Pura Petitenget and Pura Masceti Ulun Tanjung: The Legend of a Sacred Box

 

A kilometre from Amadea Resort & Villas, at the end of Jalan Kayu Aya, right after the bridge where the restaurants give way to sand, there is a low wall most guests walk straight past. Behind it stand two temples, or pura in Balinese. They are five centuries old and still in daily use, and the story behind them begins with a box.

Peti means box. Here it refers specifically to the pecanangan, the lidded box that held the betel ingredients a Balinese priest carried on the road. Tenget describes something spiritually charged, not to be handled carelessly. The story comes from the temple's late pemangku, its lay priest and custodian, who traced it to the Lontar Dwijendra Tatwa, a chronicle of the priest's life written on palm-leaf manuscript. Dang Hyang Nirartha was a sixteenth-century Hindu priest who came to Bali from Java. Travelling south toward Uluwatu, he left his pecanangan in the keeping of Bhuta Ijo, the "Green Spirit," a guardian of the forest that then covered this coast. Bhuta Ijo guarded it so fiercely that anyone who entered the forest fell ill. When the villagers sought guidance, they were told to build shrines: a seat for the guardian, and a place of honour for Batara Masceti (Batara is a title given to a deity). The sickness lifted, and the box gave the place its name.

That legend explains why there are two temples here rather than one. Pura Petitenget is a Pura Dang Kahyangan, a temple linked to the journey of a revered priest and important to Hindus across the whole island, not only to the local village. Beside it stands Pura Masceti Ulun Tanjung, dedicated to Batara Masceti, who by local account travelled west with Nirartha and took his leave at this coast. Each temple has its own apit surang, the split gateway facing the sea, with carved balustrades flanking the steps.

Inside, look closely at the shrines. Porcelain plates are set into the stonework, painted with gods, heroes and animals, and the obvious assumption is that they are old. They are not. Researchers from ISI Denpasar, the Indonesian Institute of the Arts, writing in the arts journal Mudra Jurnal Seni Budaya in 2024, found that the plates here were once plain white. The painted ones arrived with the 2019 renovation, and Petitenget appears to be the only temple in Bali decorated this way. Their arrangement follows Tri Angga, the Balinese principle of reading a structure as head, body and feet. Divine figures sit at the top of each pelinggih (shrine), characters from the Hindu epic Ramayana run across the middle, and animals and plants fill the base. The painting style is Kamasan, a classical form of Balinese narrative painting named after its home village in Klungkung, in the east of the island.
Frangipani trees shade the grounds, thick-trunked and gnarled, their canopies reaching over the walls. The flowers are not ornament either. Balinese Hindus tuck them behind the ear during prayer and place them in the offerings left each morning, so the trees supply the ceremonies beneath them.

The wide outer courtyard now holds parked cars, watched by pecalang, the traditional village guards who keep order at temples and ceremonies. This is not a lapse. A temple's outermost yard has always belonged to daily life, and only the inner courtyards are reserved for those who come to pray. Around Melasti, the purification ceremony held at the sea in the days before Nyepi, the Balinese Day of Silence, the beach itself becomes ceremonial ground. Thousands process here to the sound of gamelan, the traditional bronze percussion orchestra, and the roads through the surrounding Kerobokan area close for hours.
The temples are a fifteen-minute walk from the resort, or a few minutes by car.

Please wear a sarong and sash, follow the custodians' guidance, and ask before photographing anyone at prayer. Our Guest Relations team can confirm access and timing before you set out.