On my first journey to Bali in 1970, I bought a kris.
In retrospect it was an odd thing for a teenage girl to buy. I can’t remember any details about its purchase. Perhaps I was enchanted by the carved ebony scabbard or the sinuous blade of beaten iron. Anyway, the kris was stored in a box in the basement of my parent’s house in Canada as I traveled the world. I never gave it a thought.
Then, 35 years later as I lay sleeping in my house in Ubud, I dreamed about the kris. I woke with the strong feeling that I should bring it back to Bali. On my next visit to Canada I opened the carved box in the basement and there was the kris, on top. It felt warm in my hands.
I told Wayan and Nyoman this story on my return, and they nodded wisely as they admired the wooden scabbard. “I will ask Ibu Sarijan about it,” Wayan said. Ibu was a mystic who could talk to spirits and was wise in the way of healing herbs. Wayan had grown up with her, and now Ibu was visiting their compound from her home in Java.
The next morning Wayan arrived in high excitement. Ibu had connected with the kris. Its spiritual home was Tampaksiring. Now Ibu wanted to see the kris itself. She arrived in mid morning, a slender older woman with a strong face. She sat at the table and picked up the kris. Wayan and Nyoman watched, spellbound.
Closing her eyes, Ibu held the scabbard reverently against her forehead. Sitting beside her, the hair on my arms stood straight up as she called in the spirit of the blade. The next few minutes were profoundly magical. Ibu told me the name of the kris, and taught me the ritual to evoke its energy. She showed me how to anoint it with scented oil and ask it to bless my activities. The air around us seemed to vibrate subtly.
Then I asked where the kris should be kept. Ibu picked it up carefully with both hands and carrying it in front of her, entered the house. She paused for a moment, then made straight for my bedroom. In Balinese, she instructed Nyoman that it should be mounted on the wall beside my bed or, better yet, attached to the post of my old Chinese bed. Here it would protect me while I slept and ensure that no evil would approach me. She laid it on my pillow and went off to have a cup of tea. (Later I found her and Nyoman comparing leopard whiskers, which they kept in plastic bags in their wallets.)
I was astonished at the potency of the kris, awakened after many years in a foreign land. A friend told me that although the scabbard looked new, the blade itself – the sacred part – had probably been taken from an older weapon.
Traditionally the Balinese kris was a powerful object of ritual magic, charged with the secrets of metal smithing. Only a member of the Pande clan can make a kris. When forging a particularly powerful kris, the smith must observe a complex list of rituals and prohibitions. During its creation he must make offerings to it and to his furnace, working on it only on auspicious days. A special ceremony brings the kris to life when it’s finished, and it is always treated with great respect. A kris is never held with its point down and never sharpened.
The Pande caste is viewed as powerful magicians who understand the mysterious melding of fire and metal. Since the 13th century, when the kris first appeared as part of a temple decoration in East Java, these skilled metal smiths have passed the secret techniques of forging the kris blade from generation to generation.
Iron itself is too soft for this use, and the highly skilled Pandes knew to alloy it with exact amounts of carbon and nickel to make steel. Melted together in a crucible, these elements are poured into an ingot which can be worked on an anvil.
The kris blade, which can be curved or straight, is created during a very labour intensive process. The smith hammers the metal into ribbons, heats it red-hot, then folds the ribbons back on each other and hammers them together in a wavy design called pamor. Day after day the skill and energy of the smith is focused on the nascent blade. When at last it is finished, the pattern of the blade is enhanced with a mixture of antimony and lemon juice.
A kris has different kinds of power depending on the number of curves in its blade, the design of the pamor and the proportions of its blade, particularly in relationship to its owner’s hand. A complicated system of numerology establishes the character of the kris, and whether it will be beneficial or harmful to its owner.
A powerful ritual object, the kris is used in trance dances and other ceremonies. Some have the ability to move from place to place of their own volition, and others can cause madness. A kris is said to rattle in its scabbard to warn its owner when danger is near.
It is accepted by my staff and by Ibu that my kris made the decision to come back to Bali, informed me during a dream and is now in its chosen place. “It is happy now,” says Wayan. My house in Bali seems even more complete with its powerful yet benign presence.
