Ceremonies
The Rhythm of Ritual Life
Ceremony as the Pulse of Community Life
Ceremony is the heartbeat of Mentawai society.
While daily life sustains the body, ritual sustains the relationships that make life meaningful — between humans, ancestors, forest spirits, and the many unseen forces that shape existence. Ritual is how imbalance is corrected, how gratitude is expressed, and how harmony is restored when it falters.
Every significant moment in life calls for ceremony:
a child’s first clothing, the union of two families in marriage, the building of a new uma, the healing of illness, the initiation of a shaman, or the farewell given at death. Some rites are small and intimate; others unfold over days or weeks, drawing entire clans or whole valleys into shared celebration, sacrifice, song, dance, and reconciliation.
Ceremonies are not events outside daily life — they are woven into its rhythm.
They renew connections between people and spirits, strengthen the social fabric of the uma, and ensure that the living world remains aligned with the invisible one.
Every ceremony begins with the same essentials:
the spirits must be informed, the uma must be cleansed, and taboos must be observed. Only then can ritual unfold safely, supported by both human and spiritual participants.
Participation is collective.
Shamans chant and mediate with the unseen; women prepare food and offerings; men tend the pigs; elders uphold tradition; children watch and learn the forms they will one day inherit. Ritual is not performed for the community but by the community — a shared act of continuity.
Above all, Mentawai ceremonies express reconciliation:
between body and soul, between humans and spirits, between the present moment and ancestral memory. Through ritual, relationships are renewed, balance is restored, and the pulse of the community continues strong.
Puliaijat — The Great Ceremonies
Ceremonies of Restoration, Renewal, and Reconciliation
Among the Mentawai, the most important communal rituals are known collectively as puliaijat — great ceremonies performed to restore harmony between humans, ancestors, forest spirits, and the unseen forces that shape life.
Whether addressing misfortune, celebrating prosperity, healing illness, or marking major life transitions, puliaijat are the central mechanism through which balance is renewed and relationships are reset.
Even the complex ceremonies of shamanic initiation follow this same structural logic: cleansing, informing the spirits, observing taboos, offering sacrifices, calling souls, and reaffirming harmony with the forest.
Preparation
Days or weeks before a puliaijat begins, the entire community enters a period of taboo (keikei). Non-essential work stops. No one may travel far, build houses, or clear new gardens. Work must not “pull the soul away” when ritual concentration is required.
Families prepare great quantities of sago flour, bamboo containers for cooking, firewood, pigs and chickens for sacrifice, and assemble ceremonial attire and adornments.
These preparations are not logistical alone — they are spiritual groundwork, ensuring abundance, focus, and readiness for the ritual ahead.
The Structure of Every Puliaijat
Although the purpose of puliaijat varies, its structure is remarkably consistent. Every great ceremony begins and ends in the same way, following a sequence that anchors the ritual in ancestral order.
Informing the Spirits — The Bakkat Katsaila
Before anything begins, the rimata prepares an offering plate and addresses the bakkat katsaila, the sacred leaf-filled basket tied to the main pillar of the inner chamber. Here he announces the purpose of the ceremony, the taboos to be observed, the ritual that will be performed, and he requests approval and protection.
At the core of puliaijat lie two complementary forms, each addressing a different movement of cosmic balance.
E’eruk — Reinforcing the Good (si maeruk)
Ceremonies of Affirmation, Gratitude, and Welcoming
E’eruk ceremonies are performed when life is good — or when the community wishes to ensure that it remains so.
They affirm the positive forces that protect the uma, strengthen relationships within and between clans, and welcome ancestral and forest spirits into a state of mutual goodwill.
E’eruk includes the full sequence of ritual acts:
Pasibitbit, the ritual cleansing of the uma
Lajo Simagere, the calling and gathering of souls
blessings, offerings, and often communal hunts
days or even weeks of dance, song, and shared meals
Through E’eruk, harmony is reinforced, benevolent forces are invited close, and the community celebrates its connection with both ancestors and living kin.
Pa’eruk — Driving Out the Bad (si katai)
Ceremonies of Expulsion, Protection, and Rebalancing
Where E’eruk welcomes and affirms, Pa’eruk confronts and corrects.
Pa’eruk rituals are performed when imbalance threatens — illness, repeated misfortune, conflict, or signs that harmful forces have entered the community.
These ceremonies aim to drive out the bad and seal the uma against further intrusion.
Pa’eruk includes:
Pasibitbit, the ritual cleansing
offerings, sacrifices, and chants to expel harmful forces
prayers to restore protection and harmony
Lajo Simagere is not performed during Pa’eruk, as this is not a time to call souls close, but to strengthen barriers and clear the path for renewed stability.
Core Rituals Within Puliaijat
Regardless of whether a ceremony is E’eruk or Pa’eruk, every puliaijat begins with essential rites that prepare the uma and its people for spiritual work.
Pasibitbit — Ritual Cleansing of the Uma
Purifying the House, Opening the Ritual Space
At the beginning of any major ceremony, the uma must first be ritually cleansed — safeguarding its people and ensuring that the ritual unfolds smoothly and with success.
The kerei begin at the rear chamber — witnessed by the bakkat katsaila — waving leafy branches dipped in water or herbal mixtures while chanting and ringing their bells. Their voices call upon the community’s souls and ancestral souls to witness the cleansing. Moving back and forth with increasing intensity toward the front porch of the uma, they sweep away harmful forces and invite benevolent ones to enter.
As the rhythm of bells, breath, and movement intensifies, the kerei often slip into trance. Their bodies tremble, their voices shift, and their presence becomes charged — signs that their guiding souls and spirit allies have drawn close to lend their strength.
When all harmful forces have been expelled, water and leaves are pressed against the doorway and central posts of the uma, sealing the space.
From that moment onward, the house is considered purified and spiritually fortified — ready for the ceremonies that follow.
Lajo Simagere — Catching Souls
A Moment of Reunion Between Body and Soul
Performed only during E’eruk, Lajo Simagere invites the souls of everyone present to gather and return.
The ritual begins with calling upon ancestral souls. The kerei make symbolic offerings and then gather around a bamboo container filled with carefully arranged colorful leaves — a powerful mediator and bridge to the spiritual world. They chant, invoking the souls of the living to assemble in the uma.
Once it is believed that all souls have arrived, the kerei take their bells and a plate adorned with decorated food — an offering crafted to delight and attract — and move through the uma, searching for souls invisible to ordinary eyes. Through chant, bell, and precise ritual gestures, they coax them gently, one by one, onto the plate — a vessel capable of carrying what is fragile, wandering, and vital.
When all souls are gathered, the kerei dance around the ritual floor, swaying the plates, chanting, and ringing their bells to the rhythm of the drums. They then sit together, plates before them, chanting to reassure the souls that life is good and that there is no reason to drift too far into the unseen world.
Finally, the kerei move from person to person around the uma, lowering the plate to each forehead. Through chants and ringing bells, they guide the soul briefly back into the body.
For a moment, body and soul reunite — worlds are reconciled, and harmony is restored.
Lajo Simagere ensures that when an expansive or joyful ceremony unfolds, every soul is present, settled, and ready to participate fully in the communal renewal.
Ritual Dances — Lajo & Turuk
Invocation, Communication, and Celebration
Once the uma has been cleansed and the souls have been gathered and reunited with their physical bodies, the highlight of any puliaijat unfolds through dance — the language through which humans, spirits, and ancestors meet.
Lajo — Dances for the Spirits
Lajo are the first dances performed during an E’eruk.
They are not entertainment: they are acts of invocation, communication, and alignment with the unseen world.
Led by the kerei, each lajo embodies a specific intention.
Some honor ancestral spirits, others welcome forest beings, and others clear the way for harmony to settle over the uma.
The shamans move in circles across the dance floor, rattling their bells and singing ancient songs.
As their feet stamp the wooden boards — built as a great percussion instrument — the entire uma vibrates with power, inviting the spirits closer.
During lajo, the boundary between worlds grows thin.
Community members may feel the close presence of ancestral souls, and at times their bodies are overtaken by spirits.
They fall into trance, suddenly behaving like kerei, joining the dance floor with reckless movement and chanting in the ancient language usually known only to shamans.
Their voices shift, their gestures transform — the spirits speak through them.
Lajo continues until the kerei judge that communication with the unseen has been fulfilled and the community has reconciled with the spiritual realm.
Turuk — Dances of Joy, Play, and Renewal
After the lajo dances, as the heavy ritual work settles, the mood changes. A communal meal is often shared close to midnight, and then the turuk begin.
Turuk are dances of imitation and delight. They celebrate the vitality of life — the movements of chickens, eagles, monkeys, and other animals whose spirits animate the forest.
These dances are performed primarily by the kerei, but members of the community often join, laughing, cheering, and encouraging one another.
This is also when young boys begin to learn the dances, following the steps of the kerei with careful attention.
Turuk strengthens bonds, releases tension, and fills the long ceremonial night with joy.
It continues until dawn.
The alternation between lajo and turuk — solemnity and celebration, invocation and play — reflects the Mentawai understanding of balance. Spirits must be honored, and humans must rejoice. Both belong to the pulse of a puliaijat.
Pig Sacrifice — Offering, Protection, and Dialogue
The following morning, an essential ritual follows. A large pig — the most precious offering a family can give — is brought to the front of the central hall. The kerei gather behind the animal, facing toward the forest beyond the uma.
Here they bless the animal with chants and the ringing of bells, using leaves to sprinkle it with blessed water — acknowledging its role as mediator between humans and the unseen world, and sending their petitions into the spiritual realm.
After the blessing, the pig is sacrificed on the veranda.
If there are infants in the uma, an abinen may follow: a short but powerful rite in which a newborn is blessed beneath the suspended carcass, symbolically protected and welcomed into the community.
Once the ritual is complete, the pig is cleaned and prepared. The meat is carefully divided and distributed equally among all households of the clan.
This equal sharing is essential — the offering reinforces unity, generosity, and the bonds that hold the community together.
Pululak
Respecting the Ancestors
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Closing the Puliaijat — Lifting Taboos, Restoring Daily Life
When all core rites have been completed — cleansing, reconciliation with the souls, dances, sacrifices, blessings, and offerings — the puliaijat enters its final moment of closure.
The rimata returns to the bakkat katsaila, the sacred leaf-filled basket that has witnessed every ritual act since the beginning. There he announces that the ceremony is complete, thanks the spiritual world for its cooperation, and formally lifts the taboos observed during the ritual period.
With the pronouncement of closure, ordinary activities may resume:
gardens can be cleared again, journeys undertaken, construction restarted, and the house re-enters everyday time.
The boundary between ritual space and daily life gently dissolves, and the community steps back into its normal rhythm.
The Ritual Hunt — Final Confirmation from the Forest
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Many puliaijat — especially E’eruk, major shamanic ceremonies, and the consecration of a new uma — conclude with a ritual hunt, an act that carries deep cosmological meaning.
This hunt is not primarily for food.
It is a dialogue with the forest spirits.
Forest animals — monkeys, deer, wild boar — are seen as the domestic animals of the ancestors. Their movement, availability, or refusal to appear is understood as a message:
If game is plentiful and the hunt succeeds, the ancestors approve the ceremony.
If animals evade the hunters, the spirits may be dissatisfied or a balance has not yet been restored.
Such a sign may require additional ritual attention, another offering, or a repeated hunt.
The ritual hunt reaffirms the reciprocal bond between humans, animals, and the unseen forces that animate the forest.
Through it, the puliaijat finds its final confirmation — and harmony between worlds is renewed.
Spiritual Possession
A Meeting of Worlds, Through Body and Voice
In Mentawai ritual life, the boundary between humans and spirits is thin. During the great ceremonies — especially puliaijat and shamanic rites — the presence of the unseen world draws close. This proximity is not abstract or distant; it often becomes physical, immediate, and felt in the body.
This is gobbok — spiritual possession.
Possession arises most vividly during pasibitbit and the lajo dances performed by the kerei. As the shamans stamp the dance floor, ring their bells, and chant the ancient songs, the uma becomes charged with spiritual intensity. Ancestral souls are believed to enter, drawn by the rhythms, offerings, and the communion between humans and the unseen.
Possession Among the Kerei
For the kerei, such moments are an extension of their calling. Possession allows them to mediate between the human world and the unseen, conveying warnings, blessings, or instructions. The voice of the spirit speaks through the shaman, and the community listens with reverence, knowing that these messages arise from the deeper fabric that binds human and spirit life.
The shamans do not resist these moments. Trance is understood not as loss of control, but as a sacred encounter — a sign that the spirits have drawn near and accepted the ritual dialogue.
Possession Among the Community
Spiritual possession is not limited to shamans. During powerful lajo dances, community members sometimes feel the sudden weight or cold of ancestral presence and fall into trance themselves.
A person might tremble, fall to the ground, or rise with sudden force. Some begin to speak in patterns of language known only to the kerei — believed to be the voices of ancestors or forest spirits using their bodies to communicate. Others imitate the movements of animals, swaying like birds or calling out like monkeys, as if the boundary between human and spirit has briefly dissolved.
These states are not feared. They are recognized as sacred encounters: moments when the spirit world draws close to express care, presence, or concern.
The Role of the Kerei
Throughout these episodes, the kerei remain alert. They move quickly to support the possessed person — chanting, ringing bells, and guiding the presence so it does not overwhelm or remain too long. They speak directly to the presence within the person, addressing it with respect, asking why it has come and what it needs.
Through this gentle dialogue, they lead the spirit toward a peaceful departure, helping the host’s body settle again into the physical world.
When the presence withdraws, the possessed person often feels weak, empty, or disoriented. The kerei help them recover, fanning them with leaves, offering water, and performing short chants to call their own soul fully back into the body.
Meaning and Purpose
In Mentawai understanding, possession is not an anomaly but a natural expression of the relationships that bind humans, ancestors, forest spirits, and the unseen. Through these moments, spirits reaffirm their presence, offer guidance, reveal imbalance, or extend protection and healing.
Possession reminds the community that the world is layered and alive — that the boundary between seen and unseen is porous, dynamic, and deeply relational.
When a person enters trance, their body becomes a vessel through which invisible voices speak. In this shared moment of presence, connection is renewed, responsibilities are remembered, and the reciprocal bond at the heart of Mentawai life is strengthened once more.
Abinen — First Clothing
Blessed by Ancestors, Protected by Spirits
Abinen marks a child’s first formal step into Mentawai society — the moment they receive their first garment: a loincloth for boys, a tiny skirt for girls. More than a practical introduction to clothing, abinen is a rite of belonging. It welcomes the child into the human world, affirms their place within the uma, and asks the ancestors to guide and protect them as they grow.
The ritual requires the sacrifice of a pig — a precious offering made so that the child may enter life under spiritual protection. After the animal is sacrificed, members of the community hold its body on a pole above the entrance to the uma’s central hall. A kerei — often the father or an uncle — carries the infant beneath the suspended carcass, together with the small garment. Passing under it symbolizes crossing a threshold: from vulnerability into protection, from newborn solitude into communal life.
The pig is then laid on the floor as a sacred platform. The infant and their garment are placed upon it while the kerei chants, calling the ancestral souls to bless the child with strength, clarity, and a safe, steady passage into the world of humans.
Through abinen, a newborn becomes not only clothed, but recognized — by family, ancestors, and the unseen realm that shapes each Mentawai life.
Pangurai — Wedding Ritual
A Union of Hearts, A Bond Between Clans
Marriage among the Mentawai begins with personal choice. A young man and woman decide for themselves whom they wish to marry, and only then do their families join the process. What follows is not a transaction but the weaving of relationships between clans.
Once the couple expresses their intention, the groom’s family visits the bride’s uma to discuss the surat mone — the agreed exchange of gifts that honors the bride’s lineage. These offerings typically include fruit trees, sago patches, pigs, and cast-iron pans — symbols of generosity, respect, and a commitment to long-term connection.
In the days before the wedding, rituals unfold in both uma. Ancestors are informed, and taboos are observed to ensure harmony for the couple’s transition. On the wedding day, the groom, his mother, and the bride — their bodies painted with yellow turmeric (kiniu) — are adorned with necklaces of glass beads, fresh flowers, and a striking palm-leaf headdress dyed bright yellow.
At the heart of the wedding lies the sacrifice of pigs. With the guidance of the rimata, the bride and groom bless the animals, asking the spirits for approval and protection. Their shared offering demonstrates unity, responsibility, and readiness to stand together before both the human and unseen worlds.
After the sacrifices and blessings, the bride leaves her family’s uma in a celebratory procession. Walking with her husband and his kin to her new home signifies not only the joining of two hearts, but the strengthening of bonds between entire clans.
A Mentawai wedding is at once intimate and communal, joyful and sacred — an affirmation that the new couple will carry harmony, generosity, and spiritual balance into the next generation.
Death — Punen Kamateijat
Passage, Mourning, and the Memory Rooted in Wood and Earth
Among the Mentawai, death is not an end but a passage — a movement of the soul from the world of the living to the realm of the ancestors. The transition begins long before the final breath.
When the soul starts to drift from the body, a person grows weak. The kerei try to restore balance with ritual gestures, offerings, and soft whispered chants — gentle efforts to call the soul home. But when the wandering spirit feels more at ease among its ancestors, and has shared a meal with them, it is time to die.
The Tuddukat — Announcing Departure
When life departs, the passage must be announced. Family members strike the tuddukat — three or four hollowed wooden drums, each carved from a log of different size. Their deep resonant rhythms roll through the valley and echo along the river, carrying the news far into the forest.
The specific beat of the tuddukat signals the age and sex of the deceased. Those who hear it gather at the uma: relatives, neighbors, allied clans. They come to mourn, to remember, and to support the soul on its journey.
In the hours that follow, the family gathers what will be needed for the memorial after burial.
The dried base of a sago palm leave is shaped into the outlines of the deceased’s hand and foot, to serve as templates.
Specific ritual plants are collected and cut into six sticks, each trimmed to represent part of the body — ankle, knee, waist, chest, neck, and crown.
Burial and the Vigil
Burial usually takes place the next day.
In earlier generations, the deceased were laid above ground in a canoe-coffin, resting on a platform beneath a towering tree — lifted toward the sky, closer to the realm of souls. Today, burials most often take place in the earth, but the reverence remains unchanged.
The body is wrapped, adorned, and blessed. The kerei guide the process with chants and ritual gestures, ensuring the soul departs gently and without obstruction.
Mourning (Panunggru)
The community enters a mourning period of one hundred days — a time of restraint, quietness, and deep respect.
During this time, life in the uma becomes subdued. Only essential work is carried out, while unnecessary tasks and noisy activity are put aside. The household moves quietly and deliberately, giving space for grief and allowing the soul of the deceased to detach and settle among its ancestors.
Family members remove all body adornments, and the men closest to the deceased let their hair hang loose, tying it only lightly halfway with a piece of white fabric. A widow or widower also wears a white textile band around the head.
Some mourners cut their hair according to kinship and traditional obligation:
Close family members trim the ends of their hair straight.
A wife cuts her hair straight across the forehead when her husband dies.
A mother cuts her hair diagonally across the left forehead when a child dies.
These acts express love, loss, and the painful severing of earthly ties, marking the family’s visible passage through grief.
A canoe belonging to the family is also ritually altered — a powerful Mentawai expression of loss.
When a husband dies, the wife cuts a piece from the head of the canoe (utet abak) — a sign that she has lost the head and guide of her family.
When a wife dies, the husband cuts a piece from the back of the canoe (muri abak) — a sign that he has lost his companion in life.
When a child dies, the parents cut a piece from the side of the canoe (tok-tok abak) — a sign that they have lost a part of their family.
These acts do not damage or harm the canoe. They transform it — marking grief on an object central to daily life and mobility, ensuring the memory of loss travels with the family through river and forest.
Meanwhile, the names of the parents of a deceased child, as well as those of a surviving spouse, are changed, because calling the name of someone who has died is taboo.
Takep & Kirekat
Carved to Remember — Marks of the Departed
During the first days of mourning, the family creates a lasting memorial — a union of carving, planting, and remembrance that anchors the spirit to both forest and home.
Takep — The Imprint of Presence
A kerei from the family carves a takep — the outline of the deceased’s hand and foot — onto a large durian tree belonging to the family.
This tree becomes the central pillar of remembrance
Kirekat — Planting Memory Into the Earth
At the base of the durian tree, the kerei plants the six ritual sticks — kirekat — each matching the height of a different part of the body.
These cuttings take root and grow into decorative plants that sanctify the site.
As they flourish, the tree becomes a living memorial; it is never felled.
It stands as a guardian, a testament, a rooted remembrance of the one who has crossed into the unseen.
Takep Inside the Uma
A second takep is often carved inside the uma, on the back wall of the first inner room, darkened with soot to make its outline stand out.
Today, this carving is often placed on a removable wooden plank so it can be carried to a new house when the old uma is abandoned or rebuilt — ensuring memory and spirit move with the family.
Together, the takep and kirekat fix the memory of the departed in both the forest and the home, inscribing presence into the places where they lived and loved.
Pa’eruk — Ceremony of Cleansing and Reconciliation
The End of Mourning
When the hundred days of panunggru come to an end, the family and clan gather for a great ceremony known as pa’eruk.
Through chants, offerings, and purification, the community:
affirms the complete passage of the deceased’s soul
releases any lingering imbalance
invites the spirit to join the ancestors in peace
restores harmony between the living and the unseen