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WHEN THE HERONS COME BACK TO PETULU...
One afternoon, Lisa and Ann headed north of Ubud, Bali to
see what had been recommended to us as a not-to-be-missed
sight-- thousands of herons returning to the village of
Petulu to roost for the night. What had been anticipated
as a touristy experience became a memorable afternoon.
Local legend is that there were no herons near Petulu
until one afternoon in
the fall of 1965. On September 30, 1965, an attempted
communist coup led to
the downfall of founding Indonesian president Sukarno and
the emergence of General Suharto, who ended the coup. Afterwards, the communist party was outlawed,
and an anti-communist witch hunt swept over the nation.
In Bali, the national political differences were bound up
with existing tensions over the caste system and land
reform.
Religious traditionalists led the
search for communists, and many people were brutally
murdered, often clubbed to death by mobs. Exactly one
week after one of the worst of the massacres, thousands
of white herons, said to be the souls of the slaughtered,
appeared in Petulu, where no herons had been seen before.
They have been coming every afternoon since.
We had been told that the birds arrived
at four, so we hired a driver and
headed to Petulu at 3:30. On the way, our driver wondered
aloud why we were going to Petulu so early, as the
"burung" didn't arrive until five each day. No
problem, we thought, we'll just find a spot for a cold
drink.
Arriving in Petulu, we walked
cautiously down the main road, noting the
profusion of feathers and bird droppings, knowing we were
in the right place, but wondering where we would find
that cold drink...
At the far end of the village, we spied
a tiny store, and perched on a bench outside to drink
some tepid cokes. We soon learned with dismay that the
birds were expected at six, and we had two hours on this
bench. Our boredom was soon eased by the appearance of a
bottle of arak, distilled palm wine. We spent the next
two hours sharing the local firewater with each other and
a young villager while watching the storeowner make her
palm offering trays for the next day and her children
play with empty soda bottles.
As the afternoon waned, the daily
return of the tourists to Petulu began, by the bemo-full.
(A bemo is a local form of transport, usually a minivan.)
And at six, the herons began to arrive, first a few at a
time, then by the score.
The flow of herons became constant and the chatter of the
tourists ceded to
the chatter of the birds. As the sun set, the trees of
Petulu were white. It
had been worth the wait-- and the arak.
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