It’s 8:30
am. Bleary-eyed and heavy-headed, I reluctantly drag myself out of the car. We
have driven at least three hours, all of which I slept through, from Seminyak
to Jembrana, the least populated and visited region in the west of Bali.
The driver
picked me up in the wee hours of the morning. Not an early riser plus a
night-out on the town, this is definitely not my kind of Sunday. However, I am
intrigued, even a tad excited about the cultural event I am about to see. The traditional
buffalo races, Mekepung in Indonesian, are held at the end of rice harvest
during dry season from August to October.
Armed with
my beloved Canon, I drift through what appears to be a small brook, now barren
and dry, as the monsoon is long over, and climb onto the road, which is now
transformed, into a racecourse. Spectators occupy both sides of the oval shaped
racing track that stretches at least 3 to 4 kilometers. Where I am standing now is
still a few hundred meters away from the starting point.
It appears that the race has already begun. It doesn't take long. I see the first pair of buffalos
pulling a small two-wheeled cart galloping towards me. The jockey is seated in
a squatting position on the cart whipping the backsides of the beasts
mercilessly to gain speed. I watch in awe as it zooms past, fast and furious. Seconds
later, another cart arrives in a manner of a speeding truck leaving behind a giantic cloud of dust. Then another and another. Although they are not racing like the
chariots in “Ben-Hur” movie, the energy, pace and grit of each and every
contestant send the spectators into frenzy. Many root and cheer for their
friends calling out their names or showering them with piercing whistles.
Now fully
awake by the unfolding spectacle, I march towards the tower where a sport
announcer with a microphone is narrating the event in full disclosure. From
here I could see the other side of the track, a few yards away and the finish
line. Mostly locals attend the event with an exception of a few foreigners like
me, who have come all the way to gain cultural knowledge and to discover the
rural Bali, away from the sophistication of Seminyak and madness of Kuta. The
vendors are selling various products, foods, drinks and knickknacks ranging
from peanuts, watermelons, toys, whips to colored chicks. Yes, chicks are in
fact dyed in several bright hues; hot pink, sunshine yellow, nuclear green and
neon purple attracting the attention of young children.
While walking across the field towards the finish line, one of my sandals
breaks. I try to fix it to no avail. In the end, I put it in the pocket of my
shorts and keep walking with one shoe. A villager who has been observing this offers
to help. He grabs the shoe from me, pushes the thong that fell out back into
the hole using a stick picked up from the ground and voilÃ
the problem is solved.
“Terima Kasiah, banyank”, I thank him.
In return, he asks me a favor; to take a photo of him and his friend, which I
happily oblige of course. Seeing their photo on the LCD screen of my camera
simply delights them. I wish I could print it out right away and give it to
them. I say goodbye to them afterwards and continue walking till I reach the
area where contestants are, in line, prepping their buffalos before the race. The
proud jockeys are looking dapper in their brightly coloured fineries. Members of
their entourage are feeding water to the animals to keep them from dehydration.
Some are putting on ornaments such as colourful flowers, silk banners on the
carts and big wooden bells around the necks of buffalos.
I learn later from my Balinese driver
that competitors are judged not only based on speed, but on strength and style
as well. The wining buffalos are used for stud and can be sold at handsome
prices, sometimes even twice the market price. Animal lovers and activists would cringe at the treatment of the buffalos
though. Not only do these animals receive cruel lashing with whips with nails
in them, from the jockeys, which leaves them with bleeding backsides after the
contest, the special chili paste is applied to each animal’s anus for the extra
push as well. All of this is done to please the gods of harvest. And I hope
they are pleased!
As the sun above me becomes unbearably hot and considering at least a few more hours
on the road to return to Seminyak, I hurry down towards my van. The race continues although it seems it’s time for a wrap very soon. Suddenly, I hear loud
gasps and yelps from the crowd. I turn around to see a pair of buffalos running
at a maddening speed but without the jockey on the cart. Poor chap must have
fallen out of it on the way.
