Drumming Up Funds for the Temple and a Songkhran soaking

Band on the Run

By now the village was in full flow and the holiday spirit and carnival atmosphere was being enjoyed by everyone as normal daily routines were put on hold. I was keen to join the band and parade around the village in the annual fund raising for the temple. It takes a fair amount of cash to keep the temple in good repair and to improve the facilities not only for the monks but so the village people can enjoy the solitude the garden provides. The temple is like a community centre in England. Each house hold is expected to contribute and the money they can afford is presented in a simple floral display which is then paraded around the village as at least one member of the household follows the band. The procession starts and finishes at the temple, but the early morning rain which dampened the warriors spirits at last night's gig was still lingering. This made the start time of the procession unpredictable, but the call of the leader over the village public address system sent everybody scurrying around and in no time at all villagers on bikes, motorbikes and on foot made their way to the temple.

The temple was full when we arrived and Khamma explained that the prayers and readings had begun at 4am. People could join or leave whenever they wanted. I saw Khamma's mama and she had been there since 6am, nearly five hours earlier. The boys in the band always appear to be on the fringe of the Buddhist activities, but when the music starts they become the aural if not the focal point. They gather together in a corner chatting amongst themselves and as I joined them they made me very welcome with handshakes and smiles. There are curious stares from people as they enter the temple and some of them are confused at the farang joining this motley crew. Others are casting a wary eye over all of us wondering what to expect from this strange gathering of men, young and old, with drums of different shapes and sizes and our own shrine made out of an old pushcart with wobbly wheels carrying over sizes speakers and an amplifier and the biggest and heaviest battery I have ever seen. Because it is raining it is covered with a dirty plastic sheet and will only be unveiled when guitarist is ready. It is marginal whether the dirt will fall into the amp and short circuit it, or whether it better to let the rain do it instead.

We drank our 'whiskey' and paid homage to something; I am not sure what but I join in just the same! The guitarist, or 'pin player' or even 'pinnest' (?) tunes his three strings into the key of 'yale', and turns up the volume to make sure everybody within a ten mile radius can hear. The Abbott and his followers are hit by a wall of sound. Eyes turn again in a curious bewilderment and resignation that 'boys will be boys'. Without any obvious sign or cue that this was the right moment the band began to play. Diddle um dum - dum - dum - dum; diddle um dum, dum dum. I just caught up on the second bar. The sound of the pin is piercing and already hurting my head.

We set off in a thin line two abreast and walked around the temple three times. We are completely oblivious to the solemn proceedings in the temple. Walking round the temple three times is a respectful to the temple and we gather momentum with every diddle um dum dum. The drums pick up their beats and it almost sounds like a samba. The rhythm is picked up by the two manic, energetic and skinny constantly smiling twenty somethings whilst the first and third beat is picked up by the deeper sounding drums belonging to the older ones. For my part I have to play the first, second and third beats - one, two, three; one, two, three; or even nueng, song, sam (in Thai). The less energetic play symbols but one of the struggles to keep the knot in the string to stop the symbol falling off and eventually gives up.

Outside the temple we pick up groups of party animals, mainly ladies, who are dancing in a morlam variation with lots of seductive arm weaving and hip swinging. I take up a position very near the back of the band but right underneath the speakers on the pushcart. I regret this but I don't want to lose sight of my mentor whose one, two, three is perfect. Nevertheless we walk through the village and I am greeted with waves and thumbs up as the farang of the Thamuang Gang.

The weaving of hands and swaying of hips

The procession picks up other people carrying their simple displays of flowers and notes of money folded and placed in bamboo sticks that have been split at one end and decorated with delicate multi-coloured tissue paper. In a way it is a display of 'whose best and gives the most', but the sheer number of these donations overwhelms even the most creative. Many households in Thamuang will donate much more than they can afford to, but it is their believe they are making merit and preparing for a better future in this world and the next. But every donation is given willingly and with happiness.

After walking round every street and up and down the main road we returned to the temple. By this time the first 'pinnest' had made way for the second. We started to play in confusion as the style was different and vacant looks were passed between us as we tried to make sense of what the new guy was playing. The dancers began to sway as a different beat knocked them off balance, two ladies nearly fell over, three bumped into each, three started shouting at us and some stopped altogether. The onlookers started laughing and pointing even more. But order was restored and a new Thamuang beat was discovered. Bearing in mind this band never practices new tunes or beats I think we did well to recover our composer, sorry composure.

Our second pinnest was replaced by a third one. He was a young boy, no more than twelve years old and playing like a master. His pin was his pride and joy and he was relishing his opportunity. His mother looked on with pride as he made his debut performance with the band. With re-newed vigour and energy the drums responded and I even ventured with a da-da, da, da or even a da-da, da-da, da. Sometimes I played a clear note sometimes I played a deep note from the middle of the drum. I didn't care I was in a groove. But my hand hurt like mad.

We arrived back at the temple and completed three laps whilst the monks and their faithful were still reading from the Great Scriptures. They had been inside for a marathon eight hours but the final notes of the band signalled an end and everybody gathered together in an open sided kitchen and dining area to hand over their donations. It looked fairly formal but I joined the hundred plus people by sitting at the back. As usual I was the butt of the joke about my knees not allowing my legs to bend underneath me, but that one is wearing a bit thin now.

The Abbott was accompanied by a more senior Abbott and there was a short prayer ceremony followed by the senior Abbott walking around spraying the blessed water over us. The formalities were now over and everybody queued up to hand over their donations that were meticulously recorded in giant ledgers. It was estimated 50,000 baht had been collected. That is 1,000 GBP.

There now followed a short respite for lunch, but at 4pm we started all over again!

This time the band was required to leave the temple (after three laps) in a procession behind a paper-mache effigy of an elephant which was carried in the back of a pick up. The elephant is sacred amongst Thai Buddhist and the idea of this procession was to adorn it with the same sticks used in the morning's fund raising activity, but with more money. We walked through the streets past the crowds who eagerly handed over their sticks with 20, 50, 100 and the odd 500 baht notes and before long the elephant had a garland of money sticks around its neck. We paraded much further this time and the weariness was beginning to tell on each of us. We had a short break on the edge of the village where a party was in full swing and obviously the spirits were flowing in every sense of the word! We marched on out of the village and I was wondering when and where all of this was going to end. But soon I could see several monks in a field by the side of the road sitting under a tree, and a gathering of people sitting on mats in front of them.

The elephant was positioned to the side of the monks and faced the gathering, the band sat down some distance away and opened up the whiskey. I joined Khamma in the gathering. The pushcart with its wobbly wheels was man handled into position to the other side of the monks and the leader handed a microphone to the Abbott who was more or less sat in the middle. A long piece of cloth, decorated with scenes from the Buddha stories, was encircled around the gathering and the monks. This made the open air service more intimate as if the blessings and prayers could not escape, or it could have been to keep the band away. Then there was a short pause and a realisation that the monks had forgotten to bring the gong which is an essential part of the service. The pick up driver was dispatched back to the temple, but the elephant remained with the crowd. By now a group of eight ladies started stifling giggles, then there were three loud guffaws and a couple of snorts, which led to more giggles and a signal for everyone to join in. Then several more guffaws and snorts were released that had the Abbott smiling. This was sanuk (good fun at the Abbott's expense). The novice monks started giggling too and then everybody had the giggles, except the band who were fast asleep and the driver who cursed his bad luck.

Once the gong arrived and was sounded the Abbott turned the serious business of prayer and blessing. I found a comfortable position for my knees and decided it was much easier sitting on a soft surface than the hard floor of temple. The Abbott finished and then walked amongst us splashing the blessed water for everybody. I definitely got a soaking!

After the blessing the monks climbed into the back of another pick up, the elephant was loaded back on to its pick up and the band was woken up from sleeping. The monks quickly went on ahead and the crowds formed a long single line and started walking, carrying the banner to their side, with the band lazily bringing up the rear. We marched towards the temple but were ambushed by the novice monks as they soaked us with water! Songkhran had official started!

At the end of the day I was weary. I didn't think it was going to be such hard work and my hand was sore from all the drumming. We were in high spirits and everybody was happy, and Khamma and I triumphantly walked back to Owerrrouse to the soft drumming with my good hand - da-da, da, da; da-da, da, da. Khamma said 'This is Raymond!'.