In Balinese culture, trance and rituals are part of life. To outsiders, it's uncanny and spiritual. Rituals performed in total darkness; ritual dances performed only by virgins; ritual performances where the audience does not leave before the final blessing, are common—a Balinese person wouldn't bat an eye.

Perhaps this is why taking up dance, learning the gamelan and making ceremonial masks are also the norm within some Balinese communities. We had the privilege of seeing this in the flesh for the 15th edition of A Tapestry of Sacred Music. In April 2024, Esplanade hosted Gamelan Pinda Sari from Indonesia, led by I Nyoman Kariasa and dance troupe Sanggar Langlang Jagat also from Indonesia, founded by well-known Balinese dancer I Made Suteja. Together with dancers from Singapore's only Balinese dance group Eka Suwara Santhi, they showcased several Wayang Wong (Javanese theatrical dance-drama) excerpts: The Night Ritual of Calon Arang, The Abduction of Sita, The Fight between Subali and Sugriwa and Hanuman the Messenger, and opened the festival with Blessings of the Barong.

Following head honcho I Nyoman Karissa around as he dragged fellow performers randomly into frame for introductions amid much good natured chatter and teasing, it was obvious that they were definitely a tight-knit bunch, whose bonds run as deep as their connection to the Balinese culture.

Boisterous and buzzing from the moment the human entourage landed at Changi Airport up until the end of their last set at the Esplanade Forecourt Garden, the group also hauled over their gamelan instruments, many (many) masks, costumes, and even a temple entrance. Also in cargo were Rangda (a witch, a symbol of negative traits such as greed) with her large tusks, crazy nails and matted hair, as well as a 40kg furry Barong (a lion-like protector, a symbol of goodness) with clacking jaws. Most, if not all of this, is handmade by the same community and ecosystem back home.

For these performers, Balinese temple arts are in their blood. The actors and musicians have parents or siblings who are actors and/or musicians themselves. Some of them are also craftsmen, of masks, costumes and instruments, which are indispensable to the ritual performances that are part of life for the Balinese.

Watch the video for a sense of their infectious camaraderie and insight into why tales of the Ramayana matter more than ever in modern contexts.

Decked in uniform red robes, the monks from the Gongkar Choede Monastery methodically pieced together a large, nondescript and round wooden platform in the centre of the Esplanade Concourse. For hours after, using an array of tools—rulers, compasses, measuring tape, thread, chalk and charcoal pencils—the monks plotted the concentric circles and neat lines that make up the base of a sand mandala design. In the following days, with the same patience and attention to detail, they colour the symmetrical shapes and intricate patterns of the mandala with vibrantly coloured powder. The delicate clinks and scraping of several chakpur (sand funnels) depicted work in unison, echoing in the cavernous concourse space.

Hailing from a Tibetan settlement in Northern India, these Buddhist monks bumped in several days before the start of A Tapestry of Sacred Music 2024 to make the Medicine Buddha Sand Mandala, in addition to performing the rarely seen Gongkar Drum Dance during the three-day festival.

The mandala (“sacred circle” in Sanskrit) is used as a tool to focus attention and aid in meditation, and often depicts the abodes of Buddhas and deities, with objects in them symbolising various wisdoms. As for the Medicine Buddha Sand Mandala, it is believed to bring healing and dispel afflictions. When the mandala is complete, it is destroyed—the sand is swept from the perimeter to the centre of the circle—after a special ceremony, in which blessings are conferred. The entire process depicts the transient nature of all things in this world. 

More fluent in English than some of the other monks, Sangye Paljor introduced us to his peers and elders, as well as the ritual dance that they were here to perform. Expectedly stoic (though we did catch moments of humour and shared rapport), the monks were deferential to their elders and Singapore hosts, and super polite to the crew, respectfully circling the cameras and boom mic loitering around their dressing rooms.

They had come a long way to be here for the festival. Their hosts were eager to share that the Gongkar Choede Monastery is surrounded by a jungle (tigers included) and is a three-hour journey from other residences or civilisation. And its location is remote for a reason: it was founded by refugee monks who settled in Uttarakhand, North India, when the Tibetan government was exiled in the mid-20th century. The monks are either from India or are Tibetan refugees.

One of the many ritual dances associated with this monastery is the Gongkar Drum Dance, which was created in the 1400s and revived in the 1990s by a former practitioner. It is performed as an act of devotion to Buddha, only once a year at the Great Prayer Gathering held at the Gongkar Choede Monastery. The only other time this is performed is at the Dalai Lama’s procession. With heavy wooden drums painted a bright turquoise-blue strapped to their backs, long regal robes adorned with colourful sashes and symmetrical traditional boots (no left, no right), the monks leapt and spun gracefully, weightlessly. They beat their drums in sync led by the crashing cymbals, in cadence with bellowing horns, undeterred by the heat and humidity.

Watch the video for an inside look at the lives and motivations of these Tibetan monks and insight into why rituals and traditions like dances and mandala-making must carry on.