Trusting the Winds of Fate
When the rains complete their mission on Bali the winds arrive.
The season of the wind-June through August-invites the Balinese into the rice fields to fly kites.
Every July a kite festival on the beach of Padang Galak beach in Sanur hundreds of Balinese arrive for the international kite festival. Teams from all over the island compete in four different kite design categories. Each team composed of ten or more men vie for the best launch and the longest flight. The most magnificent kites require the most skill to fly, are unstable and have broad flowing tales that can reach 100 meters in length.
I attended the 2011 Bali Kite Festival. I screamed in awe and delight as three dimensional kites shaped like flying horses, red school busses, dragons and fish took to the air. It was inspirational to watch the teams run sometimes one half of kilometer over uneven, harvested corn fields to launch the kite. Sometimes the kite was successfully launched only to immediately begin to descend. I was directly underneath one of these kites as it rapidly plummeted towards the earth. A stampede of bodies ensued and the kite team successfully rescued the kite, sending it back into the air.
As a child growing up in the wheat fields of the American Midwest, we also experienced a season of the wind. The first few months of spring the skies were filled with all variety of kites as we flocked to the wheat fields to run with the winds. We learned to surf and trust the wind as it shifted directions. We developed our strategic minds as we struggled with untying knots and manipulating the kite so as not to get caught in power lines. We were intrepid pilots.
The Balinese believe the kite originated as a gift to a shepherd boy from the Hindu gods Vishnu and Siva. The very first kite was a feather plucked from the neck of a goose. Besides kite flying being a seasonal form of recreation, the act is also a remembrance of this gift from the gods:
Once upon a time a young shepherd boy was lulled to sleep by the nurturing warmth of the sun. He dreamed of a beautiful young woman, her thick, glossy hair done up in a braid. Her brown skin was smooth and her eyes flashed with a light that lit up the night.
The shepherd roused himself and took a small pot of ink, a long quill and a fresh sheet of parchment out of his pouch. He began to sketch the young woman of his dream.
When he completed the image, a long shadow fell upon the parchment. With a start the shepherd looked up to behold the King of the land staring and glaring down at him.
“Who is that beautiful young girl?” demanded the King. His voice was sharp and impatient.
“She lives in my heart, Sire,” stammered the shepherd, at once terrified and awed by the sight of the King. “She lives in my dreams.”
The King smiled wickedly. “I demand that you bring her to me. I want her for my queen!
The shepherd boy jumped up to confront the King: “You’re Majesty she is not a woman of flesh and bone. My imagination conjured her forth!”
“No matter!” snarled the King. I want her for my wife. If you should fail to bring her to me by tomorrow’s sunset, you shall pay with your life!”
The King laughed, leaving the shepherd boy quaking.
The poor boy, his mind whirling in confusion and fear stumbled into the forest. Exhausted he collapsed under a mahogany tree. He closed his eyes and began to breathe slowly to clear his mind. Soon he became aware of a presence behind him.
Terrified, he twisted himself around to take a look. There stood a huge, blue, hairy monster, with enormously broad shoulders, a red mane like a lion’s and long dagger sharp teeth.
The boy frozen in fear looked into the eyes of the beast. What he saw in the beast’s green eyes surprised him: Gentleness. The fear quickly subsided, replaced with respect.
“I know why you are running, shepherd,”said the monster in a low rumble. The monster gently touched the boy’s head. “If you desire, I can help. If you follow my advice, no harm will come to you.”
The shepherd was calmed by the deep timbre of the monster’s voice. The warmth of its hand on his head was like the healing rays of the sun. He felt he could completely trust this hairy beast.
“I do believe that you can help me,” he told the monster, “and I trust you not to lead me astray.”
“Very well, then,” replied the monster, “my suggestion is simple.” The monster reached under a flowering bush and produced a long-necked goose. With the same care that he had shown the shepherd, he gently caressed the bird. He then deftly plucked a pure white feather from the goose’s neck.
“Follow this feather where ever the wind takes it,” he told the shepherd. “If you continue to trust the wind will not fail you.” With that, the monster opened his hand and blew the feather onto the wind. It floated up into the trees. The boy thanked the monster and quickly ran after the feather as it wove itself between the trees.
The young boy could feel a breeze gently blowing against his back, yet at times it seemed that the feather ignored the wind, hovering for a few moments to allow the shepherd to catch up to it. And then it would be off again.
The shepherd followed the feather out of the forest, over rice paddies and meadows towards a mountain covered with lush green foliage and brightly colored blossoms. The sun was setting as the shepherd reached the mountain. Would he loose site of the feather in the darkness of night? But the feather seemed to carry its own light, and with the help of the moonlight, the shepherd easily followed it up the mountain. He marveled at how he didn’t seem to tire if he trusted the feather floating in front of him.
All night long he followed the feather until, at dawn he reached the top of the mountain. The feather alighted on the ground, glowing brightly. In trust, the boy sat on the ground, wondering and waiting.
Soon a beautiful song entered into his ears. The beautiful music came from beyond the lavender-hued clouds. The song grew more intense until the vibrations shook the boy. The feather glowed so brightly, the shepherd could no longer look at it. A powerful, yet gentle wind arose. It was as if scores of wings were beating all around him. The feather was tossed about on the currents. Sprites, or Devas appeared from behind the morning clouds to hover and sing.
The shepherd was speechless. He had never seen such beautiful Beings. All of them, male and female, were wonderfully attired in exotically colored batiks, feathers, flowers and garlands of gems. The Deva closest to the shepherd touched his hand. The shepherd gasped, for she was the image of the young woman from his dream. In his heart he gave thanks to the monster.
“Oh most divine Deva, if I do not deliver you to the King by sundown, he shall kill me. He wants you for his queen. Can you help?”
“Tell me dear One: Do you trust that the feather has led you rightly?” The Deva’s eyes danced in delight.
“Yes, I do,” the shepherd answered her.
“Then continue to trust,” she said, placing a calming had on his heart.
Suddenly there was an uncanny stillness in the air. The Devas stopped singing and turned their faces in unison toward the sky.
“Siva comes,” whispered the Deva, squeezing the boy’s hand encouragingly.
A radiant cloud began to quickly swirl in upon itself, spinning faster and faster, until the shape of the god Siva began to take form. In a flash of light accompanied by the sound of a thousand deeply toned drums the great god Siva appeared. The shepherd was in awe and remembered, ashamed, how he had let the King strike fear in his heart. For beside Siva, this king seemed simple and small.
The shepherd boy’s courage grew. Siva’s immensity blocked out the light of the morning sun, yet like the feather and the Devas, Siva glowed with an inner intensity. The feather hovered as Siva looked down at the shepherd.
“Shepherd, I have watched you for a long time. I presented you with this test of your trust. Truly you are worthy to be a descendant of Vishnu. Indeed… that is what you are. This is your divine heritage and you are the rightful king of this land.”
The shepherd stared in breathless wonder. He then looked at the beautiful Deva standing by his side.
“And this sweet Deva,” continued Siva, “if it be her will, is to become your queen and partner. Together you shall rule over this land.”
The Deva glanced at the shepherd, gently squeezed his hand and replied with great reverence: “Yes, it is my will.”
Then the great Vishnu decrees it, and I sanctify it,” answered Siva. “And as for he who now calls himself King,” Siva continued, “he is already destroyed. I have sent the monster to kill this false king. The land is from this moment on rightfully yours to rule.”
And so it is.
The shepherd married the Deva to become King and Queen of the land.
In celebration of their liberation from the evil King, the people of the land flew kites in the shape of the magic, white goose feather.
And so it is with trust in the winds, in praise of the shepherd, the Deva, Vishnu and Siva the Balinese celebrate the season of the wind.
Om Swastyastu,
Tara Khandro
tarakhadro@yahoo.com
