, their throats were cut open with a single machete strike. Blood spurted everywhere as the wounded buffalo strained to cry and fell to the ground, pawing and trembling as it attempted to rise. Even before the final spasms had passed, the men were upon it, flaying the skin and hacking the carcass into pieces. Within a matter of minutes all that was left of the animal was a bloody patch of ground. This was simply too much for Anne. She started crying and couldn't watch the animals suffering by being sacrificed in this way.
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Prev: Tanah Toraja