the ground; or dances a long solo in frantic
levity; following the fleeing Barong, and climbing with her hands
all over him, as if polishing the mirrors of his coat. Wherever he
turns she rushes and peers into his face, standing at his head as
if he were her mount. One remembers also the Barong cuddling up to
Rangda and biting her, so that for a moment the two monsters became
one.
In one village there are five Rangdas, in different degrees of power,
but all equally hideous in voice and aspect. Five monstrous forms
reeled forward in the smoke, of a fire lit to keep off rain, fiercely
gesticulating, gurgling, declaiming, their greedy fingers clawing
at the air, swinging their huge manes. They formed a ring and danced
a witches' round, an uneasy see-saw of monstrous limbs and uncouth
gestures. There was a strange epilogue to this Barong play in the
temple court, shadowy forms writhing and moaning in the torch light,
incense-smoke, and dust. The great Rangda lay outstretched up a flight
of steps, and even when the mask was removed the man who had animated
it lay on in deep trance. The tongues of the four minor Rangdas hung
out of their baskets over the faces of their bearers; women stole
about with offerings. The air was full of incense, of the quick, uninterrupted
clacking of the Barong's jaws, of the sudden cries of men in trance.
Then peace; silent prayer over the offering-mat, a dreamy distant
gamelan, a haloed moon in the waringin-tree
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