Dayak send up hopes with stomping `Hudoq'

Dayak send up hopes with stomping `Hudoq'

Tony Hotland, The Jakarta Post, Jakarta

Had any Kalimantan farmers known about the Hudoq performance on
Oct. 11 at Plaza Senayan, they would have put their hoes aside
and joined the ritualistic dance. In fact, some of the non-farmer
audience actually did join in the revelry.

A cloudy sky hung over that Saturday afternoon when a
Kalimantan troupe performed the Hudoq folk-dance in front of a
huge crowd of Jakarta shoppers.

The dance is indigenous to the Dayak ethnic group in
Kalimantan, specifically to the Bahau and the Modang tribes. It
is performed in every village during the first two or three days
of rice planting. Usually, these small ceremonies are followed by
a massive festival in a major district, with up to 1,000
villagers taking part in the dance.

The dance is repeated over a period of two or three days to
evoke the good spirits and gods to protect the rice fields, in
hopes of a successful harvest.

Hudoq is also believed to ward off maleficent spirits
disguised as plant diseases, pests and animals that destroy
plants.

As the chill of the gray day drove visitors into the safety of
the mall, the 120 seats in front of the large stage filled to
overflowing.

The clock in the atrium hit six, and a few minutes later, five
men, dressed in traditional costumes that resemble vests, came
and sat behind a row of gendang drums and a gong. They began to
strike the instruments into rhythm.

The dominant, syncopated beat of the gong was slowly replaced
by the heavier sound of the drums, struck fast and hard. Eight
masked men in costume made an entrance one after the other, each
carrying a mandau, or Kalimantan dagger.

Their costumes were made of fabric interwoven with tassels of
green areca leaves so that they resembled bushes come to life.

"We use green leaves because green symbolizes fertility. With
the dance, we wish for fertile land and a good harvest," said
Darlis Chaniago, a researcher of Dayak culture whose wife is an
ethnic Dayak.

The main attention grabber was the grotesque masks that give
the dance its name: Hudoq means "mask" in the local dialect.

The masks, decorated with hornbill feathers, were oversized
compositions of light-colored wood, featuring huge noses and
bulging eyes.

There are three kinds of masks: the Hudoq Pakau resembles the
human face; the Hudoq Tinga resembles a bird, and the Hudoq Babui
resembles a pig.

"Everyone can take part in the dance and freely pick which
mask they want to wear. There's no specific requirements to join
the sacred dance," said Dayak performer Ngau Hajang, who wore a
Hudoq Tinga.

The eight dancers began forming a circle, stamping their bare
feet on the stage and making it rumble. The pounding sounded
erratic at first, but the dancers were actually following the
beat of the drums and gong.

"The movement of the body depends on the music and has a
meaning. When it's slow, it's a lullaby for the gods and
ancestors. If it's fast, it depicts the dynamic movement of the
farmers when they are planting rice," Darlis explained.

Even in these times, when tight jeans and unbuttoned shirts
prevail, many Dayak still adhere to their traditional way of
life. And rice cultivation is the local mainstay.

The Lun Dayeh people of East Kalimantan, for example, still
practice both rotating cultivation and irrigated rice production.

The spiritual background of the dance became broader as Darlis
expounded upon its meaning.

"It used to be danced for a sole purpose -- for the protection
of the crop and a successful rice harvest. But nowadays, you can
also wish for other things such as safety, family matters, love,
children and more.

"Yes, there have been times of unsuccessful harvests, which
were mostly due to flooding. But that's no reason for doubting
the dance nor failing to pray. If our prayers are answered, it's
good. If not, it's OK," he explained.

Fifteen minutes into the dance, and the dancers are just going
'round and 'round, stamping their feet fast, then slow, the
thumping filling the air. The rhythm and zeal of the dancers were
palpable, despite the somewhat monotonous choreography.

Even after some onlookers in the atrium joined the dance, the
circling continued on and on.

"Well, it might have looked boring. But when you put 1,000
people together, the way it happens in our land, what comes out
is a culmination of spirit and prayers. You can really feel the
intensity," said Darlis.

"What's great is the meaning behind the dance, never mind
whether the dance itself is boring or not. For instance, it's
surprising to know that the pig mask actually has real boar's
tusks on it," said actress Shahnaz Haque, who presented the show.

Superstitious or not, the Dayak preserve the dance for the
faith and respect they have for their gods and ancestors. Even
when bombs are exploding, famine is continuing and the world
seems ready to end, the Dayak are still standing tall, stamping
their feet on the ground and sending up prayers.