The Vessel of Cloth and Wood
In the courtyard of the village temple, the costume rests on a wooden stand. A masterpiece of art, it features a mask of red wood with bulging eyes and golden tusks, a body covered in thick white fur, and mirrors that catch the tropic sun.
But it is lifeless. Just cloth and wood, a shell waiting for a soul.
Then the Gamelan orchestra begins to play. Metallic chimes ring out, a complex, hypnotic rhythm that speaks to the spirit world.
Two men approach the costume. Having fasted and prayed for three days, they are the chosen vessels. Stepping inside the suit, one takes the head, the other the tail.
As they don the mask, the air in the temple changes. A spark jumps. Barong, the King of Spirits, the Lord of the Forest, descends. Not possessing the men, he partners with them. The costume twitches. The jaw snaps shut with a loud clack. The Barong is awake.
The Parade
Bursting out of the temple gates, he finds the village waiting. Children cheer and run alongside him. A playful guardian, he dances down the street, movements jerky and bird-like, then smooth and feline. Snapping his jaws at the crowd, he makes them laugh.
He is the embodiment of Dharma—order, light, and protection. Visiting each house, he blesses the threshold. Where he steps, bad spirits flee, scurrying away like cockroaches from a lamp. Incense smoke wafts around him, feeding his strength.
But he senses a shadow growing. Laughter dies down. The sky darkens as clouds obscure the sun, and the birds stop singing.
The Arrival of Chaos
At the crossroads, she is waiting. Rangda. The Demon Queen. The Widow.
Her mask is a nightmare of long tongue, pendulous breasts, and wild hair. Holding a white cloth, the instrument of her plague, she represents Adharma—chaos, disease, and death.
They are not enemies in the human sense. They are two halves of a whole. Day and Night. Life and Death. One cannot exist without the other. But today, the balance has tipped too far toward chaos. It must be corrected.
Barong roars. The sound is amplified by spiritual energy, shaking leaves from the trees. He charges.
The Eternal Battle
Clashing in the center of the village, it is a fight, but also a dance. Rangda waves her white cloth, casting spells of sickness and madness. Barong counters with his own magic, a shield of golden light.
Villagers join the fray. The Keris dancers—men armed with wavy daggers—rush to attack Rangda. But her magic is strong. Turning their minds against them, she violates the natural order, compelling them to turn their blades inward.
Barong intervenes. Unable to stop the blades, he hardens the skin of his followers instead. Casting a spell of invulnerability, the sharp daggers press against bare chests but do not pierce. Steel bends against flesh. The men tremble in a trance, caught between the will of the Demon and the protection of the Lion.
The Restoration
The battle rages for hours. There is no winner. There can be no winner. If Barong won, the world would stagnate in rigid order. If Rangda won, the world would dissolve into chaos.
Fighting until the energy is spent, Rangda finally retreats to the graveyard, laughing her terrible laugh. Barong stands his ground, panting. The balance is restored. Sickness will pass. Crops will grow.
The Spirit Departs
The sun sets. The orchestra plays a final, soft melody. Barong returns to the temple.
Crawling out of the costume, the two men collapse, exhausted and dripping with sweat. They remember little of the day. They were merely the vessel.
The spirit of Barong lifts from the mask. Returning to the ether, he watches over his village. He is the golden lion in the dreams of the innocent. Resting now, for the dance is done, he sleeps with one eye open. Rangda is always waiting, and the dance must always go on.
