The natural world to the Balinese is one held in balance by two opposing forces: the benign, beneficial to man, and the malign, inimical to humanity. The destructive power of sickness and death is associated with the latter force and the evil influence of black magic.

If black magic prevails, a village fails into danger, and extensive purification ceremonies become necessary to restore a proper equilibrium for the health of the community. Dramatic art is also a mea of cleansing the village by strengthening its resistance to harmful forces through offerings, prayers and acts of exorcism. Such is the symbolic play of the two remarkable presences-the Barong and Rangda. Barong, a mystical creature with a long back and curved tail, represents the affirmative, the protector of mankind, the glory of the high sun, and the favorable spirits associated with the right and white magic. The widow witch Rangda is its complement. She rules the evil spirits and witches who haunt the graveyards late at night. Her habitat is darkness and her specialties lie with the practice of black magic, the destructive force of the left. Both figures are of the same earthly substance, possessing strong magical prowess. Somewhere in a mythical past, the Barong was won over to the side of humanity, and, in the play, fights on behalf of the people against the intruding death force of Rangda. Often the struggle occurs within the framework of a popular story; for instance, an episode from the Mahabharata.

Yet the essence of the Barong and Rangda play remains the eternal conflict of two cosmic forces symbolized in the two protagonists. Because the play is charged with sorcery and magic charms, extensive offerings are made beforehand to protect the players during the performance. Usually the Barong enters first, cleverly danced by two men who form the forelegs and hind legs, the first man manipulating the mask. A Barong's appearance varies with the kind of mask it wears, which may be stylized version of a wild boar, a tiger, a lion, or occasionally an elephant. The most holy mask and the one used in the play is that of the Barong Keket, "The Sovereign Lord of the Forest", a beast representing no known animal. In the extreme coordination of the lively Barong, one forgets the fantastic creature isn't acting on its own accord, as it mischievously sidesteps and whirls around, snapping its jaws at the gamelan, and swishing flies with its tail.

After the Barong's dance, everyone falls silent. From behind the temple gate appear the splintery fingernails that fore shadow the dread full vision of Rangda. From her mouth hangs a flaming tongue signifying her consuming fire and around her neck, a necklace of human entrails falls over her pendulous breasts. How in a low, gurgling curse she stalks the Barong while waving a white cloth from whence issues her overwhelming magic. They collide in a desperate clash of witchcraft. In the protection of the Barong lies the preservation of the community, represented by the "kris dancers", men armed with kris daggers. At one point in the fight, when the victory of the Barong is threatened, the kris dancers rush to the Barong's assistance by violently attacking Rangda. The witch's spell reverses their fury back into themselves, and they begin to plunge the blades of their cresses inward against their own bodies. But the Barong, with its own powerful charm, protects the crazed men from inflicting self-harm. In most plays, this phenomenal self-stabbing is enacted when the kris dancers are in trance. No matter how forcefully they plunge the daggers against their chests, the tips of the blades do not puncture the skin.

At the end of the play, the kris dancers are revived by the pemangku, who sprinkles them with holy Water, which has been dipped in the beard of the Barong. (The beard, made of human hair, considered the most sacred part of the Barong). A final offering is made to the evil spirits by spilling the blood of a live chicken.

The dark expanse of the banyan tree above the temple gate casts a dense shadow on the courtyard and the carvings that flicker like apparitions in the uneven light. A serpentine stream of bodies coils itself, circle within circle, around a large, branching torch. Two hemispheres of men: one, a pattern of silhouettes; the other, sculptural faces of brown skin caught in a net of torchlight.

The half-seen multitude waits in silence. A priest enters with offerings, blessing of holy water. One piercing voice cracks the suspense the circle electrifies. No other dance is so unnerving as the amazing Kecak: One Hundred and fifty men, who by a regimented counter play of sounds, simulate the orchestration of the gamelan. Kecak, a name indicating the "chak-a-chak" sounds, evolved from the male chorus of the ritual Sanghyang trance ceremony. By choreography ingeniously simple, chorus is transfigured into ecstasy. The annihilation of the individual, the cries, the erratic pulse of sound and sublimated violence of the kecak are perfectly contained in the precise use of a few basic motions of head, arms and torso.

Through a coordination rehearsed for months prior to a performance, various parts of the dance merge in a startling continuum of grouped motion and voice. Many words and gestures have no meaning other than as derivatives of incantations to drive out evil, as was the original purpose of the Sanghyang chorus. Kecak include a drama, in which the circle of light around the torch becomes a stage, and its periphery of men, a living theatre with all dramatic effects. Accompanied by the bizarre music of human instruments, the storyteller relates the episode enacted within the performance, usually one drawn from the ramayana. When demon-king Rawana leaps to the center, the chorus simulates his flight with a long hissing sound. When Hanuman enters the mystic circle, the men become an army of chattering monkeys-hence, the nickname "Monkey Dance".

Baris Dance Just as the Legong is essentially feminine, Baris, a traditional war dance, glorifies the man hood of the triumphant Balinese warrior. The word baris means a line or file, in the sense of a line of soldiers, and referred to the warriors who fought for the kings of Bali. There are numerous kinds of Baris, distinguished by the arms borne by the dancers-spear, lance, kris, bow, sword, or shield.

Originally, the dance was a religious ritual: the dedication of warriors and their weapons during a temple feast. From the ritualistic Baris Gede grew the dramatic Baris, a story prefaced by a series of exhibition solo dances, which showed a warrior's prowess in battle. It is from these that the present Baris solo takes its form. The Balinese say a good Baris dancer must undergo rigorous training to obtain the skill and flexibility that typifies the chivalrous elegance of the Sale.

A Baris dancer must be supple, able to sit on his heels, keeping his knees spread wide apart in line with his body. His face must be mobile to convey fierceness, disdain, pride, acute alertness, and, equally important, compassion and regret-the characteristics of a warlike noble. The Baris is accompanied by gamelan gong. The relation between dancer and orchestra is an intimate one, since the gamelan must be entirely attuned to the changing moods of the warrior's imperious will. The dancer enters the stage-a field of action where he will display the sublimity of his commanding presence.

At first, his movements are studied and careful, as if he were seeking out foes in an unfamiliar place. When he reaches the middle of the stage, hesitation gives way to self-assurance. He rises on his toes to his full stature, his body motionless with quivering and limbs. In a flash, he whirls on one leg, his feet patter the ground to the tumult of the gamelan, and his face renders the storm of passions of a quick-tempered warrior. Such a spectacular show of style, mental control and physical dexterity would intimidate any enemy worthy of the Baris!.

In legends, Legong is the heavenly dance of divine nymphs. Of all classical Balinese dances, it remains the quintessence of femininity and grace. Girls from the age of five aspire to be selected to represent the community as Legong dancers. Connoisseurs hold the dance in highest esteem and spend hours discussing the merits of various Legong groups. The most popular of Legongs is the Legong Kraton, Legong of the palace. Formerly, the dance was patronized by local rajas and held in a puri, residence of the royal family of the village. Dancers were recruited from the aptest and prettiest children. Today, the trained dancers are still very young, a girl of fourteen approaches the age of retirement as a Legong performer.

The highly stylized Legong Kraton enacts a drama of a most purified and abstract kind. The story is performed ' by three dancers: the condong, a female attendant of the court, and two identically dressed legongs (dancers), who adopt the roles of royal persons. Originally, a storyteller sat with the orchestra and chanted the narrative, but even this has been refined away in many Legongs. Only the suggestive themes of the magnificent gamelan gong (the full Balinese orchestra) and the minds of the audience conjure up imaginary changes of scene in the underlying play of Legong Kraton.

The story derives from the history of East Java in the 12th and 13th centuries: when on a journey the King of Lasem finds the maiden Rangkesari lost in the forest. He takes her home and locks her in a house of stone. Rangkesari's brother, the Prince of Daha, learns of her captivity and threatens war unless she is set free.
Rangkesari begs her captor to avoid war by giving her liberty, but the king prefers to fight. On his way to battle, he is met by a bird of ill omen that predicts his death. In the fight that ensues he is killed. The dance dramatizes the farewells of the King of Lasem as he departs for the battlefield and his ominous encounter with the bird. It opens with an introductory solo by the condong. She moves with infinite suppleness, dipping to the ground and rising in one unbroken motion, her torso poised in an arch with elbows and head held high, while fingers dance circles around her wrists. Slowly, her eyes focus on two fans laid before her and taking them, she turns to meet the arrival of the legongs.

The tiny dancers glitter and dazzle. Bound from head to foot in gold brocade, it is a wonder the legongs can move with such fervent agitation. Yet, the tight composure of the body, balanced by dynamic directive gestures-the flash of an eye, the tremble of two fingers blend in unerring precision. After as hurt dance, the condong retires, leaving the legongs to pantomime the story within the dance. Like a controlled line of an exquisite drawling, the dancers flow from one identity into the next without disrupting the harmony of the dance. They may enter as the double image one' character, their movements marked tight synchronization and rhythmical verve Then they may split, each enacting a separate role, and come together in complementary halves to form a unified pattern, as in the plan full love scene in which they "rub noses The King of Lasem bids farewell to his queen, and takes leave of Rangkesari. She repels his advances by beating him with her fan and departs in anger. It is then the condong reappears as a bird with wild eyes fixed upon the king. Beating its golden wings to a strange flutter of cymbals, it attacks the king in a vain attempt to dissuade him from war.

The ancient narrative relates: "... a black bird came flying out of the northeast and swooped down upon the king, who saw it and said, 'Raven, hoi come you to swoop down on me? In spite; all, 1 shall go out and fight. This I shall do, oh raven!... With the king's decision understood the dance may end; or the other legong may return on stage as his prime minister, and, shimmering unison, they whirl the final step is war.