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khoak phranang WIMON SAINIMNUAN


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khoak phranang TRANSLATED FROM THE THAI BY MARCEL BARANG

© WIMON SAINIMNUAN © MARCEL BARANG for the translation Internet eBook edition 2008 | All rights reserved Original Thai edition, Khoak Phranang, 1989

KHOAK PHRANANG | WIMON SAINIMNUAN


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prologue At the end of the tenth lunar month, the water from upstream rose as the wind turned cold. At first, it flew languidly, yet looked mighty. Then the stream grew stronger and murky with mud. By the middle of the eleventh month, the water from the sea surged too and the water level rose steadily until the river overflowed its banks and water crept under the houses on stilts and spread out over the fields. The villagers looked at the river and could but sigh. Even though this year the current wasn’t very strong, they weren’t sure it wouldn’t be stronger than in previous years. They got ready to move things to higher land. Some proceeded to enlarge existing hillocks to accommodate the animals they would confine there until the waters receded. They did this because after a year’s tenancy, the abbot of the Khoak Phranang temple had forbidden anyone to bring their animals to the temple grounds. He feared the temple would be littered with their droppings and become redolent of unhappy smells and present a mess to the guests who came from everywhere to visit it. WIMON SAINIMNUAN | KHOAK PHRANANG


4 The abbot told the villagers that ‘the temple is not a refugee centre for animals’ and ‘those pigs and dogs and cows and buffalos are messy and would damage the prestige of the temple. Our guests would say we people of Khoak Phranang don’t know how to keep things in order, we don’t know how to ensure public health…’ The year Abbot Nian made that announcement, the water from upstream was so fierce that several villagers didn’t react in time. Among them was Kharm. He had no other option than to shift his pigs and buffalos to the hillock of the banyan tree, a sacred place, and this was taken as an insult to its guardian spirit. The guardian spirit punished him by having his four-year-old son drown in front of his eyes. But then eventually Kharm saw the error of his ways and became the medium of the spirit of the banyan tree, and from then on he had prospered and earned the respect of almost everyone up until now. The story of Kharm or Jao Phor Kharm was a good lesson for everybody to learn about how to win over natural calamities and over the calamities that come from defying the guardian spirits. In later years, all the villagers had thus taken their precautions against flooding without too much worry, except when too much or too little water ruined or destroyed the rice crop. Bualoy, a young man with a thickset body, a dark complexion and a sharp face, was in a similar position. He had a hillock at the end of his rice field just like many KHOAK PHRANANG | WIMON SAINIMNUAN


5 other families and on it grew a banyan tree, whose seeds some bird had dropped there, just as in the case of Jao Phor Kharm’s. But, luckily for him, there was no resident spirit in it to get him into trouble. As soon as the water rose, he got ready to transfer his domestic animals there without further ado. He looked at the watercourse and reckoned that this year the water would be unpredictable, that is, he wasn’t sure how much of it there would be. He and the other villagers had the same chance to lose their crops as to have them bountiful on the years when there wasn’t too much water. He prayed there wouldn’t be too much water. If the rice was spared this year, his family’s situation would improve somewhat after several years of ups and downs, ever since he had married Fueangfa. It should be a good omen, he thought with pleasure: this year, his female buffalo was pregnant and would give birth in the first lunar month; and what was even better, he himself would have a second child – let it be a boy, he thought agreeably. Fueangfa was due next month. Let it happen, any day. He had already asked for medicine from Jao Phor Kharm and queued up for half a day at the Reverend Man-eater’s shrine for a bottle of consecrated water. He was ready and, believing in spirits and monks as he did, there shouldn’t be any disaster to strike his family for sure. Now everything was ready. WIMON SAINIMNUAN | KHOAK PHRANANG


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1 At dawn when he woke up, Bualoy saw that the river had overflowed its banks and flooded the space beneath his house. He was a bit surprised and thought ruefully that the water shouldn’t have come this fast because last night before turning in he had looked at the watercourse and guessed it would flood the space below the house the morning after next. Since the water had come earlier than he expected, he now reckoned that by tonight it would reach shin level. He wasn’t worried very much. There was no problem with the animals. After he had eaten his fill, he’d take the buffalos to the mound at the end of the rice field. In the late afternoon, when the water would be high enough for him to use the boat, he’d catch the pigs and take them to the same place. The chickens were easy. At dusk when they went to roost, he’d grab them, put them in a bamboo cage and take them to the safe ground. He’d gather the various tools and implements on the hillock abutting the house. Having thus decided, he scooped some water from the jar on the side of the platform to wash his face. Again, he made a wish that there wouldn’t be too much water. He was afraid the rice would be ruined. If it was, his debt would increase again, and if it wasn’t, it would subside a little. Apart from that, he didn’t worry much about anything. KHOAK PHRANANG | WIMON SAINIMNUAN


7 Pleasantly soft sunlight was reflected on the yelloworange water that flowed quietly by. Dewdrops on the branches and on the blades of grass evaporated quickly. The chickens waddling in the water were having a great time looking for insects that had fled the flood. The pigs used their hard noses to furrow the earth desperately. As for the two buffalos, they were in the stable, looking as though they wanted to go out to fill their bellies with dew-speckled grass, but their owner was still busy putting things away up in the house and up on the hillock. It looked like quite some time would go by before he thought of attending to their welfare. Hunger made them cry and their tears ran down, to the merriment of the midges and flies that worried them. In late morning, Bualoy entered the stable, undid the chain that tied the buffaloes to the pillar and took them to the meadow, while the sun kept rising in the sky sending out increasingly hot rays. He returned to the house before midday, intent on having lunch and then cutting elephant grass to make a roof for the chicken coop, but when he went up the stairs he saw his wife who still lay with a wry face. As he went in he asked her, ‘What’s the matter?’ ‘My belly hurts,’ his wife answered, her hands over her inflated belly. ‘Have you taken your medicine yet?’ Fueangfa shook her head. Even though there was worry in her eyes, her face was beaming. She was WIMON SAINIMNUAN | KHOAK PHRANANG


8 much more beautiful than before she became pregnant. ‘I’ll get the medicine for you,’ Bualoy told her as he went to a wall of the house, took a bottle of tonic and, shaking it, went back to sit next to his wife. He unscrewed the bottle and handed it over. ‘Take a swig and you’ll feel better.’ Fueangfa shook her head, a faint smile on her face. ‘It’s not colic. It hurts.’ ‘Your appendix?’ ‘No. I feel I’m in labour…’ Bualoy was a bit startled. He frowned at once. ‘You’re about to give birth?’ There was disbelief on his face. ‘It’s only been seven months.’ Fueangfa shook her head again. This time, the pain in her belly showed on her face. ‘I don’t know – it’s the start of the eighth month all the same…’ Bualoy was flustered, not knowing what to do. Then he thought things through, got up and went to take two bottles of water on the Buddha shrine, muttered a prayer as he picked them up then went back to give them to his wife. ‘Sacred water from the Reverend Man-eater and from Jao Phor Kharm. Drink up both bottles and you’ll be all right,’ he said with utter conviction. Fueangfa slowly sat up, gathered her long hair from her shoulders and pushed it back, then took the bottles and took a few sips. Her belly pains appeared on her KHOAK PHRANANG | WIMON SAINIMNUAN


9 face again. She put down the bottles of sacred water, shook her head to indicate she couldn’t take any more. Bualoy observed her with a nervous heart. As soon as the pain seemed to recede, he encouraged her to finish drinking the water. Fueangfa sobbed, her face telling him she was in pain. ‘What do you want me to do?’ He looked confused for a while, and then rushed out to call a long-tailed boat in front of the house, then panting went back up and told his wife, ‘Let’s go see the doctor.’ Bualoy and his daughter sat waiting for news of his wife until late in the afternoon. All the while he was worried and afraid he’d lose either his wife or their child or even, worse luck, the both of them, but when the doctor came out and told him both mother and child were fine, he felt as if a whole mountain had been removed from his chest. He asked the doctor eagerly whether it was a boy or a girl. ‘A boy,’ the doctor said with a smile. He was glad, but didn’t show it, telling himself two is enough; he couldn’t possibly raise more than two; he had no legacy to leave them. The doctor had gone by the time he thought to ask how much the delivery cost. Hand in hand with his little daughter, he went to see the nurse in the duty office. The nurse asked him what the trouble with the patient was. He answered it was a birth, and an operation. WIMON SAINIMNUAN | KHOAK PHRANANG


10 ‘Then she must be in a special room and it’s a bit costly,’ the nurse told him. ‘And she must stay several days.’ ‘Ah… er…’ Words failed him as he thought of the money. ‘Is a special room very expensive?’ ‘Not at all. Two hundred baht per night, food included, but not counting the medicine.’ Bualoy’s heart lurched. He wanted to ask further how many nights his wife would have to stay, but aware of the irritation in the nurse’s tone and manners, he didn’t dare insist, merely asked in a roundabout way: ‘Could – couldn’t she stay in a normal room, doctor?’ The nurse looked up from her movie magazine and said flatly: ‘A special room is better – it’s worth spending a little more, for safety’s sake.’ So Bualoy thought that if she was in an ordinary room she may not be safe, then he told himself never mind, he’d find someone to borrow the money from somehow. At the same time his brain was searching for someone he could borrow from. A little while later, he turned to tell the nurse: ‘Er – I have to go back. My house is flooded right now. I have yet to take the pigs and the chickens to safe ground. Er – I leave my wife in your care. I won’t come to keep her company tonight, but I’ll come tomorrow…’ ‘Then hire a special nurse.’ ‘Is that expensive, doctor?’ KHOAK PHRANANG | WIMON SAINIMNUAN


11 ‘Not at all.’ ‘In that case, fine. I worry about my wife. I’m afraid nobody will look after her. Then whom should I hire?’ ‘If you really want to hire a special nurse, I’ll arrange it for you. Come and contact me again tomorrow.’ ‘What about tonight?’ ‘Someone will look after her as of tonight, but tomorrow you’ll sign your name with me for the hiring – do you understand?’ ‘Yes, yes.’ Bualoy hurriedly agreed, thanked her and, raising his joined hands and bowing, told her, ‘I’m leaving now.’ The nurse had the ghost of a smile in a corner of her mouth then lowered her head again over her movie magazine. Back home in the late afternoon, Bualoy told his daughter to go upstairs and stay in the house while he wadded into the water, which now reached his ankles, all the way to the mound. As soon as they saw him, the chickens and the pigs launched into a concert of calls. His only dog moaned and whined and jumped at him begging for food. Annoyed, he pushed it away, yelling: ‘I haven’t eaten either!’ He stood and thought for a while, not knowing where to start, then he decided to leave the hillock and walk through the water to the riverbank, gather an armful of floating weeds and drag it back for the chickens to WIMON SAINIMNUAN | KHOAK PHRANANG


12 forage through. He had meant to get some plants for the pigs which he could chop and mix with bran, but as soon as he thought of the buffalos on the mound at the end of the rice field, he changed his mind and went to get some more weeds. He then took the boat to go and cut some grass for them. At dusk, low, black clouds had gathered and there were strikes of lightning and thunder in the distance to the west. He returned and stood at the foot of the stairs with his head spinning. He tried to think of whether there was anything left to be done, but couldn’t think of anything. Nothing, he told himself, even though he was still worried about some outstanding work. Never mind. He went down to wash cursorily then went upstairs and straight into the kitchen, where he set about lighting the fire to cook the rice. As he waited for the rice to boil, he wondered whether tonight he’d go out to watch over the buffalos out there or whether he’d stay home and watch over things here. Before he could decide, his brain turned to thoughts of his wife, of the cost of her treatment, the doctor’s fee, the cost of a special room, the cost of a special nurse – how much all of this would amount to he had no idea. And would she have to stay there long? What about the money? Where was he going to borrow it from? He wouldn’t get it from the owner of the rice mill for sure: he was still unable to clear his old debt of twenty thousand baht. The only other possibility KHOAK PHRANANG | WIMON SAINIMNUAN


13 was Jao Phor Kharm… Would he be willing to lend to him again? He still owed him more than twenty thousand from last year, which he had deferred reimbursing time and again. Thinking about this, Bualoy was afraid to go and borrow again. If Jao Phor Kharm asked for the settlement of the old debt first, what would he tell him to postpone it? He thought of his neighbours and felt hopeless, as they were all hard up, so poor that it would be easier to go through the eye of a needle than to borrow a baht from them. The more he thought, the more depressed he became. He tried to rally his scattered and confused thoughts and in his mind went through the various items in the house that could be sold only to conclude that there weren’t any. The rice was boiling. The lid of the pot began to rise tremulously and then water ran down to the stove with a loud hiss. Bualoy started. He hastened to grab the handle of the lid to take it out, seized the ladle and stirred the rice three or four times, then took some to see whether it was dry enough. When he saw that it wasn’t, he thought again about a way to borrow money. How about selling the pigs? he asked himself. But they were still small. If he sold the two sows, there would be no more piglets. Besides, the price of pigs was so low these days their shit would sell better. The chickens, then? There were three or four hens, and that wouldn’t help much. Apart from that, there were only young roosters WIMON SAINIMNUAN | KHOAK PHRANANG


14 just growing into their new feathers. Selling them wouldn’t bring in much. Besides, he had meant to raise them to make milk-inducing broth for his wife when the child was born… and now the birth was premature and the roosters weren’t big enough. That only left the buffalos. He couldn’t avoid the thought of having to sell them, but he argued with himself that they were companions of misfortune since way back when, and then all of a sudden he’d sell them to feather his own nest, and they’d end up in the slaughterhouse… Besides, once they were gone, where would he find buffalos to plough the field? To be without them would be like being without hands or feet – he heaved a long sigh as an answer.

KHOAK PHRANANG | WIMON SAINIMNUAN


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2 Bualoy paddled the boat through the paddy field under dark, threatening skies. Last night it had rained steadily until dawn. He had thought this morning the sky would be bright and the sun fierce, but when he woke up in the darkness of dawn, he saw new waves of clouds unfurling from the west. He thought that if the wind didn’t change direction, they’d gather over these parts and pour down in the daytime. He began to get his mind used to the idea that the paddy in the field would be ruined. His boat reached the hillock. He took out two buckets full of chopped plants for the pigs, so heavy that he got pains in his joints. The pigs came running helter-skelter, squealing as if they were famished. He threw the plants mixed with bran into the wooden trough and made a mess of it because the pigs fought each other over the food in the buckets. When he had finished pouring, he used the buckets to bang the heads of the scrambling greedy pigs a couple of times. He watched the pigs compete over the food for a while. When he saw that they had all eaten, he went down into the water and cut the grass around the foot of the hillock and then threw it to the buffalos to eat. In late morning, he built a chicken coop with bamboo sticks and elephant grass, his brain busy with thoughts WIMON SAINIMNUAN | KHOAK PHRANANG


16 about where to borrow money from. When the bell at the temple rang at eleven, mealtime for the monks, he thought it through. He felt light all of a sudden. He hastened to finish the roof of the coop, washed himself, changed into new loose Chinese trousers, put on a black long-sleeved shirt, tied a loin cloth round his waist, ran his fingers through his hair two or three times, then called his daughter who was chasing the chickens for fun to come into the boat. ‘Let’s go to the temple.’ The Khoak Phranang temple was all golden yellow. The monks’ cells, the temples, and the temple halls were all sturdily built and huge. The orange tiles of the roofs reflected the sunshine. The chunks of glass set into the gables and the door and window frames, themselves decorated with golden friezes, glittered. People went about admiring this marvel of architecture and took pictures of themselves. Some went to pay a visit to the shrine of the Reverend Man-eater; some went in to meet Abbot Nian; others queued up sitting on the benches in the shade of leafy trees; and others still sat in the river pavilion. Bualoy came to the temple some time after midday and walked hastily past the big cell of the abbot without joining his hands to bow as he normally did. There were several people sitting in the cell of the abbot’s secretary. Bualoy waited a long time under the KHOAK PHRANANG | WIMON SAINIMNUAN


17 eaves of the cell for the people to leave, because his business was very confidential. He waited impatiently until past one in the afternoon and then decided to go up too, because if he waited for everyone to have left it would be late in the day and he wasn’t sure if new guests would arrive in the meantime. He left his daughter to play downstairs then went up the stairs, feeling very much ill at ease. When he saw him, Father Janthorn smiled. The secretary had put on weight; his skin was immaculate, his mouth full and his eyes bright. Bualoy prostrated himself three times, his head touching the monk’s mat, then sat himself with legs folded back to one side at some distance, waiting for the last two people to finish their business. ‘What can I do for you, brethren?’ the monk asked with a smiling face. Bualoy took the opportunity to signify in an indirect way he should get rid of his two guests. ‘Er – there’s something personal I want to talk to you about.’ ‘Come and sit closer, will you.’ The monk pointed at the place across from where the two guests sat. ‘Er, never mind. I would disturb your guests for nothing. In a moment. I can wait.’ ‘As you wish.’ The monk smiled and turned to talk to the two WIMON SAINIMNUAN | KHOAK PHRANANG


18 persons. Bualoy looked outside of the cell and forced himself to look at the sky and the clouds, with much turmoil in his heart. He wished the two people would go away. He turned, stole a glance and saw the monk opening a leather case next to him. Afraid of being impolite, he looked away again. When he heard the words ‘Thank you so much, Father’ and ‘Thank you very much for helping me, I’d be in dire straits without you, I can’t think of anyone else I could rely upon’, he turned again and looked. He saw the monk smile sweetly and the man and his wife prostrate themselves handsomely. He crawled on his knees to get closer to the monk while the couple crawled back and left. Bualoy prostrated himself once more then sat up properly, sweat running down his face and neck. ‘Tell me what brought you here.’ Bualoy felt his throat constricted, out of embarrassment. ‘Er, you… er… I know that you… you can help people in difficulty.’ He felt irritated at himself for not being able to put his words together properly as he wished, even though he had rehearsed his speech before coming. ‘You see, I’m in trouble. Er – my wife has had to be operated on while giving birth. She’s at the hospital right now. Er – hospital costs are horrendous. I… I don’t have money, so I’ve come to ask for your kind help…’ He heaved a sigh, feeling relieved. The monk smiled, amused. KHOAK PHRANANG | WIMON SAINIMNUAN


19 ‘Oh, what else could it be? Whoever comes to see me comes for the very same thing.’ Then he chided a little, saying, ‘When everything is fine, nobody thinks of the monks. It’s when one falls on bad times that one turns to the monks. That’s how people are… But then, monks will be monks. How can they make demands? Their duty is to help all creatures in difficulty…’ Bualoy bowed his head and looked at the mat, waiting to hear if the monk would help him or not. When he saw that the monk was silent, he looked up. He saw him raising a bottle of mineral water to his lips. When he put the bottle down, the monk went on: ‘I’m tired. Day after day there’s no need to move about anywhere, just sit here taking root, to bring solace to this or that person with almost no time to breathe. Our world is nearing the time of its destruction, brethren. There’s no end of people in trouble. They come all day and more and more every day.’ ‘Yes.’ Bualoy didn’t know what else to say, wishing in his heart that the monk would hurry up and make him an offer, so that he knew once and for all. The monk sighed. ‘What do you say then, brethren?’ ‘Er, nothing. That is, I’m in trouble and can’t see a way out. Er… or else I wouldn’t come to disturb you.’ ‘Indeed. It’s like I said, if you’re not in trouble you don’t think of the monks.’ Bualoy would have liked to speak to the point, but he WIMON SAINIMNUAN | KHOAK PHRANANG


20 was afraid this would be uncouth, so he had to grin and bear it, but Father Janthorn met a similar case every day and was used to it, so he said forthrightly: ‘Tell me what you want. You don’t have to be embarrassed. If I can help you, I will do so for sure. We are from the same village; we are not strangers to each other.’ ‘Yes, er… I… ah…’ ‘You want to borrow money from us, yes?’ The monk was annoyed but smiled blithely and sounded reassuringly familiar. ‘Yes.’ Bualoy felt relieved that they were at last talking turkey. ‘I’d like to ask you for six thousand, if that’s no trouble to you. I don’t know if… I don’t know if you can help me to that extent.’ The monk stared at him pensively then said in a flat voice: ‘Even if I didn’t have it, I’d have to help you, brethren. If we don’t help each other, who else is going to help us?’ Bualoy raised his hands and bowed out of sheer gratitude. ‘I’m very much obliged to you, Father.’ Then Bualoy bowed his head and looked at the mat again. ‘For how many months?’ ‘Oh… er… well… for…’ He thought of how long it would take for the pigs to be big enough to be sold at a good price. ‘Just for three months. As soon as I’ve sold the pigs, I’ll come and reimburse you.’ KHOAK PHRANANG | WIMON SAINIMNUAN


21 ‘If I have to ask you, it’s because it’s the temple’s money, not my own.’ ‘Yes, Father.’ The monk sighed. ‘I have to tell you straight that it’s the temple’s money, as I said. It’s deposited in the bank at the provincial town. To lend it out to you or anyone else is difficult for monks. It’s tiring, it’s a waste of time, there’s the cost of transportation, and besides, when the money is in the bank, the temple gets interest. When we lend it to you, the temple is deprived of income. These days the temple doesn’t have much money for current expenses because we’ve just bought another five hundred rai of land and we are about to buy even more. For the time being, we are negotiating with the landowners, as we intend to make a park for meditation. All of this means money, brethren. The temple must have income; it has its own expenses. Therefore, when you borrow money, the temple must ask you to compensate for the amount the temple must lose, that is to say the interest it would get from the bank, and also the various costs involved in going to the provincial town to take the money out, as I have told you already. Do you understand?’ ‘Yes.’ The square, burnished face was covered with sweat. ‘Tell yourself it’s a way to make merit for the temple.’ ‘Yes,’ Bualoy answered hurriedly, afraid he wouldn’t get the money. WIMON SAINIMNUAN | KHOAK PHRANANG


22 ‘Only ten percent, it isn’t much.’ Bualoy was startled, drenched with sweat, his throat dry, more unable to speak than when he had opened his mouth to state his business. Thoughts of accepting and of refusing fought it out. If he refused, he had no other way to raise money other than selling the chickens and pigs, and worse he would lose face in front of the monk for coming to his cell and then being scared of the interest. But his brain was utterly confused and he couldn’t think things through. ‘That interest you’ll pay to the temple doesn’t go anywhere else, you know. It’ll be used to develop the temple further. It’s as though you’re making merit for the temple, and the merit comes to you…’ ‘Er – how much merit must I make, for three months?’ ‘Oh.’ The monk smiled sweetly. ‘Ten percent, two thousand per month. You take it for three months, so you multiply by three. You take six thousand, so you pay altogether one thousand eight hundred baht on top of it.’ That amount of money made Bualoy feel all the more insignificant. He told himself repeatedly, ‘Never mind, it’s making merit,’ but he couldn’t help feeling depressed. ‘Three hundred baht for one thousand,’ he thought – before he could make a single baht, his eyes would be shedding tears of blood. ‘So, what do you say, brethren? This is between us, the others won’t get those terms.’ KHOAK PHRANANG | WIMON SAINIMNUAN


23 Bualoy felt that someone had come and was waiting for his turn downstairs, so he hurried to agree, ‘Agreed,’ and felt relieved to have been able to speak at all. Father Janthorn opened the leather case by his side, picked up a contract form, filled in Bualoy’s name and surname, the amount borrowed, and then held it out to him. ‘This is the loan agreement. Sign here.’ He pointed at the line for the borrower. When he saw that Bualoy was embarrassed and procrastinated, he added, ‘There’s nothing to it, brethren. There are dozens, hundreds of borrowers every day; I can’t remember them all, so there must be some paper for them to sign.’ ‘Why did you write in the line on the amount borrowed seven thousand eight hundred? I’m only borrowing six thousand.’ ‘Oh, there’s nothing to it. I wrote it inclusive of the interest. When you reimburse us, you’ll only pay back this much.’ Bualoy felt like telling him he should have written amount and interest separately, but Father Janthorn could read his thoughts. ‘I want you to see how much I trust you. When you told me you’d only borrow the money for three months, I wrote down the interest only for three months. If you have the loan for longer than three months, I won’t have any way to contest you. I’ll be the one at a disadvantage.’ WIMON SAINIMNUAN | KHOAK PHRANANG


24 Bualoy used his forearm to wipe out the sweat that dripped into his eyes. He said most courteously, ‘Yes Father.’ ‘And don’t you dare cheat on us monks,’ the monk said with a smile. ‘If you cheat monks, you’ll fall into hell and will never be reborn!’ ... Khoak Phranang is the third volume of Wimon Sainimnuan’s masterful quartet of the same name that pits fraudulent practitioners of religion and magic against one another to better exploit pop‐ ular credulity. Wimon, born 1958, is a foremost, if controversial, Buddhism‐inspired Thai novelist and short story writer. Through his punchy writings, he pursues a double reflection on the nature of the individual and the social forces that mould and maim it. His novel on cloning, Immortal, won him the SEA Write Award in the year 2000. All of these novels are available in English on thaifiction.com only. Snakes The medium Khoak Phra Nang Lord of the land

KHOAK PHRANANG | WIMON SAINIMNUAN

khoak phranang | wimon sainimnuan  

Meanwhile back at the grassroots — third part of the Khoak Phranang quartet

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