— Chapter Four —
Although Thai people have forenames and surnames, their family also give them nicknames at a very young age. These names are chosen, usually by circumstances. For example, if it was raining when they are born, their nickname could be Phon meaning ‘falling rain’. If they are small, Noi or Lek, meaning ‘small’ or ‘little’ could be used. They could also use a portion of their first name if it had a meaning. Duengdao, for example, could be shortened to Dao, meaning ‘Star’. They tend to use, and are known, by these usually short nicknames as opposed to long actual names throughout their lives, but revert to their real names when they reach middle age or obtain a higher status.
The word Khun, literally meaning ‘person’, can be used preceding someone’s name, similar to the use of Mr. or Mrs.
Khun Somsak Meesilli, nicknamed Dam, meaning black, and now 25 years-old, sat on the back of an open Toyota Hilux pick-up truck. He had donned his monk’s robes in order to get a ride easier. The truck headed east towards Phnom Penh, the capital city of Cambodia. Dam had been trekking through jungle and mountains for four days and had made his way to a minor road, where he had managed to hitch a ride from a passing Cambodian market trader. The trader, surprised at seeing a monk in the middle of nowhere, especially one whose robes were in the Thai, Buddhist colour, gave Damn a lift.
Dam wanted to go home. He had lived with his benefactor and guardian, an Irishman named Andrew Towhee, for seven years now. They lived in Caw Kong, a small town 12 kilometres from Phnom Penh. He lived in a large, luxurious bungalow with Towhee and Miguel, a Spaniard, who had come to Cambodia with Towhee many years earlier. Dam’s life was good. He had money in his pocket, ate well, drank well, had transport and, many women. He was far better off than most of his countrymen and all he had to do was the occasional ‘favour’ for his good friend Andrew, and besides, most of the people that he’d killed deserved it. He was pleased when Andrew had given this ‘favour’ to perform, and happy that after telling Andrew about the holy relic many years ago, his guardian had found a buyer, who stated that he owned a museum, so it would benefit all mankind. This he thought, must be a fact as even Miguel smiled while the story was being related. Dam tapped at a small hard package in his robe pocket. He thought about ‘Jinn’ and how he watched him die in the smoke filled temple. He felt a twinge of remorse, “sorry my brother” he said aloud. The sadness soon left him as his thoughts drifted back further, to his youth in the village of Salaburi.
Dam was born and raised in Salaburi. His ‘marw’, mother, had told him at an early age that his older brother had been taken to be a Tinju. Although sad that he would be raised as an only son, he had his two slightly older sisters.
Dam was a small child and had a darker complexion compared to the other villagers, hence his nickname. An inquisitive child who would often wander around the temple and watch the other monks in their combat training. He was very much a loner, preferring to watch the monks, explore, and discover secret little places around the temple. One day when Dam was seven years old, he had been exploring the small mountainous hills at the side of the temple. He made his way around some rocks and noticed a cave. At the mouth of the cave stood two hooded monks with bows slung over their shoulders, they stood in front of a large golden gate. The guards, on hearing him scrambling over the rocks and immediately swung their bows into a firing position and, as quick as a lightning strike removed an arrow from their quivers and pointed the deadly weapon at Dam, who froze in his tracks. The two monks recognised him as a village boy and shouted at him to leave immediately and never return or they would kill him.
Gripped by panic and fear, the young boy turned on his tracks, scrambling, and stumbling back up the rocks. This cave had now become his nemesis.
Dam was determined to become a monk and a warrior and, although his mother explained that Tinju are specially chosen and unlike his brother, he was not a reincarnation, he therefore could never be a Tinju monk, this did not stop the young determined Dam. Several years later, whilst on one of his jaunts to the temple, he had been mimicking some young monk’s moves with kendo sticks, he became aware of someone behind him, and he spun around and faced a smiling monk, who looked around 14 years old, about four years older than him. He stared at the monk for a few seconds, and said.
“Hello my name is Dam.” The monk introduced himself as ‘Jinn,’ and instantly Dam knew Jinn to be his brother.
Many years passed and, although it was not usually allowed for monks to associate so closely with villagers, but Vitchae, the Prime Master, had noticed the friendship develop between Dam and Jinn, but wasn’t unduly concerned. Dam was a likeable lad and made the monks laugh with his comical antics. Jinn taught Dam everything that he had learned, about hand-to-hand combat and weapons. Dam was allowed on the training ground to mock fight with the other monks and, although he usually got a good beating, he was undeterred. He thought that one day he would become a ‘Tinju’ like his big brother. He did his schooling with his brother, learning about the wisdom of Buddha. The Tinju forged their own weapons and were taught how to fold steel and mix with locally mined black iron ore, this when mixed with other metals became a strong pliable material that could be easily folded and shaped. It was from this metal that they made their ‘Glave’s’ and ‘sword’s’. The weapons were given to the novice monks at ten years old, an age when they were considered ready to be able to undertake the great journey, and to meet the living Buddha. These weapons were the monk’s responsibility and stayed with them for life. They were given unsharpened and undecorated, and it would be the monk’s lifelong task to keep them sharpened and maintained and it was up to them as to what decoration they engraved. The monk’s day was filled with combat, fitness training, meditation and spiritual learning. Dam enjoyed every painful minute and he and Jinn became inseparable.
Jinn reached his 17th birthday and now at the age eligible to take the ‘trial of the warrior’.
The trial of the warrior was the hardest event in the monk’s lives, being the time they progressed from ‘novice’ to ‘warrior’ the time of becoming a man.
The trial consisted of several stages. First, a Master would trek toward Pong-Nam-Rom. He would be given a two-hour head start, which for a fit Master would take about 11 hours. The novice would then have to chase after him. When, or if, he caught up, he would then engage the master in combat with a kendo stick .The novice would have to reach the master, before he reached Pong-Nam-Rom. This meant the Novice sprinting through the jungle for at least 20kms. If the Master reached Pong-Nam-Rom before being caught, or the novice proved unworthy in combat, the novice would fail. He would then have to re-take the test the next day, and every day after, until he succeeded. When the novice was successful, he would return to the village and, armed with his sword, he would have to navigate an assault course, chopping several obstacles on the way, from a watermelon, to chunks of soft rock, this he did blindfolded. This tested his weapons effectiveness and maintenance. He then had to shoot an arrow into a target 20 yards away, the target being an orange. The final test, armed only with his Glave, he had to survive in the jungle for six days.
This was the moment Jinn and every other monk trained for and he was ready.
It was the first day of Jinn’s trial. ‘Khun Lignet’ had gone into the tropical forest two hours previously, the other monks lined up in the combat area, and stood in silent prayer. Vitchae was stood with Jinn, his hand on the young monk’s head as he chanted for strength for Jinn. He then removed his hand and announced.
“Let the trial begin”.
Jinn Wai-ed the ‘Prime Master’, and took off into the jungle. He had just entered the jungle, when he heard a sound from his left side, he spun around swiftly, removing his kendo stick from his sheath and looked upon the smiling face of Dam
“I will run with you my brother and hide while you beat Lignet,” he laughed.
Jinn smiled, turned, and at full sprint took off, with Dam not far behind.
Seven days had now gone by and Dam was anxious. He had seen Jinn catch, and fight, Lignet and return to complete the assault course, but he knew he could not go into the jungle with Jinn for his last trial, as that was forbidden. Dam paced up and down behind the Wat where the other monks were gathered. Then out of the jungle, in the distance, he saw his brother running towards the area .The other monks formed two lines and Jinn sprinted between them to Vitchae, who stood at the head of the formation. Jinn came to a halt and ‘Wai-ed’ the Prime Master.
“Master,” he said, “I have completed my task, I wish now to take my place, and to do my duty as a Warrior.”
The old master turned around to a marble altar and removed a red sash, and placed it over the bowed head of Jinn. He then took Jinn’s sword, Glave, Bow and Pitou, and placed them on his outstretch arms.
“You have earned the right to wear the symbol of our creed and from this day you will hold the rank and title, Warrior.”
Dam could not contain his excitement for his brother and dreamed of the day he too would stand there and receive the sash. Even though Dam had no weapons, he had carved a sword and Glave from wood, and when his brother sat down and carved intricate patterns in the steel or ivory handle, Dam would mimic this in his wooden weapons. He had never seen a Pitou before and he would look at his brothers, ‘I will carve one later,’ he thought, a proud day for the young villager.
Several more years went by and Jinn had learned a new skill and a new discipline, this he’d been told was a ‘duty’ and, although the monks had only been called upon once in the last 50 years, which was one time to dispatch a rather nasty Japanese General, which was a duty ‘concluded’ by a young, Vitchae. It had been something that they all had to know, and be proficient at, and prepared for. Jinn had taught Dam some of the skills he had been taught and when the curious youngster had asked what a Pitou was used for; he taught him how to use one. This he did in secret, not knowing if he was allowed to so or not, but he did not see any harm, this was his after all, his baby brother.
Jinn undertook guard duty outside the cave that housed the holy relic, and during his watch Dam would always sneak around to the cave and wait near Jinn. Dam was no longer afraid of the cave, he had beaten his fear and although they never spoke while Jinn was on guard duty, just being near his brother made him feel safe.
Dam approached his 17th birthday, and although he was small, even by Thai standards, his small frame, like the other monks was solid muscle. He knew he was ready to take the trial of the warrior. ‘Heck’, he thought, ‘I did the first parts when I was 13 and re-run it many times since with Jinn.’ He knew his life would change when he became a warrior and he was ready to serve the King, Lord Buddha, Vitchae, the Tinju monks, especially his beloved brother Jinn.
On the day of his 17th birthday, he excitedly got dressed and ran over to the Wat. The monks had been in their morning meditation, so he waited for them to finish and went over to Jinn.
“Now,” he said, “Now my brother.”
Jinn got to his feet, and he and Dam went to the temple. Vitchae had been praying in front of the statue of the smiling Buddha, when the young warrior and his familiar companion approached and he turned to face the boys.
“Master,” said Jinn, “My young brother would like to take the ‘trial of the warrior’ he is well versed in the trial and his service to our order would be invaluable, he has lived amongst us most of his life.”
The old man looked down at them both, he realised then that he had made a mistake. Vitchae asked Jinn to leave the temple and beckoned Dam to sit. They both sat crossed legged on the floor, Vitchae explained that a Tinju monk had to be chosen, and could not be earned, it was a birthright handed down through millennia from the time of the first Tinju monks and it could not be changed by man. . . . any man. Dam listened, his head thudded, all emotion had gone and the words that now came out of Vitchae’s mouth were just a garbled incoherent blur, he no longer paid any attention and was deep in his own thoughts, his own world, and his own depression. Vitchae never mentioned the sacred relic, and he had hoped that Jinn would not have told Dam about this. He was wrong.
Vitchae concluded by saying,
“I am sorry young Dam, but we are always here for you, your life can still be with us, and that will not change.”
Dam got to his feet and Wai-ed the old Master and walked outside.
“Dam, Dam!”
Called out Jinn, but he was ignored as the young villager strode purposefully home.
Over the next few days, Dam wasn’t seen around the temple area, or the village. Jinn had been restricted to the temple, but not as a punishment. Vitchae had realised the relationship between Dam and Jinn had to ease. He had blamed himself for letting it go on for so long; he had caused irreparable damage to this youngster, who should have been learning a village trade like his parents. Dam stayed in his room for two days, emerging on the third with his small homemade bow. Banti, his mother, concerned about his well-being asked.
“Are you okay my son?”
To which Dam replied
“I am fine mother,” he said, “I am going into the jungle to hunt, I will be back later.”
He *sniff-kissed his mother on the forehead...She never saw her son again.
Dam had stayed in the jungle just walking, hunting and sleeping, but mainly thinking. He knew that nobody had ever left the village before, and he thought that he would return once his head had cleared. He was bewildered and confused, he didn’t know where he was going, didn’t know where he was, and with no purpose now in his life, didn’t care. He had not realised during his trek that he had entered into Cambodia and was in unfamiliar terrain. Eventually, he came upon a road, this confused him, he had never seen a road before, let alone this strange monster, which now headed toward him. He crouched back into the jungle as the monster roared passed him and then it came to a stop. An old man got out of the car and went over to where the now petrified Dam cowered. The man spoke to Dam in Cambodian, a language he was familiar. He had learnt this with Jinn, along with Thai and their usual dialect, ancient Siamese. The old man took Dam over to his car.
“Where are you going? Are you okay? What are you doing way out here, alone?”
Dam tried to answer the old man’s questions, but he wasn’t sure exactly where he was heading. The old man offered him shelter at his home in Phnom Penh, and Dam gratefully accepted. They drove North East toward the capital, an eight-hour journey. Dam was in wonderment by this strange machine.
The old man and his wife took care of Dam for almost a year and he soon adjusted to life in Phnom Penh, although he missed Jinn, his parents and his old lifestyle, he knew he would not return, as his confusion had now turned to anger, which was directed at the arrogant Tinju. Dam was a skilled artisan, but his real strengths lay in his fighting abilities, and he’d entered, and won, many bare-fist street fights, which although not strictly legal, a blind eye was turned. These contests were brutal and often resulted in the death of a fighter, but Dam was good, he was Tinju trained and although he was small, his speed and strength were unseen before by any of his opponents. The fighters were not paid much, about five dollars per fight. However, a lot of money could be made from gambling at these fixtures. Dam earned a fearful reputation and his fights were always well attended, he was a dynamic ruthless fighter. It was at one of these fights that he gained the attention of Andrew Towhee, a well-known arms dealer from Ireland, who now lived in Cambodia.
Towhee had watched Dam fight on several occasions and wanted this kid as his property; he knew that he could make a lot of money from this young warrior. Towhee went with Dam to see the old man who took care of him and gave him $100 and reassured the old man that he would take care of Dam and moved him into his bungalow, in Caw Kong
The relationship between Towhee and Dam became like father and son. Towhee was in his early fifties and he had no family, his only companion, a weasely looking Spaniard named Miguel.
Towhee was an arms dealer and he bought purloined weapons and ammunition from Cambodia and Vietnam for very little money, and then sold them to Arab or Middle Eastern buyers, making a tidy profit. He was on the run from both Spain and Ireland. He had made a fortune in his home country by selling his father’s herd of cattle many times over to gullible, but rich, Irish farmers, who thought they were doing legitimate business with Towhees father on a handshake. After selling the herd many times around Ireland and taking up-front payments, he then slaughtered the cattle and stuck on a phoney EU stamp, he then sold the meat off in Europe, again for a tidy profit. He left his father to face the music, and went to Spain, £2,000,000 richer. He then developed property in Marbella, a tourist resort in Spain, ripping people off for money on property. His favourite trick was to get his friend, and minder, Miguel, to sell an apartment, then after the unsuspecting customers parted with their hard earned cash, Towhee would pop-up and say they owned nothing, as the apartment belonged to him and not Miguel’s. He eventually left Spain in the late eighties, due to the developing relations between the European communities. Moreover, the fact the IRA had nothing better to do, and as they no longer killed the British, they put Towhee on their shit list. Therefore, with a few £’s of the farmer’s money as reward, they decided to hunt Towhee, who fled and made his way to Thailand accompanied by Miguel, where he set up an export business for arms and ammunition.
He stayed in Thailand for five years, until police got wind of his operation and their bribes became a constant annoyance to Towhee. Towhee and Miguel therefore left Thailand and settled in Cambodia, at the place they used to visit in order to satisfy his other great passion in life. Towhee was a paedophile, he loved young boys and girls, the younger the better, he loved to savagely pillage their innocence and it gave him a rush to hear their orifices pop under his large frame, the more they screamed the more exited he became. He had chosen to settle in Caw Kong, which is only a kilometre away from the notorious K11, which was a small community located 11kilometres outside of Phnom Penh. It is a paedophile paradise, no questions asked and Kip, the unofficial headman of K11, knew Towhee and took care of him exceedingly well. Kip would phone Towhee when a new, young, lost waif would wander into the village, he would go to Towhees house with the frightened youngster in tow. He would be let in by Miguel and given some money, usually $10.
“Tell Mr. Andrew, Kip is his good friend and will take good care of him” Kip always said
The door would then be closed and, while Kip waited outside, the young boy or girl would be taken to a large room, here a bloated mass of blubber, which was Andrew Towhee, would be waiting on his bed. The bedroom door would be closed behind the frightened youngster and, after usually 30 minutes of squealing and grunting from the room, the tearful youngster would emerge. Their blood stained clothing replaced with a small ‘Silom’, type of Sarong. They would be then be pushed out of the door where Kip would be waiting, lifted onto the back of his motorbike and driven away in tears, shock written on their young faces.
This was where Dam had lived now for seven years. He started as Towhees fighter, and entered into many fights, which he always won and, always damaged or killed his opponents. He was ruthless, and his fearsome reputation soon grew, he was driven by hate.
After three or four years he had out lived his usefulness to Towhee, as nobody would fight him, he was too good, and no fights meant no gambling, therefore no money.
Towhee therefore arranged for two Cambodians to kill Dam. They were local hoodlums, who bragged they were also assassins. One night after Dam had dispatched another opponent who, although he knew of Dams reputation, had fought him out of desperation for money. Meanwhile, the two would-be assassins waited outside the arena for Dam, who usually ran home. They ambushed him brandishing pistols and daggers.
Dam sent them to the afterlife with lightning speed and then ran home. Towhee and Miguel where both shocked to see Dam walk through the door, and Dam had been a little surprised at them not coming to his fight. Towhee enquired what happened, as he appeared to have blood on him. Both Towhee and Miguel spoke Cambodian, although not fluent. Dam relayed the story, announced the blood was not his, sat down, and told Towhee his previously untold story about his life in Salaburi, his training and the holy remnants. Dam had become useful again. Towhee, after all, had many enemies and Miguel was getting old.
Dam felt the pick-up slowing down as they approached Phnom Penh and sights became familiar as night closed in ,’ good’ he thought, ‘less conspicuous’. He would have to find himself some normal clothes. The pick-up driver had agreed to take him to Phnom Penh centre and to one of his old fight stadiums where he still kept some clothes. Although now he never fought on a regular basis, he still kept his hand in from time to time and trained the odd fighter, in return for some, usually half, of their small purse, if they’d won; or he would give them another beating, if they lost, and survived. He had a small locker space that he kept a shabby tracksuit in; ‘this would do until I get home,’ he thought and laughed at himself because he had prepared and planned for everything, except a change of civilian clothes.
The pick-up stopped outside what appeared to be a large wooden warehouse. Dam jumped off the back of the truck and thanked the driver, blessed him and then chuckled to himself for blessing someone. Dam went into the boxing arena and walked over to his locker space. His tracksuit had gone, so he took a pair of jeans and T-shirt that had been left lying around and went outside. It was hot and sticky, he had no money, but he hailed a ‘mototaxi’, same as a Thai ‘bike taxi’ with a large square seat at the rear. The mototaxi headed off along the potholed Cambodian Road toward Caw Kong.
Towhee was happy to see him, overjoyed in fact, he knew what his pet assassin had for him, or hopefully had, which was a cool million dollars worth of history.
Miguel let Dam in and paid the taxi. Towhee was sitting behind his large ‘mystat,’ teak desk, “Have you got it... have you got it?” asked an impatient Towhee
“Yes my friend,” announced Dam and put down his bundle of robes and reached into one of the tunic pockets, and produced the small golden jewel encrusted box and placed it down in front of Towhee.
“Excellent, excellent,” said Towhee as he leant over, and picked up a digital camera. He took several photographs of the relic, and then opened a large safe at the side of his desk, and placed the relic on top of several wads of dollars. He closed the safe and locked it with a key, which he then placed onto a chain hung around his neck.
“Okay,” he said to Dam and Miguel, “it looks like you two will be going on a holiday. I will e-mail the photo off to our good friend Mohammed,” he said with a sarcastic glint in his eye, “He would be waiting for this.”
“Dam, go and freshen up, we will go celebrate.”
“Okay, Andrew.” Dam said.
Dam knew that Towhees celebration meant that he would be going to K11 to bring back a child and, while Towhee would be satisfying his sick lust, he and Miguel would be waiting and listening. He decided that once he had got back from K11, he would slip away on his motorbike to ‘The heart of Darkness,’ a large nightclub in Phnom Penh. He would have money in his pocket and, if ‘Fitta’ was there, he would give her a night she wouldn’t forget in a hurry. He walked over to his room, went inside and looked around at the table and his few possessions. His steel sword, made in the image of his old wooden one and his Glave, which he had spent hours creating. He unfolded his bundle, hung up his homemade robe, washed the dried blood and spinal fluid off his Pitou, and replaced it on its stand. He took out his folded S-16 respirator, having already dumped the filter into the jungle, a long way from the village, and put it in a drawer. He looked down at the table, which had several sheets of a brown cardboard material placed on it along with several containers that contained various coloured powders, and jars containing syrupy solutions.
“You taught me too well my brother,” he said aloud, as if talking straight to heaven and Jinn, “too well.”
Remorse again crept in as he recalled seeing his brother, Jinn, dying in a cloud of swirling smoke.
Getting to the village unnoticed had been easy, he had spent weeks preparing, planning and making cyanide flares, something Jinn had taught him.
He recalled how one day Jinn, now a new warrior, had spoken to him.
“Look at this my brother,” Jinn said, and produced a hard brown candle shaped object.
“What is it?” asked the inquisitive Dam.
“I will show you and teach you how to make one,” said the excited Jinn.
Jinn and Dam headed off into the mountains to a small cave that they had found. Jinn removed the contents of his tunic pocket and laid them on a flat rock at the mouth of the cave. It was early afternoon, and the time when the monks were given leisure time, or meditating time, as it was the hottest part of the day. On the rock Jinn had laid out; two small round clay containers, a Sceet root, an Aroona root and several small rolled conical shaped object, resembling a cigar. Jinn unrolled the cigar-shaped objects out into sheets, which was yellow-brown sandalwood, which resembled oily marzipan.
“Are you teaching me how to make essence sticks?” asked Dam.
“Not exactly,” replied Jinn.
He then explained that the contents of the jars were crushed graphite and sulphur. He poured this powder in the centre of the laid out sheet, and squeezed the mixed roots syrupy juices over the powder, which instantly hardened. He then tightly rolled the sheet, like a hand-rolled cigarette and put the object in the sun to bake dry. Jinn sat down with Dam and informed him that it was a ‘Pai-non’ sleeping stick. However, he did not fully understand what they were used for
“I just know,” said Jinn with a menacing grin “They’re deadly.”
Although when Jinn found out exactly what the sticks were used for, he never mentioned it to Dam again. However, there was no need to as Dam later figured it out and, improved on the stick by the addition of graphite and cyanide crystals.
Pai Non or sleeping sticks were an effective Tinju tool, although death came slowly, it came peacefully. It was the easiest method for the monks in ancient times to dispatch their duties, as buying essence sticks from monks was considered lucky, which was the rumour spread by the monks, possibly the Tinju.
The victim would light the stick. The top two or three inches would burn like normal essence stick and it gave off a pleasant fragrant aroma. The heat would then hit the mix and the aroma would change slightly, although remain pleasant and the victim would be unaware that they were slowly being murdered. After a few moments of the mixture burning, the victim would fall asleep and, as they continued to inhale the poison-filled air, their muscles would become paralysed, lungs, heart, and finally, brain. The same effect as Thiopentone, used as an anaesthetic and Potassium Chloride, used to stop the heart. The mixture had to be carefully prepared, if there was too little Aroona and graphite, the victim would wake up but remain paralysed, making for a very unpleasant death. Nevertheless, sometimes requested by the ruler if he did not like someone. If too little skeet roots, the organ paralysis would not occur leaving the victim just in a deep sleep for a few days.
The mixture that Dam cooked up, although resembled the monk’s deadly essence sticks, he had developed his for instant death.
Dam recalled how he made it to the village on the morning of 4th December he knew what time the relic would be removed. He had hidden in his and Jinn’s secret cave until nearer the time. He went around the rocks to the mouth of the cave, making sure he made no noise and waited behind an outcrop of rocks. He saw Somchay, the Prime Master, come from the small hatchway of the meditation room and approached the guards, who bowed their heads on his arrival. He went to the golden gates, opened them and went inside. The two hooded guards turned in toward the cave, one monk went inside with Somchay, while the other stood and watched the two. Like a leaping panther, Dam launched himself silently at the remaining monk, placed his hand over his mouth and inserted his Pitou into the base of the guard’s skull, engaged the catch, and twisted. It was over in a fraction of a second. He then silently removed the body. He knew the Prime Master would be chanting within the cave, therefore he had plenty of time. He removed the dead monk’s bow and