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Jakarta Post

The surviving Balinese cockfighting rituals

I paid Rp 15,000 fee and entered the thatched hut barricaded with bamboo and banana leaves

Marius Stankiewicz (The Jakarta Post)
Fri, August 15, 2014

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The surviving Balinese cockfighting rituals

I

paid Rp 15,000 fee and entered the thatched hut barricaded with bamboo and banana leaves. Hardly did I finish giving the scene a look around before I found myself donning a coat of curious Balinese eyes, from men with young features to old wizened faces.

I was walking into an improvised ring, where two specially bred and well-trained cocks were about to fight to the death. I couldn'€™t help but think that I was intruding on a ritual sacrifice called tabuh rah, '€œblood into the earth'€, which never proceeds without first pacifying the evils and misfortunes of the world.

In the case of Bali, these misfortunes come in the form of crop devastation, tsunamis, volcanic eruptions, and quite possibly, divorce, after men gamble away their family'€™s fortune on tajen, cockfights.

In fact, it was nothing like that.

A garrulous villager approached me wearing a sarong and udeng (headwear) and began speaking words I couldn'€™t understand.

He stared at me, kind of like how the fighting cocks stare at each other before the head-pecking and wing-beating ball of ferocity they become; probably wondering how this bule (Caucasian) happened upon the ancient tradition of cockfighting considering its secretive nature and remoteness.

He began playfully pulling on the zipper of my money pouch wondering if I came to observe or to actually make somebody rich.

How much money was I willing to wager?

The jokes kept coming. No sooner did he burst out laughing than he did the inevitable; he cupped my genitalia in his hand.

More than a fights


It was then I realized that this cockfight was more than a fight. It was a place for men to psychologically identify with their masculinity, perhaps also to channel all their primitive pent-up feelings, the deepest and darkest urges of violence, destruction and sexuality.

It came as a surprise to find that the event was not at all that ceremonial; I was really in store for some good ole village fun in Dukuh, ten minutes south of Ubud.

Puns, metaphors and double meanings aside, the cockfight is in fact a serious event on the island of Bali. So serious that I even heard the island'€™s geographical outline is said to be in the shape of a cock facing Java, the eternal rival.

Cockfights are an important part of Balinese Hinduism, which occur during rites of passage, anniversaries, and fund-raising events for the building of schools or temples.

With the blood sacrifices made, the evil spirit, Buta Kala, is appeased, and a particular area is cleansed of any impurities brought on by its presence.

It is even said that if cockfight ceremonies are not carried out, then a villager may in fact become possessed by demons, requiring greater care by the village elders.

Despite tajens being outlawed in 1981, one can always find a few sehet (match) if willing to ask around.

On the side of the road, one needn'€™t drive for long before seeing the cocks either cock-a-doodling in their guwugans (wicker cages) or being tended to by some young man sitting on his porch cropping their combs, fluffing their tails, or massaging their bodies -- sometimes even inspecting for parasites as ably as a veterinarian.

The actual sehet are held in bamboo rings about fifty square feet long. In the less creative rings the borders delineating the two sides are merely scratched into the dirt by a man'€™s heel. The fighting usually begins in the afternoon and can continue until sunset.

Gambling stage

On any given day there are about a dozen tajens on the island, with each following a particular program.

The attending priest normally makes a blessing and then the handlers converge in the ring to find opponents of equal weight, size and strength, so as to keep the competition fair.

The siap, or cock owner, stares from the sidelines and must agree to the competition.

Once the sehet is confirmed, a man is called over to attach the blade for a fee of 5,000 rupiah. The superstition behind these blades are also quite intriguing; they are only sharpened during eclipses or in the dead of night, and bad luck is said to descend upon a cock using a blade that has been glimpsed by a woman.

The blade is tied up carefully and sturdily with a red string so that the cock is killed with minimal suffering.

Then the gambling stage begins, which erupts in a frenzy of yelling and gesticulating. Betters call out the distinguishing features of their chosen moneymakers and bets are collected before the bout begins.

Betters wager anywhere from Rp 50,000 to Rp 1,000,000. To observe the inner workings, I myself bet Rp 25,000, winning double on the odd pick '€” a long, white and slender cock which I was told had few '€œprofessional'€ bouts under its belt.

If the cocks are not as interested in fighting'€”though this is rare, for their handlers will prick their beaks, pull on their combs, and agitate their hackles'€”they are then artificially sent into a fury by forcing them into a wicker cage, though only temporarily, so as to induce attack mode once they finally emerge.

After about two minutes, the winner is usually decided. Draws are rare.

The losing handler gains nothing but a blow to his ego and an empty pocket streak; the victors, on the other hand, get a bulge in the hip worth up to Rp 1.5 million, as well as the duty to take the cock'€™s lifeless body to the barbecue outside the ring, where a local cockfighting economy flourishes.

There, a lady will strip the cock of its ruffled feathers and turn it into dinner.

Back ringside, after the feathers and gizzards are swept away'€”as well as the feeling of disappointment in all the losing betters'€”a group of men slip back into the ring in search of their next opponents.

Choosing the next fighters is in fact a very low-key and slow process that can take anywhere from ten to thirty minutes.

Like a ring-card girl in American boxing, a woman enters the ring -- though not holding the round card over her head but rather a rattan platter -- with snacks such as peanuts, slices of watermelon, and drinks.

The cycle of fighting and betting continues and spirits are once again heightened.

Though many might consider tajen '€œbackwards,'€ '€œinhumane'€ or an anachronism of modern day Bali, when all is said and done, traditions, regardless of how they are viewed, tend to persevere.

For traditions to have survived many generations, one must remember that their practitioners must have also shed a little blood so that the banjar (hamlet), at the end of the day, might have some food to eat and a social event to attend.

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