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While the Royal cremation had been celebrated in unseasonal sunshine, on the same day, the annual temple festival at Mengwi its most important event of the year - was completely disrupted by an unprecedented deluge of rain, blown in on sinister black storm clouds from Gianyar.

Enough about preliminary preparations - now let's check the programme.
On cremation day, as the body ties in state, offerings are made, mantras said by one or more priests, and refreshment is offered to each and every guest - all to the joyous tinkling of gamelans. Finally, the prescribed ritual finished, relatives, dressed in brilliant brocades, carry the body in its white-swatched casket up a high, gaily decorated ramp (reminiscent of a ship's gangway) and place it inside a compartment in the tower.

Meantime, on standby, so to speak, is the imposing black and gold bull, red lion - or whatever - which in due course, will ferry the freed soul to Paradise.

Both tower and bull are now resting on sturday platforms of latticed bamboo. The priest gives a signal - and hundreds of preselected men swoop down on the two structures, struggle under the platforms, and with grunts of pain mixed with shouts of triumph, raise them shoulder high and stampede towards the cremation ground, spurred on by a frienzied tattoo from the gamelan gong, panting along beside them.

Shouting, sweating and laughing, the music-playing procession arrives at the cremation ground, the body is removed from the tower and ceremoniously placed inside the orate sarcophagus. More prayers are said, holy water sprinkled, the family pay their last respects - the coffin is set alight. Nearby, the tower now bursts into flame. Spectators swig their soft drinks and settle down to wait.