BALI THIS MAY

For the Balinese, pitra yadnya, the rituals aimed at ensuring a dignified farewell and a smooth reincarnation, are the most significant of their myriad rites de passage. The way the village community, the banjar, takes over and arranges the always elaborate event allows the family solace, distraction and support.

The full-scale royal cremation of the Prince of Bongkasa, I Gusti Agung Gede Oka, on the 18 th of May, 1997, was a magnificent affair family in white, guests in black and battalions of war veterans in the peacock colours of their regiments.

In my last column I wrote of the ritual body-washing, held in April, when all of Pak Oka's close friends and family gathered for the first time since his death.

It was a moving occasion when the full impact of the beloved prince's departure could be gauged by the devotion of the attendees and the deep shadow of grief etched on the face of the prince's widow, Ibu Kompiang, Sanur's most respected mum. Born a brahmin, Ibu Kompiang was always a dutiful consort to her much-decorated prince.

Jero Bongkasa, 18th May

Today I arrived at the palace just as the family were starting their prayers to the demi-deified soul of the late prince. Ibu Kompiang, together with her daughters, granddaughters and ladies-in-waiting had chosen to wear the classic mekudung headress over more elaborate and fashionable models, setting a tone of refinement for the multi- courtyard event.After prayers the honour guards, attending royal dukes, gamelan orchestras, family members bearing regalia and palladia, and a good showing of Denpasar's best- dressed filed out through the narrow palace gates, following the speeding coffin as it headed for its date with destiny and 20,000 tourists.

You know, I over-anticipated Bali I heard one dry old New Yorker drawl. A regimental Baris Tekok Jago, honour guard for royal cremations, lead the procession as it raced pell mell down the main street: Ibu Kompiang, clutching the 'sekar' spirit effigy (first base for heaven bound saints) atop her pallenquin joli.

The towering funeral bier with coffin and Pak Oka's sons perched perilously atop finally swayed to a halt in the cremation ground. The giant 'teragtag' ramp hovered into place, the coffin carried down and across the graveyard into the black sarcophogus standing regally, like the trojan horse, (Pak Oka was a sports fan) with a very proud member (and a ladies' man).

A white dove was released : it crashed into a palm tree and fell, maimed, to the ground. From her parked throne Ibu Kompiang let loose a shriek of despair, and mirth - at last some comic relief amidst the pomp and circumstance. Nothing is too precious on the fabled isle!....

The more beloved the deceased, it seems, the more composed the mourners.