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He becomes completely empty of air, and is inflated by the Poenta till he becomes quite taut, and an endless flow of words follows his pretended dumbness. We are next introduced to the foolish, petulant son of Basoer, and a new element of farce is added to this extraordinarily funny scene, and some comically contrasted processions. Tigaron is teased and weeps, because he is ordered to challenge Tirta. He too has a very amusing, effeminate dance round and round the scene, his neck sliding from side to side at a mercurial pace. From this point onwards comedy was heaped on comedy with bewildering prodigality, each step in the romance providing a fresh occasion for some mad choreographic invention of Falstaffian humor. There was also some graceful weeping, harmonious love-dances, and a very beautiful duel between the two rivals, leading to an ensemble of all the main actors in an exciting group of movement. Poetry is mingled with absurdity when the Widjil sings a soft love-song, sitting on the shoulders of the Poenta, who imagines him to be a woman and purrs like a pleased cat at his soft gestures and beguiling voice.

From this point the throbbing of the gong grew more insistent, and never ceased now till the end, as the figure of Basoer, solemn and priestly, begins more and more to dominate the scene, with his fanatically staring eyes, great beard and deliberate movements. Offerings are made before him, his dress is let down, and he goes to the graveyard to increase his magic power, holding his staff in the fold of his left arm like a drawn kris. He sang a strange, monotonous chant, and did a thrilling, very restrained dance, circling and weaving spells. Sokasti is stricken by a mysterious disease, and sits within the curtain weeping. The feeling of tension grows and grows as Njoman Karang addresses his daughters and Basoer passes through a narrow channel in the crowd. The drum beats on.

The father vehemently, with dramatic gestures, addresses the place where Basoer has gone out. At last he appears as Rangda, and stands silent, a white cloth held above his demon mask. He lowers it, still silent, and stands motionless as if in meditation. He is furiously addressed by the father, but still stands silent.
Suddenly, with a clash of cymbals and thud of drums, the father rushes upon him, stabbing him again and again. They wrestle and roll on the ground in a prolonged and savage fight. Rangda is overpowered and lies in a heap on the ground. The actors disappear, all except Rangda, who rises now, and with the usual demonic cries and subterranean laughter sways backwards and forwards almost to the ground. One man leaps upon her and stabs her wildly and persistently, then falls in trance. One after another they rush forward, stabbing furiously, rolling in the dust, while Rangda moans and cries

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