The Restless Beast

The Restless Beast

The demonic deer cared little of my preoccupation with the toilet.

“Kookoo!” It shrieked, as it swung a technicolour sword.

From the temple, the slow, steady thump of drums coaxed the village to life.

Stumbling from the filthy dungeon, I saw that everything had changed in the time it took for my diarrhea to subside.

The sleepy hamlet of stone longhouses and thatched roofed huts was alive.

A river of steaming colour crept down the main street.

Men, women and children had transformed into a myriad of ghoulish creatures- heaving masses of overlapping robes, sashes and tassels- all struggling in the mountain wind. Masks of every kind stared vacantly at me from all directions. Bulgy eyed, fanged demons grinned devilishly. Pig faced bipeds marched between longhouses. Antlered dragons let their robes flap like brilliant wings as they swooped through the crowd, swords clasped in hand. Filling the gaps between, imp-like jesters pranced.

The demonic mass ebbed and writhed to a rhythm dictated by the deep bellow of drums. As it snaked through the township, more locals flowed from their stores and houses, eager to seep into the horde.

The loose mass congealed as it reached the temple.

Brass horns snorted baritone exhalations from behind the stone walls. A priestly cohort descended, reigning over the parade. Gongs shivered as they were beaten at the temple threshold. Cymbals clattered like copper lightning.

Stirred to a second wind, the labouring beast pressed forth. More swords were produced, and the dancing was resumed with renewed veracity. Charmed to an even greater frenzy, the mosh flailed more wildly than before. Musical ecstasy penetrated the flesh and drowned the mind. It tapped into an instinctive worship of the mystical, enthralling all in a suffocating banquet of sensory stimuli. Shrieks of “kookoo” filled the thin air. A primordial kinetic laced the participants together in throes of communal revel.

Wooden masked demons fell in line behind the crimson monks. Calmly, the leather faced holy men drew their followers from the streets.

Uncertain as to whether this seductive ordeal was the precursor to a 'Wicker-Man' finale, I nonetheless allowed myself to be carried along by the white water torrents of the horde.

We filed out of the town. Moving like a great serpent through the hills, the crowd boiled with restlessness. Soon, emotion frothed as fervor swelled into mania. Yet the monks solemnly drew them onwards. In the distance, feral dogs barked. They kept their distance out of fear of the violent cacophony. Scattered over the rolling hillocks, holy symbols glistened in the afternoon sun. A chilling wind poured from the distant mountains, whistling through the grass as it slithered over the countryside. Prayer flags clung to rocky outcrops. Enticed by the saturating display, nomads in their woolen chupas emerged from forlorn encampments. They observed in stoic silence.

They knew the climax was yet to come.