Taiwan is most assuredly a bastion of modern Chinese culture. But there is another Taiwan, away from the bustling cities, which is seldom seen--the ancient Taiwan of the aborigine tribes who precariously hold on to their traditions, steadfastly marking the passage of time. One such people is the Saisiat tribe (ÁÉ®L±Ú). Sandwiched between the largely Hakka population of Miaoli county (]®ß¿¤) and the great Atayal tribe of the northeast, they are an agriculturally based people who have inhabited their land for over 400 years--although today, because of the allure of Taiwan's large cities, many of them are leaving the villages. Currently numbering somewhere between 2,500 and 4,000 people, they stubbornly persist, biennially performing a ritual which anchors them to their home.
Named "Sacrifice to the Short People" (¸GÆF²½), this most important of all Saisiat events has become a gathering of some renown even among the Chinese, thanks to the welcoming grace of the hosts. The festival takes place over three days; the tribe invites visitors to come and contribute to the dance and song which make up the bulk of the celebration, providing food booths, makeshift sleeping pallets, and shelters of bamboo and reeds.
The story told by the Saisiat elders is that the ritual appeases and corrects a great injustice, precipitated by a tragic incident involving a man of the Short People and a Saisiat woman. Either married or a maiden, the woman was raped or assaulted. The details are unclear, and anyway unimportant--the elders go so far as to even suggest that it was something that would have been trivial, had it not precipitated such a great tragedy. They say that the Short People and the Saisiat were happy together, and shared their bounty pleasantly; but amidst the labors of one harvest, as the ceremonials were being prepared, the brother (or some say husband) of the offended woman--a young man--quietly sneaked out to the sacred grounds to avenge the perceived wrong. There, he chopped halfway through the trunk of the Great Tree to which the Short People would retreat at the ritual's close. He deviously covered his work with mud, and returned to the village where he rejoined his people, acting as if nothing were out of place. The ceremonies proceeded, winding down to their conclusion, and the Short People clambered into the ceremonial tree where they fell asleep--and then the tree toppled, killing almost all of them.
The tale's conclusion is predictable: the Saisiat began to experience terrible tragedies for their genocide, for which they repented, and sought out the last of the Short People--two old women, who taught them the ceremonies they perform today to placate the angry spirits and amend the injustice of their ancestors. The elders today suggest the young man's revenge overstepped propriety, and memorialize this golden era with tears as they sing the ritual's farewell.
The Ceremony Proceeds
The ritual today spans three days, beginning on the first full moon after the fall harvest. The remote mountain villages can be reached via serpentine roads, and lie amidst luxurious green valleys where one can quickly forget the modern world. It is here, in the Saisiats' traditional abode, that the preparations begin a month in advance, even as the harvest is still under way. Shelters and sacred huts are constructed, food prepared, and relics brought out of storage, so that when the festival begins one finds only a large clearing with a mystically sparse hut. At the edge of this sacred space, a large, waist-high mortar--used to pound rice--and numerous smaller bamboo structures stand waiting, blending patiently into the background of the jungle and the village, serenely awaiting sunset and the beginning.
As the sun goes down on the first day, the Saisiat stand alone, in a circle, and call out to the Short Spirits to come and take their ease, to receive their offering and share in the bounties of the year's labor. Spectators are forbidden to participate--as they are also during the dismissal--but are allowed to watch as poetic songs whose meanings are so sacred that even most Saisiat find them incomprehensible) are sung.
When these prayers come to a close the dancing begins. Standing in a large circle, shoulder to shoulder, members of the tribe link arms and begin to sway, slowly rotating about the center. The dancing will not stop until the dawn of the next day--and the circle will never be broken, except to pray. It is at this time that spectators are encouraged to join in, arranged in an even larger circle outside the tribe's own. Eventually, participants tire, drop out, and fall asleep beneath the shelters set up at the edge of the site. They are replaced, while others wait, keeping meals warm and pounding rice. At midnight of each night the dancing stops--the circles face east (where the sun rises), and all support the ritual leader in his prayer. The shaman-priest stands upon the mortar, intoning prayers for the satisfaction of the spirits, and then the dance resumes.
Beautiful Costumes and Ancient Ritual Objects
The Saisiat wear traditional garb: most wear bright red vests and skirts decorated with festive, intricately embroidered beadwork, while tribal elders and other important members of the hierarchy wear costumes made from similarly adorned white cloth. Back rings are suspended from the waist and dangle metal balls and tubes over the buttocks. As the dancers move throughout the night, these bells sound out a steady beat, keeping time with the rhythm of the dancers' hips. The noise approaches the strength and security of a pulse, warming the spirit of all.
Likewise special hat-like flags, each representing one of the various clans, are paraded by the strongest of the tribe's young men. These flags, in bright pinks, reds and yellows, whites and blues, and decorated with ribbons, beads, and mirrors representing the sun and stars, are balanced precariously over the bearers' forms. These items are so precious that members of other clans are forbidden to touch them. They are brought out only once every 10 years, and it is the duty of every Saisiat to touch them from behind, at least twice during his or her lifetime. First, as a small child, they are carried to the warriors by their mother, 10 years later they do it once again, this time independently. Ungainly as they are, the flags are nobly borne three times around the circles, and are always held true--for they serve as the seats upon which the Short Spirits and the ancestors recline; if any impropriety befall them, disasters are sure to haunt the clan.
And so the festival ends--some would say quietly, though not so quietly that it will be quickly forgotten. In this day and age, when urban dwellers find themselves so far removed from the peace of the natural world, more and more Taiwanese are discovering the quality of life that aboriginal spirituality offers. The message of tolerance passed on by this ritual is becoming an event shared by all, and perhaps with that it will fulfill its original mission better than the best-intentioned government ever could: the spirits of the Short People will work their power, and bring people of different ethnic groups together in harmony.
Copyright 1995 Vision International Publishing Co.