Torajan funeral ceremony attracts the world's tourists
By Johannes Simbolon
TANA TORAJA, South Sulawesi (JP): It was the third day of nobleman Cornelius Isi' Paembonan's funeral ceremony in Ba'tan village in the Kesu district of Tana Toraja, South Sulawesi.
Hundreds of people, both villagers and tourists, had started to gather in the paddies-turned-funeral-site since early morning, anxiously waiting for the main attraction of the day's ritual: a mass-slaughter of buffalo.
The slaughter is a major part of the Torajan funeral ceremony, called Rambu Solo'. It, of course, attracts the most tourists.
In her book Sa'dan-Toraja, A Study of Their Social Life And Religion, Rituals of the East and West Dutch anthropologist Hetty Nooy-Palm says up to 200 buffalo can be killed during the ritual.
In comparison, Paembonan's funeral ceremony, where only 17 buffalo were sacrificed, was very modest.
The modesty, however, did not seem to lessen the attraction.
The buffalo stood in the open, surrounded by spectators sitting in the dozen shelters built for the occasion.
The long-awaited slaughter began. A pa'ting goro (executioner) led a buffalo to the center of the arena and pulled a rope attached to its nose to raise its head.
The villagers were silent; the tourists prepared their cameras.
The pa'ting goro yanked a long machete from behind his back and slashed to the buffalo's neck. The animal bellowed as blood spurted out of its neck.
The villagers shouted with glee while clicking cameras captured the scene.
In less than half a minute, after futile efforts to stand up, the buffalo collapsed and died.
The slaughter continued, each dying beast creating the same delight. The field turned red with blood.
An old French woman left before the ceremony ended.
"I can't stand seeing it," she said.
This unique Torajan funeral ceremony has raised controversy.
Decades ago, Dutch colonial rulers tried hard to make the ritual "more civilized" by issuing many rules, such as limiting the number of cattle to be slaughtered and ordering the burial of a villager within 24 hours. Later the Indonesian government, and many churches, which all gained many converts from the Torajan, also took part in the effort. But Torajans -- not only the believers of Toraja's traditional religion of Aluk Todolo, but also believers of contemporary religions -- cling to the ritual. They are only willing to modify it.
Rambu Solo' (descending smoke) is the general term for a Torajan funeral ceremony, a ceremony made up of many rituals.
Children are buried different from adults, and the lower the social class of the dead, the simpler the funeral. The ritual also varies from one area to another.
The Torajan do not bury their dead straight away, but wait until they have enough money and time to conduct a big funeral ceremony.
The date is a major consideration because the deceased's relatives, including those living faraway, should attend the ceremony. A time must be found when everyone can attend.
The wealth, age and social standing of the deceased determines the timeframe before burials. The to buda (slaves) can be buried within 24 hours without ceremony. Babies and infants are also buried within 24 hours, with babies being buried beneath a rice barn together with their umbilical cord and a hen's egg. An infant who dies before cutting its teeth is placed in a hollowed tree trunk.
The body of a rich person is wrapped in special cloth and can be kept at home for months, years and even decades before being buried. Paembonan, who was 60 when he died in November, 1995, was buried five months later, in late March, 1996.
In her book, Nooy-Palm reports of a case where a man buried his grandfather, who died before he was born 25 years back.
Coping with the stench is the main problem. The introduction of formalin has reduced the stench somewhat. Magic was used before formalin.
One magical technique was to wash the corpse with water and then the Aluk Todolo death priest would take the water in a container one kilometer away from the house and leave it there.
"The bad odor was supposedly removed from around the house to the area where the water was dumped," said Stanislaus Sandarupa, a Torajan who is completing his doctoral degree on Toraja at the University of Chicago.
The success of this magical method is disputable.
Renda Sarungallow, 72, chairman of the Ke'te' Kesu village foundation, said: "I remember how, as a little boy, I was always very reluctant to return home because of the stench emitted from the corpse kept there. Fortunately, now there is formalin."
Until burial they corpses lie in the room they used during their lives and are treated not as dead but as sick.
Families routinely give them food, tuak (local alcohol made from palm fruit) and cigarettes. The bad odor is considered a greeting from the sick.
Once a family has accumulated enough money and has agreed on the burial date, the preparations begin. The family must get permission from the government, prepare the ceremony site, and build the many guest shelters around the site. These preparations can take months to complete and involve hundreds of people, usually the landlord's slaves.
Rich to buda are permitted to stage big ceremony where they can slaughter the traditional maximum of buffalo and pigs. If they slaughter more than the permitted amount, in a bid to show off their wealth, they will be ridiculed.
"No one will eat the meat they prepare for the funeral feast," explained Joseph Tangke, vice chairman of the Indonesian Guide Association in Tana Toraja.
Grand ceremonies are reserved for rich landlords. Tradition permits them to sacrifice as many cattle as they wish. In the past, burial rituals included the beheading of the landlord's slaves. The souls of the slaves were believed to herd the sacrificed buffalo to the realm of the spirits.
Torajan belief claims that after burial the souls of the dead go to the realm of the dead, called puya, which is governed by the Judge of the Kingdom of the Dead, Pong Lalondong.
They believe life in puya is an extension of life on earth. Souls can still have property. That's why the Torajans sacrifice as many cattle as possible for the dead, and also bury the dead's valuables in the tomb.
The more buffalo sacrificed during the funeral, the more respect the dead will receive from the inhabitants of puya and the sooner they will become deata (deified souls). If the ceremony is deemed inadequate, the soul will wander about on earth, frightening the living.
"If the family stages a funeral ritual worthy enough for the dead, the spirit will take care of the family and deliver graces to them," said Theo H. Girik Allo, one of Paembonan's relatives.
Not many Torajans can afford the ceremony, which can cost billions of rupiah, and many go into debt.
Getting into debt in Toraja is also done uniquely.
The buffalo sacrificed in the ceremony don't all belong to the deceased's family. Many are presented to the family by the guests.
By giving presents, some guests show that they want to form a relationship with the family. The acceptance of the presents means that the family welcomes the gesture.
There are other reasons for giving presents. The gift-bearer may be repaying what they received from the dead person in his life during one of their own funeral ceremonies. If the dead person, in his life, presented them with one buffalo, they must present one buffalo at his funeral.
The family of the deceased notes all the presents given by their guests, counting them as a debt to the guests, which they will repay at future funeral ceremonies.
The debt cycle never ends. Children pay their parents' debt and their grandchildren will take over the obligation if not completed.
"When my father died some years ago, 100 buffalo were slaughtered. Now, to repay this, my mother must prepare 17 buffalo a year for the funeral parties of our former guests. If my mother dies, I will take over the responsibility," said Tinting Sarungallo from Ke'te' village in Kesu.
At the end of a funeral, the coffin is placed in either a cave or a tomb hewn from the mountainside. The unique burial has become a tourist attraction.
A tau-tau doll, carved from jackfruit wood, is placed in front of a prominent person's coffin. The effigies made in the past look different from the ones made today. In the past, the effigies looked exactly like the dead person they represented, whereas today they are only similar.
Tinting said the change is because Christianity forbids them from idolizing the dead through the dolls. By making the tau-tau only similar to the dead, they can make the excuse that it is just like a picture.
Toraja has changed. The number of people who believe in Aluk Todolo is decreasing. The younger generation, who have been converted to other religions, face a dilemma as to whether to continue Aluk Todolo funeral ceremonies.
Most have decided to continue the tradition, while modifying it to the teachings of their new religions. Some churches tolerate it, while other churches ban their congregation from taking part.
"For us younger generation, it's no longer part of our religion, but part of our culture," said Sam Lande, the manager of the Toraja Garden Cottages in Rantepao.
Stanislaus says it is very difficult to draw a line between culture and traditional religion.
He believes only the followers of Aluk Todolo are willing to preserve the Torajan culture. Toraja is in danger of losing its unique culture.