  Nostalgia for a legendary past is a fact of any
society undergoing rapid change, as it is of Bali. This cultural conservatism often takes
on the guise of 'cultural preservation', and in Bali it is legitimised as evidence that
Balinese culture need not be subservient to a foreign culture of modernity. Ironically,
however, in many ways that foreign culture of modernity has worked to deepen existing
social hierarchies, rather than threaten local culture with extinction.
Take, for example, the impact of electricity and telephone cables on
the function of the cremation rite as a show of wealth and power. Generally speaking, the
presence of telephone cables and electricity cables has forced most people to be content
with ceremonial wadah that are low enough to pass under them, to avoid collisions during
processions. "Because the roads are lined with cables, we have to make sure the wadah
is no higher than the cables. It's OK if they're a little shorter, it doesn't change the
meaning of the ritual as a whole," says Santa Wijaya, traditional head of Banjar
Dukuh in Penebel village, Tabanan. In the seventies, when there were no electricity lines
in the village, wadahs for local cremation ceremonies could reach up to 15 metres in
height. Nowadays, most only reach one level in height - just big enough to hold the body.
But for those eager to exhibit their wealth and influence via cremation
ceremonies, telephone cables are of little concern. They can ask for the cables to be
temporarily removed to allow passage for a higher than normal wadah, thus cutting power to
surrounding households for as long as several hours. Cremation ceremonies held by royal
houses in Pemecutan, Klungkung, Ubud and Puri Agung in Gianyar have all been known to be
complete with wadahs towering high above electricity and telephone cables, which have been
'removed' temporarily by the State Electricity Commission or Telkom to allow the funeral
processions to pass.
Another example of the commercialisation of the cremation ceremony is
in its modern function as a great business opportunity. Local entrepreneurs have taken to
offering their services to video the ceremonies or to acting as agents in selling
cremation packages to tourists. The more magnificent the ceremony, the more expensive the
tour. The late Ida Anak Agung Gde Agung, former Prime Minister of the short-lived
Dutch-backed State of East Indonesia, diplomat and religious beaurocrat, once complained
of the increasing number of travel agents approaching him offering to sponsor the
cremation ceremonies for deceased members of the palace yet to be cremated. "They
would come offering to pay for the cremation ceremony if there happened to be a member of
the palace yet to be cremated," explained Gde Agung. On the condition, of course,
that they be allowed to bring as many tourists as they pleased to witness the royal
cremation. "This kind of bargaining is dangerous for Balinese culture," lamented
Gde Agung.
Crematorium and Transformation
At the end of 1997, Dr Anak Agung Made Djelantik - descended from the
royal family of Karangasem - took Bali's conservative Hindus by surprise. When his Dutch
wife, Astri Zwart, a Buddhist, died aged 80, he did not cremate her with all the fanfare
of a regular Balinese cremation ceremony. Rather, Djelantik chose a simple ceremony in
Yasaa Mandala, Nusa Dua - Bali's 'international crematorium', reserved for cremating
tourists who die in Bali, should their families so desire. The simplicity of Astri Zwart's
cremation, devoid of the cermonial pagoda, the cow and the musical accompaniment,
beleganjur, was surprising to many Balinese because of Djelantik's royal heritage. Most
Balinese with royal descent, keen to assert their noble status and elevated position in
the social strata, would have opted for a much more lavish ceremony.
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