My Birthday Bash, Part II: The Mystical Monk
(continued from My Birthday Bash, Part I)
The next day was another early start as we were on the road shortly after 8:00AM to visit a local monk who has certain powers of healing and fulfilling wishes. He is revered across Thailand and my last visit to him was some five years ago. At that time there was only a prefabricated building where he would meet worshippers. Now there are two very sizeable and ornate temples in the grounds and an ever larger temple being constructed on new grounds acquired across the road. Money has come in from all over the country and several people drive up from Bangkok for the day to see this monk — that is more than a twelve hour round trip!
When I last visited, there was a story circulating concerning this particular monk and the local constabulary. It appears the police were jealous of his spreading fame and increasing wealth, and endeavoured to extort money from him. They arrived in a brand new police car that apparently they had only taken possession of that day. When telling the police, in no uncertain terms, that they would be getting nothing from him he added, “and by the way you better walk home as your car will not start.” The police returned to their vehicle, turned on the ignition and sat stunned as their nice shiny car failed to come to life. After several failed attempts to get the vehicle started they returned to the monk offering profuse apologies, swearing they’d never return. They were told by the monk that their apologies were accepted and they were free to leave — the car would now start. True enough, back in their car, they turned the ignition and were immediately greeted by the sound of a perfectly working engine!
When I first heard this story, I smiled to myself at what I believed to be another Thailand myth knowing such things to be common here and more so in the rural parts of the country. Mrs. Boss wanted me to meet this monk to ask for help with my business. Whilst I am not much of a believer in such things — or religion per se for that matter — I still went along with the request. I have found it much easier to simply go with the flow in matters of faith when it comes to my nearest and dearest. I have no problem with people having faith and in some ways envy their certainty. Unfortunately, almost fifteen years of being forced fed religion from an early age had the opposite effect of what I presume my parents had hoped for.
We entered the temple and Mrs. Boss explained to the monk what it was we required. He spoke no English and, at that time, my understanding of the Thai language was even less than it is today. I noticed immediately though that this man was different from other monks I had met. He slouched and appeared to sneer at people rather than speak reverentially to them. He appeared to be making sarcastic comments, which I guessed simply from his body language and facial expressions. When Mrs. Boss translated what he was saying to or about me, my assumption was proved wholly accurate. Nevertheless I most certainly got the feeling that there was something out of the ordinary about him.
Having completed explaining our request the monk ushered Mrs. Boss and I away to a corner of the temple. We could hear his voice, although he was no longer visible to us as there were several worshippers between us and him. A concrete Buddha image approximately half a meter tall and quarter of a meter wide and deep was placed in front of me. With Mrs. Boss acting as interpreter, I was instructed to put my hands both sides of the image and raise it as high as I could from my cross legged seated position. I imagined the object to be heavy so braced myself and raised it about a meter off the ground where I was able to hold it for several seconds before my arms started to feel the strain. Once the statue had been returned to terra firma, I was instructed to close my eyes, think of what it was I wanted to occur with my business and thereafter repeat the lifting maneuver. This time I could not move the statue from the ground. My face went red, my arms were shaking as the veins popped up and perspiration was pouring down my face. Mrs. Boss stopped me before I did myself an injury knowing that I refuse to be beaten on anything and that I would sit there for all eternity trying to lift the statue if she did not intervene. Once again the monk’s voice was heard with him telling me to repeat the thinking and then lifting exercise. This time I gripped the Buddha image tightly and summoned all of my strength as I moved to raise the object. On this occasion it rose in the air like a feather on the wind sending me toppling backwards. Only an alert piece of fielding by someone seated behind prevented me smashing the statue on the stone floor behind me.
I cannot attest to the veracity or otherwise of the police car incident, but I can assure you that the story about the statue is completely true. I left the temple that day knowing that this monk had powers of some description and looking forward to returning at some future date. That date had now arrived. Not only had the number and size of buildings increased but the number of visitors was also up — probably twenty or thirty fold on my recollections of the last visit. There was a long wait before we got to the front of the worshipers and the monk’s almost recalcitrant attitude appeared even more marked now. He uttered a stream of comments directed both at Peter and myself, which soon had the assembled Thais in hysterics, Mrs. Boss included. I do not know if it was a good or bad thing that I understood almost nothing of what he was saying, but it was obviously at our expense.
We eventually handed over our offerings to the monk and he spoke to us, via Mrs. Boss, with constant interruptions from some poor chap who was wailing loudly as he underwent, what appeared to be, an exorcism of sorts. The monk deemed that neither Peter nor I really needed any help as to him we were both fine and on a path that would continue to bring us good fortune. However, he decided that just to make sure we should have a shower from his blessed water and we were sent from the temple to change into a sarong and directed to the shower area. Now this was not a shower in the conventional sense but a large trough full with what appeared, and was quickly proven, to be ice cold water. Peter and I sat outside on a concrete floor for almost ten minutes, throughout which time ice cold water was poured over our heads. Even looking back on this incident of a few days ago I still remain unsure whether this was some genuine ritual or a practical joke being played on a couple of stupid farangs!
This story has reminded me of another incident with a different monk Mrs. Boss and I visited. This was shortly after our Thai wedding ceremony and we went along with my best man and his fiancé. This monk was considered to be a fortune teller and worked and lived in a very humble village temple. On arrival we were requested to write our full names, date of birth plus the actual day of the week and time birth, if known, on an envelope. We then put a strand of our own hair inside our individual envelopes and sealed them. The envelopes were then placed on a tray and covered, by an assistant monk, in various bits of foliage and perfumed liquids.
The monk duly arrived and took each envelope in turn. He went into some form of trance for a few minutes and would then tell each person something about their past and the future. He spent a long while talking with Mrs. Boss, who was first up, but no more than a few seconds talking to me. When I asked what he had said about me and why it was so brief by comparison I was told he thought I was boring — not something that you need to be any form of soothsayer to come up with though! However, this was explained as my being boring in that I had reasonable wealth, good health and nothing especially unusual on the horizon. The monk then turned to my best man and made a few rather nebulous remarks which Mrs. Boss translated. He then went through his routine for the last of our group being my friend’s fiancé. When he came out of his trance he was pale, shaking and held an expression as though he had seen a ghost. He composed himself, took a drink of water and then spoke to her, through Mrs. Boss, but again with out saying very much of any meaning. At this point I believed the entire visit to have been a complete waste of time and this man to be nothing but a complete charlatan.
When we returned to the hotel, Mrs. Boss told me that the monk had spoken to her but asked that she did not repeat what he said to our friends. He saw a dark cloud over my best man’s life and stated that this would lead to an unpleasant episode and ultimately result in the demise of his present relationship. When he came to the fiancé, the dark cloud was black; he saw a death by violent means and a tragedy that would live with her forever. He did not feel it was correct to impart this information, especially to foreigners, and had therefore merely made some general remarks.
Six months following our visit to the monk, his protestations long forgotten, my friend telephoned me at home on Easter Sunday. His fiancé’s father had been murdered and the murderer had set fire to the house in attempt to mask his crime. To make this tragedy even worse the fiancé’s father was committing adultery at the time of his death and he was murdered in bed along with his lover. The culprit was arrested very soon after the incident; he was an ex-boyfriend of the slain woman and the father to two of her children. The entire terribly sad saga went of for ages and eventually, after the trial, my friend and his fiancé separated.
Now that is another completely true story. Whilst I may not be a believer in the religious sense, I will be the first to agree there are many things here on earth that we do not fully understand. For many, many years I have held the view that the human race has a whole set of senses that it does not use as they are no longer necessary and have therefore become dormant. In addition there are other senses, which are for future generations, that we cannot activate as we have not evolved sufficiently. There are though, amongst us, some who are able to tap into these senses, past and present, and create situations such as those I have related herein and us mere mortals are unable to explain.
This is life in Thailand. It goes from the sublime to the ridiculous, in what appears to be the twinkling of an eye. Normal people appear to be ignorant and uneducated on the one hand then on the other display, for example, powers of recall far beyond what would be normal in the West. I still am no closer to understanding Thailand or Thai people and continue my love-hate relationship with my chosen home.
