Amid streets awash with the countrypeople of neighboring villages-strolling the streets and inspecting the carefully hung decorations—we could sense the anticipation for the following day's ceremonies.
We followed surging crowds on a circuit of stages, erected in the four corners of the town with money and labor contributed by the public. The temple area in the center of town had been specially designated as a sacred place. Three towering giant bamboo trees, complete from root to tip, with leaves still intact were erected near the temple. Bamboo poles raised pennants in the temple courtyard to invite lonely ghosts from afar to come and enjoy themselves, and to find salvation at the same time. Multihued, multi-shaped paper lanterns were suspended from the uppermost reaches of the bamboo trees. As the trees rocked in the breeze, the lanterns' delicate paper tails fluttered gaily.
We first visited the stage in the southern corner of the town. The three-story wooden structure here was painted with brilliant dragons, phoenixes, and other ancient forms. Center stage was reserved for a display of sacred objects to honor various Chinese gods and ancestors. Under the heavy-roofed tiers over center stage, beautifully worked figures from the Buddhist and Taoist pantheons and well-known Chinese historical heroes faced the audience. Platforms to either side of center stage awaited the live players. Taiwanese opera, puppet shows, and singers would take turns later. In the foreground, odd-looking bamboo "bleachers" surrounded the stage on three sides. Not intended for a living audience, these racks would soon support whole pig, sheep, and chicken carcasses and various other sacrificial offerings. As the last rays of sun gleamed on the fully prepared arena, a hush fell over the crowd, gathered for the recreation of a hallowed ritual. Even the oldest townspeople had only witnessed this ceremony a handful of times. Occurring in the town once every twelve years, the festival of Tso-chiao is said to have originated around 1,000 A.D., during the middle of the Tang Dynasty.
According to lengend, an Emperor, of the Tang Dynasty- Tai Chung-descended into the underworld for a visit and was grieved by his encounter with the pitiful spirits of the dead. Upon his return to the world of the living, he fashioned a ceremony to honor the spirits of the underworld. Thus, goblins, ghosts, and other wandering spirits have since been welcomed to enjoy the foods and wines of men, and to bask in the attentions of the living. At the very last, the ghosts are sent off to their rightful homes via a guiding parade of lighted lanterns floating down a river.
To this day, this sacrificial festival to both appease the gods and effectively exorcise demons is reenacted on a large scale. Why so much pageantry? Chinese tradition is fecund on the topic of ghosts and goblins. And the general attitude towards goblins and ghosts is one part fear and one part sympathy, complicating the ceremony. Fear of evil powers is equalled by sympathy for the spirits' pitiful life. And mortal beings may also fear that after death, they too will be citizens of the underworld. Ritual is employed both to appease the evil spirits and to lament the deceased.
Stores of imitation paper money await their incendiary expenditure on behalf of another world
Traditional preparations for this festival are extensive. In addition to an obligatory vegetarian diet, no animals may be killed, no wood may be chopped, no fish may be caught, and no clothing may be dried outside the house. In the event of a family death, no mention of the incident may be made until the festival has passed; also, the relatives of the deceased may not approach the temple area.
Greeting all to the temple on the second day was an array of paper lanterns awaiting launching. Made of white oiled paper erected on tiny bamboo rafts, the lanterns, in the forms of houses and boats, ranged from 2 to 4 square feet. The lanterns' edges were trimmed in bright red piping, and each craft was marked with characters proclaiming a wish for "Peace and Harmony Throughout the Land."
At the edges of the temple grounds, Taoist· monks were chanting rhythmic prayers for the safe return of wandering ghosts to their rightful homes and for the spirits suffering in the next world. The long, sinuous cloth body of a dragon and a maned ritual lion whirled and bucked in the square as local townsmen traced the steps of their internal dancers.
As we watched, the lanterns were hoisted aloft by men in the square. A small band of musicians beating drums and piping recorders then led the train of shouldered lanterns in parade throughout the town. Guided by elders garbed in traditional scholars' robe and vest, the parade passed by the door of every house in the area to signify the collection of evil spirits from every corner. Finally, when all the homeless spirits had embarked, the procession-descended to the banks of the Muddy River, the largest river in Taiwan.
As the sun sank in fiery embers to the west, the banks of the Muddy diffused into the soft greyness. Gradually, onlookers gathered on the steep sandy banks. Stumbling and sliding over the uneven turf, they made headway down the weed-choked banks to the riverbed. A musical jingle from their procession sounded distantly in our ears. The exact point of launching yet unknown, prescient onlookers began, nevertheless, to make a final descent to the water's edge, their shadows sliding like stones down the bank in the dusk.
The procession's lanterns glowed now in the gloom, and a cloud of dust rose to greet the marchers as the crowd surged forward for a better view. Together, people and lanterns headed for the main channel of the Muddy River, traversing small tributaries on the way, inching slowly across narrow bamboo bridges, careful not to jostle or reprimand one another on this special day when all bad words and actions are taboo.
The town is the center of a gradual gathering, and four highly decorated stages have been newly erected as ceremonial and entertainment focal points
When all were assembled along the riverside, the ceremony finally began. Spotlights affixed to a bamboo bridge spanning a tributary, lighted the altar area where the head priest was already starting to chant, sparks, smoke, and ashes filling the air around him. With a quick swoop, he snatched a startled rooster from the floor at his feel. Holding its body firmly in both hands, the priest bent down to bite it on the cockscomb, just deeply enough to draw blood. Grasping the chicken's head like a writing brush, he scrawled a quick magic spell in the air, in a rite called "expelling the evil." The incredulous bird could only wag its head up and down, right and left, under the firm pressure of its captor. With eyes wide open, it seemed to be trying to decipher just what its poor head was doing.
Then, it was a white duck's turn. It also received a bite, not on the head but on the bill, and with blood appearing was forced through the strangest series of body contortions as the priest wrote more magic spells in the air. Then the pair were put to one side, this time too confused to even voice protests at such manhandling.
The red-robed Taoist priest finished his service, and all ghosts were now assembled on land. It was time to launch the floating lanterns, to send the ghosts back to the water. People along the riverside and on the bamboo bridge, which shook now under their weight, watched, excited.
Upstream, two farmers began launching each of the six floating lanterns. With a gentle shove and some careful tending via long bamboo poles, the lanterns drifted out, the turbulent river grabbing at their slight helms, rocking them to and fro. Under the gaze of many concerned eyes on shore, the bobbing lights set shakily upon their journey. According to superstition, the further the lanterns travel before being extinguished in the waves, the happier the fate of their homeless cargo.
Next, smaller lanterns were launched. These bobbed even more crazily in the current. Some spun for a moment in whirlpools or bounced off rocks, drawing anxious onlookers into the water for closer inspection of their antics. Perhaps each invested a personal significance in the lantern he watched—memories of a deceased relative or a lost friend were recalled as the lanterns dabbled downstream.
A sedan chair holding sacred objects makes its journey past all the town's households, and through a continuously parting sea of onlookers.
As the lanterns scattered in the currents, the crowd dispersed along the banks, some following the lights downstream, others raising burning incense in front of their faces in a ritual acknowledgment.
At exactly 11:45 p.m. the ban on killing animals was lifted. As we returned to the village, we noticed that the stages were brilliantly lit. Now hundreds of colorful nags fluttered from tall poles in front of the four stages. While we were down by the river, the bamboo racks waiting in the arenas had been decorated with pink twine.
At the very first light of dawn the next day, a large pig lay in the roadside in front of each house. Every family would later kill a pig and offer it (first) to the gods. As the pigs lay bound, people were already heading for the stages. They carried bamboo baskets filled with rice and wheat cakes to be used as sacrificial offerings.
The offerings were received on the carefully partitioned bamboo racks, each family being accorded a section of rack. Here now was arranged the slaughtered pig, the basket of food, and a small nag brightly painted with symbols intended to ward off evil and welcome good luck. A round fruit wrapped in red paper filled the mouth of each pig. And here and there a sheep or chicken offering accompanied the pig. Altogether, at least 2,000 pigs were lined up on the racks.
The stage areas quickly filled with spectators from outlying villages, the air charged with activity as distant neighbors caught up on years of gossip, and all relaxed in an ambience of frivolity and social contact reserved for holidays. As the crowd grew, the hosting townspeople beamed with pleasure. In Chinese custom, the more the guests, the more honored the host.
We made a tour of the four stages and found the roads so jammed with people that our car could not progress. When we returned to the central temple area, we found the ceremony there had started. Monks' chants rose over the hum of the crowd, welcoming the gods to the temple, transforming it into an especially sacred place. Originally, women were barred from entering, for women's position in ancient China was traditionally very limited, and the space surrounding the three bamboo trees was particularly sacred. A wooden barrier now prevented any person from entering at that point. The head priest chanted continously while ritually warding away evil with a bell and a duster. He visited each of the four stages to place his blessing.
At noon, an extravagant feast was laid to one side of the temple. For the first time in three days, meat was tasted, and tasted and tasted.... A buffet of nothing but meat dishes was offered to one and all. While townspeople selflessly busied themselves with the work of serving, out-of-town visitors enjoyed a royal feast. For the rest of the afternoon, the square was abuzz with mingling and munching people,
Lights on one of the stages trace glowing patterns in a festive night
By nightfall, the celebration had nearly reached its climax. Fires burnt all over the square as visitors burned paper "money" offerings to the gods. In every household, preparations for the massive evening meal were steaming ahead. Relatives and friends clustered in groups everywhere. Upon the stages, gaily costumed performers now entertained with Taiwanese opera, dances, and acrobatic and magic tricks. The silent audiences of yet to be eaten sacrificed animals rested out the show on their bamboo bleachers.
As the festivities rose to a pitch, we began to pack our equipment for the return trip, our lone car creeping against the tide of merrymakers. Leaving all their world behind, we floated back to our rightful homes.