Dealing with the Demonic: Strategies for Containment in Hindu Iconography and

Performance
Author(s): John Emigh
Source: Asian Theatre Journal, Vol. 1, No. 1 (Spring, 1984), pp. 21-39
Published by: University of Hawai'i Press
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1124364
Accessed: 07-10-2016 06:17 UTC

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 Dealing with the Demonic:
Strategies for Containment
in Hindu Iconography
and Performance
John Emigh

Artistic activity in general and theatrical works in particular often

dwell upon dreadful events and nightmarish presences. From the murder
of Agamemnon and the unleashing of the Furies to Macbeth's bloody
deeds and tormenting Witches to Grand Guignol and The Theatre of
Cruelty, there seems to be an imaginative need to push up against the
boundaries of experience and to wrestle artistically with the visions en-
countered there-at some threatening edge of our sense of what it means
to be alive. The discussion that follows focuses on a set of related artistic
and psychological strategies found in Hindu iconography and perfor
mance forms of Eastern India and Bali, Indonesia. Discussed in the orde
of their accessibility to Western understanding, all of these forms us
artistic means to give form to, and to partially contain and control, the fe
presence of threatening and often demonic forces. The theatrical perfor-
mances described also exhibit some striking similarities in the ways i
which ritual magic is combined with mimetic play while grappling with
the demonic, and they indicate a range of options open to theatrical artists
working in these Asian settings.

Visages of Glory
Throughout South and Southeast Asia, carved images of mon-
strous, disembodied heads frequently dominate the entrance portals o
Hindu temples, public buildings, and even private homes. The eye
bulge, the nostrils flare, the teeth are bared, the jaws are open, and the
canines are enlarged to form menacing fangs. Hair curls from the lower
jaw, horns frequently sprout up from the top of the head, and flames ofte
John Emigh is Associate Professor of Theatre Arts at Brown University. In 1982 he was awarded
grant from the Indo-U.S. Subcommission to conduct theatre research in India.
Asian TheatreJournal 1, no. 1 (Spring 1984). ? by the University of Hawaii Press. All rights reserved.

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22 Emigh

FIGURE 1. Kirt
century. (Phot

swirl around
from behind
to grotesque
Leaf and flor
fecund as we
indulgence in
manesque chu
the gargoyles
protective ic
the forces of e
In India, the
as kirtimukh
demon messe
his shakti-his
forth a burst
instantly, th
insatiably hu
like thunder;
wide into sp
mon messeng
the almight
monstrous cr
do-joint by

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DEALING WITH THE DEMONIC 23

Shiva declared, "You will be known, henceforth, as the Visage of Glory

and I ordain that you shall abide forever at my door. Whoever neglects to
worship you shall never win my grace." (Zimmer [1946] 1972, 181-182)
The myth accounts for the kirtimukha's place of honor on the entrance
gates of Shaivite temples in India and provides some clues as to its signifi-
cance. The Visage of Glory is emblematic of Shiva's power in its destruc-
tive, but ultimately containable, aspect.
The worship of a divine but horrific icon, representing a poten-
tially destructive side to the godhead, is common to systems of Tantric
worship. As Tantric Shaivism spread and the Visage of Glory became a
popular icon in the Indianized states of Southeast Asia, the names and
myths associated with its origin shifted. In central Java and in Angkor,
the Visage became identified as Batara Kala, a voracious demonic pres-
ence spawned when a drop of Shiva's semen shot into the ocean and was
swallowed by a fish. The name Kala also invokes Time as a ravenous
destroyer and has become a generic term for demonic beings in Indian-
ized Southeast Asia. In East Java, the most common identification is with
Banaspati Raja, a leonine lord of the forests, which seems to be a variant
of the lord of beasts figure often featured in shamanic bestiaries. In Bali,
where a variant of Hinduism still holds sway, the visage has taken on a
multiplicity of forms, but is most commonly identified with Bhoma, a
demonic son born to the earth goddess, Pritivi, and fathered by Vishnu
while in the shape of a rampaging wild boar.1
In all of its various manifestations, the Visage of Glory is asso-
ciated with the animal world as well as with the divine. Moreover, the
frightful icons are frequently accounted as the progeny of divine anger
and lust-precisely those baser instincts most often suppressed in daily
human life. The Tantric strategy is an inclusive one, embracing and giv-
ing form to the irrational. In their effect, the icons created can range from
the whimsical to the awe-inspiring. As Zimmer notes of the Indian kirti-
mukha, "Images of this kind allow for a kind of jocular intimacy with the
powers of destruction. They represent the 'other side,' the wrathful aspect
of the well-known and well-loved divine powers. When properly propi-
tiated, such presences give support to life and ward away demons of dis-
ease and death." ([1946] 1972, 183)
These horrific yet divine presences can be given more active form
during ceremonies that take place when the continuity and health of the
community are endangered and the powers exercised by "the demons of
death and disease" become most evident. Perhaps the most spectacular
use of the Visage of Glory to ward off trouble-causing demons occurs dur-
ing the treacherous passage of the corpse to the burying ground during a
high-caste Balinese cremation. An immense, brilliantly colored Bhoma
image, fashioned of wood, split bamboo, paper, and balls of unspun cot-
ton, is affixed to the back of the multi-tiered tower used to transport the

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 24 Emigh

FIGURE 2. Bh
(Photo: John Em

corpse on its
the cotton-wr
nerable soul t
the communit
destructive forces.

Becoming the Icon: Narasimha in Orissa

"Proper propitiation of the demons of death and disease" can also
extend to more explicitly theatrical performances, in which these fanciful
icons for the wrathful aspect of the divine are animated, deployed, and-
momentarily at least-contained. In the village of Baulagaon, Orissa, a
four-foot-high wooden lion mask is venerated in the temple of Vishnu.
The mask is reputed to be 150 years old. It has a green face, a prominent
red nose, a protruding tongue, a flaming mane, and an elaborate crown.
The figure represented is Narasimha, the wrathful "man-lion" avatar of
Vishnu, who came to earth to destroy the blaspheming demon-tyrant,
Hiranyakasipu. A similarity to the leonine kirtimukha visage is evident,
and, indeed, a truncated version of Narasimha, with only head and fore-
arms showing, is commonly used in Vaishnavite temples and paintings as

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DEALING WITH THE DEMONIC 25

a substitute for the Shaivite Visage of Glory. (Eschmann 1978, 109-110)

Priapic lions are commonly used in India as guardian figures for Shaivite,
Vaishnavite, and Shakti temples alike, and the role of beast-protector
seems to have passed naturally to the man-lion incarnation of the godhead
itself.

For generations, the mask at Baulagaon has been used exorcisti-

cally to cure illness. Patients are brought to the mask and ceremonies are
conducted to awake its curative powers. Even now, the mask is given
daily offerings at the temple, and on Narasimha's name day it is publicly
honored with an elaborate puja, offering ceremony. The priest who pres-
ently cares for the mask reports that his grandfather, a Tantric adept,
wore the mask in the streets of Baulagaon to protect the village from an
epidemic. Its ritual function seems to have predated its use in association
with a dramatic script. This practice may once have been widespread
throughout what is now coastal Andhra Pradesh and southeastern Orissa.
In any case, since at least 1860, masks like this one have been used to cap-
ture the furious spirit of Narasimha in spectacular theatrical perfor-
mances of Oriyan Prahlada Nataka (The play of Prahlada).2
The use of masks as conduits for visiting spiritual entities is a
widespread phenomenon. Whether drawn from the ancestral past, from
the mythic elaboration of divine powers, or from the realm of animals and
spirit-helpers, these entities are understood to be drawn through the mask
into the body of the performer and are then theatrically contextualized in
the contemporary world of the spectators. Often used in exorcistic rituals,
these animated icons serve both as representations of power and as the
source of power itself. The process, then, involves manifesting icono-
graphically the "other side," accepting the manifestation's power, and
then harnessing that power within a theatrical context.
Most Hindu performance forms in India stress elements of theatri-
cal play and illusion, elaborating both the mythological stories themselves
and their theatrical means of representation. In a number of these forms
-in kathakali, yakshagana, and Purulia chhau, for example-the actualiza-
tion of a divine presence is vestigial or works metaphorically, through a
process of mimesis.3 There are still some performance forms in India, how-
ever, that adhere more closely to the procedures of transformation by visi-
tation as outlined earlier, stressing the divine presences themselves and
foregoing mimetic elaboration of the mythological story element. One
such example is found in the performance form gambhira, as traditionally
staged in the Malda region of West Bengal. Here masks are used to mani-
fest aspects of shakti-the active feminine energy of the universe most
often represented as Durga or Kali, but whose forms include Nara-
singhee, half-woman and half-lioness, the shakti counterpart to Nara-
simha. The dance movements are frenetic and flailing. A meditation on
Narasinghee, however, makes clear her protective function, saluting her

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26 Emigh

as "the goddess who humiliates the pride of Giants and Demons, who
gives bliss and happiness, whose nature is immortal and whose halo is
refulgent." (Ghosh 1979, 71)4
Prahlada Nataka performances in Orissa are of particular interest in
that they allow for the actualization of a divine presence by means of
trance possession, while still theatrically elaborating a mythological story.
An intriguing result of this combination of the alternate performance stra-
tegies of visitation and of illusion is that both the measure of belief in the
mask's power and the degree to which the power can be theatrically con-
tained are understood to vary from performance to performance. To
understand how this works, it will be necessary to describe a typical
Prahlada Nataka performance in some detail.
Before the performance itself begins, while the other actors are
putting on their costumes and makeup, the actor-priest who is to wear the
mask of Narasimha removes a red cloth from the mask and conducts an
elaborate ritual sacrifice (puja): he welcomes the spirit of the mask as an
honored guest, in accordance with Vedic procedures. Flower petals are
strewn on the mask's headdress, water is blessed and sprinkled over the
mask's face, a coconut is offered up to the mask, sandal paste is rubbed on
the mask's forehead, and incense is lit and held up for the mask to
breathe. Throughout this ritual welcoming, the mask is treated with rev-
erence. Sanskritic prayers (mantra) are spoken and appropriate hand ges-
tures (mudra) are performed to invoke Narasimha's presence and bless-
ings, while members of the orchestra play interlocking drum and cymbal
patterns. Finally, actors and musicians gather around the mask and sing
invocations to Vishnu, while the actor-priest tosses flowers towards the
mask and then lights a candle, moving it about the mask's face as an act of
worship.
While this ritual is not viewed by the audience, the knowledge that
it is being performed both regularly in the temple and immediately before
performance is important to audience and actors alike. The puja heightens
belief in the mask's divinity-in its power as a performing object and in
its effectiveness as a spiritual conduit. The actors of Baulagaon tell of a
nearby village that also had a Narasimha mask used in Prahlada Nataka
performances. Puja to the mask had lapsed and the performer who wore
the mask received a dream in which the spirit of the mask stated that he
would no longer enter into the performance because he was not being
properly worshipped. The mask then became so heavy that no one could
lift it.

The performance itself takes place in an open field with a set of

bleacherlike platforms installed at one end for actors to pose and dance
upon. The production style is boldly theatrical, mixing raucous music,
vigorous dancing, operatic song, melodramatic dialogue, and calculated
spectacle. The reverential tone of the dressing room often seems to be

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DEALING WITH THE DEMONIC 27

completely engulfed by broad theatrical display. As often occurs in Asian

theatre, the performance begins with music. The orchestra consists of two
drums (mrdangam), four sets of medium-sized cymbals, a harmonium, two
long trumpets, a small shenai-like instrument (mukha vina), and finally a
conch shell used to signal Narasimha's climactic entrance. Throughout
the performance, a variety of musical effects are used to create excitement
and support the dramatic action. Entrance flourishes, folk tunes, and
songs in praise of Krishna (another incarnation of Vishnu) are freely
mixed with the raga of Karnatik classical music.
After preliminary greetings to the audience, Ganesha is invoked.
He is the elephant-headed son of Shiva and the bringer of auspicious
beginnings. An actor wearing a red papier-mache elephant mask comes
forward and ascends the stepped platforms, sitting on a crude throne set
up at the top. With a bang on a strategically placed floorboard that has
been deliberately left loose, he rises dramatically and proceeds to execute
a spectacular whirling and spinning dance, moving diagonally up and
down the steps. The dance is made all the more spectacular by the re-
stricted vision offered the actor by the elephantine mask he wears. After
Ganesha gives his blessings for the performance, Saraswati, the Goddess
of Learning, is invoked. Impersonated by a boy in female dress, she also
gives her blessings to the performance, and the dramatic action can
begin.
Neither the actor dancing in Ganesha's mask nor the boy imper-
sonating Saraswati are understood to be entranced or possessed by the
spirits of those deities. Rather, they stand for the deities, honoring them
within an appropriate context. The transformations involved are effec-
tive, but wholly theatrical. To dance with Ganesha's mask requires great
skill, but the mask itself is treated as a costume element, not a spiritual
conduit. The spirit of the Ganesha mask is not welcomed by puja. The
mask is kept in a property trunk, not a temple. The mode of representa-
tion is clearly mimetic and should be contrasted with that used when an
actor-priest puts on the Narasimha mask and is understood to become the
man-lion avatar of Vishnu.

The next section of the performance introduces the demon tyrant,

Hiranyakasipu. His dwari (doorman) enters first, in splendid costume and
wearing bright red makeup. He sings his master's praises and dances in a
vigorous, whirling fashion, his sword sweeping through the air. Hira-
nyakasipu himself now enters into the performance space. He rides a
dummy elephant, supported by two men, and is accompanied by atten-
dants and announced by trumpets and fireworks. His makeup, also, is
bright red, and his costume still more splendid than the dwari's. The
demon king dismounts. His voice is commanding and powerful. His
movements on the stepped platforms are athletic; he dominates the
treacherous space. All is calculated to display his strength and confidence.

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 28 Emigh

Joined by h
son, Prahlad
had been gr
by the hand
house or ou
powers, this
the worship
Hiranyaka
structs Prah
to obey his
yana, Krish
Many attem
Vishnu. An
about him m
Prahlada per
Hiranyakasi
not penetr
Prahlada, b
Vishnu's name.

As Hiranyakasipu whirls his son about in a rage, the conch is

blown, signalling that the actor-priest who will wear Narasimha's m
has arrived behind a screened enclosure and is now ready to make h
entrance. The music becomes frenzied. Prahlada states that Vishnu is
everywhere, even in the pillars of the entryway. The furious demon king
advances menacingly with his club and knocks the screen functioning as a
pillar aside. The actor-priest emerges, the huge Narasimha mask in place.
Audience members and the other actors clasp their hands in reverence.
The actor-priest is in a deep and violent trance as he moves toward the
blaspheming Hiranyakasipu. The spirit of Narasimha is understood to
have entered into the actor-priest's psyche through the medium of the
mask. The actor is not playing Narasimha, he is Narasimha. His body
has become the container for Narasimha's spiritual force. As Narasimha,
he is neither man nor beast, but a divine amalgam of both. It is dusk
within the world of the story and-ideally-dawn in the actual time of
performance: hence, it is neither daytime nor nighttime. The pillar is des-
ignated as being on the threshold of Hiranyakasipu's home, neither inside
nor outside of it. Shiva's boon has been circumvented and Hiranyakasi-
pu's demonic rule is over.
Narasimha is pulled to a chair by four large men and is held there,
facing Hiranyakasipu, but at a safe physical distance. Although the priest
is not a large man, the strength of the possession is such that it takes con-
siderable effort to hold him back. Hiranyakasipu declares that he is about
to die, repents his evil deeds, and warns his son that good fortune can
only proceed from good deeds. Prahlada moves to Narasimha's side,

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DEALING WITH THE DEMONIC 29

sings to him, and calms him. The mask is gently removed. The actor-
priest who has worn the mask is carried away, limp and unconscious, his
eyes rolled back. Away from the field of performance, he will slowly be
brought back into consciousness by the sprinkling of holy water.
Shri Arjuna Satapathy, the actor-priest who performs with the
Narasimha mask in Baulagaon, explained that an alternative ending is
possible. If the actor-priest who is to wear the Narasimha mask does not
go into trance, then the story would be completed mimetically. Nara-
simha would attack Hiranyakasipu, place him on his lap, and mime the
disembowelment of the demon tyrant. Evil would still be contained, but
this time through metaphoric procedures deployed within the realm of
theatrical representation. When trance is achieved, however, theatrical
representation yields place to the actualization of Narasimha's presence
and the mimetic enactment remains incomplete. Theatrical play with
demonic forces leads to and is superceded by the visitation of the other
side of Vishnu as Narasimha. Himself a container of the demonic, he is
harnessed as protector through the offices of the performer-priest.
In practice, the ending that manifests trance possession is pre-
ferred as more exciting theatre as well as more effective ritual, but the
manner of enactment may depend on the strength of the possession. Shri
Arjuna Satapathy explained the following sequence of events and artistic
choices. Behind the screen set up as pillar, the mask is brought to him.
There, he repeats to the mask the puja described earlier. If he has been lax
in fasting before the performance or has otherwise been impure, or if the
gods do not will it on a given occasion, then he may not go fully into
trance. As the mask is being placed on his head, he will know at once
whether or not the trance is complete. If it is, the mask will acquire an
unnatural weight and a wildness will set in, and he will signal to those
around him in the screened enclosure. If he is not in trance, then he must
act Narasimha's fury, and the disemboweling of the King will be partially
mimed. If he is in full trance, though, the bringing forth of Narasimha's
spirit is sufficient to provide a victory over the relatively powerless dra-
matic representation of the demonic by the actor playing Hiranyakasipu.
Arjuna Satapathy will remember nothing from the time he enters from
the screen/pillar to the time that the boy actor playing Prahlada sings to
him and calms him. These alternative procedures for containment of the
demonic have been in effect since the time, near the turn of the century,
when an actor playing Hiranyakasipu was actually killed by an entranced
Narasimha performer during a performance of Prahlada Nataka. Contain-
ment of the demonic is at best marginally successful and can be a danger-
ous business.5

Descriptive examples of endings observed in various performances

may help to clarify the range of choices available to Prahlada Nataka per
formers. In one performance I witnessed, the Narasimha trance appeared

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30 Emigh

to be relatively mild, perhaps feigned. Narasimha could be handled with

ease by those holding him and the actor seemed to have a measure of con-
trol over his actions. Hiranyakasipu picked up an oversized club, made of
cane and decorated with brightly colored paper, and signalled the orches-
tra to play louder and faster. Another such club was placed in Nara-
simha's hands. As drums and cymbals played frenetically, a carefully con-
trolled combat was acted out. Hiranyakasipu circled around Narasimha,
striking out at him and taunting him. Narasimha, held in check and
moved around in a circle by his handlers, lashed out wildly at Hiranyaka-
sipu. After Narasimha had been goaded into a state of frenzy, Hiranyaka-
sipu knelt before him. Narasimha was then dragged over to the bleacher
steps that had formed the stage and was calmed, and Hiranyakasipu lay
down across his lap in a static pose found in the iconography of temple
statues and Puranic paintings. Holding this tableau completed the story
and the performance.
In another performance, the trance began mildly; but as Hira-
nyakasipu sang his advice to Prahlada, Narasimha became more and
more violent and difficult to constrain. The property club had already
been placed in Narasimha's hand, but, on a signal from the actor playing
Hiranyakasipu, one of the handlers took the club and held it symbolically
in front of Narasimha while Hiranyakasipu knelt down before him. Nara-
simha was then forced back into his chair, his arms pinned back, and
Hiranyakasipu lay ever so briefly across his lap to complete the truncated
action and end the performance. At Baulagaon, the actor playing Hira-
nyakasipu came before us and excused himself from forming the final tab-
leau, explaining that Narasimha's trance was too dangerous for him.
Here, the ritual act of Narasimha's visitation had supplanted the move-
ment towards iconographic fulfillment of the story.
There are other regional variations used to emphasize the power of
the trance or to elaborate the movement toward a dramatic close, but
these instances alone indicate an ability to move flexibly among ritualis-
tic, dramatic, and iconographic modes depending on the effectiveness and
power of the trance as it reveals itself and develops. In no case did the
audience seem disappointed. All of the endings were appropriate within
the alternate strategies afforded by the traditions of Prahlada Nataka.

The Container and the Contained: Rangda and the

Barong Ket in Bali
Balinese preoccupation with the demonic is well-documented. As
Hooykaas has written:

"A Balinese is constantly harassed by hordes and armies of malevolent

beings of the most divergent shape, function, abode, and time of activity

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DEALING WITH THE DEMONIC 31

-one would nearly say: as many as a playful mind during many hours of
leisure can imagine. When the exorcist priest . . . has had a good teacher
and himself has a good memory, he enumerates tens, dozens, scores o
names and locates them everywhere in our immediate neighborhood.
. . .He has to convoke them, to regale them, and finally to invite them
to go home to their respective quarters." (1973, 8)

Direct propitiation is one way of dealing with the demonic forces lurking
within the Balinese cosmos. Thus, garbagelike offerings, caru, suited t
the lowly tastes of buta kala (demons) are spread out on the ground at mos
important functions, and priestly invocations made.
With a typical love of the theatrical, though, the Balinese also
deploy a more creative and playful strategy of dealing with these demoni
nuisances: animalistic figures, barong, are created, consecrated, venerat-
ed, danced with, and turned against this inchoate legion of demonic
forces. The most popular of these playful and powerful beasts is carved in
the image of Banaspati Raja-one of the many names ascribed to kirti-
mukha icons in Bali-and is known as the Barong Ket. Like the kirtimukha
icons, the Barong Ket manifests demonic and animalistic qualities in
order to defend against the lesser manifestations of these powers. Balines
chronicles record this function mythically: Giriputri, an aspect of Shiva's
shakti, appeared to KingJayakusuna of Loripan and helped him to rid his
land of sickness by luring the disease-provoking demons into a single
great demonic form-a barong. This barong would contain the demoni
forces safely as long as he was paraded and given offerings at specifie
times. (deZoete and Spies [1938] 1973, 94, 294)
As an animated extension of the strategies behind the guardian
faces of Shaivite temple gates, the Barong Ket can and does function inde
pendently in his confrontations with lesser beings that populate the chtho-
nian world. However serious his purpose, on such occasions his style i
frolicsome. In deploying him, the Balinese take full advantage of the "joc-
ular intimacy" with demonic and divine forces that Zimmer notes as
possibility within Hindu systems of belief and iconography. When de
ployed theatrically, however, Banaspati Raja is traditionally paired wit
an adversary-a witchlike manifestation of the demonic most commonl
known as Rangda. This is a far less playful figure, and a far more difficult
one to decipher.6
My own most memorable encounter with a Rangda figure took
place in 1975, when I journeyed to a village on the outskirts of Denpasar,
Bali, to witness a performance of Cupak, a wonderful fable that deals with
themes of human imperfection, sibling rivalry, and the struggle for self-
respect. I had read accounts of the tale in various older sources, had
cotranslated an epic version, and had commissioned a set of masks for
production to be toured to American school children. Still, the story i

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32 Emigh

now rarely produced in Bali, and I had never managed to find a produc-
tion until, luckily for me, the village of Sumerta hired a visiting troupe.
With great anticipation, then, I watched as Cupak, the gluttonous, cow-
ardly, ugly brother, and Grantang, his all too perfect twin, were intro-
duced through the leisurely conventions of Balinese arja, a form some-
times referred to as Balinese opera. I was particularly interested in how
the climactic confrontation between the two brothers would be handled in
production, since the sources I was using varied greatly on this part of the
story. Before that confrontation, however, the heroic Grantang has to save
a princess from the lustful clutches of the giant Benaru, while Cupak cow-
ers in a tree.

As the performance reached this point of the tale, Benaru was

replaced by Rangda. Eyes bulging, fangs bared, tongue extended and
inflamed, dugs flapping, and fingernails reaching out grotesquely while
holding a white cloth marked with magic formulae, the frightful masked
figure advanced on Grantang. Suddenly, the lionlike form of the Barong
Ket rushed past the actor playing Grantang, replacing him in battle.
Manned by two agile dancers, the beast's gilded and mirrored leather
coat glinted in the light of the pressure lamps. His red jaws snapped open
and shut. White flowers studded his human beard. The music of the game-
lan ensemble fastened loudly and insistently on a single note. Rangda's
white cloth swept across the Barong's head, and the actor playing the
front half of the mythic animal fell to the ground in a seizure, kicking his
legs as though in an epileptic fit. Pandemonium seemed to break loose.
Men waving kris, the sinuous battle swords once common in Southeast
Asia, rushed forward to attack Rangda. When their swords failed to pene-
trate the witchlike figure, they turned the blades against themselves. Pro-
tected by trance, their skin could not be torn by the blades; but still they
struggled in what appeared an orgy of self-destructive energy, throwing
themselves down on the blades and pushing the blades with all their might
against the resistant flesh. Priests circulated through them, disarming
men, carrying the now-still-and-prone Barong dancers into the adjacent
temple, and, eventually, bearing off the exhausted Rangda performer as
well. In the confines of the temple, he would be gently brought out of his
once-violent trance possession.
The performance was over. Yet, the climax of the tale had not been
reached. Worse, the wrong side seemed to have won, and the princess had
been abandoned by audience and actors alike. Clearly, something of great
theatrical and human interest had taken place; but what it all signified I
could not fathom. Dramatically, the incidents seemed to make no sense
whatsoever. Symbolically, the seeming victory of the evil witch mocked
almost everything I thought I understood about dramatic plots in Bali and
the symbolic roles of the Barong and the Rangda. Wasn't Rangda on the

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DEALING WITH THE DEMONIC 33

side of "evil"? Didn't the forces of "good" have to overcome the forces of
"evil," or at least neutralize them within the theatrical and dramatic
action? And wasn't it specifically the Barong's function to protect the
entranced dancers and the community from Rangda's power? Was this,
then, an ill omen? And didn't anybody else care about the barely begun
story? Audience members assured me, though, that nothing had gone
awry and there had been no ill omens: "The Barong and the Rangda
needed to dance."

In retrospect, I believe the performance strategies later observed

in the Oriyan Prahlada Nataka provide some clues. As in the Indian perf
mance described earlier, I suggest that a story frame had been cannibal
ized by a ritual format; a mimetic representation had first incorporate
and then been supplanted by an act of visitation. In the Balinese instan
though, the mimetic envelope used is a far more surprising container f
the divine but demonic presences invoked, and the significance of t
presences is far more opaque.
If a nonconsecrated Rangda mask had been used-and if the B
rong and the Rangda had not "needed" to perform-then Grant
could have defeated his adversary, saved the princess, and the story wo
have proceeded on to its own climax and conclusion. In such a case,
Rangda mask would have functioned as nothing more nor less tha
powerful theatrical image of demonic force, meant to be defeated with
an unfolding fictive world. It had so happened, though, that this perfo
mance of Cupak was being staged at a time when appearances of the con
secrated Rangda and Barong masks venerated at the Death Temple
Sumerta were called for by unclean conditions in the village. I did
know it at the time, but the Cupak performance had been commissione
specifically to provide a somewhat novel context for the appearanc
these figures. More often than not, when the sacred masks are graf
onto a play as pemurtian figures-"changes into demonic form" used
show the strength of battling forces-the powers that they manifest be
come too explosive for the framework of the fictive world to bear. Thi
seems to be quite acceptable to Balinese audiences. Depending on th
power of the trance, a story may work its way into its own logical dra
matic conclusion, or it may yield place to ritual procedures needed to co
tain forces far too powerful to be dealt with by ordinary theatrical mean
The resulting pandemonium is deemed both theatrically exciting and ri
ually effective.
It is in some respects unfortunate that Rangda has become s
identified with one of her dramatic roles-that of the widow-witch in p
formances of Calon Arang. In the Pura Dalem (Death Temple) the mask i
called Ratu Dalem, Monarch of the Temple. It is elevated along with
Barong, and is venerated with offerings strikingly similar to those used

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34 Emigh

the Narasim
stands for t
theatre. As B
the Rangda f
phoric world
magic and th
effective stru
nity, defusin
challenging h
Both the Ba
nian "other
as protective
through the
against the B
opportunity
not be inter
showing of R
value as a dem
no protectiv
by Rangda
harnessed rit
metaphorical
is important
forces that th
As the self
powers cont
Indeed, like t
Rangda is a p
separate them
sive anger ar
cence, the can
score the sep
wisdom, thou
Man retains h
be entirely e
to be a faithf
as destructiv
part of the co
Balinese an
destructive f
almost to the
fury and-un
are eventually

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DEALING WITH THE DEMONIC 35

sipu removes his makeup in the dressing room, the mask of Narasimha is
once more wrapped in cloth, and the dancers who have worn the frightfu
masks resume both their consciousness and their everyday lives. Theatri-
cal and ritual encounters bear a great deal of psychic weight in Balinese
and Oriyan public life. In Orissa, calling forth Narasimha provides excel-
lent theatre, an emotionally charged event, and immediate evidence of a
divine protective presence. In Bali, where occasions for performance can
still be linked to exorcistic needs within the community, to avoid this dan-
gerous path would be to risk disaster on the one hand, and the trivializa-
tion of both religion and theatre on the other.9

NOTES

1. I have drawn from a number of sources in tracing this history. T

Zimmer's work on the kirtimukha icon is already noted. For the iden
kirtimukha with Batara Kala and Banaspati Raja, see Holt (1967, 10
seyer (1977, 68). For the story of Batara Kala, see Forge (1978, 30).
tive version is given in Covarrubias ([1937] 1974, 291). For the stor
(also Boma), see deZoete and Spies ([1938] 1973, 293, 327).
The Balinese religion, Agama Hindu Bali, is an amalgam of Hindu
practices and indigenous animistic traditions. It is often very difficult,
times impossible, to say where one of these two strains ends and the ot
The Hindu influence was gradually absorbed over several centur
eighth century, a culture with definite Hindu elements was well-estab
the island of Bali. During the fourteenth to the sixteenth centuries, wa
fully Hinduized immigrants arrived in Bali from the courts of Eastern
latter island became increasingly dominated by Islam. Bali becam
enclave within a predominantly Muslim world; but it remained more
lated from later developments in the Hindu religion of India-such
dency to emphasize bhakti, personal devotion, and the elevation of Kr
status of a personal saviour.
2. There are at least thirty-five active Prahlada Nataka troupes now p
in the Ganjam District of Orissa. Performances can last as many as sev
but the common tendency now is to condense the story into a single
formance. There are several textual variants, but most derive fro
written or sponsored by Raja Rama Krishna Dev Chottera of Jala
1860, which brought together previously existing musical, poetica
conventions in a new synthesis. The performance at Baulagaon, an
quently noted gambhira performance, were witnessed while conductin
tory research on the traditional theatre of India with William O. B
Amy R. Catlin, sponsored by the Smithsonian Institution.
The Baulagaon group has become inactive, but the mask is a part
and beautiful one, and the performance I witnessed there, being m
strong in my memory. The performance described is typical of ones
performed elsewhere. For information about Prahlada Nataka I am ind

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 36 Emigh

D. N. Patnaik, D. N. Pathi, Nayan Chand Patnaik, Ragunath Satapathy,

Biswa Bihari Kadangra, and especially Dhiren Dash. A more general debt is
owed to Suresh Awasthi.

3. By mimesis, translatable as representation or imitation, I am referring to a

procedure, not a style. Use of the word need not be limited to realistic modes of
representation. For clarification as to the representative nature of divine figure
in kathakali, see Zarrilli (1977, 48-56).
4. For further information on gambhira, see Ghosh (1979). In addition to
Ghosh, I am indebted to Asutosh Bhattacharya, Durgadas Mukhopadhyay, an
the performers of Aiho for information about this form-one that has been
undergoing transitions that are deemphasizing the aspect of visitation and inte-
grating more story elements into the presentations.
5. In another essay, on masked performances in New Guinea (1981), I hav
described the tension between elements of playfulness and of danger that tend
characterize such ritual performances. In Hindu cultures, the elements of dange
may be supplied by the divine origin of the powers invoked, the emphasis upon
the wrathful and often bestial "other side" of these divine powers, the artistic sk
used in manifesting the frightful aspect of this divine and potentially destructiv
power, and-as trance is invoked-the sense that the "other side" is real
present, and that the dangers are not only metaphorical, but actual.
More playful elements are afforded by the "jocular intimacy" with figures fo
divine energy offered in Puranic myth, the possibilities for fanciful artistic trea
ment of these figures, and, most importantly here, the playfulness inherent in t
processes of theatrical contextualization. The transformation of a human actor t
a chimera of man, god, and beast may bring delight as well as awe. The capacity
to not only manifest potentially destructive powers but to turn them inside out
and lay claim to them as protective forces through the medium of theatrical pla
can bring an exhilarating sense of the capacity to conquer fear.
The strategy can backfire. Geertz (1973, 115) cites examples of Rangda per
formers in Bali becoming permanently deranged, and I have also heard of such
cases. The mask is said to "turn" on the performer.
6. There is already considerable literature on Rangda and the Barong Ket.
Much of this is both informative and provocative; but it is bewildering in toto,
and where the literature seems most clear it is often contradicted by Baline
practice. The studies by Bateson and Mead (1942), Belo (1949), Covarrubias
([1937] 1974), Foster (1979), Geertz (1973), Holt (1967), Lansing (1974), and
Snow (1982) all offer valuable insights, each from a different perspective, an
each with its limitations. The most comprehensive source of information about
the theatrical appearances of these figures is still deZoete and Spies ([1938] 1973)
Bandem and deBoer's recent study (1982) for the first time offers valuable histori
cal information about these figures and stresses Rangda's role as protectress. The
study presented here is from a somewhat different vantage point and I hope it w
help to clarify rather than further muddy the issues involved.
At least three films show confrontations between Rangda and the Barong Ket:
Bateson and Mead's Trance and Dance in Bali; Hartley Production's Mask of Rang-
da, and the Xerox/BBC Miracle of Bali: Night. Psychological interpretations are
imposed on the material in the first two instances-drawn in the first case from

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DEALING WITH THE DEMONIC 37

Freudian base that may not apply, and in the second from Jungian conjectures
that have little to do with the symbology of events as perceived by the Balinese.
All three films have idiosyncratic elements imbedded in the action; but, as is dis-
cussed in this essay, a certain amount of variability is deliberately built into the
procedures, and regional variations abound.
Among Balinese performers, I am particularly indebted to I Made Bandem, I
Nyoman Kakul, I Nyoman Sumandhi, I Wayan Suweca, and I Nyoman Wenten
for my interpretation of Rangda and the Barong.
7. The sexual identity of the Rangda figure is complex. Her flapping dugs cer-
tainly identify her as a female, and masks have menstrual periods calculated for
them and cannot perform during these times. Still, the mask can be used as a
pemurtian for male deities and it is always danced by a male performer, using a
grotesque, almost parodic version of masculine dance movement. The result may
be thought of as a grotesque inversion of the androgynous theatricalizations of
refined male heroes in Balinese andJavanese theatre, played by strong women or
by extremely graceful men. Mary Foster (1979) discusses this sexual ambivalence
in psychoanalytic terms.
8. Within tourist performances, commonly performed with nonconsecrated
masks, the Rangda and the Barong Ket are used as pemurtian figures in a Maha-
bharata story. Here, in skillfully directed productions, meticulously timed for com-
mercial purposes, the self-stabbing is imitated by the isometric straining of the
arm muscles, and the forces manifested by Rangda and the Barong Ket are pre-
dictably controlled within an hermetic realm of theatrical play.
Mimetic play with "visitation" is not limited to tourist productions, however;
it is also important, for example, in the aesthetic underpinnings of topeng-a form
of masked theatre in Bali that takes its story matter from quasi-historical chroni-
cles. In topeng wali, sacred topeng, the single performer reenters as Sidha Karya, a
demonic-looking character who performs a public ritual to cleanse and protect
the village. For more on Sidha Karya and the complex interplay of mimesis and
visitation within the conventions of topeng, see Emigh (1979) and Bandem and
deBoer (1982).
9. It is tempting to see historical connections between the Oriyan and Balinese
forms as well as aesthetic affinities. The nature of such connections, though, is
highly speculative. During the period of intense maritime traffic between Eastern
India and Southeast Asia, the dominant religious influences were Buddhist,
Shaivite, and Shakti-all with an admixture of Tantric elements. Vaishnavism
did not appear as a dominant religious force in coastal Orissa and Andhra until
the tenth century, after this period of intensive transmission. It is possible that
both the Balinese theatrical forms deploying Rangda and the Oriyan Prahlada
Nataka tradition developed out of the use of trance-inducing Shakti masks during
ceremonial processions. Such processions are still observable in Orissa (and in
other regions of India), as well as in Bali.
Precedents for the transfer of Shaivite and Shakti practices to the worship of
Narasimha exist in many forms in Orissa, and the prominent display of the
Narasinghee mask in the gambhira Shakti dances may fossilize one mode of trans-
fer, though geographically removed. Eschmann (1978, 102) notes that Nara-
simha worship is related to Shaktism in its use of Tantric elements, and, in

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38 Emigh

another context (104), states that "the story of Prahlada and his unfailing devo-
tion to Visnu has not only become a heart piece of Vaisnava theology but is an
important link between Visnuism and Sivaism. Narasimha is the furious (ugra)
aspect of Visnu par excellence and therewith also that aspect of Visnu with the high-
est affinity to Siva."
Calon Arang and its related dramatic forms seem to have developed in Bali along
parallel lines to the Prahlada Nataka of Orissa and the related bhagavata mela forms
of Andhra Pradesh and Tamil Nadu. Whether there was cross-fertilization during
this development is unclear, but it is likely that they developed from the same
seed-transplanted into receptive new soil on the one hand and grafted onto a
resurgent Vaisnavite faith on the other.

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