A weekend in Thamuang - Day 2; Playing with the Band at the Ordination of Three Monks

The previous evening Khamma had asked me if I wanted to play in the glawng neeow (the drum band). This is the village band consisting of drums of various sizes played with the hands and a single guitar like instrument with only three strings, not necessarily in tune, called a pin. The band played at the house warming last July and I was allowed to play with them as a guest. But this time was different because the band was required to lead the village procession in the celebration of three novice monks being ordained into the temple. This happens in Thamuang about two or three times a year and is a very important event for the village, and more public than a wedding. Of course I wanted to play. I had the chance of playing in the band and getting a close up view of the ordination. We quickly walked round to the village leader’s house to ask his permission. The leader said ‘yes’ and I was in!
In Thailand events such as this are ritualistic and as such they follow a certain sequence and order. Everybody seems to instinctively know what the sequence is, but nobody bothers to let me know, until somebody decides the time is right to get on with it and it’s anybody’s guess how long it will take to finish. Remember? This is Thailand.
We met at the leader’s house at 7am and I was presented with a red England football jersey, complete with the three lions badge. This is the band’s team strip for any public performance. I felt proud wearing my country’s shirt and of being a member of the band on its own terms. Before we left the house my drum was re-tuned using a block hammer and a piece of bamboo to increase the tension of the skin and produce a tighter sound.

The delicate art of drum tuning!

We walked through the village to the temple and the locals were surprised to see a farang carrying a drum with the obvious intension of playing in the glawng neeow. They laughed in good humour and, I think, were pleased a foreigner could enjoy their culture. Apparently the village leader had announced that a farang was performing with the band in his early morning broadcast around the village. As we waited at the temple the rest of the band were encouraging and guided me through the necessary rituals which pre-cede a performance. Today there was a kind of ‘wake’ for a member of the band who had recently died. We arranged the drums around the cart that carries the battery and amp and speaker for the pin and knelt down behind an assortment of the articles that must have meant something to the departed. There was Thai whiskey, cigarettes, cooling talcum powder and various flowers. A couple of candles were lit and placed on his drum and it seemed to me we just sat there for five minutes in celebration of his life. The whiskey and cigarettes were passed around for those wanted an early morning snifter and/or gasper. At this point the cooling talc was applied to the neck and face and rubbed into the hands and onto the drum skin. We were now ready, apparently, for the rousing opening number after which the procession started.

Remembering a friend

Becoming a monk is a tremendous event for a family. It is a statement by the son (girls cannot become monks) to repay his parents for his well-being, education and upbringing as a boy. I cannot see this catching on and becoming popular in England. It is one of the fundamental differences between our cultures and is founded on respect, which is something generally missing in the west.

The young monks to be

The procession round the village

The three monks each around 20 years old sat in the back of pick up trucks looking slightly embarrassed and nervous about being centre of attention. They each carried three lotus flowers, three incense sticks and a candle and were dressed in white delicate jackets. Their freshly shaven heads glistening with sweat reflected by the morning sunshine as the procession left the temple for a parade around the village. Their very proud parents and families were dressed in colourful traditional Thai suits and dresses and followed behind the pick ups carrying gifts of the practical things required for life in the temple. Next followed a group of friends and the some senior ladies of the temple who danced to the rhythm of the band which brought up the rear with me, the proud farang, trying hard to pick out the best beat for the tone of drum I was carrying.
We weaved our way through the village and those that weren’t in the procession were dancing and moving to the music as they lined up outside their houses and shops. Unsurprisingly I was picked out and pointed at and victim of comment liberally doused with the word ‘farang’. Khamma told me afterwards that the comments were friendly and generally complimentary about my playing and having the guts to join this loose bunch of the village’s men folk.

The band and the dancing girls

Eventually we arrived back at the temple and circled the temple three times before the monks to be descended from their lofty perches and threw paper flowers into the multitude which were fought over by the children because each one contained a one baht coin. This symbolised the renunciation by the monks of their worldly goods and possessions as they left their ordinary lives behind to find their Buddhist faith and beliefs.The monks then entered the sacred temple to join the already assembled most senior monks from the surrounding areas. Women are not allowed in this temple but for some strange reason they didn’t seem to mind a farang in a red England football shirt to go in a photograph the proceedings. I felt very unsure that I was doing the right thing but there were a couple of other photographers and the senior monks appeared not to care that I was present.

The serious side of the ordination

The ordination events commenced and the three monks received their new robes and changed from their white garments into the new ones. I could sense at this point it became more solemn but I stayed in the temple with my back pressed against the back wall trying to be invisible, but fascinated and taking everything in and snapping the odd picture. Soon a portly looking monk of about thirty years old got up walked to the back whilst fixing his eyes in my direction. I learnt later he is a cousin of Khamma’s but he certainly didn’t look as though he was coming to introduce himself to me. He walked outside and must have said something to somebody because as he returned into the temple he was followed by a man who could speak a little bit of English and I was politely invited to join him outside. I was very embarrassed about this as I certainly did not want to cause to offence or appear to be rude to what amounts to the most highly respected part of the village life. I didn’t know the protocol, but you can imagine how I felt as I emerged from the temple. My curiosity had a last got me in trouble and I was red carded on my debut! As I write I offer my sincere apologises to the monks and the temple and I seek a pardon for my ignorance. I have learned since that a few farangs have been in exactly the same situation. It was a very humbling experience.

The very serious part of the ordination

In fact most people had, by this time, left the temple gardens and gone home. Khamma and I did likewise and got ready for the next adventure; the afternoon fishing trip and BBQ.