The road leading to the Chaotian Gong was now cleared of the carnage of spent firecrackers and fireworks from the previous day and night. We were walking back to the temple, exhausted from a lack of sleep but nevertheless curious as to what would happen that day. Although we were sure something was planned, advice we had been given the night before as we waited for the arrival of Matsu suggested that nothing had been.
Our search for breakfast was interrupted by the appearance of a jitong and his attendant on the road beside us. The attendant was a big man, and certainly dwarfed the small frame of the jitong himself. They were holding between them what looked like a palanquin chair, minus the god statue one would ordinarily expect to see in it. His presence in the pair seemed to be required as a kind of counter-force to the jitong, to prevent the latter from flailing around and damaging the chair. The difference in size was, I supposed, testament to the strength of the jitong, and one could certainly see the muscles in his forearms wiry and taut.
They stood there for some time, before exploding into action, the jitong appearing to want to wrestle the chair away, his attendant more than up to the task of keeping it under control. At points the bigger man almost seemed bored by the ease of the task. Unlike us, he must also have been aware of how long he would be locked in this pairing over the course of the ritual.
Eventually they found their way through the main gates of the temple to the inner courtyard, all the time engaged in their jagged dance of fevered trance and containing strength, up to the main altar table before the temple where the ritual proper, it seemed to us, really began. People gathered around as the jitong slammed the corner of the chair on the table, his attendant content to make sure his partner did not dash away with the object.
And then into the side courtyard and another, prepared, table, where the pair were joined by an individual curiously dressed in checked shirt, jeans, slippers, and shamanic headwear. They would wait before this table for a good half hour, static, until the two broke off into a frenzied twirl which would see the jitong falling to the ground at least twice, pulled up to his feet again by his attendant, not letting go of the chair once.
Stable again, the two stood before the table, on which was placed a large pad of red ink. One leg of the chair was dipped into the ink, and the jitong rapidly wrote (what…characters, symbols?) onto pieces of spirit money a third attendant placed before him on the table. I cannot remember whether these writings were in response to specific questions posed, but I have the impression that they were, and this corresponded with similar rituals I have seen.
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