Beauddha

I’m not sure what roused me first-the neon sun rising electric over the banana trees or yaai telling me it was time to wake up. I sat up from my mat on the hardwood floor and looked out at the mystic pink morning. Sticking my head through the naked window, I inhaled deep breaths of Isaan air, heavy with the scent of sticky rice and the noise of women in the kitchen, up cooking since before dawn. Languid, twangy strands of long drum music mingled with the sounds of chopping and chatter, and I could sense a unique energy hovering in the air over the house.
It was the day of Beau’s monk ordination. His site is in Mahaserakham, an Isaan (Northeastern) province roughly 9 hours east of where I live. In Isaan, the people speak a dialectic blend of Lao and Thai, which I don’t understand. The diet staple is sticky rice, which grows easier in the dry climate, and the people are known for their unusual noises and irrational love for fermented fish paste. The language barrier was not a problem when Beau was around to translate, but at one point I was left in the kitchen with 5 Isaan women to make treats for the party. We spent hours wrapping a goo made out of sticky rice, coconut, sesame, peanut treats in banana leaves, and while I was certain my banana leaf folding technique was being lamented, or at least mocked, I couldn’t be sure. It was like being a new volunteer all over again. The preparations for monk parties are the same in Isaan as in Northern Thailand, but I had never seen the ordination process all the way through, or I had never been close to the person entering the monkhood.
Around 60% of men in Thailand will become a monk at some point in their lives. Like bar mitzvahs or confirmations, it is a cultural and religious rite of passage. A son becoming a monk, bpuat pra, is a huge source of pride and status for the family. Although to be a Buddhist monk means to be a follower of Buddha, any male can become a monk regardless of ethnicity or religious affiliation. Many male volunteers choose to “bpuat”, and can be a monk for anywhere between 7 days and a lifetime. Beau chose a time period of 15 days, and within that period will observe the rules of the Sangha: no touching women; no consumption of alcohol, caffeine or tobacco; no killing even the tiniest ant or most irksome fly; no food after noon; no underwear, the list goes on.
Ngan bpuats tend to be extravagant affairs, with copious amounts of food and alcohol, multiple ceremonies, Buddhist rituals, Pali chanting, gift-giving, and parades through the streets. Yaai, the grandma who lives next door to Beau, collaborated with Pii Chan, the supervisor of the local health station, to plan his ordination. They selected the wat, squared everything with the monks, and organized the actual event, which was held at Pii Chan’s house. Her house is made of teak wood and elevated on stilts; the event took place on straw mats underneath the house. Guests began arriving around 8 am, and the old women immediately set to work creating an offering out of banana leaves and flowers, while the men organized the merit-making donations. The table was piled high with pillows, toiletry gift baskets, and monk robes.
After some mingling and good-natured teasing, Pii Chan’s husband Boon carried a chair into the center of the straw mats, and told Beau to sit down. Boon handed me a heavy, pewter bowl filled with water and one banana leaf. Everyone formed a line, and each person snipped one piece of Beau’s hair and placed the snippet into the bowl. When the line was finished, Boon took Beau outside to complete the job by shaving his head and eyebrows. When not a hair was left on his head, Beau went upstairs to change. He came back down wearing his novice outfit, a green and pink silk cloth wrapped around his waist, an open-front white lace robe, and a Buddha amulet.
During this interim, I had been whisked away to change clothes as well. Apparently, my own clothing was not “beautiful” enough, and thus a collection of traditional Thai suits were assembled for me to try on. While I am a small person, I couldn’t get the long, narrow skirts over my foreign hips. Three women hovered around me, trying desperately to squeeze me into a number of binding Thai outfits, while I stood dishabille in the center of the room, awkward, but glad I chose not to wear my cartoon underwear. The only suit to zip was a coral pink number with shoulder pads. Despite the fact he was not supposed to laugh, Beau couldn’t help but giggle as I walked uncomfortably around the party like a sausage out of 1983.
The family shrine was brought downstairs and 10 cushions were placed in front of a tapestry hanging. 10 monks filed in, their saffron robes casting spiritual warmth over the room, and each sat in lotus pose facing the group. Beau sat in the center and the chanting began. While praying, everyone holds their hands in the wai position and those who know the words chant along. I hoped the dress wouldn’t rip as I kneeled and bowed on the ground. Lunch was served just before noon, and everyone told Beau to eat up, as he wouldn’t have another meal until the next morning. By this time, Heather had arrived from her site 25 kilometers away, and we marveled together how Beau no longer looked like Beau. He was Beauddha (I couldn’t help myself).
The monks left after the meal and the speech and gift-giving portion of the day began. Beau sat in front of the banana leaf offering, surrounded by mostly old women wearing white, and there was another round of prayers and chants. Men who are close to Beau in the community made speeches and wished him good luck, and we all took pieces of white string, or “kwaam”, to tie around his wrists, representing the dispelling of evil and wishes for good spirits. Finally it was time for the parade. I ran upstairs to change yet again, because the idea of walking in midday heat for over a mile in that dress was unbearable, and as I hurried back down, I saw the float was already pulling out of the driveway and the parade assembled.
Beau sat stoically on the float with his hands in a wai position. Someone had given him sunglasses, which created an odd contrast to his novice outift. Boon stood next to him, holding an umbrella to shield his unprotected scalp from the sun. Hoards of children hung off the truck, ready to pounce on the coins and candies tossed off the back. Next came the older women, serenely holding the gifts. Theoretically, monks have no money or possessions, and thus rely on in-kind donations for sustenance. Behind the elder women, the party began. The best long drummer in the village had been hired for the day, and a huge, mobile, speaker unit was rigged to follow the parade. The music was loud, and dancers surrounded the band and speakers. The women who spent all day cooking and cleaning were now holding bottles of beer and enjoying themselves, along with younger members of the community and random fun-seekers who hitched onto our parade. We all danced our hearts out under the hot sun, and the women were diligent in teaching Heather and I Isaan dance moves and fighting off the drunk teenagers who wanted to dance with us.
When we arrived at the wat, Beau disembarked from his throne and the parade followed him around the sanctuary three times, to represent the Buddha, the Dhamma, and the Sangha. Then two men picked Beau up (two little Thai men and a 6’2 American boy-not an easy task) and carried him up the stairs and into the central sanctuary where the monks awaited. Only men were allowed inside the sanctuary, and all the women sat on straw mats outside with the gifts. The people closest to Beau were invited to sit at the top of the sanctuary stairs and peer in. The monks lined the sides of the room and Beau sat in the center in front of a large Buddha altar. After a while, the monks closed the door, and we could hear more chanting echoing in the small room. Maybe 45 minutes, the doors opened again, and we could see the monks wrapping Beau in the orange robes. There was of course some more chanting, and finally they emerged from the sanctuary. Beau held an alms bowl, and we bowed to him before placing money in his bowl. The monks descended the stairs and Beau stood regally at the top, waving at the people waiting below.
The official ceremony was over. He was a monk. We took pictures, walked around the lake to his monk house, a one room wooden huts on stilts. Heather and I waved goodbye and hopped onto his float for the ride back to town. We joked how it felt like dropping a kid off at summer camp, and we worried if he would have enough to eat or if the other monks would be nice to him. A teacher took me into the town for the bus back to site, and 10 hours, 5 vehicles, and 750 baht later, I made it home.
It was an intense whirlwind of an experience and when the dust settled and I found myself processing it all in my hammock, I was struck by two things. The first was how natural the robes seemed on Beau, how they suited him in a way that not all farangs can pull off. Secondly, I was overwhelmed by the support and love evident in the community. It was moving to see how much people cared about him and how excited they were to share the experience. They accepted him. Watching him at the head of a parade 100 people thick, listening to the speeches in Thai about his good heart, and seeing the tables heaped high with food and donations in his honor, I saw the magic that can be a part of Peace Corps. I truthfully had not felt that in a while, and I am grateful that it has come back.