In Taiwan folk customs, each time the birthday of a deity comes around, the faithful hold a festive parade around the temple area, with colorfully made-up folk artists and kaleidoscopic performance troupes, to express gratitude for divine beneficence.

These artists and performers are known collectively as yi-chen, which simply means "arts and troupes." Traditional yi-chen have deep religious significance, as well as admirable artistic skills. Modern troupes are mainly in it for the fun or interest, and reflect a slice of contemporary life. With traditional and modern yi-chen constantly evolving, Sinorama has undertaken a continuing series on Taiwan's arts and performance companies to leave a permanent record of where they are today.

Upon arriving at the temple grounds, the wind instruments, gongs, and drums start up in a rush. All you can see is the examination candidate vigorously shaking the reins in his hands, riding a red horse and jumping around in a pattern, tracing out a square space. His servant follows him in every step, turning a lady's parasol. The two of them weave back and forth in a criss-cross pattern: thus the puma (lit."cloth horse") performance noisily begins.

Running and running, the pony becomes increasing wild and the old horse trainer flogs it down, getting a kick back in return. It's not easy to tame this pony. Who would have thought that upon arriving at the river's edge, his steed would be afraid of the water and be unwilling to get on the bamboo raft? A moment's carelessness, and he carries the examination candidate and dumps him into the marsh. At this point the gongs and drums suddenly stop, with only the wind instruments imitating the sound of a horse neighing. The servant and the boatman are agitated to extremes; on the one hand they pull at the reins and on the other dig in the mud, until the toppled horse finally leaps up. The drums and gongs then delightedly and smoothly pick up their tune.

Fearing the water, the pony dumps the imperial examination candidate in the mud. Without song or dialogue, puma employs action to tell folk stories.

Riding into history:

There is no singing or lyrics and no dialogue, only three to five roles, and a horse's head and horse tail carried along by the "imperial examination candidate. "The puma company relates stories like that of the unrefined examination hopeful who keeps falling off his horse or of the crazy old official, an equally incompetent equestrian, going on an inspection tour. It employs vigorous movements with instrumental backing to perform various segments of the program, including the "four gates" (at which they stop at each of the four temple gates),the episode of the taming of the horse, and the "five directions" (which involves the boat incident).

"The main thing about the puma troupe is that the rider must have a tight grip, and the accompaniment must be vigorous," says Hsiao Shu-ling, currently the person mainly in charge of the Leyuantang company, where she started out early on riding the cloth horse. She describes the puma as having a "warlike" character. Unlike religious programs such as the centipede troupe, or musical performances such as the Tien Tzu Men Sheng, the minimusical format puma show has a story and intensive movement, and can put to full use the space and performance time, which tends to be longer.

As for the origin of the "cloth horse," it is generally assumed that it comes from the bamboo horse games of the Han dynasty, which is to say the games children played pretending to ride around on a horse made from a bamboo pole. On later sketches and porcelain headrests, there are depictions of children wearing official garb, riding around pretending to be the local magistrate. It was in the Sung dynasty that adult performance of the bamboo horse dance at festivals first appeared. According to Cheng Niu-shih, a respected elder in the field, puma in Taiwan was transmitted here by mainland masters; the most complete performance methods are those in Hsiluo Rural Township, in Yunlin County.

"It's a living!" The mid-performance "special skills" show not only means "bending over backward" to earn the show not only means "bending over backward" to earn the money brought by the audience; it also gives the other players a breather.

A famous Hsiluo local product:

When you come to the Puhsin area of Hsiluo Rural Township and ask about puma, the old lady bending over her vegetable garden gives directions that are clearly familiar to her: "There are three puma troupes! Ching-tzai, Feng-tzai, and Teng-hsien-tzai all have companies. Those girls will bend over backward to pick up money with their teeth--their bones are incredibly soft."

Taking Leyuantang for example, the troupe members are either all relatives or close friends. The great majority are married housewives. Fortyeight-year-old Li Feng-chin is already a grandma and takes care of a sizable vegetable garden; as for Cheng Mei-hsia, born in 1970, after having a child she resigned her full time accounting job and entered the relatively free puma company; Liao Chiu-hsiang, born in 1969, hated the dull routine of factory work and after working in northern Taiwan for more than a year decided to return to Hsiluo to dance with the cloth horse.

Not being under great pressure to make a living, participating in the company is "money and travel" for them, laughs Hsiao Shu-ling. Liao Chiu-hsiang says: "Today we are going to Sungpo Gulch in Nantou County for a religious ceremony. We can buy tea and sweet yams from there." The company members laugh as backstage accompanist Master Cheng Shu-ping states, "This is a chance to come out and make friends."

Arriving in Songpo Gulch, after one performance everyone is covered in sweat. Hsiao points out, "Now we don't put on make-up because as soon as you start to perspire your face becomes a mess of color, and we don't even wear the hat of the imperial examination candidate."

It provides both earnings and travel. The sisters of the company sit around and talk about routine affairs.

A return for every trip out:

At present the Leyuantang company has about ten performances a month. The Le'antang, composed of followers of Cheng Niu-shih, has nearly twenty shows. The income for one of the performances at a religious site is about NT$25,000, and about NT$15,000 for a funeral. Each company has about ten players, so on average each can earn NT$30-40,000 per month, which is certainly no less than your average working stiff. When it's time to go out for a show, they will put aside their work at hand to meet the needs of the company. Cheng Niu-shih says amusingly, "Doing puma is a moneymaking proposition, there's a return each time we go out." Working in the fields is an extended task, and people can rearrange their schedules and make some time to come out and perform.

Ride the white horse... to the Western paradise. These days puma troupes rely mostly on funerals to keep themselves going.

It's a living!

Although you say that performing means earnings and travel, the artists make jokes about themselves, too. When they perform on concrete under a hot sun, they come out looking like "barbecued meat," and more like "congee" when there's a heavy rain. Also, in order to add to the spectacle in response to market demand, beginning about ten years ago, most also added specially skilled performances. Thus, halfway through the show the candidate and his horse retire and are replaced by the special personnel who stack up two planks and bend over backward at the waist to pick up money with their teeth. Sometimes there's a great deal of money, and they can bite off more than they could earn in the original payment. But sometimes the money-throwing public does not give so happily.

Some throw down a stack of coins inches high; you can work at it all day and get your face covered with dirt, and it is more tiring even than picking up fruit or soft drinks. Some will put in NT$500 at a throw, but they've tied three bricks underneath it. Some simply stick the money right onto the planks to make things difficult for the performers....

When you talk about the situations they've run into, everyone has a story to tell, but they really couldn't care either way because anyway they have the fun of accepting a challenge. "If you can't get it with the first bite, then you have to think of some other way, that's just the way it is making a living! Also, putting this segment in the middle gives the other players a good chance to catch a breather," says Hsiao lightly. "Only there was one time a person put an NT$1000 bill stuck onto a small tank of natural gas and tried to get the performers to pick it up with their teeth. That was just too hard, and no fun at all."

After a hard day's ride, it's finally back home to Hsiluo.

Not without reason:

Early on puma was only performed at temple festivals for the benefit of the deities. Thirty years ago, Cheng Niu-shih, a follower of the Tien Li religion who also is well-versed in folk customs, in order to enhance the excitement of puma, added in firecrackers, burning of paper money for the deceased, and also some steps and routines; this gave the "cloth horse" performance the function of expelling evil. Thus at funerals for people who have died "unfortunate deaths" (auto accidents, suicides, and so on) the family will, after moving the coffin out from the house, invite the puma to perform to expel the ill effects from the room where the coffin had been kept. From this began the playing out of the "cloth horse riding between heaven and hell."

Since the increase in prosperity in recent years, it has become common to make funerals rather boisterous affairs. Yi-chen which do not belong to (and in fact are totally inappropriate for) funerary settings are all being invited in, including the stilt troupe, dragon dance, and lion dance, and even strippers riding on trucks accompanied by electronic music. One person in charge of finding performers for funerals rationalizes it this way: "If the deceased is over 60, then you can have these relatively boisterous performers." Further, some yi-chen have taken it upon themselves to change their appearance to make themselves more fitting for funeral occasions. For example, the originally brightly colored dragon or lion dance teams have adopted white, the Taoist funerary hue.

The same holds true for puma. The red horse has become a white horse, the red silk clothing has been changed to blue, and the dragon and phoenix embroidery on the parasol has been altered to white lotuses and Buddhist swastikas. Cheng Hsing, head of the Le'antang, which often performs at funerals, announces out loud before the show begins: "Mr. So-and-so, today you go to heaven. A white horse will go before your soul. This has been sent by your children and grandchildren for you to ride the clouds in all directions." In the future he even plans to add a white horse made of paper for the relatives of the deceased to burn as an offering after the cloth horse has had its run. Folk customs often change in just this way because of pragmatic considerations.

Cheng Hsing states that he has even come across families who have asked him for the red horse at the funerals; and not just the red horse. They even want the fine silk cloth tied to the horse and to have "red envelopes" traditionally for festive occasions. This is called the "five completes." The meaning is that for five generations of descendants after the deceased there cannot be any "gaps" (deaths) in the family line. This indicates that the person's life was full and the red color expresses loss without sadness.

Cut, cut, cut:

Right now, funerals already account for two-thirds of performances. Cheng Hsing states that "fortunately we've been able to turn to funerals, otherwise how could we make enough to eat just doing festive events?" Nevertheless, modern people love "face," so an average funeral could have three or five troupes, and there are even those with more than ten companies lined up at the site. Once the number of companies increases, the time alloted for each is correspondingly decreased, and most must hurry off the stage after just a couple of segments. "If you go too long, the priests who come at the end will criticize you for it!" The artists indicate that there's nothing they can do about these truncated shows.

One day after returning home following a religious ceremony, Li Feng-chin takes advantage of lingering sunlight and goes to have a look at her vegetable garden. Tired? She replies, "Not in the least. I was born to work; the more I jump around, the more energetic I feel. In the future the company director only has to ask and I will keep on jumping." With funeral performances firmly in hand, the puma clearly can keep right on jumping, except for one thing--its strides are getting shorter and shorter.