— Chapter Two —
There was an eerie, surreal aura in the village of Salaburi. The villagers wandered around aimlessly, gathering, and constructing, although in a state of shock and disbelief. It had been two days since the deadly intrusion on their holy domain. Several soldiers where now in the village, but they just wandered about aimlessly.
Porntip, whose nickname was Pon, lay in the monk’s living quarters. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness since Khun Cenat found his near-lifeless body outside the rear of the temple. Cenat had checked the fallen monk and determined that he was still alive. Then he noticed that the rear door of the temple was open. He approached the door and was met by an unusual aroma. He put his robe over his nose and mouth and entered. In the main hall, the smoke had almost cleared. Cenat gagged when he saw his comrades and family lying dead on the floor, their features and bodies contorted. He saw the body of the Prime Master leaning against the statue of Buddha. Feeling a little giddy and, devoid of rational thought, he left the temple and went outside to tend the fallen Pon. Then, as if in a hypnotic trance, he hoisted the monk over his shoulder and carried him to the living area.
Khun Vitchae was sitting in the classroom, listening to Khun Tangrit as he gave lessons to the young monks on the teachings of Buddha. Vitchae, the former Prime Master, at 86 was the oldest monk. While his sight was completely gone, his mind was still razor sharp. Vitchae liked to sit in on the lessons of the youngsters, who ages ranged from 2 - 9 years-old, especially when the ceremony of the ‘great journey’ was held. He also enjoyed talking to the older monks who were excluded from the ceremony because they were too old to make the pilgrimage to Bangkok. The door of the classroom burst open. Cenat stumbled in with Pon over his shoulder. Cenat put the unconscious Pon down on a mat and struggled to catch his breath.
“What’s happening?” asked the old blind master, as the young students rushed to aid Cenat and Pon.
Pon slipped in and out of consciousness and was too weak to tell them much. They put him on a small sleeping mat where the monks tended him and administering medicinal herbs. Several hours passed, Cenat had been treated for shock, and when he regained his faculties, relayed what he had witnessed in the temple and about the dead monks. Their first reactions were utter shock and horror, followed by disbelief, and then anger. Vitchae told them that they have to get a message to His Majesty the King. They would send a monk to meet with the King’s escort at the Thai/Cambodian border-town of Pong-Nam-Rom at a pre-arranged time the following day and relay what had happened. The wise King would decide what to do.
Cenat, the youngest of the older monks, was chosen to make the trek through the jungle. It usually took 12 to 14 hours, but he had not made the journey for many years. Now 74, the prospect was daunting, but Cenat took up the challenge with enthusiasm.
The journey through the jungle was arduous for the old man. With no compass or navigational aids and no tracks or roads to follow, he relied on his memory and knowledge of the terrain.
The trek took 16 hours. He arrived at the meeting point at 07:30. Even though his most recent visit to the palace had been four years ago, the meeting point was still familiar. At a nearby food stall, the owner gave him a large bowl of pad Thai noodles, which he gratefully accepted. The owners of the stall had been there for many years and had been expecting the monks. The monks would eat and, in return, bless the food stall before being driven away in large army transport trucks. The arrival of a single monk confused them, but the stall owners never asked questions.
Three large UNIMOG army trucks that came to a halt by the lone monk stood on a circular patch of earth alongside the road. The Chief of the Palace Guard, who always came along for this assignment, leapt out from the leading truck and approached Cenat.
The Chief of the Palace Guard was a position bestowed upon a high-ranking regular army officer once his active service had finished. Although it held no official army rank, because the duties were only at the palace, the position came with the power to mobilise the entire Thai army, if necessary to protect the King.
Khun Taksin Sawalsdee was a retired army Lieutenant Colonel and had held the chiefs title for eight years. It was an enviable position and he and his family loved living at the palace and enjoyed the trappings of power which came along with the job.
Taksin listened to Cenat intently and formulated the next course of action. He would have to inform the King, but first had to secure the area until they could gather all the facts. Who could have done such a terrible act and why?
He phoned the nearest army garrison in Pong-Nam-Rom. That used to be his old infantry command and the commander was a good friend and excellent soldier. His request to send five of his best infantry soldiers to his position was immediately granted. He strode over to the second troop carrier and spoke to a lieutenant sitting in the passenger seat. The lieutenant got on his radio and gave an order to the other troop carriers. The large vehicles then turned around and headed off back along the motorway towards Bangkok.
Taksin stayed with Cenat. He could see that the old monk looked weary, but there was a look in his eyes that he could only interpret as pure rage. Taksin explained that he would send the infantrymen back to the village with Cenat and then mobilise more forces and an inquiry team to find who had committed this sin. He removed a note-pad from his pocket and, with pen in hand asked directions to the village. The old monk glared at him and spoke in his ancient Siamese dialect, but realising Taksin did not understand, quickly reverted to Thai language.
“That won’t be necessary. I will escort your soldiers and we will do any inquiry, and report directly to the King.”
Taksin knew the fearsome reputation of his charges and nodded. ‘They can do their investigation and I will do mine,’ he thought. He gave Cenat his card with his mobile telephone number. He knew that most of the monks would never have seen a phone, let alone knows how to use one, but it seemed to be the only thing he could think of doing, while they waited for the soldiers. Not another word was spoken between them.
Twenty minutes later, five non-commissioned officers: one Master Sergeant, one Sergeant and three Corporals, pulled up in two camouflaged army jeeps. The Master Sergeant leapt out of the lead jeep, snapped to attention, saluted Taksin and reported their names and readiness to serve. Taksin returned the salute and informed the sergeant he wanted him and his men to go to the village with Cenat and assess the situation, make the area secure and report to him, and only him. The sergeant returned to the jeep and gave instructions to the men. They then filed into the second jeep leaving Taksin with one jeep for his own use. They bunched up in the jeep to make room for Cenat. Taksin turned to face Cenat, giving him a long respectful Wai. The old monk returned the Wai and looked at the men waiting in the jeep.
“It’s this way, and a long walk, so please keep up,” he said as he turned and walked towards a field leading to the jungle-covered hills. The five soldiers scrambled out of the jeep and ran to catch up to him.
The trek through the jungle proved to be gruelling for the young soldiers. They were trained in tropical forests and had done many combat simulations in different terrains, but nothing had prepared them for this. It was now dark and the moon was hidden by the dense tree canopy. In the pitch-blackness, they tied themselves together with vine and, although it was attached to the monk, no one could see what lurked underfoot. Even carrying their .45mm service handguns and one portable GPS monitor with location tracker, they still felt terrified. The elderly monk never spoke, and although the many biting insects attacked the soldiers relentlessly, the old monk never appeared to be touched. The soldiers were not prepared for this and they hadn’t brought any rations. After ten hours of rapidly stomping through mud, over rocks, and trying to avoid walking into trees, a young Corporal collapsed. The other soldiers rallied around him. The old monk came over to the huddled group of soldiers, knelt down and said.
“Okay. We will stop for a short while and eat,” he said.
Cenat stood up, untied himself and walked off into the darkness. Confused, the soldiers started a fire and huddled around, hot, thirsty and exhausted, they chatted about the day’s events. Almost an hour later the monk returned with two, small dead pythons around his neck, a bunch of bananas, several coconuts and a bag made from banana leaves. The old monk just appeared by the fire, making the soldiers nervous. Who was this strange monk, they thought. Cenat prepared and cooked the snakes; they drank the coconut milk and ate its milky flesh and, as they ate the bananas, the old monk opened the bag spilling the contents in front of the soldiers. He laid several unfamiliar fruits and some banana leaf packages, he peeled back the leaves to reveal a foul smelling paste, which he told them to rub on their uncovered areas, their face and hands, informing them it would keep the insects away and relieve the stings and bites already received. While the soldiers complied, the monk split open the fruits, which had a sickly sweet aroma. Cenat then took a white poppy pod from his tunic, opened it, crushed the seeds between two stones and sprinkled the powder over the open fruits. He gave the soldiers half each, saying,
“Eat this. It will give you power and dull any pain.”
He then tied himself back to the soldiers and waited until the last one had eaten his fruit.
“Come on, we still have a long way to go.”
“How long?” asked one weary soldier.
“Oh, we are well over halfway,” replied Cenat as he turned and walked ahead.
Pon had now regained consciousness, although his chest felt on fire with every breath. Vitchae stayed at his bedside most of the time and the young monks came in to administer herbal medicines prepared by the elder monks. Pon had told Vitchae what he had witnessed in the temple, and about the other hooded monk next to the statue. He explained how the incense sticks had flared up and given off a strange aroma, and how he’d filtered some of the gas with his tunic, before running out. Then he fell silent, stared at the ceiling, and whispered,
“I am ashamed master. I have to retrieve the holy relic and avenge my brothers,” he then lapsed into a deep sleep.
Vitchae was confused and considered ‘How was somebody able to get amongst the Tinju unnoticed and wipe out the most diligent warriors in the kingdom? Moreover, for what reason? Who could have possibly known so much about the whereabouts of Salaburi, the layout of the temple, the holy relic’s location and the timing of the ceremony? Only the monks and a few villagers knew this.’
He reached down and touched the forehead of the sleeping Pon. Resting his hand on Pon’s head, he looked down towards Pon and, in his dark world, muttered, “Don’t be ashamed for living, young Pon. You are our only warrior left, our only hope for the survival of our creed and culture. You will deal out our vengeance. Of that I am sure.”
The old man then started chanting a prayer to Buddha for strength for Pon. He knew ‘an eye for an eye’ was not the Buddhist way, but they are Buddha’s warriors and greed, he was sure, played a part in this crime.
Cenat and the soldiers arrived at the village in the early hours of the morning. It had taken them 18 hours to trek through the hostile terrain and they were tired, hungry and sore. Cenat took them straight to the monk’s quarters that were not usually open for outsiders, but these were exceptional circumstances and no other places were yet available. He woke two young monks and gave instructions to feed the soldiers. His old bones ached and his body cried out for rest, nevertheless he went to Pon’s sick bed, knowing he would find Vitchae there. Cenat had been trekking for nearly two days, but he had a duty, and a Tinju never rested until that duty had been fulfilled. He entered Pon’s sickbay. Vitchae sat beside the sleeping Pon on his thin mattress, his eyes open and staring straight ahead. Unsure of whether he was asleep or awake, Cenat gave a respectful Wai to the old master. Vitchae felt Cenat’s presence and returned the Wai. Cenat sat beside Vitchae.
Cenat enquired about Pon and was relieved to hear he would be fine once the poison had been expelled from his system. He informed him of his meeting with Taksin, the arrival of the soldiers and the fact the King had been informed.
“Good,” said the elder monk. “You have done well, my old friend. This duty was concluded so now go to rest.”
Cenat headed to where he had left the soldiers. They were all huddled in a group, sound asleep and the food they had been served remained untouched on the large dried banana leaf woven mat in front of them. Cenat sat down and ate.
The Master Sergeant awoke around four hours later and looked around at his surroundings now illuminated by daylight. He woke his men who slowly arose and surveyed the room. Two of the younger monks sat in deep meditation behind the soldiers. When they became aware that the soldiers were awake, one boy got up, and slowly and silently slipped out of the room. The other boy monk Wai-ed the group and pointed to the food covered by a fashee, a wicker dome used to keep insects off, on the mat.
“Please eat. We shall bring some fruit and water.”
They returned the Wai, removed the Fashee and heartily tucked in.
Once they had eaten, the soldiers left the quarters and went outside into the hot, humid grounds of the Wat. The villagers and the monks were already busy fetching large brittle blue rocks and what appeared to be white charcoal. The monks crushed this to powder and mixed it with other powders and a thick and sticky amber liquid. The soldiers, not quite sure what to do, wandered aimlessly around the village for several hours until Cenat retrieved them and put them to work with a carpenter, making what looked like canoes from cut-down trees.
Fifty-nine large bundles were laid out in a line, along the back of the Wat, each wrapped in a type of cloth that gave off a pungent odour, which made the soldiers gag. Fifty-eight bodies had been recovered from the temple while Cenat was away. Another body was later found unceremoniously dumped behind some rocks several metres from the cave’s mouth. The remaining monks gathered around their fallen brother. They had seen the 5mm puncture-mark the dead monk had at the back of his neck and knew the cause of it.
“You know what this means,” said Vitchae to the elders. They nodded in unison.
A long, curved spike with eight slits around the point and a carved wood handle, a Pitou, would be inserted into the back of the neck. It would pierce the base of the skull and go into the medulla oblongata, the part of the brain that controls all major bodily functions, including breathing and heartbeat. Once it had reached its target, the bearer would press a catch on the handle, and eight blades would spring out of the slits. With a quick twist, the medulla oblongata would be turned to mush, and death would be instant. Once the catch was released, the blades would spring back and the Pitou could easily be removed. Using one hand to cover the victim’s mouth and one hand to operate the Pitou, it was a silent, devastatingly efficient weapon. It was exclusively a Tinju weapon, and their preferred method to dispatch their duties off to the afterlife. So Vitchae not only knew how the perpetrator got in, he also thought he knew who it was. He would follow this up after seeing his fallen brothers safely on their way to Nirvana. The dead monk was swathed and placed with the others.
The monks, villagers and soldiers worked long into the night on their appointed tasks. At twilight of the third day, they all gathered at the rear of the Wat, on the large area the monks used for combat training and as general meeting place for the village. Pon had joined the remaining fifteen monks. Although still weak, he felt that he had to see his brothers off on their last journey.
A long marble altar stood about four feet off the ground in the centre of the area. On the altar lay fifty-nine of the canoe-type containers, all lined with hammered gold obtained from within the mountains. Each canoe contained a body swathed in a hessian cloth and coated with pungent paste. They had been covered with hardened blue-white clay, wrapped in banana leaves and coated in a thick, syrupy substance, which was then smeared over the top. The remaining monks, all in ceremonial robes, stood behind the large rapidly constructed altar, facing the kneeling villagers and soldiers and chanting from the Holy Scriptures. Cenat had previously warned the soldiers to keep their heads bowed well below the altar. They had asked Cenat many questions, to which he only replied, “that is our way”, and when asked about the substance covering the bodies, he just said it is called ‘wharm lorn’ (sunblaze).
The twilight slowly gave way to darkness, the chanting stopped, and starting from the left, two young monks lit the coffins.
Each ignited immediately, and vivid orange and yellow flames filled the night air. Within a few seconds, the flames turned blue, and the monks, villagers and soldiers assumed a prostrate position, their heads lower than the altar. The flames glowed white for a split second then, - whoosh! - A column of white light as bright and as hot as the sun shot into the night sky. It was over in an instance. The silence and blackness of the night returned.
They remained silent for several moments. Vitchae then got to his feet first, and beckoned everyone to rise. The smell of scorched wood filled their nostrils, and all that now remained on the altar was fifty-nine glowing blobs of gold. The following day, they would be taken to the sacred burial site, but for now, the monks would meditate and reflect on their own, while the villagers and soldiers would party and celebrate the Holy one’s lives.
Pon now felt stronger. He had been given medicinal herbs and King Cobra liver and had regained most of his strength. It had been five days since the terrible event took place and he knew that if he wanted to catch the culprit, and avenge his brothers, he would have to leave soon, although he did not yet know whom he was chasing. At Cenat’s suggestion, he had traded with one of the soldier, a gold nugget with the Buddha’s image intricately carved on it, for his mobile phone. The young corporal thought he had made a good trade. ‘This must be worth a fortune,’ he thought, that is if we ever get out of here. The soldier taught Pon how to use the phone but as there was no signal in this area, he could only pretend. Pon thought he had the gist of his new tool and Cenat had given him Taksin’s card. ‘This was a start’, he thought.
He had a large cloth hold-all containing some dried food, liquids, edible roots and leaves, some small round clay containers of various powders including sunblaze, his tinderbox, sharpening and carving tools, his new mobile phone, and his ‘ornaments’. Laid out beside him was his Glave, a small double-bladed weapon with each blade Crescent-shaped and razor sharp. At the centre, a handle wrapped with cotton, making it the same thickness as the blades. This could be used like a dagger to slash or stab and could be thrown and would cut through the air like a disc, it was very deadly and extremely accurate. His sword resembled a Samurai sword. Seven inches of the rear side were serrated and used when hunting, for sawing through animal bone and cutting up the carcass for easy transport. It had a hollow handle with a skilfully engraved tight-fitting flip top that contained his Pitou.
Pon meditated. He had listened to Vitchae telling him of his suspicions, but as the old master had told him, it was only his doubts and he had no firm proof. Pon was confused and unable to understand why anyone would do this, although in the next few minutes he would learn as to the ‘whom’.
Vitchae entered and went over to Pon and he was accompanied by an old woman from the village. Pon was shocked as villagers, especially women, were not allowed in there. ‘It must be important’ he thought. Vitchae introduced the woman as Banti Meesilli. Pon recognised her from his morning pilgrimages around the village, when he and the other monks would go to acquire food, a ritual to learn humility. The villagers always happy to give food in return for a blessing.
The pair sat down in front of Pon and Vitchae encouraged Banti to tell Pon about her son. She tearfully explained that eight years ago her youngest son had gone into the jungle to hunt and never returned. She had always feared he had been killed and eaten by wild tigers, which still inhabited the tropical forest. With tears in her eyes, she told Pon of her young son’s bravery and skill as a hunter and her pride at her eldest son being a Tinju, although Banti was unsure which monk was her son, as only the Prime Master and a few elder monks knew from which family the monks were taken. She went on to explain that her youngest son became close with a Tinju named Jinn, who, at four years his senior, was the right age to be his brother. They could all feel a bond with Jinn, who she was convinced was her eldest son. She handed Pon a clear resin covered charcoal drawing of her youngest son.
“This is him. This was my beloved Dam. He was 17 at the time this was sketched,” said the old woman, tears flowing from her sad old eyes. Vitchae and the old woman stood up, and she Wai-ed them both, and with great sadness spoke.
“With Jinn being murdered in the temple, means that now I have lost both my sons. Please find who is responsible. I beg you.”
Banti left the room, leaving her drawing with Pon, who had a strange feeling about this woman.
Once Banti left, Pon looked at Vitchae.
“Master, I don’t understand. What has this woman’s dead son to do with this?”
Vitchae explained.
“Her son went into the jungle and never returned. His disappearance was an enigma, it was presumed he had been killed by a tiger, but theses timid animals avoided any contact with us” Vitchae paused and solemnly continued “Dam has been the only person in Salaburi unaccounted for during my lifetime. I knew young Dam and he was a strong boy and extremely well taught in the way of the Tinju and I spoke to him two days prior to his disappearance. Our conversation did not end well. . . . He is the, who, of that I am certain.”
Pon thought for a moment. He remembered this lad who always hung around the temple and trained with them. He remembered thinking at the time, why was a villager allowed so much freedom around the holy temple?
Pon knew Jinn, they were almost the same age and he knew how much Jinn had grieved for his brother after Dam’s disappearance was announced. They had been inseparable. Pon folded the drawing of Dam and placed it in his bag.
“Master, now I must leave,” said Pon, feeling he now had a direction.
“Yes, young warrior, and I pray that Buddha will guide and protect you,” replied Vitchae.