The living area was criss-crossed by a suspended matrix of white cotton thread. At each intersection was a carefully coiled length which would descend to touch the head of every guest when the ceremony started. All threads connected to the top of a decorated tripod which was in front of two mattresses in the furthest corner.
Five monks arrived and were greeted with very deep wais (A wai is the Thai greeting which includes a bow while pressing hands together to bring them up to one's forehead). The Thai women do it very gracefully, taking a step back and bending their knees at the same time - similar to a curtsy and bow combined. A wai should always be returned, though Buddhist monks are not normally expected to. They are representatives of the Buddha and constitute the highest class in society. Even the king should wai them first when meeting in ceremony.
They sat on the mattresses in lotus positions. Everyone dropped to their knees and bent their backs, as it is considered disrespectful to have one's head higher than that of a monk. I went down on my knees but, as I was twice the size of anyone else, I didn't attempt to be lower. Lawan and her parents settled under the tripod after persistently inviting me to be the one under it. I declined more persistently. It was too much of an honour, besides there would not have been space for anyone else under it with me.
Incense and 180 candles were lit. We were each handed a posy of jasmine to hold between our palms. I touched the petals to my nose, breathing the fragrance. The monks passed on a message suggesting that I sit as I please as I may not be used to kneeling, but I was determined not to have special treatment. The most senior of them, perhaps the abbot, tied a chord of soft white cotton to the tripod and unravelled it so that it ran through each one of the monks' hands. They chanted for half an hour, the two seniors without assistance, the other three chanted while reading from pages which appeared to be made from bamboo, each one different in content and length. As each completed reading, his chant merged with those of the others' until the last of them finished his script. Once the chanting ended the abbot dipped a branch into holy water, looked me in the eyes for a moment with a humorous twinkle of reassurement, and tossed the drops over us. I was urged to approach him and he broke the chord from the tripod and blessed me with a different chant while he tied the cord in a bracelet around my left wrist, then restrained me as I turned away, to do a similar blessing for the right. Thereafter the others approached and received blessings. It's much the same as taking communion in a Christian church (something I've never done, not having been confirmed). It seemed I was given special treatment as not many were blessed on both wrists.
At the end of the blessing the monks were presented a simple banquet of rice, vegetables and fruit.The rest of us went out onto the balcony to a much more varied and spicy set of dishes. They included prawns, pickled octopus, various curries with sweet jellies as fire-extinguishers, bunches of what appeared to be herbs where the leaves were plucked and chewed, giving an astounding array of flavours. My favourite was thin slices of raw water-buffalo in a delicious salty marinade.
My offer to help with cleaning up was rejected with much amusement by the women, and mock-outrage by the men. So Kikie, Marco and I went for a walk up the road to look at the rice-paddies. It was Kikie who explained much of what was going on in the ceremony. Marco is besotted with her. I understood why. She is very pretty with a neat figure, quite glamorous and sophisticated - so it was a surprise when she described herself as a jungle-girl and within a few paces showed us the leaf of a plant which, when the stem is broken and blown upon, produces soap bubbles which float like thistles through the air, and a leaf to cure bad breath, and another where the sap can be used as a bandage, immediately producing a plastic-like film. She rubbed a leaf from a teak tree to show how it exudes a red dye, daubing it playfully onto her cheeks as war-paint. I asked her if she had grown up in the jungle and she said no, in a city. It may have been Bangkok. I can't remember exactly. She had been a Buddhist nun for a year. She had worked as a tour guide for seven years, and before that? She left school and her home at the age of 14 when Her father had died.
"Ah, To make money," I had confirmed prematurely.
"No," she said speaking for the first time without a smile, "To live."
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