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Ngusaba Nuuh

For the traditional farmers of Bali, the act of cultivating rice is much more than just a physical undertaking. Rice is both a valuable source of food and the earthly representation of Sri; the Goddess of Fertility. Cultivating rice, therefore, is also an act of devotion.

Naturally, offerings and rituals are present at every stage of the rice-growing cycle. The farmers even organize a wedding ceremony for the rice to ensure that the stalks will bear many “offspring”. In Sebatu village in Gianyar, the local farmers early this month organized a unique ritual aimed at asking Goddess Sri to protect the rice and bless the farmers with a bountiful harvest.

 

The ritual, known locally as Ngusaba Nuuh or Medana-danaan, took place when the rice had reached 60 days of age. The ritual was held in the afternoon in the outer yard of Puseh Temple; a place of worship dedicated to Wisnu; the sustainer of the Hindu trinity and in Bali known as the God of Water and the partner of Sri; the Goddess of Fertility. Hours before, the women of the village had left their houses and marched to the temple. On the top of their heads they carried colorful boxes filled with fruits, cakes and flower offerings.

 

At the same time, the men were preparing Asagan, a large bamboo conveyance decorated with young coconut leaves. On the Asagan, the men arranged 22 boxes, each of which was filled with a pair of rectangular cakes made of rice and sticky rice. The locals called the cake Lempeng. Both the Asagan and Lempeng are the centerpiece of the ritual. Twelve men had been selected as Saya, the person tasked with carrying the Asagan to the outer yard. The head of the Saya is called the Pengadur.

“Only an adult, married man, who has already fathered a child, can assume the role of Pengadur,” village elder;I Wayan Kerta said. A heavy rain drenched the temple when the ritual commenced. The temple’s priest presented the soaked offerings, while the equally soaked devotees performed a joint prayer. The Pengadur and a village elder then encircled the Asagan while reciting a sacred mantra.

 

The elder read aloud a verse from a Lontar manuscript narrating how the rice, which was in its final stage of pregnancy, was craving Lempeng. The Pengadur wielded a weapon of made of three veins from coconut leaves bound together by Tridatu threads that symbolize the trinity. He also carried a Tampag, a bamboo container filled with coconut toddy, the drink that would appease the unseen spirits.

 

In the outer yards, dozens of children had taken off their wet shirts and gotten ready for the peak of the ritual. The adult members of the community took shelter under the open pavilion but were eager to watch the commotion. The Pengadur led the Saya out of the temple’s inner sanctum. He repeatedly moaned as if in pain as he played the role of the rice on the verge of giving birth. The children cheered loudly to welcome the Asagan.

 

When the Asagan reached the center of the yard, the children scrambled to get their hands on the Lempeng. It was a hilarious struggle as the Saya tried to maneuver the Asagan out of the reach of the little “attackers” but to no avail. The Pengadur used his less-than-convincing weapon to strike the children, who were amused instead of terrified by his attempt. In less than three minutes, all the cakes on the Asagan had found their new owners.

“We present this ritual to the unseen guardians of Goddess Sri in the hope they would protect our rice from pestilence”; I Wayan Kerta said.
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