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Dashaa – The Shaman

The initiation ceremony of Dashaa the Shaman has not yet started when I reach the weekend house north of Ulaanbaatar. Children are playing around the parked cars. A man on a horse moves through the assembled guests. I look around, searching for a familiar face. Then I hear my name being called out. Dashaa’s friends and relatives are waiting for me in the shade of the house. Battulga, who I am also meeting here, says somewhat ambiguously, that the evocation of the spirits will only be successful once I am present. I doubt that to be the case, but his serious expression makes me unsure. I notice a few pensive looks. For some, the upcoming ceremony seems to be a bit disconcerting and they question what the unusual family gathering portends. To welcome us, we are all given a small silver chalice as we arrive, Agenately filled with milk and vodka. To start with, the chalice has to be offered up to heaven accompanied by expansive gestures and then the contents have to be downed in one. At the same time, you are meant to whisper your most secret wishes.

Eight years earlier, Dashaa had visited a Shaman society in the capital, in order to give support to a friend of his. His friend’s mother was seriously ill and it was uncertain how long she still had to live. When Dashaa started questioning the Shamans, they became infuriated and dismissed him angrily. Scared and intimated, he asked them why they were reacting like that. They told him that they saw in him a connection with heaven. His ancestors had also been Shaman. He should be able to know himself what the fate of his friend’s mother would be. Confused and alienated by the experience, the two friends went home.

Dashaa started to suffer from fainting fits accompanied by allergic skin reactions, which he had never had before the meeting. He visited four Mongolian Shamans, who all pronounced the same judgement: “You have been selected! You must become a Shaman! The fainting fits should be seen as a sign from heaven. If you don’t take this path, something bad will happen to you in the future.” After a long period of reflection and consideration, Dashaa decided to become a Shaman. In his normal life, he is a gallery owner and an artist, a quiet, reserved man who enjoys life surrounded by the security of his family. It is not easy to take on board the trappings of Shamanism as an older person, so, Dashaa secured the services of an older, very experienced lady teacher who was able to give him advice and support in all aspects of the faith.

Now the old Shaman lady is attired for the ceremony. As her assistants move around her making the preparations, I see the colours of the garment flashing. The light of the midday sun captures every detail. The sky is a cloudless, transparent blue. We are led into the garden and positioned in a large circle. The circle stands empty, its centre still concealed. Scarcely any of the spectators appear to know what awaits us. And Battulga’s comment keeps going round in my head. I ask myself how I should behave. As Dashaa’s friend, I am one of the invited guests and am allowed to photograph the ceremony as it unfolds. That is a mark of trust and I don’t want to make any mistakes. Fortunately, I have my camera to hand and as soon as I start to take some pictures, I feel more secure. But I am aware of the effect it will have on others and I have to respect that.

Next to me, I hear Dashaa’s father talking. He is looking towards the man standing next to him and both are talking about the cost of the weekend house that is still in the early stages of construction. An ear-splitting drumming interrupts the conversation and as if she has sprung up out of the ground, the Shaman lady is standing behind me. Shocked by her sudden appearance, I move to one side. Accompanied by rhythmic drumbeats, further gestures and gyrations of her upper body, the Shaman teacher dances into the circle made by the spectators. Everyone is looking at the whirling figure. The hollow, pulsating beats, the sounds and the movements, the drumming and the dancing all merge into one. It cannot be long until she achieves a state of trance. She falls heavily to the ground. She has sensed the nearness of the spirit. Now her young assistants bring forward some selected persons who may use this opportunity to question her about their fate. I see a mix of anxiety, hope and joy in their faces and their reactions and the sheer horror as she pushes one of them away violently. The spirit that has invaded her, has cast this person out.

The whole thing lasts about half an hour. Once she has awoken from her trance, it is Dashaa’s turn. He plays the same rhythm on his Jew’s harp over and over again until he too falls into a trance. It is still not certain whether Dashaa is suited at all to being a medium. Doggedly continuing to play on a small Jew’s harp, he summons up the spirit. It is noticeable that he interjects the same beat time after time. He appears to be weighed down by respect and awe. It can never be predicted which spirit will come to the Shamans. It can be one of several spirits who, with their different characters, can cause distress to even an experienced Shaman. I sense a very wild and angry spirit is showing itself through Dashaa. The sight of my friend as he dances like a dervish, clad in his costume covered with small tinkling bells, sends shivers up and down my spine.

Dashaa sits at a table that has been prepared for him and starts eating and drinking. The food disappears in no time. More buuz, Mongolian dumplings filled with meat, have to be fetched in order to satisfy the hunger of the Shaman student. Or the hunger of the spirit, who consumes vodka like water and devours unbelievable amounts of food. Unsavoury lip-smacking and grunting come from his direction. I have to keep remembering that behind the black fringes of the mask is my good friend, who I met and got to know during the winter as a clever and gifted businessman, dressed in a pin-striped suit.

After the feeding frenzy is over, the bizarre creature abruptly tips the table over. He adopts a threatening posture and begins to dance around the dumbfounded guests, pulsating violently to the Shaman drum, which shatters under the heavy blows. The spirit calls one of Dashaa’s relatives to him and concealing nothing, lays bare the shocked and frightened man’s future. Ashen-faced he listens as his fate is revealed. The spirit then throws Dashaa to his knees and gesticulates towards the bearskin that is hanging over a chair in the garden, in preparation for the ceremony. Immediately, an assistant brings the bearskin to him. Nobody wants to antagonise the spirit that now seems to be out of control. It checks the bearskin to see whether it is acceptable, together with the boots that Dashaa will wear later as a Shaman. Contemptuously, the objects are hurled back at the feet of the young assistant.

Gradually, the bells start to fall silent and the drumbeats die away. The Shaman student becomes quieter and awakes from his trance. His companions help him out of the robes. I also go up to my friend. Surrounded by his friends and relatives, he sits on a chair in the garden, exhausted. Does he know how much he has eaten and drunk? He says no. Dashaa has no recollection of what has just happened.

More sessions are needed to be able to function as a Shaman. This however was one of the most important of all the sessions as here the spirits drew close to Dashaa and showed their trust and confidence in him.

Making preparations.

The spirit has taken possession of him.

Dashaa during the Shaman ceremony.