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"
Let
your
conscience
be
your
guide
.
If
you
have
Western
friends
come
to
visit
Bali
,
bring
them
to
me
for
palm
-
reading
.
I
am
very
empty
in
my
bank
since
the
bomb
.
You
want
to
come
with
me
to
baby
ceremony
today
?
"
And
this
is
how
I
ended
up
participating
in
the
blessing
of
a
baby
who
had
reached
the
age
of
six
months
,
and
who
was
now
ready
to
touch
the
earth
for
the
first
time
.
The
Balinese
don
’
t
let
their
children
touch
the
ground
for
the
first
six
months
of
life
,
because
newborn
babies
are
considered
to
be
gods
sent
straight
from
heaven
,
and
you
wouldn
’
t
let
a
god
crawl
around
on
the
floor
with
all
the
toenail
clippings
and
cigarette
butts
.
So
Balinese
babies
are
carried
for
those
first
six
months
,
revered
as
minor
deities
.
If
a
baby
dies
before
it
is
six
months
old
,
it
is
given
a
special
cremation
ceremony
and
the
ashes
are
not
placed
in
a
human
cemetery
because
this
being
was
never
human
:
it
was
only
ever
a
god
.
But
if
the
baby
lives
to
six
months
,
then
a
big
ceremony
is
held
and
the
child
’
s
feet
are
allowed
to
touch
the
earth
at
last
and
Junior
is
welcomed
to
the
human
race
.
This
ceremony
today
was
held
at
the
house
of
one
of
Ketut
’
s
neighbors
.
The
baby
in
question
was
a
girl
,
already
nicknamed
Putu
.
Her
parents
were
a
beautiful
teenage
girl
and
an
equally
beautiful
teenage
boy
,
who
is
the
grandson
of
a
man
who
is
Ketut
’
s
cousin
,
or
something
like
that
.
Ketut
wore
his
finest
clothes
for
the
event
-
a
white
satin
sarong
(
trimmed
in
gold
)
and
a
white
,
long
-
sleeved
button
-
down
jacket
with
gold
buttons
and
a
Nehru
collar
,
which
made
him
look
rather
like
a
railroad
porter
or
a
busboy
at
a
fancy
hotel
.
He
had
a
white
turban
wrapped
around
his
head
.
His
hands
,
as
he
proudly
showed
me
,
were
all
pimped
out
with
giant
gold
rings
and
magic
stones
.
About
seven
rings
in
total
.
All
of
them
with
holy
powers
.
He
had
his
grandfather
’
s
shining
brass
bell
for
summoning
spirits
,
and
he
wanted
me
to
take
a
lot
of
photographs
of
him
.
We
walked
over
to
his
neighbor
’
s
compound
together
.
It
was
a
considerable
distance
and
we
had
to
walk
on
the
busy
main
road
for
a
while
.
I
’
d
been
in
Bali
almost
four
months
,
and
had
never
seen
Ketut
leave
his
compound
before
.
It
was
disconcerting
watching
him
walk
down
the
highway
amid
all
the
speeding
cars
and
madcap
motorcycles
.
He
looked
so
tiny
and
vulnerable
.
He
looked
so
wrong
set
against
this
modern
backdrop
of
traffic
and
honking
horns
.
It
made
me
want
to
cry
,
for
some
reason
,
but
I
was
feeling
a
little
extra
emotive
today
anyway
.
About
forty
guests
were
there
already
at
the
neighbor
’
s
house
when
we
arrived
,
and
the
family
altar
was
heaped
with
offerings
-
piles
of
woven
palm
baskets
filled
with
rice
,
flowers
,
incense
,
roasted
pigs
,
some
dead
geese
and
chickens
,
coconut
and
bits
of
currency
that
fluttered
around
in
the
breeze
.
Everyone
was
decked
out
in
their
most
elegant
silks
and
lace
.
I
was
underdressed
,
sweaty
from
my
bike
ride
,
self
-
conscious
in
my
broken
T
-
shirt
amid
all
this
beauty
.
But
I
was
welcomed
exactly
the
way
you
would
want
to
be
if
you
were
the
white
girl
who
’
d
wandered
in
inappropriately
attired
and
uninvited
.
Everyone
smiled
at
me
with
warmth
,
and
then
ignored
me
and
commenced
to
the
part
of
the
party
where
they
all
sat
around
admiring
each
other
’
s
clothes
.
The
ceremony
took
hours
,
Ketut
officiating
.
Only
an
anthropologist
with
a
team
of
interpreters
could
tell
you
all
that
occurred
,
but
some
of
the
rituals
I
understood
,
from
Ketut
’
s
explanations
and
from
books
that
I
had
read
.
The
father
held
the
baby
during
the
first
round
of
blessings
and
the
mother
held
an
effigy
of
the
baby
-
a
coconut
swaddled
to
look
like
an
infant
.
This
coconut
was
blessed
and
doused
with
holy
water
just
like
the
real
baby
,
then
placed
on
the
ground
right
before
the
baby
’
s
feet
touch
earth
for
the
first
time
;
this
is
to
fool
the
demons
,
who
will
attack
the
dummy
baby
and
leave
the
real
baby
alone
.
There
were
hours
of
chants
,
though
,
before
that
real
baby
’
s
feet
could
touch
ground
.
Ketut
rang
his
bell
and
sang
his
mantras
endlessly
,
and
the
young
parents
beamed
with
pleasure
and
pride
.
The
guests
came
and
went
,
milling
about
,
gossiping
,
watching
the
ceremony
for
a
while
,
offering
their
gifts
and
then
taking
off
for
another
appointment
.
It
was
all
strangely
casual
amid
all
the
ancient
ritualistic
formality
,
sort
of
backyard
-
picnic
-
meets
-
high
-
church
.
The
mantras
Ketut
chanted
to
the
baby
were
so
sweet
,
sounding
like
a
combination
of
the
sacred
and
the
affectionate
.
While
the
mother
held
the
infant
,
Ketut
waved
before
the
child
samples
of
food
,
fruit
,
flowers
,
water
,
bells
,
a
wing
from
the
roast
chicken
,
a
bit
of
pork
,
a
cracked
coconut
…
With
each
new
item
he
would
sing
something
to
her
.
The
baby
would
laugh
and
clap
her
hands
,
and
Ketut
would
laugh
and
keep
singing
.
