Holy Cow!

The moo-moo fiasco began on our first night in Bali, in the van enroute to our villa from the airport. In our excitement over FINALLY arriving at our destination and having caught the first sunset glimpses of the paradise around us, the four of us were quite chatty with our driver. He, in turn, was explaining the sights we passed and answering our questions about the scenes we were passing. One scene was actually a Hindu ceremony at one of the many temples populating the sides of the road. We inquired about this, and he mentioned that this week marked a very important Hindu ceremony that his village would be celebrating all week. We expressed interest and excitement about this, all four of us curious and eager to learn about the people and the religion here, so he suggested that we all go together, that he would show us the ceremony.

Due to our continued inquiries into this week's momentous Hindu occasion, three days later we dressed in traditional Balinese batiks, thanks to Nyoman's friend who graciously lent us the clothing. Why? To attend what Nyoman repeatedly referred to as simply "the ceremony" at his temple back home in his village on the shore of beautiful Lake Batur and at the foot of the Mt. Batur volcano.

Despite the touristy markets he took us to along the way, as well as the buffet restaurant that probably cost as much as three days of meals in our villa ($15), we were still positive and hopeful about this opportunity to learn more about Hinduism. Also it was important to Nyoman, I believe, so I'm glad we went so he could partake of this "ceremony" with his old neighbors and friends. Unfortunately, in our stupefied, dazed state of Bali vacation relaxation, none of us thought to associate "Hindu ceremony" with "holy cow," let alone contemplate what they do with the holy cows...

When we finally did speak up and ask, "So, Nyoman, what can we expect to observe during this ceremony?", our driver replied by dropping the unexpected bomb - FIVE cows would be sacrificed during this ceremony. FIVE (5)!! Stunned into a moment of silence, we exchanged uneasy glances that asked, "Did we understand him correctly??" After all, it was not uncommon for us to mistake Nyoman's words or hear him unclearly, due in part to his accent, the blare of Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" from his love compilation CD, and his seat in the front of our van. We promptly asked for more clarification and details about how this was done; however, the response was unclear. We gathered that the cows were drowned in the lake. Something to do with a rock. Were they killed first? Were they hit over the head with a rock? No, no... that would result in killing, and they were not killed before going into the lake. The rock was tied around their necks, then they were drowned. Our questions ended for the time being, basically because Nyoman seemed not to know how to answer them.

The ensuing silence (apart from Celine, that is) allowed our imaginations (and fears) to fill in the gaps of this ritual we were going to observe . Would they round up the cows on a raft and push them off in the middle of the lake with the rocks secured around their necks? Now, cows may not be the smartest animal - though the most sacred - but how are the lucky citizens in charge of the logistics of this cow-drowning going to coax these five cows into the depths of Lake Batur?? Throwing some hay or even some carrots into the water will not be convincing enough to make them cannonball themselves into their sacrificial deathbed, will it? If left up to us, we could have spared some of our rum or tequila to loosen them up a bit (even some 40-proof arak, if they were partial to strictly Balinese products), then take them for a walk out to the lake "to cool them off." Would they be drunkety-drunk-drunk enough to take the last few paces to their deaths in the deep end, though? Hmmm... that method, although tasty in the last moments of the cows' lives, needs some more thought.

Angela, the resident farmgirl, expressed concern about the panic factor. Any living being has a sense for danger, especially life-threatening danger. How would a huge animal like a cow, fattened real-nice for sacrifice, react to a rock being tied around its neck, followed by a push into the water by those lucky cow sacrificers? Most likely more than just the cow would end up in the water. Is that the intent, perhaps - to give a little something extra? OK, enough senseless speculation, Christie. Honestly.

The ride from lunch to the village was a quiet half-hour, zigzagging down the hillside, into the ancient volcano, among the volcanic rock, which was far beyond its five o'clock shadow with its dry grass growing atop to provide a splash of color to the landscape.

The four of us were silenced by our thoughts, concerns, and imaginations, vividly pre-enacting the events to transpire during this ceremony. Becca spoke up for all of us, informing Nyoman that we wanted to observe from a distance, from the back, not up front. We imagined the Hindus, in their elation over our presence and interest in their rituls, placing us on the raft with the five cows so as to get the best view. Angela was cringing at the horribly traumatic sound and sight of a cow thrashing and struggling against imminent death. Then we began to wonder if WE were the ones to be sacrificed - four whiteys dressed in Balinese batiks of the finest order for the gods. After all, everywhere we went, the Balinese admired our clothing, asking where we bought it and how much we paid. Was this all a conspiracy? Lastri and Weni and Pipin fatten us up with the deliciously filling Balinese meals back at the villa, Nyoman's friend generously offering her batiks for us to wear, thereby winning additional favor from the gods, and Nyoman basically tying the rocks around our necks. Goodness! How could we not have seen through this scheme?!

In the end, however, we arrived too late for the cow sacrifice. Bummer. With the encouragement of the worshipers in the temple, who insisted that we walk around and take pictures of their holy place, that "it is your temple, too," we wandered around and observed. Later we followed Nyoman from the main temple to a smaller temple on the edge of the lake; while he prayed inside the temple, the four of us faced the calm, blue waters and said silent prayers for the five cows at the bottom of the lake. Poor guys! During our long return trip to Ubud, Nyoman quenched our religious curiosity by answering our numerous questions about Hindu beliefs; however, we failed to acquire more details about the holy cow sacrifices until our return trip to the airport on our last night , at which point we were able to gather... well, perhaps I'll just let you inquire about the graphic details if interested. What I will say, though, is thank goodness we were not considered holy whiteys!