The Country Teacher – Part One

©Ishu Patel

“Be like sandalwood,
which perfumes the ax that strikes it.”
(Thai proverb)

When Punnee approached kneeling the monks, with the new cloth to make kesa* during Kathina* ceremony at the end of Vassa, she got a heart attack from looking at the face of the bhikkhu* sitting in front of her.

Although many years had passed and he was completely bald, she had no doubts, that was a smile she had never forgotten.

Peering at him discreetly, she whispered without being heard by the faithful behind her, “Luong pì* Theerapong?”

He smiled at her with mystical and sweet calm, “Surimedo now, yom* Punnee.”

The woman was deeply embarrassed, “Pardon me, luong pì Surimedo.”

Then she gave him her gift and she hurriedly returned, with her face almost staring at the floor, towards the pillow, while the faithful alternated one by one towards the monks.

She still could not believe it was real. 

Going, this time, to Wat Ban Nong Tama monastery in Sisaket town for Kathina, instead of the usual monastery in her village, had reserved a wonderful surprise for her.

How many years has it been since she last saw him...?

Punnee closed her eyes as her fingers stroked the paa pan koo, the white scarf that fell from her shoulder over the embroidered blouse.

Punnee was born in Moo Baan Mueangchan, a village near Sisaket, in Isaan, the northern region of Thailand that stretches from the Korat plain, to the banks of Mekong river, on the border with Laos and Cambodia. An agricultural and poor village, it’s also known as “elephant's ear” due to its shape.

Her mother mè*Nint worked as a seamstress in a market at Sisaket, while her father, Nattawat Kongsanai, known to all as pìNatt, was a taxi driver at Suvarnabhumi airport in Bangkok. Her mother came home only on weekends and occasionally took Punnee with her, but more times she just fell asleep than anything else. Her father returned even less.

In a small brick and bamboo house, she spent the days with her grandmother, older brother, and little sister.

Every morning, she ate some rice on a rush, while her grandmother was bent on the ground in front of the stone yang that roasted the meat, wore her uniform with a blue skirt and white blouse, took her backpack made from a sack of jute tied with a string. Barefoot, she went out towards the dirt road that led to the school – not before she had made a quick prayer at the blue haunted house in front of the home, otherwise her grandmother would have scolded her.

©Ishu Patel

Punnee liked to go that way. The backpack was not heavy: just a pen and the King's notebook, with the image of Pra Bhumibol, Rama IX, and the nine in Sanskrit script printed on the cover. They didn't have money to buy shoes but at least the school gave her nice notebooks.

Ban Muang Chan Elementary School was in the city and it took about forty minutes to walk from home, but it didn't weigh on her. Because she loved walking in the green of the rice fields, greeting the bent women with cone-shaped hats who worked there, breathing the intense and humid air of the streams, and seeing the dragonflies dart with their intermittent motion on the tips of the plants.

And then, more than anything else, she knew that after a few minutes he would jump out of the tall plants: Theerapong, her classmate and inseparable friend. They laugh a lot along the way.

The first few times she was always scared. Theerapong waited for Punnee to get near and then jumped screaming into the street, worse than a ghost!

How she was angry; indeed, the first time she returned home crying and told everything to her grandmother.

Then she got used to, in fact, she always waited for him with her heart beating. With his short knee-length shorts, bob hair, and brown skin like her.

When it rained hard, he covered her head with his backpack up to the school gate.

Sometimes she would come home completely covered in mud that her grandmother was upset for because she had to wash everything and be ready for the next morning.

Even now, almost thirty years have passed, she still loves walking that little street.

Some things have changed, of course.

For about ten years people there have paved most of the street, in the hope that some tourists would get there, but so far no farang* had been seen, but she didn't mind too much either: she had always remained a simple woman, without suffering the charm of the West and its wealth.

Wi-fi was also coming to her house now, even though her little sister had to stand up on the table with her hand towards the roof to pick up the signal.

She had shoes, and she still wore a uniform, but this time it was the cream-colored one of the teachers: yes, because after studying at Sisaket University she had chosen to teach in the same school where she had spent her childhood.

When she was accepted into that school, the mother told her with pride that her fate was already in the name, because Pun-nee (พรรณี) meant both plant and books.

Every year, on her first day of school, her grandmother played an old song by Vongcian Phirost, in which the national character of the life of a village school teacher was exalted.

Punnee stood there in her beautiful cream-colored uniform and skirt long past the knee, while her smiling grandmother sang the song as if she were a soldier on parade.

“Come on, yai*! Every year!!” Punnee snorted while grandma continued to sing, holding her wrists to keep her from going until the song was over.

She then left the house, went to the little blue house of the spirits to perform Tambun, offering at the altar in memory of the family. She took off her shoes and offered two apples, three bananas, a red drink, lighting three incense and a candle, to the image of Buddha inside.

When the prayer was over, she put her shoes back on, took the bag, and started walking among the rice fields, the emerald green of which was the only thing that hadn't changed over time.

House of Spirits

But the unforgettable memory, linked to her childhood, was December 5, 1982, when she and Theerapong had just turned 12. It was her last year of school and her father had been back from Bangkok a week before.

When Punnee asked him what gift he had for the end of school, she already had in her heart the idea that he had finally bought the shoes, but her father's response was even more stunning: “I'm taking you all to Bangkok for the King's Day!”

She still remembers like it was just yesterday how her mother's incredulous gaze, not so different from that of little Punnee's maddened with joy.

“Can Theerapong come too, po*?”

Father looked at her mother then nodded, muttering. 

She immediately ran to tell him, faster than the dragonflies. She dragged him by the hand to the river bank and they sat down on the stones.

“I have a big surprise for you! My father will take us to Bangkok for Father's Day!*” Punnee screamed, the tips of her very black bobbed hair almost covering the eyes.

“Can I come, too?” Theerapong asked in amazement.

The little girl nodded so hard it looked as if her head would roll down at any moment.

“Wahhh! Bangkok, Krungtep Mahanakon, the City of Angels! I thought I would never see it in my life!” Young Theerapong said with the naivety that only children have when life is always a single present.

He squeezed her hands and with a sudden snap, like a cobra, gave her a small kiss on her cheek.

Punnee was petrified with her mouth open and her cheeks redder than grandma's chilies.

“Thank you! It's all your doing,” he said without giving her time to understand what had happened and the extent of that quick gesture.

She remembered her grandfather, who had died a few years ago and trained snakes. "Snake is a good animal," he told her. "Because its venom enters so fast that you don't even have time to understand that now you have no escape anymore. Unlike the lion that terrifies you with its roar from miles and miles away, the snake is a gentle killer,” he would say with his four teeth in his mouth like the black keys of a piano.

As she walked home, Punnee stroked her cheek, not understanding why her grandfather had occurred in her mind at that moment.

Then she went back to thinking about the next day's trip and her smile returned.

In the evening they all finally ate together. Grandma cooked mushrooms, som tom* and kaw moo yahng* to celebrate the good news. Her father fell asleep on the floor because of how drunk he was.

On the evening of the 4th, the whole family headed for the Sisiket train station.

The departing train was already crowded with people and more and more families were getting on at each station. Most of them wore yellow T-shirts* and had Thai flags in their hands.

Punnee felt a little ashamed because she did not have a yellow jersey or shoes: she and Theerapong had the white school uniform because it was the most elegant dress available. And in any case, many children on that wagon were without shoes or sandals, as they were.

They all slept on each other and both suey dialects such as the one spoken by the Punnee family and kmin, the Khmer dialect of the province of Surin, could be distinguished.

The girl, like Theerapong, did not sleep a wink all night, so much was the excitement for that incredible adventure.

They kept their noses pressed against the train window to be able to see with what little light the moon gave them. More and more people kept getting on at the next stations – it looked like the train was a single long wagon of yellow, carrying color instead of human beings.

It took eight hours to travel.

Theerapong, before arriving at the Bangkok station, with the sun starting to dawn in the hills, said to Punnee: “Who knows if the rooster sings also in Bangkok?”

They both smiled as her mother and father woke up rubbing their eyes.

The wagon was a ferment of cheering faces and smells of food that many had brought with them.

Anonymous (Thailand). “Vessantara Jataka, Chapter 2: Kalinga Brahmins are Given the White Elephant”. Painting, date late 19th century.

At the Bangkok station, a yellow river flowed onto the platforms, moving as compact and fluid as the Mekong. Her mother advised Punnee and her friend to never leave them, not even for a moment.

There was also no need for their father to guide them to Sanam Luang park because the whole city was heading for the same place.

Punnee and Theerapong, holding hands, gazed in spellbound noses at the golden spires of the temples, the tall buildings, and the waterways along the streets, while with the other hand she gripped her mother's blouse.

It took almost an hour to get to the large park that bordered the road where the car of the King would pass in the afternoon.

There was already a large deployment of police and army corps to guard the edges of the cordoned off road. Across the street rose the white wall of the temple.

The green esplanade of Sanam Luang was packed with a crowd completely dressed in yellow, almost everyone had two paper flags in their hands: one yellow, with the symbol of the King, the other with the colors of Thailand.

Punnee and her family moved as one body along with the people.

To the little barefoot girl, this seemed like the best day she had ever had in her short life. All she did was pull Theerapong's shirt on one side and be pulled by him on the other.

“Look! Khon dancers!"

"There! How sweet!”

They didn't have time to stop in front of one of the stalls on the edge of the park that were already quivering to see what it was selling the next one. Fried insects, King brooches, Buddha figurines, rosaries, sweets, colored glass figurines, incense...

At one point her father said to his daughter: “Luk, turn around, look at the elephant!”

Punnee and Theerapong turned with their mouths wide open as they watched a huge white-painted elephant with its long trunk swinging from side to side, draped in velvety fabrics and decorated on its back and head, making its way through the crowd, placid and gigantic, with yellow-colored bands tied on the long ivory fangs and white plumes near the big ears. Above him, on a golden canopy, was a little man who looked like a miniature by comparison.

“The elephant! The elephant!” The two of them ran towards the giant animal while the mother yelled after her not to get lost.

They remained motionless and ecstatic, a few meters away, in admiration of the elephant that proceeded regal and heedless of the shouts of joy of the children who surrounded him.

They ate noodles and som tams all together sitting on the grass waiting for the afternoon.

By now in the large park, it was difficult to find a free centimeter.

There was now little time left; they tried to get as close to the fenced side as possible but a human wall of yellow bricks stood in front of them as an impassable dam.

Punnee begged her mother to try to continue.

“I want to see the King! I want to see the King!”

“We can't go any further, can't you see it's all full!” the impatient mother replied.

“Whatever happens, if we get lost, we'll see you later at the Buddha figurine stall,” her father said, pointing to one of the stalls on the opposite side of the park.

Punnee and Theerapong nodded vigorously.

The screams of the people exploded in a roar behind almost make them fall.

Theerapong took Punnee's hand firmly and dragged her with him.

“The King! The King!” He yelled into her face with his bright, sunny smile.

“But how do we do it? We can't pass...” Punnee replied in a disconsolate voice looking at the wall of yellow backs that began to press forward.

Then, Theerapong had a flicker in the eyes.

“We are small: let's go under!” Not even before he finished the sentence he had already crouched on the ground, Punnee followed him on all fours between people's legs.

Everyone was so focused on the road that they didn't even notice the two children making their way between their legs. Every now and then someone saw them and yelled something, but down there they couldn't understand anything, so powerful was the din of the party voices.

With difficulty, they managed to reach the last row of people behind the grates that separated the lawn from the sidewalk. Their heads popped out between legs and grates as if waiting for the guillotine, while just then they saw the long white car with the King standing in his red military uniform, greeting the delirious people.

Punnee had tears in her eyes for the happiness, even though her right ear was pressed to the edge of the iron grate and it hurts.

Above their heads was a perpetual waving of hands and paper flags.

“We're seeing the King for real... Not on television!” Theerapong told her as excited as she was.

A little ahead of them the car stopped, all around and behind it the various corps of the army, with red or white uniforms and hats high and wide like dark wineskins.

The King got out of the car and approached the cheering crowd; immediately everyone knelt down and the people in front of him kneeled with their foreheads touching their hands joined on the ground.

The King stroked the children, clasped hands, some elderly woman on her knees pulled out a white handkerchief and spread it on the ground in front of him: the King climbed on it with his shoes for a moment and the elderly lady took it back holding it tightly with both hands and kissed it, then put it away in the yellow blouse.

Punnee and Theerapong looked at everything as if they were in the cinema.

Then they saw the car drive away slowly towards Tanon Rajadamnen, the royal road that led to Wat Phra Kaew, The Temple of the Emerald Buddha where the King would continue his celebration with the sixty monks.

But they wouldn't see it and it wasn't even a thought: their hearts wouldn't hold another dose of happiness. Only then Punnee realized that she had been holding Theerapong's hand tightly all those time.

People were returning to the center of the park.

The two children got up and wiped their knees dirty with earth. They didn't even know what to say to each other – they looked face to face smiling with tears streaming down their brown cheeks.

They returned to the center of the park. They saw Nint running towards them. She knelt down and hug her daughter tightly.

“Have you seen the King, luk?” She asked her as she tucked her hair behind the ears.

“Yes, mè,” said the little girl, “he was beautiful and tall,” while Theerapong jumped like a cricket with his hands in the sky. “Like this! Like this! In fact higher, mè...”

Nint got up and pinched the boy's cheek.

“What a fool you are!” And all three of them burst into a big laugh.

The evening ended with fireworks and the same sun-colored human mass returning placidly to the train station.

This time they slept most of the night.

Punnee with her head on her father's belly and Theerapong, sitting next to her, with his head on Nint's arm.

Hidden in the middle of their bodies, their hands tightly clasped together.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* Kesa (or kaṣāya in Sanskrit, lit. “ochre” or “orange”) is the Japanese name for the robes of Buddhist monks. It is draped under one arm and fastened to the opposite shoulder.

* Kathina is the Buddhist festival that takes place at the end of Vassa, the three-month rainy season retreat for Theravada Buddhists in Bangladesh, Cambodia, Laos, Malaysia, Myanmar, Sri Lanka, India, and Thailand. The season during which a monastery can host Kathina lasts for one month, starting with the full moon of the eleventh month of the lunar calendar (usually October).

* A bhikkhu is an ordained male in Buddhist monasticism. Male and female monks are members of the Sangha (Buddhist community).

* Luong Pì is the term used in the villages to address monks in an informal way, it means brother monk.

* Yom is how the monk addresses lay peers.

* Mè is the nickname for calling mothers.

* Yai, yaa is how grandchildren call their maternal or paternal grandmother.

* Farang is how Thais call Western white tourists.

* Pò is the nickname with which the children call the father, luk is how parent speaks to own children.

* December 5th is Father's Day in Thailand, because it coincides with the birthday of King Bhumibol, Rama IX, and is the most important holiday in the country; while August 12 is Mother's Day as it coincides with the birth of the Queen.

* Som tom is the papaya salad, among the most typical dishes of that area.

* Grilled pork neck, a typical dish of Isaan.

* In Thailand each day of the week has a specific color. The color of Monday is yellow and since the King was born on a Monday this has become his color and the most loved by all the Thai people. The Queen, on the other hand, is associated with light blue because she was born on a Friday, while the third-born daughter of the King, Prateeb, is associated with purple which is the color of Saturday.

Italian version