Balinese Countryside Living, Bali

Right now, I’m standing next to the rice terraces of Sambangan Village. Cut into the side of the volcano, forming a series of mesmerising lines, filled in with brilliant jade-green, these terraces, and their fertile volcanic soil, produce great quantities of life-giving nasi - rice, the staple crop of the island. More than a food to the Balinese, rice is considered a gift from the gods, and a symbol of life. Bali’s bedrock is rice; it’s what gives life to the people who make up this island, what supports them as they go about their lives, it’s the foundation not just of their cuisine, but their culture, for without it, nothing Balinese could possibly exist.

Bali is a land of connection and interdependence, possessing a collectivist culture that may be descended from the uniquely deep need for co-operation amongst a rice-growing community. No one on this island is simply an individual. Instead, the Balinese try to live in tandem with their community, their natural environment and their gods. This is the philosophy of tri hita karana, meaning ‘the three causes of wellbeing’, the belief that human flourishing comes from three sources, each connected to and relying on the others:

1. Harmony with god - the importance of a connection to the unseen world, ritual, religion, the wisdom of sacred texts and mythology.

2. Harmony with the community - living together with your fellow human beings, practising mindful compassion, working together, and enjoying the company of friends and family.

3. Harmony with the natural environment - ensuring the sustainability and regeneration of the natural environment, protecting the forests, the streams, and the rice paddies that nurture and keep all beings on the island alive.

In the deeply communal, labour-intensive life of a rice farmer, tri hita karana is baked into everyday life. A classic example of this is the subak irrigation system, a piece of agricultural-philosophical technology that forms one of the most fascinating aspects of life on this fascinating island. 

Subak is essentially the irrigation system through which water is distributed to the paddies. The subak is composed of natural, man-made and spiritual components. First, there are the forests, through which the water runs, filters and funnels; then there are the channels cut into the volcano’s slopes, which feed the paddies with water using gravity. Then, there are the paddies themselves, the rich, vital ecosystems of plants and animals contained in them, and the channels, canals and weirs that control the flow of water. Finally, there are the water temples, which mark the site of springs and hold the rituals that ensure the harmonious co-operation of all members of the Subak and entreat the gods for a good harvest. 

Together, the farmers of the Subak coordinate the exact dates of planting, pest control and irrigation. All decisions are made communally and democratically in local councils, and a headman, usually a man of seniority and great respect, is appointed by the farmers to settle any disputes. 

Paddies are all planted and harvested at the same time, and the land remains uncultivated (fallow) for part of the year. This means that pests no longer have access to food during these periods, breaking up their breeding cycles. The rice paddies themselves then become a vital ecosystem for eels, snakes, snails, fish and frogs, which act as a natural pest control. This means that paddies run on the Subak system do not need artificial pesticides, eliminating poisonous agricultural run-off and keeping Bali’s ecosystems strong and sustainable. 

All of these components must be cared for; the forest must be protected, the springs kept clean, the canals and weirs maintained, and the relationship with the gods kept strong. The labour, costs, and rewards are all shared by the community. Thus, the Subak system is an expression of the interdependence and harmony between gods, humans and nature, rooted in Tri hita karana. 

As the sun begins to dip behind the volcano, I sit next to a farmer and his buffalo, resting after work. He unwraps a banana leaf filled with beautiful red rice, some sliced omelette, and some fried tempeh, a delicious Indonesian creation of pressed together, lightly fermented soy beans. I contribute some sliced fried bananas, a couple of the island’s perfect, sweet mangos, and two rather warmed beers, all bought from the outdoor village market. We sit together and watch the swallows hunt, the frogs hop, and the buffalo calves play. We listen to the sound of the crickets, the chirps of the songbirds, and the hooting of a distant gibbon. As I eat my nasi and tempeh, I realise I am sharing this experience with all the beings around me. That all of us, human, animal, bird, plant, or reptile, rely on the paddies. Each living thing here, simply by performing what they were evolved to do, slots into the interdependent mesh of tri hita karana, sustaining the subak, the rice paddies, the local community and the ecosystem, and in doing so, ensuring its own flourishing.